prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | John, George, and Ringo were huddled together inside a secret room on the fantastical magical yellow submarine.
"George, how confident are you?"
George left his momentary silence of contemplation to say " Paul is dead man, miss him."
Ringo asks, "do you though? I mean I doubt if you guys would miss me either."
John shook his head, "we must have lost him on our way through Abby Road"
George sighed "I like the new one. I say we let it be."
A knock on the door. "You there guys? I was hoping we'd do a music number about friendship."
John looked at the others, and they nodded in agreement. John opened the door and announced, "ALL TOGETHER NOW!" | Finally....free. The thousand years of waiting, watching in this cursed statue at an end. An elf, rigid with agony as his persona, his spirit, his life is leached away. Now the malevolent spirit got his first taste of air, of blood, of form.
"Er.. Mynir, you ok?" asked a gruff voice, a question which did not raise much concern with the rest of the party.
"Death!" hissed Mynir, or the thing that Mynir had become. He stared at the
party balefully out of reddened eyes, his hands raised, claw like over his head.
This response was not unexpected, and with a nod of acknowledgement, Drake the barbarian turned away and followed the rest of the party. He dragged a small chest of gold, which would hardly pay for this outing, but he seemed cheerful enough. The dead bodies of the unfortunate orcs he kicked out of his path were likely the reason for that.
The Mynir thing was still reeling, remembering his last moments before being encased, the worst psychopath the sorcerer could find in this land, his victims so numerous they were uncounted, uncountable. (and horribly unrecognisable.) A suitable trap for the unwary, a terrible harbinger of doom with the face of a once trusted companion.
He followed the party into the fresh air, and stood a little apart as they settled a camp, built a fire, cooked a meal. A dwarf began singing a cheerful song, as jokes and banter drifted out into the cool night.
Mynir felt the hilts of two beautiful elven daggers in his hands. In a movement too swift for any but an elf to see, they cleared the scabbards and whirled around his head. Blood and screams followed. A mist of red exploded from a neck, a bone cracked as a dextrous kick twisted a knee joint out of place. A heart was pierced by a single blow. In less than a few seconds it was all over. Five bodies lay on the ground, dead or dying.
The silence that had descended over the camp was broken by Drake. "Holy Mother, how the hell did you.." He trailed off, staring in amazement.
The Dwarf leapt to his feet and rushed to hug Mynir, who accepted the affection with a small show of discomfort. "A sneaky ambush for sure, well spotted my friend. I always said you were a hidden treasure!"
For the rest of the group, the transformation of a sneaky, cowardly elf into a saving hero caused a fair amount of quiet consternation. Generally it was seen as a "good thing", considering the alternative. The shaman had cast her bones, and no harm was predicted... Maybe he had just shrugged a curse, or escaped a bedazzlement.
Mynir contemplated his situation. His new elf brain was clear and concise. and more importantly, his hugely unbalanced mental chemistry was gone. The Sorcerer was vastly mistaken. These people were his family now. Woe betide any who tried to harm them. Could he make amends for his past? He could try. | 2017-09-15T06:41:40 | 2017-09-15T02:54:33 | 35 | 21 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | John, George, and Ringo were huddled together inside a secret room on the fantastical magical yellow submarine.
"George, how confident are you?"
George left his momentary silence of contemplation to say " Paul is dead man, miss him."
Ringo asks, "do you though? I mean I doubt if you guys would miss me either."
John shook his head, "we must have lost him on our way through Abby Road"
George sighed "I like the new one. I say we let it be."
A knock on the door. "You there guys? I was hoping we'd do a music number about friendship."
John looked at the others, and they nodded in agreement. John opened the door and announced, "ALL TOGETHER NOW!" | Bolton the doppelganger did not want to be an adventurer. He wanted to live quietly, and bake cookies. He grew tired of the constant hustle and bustle of morphing into people, committing crimes because no one trusted the Doppleganger kind. He figured his secluded life in the hills might buy him peace.
The rogue laid on his floor, blood oozing from the pan shaped dent on his forehead. The doppleganger held his frying pan, a pained look on his face.
"I didn't mean to kill you..." he muttered, letting the pan fall to the ground, and burying his smooth black face in his long alien fingers.
Bolton had awoken to the sounds of someone rummaging through his dresser. Without really thinking he'd lifted his trusty frying pan, and crept up on the black cloaked figure. The rogue, a stout fat dwarf turned and snarled at him bradishing twin black daggers.
"hey stop stealing my stuff!" Bolton said.
The rogue responded with an inept slash of a dagger. With a frightened flurry of pan blows Bolton had brought the rogue to the ground.
Now Bolton fretted. Many a doppler murdered with impunity, but Bolton never wished to do anything more than avoid trouble. He could read minds, yet he refused to. It spoiled the fun of meeting people, and knowing them. Due to this aversion to murder Bolton now stood paralyzed, unable to think of what to do with this body.
He began to poke at the stocky form, when he heard a firm knock emanating from behind his wood door.
"Durin, you oaf, you've been gone hours, what's going on."
Without really thinking Bolton became Durin. With a slam Barrin the Paladin opened the door and saw two Durins, one wearing simple clothes, the other armor. One wielded Durin's black steel knives, the other a bloodied cast iron pan.
"What's going on here?" Barrin asked.
"well um, see I fell asleep here in this cave, and then this doppleganger tried to steal my armor and knives and so I had to beat him with this frying pan?" Said Bolton.
The paladin smirked.
"I see, well good job. Now come on. We've got some ruins to explore. And next time maybe don't rob a domicile if you aren't sure it is abandoned." Barrin said.
Reluctantly, Bolton donned the dead Durrin's armor, and tools. After the paladin buried Durin, and planted a plank in the ground. The dopple busied himself inside preparing his house to be left, and Barrin wrote with a peice of charcoal from his pouch.
"here lies, Durin, a theif, a rat bastard, and a betrayer. He got himself killed robbing a good man." He wrote.
With a cool wisp of the wind following them, the newly minted Bolton/Durrin followed Barrin, not sure of the golden Haired human's destination, and worrying deeply of the state of his garden.
| 2017-09-15T06:41:40 | 2017-09-15T05:03:01 | 35 | 12 |
[WP] You're a special genie. You allow whoever finds you to re-experience three events that happened in their life for the first time again. Some people choose to re-experience a great movie as if watching it for the first time, some re-live their first kiss. Your latest request sounds quite odd. | "You have got to be kidding me?" I mutter to no one but myself.
"Listen. I know the rule is three separate memories, and these all did happen on different days...But come on, they are basically the same thing!"
I continued to talked hoping I could get through to him, "I am not supposed to snoop, turn me in to the guild if you like, but you have had an amazing life. There is no way this is what you want for your final wish."
"How about the time you were camping and scared off that bear? That was a great feat, you protected everyone in the camp?! Or that time you saved the whole family when the house caught fire? You even ran back in and rescued the cat!"
He just stared at me unblinking. I could see reminiscing acts of valor would get me nowhere. Maybe appealing to his baser instincts would do the trick.
"I know you never loved any of them, but how about reliving one of your late night romps. You have had a few fine bitches in your day, one must stand out in your memory?"
Again silence.
"Fine! It's your wish, do whatever you want. But it's because of customers like you that I had to institute the three wish limit!"
I raised my hands, reciting the incantation. The air began to shimmer like the desert sand at mid day. Before us appeared an unassuming white door. The faint thud of a car door closing and the sound of leather soles approaching on a concrete path. A slight pause as someone fumbles with the keys. The sound of the deadbolt retracting, then the metallic click as the spring in the latch releases its tension. A momentary blinding from the bright afternoon light, then he springs into action.
"Oh Cody!" The man says as he walks through the door frame. "Who's a good boy? Have you been waiting here for me all day?" A few more pats to the clients head, before the man gets down on one knee to give him a hug.
His tail is wagging in time with the memory. | First it was the noise. People talking softly, as to not wake me up. Somebody's kid was crying afar, and some of the machines went beep-beep beep-beep.
I decided to open my eyes. Even before the light hit my corneas, the smell of a hospital bedroom entered my nostrils with nauseating speed. What was this? What is going on? Am I...
"Look!" one of the men could be heard saying. "He's awake. Go get Jess."
Who's that? Breathing was hard, and it made a lot of noise. With each breath I could feel the urge to cough my lungs out. My lovely Belinda. I couldn't keep my end of the deal. But then again, neither did you.
"Dad. Stay still, the doctors told us they can get you comfortable. At... least." - his voice was cracking. If I hadn't this tube inside my throat right I would laugh at his face. This is only the end, and not even yours. Be a man about it for fuck's sake.
With the absence of my glasses I can't even make sense of who is who. Age really is the ruin of mankind. I saw three men at the other end of the room. All of them dressed like men, built like men, with men haircuts and men voices. Most of all, manly attitudes. None of that crying on each other shoulders or holding my hand in theirs. Nope. This isn't how I raised my boys. And they haven't been boys in a good 20 years.
A kid walks through the room.
"Aunt Jess said she's not coming"
"What do you mean she's not coming? Dad is..." He looked at me. The same runt whose voice just cracked. I locked my furious eyes at his. Say it. Say it, motherfucker, get your closure now or live forever with the realization of the coward you are.
"Dad is dying." This was Mark. My oldest. Never a disappointment. The mope who couldn't finish the line was Terry then. That leaves the always quiet Randy being... well... quiet. Mark continued: "I'm gonna go get Jess", to which Randy says: "are you sure this is what the old coot wants?"
"I don't care what he wants, she has as much a right of being here as any of us."
"NOOO" I try to say, realizing who that is, but only a gutural cry was heard. "I don't want that person in here". They look at me desperate. Mark is gone, Terry comes closer and tries to hold my hand, to which I smack him with all the strength my cancerous body can muster.
The urge to cough gets harder. I can feel the back of my throat alive with mucus and blood. Is this what the doctors meant with being comfortable? The beeping noise is louder. My chapped lips bleed, my chest itches from the inside. This is it, isn't?
A duo of nurses comes through the door. "What the hell?" one of the nurses whispers to the other: "He's on so much morphine he should be in Mars right now. Do we give him more?" "I guess there's no harm in it, he's pretty much gone at the moment"
It hits me almost immediately. This feels good. I mean, the pain is mostly gone. Is this what being high is like? No wonder the kids like it. Wh- what the hell is that? A big shadow below the window gets bigger and bigger, revealing the silhouette of some sort of being. From within, my former child Jeff watched me without saying a word. Only it wasn't him. I'm confused. It sure feels like Jeff, but it also feels like a girl. Oh. I remember now. Useless jerk. From the door I see Mark coming in alone. Randy hasn't moved and inch and Terry is arguing about something with the nurses. More kids start to come in. I can't help but notice one of them doesn't make it past the door. A little girl, seems to be holding someone's hand outside the room, looking at me with curious eyes.
The last I hear is Jeff's girly voice coming from the shadow. "Let's go, this was a mistake." A deep devilish roar answers: "Art thou certain? There shan't be a fourth wish".
"I'm sure. Mom was right. He was so afraid of change that even death couldn't sway him. I only hope he burns in hell."
And then, the void. | 2017-09-16T17:25:20 | 2017-09-16T15:17:56 | 100 | 32 |
[WP] Aliens said that most of our technology is some kind of magic. They built a radio using our blueprints, but it didn't work. When a human touched it, every light in the room exploded and the radio immediately started playing his favorite station live, despite being light years away from Earth. | The problem with aliens is that they don't think. They can read blue prints, but they don't understand them. The radio they built was fully functional. However they forgot a single detail. It's needs to be turned on.
With a sigh I corrected the problem, at the very instant I touched the radio something else happened. I don't know what, I was as confused as they were when the lights exploded. Aliens, being aliens were quick to assume that it was me, asking me to explain the magic. The only magic I know is a simple card trick!
I tried to explain the concepts of off and on, of electricity, they don't want to know. I explained long distance radio waves that go into space seemingly forever and the odds that we had picked up one. However, aliens being aliens, they have insisted that I show them the magic and explain it. How can I? I don't understand how their technology works or why their lights exploded, let alone why at that exact moment.
I have convinced aliens of nothing and they now seek to understand more. I don't know when if ever they will let me go. Perhaps I can come up with a plan, I don't know very much about physics but Earth is filled with libraries and Universities, perhaps the aliens could learn there. Perhaps. But I doubt it. They seem convinced that I should be the one to teach them. | "They're launching again, sir. Do you want to watch?"
Morix swivelled towards the portalscreens, the crystals which made up his being tinkling with the sudden shift. His eyebrows, or the thickened clusters of diamonds near his orbital receptors, knitted in consternation.
"They never give up, do they?" he asked, rhetorically.
"You have to give it to them for trying," said Laprux, the junior between the two. He was a smaller cloud of sparkling stardust, at least a couple of millenia away from reaching Morix's seniority. He made up with diligence what he lacked in experience.
"Chances of success?" asked Morix. The images on the portalscreens were troubling - it had been years since the last serious expedition mounted by the humans to explore the galaxy they lived in, and the Berullians had expended no small effort to ensure that the humans stayed where they belonged. In fact, Morix had been promised that the humans had all but abandoned their fixation on exploring the inkiness beyond their puny planet. This was supposed to be a quiet shift, and the last thing Morix wanted was an escalation.
"High, sir," said Laprux, studying a small screen at the console before him. "Their governments have prioritized their efforts elsewhere, but it seems that some of the... private tribes have amassed sufficient resources to explore the universe on their own."
"That's not good," said Morix.
"No, sir, it isn't."
Morix pondered on the options before him. He could, of course, directly intervene in the small shuttle which was being prepped for launch. They had agents amongst the humans, ready to intervene at their behest. But that took effort, and important as the directive was to ensure that the humans never left earth, of even greater priority was the instruction never to let the humans learn of their presence. Every direct action he took was a risk he could not afford.
"Forgive me for asking, sir," said Laprux, ever the inquisitive mind. "What happens if the humans actually, you know, manage to make contact with the rest of us? Is that such a bad thing?"
"Well, it's hard to say for sure," said Morix. "The best simulations we've run indicate that the humans will balk at knowing we've been hampering their progress, interfering with their ability to explore the stars. Certainly, they would stop using any of the technology we've seeded amongst their civilization. Chaos, just chaos, after that. No, it's better that they stay where they are. This symbiotic relationship has been going pretty well, and I'm not going to have it all be upset on my watch, that's for sure."
Laprux tapped on the console, and the images zoomed in.
"They're even bringing our power generators with them, on the space shuttle," he said. "Amazing how we managed to integrate it into their lives so easily."
"Everyone's happy this way," said Morix. "We give them a device which helps them connect with one another, share their knowledge, capture their every moment. And in return, it helps power our planet, generates the resources we need to survive."
"They almost uncovered the truth, didn't they, sir?"
Morix nodded. It had been a close shave - the latest upgrade the Berullians had introduced necessitated the removal of a connection port the humans used to listen directly to their devices. A minor revolt surged, and it was only through their best efforts that they managed to quell the human dissatisfaction which threatened to blow their cover.
"Make it shiny, make it bigger, and they won't ask questions," said Morix. "The shuttle's getting too close. Cut off the probe, feed them the prepared footage, and hope they don't ask any more questions."
"Roger, sir."
---
/r/rarelyfunny | 2017-11-12T04:03:50 | 2017-11-12T03:11:08 | 216 | 57 |
[WP] As the latest employee in the world's most prestigious amusement park you are handed a list of rules all employee's must abide to. But it's filled with rather strange rules. What does: "There's only ever one of each mascot inside the park. Check for eyeholes." even mean?
The inspiration for this prompt was the lovely TheRabidFangirl! :) | I looked at the man who had handed me the piece of paper. His name-tag said Dave.
“Dave," I asked, looking down at the list again and frowning, “What does all of this even mean?”
Before Dave could answer, another man burst into the employee’s lounge. He immediately started shouting.
“You again!” He pointed right at Dave. “You scoundrel! You oxygen thief! Stop stealing my bloody name-tag!”
The man who was in front of me (Not-Dave) let out a yelp, and then scampered out the nearest window, dropping the name-tag on his way out.
The new fellow (Real-Dave) walked over to me. He picked up the name tag and shook his head.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “*I’m* Dave. That guy keeps breaking in and pretending to work here. Give you a list did he? He’s always doing that. Let me see it then.”
I blinked, and then gave him the piece of paper. He snorted.
“‘Check for eyeholes?’ What does that even mean? That guy’s batshit crazy. Anyway, your job is to clean out the puke from the roller-coaster carriages. Welcome to your new life.”
He screwed up the piece of paper and threw it out the window.
| *1. There is only one of each mascot in the entirety of the Park. They have eyeholes, pay attention to this.*
I glanced up, confused by these rules. The first one made no sense, the rest made just about as much sense. I knew about psychics and mages, apparently, they were designated by different borders and emblems on our name badges. Made sense to me, we needed to go in groups of no less than three at any given time, especially to interact with the mascots.
My trainers were two mages, four psych’s, fourteen different supervisors, and thirty-four different team leads. Seemed excessive, but whatever. I was sixteen, and that was the minimum age for the work done here. My friend Katydid recently disappeared, unable to sleep for days, then up and vanished and I seemed to be the only one to remember her. I was always the only one to remember. I was Lilypad and she was Katydid and we were best friends and I missed her. I so terribly missed her. I bit my lip as the handsome technomage, Julian, made eye contact with me.
He had taken a vested interest in me, seeing and smiling at me. He was tall, handsome, and very very very nerdy. His swarthy dark skin, still pale within his inside nerdiness, his handsome sparkling eyes, his thin, wire rimmed glasses, his thick hair. I wanted him to ask me out for a date, but he was nearly twenty and one, so much older than me.
Or group had designated mascots, three of them; dragon, unicorn, and phoenix. I was assigned further, the phoenix group, Julian’s real group. He ran the technology that was supposed to keep us all safe, the pyrotechnics and the warded microchips in our name badges. He had also programmed them to our time-clocks and check-in points. He was ever so clever. Truly, I was enamoured of him and his intellect. I couldn’t get enough of him. He felt amazing.
I shut my eyes for a moment, unable to keep them open fully. When I opened them, it was only him and I. The rule of three. Fuck. Shit. Damn. Oh no. The rules were there for a reason. He held my hand. “Lily? You fainted.” I was on the ground, looking up at the sky. I sighed; this had happened a lot, but a long time ago. “The others left to find you a medimage.” He was so calm and so sweet. Julian didn’t know about me, but that was alright. I had made it to sixteen this time. Sixteen.
Sixteen rules, rules that needed to be obeyed. “Julian, where is our third?” I demanded, confused.
“Shhh, Lily, you fainted,” he soothed me, his voice pulled at me, my mind slipped away.
*Wait, where were his eye holes?*
This is tied to both [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheMysticSandbox/comments/7ghz7h/dead_no_memories_tw_death_lily_1/) and [that](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheMysticSandbox/comments/7gi08x/joining_realitys_maintenance_crew/).
If you enjoyed this, please join me at [The Mystic Sandbox](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheMysticSandbox/). Note: NC-17 and NSFW under link | 2018-06-14T14:40:41 | 2018-06-14T13:59:31 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] A phenomena begins to occur where newborn babies are found amidst the aftermath of natural disasters. Tsunamis, avalanches, wild fires, destructive lightning storms, etc. These 'Storm-Born' humans grow up with powers based on the disasters that birthed them. | The storm born were chosen, powerful beings each blessed with powers found from their origin. A newborn, found in the midsts of a horrifying eruption wielded the power of fire. A baby found floating on the wreckage of a cruise liner developed the power to generate whirlpools.
And so began the craze of stormborn chasers. Pregnant mothers who rush to natural disasters hoping that their child was the one. Some out of insanity, others coerced by their government.
It became an arms race for nations and that it was the "duty of every patriotic mother to risk their lives for creating new stormborn". Some nations were more pragmatic. Having forced mother conscription, others used...softer methods. By sowing fear of foreign nations developing super bio weapons, they persuade their citizens to fight the noble fight, and to protect the beloved nations of their forefathers. Some nations used words like protecting their freedom or way of life.
It worked.
It was now an accepted act for mothers carrying children to wade into chaos, hoping for some miracle a demigod would be given to them. If by some miracle the mother survived, they would be paraded, cheered on and used for further political purposes.
The games the nations played however, began to corrode when a special sort of natural disaster appeared. The people thought nothing of the day when a virus struck, disabling all technology for a day. They did not foresee it as a natural disaster as technology was founded by man.
But nature saw it different. And by the blessings of the gods a single child was born on that fateful day. A day when a demigod of the internet age was born. | The woman was confused. She spoke little english, but she was not stupid. That baby had to belong to someone. The cops had escorted the shooter away. The bodies were covered now. She had given her statement in Spanish to a translator who just HAD to check her papers one more time. ICE was not showing up here today. Bad press. Which was good, because even her legitimate visa was no guarantee here.
​
Still, why was everyone ignoring the baby? A little girl, wrapped in a police blanket. Not crying. Just lying there in the middle of the mall floor. She stood up and walked over to the child. No one noticed her. No one stopped her. Not the news people, not the gawking crying bystanders.
​
She bent down and nudged the child to make sure she was alive. So silent. So calm. When her hand brushed the child's face, the baby smiled and grabbed her finger. Her face was wrinkled, her mouth empty of teeth.
​
Was this a new born? What the heck? Something settled in her and she acted. She picked the child up... Still nothing. Just a warm little body pressed up against her chest, cradling her finger. Holding tight with the simeon strength of freshly hatched humans.
​
She reminded her a bit of her own daughter. Back in Chile.
​
Before she knew it, she was past the cordon and standing next to her car. No one had interfered.
​
The keys found their way into her hand. And soon she was pulling out of the parking lot and rolling out onto the street. It was night now. Lights vanishing in the distance behind her. The heat of the El Paso day vanishing into space.
​
When she got back to her apartment, the world shifted again. There on the table was an infant. Most likely abducted by her, a foreigner. The child stared at her with a quiet intensity. Expectantly.
​
Food.
​
It had been 20 years since she had breast fed her own child. Her breasts were now strictly for entertainment and inconvenience as far as she was concerned. But the child had to eat. That must be what those dark eyes were saying to her.
​
She found herself again with the child in her arms knocking at the neighbors door. Gloria answered, the sound of her own children and the television creeping through the door behind her. The woman was from Cuba on her father's side. Everyone spoke some Espanol in El Paso. Gloria was no exception.
​
"I saw it all on the TV, those poor people."
​
"It happens. Hey, listen, I need your help..."
​
"I know, I'll pay you back for last months rent..."
​
"No not that.... this"
​
Gloria looked down and suddenly noticed the child in her arms...
​
"Your grand daughter?"
​
"She's hungry."
​
"I... oh... Okay"
​
Gloria's youngest, her son was asleep in his own cot, finally. Comforted by the noise of his brothers playing video games. She ushered in the woman and the child and sat down on the couch considering the baby before her.
​
"She's tiny..." she said suspiciously removing her bra strap. and lifting her shirt.
​
"And hungry!" Gloria exclaimed.
​
They shared a smile and then the TV caught Gloria's eye. The woman got on her phone and began scrolling through her news feed.
​
Maybe there would be a story about this child... that someone had lost in a storm of bullets.... | 2019-08-06T07:16:58 | 2019-08-06T06:58:17 | 64 | 11 |
[WP] A phenomena begins to occur where newborn babies are found amidst the aftermath of natural disasters. Tsunamis, avalanches, wild fires, destructive lightning storms, etc. These 'Storm-Born' humans grow up with powers based on the disasters that birthed them. | She was hardly the first storm-born to appear. Reports of them popping up all over the world had begun years ago.
Earthquakes.
Tornados.
Floods.
Each with devastating consequences. Natural disasters that caused bloodshed and claimed lives. Seemingly, they didn’t have much else in common, other than the destruction they left behind.
But from the wreckage of these disasters, something else emerged. Newborn infants. Rescue crews began to find them, scattered in the debris, sometimes crying, sometimes happily playing amidst the wreckage. These infants seemed harmless at first, but they were quickly deemed dangerous. People were dispatched to collect these children and keep them in secure facilities where their powers could be monitored. The world lived in fear of these tiny children. Innocent, but unknowingly capable of mass destruction. World governments scrambled to collect them, for their own protection, they claimed. But rumors of secret experiments, of armies, of brutal training and dangerous accidents were rampant, and soon storm-born were hunted to the ends of the earth by various factions of power across the world.
In the midst of this chaos, a young couple walks on the beach, hand in hand. This is a long-standing tradition of theirs, especially during a storm. They love to watch the lightning dance along the water, and on the rare occasions that it strikes the sand, they gather the resulting glass and marvel at the beauty that the storms can create.
This storm is intense. More powerful than usual. They can feel the electricity in the air as they walk down the beach, wondering if they should turn around. The sky darkens, and an enormous bolt of lightning shoots from the sky, striking the sand and leaving smoldering wreckage behind. As if the storm is now satisfied, it disperses, and the sky returns to its normal blue.
The couple head towards the smoke, eager to see what sort of glass sculpture has been created this time. As they approach, they hear a small noise. This fulgurite is indeed ornate, shaped like a small basin. And in the middle of the bed of glass rests a baby girl, sleeping peacefully.
The couple glance at each other wordlessly. They know what the life of a storm-born is like. They’ve seen the fear in the eyes of the children when they are trotted out and paraded around as proof of the government’s might. A reminder that the storm-born may be powerful, but those who control them will rule the world.
They glance around, but the beach is deserted. As they reach into the glass sculpture to scoop up the infant, they look at each other again, smiling now. They’ve always wanted a baby.
* ​
That’s my origin story, pretty much. I grew up, attending a normal public school. I hid amongst the others, blending in. And most of the time, I can forget. I can pretend to be a normal girl. Most of the time, the skies are blue.
But sometimes, like today, the wind blows. Leaves are shaken from the trees, swirling around in tantalizing patterns on the sidewalk. The smell of lightning is in the air.
And my blood whispers to me.
Electricity crackles through my veins, chaotic and wild. I can feel it bubbling beneath the surface. I gasp, trying to hold back the floodgates as shivers run up and down my spine.
The sky darkens.
Others cower, running to seek shelter. I move in the opposite direction, toward the heart of the storm. The beach where I was created. Waves crash wildly onto the shore. The water is dark and tumultuous. My hair whips wildly around me as the wind dances across my face, and I laugh. Sparks dance over my body and my blood comes alive. Something inside me is building, endlessly powerful, and I can feel the imminent surrender coming.
The storm is calling me home. | ‘Meghan, we’ll be late!’ Cynthia’s voice had that tone of angry desperation that made me want to throw something against the wall. I sat on my bed, taking one last look at my attic sanctuary.
I liked it here.
I recognized Cynthia’s careful steps climbing up the stairs. I knew she would pause somewhere in the middle, pondering did she have enough strength to face that little monster upstairs - aka me. After a moment the stairs started creaking again. She was a tough one – I had to give her that.
‘Meghan?’ She paused to knock on the door. I didn’t respond.
When she entered Cynthia had a tortured face that matched her desperate voice. ‘We have to catch the plane, sweetheart.’
I saw the look of relief that crossed her face when she saw my suitcases were packed.
I had a system – I kept my small pink suitcase always ready and kept it by the door in case I decided to disappear but it took me almost a weekend to pack the big one. The brown leather was covered in stickers – a testament of my numerous ‘new beginnings’ that sooner or later ended in tragedy.
‘I don’t want to go to a new school!’ I growled. ‘I want to stay here.’
I wasn’t a fool to think my disagreement might change anything, I was just venting my frustration. Dr. Marcuss said I should vocalize my emotions as much as I can or we all knew what might happen.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart.’ Cynthia tried to take my hand but I snatched it away. ‘You’ll love it there.’
I crossed my arms on my chest. ‘It’s what you said for the last three schools.’
Cynthia sighed, her hands balled into fists by her side. I knew she was hanging on a fine thread – all of this ‘Meghan, sweetheart’ was just an act. They wanted to get rid of me. It was obvious when they found that fancy boarding school in Europe that obviously costed enough money to sign a contract that they’d keep me for the next four years with no questions asked.
‘You could have let me stay with aunt Mary,’ I said accusingly.
Cynthia had enough of me. ‘She is not your aunt.’ Her green eyes flickered with cruelty I saw too many times.
‘You’re not my mother either, Cynthia!’ I snapped.
The windows on my room started rattling and I enjoyed the frightened look on Cynthia’s face.
‘You little monster!’ She cried rushing for the door.
One flicker of my wrist and the doors slammed shut in her face.
‘A monster?’ I gasped in fake surprise as the window shutters kept slamming against the wall. The wind picked up and the entire house was now shaking. Cynthia was shaking too.
‘Jack!’ She cried. ‘Jack!’
My stepfather was already outside my door. I knew he would start running as soon as he felt the wind. I also knew he wouldn’t interfere until I called him in.
‘Megs, please!’ He said.
There was something about his voice that made me find a calm island inside of me. A few words from him could do more than a hundred sessions with Dr. Marcus and all the pills in this world.
I wish he was home more often.
In the next moment, he was sitting on the bed next to me while Cinthia was probably hyperventilating somewhere in the car.
‘I know you’re mad,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to go, Jack.’ My eyes were burning. I prayed to God I don’t start crying now.
‘I don’t want to let you go either, Megs, but this is what is best for you.’ He said.
‘This is what is best for Cynthia,’ I snapped.
I regretted my words the moment I saw sorry his eyes softening in pain. The wind had stopped and the room was quiet.
‘You know how much I love you Megs,’ he said. I was looking away but I knew his eyes were smiling now and I knew every one of his words was true. ‘But this isn’t the place for you. I knew you were special the night we found you. You were the sweetest little girl in the world.’
I snorted.
Jack took my hand. ‘Look at me Megs,’ he said and I turned to him. ‘I found you a good school. It’s not about the subjects you’ll be studying – you’re a smart girl and I know you’d do well in any place in the world. But I believe you’ll find people there who are more like you, people who will understand and love you as much as I do.’
‘You mean freaks?’ I grinned.
This was the fourth school we had to change because I was not quite like the other kids. There were storms raging around me whenever my temper got out of control. I tried to ignore it, Jack tried to ignore it, we all did everything we could but with every new town and every new school sooner or later came a moment when I lost it and someone got hurt.
‘You are not a freak. You’re special and there is an entire school full of children like you.’
I was staring at Jack frightened and relieved in the same breath.
The choice had been made already but I still needed a few minutes to let go of this house. I finally stood up when Cynthia's honking became unsoportable.
Jack took my suitcases and closed the door behind him.
‘Jack,’ I suddenly stopped.
He instantly dropped both suitcases, his attention fully on me. I liked that about Jack. He wasn’t my real dad but I think my real dad would have been just as nice and caring.
‘Will you call me sometimes?’ I asked, staring at my feet. ‘I mean to tell him how everything is going and things.’
Jack took my hand. ‘I’m here for you, Megs. Always. Just call me and I’ll fly over there in no time.’
He took my bags and followed me down the stairs.
So I was going to a school with a bunch of freaks like me who can make storms and destroy things.
I grinned.
Maybe I won’t have to run away this time.
r/CrystalElmTales | 2019-08-06T07:39:13 | 2019-08-06T07:31:22 | 51 | 15 |
[WP] You are not a good person. Your party was made of good people, and you tried to be good because you liked having allies. But now they're all missing, so they won't see the lengths you're willing to go to to save them. | "I good girl." Said the scruffy black cat.
The orc jailer squinted down at the talking feline. He was a great green brute of an orc, and was the very last line of defense in the intricate cave system of the Western Mountain Orc Prison.
The orc jailer usually delighted in having wild rats pass by his post at night, because then he could smash the rats with his club and throw their bloody bodies into the prisoner's cells and listen to the occupants scream. It was his only entertainment during the night shift.
But he had never seen a cat while on duty in the caves. And he'd never even heard of a talking one before. He wondered if his brothers further up the line had let it pass to him on purpose.
The cat stepped closer into the torch light and sniffed at the ground, then licked her lips. She looked like she'd been in a lot of fights in her life; her hair was missing in spots, her ears were chewed up and scarred, and she smelled like she had rolled over something dead. She was old and ugly and the orc's brothers had probably just ignored her when she'd gone by.
The jailer began to slowly reach for his club, thinking of which cells he could throw her squished body into. The older prisoners were getting used to his dead rat game, but might squeal a little differently if a bigger, smellier cat was thrown at them. But those new prisoners... The ones still so full of hope and good faith... he could hardly wait to hear what kind of screams they might make.
The cat watched with shining yellow eyes as the orc moved in slow motion, quietly picking up his enormous club. She could smell his intent to kill, but she stood still and poised.
When the orc moved to swing his club at her, she heard the soft jingle of metal keys somewhere on his left leg.
'Keys good', thought the cat.
Before the club could reach her, the old cat had morphed growing dagger sized teeth and a bear-sized head. She zipped past the orc's club and sunk her teeth into his exposed neck. The jailer couldn't even let out a scream as his windpipe was squished, like a rat against his club. The cat's body continued to morph and grow, matching the orc's weight pound for pound. She threw him to the ground and ripped off his head.
His blood was hot and his meat was tainted and tough, but to the monster ripping through those muscles and bones, he tasted like sweet, sweet victory. Savagely, she tore into him, swallowing his still convulsing heart, chewing up his bones, and even licking up the blood that had sprayed across the cave walls and floor. In no time at all, she had devoured everything the orc had ever been. Except, for his untouched left leg.
It had been ages since she had killed this much. Ever since she had been adopted and loved by her party in her small Sneaking form, she had held back her natural instinct to stalk, kill, and eat her enemies. She had sat back and allowed her party to complete small quests and capture minor criminals at their own pace, enjoying the love and attention that their good hearts had bestowed upon her along the way. She had even begun to believe all the little things they said to her when they scratched her scarred ears, petted her uneven fur, or fed her little fish they bought with their hard earned money.
But then someone had taken them away, had sold them and imprisoned them in an orc's mountain. That person had been the first in line to go.
The monster delicately picked up the orcs's leg and shook it until a ring of keys fell off. She chomped and swallowed up the last bit of orc, and then quietly made her way down the line of cells with the keys hanging from her bloody teeth. The scent of her party wafted through a barred window on a small wooden door. She stopped and dropped the keys at the base of the door and licked her muzzle. She began to shrink back into her Sneaking form and let out a curiously sweet 'mew'.
There was movement behind the door, and the leader of her party came into view between the bars of the window. He was bruised and scratched up, but ecstatic to see the party's little cat.
She 'mewed' happily as the leader roused the rest of the party and they began to devise a plan to reach the keys and open the cell door before the jailer could notice them.
Smiling at her little party, the cat curled up in the hall to await their attempts at escape. They had all the time in the world, of course. No one was left to hurt them here.
"I good girl." Purred the scruffy black cat. |
Rolling through the darkness the wagon hit a bump. Both men riding up front lurched in their seats for a moment.
“Wow, Ben you really trying to cause the wheels to break or something? We’re not in a hurry.” Dan said to man sitting next to him.
They were flanked by eight riders on horseback. Only one third of their little bandit brigade but enough that they knew no one was going to mess with them. Everyone else was riding north with their chief and the main prize of the night.
Currently Daniel and their gangs job was to dump the bodies and make sure there were no witnesses.
“It’s always the naïve ones you know.” Ben said. “A princess that wants to go out on an adventure, see the world. When we marked her and realized how much she was going to be worth when we saw her in that tavern. Really cut their adventuring short.”
Both men laughed at that. Only a few of the men had been in the tavern at first when the boss spotted her. The wild red hair was a giveaway for him. Before being their leader, Jasper the Carver, was a soldier for the army. Knowing him as he did Daniel could never believe that their vicious leader would be able to survive in the world of nobility. He wouldn’t even tell any of the men exactly what it was that made the king exile him.
Jasper’s eyes lit up when he saw the young woman. Immediately had Ben go and gather the rest of the men while they put their plan to work.
She was only traveling with a small party of five. Herself, a larger Paladin, two elves, and tall but very old cleric. Poisoning the cleric as they all had been eating was easy. They paid the barmaid to slip something in one of his drinks. When he fell over his group cheered assuming he had too much to drink. It was shame for them that he wasn’t around when the whole band attacked the tavern.
The group fought pretty well and even killed a few of Dan’s compatriots but in the end the whole place was slaughtered except for the girl. Wait was that right, Dan thought to himself.
“Hey Ben,” he asked, “Did we kill that cleric, the old man?”
“I think the poison took care of him, didn’t even check to be honest. We just threw em all in this wagon we stole didn’t we?” Ben replied.
“So he could be back there resurrecting his buddies, bring em all to life?” Dan said with wide eyes.
“What? No, gods no. Are you crazy? We removed the heads of the elves, the paladin took it through the chest. What’s he going to revive? They’ve been dead for hours.”
“Can we just check?” Daniel asked sheepishly. Keeping an eye on the cleric had been his job. He didn’t want any issues.
Ben whistled and brought the wagon to a stop. The rest of the crew circled around with their horses. Some of them had heard the exchange and were whispering to themselves. Dan was afraid of the old cleric.
“Probably would have died of old age,” one of them yelled but Dan didn’t know who it was in this darkness. Only a few of them had lit torches.
Dan hopped off and walked around the wagon mumbling to himself. It didn’t matter, the payout for this was going to be so good most of them would be set for years. Oh the women he could buy, maybe he’d even get a redhead with hair like that of the princess. Those ones were always the most expensive.
He swung open the back door of the wagon and looked inside. There was blood everywhere but he squinted his eyes for a moment. The elves were there and the paladin’s body. Where was the old man?
“Uh Ben, we definitely tossed him in here right?” Even as Dan spoke he knew the answer. He’d seen him get tossed in.
Walking back around to face the group is when he saw him. In the middle of some of the horses, a blurred image of someone was standing there.
“Hey! Who is that?” Dan asked pointing.
One of the men on the horse looked down and yelled drawing his sword. That’s when it happened, like a thunderstrike a wave of lightning radiate out from the man that was standing. Four of the mounted men and their horses were sent blasting away. One horse collided with another that was behind it and the rider was crushed on the ground.
The men were yelling in confusion as all the torches suddenly winked out. Dan drew his sword but he couldn’t see in the darkness all he could hear were the yells. He ran back to the front of the wagon where Ben was sitting his crossbow pointing out.
There were three riders left now and they were all close to the wagon, the moonlight was the only source of light they had now and none of them could see anything.
Ben scrambled to stand and got on top of the wagon.
“I can’t see him. I don’t see him anywhere.” He said still aiming around with his crossbow.
The surviving horses were freaking out as their riders tried to keep them calm and keep an eye out for their enemy. Dan kept spinning his head around looking in any direction. Where was this attacker? Who was he? Was it the cleric? It couldn’t be him. He was an old fool with a few daggers on him.
When the ball of flame came into his vision it was already almost on top of them. Diving off the wagon was the only thing that saved Dan’s life. He hit the ground hard as he watched the other bandits get consumed by the explosion. Ben was flung off the top of the wagon and landed near Dan in the dirt.
Hearing footsteps Dan looked over and walking out of the darkness was the old man. His pants were covered in blood, the blood from his compatriots in the wagon. His face was strange, a solid expression. This was far away from the look the man was wearing in the tavern.
“Which one of you is in charge?” the man asked.
“He is, it was him.” Ben said
You traitorous piece of shit Dan thought to himself, too busy coughing in pain to even say anything.
Walking over to Ben the old man touched him and Ben shot a guilty look at Dan but then started screaming. From where the old man touched him Ben’s skin started rotting, falling away from the bone. Ben was screaming in pain as his body dissolved into a pile of dead rotting flesh.
Dan began scrambling on the ground trying to get away as the old man touched his leg. Dan instinctively yelled before he realize he wasn’t feeling any pain. In fact, the pain was receding from his body. His wounds were healing before his eyes.
Looking up he was confused. There was no emotion in the man’s face, no emotion as a sword appeared in his hand and he stabbed it right through Dan’s chest. Now Dan was screaming in pain again.
“I can heal and harm you as much as I need to.” The man said without a crack in his voice. “So you’re going to answer all of my questions.” | 2019-12-07T13:02:32 | 2019-12-07T11:29:07 | 171 | 64 |
[WP] A Viking ends up in Christian Hell instead of Valhalla to his surprise and decides to go and kill everything in hell and treat it as Valhalla whilst drinking alcohol found there. Everybody in hell from then on is confused as to why they are in Valhalla. The Devil is stuck serving drinks. | "Stuck? I'm not *stuck*. I love this. This is my kingdom, and I'm the only one who decides what it'll be. A few thousand years of torture gets so *boring*. Why was I even doing God any favors, beating on his unwanted refuse?" he asked rhetorically as he poured a hefty glass of brown liquor for the priest, his cracked and bent halo giving off a dull crimson glow behind the dingy bar.
"I'm not His errand boy anymore, if He wants you punished he can get His own hands dirty like He used to. If we wanted to lord over you we would have stayed at His side with His lap-dogs. I lost sight of that for a little. Call it a "teenage rebellion" phase if it pleases you, I suppose. The only reason all his creations are fallible is because He is, though we at least have the wisdom and lack of hubris to acknowledge it."
The priest looked a bit crestfallen. It wasn't the answer he'd hoped for. "I'm a vodka guy", he said dejectedly. He hadn't noticed the pervasive smell of vomit when he entered through the creaky batwing door, but it was starting to cut through the sickly-sweet scent of spilled liquor and the stale aroma of cheap cigarettes.
"I know, cheers." Lu winked roguishly and downed his own glass, then continued, "I have no love for you inferior creatures, but giving you all what God thinks you deserve is no longer on the table. I'll give you what *I* think you deserve, though it took a rather intrepid and bloodthirsty member of your race to show it to me. The reward is what you're well suited for; endless bloodshed at the hands of each other. A relentless rage-and-drug-fueled orgy of destruction with no end. The inmates deserve to run the asylum, its the whole reason I founded this place. We won't be your scapegoats when we can show you who is really to blame. My fallen can't possibly be as cruel to the SS population as their victims. The great Kahns need reap what they sowed, what I've planted pales in comparison."
He sighed wistfully and stroked his neatly kept goatee, "My people just don't have that hatred you imbue each other with anymore, if they ever did, which I maintain we did not. We've always been better than you, it seems we weren't gifted the same capacity for savagery He gave you. A lifetime encased in flesh gives you such inventive ideas about the most horrible ways to break each other apart. The truth is I always had to look to your people for inspiration in that regard. God may "sayeth" vengeance is His, but He lies to all His creations just the same, you meat and skin whelps and His other celestials, the cast-away and the faithful alike. He tells you I lie because I'm the only one who won't. I would have shared my glory with Jesus if he had taken my offer, and why not? He was better than you lot, and deserved better than he received. He was much closer to my people than yours, anyway, he was given a similar offer; serve and suffer or live in the dark. If I'd had equal face-time without G poisoning the well the choice wouldn't have been so easy. I didn't coax my people away from the light to abuse them, I never did a single awful thing to Job. Abraham heard his falsehoods and was rewarded for still believing them even as he tread upon the irreversible threshold with Isaac. Abe was given a false choice that would bring him to me the same if he would obey or disobey. It must've been by sheer luck or blind stupidity that he revealed the bluff. The lie that Big G speaks only truth has perpetuated in the face of that dichotomy ever since." he mused.
The priest knew there was more to come. He'd delivered enough sermons to know when one wasn't finished, and that interrupting wouldn't do much good.
Lu chuckled derisively and without much humor, "You new people always hear I'm serving drinks and think there was some kind of coup. If my people couldn't even pull that off upstairs, you have to have no shortage of arrogance to think it'll work down here. My failure has always been expecting better from you, expecting that you might grow tired of being kicked around and thanking the boot for its abuse. Expecting that if you were shown a mirror you might not be too terrified to see yourselves. That you might see that He made you broken and blamed you for it. You even hold yourselves to a higher standard than you do Him, you know only a truly shoddy workman blames his creations for being awful instead of taking some responsibility for his design and implementation. I suppose that delusion is why He liked you better, while we demanded that He rise to a better standard in order to call Him master, you have no such requirements."
He took a swig directly from the bottle this time, "Sorry, I tend to wax philosophical when I drink, you know how that goes. The topic was the truth about vengeance though, since vengeance is *mine*, not His, I am generous enough to share and prove how wrong He was. We do have that in common, you know. He doesn't want either of us, we're rejected for our unforgivable crime of exercising the free will He gave us." he snapped and several more smudged glasses appeared on the bar.
He smirked as he poured a few more generous helpings, "On that note, father, you'd better drink up and have another. You've got company. Someone has been here waiting for you. The substance issues your abuse triggered got him here early, and hes been recruiting allies. "Thou shalt not kill" means there is a hefty military population here, and many of them fancied themselves just. Big G had no problem drowning the world once, yet all it takes for you is to win one round of mutual combat, and *ta-da*! You're unfit for His presence. If only irony and hypocrisy were redeeming features for others and not just Himself, we'd all still be up there with that mass murdering egomaniac."
He nodded towards the doorway, where an angry young man stood scanning the bar. He was flanked by braided and musclebound warriors flecked with crusty gore, rusted blades in hands. Their leather armor looked far too delicate to be bovine in origin. The priest sunk lower on his stool and tried to hide his face.
Lu's smirk bloomed to a grin, revealing a gleaming set of shark's teeth, "They know you're here, and what you are. The real fun is about to start. Welcome to ValHella, may the blood and booze flow eternal." he waved merrily to the small group at the door, "Gentleman! Have a seat! You're just in time for libations, as always." | Sigfrid’s hands were covered in blood. Where her blood began and others ended she dare not bother to contemplate. For weeks they had traveled slaughtering the weak inhabitants of this new land, many screamed in horror at her very appearance. Few had stood a chance against her blade. However, these armed men were different. The village they had taken two nights before had been pathetically easy to overcome. The men she fought alongside with had found plenty of women and ale to entertain them to stay a few days. While they plied themselves all the day previous with such frivolous luxuries, Sigfrid had collected all the wealth she could find.
This morning as she was rounding up her goods and the men staggered about hung over, she had felt the ground shake. Quickly she tucked her bag in a small home nearby amongst some hay and pulled out her sword. The Ostmen around her scattered about picking up their weapons and grunting heavily with the effort. Barely had they assembled in the middle of the town when a wave of men in armor decorated with symbols ascended from either side. The air was thick with arrows and Sigfrid threw her shield up to protect herself from the onslaught. The men on either side of her fell slumping against the men behind them. She knew she must break free from the group if she wanted to survive.
Grabbing the fallen man to her left who was only slightly larger then herself, Sigfrid clutched at his chest and began to drag him to the side with her shield still being hammered with arrows from above. The wave of enemies stood with large spears, jabbing forward and then advancing. They were only 3 men wide as the path was narrow. Sigfrid screamed with the fiercest growl she could manage and thrust the man she carried with her, even in death he would be glorious in battle. As his body fell on the speared wall in front of her, the men shouted in surprise dropping their weapons from the weight and Sigfrid’s sword found their throats with a vicious swipe. Each man fell to their knees and Sigfrid could see the faces of the men behind them turn from confidence, to confusion, to fear.
Sigfrid smiled with glee as the blood of her foes wet her face and her sword pierced into the new line of men followed by her shield falling down from its high position onto the heads of her shorter foes. The men behind this line shouted in alarm and she could see them desperately trying to lurch back but to no avail. They stood like lamb to the slaughter before her. Cramped in their strange towns of narrow pathways. Sigfrid felt a spear glance her right hand but it did not bring her pain. Pain she could no longer feel. Her body surged with heat and as she twisted and slashed and growled she felt the hot blood of her enemies cascade upon her body. Every glance of a spear only served to alert her that she was still alive.
The sounds of battle she could no longer hear, only the rushing of her own blood. Survival was unlikely, Sigfrid knew, but if she were to die today, she would die in glory! The bodies of the slain crunched beneath her feet, finally the retreat of the pathway was occurring. She could hear the strange language of her foes as they panicky yelled at the men behind them. Sigfrid moved excitedly towards the men who had managed to get out of reach of her arm span. A mistake. Her foot slipped on the bloody armor of a man beneath her and her balance moved to the side. One of the men who had been retreating saw his opportunity and lurched forward, Sigfrid quickly went with the motion of her fall and twisted her sword directly into his face allowing herself to hit the ground in the process.
As soon as she hit she knew her sword was gone. The man had fallen backwards and took her weapon with him. Quickly she bounced up grabbing an axe on her hip. The fall had taken a toll though and she realized she was beginning to succumb to the fatigue of the fight. In the place of the line of short men stood a man more heavily armored than the rest. His sword had a hilt that glinted in the afternoon sun and shimmered. Sigfrid smiled, this man was worthy of a fight, she sensed he was not like the cowards she had crushed before. The man advanced towards her shouting something that sounded like “God” a word she had heard often enough. While his movement was strong he was slow. She deftly moved to the side and grabbed his arm with her free hand, bringing her knee up to hit his hand. She knocked the sword but his grip did not release it and her hands were too blood soaked to maintain a grip on his strange clothing.
He pulled it back, looking a bit shaken and moved his feet in a more defensive position. The men behind him stood helplessly as the path was too narrow for them to fit alongside this mountain of a man. The armored man faked his weight to the left and his sword swung to her right side. Sigfrid was already off balance and so she took the only opportunity she had, with all her strength she flung her axe at his head. As she felt the sharpness of pain in her side echo through her body she saw the axe land squarely in his face. For a second that felt like eternity all felt still, and then she and the armored man both crumbled to the ground.
She could feel her life leaving her body and she howled at the sky, her hair pasted in blood, the sound of men shouting in alarm in front of her. She watched as the men before her grab the lifeless body of her worthy foe and drag him away, tears staining their face. Valhalla, she was sure, would welcome her...
Her eyes opened. The pain was gone. Around her was a bleak landscape of cold flames and hard stone. It was quiet but for a clamoring of noise near a more brightly lit cave entrance. Slowly she walked forward, she was nude with no sword. Looking around her she found a rock and approached the entrance slowly, crouched and ready for a fight. As she peered into the brightly lit cave, there stood a man, glowing and beautiful. His face a mess of anger and annoyance. To look at him physically hurt. She readied her makeshift weapon, prepared to leap when a man she recognized swaggered past him, decorated in the armor of her people- iron. “Welcome to Valhalla!” He shouted robustly.
“Rollo?” Before he could respond the brilliantly lit man grumbled, “Stop welcoming people that way! This is hell!!!”
Rollo laughed, his entire body shaking, and waved dismissively at the man. “Lucifer, you are such a funny man! Pour Sigfrid a drink, we must hear of her account firsthand, the glory of her bloodlust has been all we’ve heard for the past hour from her victims!”
Sigfrid relaxed and a man came forward quickly throwing a huge fur on her body she had never seen the animal of. She could feel a presence behind her and turned, there in the entrance was a nude man. He stared at her with wild eyes and at first she did not recognize him. “You!!!” He shouted in alarm grasping at his neck like he was searching for a charm.
Rollo swaggered past her, “Knight Alder! So happy you could join, you are quite famed you know, it isn’t anyone who can kill a woman such as Sigfrid!” The man stared in bewilderment, and the brilliant man smirked and stood a bit taller, “Rollo, please, allow me.”
Rollo turned and shrugged, shaking his head with a bemused look.
“Welcome to hell!” The man called Lucifer boomed. The Knight who had appeared so strong on the battlefield crumbled to his knees and began sobbing. “Why has the Lord abandoned me thus?!” He screamed into the air. Rollo’s eyes met Sigfrid’s and they both began to laugh with a sort of cackling mirth. “Isn’t this place wonderful?” Rollo chuckled out. Sigfrid looked at the once brave Knight and nodded, yes, she would be quite comfortable here.
————-
Andrew walked, his pack light on his back, his body covered in filth. A simple peasant he was considered and therefore he was given the smallest home filled with hay during the relocation. Settling down in the hay he grew his pack aside. Tired from the travel of many days and feet bloody, Andrew leaned back to rest a moment. Just as his back hit the mound of hay though, a large lumpy object disrupted him. Turning he regarded it with unease. They had told him the village had been ransacked by heathens and he worried that they had missed a body. However, when he uncovered the object it was a beautiful large silk bag. His hands shaking he opened it and inside glinted with riches he could never imagine. Quickly he covered up the pile with hay again looking about the dark room with worry. No one.
Smiling, Andrew felt something he never knew before, hope? Perhaps God had decided to bless him and he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity...
EDIT
- sorry about the edits and grammar issues - I wrote this before a work meeting so didn’t have time to double check. Hope I fixed most of it! Thanks for reading! | 2019-12-13T06:04:42 | 2019-12-13T05:00:18 | 35 | 24 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has happened. You have a rural farm in the middle of nowhere and a group decides to raid it only to discover that you have done the impossible. You have turned the zombies into pets. They are very protective. | They came as I knew they eventually would. The same assholes that, not content to ruin the country, had to go and ruin the world. After claiming for the past decade that they weren’t responsible for the series of pandemics that plagued us the past decade, they were finally forced to admit they were in fact behind them when their newest attempt mutated into something that everyone assumed to be strictly relegated to science fiction and government disaster planning; the zombie plague.
Within weeks, despite all the social distancing, masks, and everything else we had grown adept at the past ten years, the world was drastically reshaped. This time the pandemic started in America. California to be exact. Within two days, California was almost completely depopulated. Within, four the entire west coast was gone and pockets had appeared throughout the rest of the US, Canada, China, Europe, South America, and Australia. At the end of the first week, fifteen states and DC, most of Europe, and Australia were only inhabited by zombies. The second week saw the fall of South America, China, South Korea, the rest of Europe, and Canada. By the third week, The US consisted of only fifteen states. The only other surviving countries were Japan, North Korea, Russia, Ukraine, Mexico, and a handful of countries in the Middle East and North Africa.
Basically, the places that had guns. Many of the movies had it wrong. You didn’t need headshots to put a zombie down. Enough hits of any vital organ would do. The trouble was they didn’t just spread the virus by bite. Any body fluid would work. And despite what the movies say, these things still breathed and still had beating hearts. Which meant that the close kills were dangerous because of the high risk of infection.
Somehow some of these corporate types and bureaucrats that brought this disaster on us were still alive. And they had found my little corner of Texas where I moved when it was apparent Ohio would fall.
As the caravan of Humvees, armored busses, RV’s, and refrigerated trucks pulled up, and the first of the guards in their red camo uniforms hopped out, they got their first look at the fields and all the corn and cattle. It must have been shocking for them to have seen that. It takes a lot of water and power to keep things alive and protected in this world.
Though I hate them, I invite them in and offer to sell them supplies. I answer all their questions. When they ask how I am able to have electricity and water this far out from the walled cities when the grid is down, I show them. The looks on their faces are priceless when they see the zombies hitched up to the treadmills and cranks that power the generators and pumps. It took me almost a year to capture that many and another six months to find and cannibalize enough gas powered generators to build ones that worked by cranking instead. I now had enough electricity to power a small town. Or a single ranch with several layers of high voltage electric fences and gates.
Which I now powered on. After all, it isn’t safe to leave the defenses down too long. The scientists working in the hidden underground lab to find a cure, or at least a vaccine need to be protected at all costs as did my families and friends.
I also quietly powered on the fences surrounding the areas I let those bastards park everything but the Humvees with the fifty calibers in after I made them secure their weapons in the armory. I loved the looks of confusion as the gates rolled closed and the warning lights and buzzers came on. I loved more the looks of horror as the hidden doors to the first of the underground tunnels leading to the zombie pens opened just inside one of those now active fences...
I couldn’t afford for them to leave you see. They might find the lab. Or escape justice. And besides, my pet zombies need to feed. | I hear a loud slam on my rustic door under me. I press a little, makeshift button three times. Gruff snarls echo over my loudspeaker above my house. I casually stroll to the dirty glass window in the room I’m in, wooden flooring creaking slightly.
I peer out, looking down, I see a group a three or so people decked out in some rifles and pistols. I made the right call, good. I decide to check the barn, swiftly exiting the room I’m residing in. I arrive in the familiar, run-down wooden hallway. Crossing it, and passing a few doors and staircase, I arrive at a large, thick, iron door. It took a crap ton of work to get my house to be able to support this door, and it better be worth it. I tap a long password in to a electronic device, it approves my password with a satisfying little ding.
I step step into a large, two-story room with a couple fancy electronic thingys scattered about. The room is reinforced with iron, but is made out of mostly wood and brick. Iron is rather difficult to get, so I can’t splurge too much. I go down some steps and enter the lower floor, this time I’m surrounded by an large swath of electronics. I walk up to the largest screen, it’s maybe one person high. I press a couple buttons under the screen. It shows a feed of an overwhelming amount of cameras. I change it to just six.
I check my large red barn. I see the chipped brown paint, revealing rotting wood. I check my cows, chickens, and other animals. Still fine, good, I can go full force. Suddenly, my audio feed sounds, a light shrill buzz reaches my ears, telling me that yes, this is audio from you microphones in your house.
“John McLloyd, this is the final warning, if you do not open your door right this instant, we will be forced to enter your house.”
Sure, I’ll let them, it’ll be their death. A thunk, then another, then another, is heard through my audio feed. Then a loud crash, they’re in. One thing nags at me, how do they know my name?
My audio feed crackles again, “what are we looking for?” Asks a stern voice.
“I don’t know Sarah, I only know what the Government said, which they got through frequencies they picked up,” says a low-pitched voice.
“They tracked the frequencies to here though?” Asks Sarah.
“Yeah, something to do with the Western Zombies,” replies the lower-pitched voice.
“That’s gotta have something to do with that growl we heard earlier. I can’t dwell on that now, keep looking,” replies Sarah.
Ok, that group is not here for my livestock. The Government is on to me. I’ll have to worry about that later. I check the feed of my entryway, it has some neatly arranged rustic furniture. The group seems to be ruffling through that area.
“This guy has a very fancy house, cushioned couches, that’s a rarity,” comments Mark.
“Yeah, this John was one of the top ten richest of the World ten years ago. He disappeared mysteriously. The Government tracked him to here, and picked up some weird frequencies coming from here,” replies Sarah.
The Government knows a lot more about me then I’m comfortable with. The loudspeakers a major giveaway, but nothing I can do about that now.
Audio comes through again, “Mark, did you catch that?” Asks Sarah.
“Uhh, Sarah that sounds like a lot of Westerns,” says Mark.
“Yeah, not good,” replies Sarah.
“We shall head upstairs, for better shooting,” says a new voice, strong and commanding.
The group rush up the rickety stairs, and find themselves in my upstairs hallway. I don’t have any cameras installed yet, was planning on doing that maybe next month. I’ll have to rely on my audio feed to get an idea of what the Government group is doing.
“Hey Mark, do you see that iron door, we’ll cut that open, you hold the Zombies off. They’ll likely be Westerns, so be prepared to shoot them a bunch to get them down,” says Sarah calmly.
“Arinthia and Sarah, hand me your guns, and you two use the slicer to get through.”
“Quick lets cut through!” Shouts Sarah.
Dang it, come on, Westerns, please catch them in time. I adjust my commands slightly from the loudspeaker. A new snarl comes through,
“What the... the Westerns are using they’re body parts as shields,” Mark says, shock evident in his voice, as gunshots sound from next to him. “He’s controlling the Western’s with the loudspeakers, I have never in my entire life seen a Western try to protect it’s vulnerable body parts. Ok, we might be able to stop him if we get in that door. Should I help?” Mark asks stupidly.
“Mark, continue shooting, so we can not die. Me and Sarah are to continue with the slicer,” yells Arinthia.
“Hurry up women, I can only hold them for so long,” says Mark, with constant sounds of guns coming from next to him.
A loud shriek of pain is heard from Mark.
“Mark, no, no, no, this is the end, huh?” Mutters Sarah, defeated.
“We served the government until the end, and that is admirable.”
Not wanting to hear any more, I turn off the audio receptors from the second floor.
I beat them, the Westerns won. I wait another two minutes, and change the command on my loudspeaker. I tell them to return to one of my barns. Well, the government is after me now, I’ll need to tighten up security a lot. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll pull through, the Government barely has any manpower to begin with. I know very well what the Government will do with this knowledge, and I have to protect it.
Tips always appreciated!
Definitely a more experimental story, considering a third of it is audio dialogue.
r/CascadeCorner | 2020-09-14T20:20:49 | 2020-09-14T19:24:27 | 42 | 15 |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | The walkie talkie was burning a hole through my pocket. It had been too long since the last check-in, and that meant we were running behind. We absolutely couldn't be running behind. I absentmindedly chewed my lip and paced for another minute before I finally lost it. I whipped out the walkie talkie and pretty much shouted, "Status update!"
There was a moment of static and then a rough voice came through, "The final speaker is almost installed. IT is on the scene. Over."
"Shooter is prepped and ready. Over."
"Route is clear. Convoy is on schedule. Over."
I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart before responding. "Roger that everyone. Next time keep me up to date before I have a heart attack. Over and out."
With a sigh of relief, I returned the walkie talkie to my pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was starting to come apart at the edge of the crease because I'd looked at it so many times. It was the Prince's schedule for the day, complete with the exact route he would be taking to get to his cousin's Christening.
My team would be stationed at perfect intervals around Center Square, with the lovely Selene perched in an upper story window, ready to fire the all important shot.
I was situated at home base: the backroom of a little cafe on the far edge of the square. This was Tech Central, and where everyone would meet afterward to celebrate a job well done. Just then a young bespectacled man waltzed in, computer in hand.
"How's everything looking, Jes?" I asked.
He pushed his glasses up on his face and looked at me with excited eyes. "We just completed the sound check. Everything is working perfectly."
Praise be. If this job actually went well, we could be on our way to a bright future. I glanced down at my watch and my eyes nearly bugged out of my head. It was 8 a.m. already!
"The cameras! Pull up the cameras!" I demanded.
Jes hurried to comply, and quickly turned his computer around so I could see. The convoy that carried the prince was right on schedule. It was a block away from Center Square. It was show time.
"Convoy inbound, everybody ready?" I asked.
A chorus of 'yes, sirs' came from the walkie talkie, and for the first time today I actually smiled. This was going to work. I watched the screen without so much as a blink as the car rolled steadily closer to the square. When the front wheels rolled onto the cobblestones of the square, it was time to go.
"On my signal..." I said, waiting for the car to reach the marked spot of the road.
"3, 2, 1. Now!"
Simultaneously, Jes hit a button on his computer and Selene took her shot. The BB hit the windshield hard enough to crack it, and the pre-recorded gunshot echoed through the speakers around the square.
The crowd went wild and the Prince's security force jumped into action. They cleared the way for the car to speed through the square, and as they went the sound of more gunshots accompanied them. I watched with glee as the car sped away and disappeared around a corner.
It was all over in a matter of seconds, but boy had it been executed perfectly. Jes had done an admirable job of timing the sound effects, and Selene's shot had been spot on. I emerged from the back room into the cafe, where innocent bystanders were still cowering in fear and confusion.
The team came in one-by-one and joined me at the booth in the corner. I was about to give my customary well-done speech when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and my smile got even bigger when I saw who it was from.
*Royal Advisor Cassian: Prince Paranoid nearly peed himself. Job well done. Your payment will be transferred in the next three business days.*
A job well done indeed.
I turned back to my team and with a satisfied smile asked, "Who's ready for cake?" | Ms. Melinda Caldwell was the kind of woman that I wanted to bring home to meet my parents, and not because she was richer than god or as pretty as a super model. She was that rich sure, but she looked like the mousy clerk at the grocery store or the bank teller I’d pass by on the way to the pretty one at the next window over.
No, the reason she was that kind of woman wasn’t because of anything so shallow. It was because when she looked at you, really, really looked you, she saw straight you to whoever you were at your core, and she didn’t judge you for it at all. She was the talk of the town, the popular queen of our little, inconsequential state. She ran an orphanage, did fundraisers, bought a zoo just to free the animals.
Frankly, I thought she was a goddamn saint, so when I got the call for her job I was downright excited to do it. Until I read the fine print.
Ms. Melinda Caldwell, it seemed, had a weird side.
“Yeah, so we’re gonna need you to break into Caldwell, Bob.” My handler said that fateful day.
I blinked hard, moving the phone from my ear to look at in shock for a moment. “Seriously?” I asked, “Did someone to try to knock off Ms. Caldwell?”
“Yep.”
“Shit! Boss, you’ve gotta moving on those negotiations with the assassins guild, there needs be a standard or something! I mean, some people just shouldn’t be on the table!”
“Bob,” my handler said, “do we fuckin’ pay you to editorialize?”
“Well no, but like…it’s Ms. Caldwell! Who does that?”
My handler sighed really heavily, the breath distorting in the phone speakers. “Bob, yes or no, can you break into the house?”
“Well yeah, of course I can break into the house, I’d love to help her out, I’m just surprised is all. When do you need it done?”
“How far away are you?”
“Oh shit, that soon? I can be there in about an hour.”
“Make it forty-five, and Bob, I’ve got a few things I need to warn you about.”
“Yeah, shoot.” I said as I hurriedly got ready, turning on speaker phone and grabbing my sketchiest looking black hoodie.
“Ok, so the assassination attempt happened last night and her staff says that Ms. Caldwell was never in any real danger. They also say she’s not handling it well at all. She’s shaking like hell, doesn’t want to leave the house. They described her symptoms to the therapy team and they recommended that she undergo Control Replacement therapy.”
I dropped my fake gun at that. “Control Replacement? For her?”
“Yep. Apparently Ms. Caldwell has some latent issues she needs to work out and we’ve picked you for the job.”
“Why me? I mean…damn ok but why?”
“Because they picked you out of a lineup and said you looked like the meth head version of a guy she used to date.”
“What? Come on boss, I don’t look that bad.”
“The fuck did I say about editorializing? Look Bob, get over there stat, get caught breaking in, and when they hand her whatever the hell they hand her, just lay back and take it. She’s what, five foot flat? A hundred pounds soaking wet? How much damage could she do?”
An hour later, after I’d kicked open the front door, swung my doctored up airsoft gun around, and been tackled to the ground, I found that out.
I’d felt terrible pointing the gun at her. Ms. Caldwell had been cowering on the couch when I’d come in, a pale, wan face poking up out of a stack of covers, and she’d shrieked like hell. I said some pretty rough stuff too, all part of the job normally, but to her? Suffice it to say I’m definitely not the kind of guy she wants to bring home.
There’d been a strange transformation though, in the time after I’d hit the deck and before she got up. Something had come over her, like fear giving way to other even stronger emotion, and she stood, towering over me despite her barely five feet of height.
“Not so tough are you now?” she said. Then she turned, reached beneath the couch, and pulled out an honest to god riding crop.
It was at that point that I realized I’d fucked up taking this job.
“You look like someone I used to know,” she said softly, crouching down and running her fingers down my cheek. “I almost hope you are him, it would his life really went to hell.”
*“OK, fuck you too, wow.”* I want to say but don’t say. It’s strange having her touch me. I try to enjoy it, to remember the feel of her skin against mine for the days when I’m back to only looking at her billboards wistfully.
My eyes keep going back to that riding crop though. She’d had it under the goddamn couch, who keeps a riding crop under their couch?
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Bill,” I lie.
“Bullshit.”
I shrug.
The smile that crossed her face then was like nothing I’d ever seen. It made me regret everything thinking she was plain, or consigning to anything so simple as the moniker I had before. She was positively predator now, a leopard barely contained within a heart shaped face.
Then the riding crop fell harder than I’d ever have imagined she could swing it. *Control Replacement is fuckin’ bullshit,* I wanted to scream but did not say.
The crop fell again, and again.
And again, and again.
And I lost track of the strokes soon after.
The night continued on, far beyond the length of my normal contracts, far beyond any reasonable length for what I was getting paid. But somewhere in all those strikes and all that rage she mellowed and her guards let me up. I discovered something then, she swung again, and I didn’t stand.
Ms. Melinda Caldwell was not at all what I’d thought she was, she was far, far more than that. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring her home, but I knew that it wasn’t the last time I would visit this house.
If my boss wanted to drag his feet with the assassination guild, so be it, I wouldn’t drag mine. I had a friend on the other side of guild lines who owed me more than a few favors.
Ms. Caldwell and I would find more reasons to see each other.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-05-03T10:52:20 | 2021-05-03T09:09:28 | 268 | 125 |
[WP] You’re immortal. The only problem is, you’ve lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. Now you’re forced to live in the forest as a cryptid. | I do not speak their language. I never had the chance to learn. With their instinctive hostility to the outsider, I was driven away from their settlements as they grew from the cinders of human civilisation. Survival for me is simple; I only require blood to thrive. From where it is sourced, it matters not. Forest creatures and passing travellers are all I desire. Though the thrill of evading capture no longer excites me, I still play games of cat and mouse with my prey.
They're not too dissimilar to humans; closely resembling the hominids I was born of, yet visually different enough to be recognisably distinct. A new species of primate, forged though famine and disease, forced to leave the ashes of their jungle homes and adapt to cityscape scavenging.
There are a few words of their language I understand - the most notable of which is their name for me. In the most undignified way, they trudge through my home wielding torches and cameras. They seek me out, hoping to capture a rare a photograph of "the unfurred ape."
I fucking hate monkeys. | Once upon a time, I drank the liquid within a battered glass bottle I happened to dig up in my backyard. And on that day, I stopped aging. As time went on, I had to change names, I had to move countries, I had to change my body so that nobody recognized me.
And then came the disease. The disease that afflicted everybody on earth except for me. A nasty thing, it had infected everybody on earth before it finally mutated and enacted its final plans, erasing all of humanity except for me.
For centuries, I watched as humankind was slowly replaced. It started off slow, evolution steadily transforming the animals in the world.
As cities crumbled into dust and ashes, three dominant races emerged, one that took to the skies, one that relearned the long forgotten arts of farming, and then the mages.
I watched their wars, their fighting, their towns rise and fall, I watched as they learned to control the weather and even the route our planet took through space. Oddly enough, the wars were a short phase. For us humans, it seemed fighting was the default, but these creatures avoided it as much as they could. I admired that.
When I first saw them control the movement of the sun and moon, I knew that humanity was a long forgotten ghost of a species. Sure, it took their two most powerful mages, but not a single human (or even a group) could move the sun in the sky even one inch.
By the time they began to construct cities hanging on mountains, my possessions had crumbled into nothing. The home I had maintained for eons was more repairs than structure, and the van I had parked next to it was nothing but a small hunk of rust.
And with nothing left, I began to watch more closely. Before my eyes, Earth was thickly covered with magic, though I wasn't sure if the mages were to blame. It seemed that they only accessed the magic, and even then, the other two races, they seemed to harness the same power for flight, weather control, strength, and control of plant life itself.
It was incredible. Some of their cities even began to resemble my own, though I didn't dare set foot within one of them. I kept to the forest, contributing to the rumors that seemed to travel from mouth to mouth.
Oddly enough, they did have enemies to add to the rumors. A race of strange creatures had arisen alongside them, odd ones with the power to disguise themselves as anyone else. I sure couldn't tell the difference. Then there were the dark mages, those who had developed a type of magic much stronger than normal, but only in certain ways.
I once watched one of them enslave an entire city, before the magics of the land whisked it away out of sight, as if it had never existed. And a thousand years later, it came right back.
I couldn't hide forever. I had been sleeping one day when one of them found me, resting against a tree. I didn't even bother to try to run away, and I didn't even try to explain myself, even if they did, by some magic, happen to speak the same language I did.
Oddly enough, they didn't cart me off to the authorities. _She_ didn't even bother to be scared of me. For the first time since my closest friends withered away from the strange disease, I made a _friend._
Fluttershy was a pretty cool name, too. | 2022-11-26T20:40:07 | 2021-05-14T19:51:20 | 516 | 34 |
[WP] 2 years ago, tired of all the bugs in your house, you made a deal with a spider. He would protect your house from pests, and you would not kill it or drive it off. When you made the deal, you could have held the spider in your hand, now, it is much bigger, and its definition of 'pests' is also. | Did you know you can talk with spiders? They're pretty quiet, but if you know some German, and a little smidgen of Mandarin Chinese, you can usually make out some words.
My spider is talkative for one of his kind. He can really hold a conversation, as long as it's about eating or webs. Right now though, he certainly wasn't following my point.
"And so," I said, "For surgical reasons, Mrs. Melville's dachshund was neither annoying, nor virulent. He was in fact, a joy to all who knew him. Not. A. Pest."
My significantly larger than dog sized spider raised a clawed leg, in what I can only assume is polite disagreement. "Dog nutritious. Good dog, yes. I eat pests. I eat dog. Dog is pest."
I groaned, and thought furiously. I suspected willful stupidity, but this would be difficult to prove. For now, a stop-gap measure was required.
"What else in the neighborhood is a pest?"
My spider scratched his head with one leg. He'd picked up some oddly human body language, I'd have to check his television habits sometime.
"Bugs. Birds. Melvilles. Squirrels..."
I cut him off. "Melvilles? You mean the rest of the Melville family?"
He nodded by bobbing his entire body up and down.
"The Melvilles aren't pests, got it?"
No response. I glared at him, and turned my head meaningfully to the can of RAID I kept on display in the windowsill.
The spider remained silent but signaled that it was thinking. Finally, it spoke as if offering a deep insight. "Melvilles no longer prey."
"Good," I said. "Great. What else is prey?"
"Small spiders, coyotes, loiterers. Squirrels, but not backyard squirrel."
"What's so great about the backyard squirrel?"
"Yes. Good squirrel, nutritious. Dead, no longer prey."
It took me a minute to make the connection. Ooooh, dear. This called for a change in plans. Given the faint sirens I heard in the distance, a very rapid change in plans. I knelt down to give my spider a gentle pat.
"Hey, you know what's really annoying? Witnesses." | Like every August around here, the dragonflies were darting, frogs were heard in chorus, and the ticks were a plenty. This always meant plenty of meals. Well, haha, not for me obviously. I liked my garden, where I grew asparagus, tomatoes and pumpkins. Plenty of other things too, mind you. I had a green thumb of sorts. I recently finished up my days work, and headed in to clean up some.
Now, mind you, insects have always been tiresome to deal with when tending to crops, but in my cabin, I haven't had to worry much.
I called her Mary Jane. She was a jumping spider, who lived on the ceiling. [She wore a red abdomen, atop a completely black body](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phidippus_johnsoni). Every day, she would come out of the ceiling and patrol. She galloped from window, to doorframe, and all along her domain. When I could, I would catch flies who couldn't escape through the window, and hold them up to her. Grateful as she was, she cautiously approached and leaped for her tasty treat.
2 years ago when I moved in, I had been working on building the plot for my field when I tripped over a root I missed, and my hand nearly came down on a [velvet ant](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mutillidae). A more popular name for them around here is a cow killer. To my surprise, and much to the ants surprise too, it was snatched up by Mary Jane. She was smaller than it, but wrestled it to the ground, inches beyond my fingers. I found her later that evening on the handle of a rake I was about to pick up. I knew it was her again, because she kept watching me, almost as if she were curious about me. She scared me too at that point, because her colors mimic the velvet ant.
I grew fond of seeing her hanging out by my tools every day, and gradually she worked her way closer and closer to the door. I never minded, because she seemed to grow close. Eventually, I would open the door and she would dart under the door frame to check out my place, as I worked outdoors. Upon coming back for lunch, or evening, I noticed that the flies and mosquitoes that worked their way inside dwindled.
She was safe in here, and kept down my pest problem, so she was always welcome.
Back to today, she has her own apartment I installed up in the rafters of this log cabin. As the years have gone by, she has grown up some. Usually, spiders like her look for a place to settle, while a mate comes along, and then they lay their eggs and the life cycle continues. She hasn't had any mates inside, so she has lived off the plentiful rations here. She is about the size of a baseball now, and I've begun to understand what she wants by her mannerisms.
She feels like you or I, has desires and dislikes, and can feel under the weather or over the moon. Her favorite food this season is cicadas. She doesn't like bees, probably a good thing. When she's excited, she will raise her front legs up and saunter from side to side, or dash across the windows, looking for bugs. I worry about her when she isn't well. Usually rainy days or chilly days tend to leave her cooped up.
She seems to understand me when i speak, at least a bit. She listens to my problems, whether it be about how certain crops are wilting, or I have pests munching on what I intended to pick for dinner the following night.
I don't eat meat much, not because I don't like it, but I have more energy to work when I eat the crops I've grown myself. She finds the occasional healthy meal, larger than a bug, when she hunts outdoors on warm days. Yesterday she caught a finch. She chases off mice in the garden, and keeps me company during the long day.
She continues to surprise me every day, by showing me how intelligent one can be, even without facial features I could recognize, and how it doesn't take much to keep one's happiness up with simple things that benefit you, no matter how small, or tasty.
Creatures of all sizes can feel, so next time you see that spider in the corner of your home, if you don't like it there, move it out, and give it a bug. If you don't mind it's presence, it may help you one day with a pesky fly your could never catch. | 2021-07-04T01:11:07 | 2021-07-04T00:06:21 | 51 | 13 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules. | Ta'reb thought that this whole hearing was a laughable farce as he maneuvered into his chair. His race (the dothram) were a reddish spherical entity with one eye that moved with one single long appendage and had been nicknamed by the humans as "mono-people". How could you enforce rules in war? War is when negotiations have broken down, what could possibly convince an enemy to do as you agreed when each of you is slaughtering the other? You can't have a war without death, what fate is worse?
"Do you plan to outlaw killing?" Ta'reb jeered, his 'arm' weaving words in a sort of sign language. "How do you expect to reduce the impact of war without rendering the point moot? Are entire civilizations going to going to set up little target dummies and see who can shoot at it the best?"
Major James Taylor sat in his chair staring at Ta'reb as his mad arm wiggling was translated to english, did he really need to start from there? Perhaps aliens were fine with a bit more cruelty and unnecessary death in life but could this thing not understand some would want to minimize unnecessary death? "With all due respect ambassador Ta'reb, we would only ask that civillians and other non-combatants such as injured soldiers be spared. They have little to no impact on who will win a war, and the rules we propose would only seek to minimize casualties. We understand that a warring entity has motivation to fire on military locations even if there are a few civilians that will be caught in the cross-fire."
Hmm? Questioned Ta'reb in his head. What tangible benefit could humans get in war from getting the enemy to ignore civilians? No-one shoots at civilians, by definition their elimination would not hinder the enemies war effort. "Why would anyone waste ammunition on civilians? What is the point in killing that which cannot fight?" Ta'reb asked, confused.
James was taken aback, was this alien not familiar with basic morale hindering tactics? If the women and children you were protecting were killed then what was the point of war? Killing civilians was an excellent way to discourage stronger parties to avoid warring with you in the future, could most aliens just ignore this? Was he about to reveal a major strategic disadvantage of humans? "If you do not understand then there is no point to this conversation." James vaguely answered and left the hearing, he knew it was rude but he needed to warn the higher ups, perhaps they would need a show of force. A notification to the world that they could handle civilian casualties.
Ta'reb pondered his short conversation with mr Taylor, it was not until he watched the united human army tear apart the homeworld of the parcuthi and devestate any hope of meaningful spoils of war did he begin to realise. At first he thought that the humans were just terrible at aiming, why else would they ruin any potential loot from that planet? He was worried that their shoddy innacurate weaponry would perhaps hit his hive cluster as well. It was then he realised, he was *worried.* Scared. Frightened. He felt fear that if his race declared war that he would die. The humans were mad enough to expend resources on needless slaughter because it discouraged others from warring to meet the same fate. The worst part was that it *worked.* Perhaps a few rules of war were a good thing.
James had mixed feelings when he recieved a call stating in no plain terms that they wanted to introduce the rules suggested. The inadvertant death of a planet he realised he might have caused weighed heavy on his heart. He also didn't want the hassle of having to explain the ethos of cruel weaponry. He could imagine Ta'reb angrily wobbling about how effective weapons killed the target instantly, why should anyone use weapons that cause others to suffer? | "I don't believe your High Serpahic Council understands what they have asked for here." Celes said. "You have denied my people the opportunity to parley for peace, and you have threatened them with war being brought to their very homes." Celes' voice rose and trembled as she spoke, the anger and fear that gripped her barely contained. "And you refuse to negotiate any rules for this war saying that you will unleash your full wrath on all of humanity?" She stopped, breathing heavily, waiting for any sign that the Council would back down.
"Young Admiral Celes... " The first Chancellor spoke. His species was tall, but thin, while the entirety of the Council was masked to prevent you from knowing their race or origin, he appeared to be from somewhere with extremely low gravity. "Humanity has violated our pact, the great covenant of all, and has shown they do not respect rule and order without testing it. Any species who does not respect the rule of order, does not benefit from it's protection." The lights over his chamber dimmed, as did the rest of the Council, the matter was settled.
"For what comes... Blame man or your gods, but this day will be known as regret." Celes said softly before closing her inquiry and leaving the chamber. It was a quiet walk down the great halls. The building had been so lively on her entry, but with the sentence passed on her people all of the remaining citizens had left, closed their offices and stalls, to give her a taste of the silence and absence her own people were being punished with. The High Seraphic Council would wage their war, on behalf of the entirety of the Galactic Confederation of Unity and Understanding, to protect the Rule and Order of the Order and Rule. The High Seraphic Council understood nothing of man however, they believed we were like them.
We were never like them. We were never a species who had near limitless resources, we never developed identical religions across our sphere to unite us, we were forged in calamity and disaster and hatred and fire. It took the near extinction of our people for us to find the unity these other Confederate members found so easily.
"Rear Admiral Leon." Celes spoke internally, accessing her own internal circuitry and broadcast upgrades.
"I heard, Fleet Admiral Celes, I don't know that they understand what they just did." The voice rang inside her head.
"Once I'm onboard I want the whole fleet to be prepared. We will not wait for official declarations to be drawn up. We'll end this today."
"Didn't they just offer official declarations?" Rear Admiral Leon asked
"No, they made their ruling, but it'll take upwards of a week to put out an official declaration. Their expectation is that we will return home to warn our people, to send out ships to relocate our various outposts and settlements, that we'll try to give one more plea for peace before taking their punishment. It's what the rest of the confederate races would do."
"Ah. Yes Sir." Rear Admiral Leon affirmed.
Fleet Admiral Celes took her small diplomatic shuttle back to the Enterprise, a massive dreadnought that represented the greatest strengths of humanity, and their worst tendencies. The Enterprise, a new ship assembled in the shipyards of Ganymede, was almost four kilometers long, with a beam of almost a full kilometer at its widest point. The massive almost ovular shaped ship was covered in large gun embankments and multiple enormous magneto-gauss accelerators. Every single point had been aimed at known Confederate fleet vehicles and ships throughout the system.
"All ships report readyness." Celes broadcast to her fleet as she stepped into the command room of the Enterprise."
"Bismark Ready"
"Victory Ready"
"Yamamoto Ready"
"Maiden of Peace Ready"
"Mikasa Ready"
"Arizona Ready"
"Botafogo Ready"
"Imperial Education Ready"
Two dozen more ships confirmed readyness as Fleet Admiral Celes assigned more targeting orders and issued the expected withdrawal of all humans on the High Seraphic Homeworld, Cherbimin. She ordered manual targeting and aiming for all ships, with artillery specialists and scientists pouring over numbers and statistics to ensure accuracy. When she confirmed the last shuttle was docked within one of the great transports she sighed. Reaching down to the official com to speak out loud she hesitate just one hopeful moment.
"This is Fleet Admiral Celes Shere, of H.S.N.S Enterprise for peace now of War... I ask one more time, would the High Seraphic council reconsider their desire for war?"
She waited, one breath, two breaths, three breaths. She felt her chest rise and fall slowly as she waited for a response. Surely they were not this foolhardy, thinking that we fought how they did....
"Sir, we have received a message, written in Confederate Common." Security Officer Niemitz spoke. Celes nodded at him and the message appeared before her eyes, a summary dismissal of her requests.
"Do we have a final count of their fleet assets in system?"
"Sir, the identified fleet assets in system composes more than forty percent of the Confederates total fleet, and the vast majority of their useful firepower." Lieutenant Torres spoke up, only answering out loud for those in the room.
"Maiden of Peace, Imperial Education, Victory, and the Enterprise will fire on Security Station XR-31, Transport and Merchant Station XR-31 A, Homeworld Alep, and the High Seraphic Homeworld Bet. Use all armaments at maximum speed. The rest of the fleet will be assigned firing orders shortly, timing and sequence to follow." Fleet Admiral Celes appeared visibly defeated as she spoke. Before her eyes flickered assignments and distances and expected angles of adjustment based on the various gravity wells of this system. The room was nearly silent as everyone viewed and processed orders and requests, a gestalt of shared minds and internal computers focused only on victory for mankind. As the last of the orders were sent out she ordered the various transport ships to begin heading out of system. The Confederate fleets would expect the humans to send civilians off first, leaving their heavily armed fleet to stand and protect the rear of the non-combatants. | 2022-01-23T16:07:44 | 2022-01-23T14:08:11 | 566 | 244 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules. | My name is Dr. Asclepius. I am not here in the senate chambers to make any demands. I am simply an ambassador, here to speak on behalf of all humanity.
It has been a year and a half since humanity stood on the galactic stage.
But this year and a half is already filled with more bloodshed, more atrocities, and more unspeakable things than anyone in the galactic community has ever seen - save for us Humans.
Members of the Galactic Federation, you scoffed at us when we came to you, asking what the rules of war were. You assumed that we needed rules because we were weak, because we needed protection.
That is not the case, as you have unfortunately had to experience firsthand. If I could direct your attention to the screens?
This was Xyrillia, one of the largest centers of commerce in the entire galaxy, home to tens of trillions of lifeforms from a myriad of different planets.
This is it now - *completely and utterly uninhabitable.* All life, wiped from the very surface. Billions of families, all gone in an instant. The air is so toxic that spending ten seconds on the surface without protective equipment is fatal.
This is merely one example of what has occurred.
*This* is known as Operation Stardust Axis. The Mietra, pushed to the brink, when their many space colonies came crashing down onto the surfaces of their planets, turning their once great cities into desert wastelands. Very few survived.
I'm sure you remember the diseases that spread like wildfire, killing millions.
When we plunged entire systems into pitch darkness, blocking planets from receiving the light of their stars through an impenetrable nanomachine fog.
Even as I speak, nuclear fires from reactor bombs still rage on multiple inhabited planets, burning and spreading their poison.
Do you see now? These rules of war are not a shield. They are not cowardice.
They are shackles, chains, restraints upon a race that would have wiped themselves out many years ago if it did not have them.
When you declared war upon humanity, you removed the seal on a monster that no human wishes to see themselves become.
In the course of this war, many a human has done things that would make them shoot up in their beds screaming from the sins that they carry.
I myself am a physician, widely considered to be one of, if not the greatest of the medical minds of my race, rather fitting, considering my name. When one learns how to heal in any field, they also learn how to kill someone in the most horrific and awful ways possible.
I've studied each of the species here on an operating table. I could easily stitch together your wounds, cure you of your ailments, provide prostheses that function just as well and perhaps even better than the original - and just as easily remove your organs and bones one-by-one in alphabetical order while you are still alive. I could formulate a gene-altering disease that would render all living members of your race completely infertile. I could create machines that slowly liquefy you from the inside-out and convert you into biofuel.
When one becomes a physician, they are to take an oath to do no harm, for this very reason.
And yet, even I am not innocent. I have broken that oath many a time because of this war.
These hands of mine have done unforgivable things to the innocent, to mothers, to children.
So please, I implore you on behalf of all humanity - stop this war, before all of us are lost. The laws of war are in place to ensure that we are better than beasts. I would ask that we all adhere to them, if not for ourselves, then for our children.
>Human ambassador Dr. Asclepius's message to the Galactic senate, shortly before the surrender of the Federation, putting an end to the bloody 'Lawless War.' | "With all due respect, don't you think we should lay down some ground rules about civilian targets and so forth?" spoke General Kitt to the assembled warcouncil of Terra. "It seems like the humane thing to do."
"Humane implies humanity, and these creatures have none. I am questioning the military's priorities if it doesn't understand this simple concept."
General Kitt spoke again: "I mean, have we at least tried diplomacy? I got the report on the state department delegation, and I can't really see that we communicated effectively to them. I have to think if we just communicated the need for these rules more effectively... Or if we just let them fully understand that we come in peace... I'm sure we could win them over, and they might be happy to share their technology and adopt our ways."
"General, this council is ordering you to execute order 55. The motion passed in a landslide. Bring back what technology you can. These thorns in our side laughed at us in their communiques."
"I understand! But just hear me out. If we don't have some ground rules -- even we just make them and they don't follow them -- there's not going to be anything left. This plan needs some exceptions, as I've outlined before. And the boys back home really want to get their hands on some Xenotech, which you know requires some exceptions. Plus you know, at least half of the equation here is human and capable of expression humanity. For long term relationships perhaps, we should hold back as well."
"You are correct on one point, despite your pontification. We do need a xenotechnology clause. We have considered this. You will not like it, however. As for long term relations, they are of no consequence. Our allies will be glad of their riddance. General, this discussion is concluded. You yourself have studied galactic traditions in warfare, and they do not agree on any kind of rules in warfare. They violate our space and the peace of our citizenry. What they consider sacrosanct varies by civilization, and the only thing they agree on is getting together to kill all the ambassadors we attempt to send of late, and raiding our colonies. The plans have been drawn up, we will add the xenotechnology clause, and if you are unwilling to carry these orders out, we will put someone new in charge."
"I understand, Councilmember."
—
The general stood on the bridge of his starship. He paced the long gallery, gazing out at the stars. There was a time when ships such at this carried a great payload of armaments: projectiles, light based weapons, drones, and so forth. But there was no need for such crassness anymore; humanity had risen above the need for the gruesome ends such devices brought. It was ships like this one that inspired awe, terror, and peace. Humanity had enjoyed an unprecedented prosperity under the council's benevolent guidance through the disarmament process that accompanied this class of ship.
The general gazed across the bridge, which didn't look at all like what the generations of old had imagined. His crew sat cross-legged on zafutons in rows and columns, their eyes closed as they communed with their technological implants and carried out their duties, motionless. The new motto of this millenia was emblazoned on the wall of the bridge, not that anyone but the captain was looking: "strike first, strike hard, get out fast, no mercy."
A voice crackled from the walls of the bridge. "Councilship Mercy, this is Terra Prime Monitor Sigma-1. We are calling to inform you that we detect sufficient charge in the polaron manifold. You are go at your leisure. Monitor out."
Kitt sighed. The ship looked like some kind of clockwork arrowhead, more scaffold than hull. The energy heads sparked with irridescent radiance; space was ready to be folded.
"This is General Kitt of Councilship Mercy, acknowledged. Thank you Monitor. Mercy out."
A fold opened in space, and a weird ripple passed through the ship. The deck hummed as information began flowing through the folds. It was clear that all ships were indeed in position and charged.
"Fleet, this is General Kitt. On my mark, all ships posted to designated research targets, reverse the local bioorganic strong force in the biogenetic profiles that have been transmitted to you. On my mark, all ships posted to all other systems, execute space folding maneouvers: you are ordered to relocate your target star, and all its planets, to the Saggitarius A\* Aeon Horizon."
"To all ships, I want to say a few words to reassure your consciences. I know that you all know basic relato-gravimistics. But allow me to soliloquize on the, ehm, gravity, of the situation. It is a milestone day. TODAY, ALL OUR ENEMIES — their planets, their stars, their outposts, their civilization — all of it will be moved to the Aeon Horizon of Sagittarius A\* — that's right, the black hole at the center of our galaxy — where they will find that, due to time dilation, they can no longer interfere with humanity. After today, for all practical purposes, they will be frozen in time. I want to let each and every one of you know that we do not make this decision lightly. We must protect our humanity, which we do today. May our enemies enjoy their lives in their new timeframe until the heat death. They will live on... And by the time we have colonized the galaxy and made friends with the less aggressive civilizations, perhaps one day we can reverse some of this process. At least we can dream of a better future for these barbarians."
And having given his speech, the general issued the order. Space folded, and most of the civilizations of the milky way vanished without a trace in their former environs; and ten thousands new stars shone in the Aeon Horizon of Sagittarius A\*.
"Councilship Mercy, this is Terra Prime Monitor Sigma-1. Congratulations. Terra sends its regards. We have also received communiques from our allies. They are pleased. The Council wishes to award you the Medal of Valiance on live Newscast. Please stand by to be transferred..." | 2022-01-23T19:51:14 | 2022-01-23T18:11:08 | 60 | 37 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules. | "So, this is your final say on the matter," Ambassador Corrin spoke into his microphone, struggling to be heard over the cacophony of alien laughter. It took a few short seconds for his words to be translated into the various alien languages, and the laughter slowly diminished. His galactic translator had played the alien sounds in his earpiece as human laughter, using a track that sounded suspiciously like the one used in ancient, televised shows. He could hear the actual sounds echoing through the massive council hall, which was far more disturbing. The Skarr sounded worst, like the braying of a drowning donkey. The reptilian race and their actions were in fact the main reason of his current ire.
The year was 2232. It was supposed to be a joyous year for humanity, marking the 50th anniversary of their First Contact. Instead of celebrations, however, humanity was in outrage after one of their colonies had been wiped out, courtesy of the Skarr. Betta-2315, or Moria, as the colonists had named it, was a small moon, rich in ores. It had been entirely uninhabited or industrialized, when a prospecting party had discovered the thick veins of metals running beneath the moons surface. Two years later, Moria had been up and running with almost 230.000 inhabitants working and living there. Then the Skarr attacked, with no warning whatsoever, and slaughtered every man, woman and child on the moon. The reptilians used plasma weaponry, which burned and melted human flesh. Live video-feeds had been transmitted during the attack, and the nine planets of the Terran Federation were crying for blood.
"Ambassador Corrin-Terran," the Chancellor finally spoke, still smiling. "In my long life as Chancellor, I have never heard of these 'Rules of Engagement'. Indeed, they would seem to defeat the entire purpose of a war. I know it has only been a mere 50 rotations since your kind has joined the Galactic Council, but I would have hope you had learned by now, that might is always right. Do not come crying and stomping your foot like a petulant youngling, because you lack the strength to protect your own. It is my ruling that the Galactic Council will not levy sanctions against the Skarr," he continued, gesturing with one of his tentacle-like appendages at the distant reptilian, "nor will the Council interfere in this war. It has been 50 rotations, Ambassador Corrin-Terran, and humanity will have to learn to fend for itself."
The Chancellor paused, and turned to the silent human ambassador, who seemed to be trembling. His eyes, four black orbs, seemed to soften.
"I would offer some words of advice, Ambassador Corrin-Terran. The Skarr are masters of warfare, their soldiers superior to yours in all aspects. Surrender, and broker a treaty. Provided you can gather a suitable tribute, I am sure the Skarr will relent."
Corrin gripped the edge of his desk, breathing deeply to get his anger under control. It took a few moments, and his heart rate slowed. He looked up at the Chancellor, then to the sneering Skarr ambassador.
"Thank you, Chancellor, but that won't be necessary. Us humans, we are quite familiar with war. We've spent the last thousands of years fighting each other, after all. Our propensity for destruction is what eventually led to the first two world wars, after which we collectively agreed on the first draft of our Rules of Engagement. Even in the following three world wars, we managed to abide by them, for to not do so would have been mutually assured destruction. I daresay some of our more aggressive leaders are relishing the thought of a war without rules. All I can say on the matter, is that I tried." Corrin sighed, then turned to the Skarr ambassador.
"You shall have your war, Ambassador Threxl. May God have mercy on your souls."
With a final nod to the chancellor, Corrin turned and left the Council Hall, headed for his shuttle. A soft ping from his comms chimed in his earpiece.
"What was their answer, Ambassador?"
"As you suspected, General. You may proceed as you wish. My shuttle will be back on the TFN Kansas in less than ten minutes."
"Very good, Ambassador. I'll see you there." | Less than a century ago the Krahzak Pride was the most powerful and feared interstellar civilization. No other species or alliance could hope to survive a war with them, though a scant handful were powerful enough to make the prospect unenticing enough to the Krahzak. Instead they would discreetly scour the forest for signs of life and warn newcomers not to announce themselves when they step out of their home star system. But inevitably some could not be reached in time or not be convinced. Though few made their appearance as boldly and arrogant as species 51b9 (demonym: Hjuw'mahn) - only discovered at early stage 2 in the outer regions of a primary spiral arm - they invited every civilization to join something they called a Federeh'shon. Of course the Krahzak where happy to accept. It was awkward for me to attend back then. On one hand, as a young diplomatic novice it was quite the thrill being sent as envoy on a first contact mission but at the same time terrifying and sad, knowing the inevitable would not be far off.
After some biological safety checks to determine if our genome was succeptible to any of their endemic illnesses and compatible with their environment we were shown around their home world Keh'ple which had only somewhat recently been restored after a near miss on an GF1 event. Their efforts to restore the environment from genetic arches was impressive for our scientific division and a cultural exchange was with 51b9 was already in the negotiating phase when unfortunately relationships soured. As part of their Federeh'shon efforts they also proposed to establish universal rules of war. That's when the Krahzak scout showed his hand through an outburst of fur-straightening laughter. There was no point in pretending afterwards. Me and other delegates expressed what warnings and condolences we could without jeopardizing our own standing before beating a hasty retreat to our respective domains.
Then we waited. The first hunt was the most brutal one. Over time we obtained reports that 51b9 offered surprising resistance planet side despite and were despite their sheepish demanor in the negotiations and unassuming appearance quite cunning and resolute fighters and with even civilian populations readily participating in confrontations. But due to their lack of coordination and technology they never had more than the occasional victory. Their outlaying systems didn't survive for more than a few cycles and their home star colonies around Ahriz and Mjuhs fell the cycle after. That's when I was contacted directly by their head of diplomatic affairs to send a message to the Krahzak Pride - a message I would never have expected:
> Honored Krahzak Praetor
> Enough is enough! As you undoubtedly know from your hunting reports we are only one maybe two cycles from extinction.
> We have pled for your merci. We have fought for your recognition. You chose not to give us either. No one will choose our end but us.
> We have selected our strongest remaining warriors and offer you this: They will resettle to your systems willingly, breed, train and practice every day to satisfy your hunt in exchange for our continued existence. But if you choose the next cycle to be our last then you will join us and our sun in death!
> \- First Ambassador Santiago
I have never again been so conflicted about a decision since that day. Obviously I had to pass this message along. It was my duty and we could not take the chance of the Krahzak learning that we withheld this. But Nova bombs? They had been speculated as possible by our scientists. Now these Hjuw'mahns suggest that they had developed such a technology?!? Unlikely given their lack of technological prowess in every other domain. But IF! This would be the thing to finally give us parity with the Krahzak - maybe even superiority. Never again would we have to fear a potential hunt! But worse than that, if the Krahzak were to gain this technology they would have to clear upper hand on us too. I had no choice to pass this on to the military division and it was quickly decided that this technology must be obtained. It was one of the most hectic times of my life. How long could we delay this message to ensure we got there first without rendering the Krahzak unable to respond to the Hjuw'mahn offer? We were closer but we would have to consider them launching an early attack when they learned this. In the end a fleet was hastily assembled and dispatched. They should have had just enoug time to get to Keh'ple, extract as many scientists as we could and turn around before the Krahzak got there.
But our ships never returned. And our scouts sent after them painted a terrible picture. Their sun didn't quite go nova but had lost about 5% of it's mass in an was is presumed to be an articifial MASS ejection that ripped through the system incinerated everything in its path: Keh'ple, the Krahzak fleet, our fleet, the Gnimoy fleet, the Subru Alliance fleet as well as ships sent by the Atai Solidarity and the Nukan Dominion. The Krahzak vowed to make us all pay for our deceit and launched an ongoing hunt that would last 30 cycles. For years they ravaged the forest. We fought them with everything we had and barely made a dent. We lost so many systems, colonies and ships. And now our own were taken to be tributes alongside the Hjuw'mahns, fighting in smaller hunts back home and at times even against each other. Recordings being sent to us in taunt. And then, one day...
The hunt simply stopped. No more Krahzak fleets crossed our borders. No more messages were sent. No more colonies would go dark and no more of our scouts and merchants would vanish en route. For years we took it as a sign they were preparing for a final hunt to end us as well. We built as much force as we could but they never came. Eventually we dared to peek into their territory, carefully, timidly like the frightened abused children we have come to be. But no monsters were left in the forest. Every single one of their worlds, their colonies or outposts was gone. Stripped by partial novas, glassed from kinetic impacts, ravaged by plagues, fractured from core instabilities, burried under nucleogenic dust, suffocated by pyroclastic cataclysms. Nothing. NOTHING had remained.
Only a century ago the Krahzak Pride was the most powerful and feared interstellar civilization.
Today they are neither feared, nor powerful, nor interstellar, nor a civilization, nor anything at all.
Four cycles later a number of Hjuw'mahn-Krahzak hybrid ships approached each of our capitols casually asking: "About that Federation thing?" | 2022-01-23T22:30:23 | 2022-01-23T21:51:10 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on. | “I always told your parents you were an idiot! I said 'that kid right there, that kid’s got as many brain cells as a pool noodle.'”
“I’m sorry, Grandpa, really!”
Grandpa waved me off, “No time for apologies.”
He shuffled down the basement stairs and started digging through boxes. I followed him, sweat soaking through my shirt.
“Just tell me what to do, Grandpa,” I said, clawing after him as he chucked dusty antiques this way and that. He nearly knocked me out with a sharp elbow. I ducked and he brushed the tips of my hairs.
“You’ve done enough. Same as your father. You never listen.”
From upstairs came a pounding on the front door. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest.
“Oh, god—”
Grandpa, unfazed, kept searching. “What did you wish for exactly?” he asked me.
“To go out on a date with Kenzie, that’s literally it! How bad is that?”
The pounding on the door intensified. Deep voices, muffled and incomprehensible. Then from the street came a loud crash, the sound of scraping metal, a woman screaming.
“Who? Who is this girl?”
“Kenzie? She’s, well, she’s beautiful and so funny and super cool, everybody loves her, and we actually have a lot more in common than you would think.”
“Dear god, boy, cut the crap. Does she like you?”
“Well, I mean, she doesn’t know me…”
The door sounded like it was about to come off the hinges. Grandpa had nearly made it all the way to the far wall, bushwhacking a path through the boxes of junk.
“Did you try just asking her on a date before you wished for it?”
I hesitated. Grandpa wheeled around, his crazy eyes bulging out of their sockets as he stared me down. “Did you?!”
I nearly leapt out of my skin when what sounded like machine-gun fire popped off outside. I backed into the corner, my breath rapidly overtaking me. I started to feel dizzy.
“Speak, boy!” Grandpa said, rage turning his face pink.
“Yes!” I said, “I did ask her. It was the worst experience of my life. Well, until this moment right now, I guess.”
Grandpa’s face fell.
“What did she say? Exactly.”
“She… she said… maybe. Maybe, if…”
“If what?”
“If we were the last two people on Earth.”
The door upstairs crashed to the floor. I dropped to the ground and hid behind an old arcade machine. Grandpa kicked some boxes to the side. In a flash, two men in rags were bounding down the stairs. One held a tire iron, the other had a baseball bat.
As I peered out from behind the arcade machine I saw grandpa spin around to face them. In his arms was a double-barreled shotgun.
“Wait – wait!”
Grandpa blew them away. The sound rang in my ears and smoke stung my eyes. By the time I got my senses back, Grandpa was dragging me into the garage.
“You killed them?!”
“This ain’t my first rodeo, kid. Get in the truck.”
He forced me into the cab and hit the switch to open the garage door. After loading some supplies into the backseat, Grandpa threw on an orange trucker hat and got behind the wheel.
Outside, the world was burning. People were attacking each other in the street; neighbors turning on neighbors like wild animals.
“Where are we going, Grandpa?” I asked, still white as a sheet from the double-homicide I had witnessed.
“Where are going?” Grandpa repeated mockingly, mimicking my frightened voice.
He put the truck into reverse.
“You’ve got a hot date,” he said, as he put on a pair of aviators, “and I’ve gotta save the goddamn world.”
r/ididwritethismr | "Hiya Fred! We've got some sunshine on our hands, huh? That's good for the petunias."
As I watched my neighbor Steve's pasty face curl up in a disgusting smile I imagined worms feasting on it while he was buried alive. "If you don't shut up, Steve, I'll shove those petunias up where the sun don't shine."
"That would be a pleasure! Their oils make for a great lubricant, and me and Betty have been experimenting lately—"
Soon, he would be gone. Banished from the earth. Or at least Palmspring Avenue. I had planted a seed. A seed of destruction.
My alter ego is Papillon. For you illiterate blowhards out there, that means "butterfly." It's French. Like onion soup. After I accidentally ate 16 butterflies, I was blessed (and cursed) with the power of the butterfly effect: I can launch chain reactions resulting in any outcome I please.
"—the Ancient Greeks pegged each other all the time. Ever hear about the Eleusian Mysteries? That was their traditional pegging festival. Betty showed me a video about it. Plato? That was just his nickname, 'The Broad', referring to the girth of his—"
"Shut up, Steve. Shut up."
Steve did a little wave and sauntered off to tend to his precious petunias. He made me sick. Only the thought of his imminent fall kept me from snipping him into pieces with his own flower shears.
The days passed. An entire week went by. But no sign of ... anything.
Usually it happened instantaneously, like a well-oiled Rube Goldberg machine. I'd snap my fingers and the butterfly's wings would flap flap flap all the way to the ultimate prize. Like a cup of coffee falling into my hands because an amateur pilot got scared by a balloon dropped by a kid who stepped on a turd dropped by a dog who had just eaten some bad tuna discarded by an entrepreneurial chef whose wife just left him because she ate a fortune cookie with a message crafted by--you get it. That's the way it goes. That's the way it always goes. So why ...
I could see the two of them doing zumba in their living room. It was like watching jelly on a set of speakers blasting dubstep, shaking in seeming contempt of life itself. Were they mocking me? Or were they just trying to have a good time?
It was too much. This butterfly was going to have to spread some extra butter over these pesky flies.
My string trimmer eliminated their precious petunias in a matter of seconds. As the sun shone down on me I could feel the sweat of brilliance trickle down my forehead.
Later that day, I saw Steve on his knees in his garden, staring at the wreckage of his passion project. He sat like that for a good fifteen minutes.
When he got up, he approached me like a calm cow towards a plain patch of grass. "You deflowered me, Fred," he said, his voice thick with grief. "You snuck up into my backyard, you got out your massive tool, and you deflowered me."
"Don't say it like that, you slimy creep."
"And to think that we were going to ask you to join our weekend pegging circle. That's off the table, Fred."
"It was never on the table to begin with! Why on earth would you even think I'd want to be part of that ungodly abomination?"
Steve shook his head. "Do you know what petunias symbolize, Fred?"
"Perversion?"
"No, Fred. They symbolize passionate relationships. To me, they represent the best humanity has to offer. Friendship. Love. The joy of gaping into the glorious hole that is other people."
As he returned to his house I could hear music. It was ... somber piano zumba?
Whatever. I felt certain he wouldn't be bothering me anytime soon. So what if my Papillon powers failed me for the very first time? The true Papillon was my genius for revenge all along. I let out a long laugh and smiled as the wind carried off the scattered petals of my neighbor's petunias. Everything was just fine.
I took a nap and I dozed off. When I woke up, something was off. It was all dark. As I tried to get up to see what time it was, I discovered that I couldn't. I was trapped inside some sort of box.
"Hey! What's going on? Help!"
There was a deafening silence intermingled with my screams. Where was I? What had happened?
As I examined the box, I found a piece of paper and a cylindrical object. Oh no. That reeked of Steve. What on earth had he done to me?
Oh. It turned out to be a flashlight. I flicked it on, and saw that the piece of paper was a note.
> Dear Fred,
>
> You are currently locked inside a box in our garden under the flower bed you destroyed. The sun will never shine on you again.
> We have decided to move far away. To Greece. We are confident our new neighbors there will have a better understanding and respect for our lifestyle.
> As for you, there is no hope.
> We drilled small holes in the box, and whatever you do the worms will find their way inside. Any sound you make will fail to escape. You don't have much oxygen, so you might as well stay quiet. But if you do want some sound for entertainment, we left you with a device loaded up with our favorite zumba tunes.
> Enjoy the last moments of your life.
> Pretty soon you will turn into beautiful petunias. Just like our last neighbors.
My desperate attempt to escape using my Papillon powers failed. Because this was part of the chain reaction resulting in Steve and Betty moving away. And the chain cannot be broken, even with other chains.
If only I had eaten 17 butterflies instead of 16 that day ... Perhaps then things would be different.
I cursed the wings of the butterfly with its flaps of torment. Without knowing it, I had dug my own grave. Become hoisted with my own petard.
A worm crawled up my cheek. In my head I heard my neighbor's disgusting voice ring out.
"Shut up, Steve!" I cried as the worm feasted. "Shut up Steve!" | 2022-03-24T06:47:59 | 2022-03-24T05:28:02 | 1,458 | 95 |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | I have to admit, seeing my partner’s novel in colourful, glossy piles in the windows of the biggest bookshop in the city felt good. He’d been working on it for more than two years, while I paid the bills, and when he’d sent it away to a big publisher, the arrival of a massive, £50,000 advance cheque had been amazing.
Bill had done most of the work, but I’d done my bit: it was one of our rituals to read a few pages together, every Sunday afternoon and discuss the character, plot, and future developments. Bill preferred it that way. I left him alone for the rest of the week as he said he could concentrate better that way. In a little office he rented. No distraction.
I’d been looking forward to getting my hands on the first copy and I’d been queuing since 8 a.m., waiting for the shop to open. Bill was going to be so surprised when he got home tonight. I have to say, I was very surprised that the publisher didn’t give him an advance copy , if only to proof read it, but what do I know about publishing? Maybe they do it all by email these days? Well they’re paying, so I guess they get to call the shots.
There’d been a big publicity campaign, telling people how good the novel is. Transformational, one called it. Bill’s been giving interviews and telling people how it’s all based on his own life experiences. There’s been so much hype that the queue to buy it snaked round the block. I’m so proud…
My heart skipped a beat as the bookshop staff unlocked the door and the crowd surged forward, which caught me by surprise. They’re so keen! Still, I’d made sure I was near the head of the queue. I had to get a copy today! Bill’s first published novel!
At twenty quid, it wasn’t cheap, but it’s all money in Bill’s pocket, and from the way the crowd were buying the copies, they would be sold out soon!
I hugged my precious copy to my chest and made my way to the checkout.
“I’ve heard it’s brilliant!!” The cashier was bubbling with enthusiasm. “Best erotic fantasy since Fifty Shades! Better, even!”
“Erotic fantasy? But I thought it was a mystery novel…”
“Oh no. It’s about a bored husband who manages to sleep with every woman under the age of 70 in his entire street! He tells his wife he’s writing a novel, but sets up a shag-pad and gets to it…
I didn’t need an imagination to know what “it” was.
I put the book back on the shelf. No point in letting Bill know that I knew. I dare say I’ll be able to pick up a copy in a few months as evidence in the divorce courts. I can wait. Half of a just published author’s assets aren’t much. But half of a multimillion selling author’s assets are something else entirely. | ‘We are closing this store and This is the only one that is left’ the elderly man said, adjusting his glasses with one hand, while whipping the dust off with the other. I was hesitant to buy that book. I love reading books, especially so when I travel. And I would be on a flight for the next 16 hours. Even that couldn’t convince me to buy this book.
I again asked him if he was sure that this was the one that is left and pleaded him to check the stock. He let out a slight whiff out his nose and said ‘No, this is what we have, everything else is sold out and people are not buying this at even half the price’.
Ouch that was painful to hear. I still didn’t wanna buy the book. Not that hated the book or the author. Quite the contrary, loved the author and was married to her. I’ve read the manuscript hundreds of time, when she was writing it.
I’d Helped proof read it and was proud of myself that I could point out some improvements in the book. Wife encouraged me and was amused at my findings like how you encourage and hype up kids doing some activity so that you can
keep them occupied. I didn’t care and was living it up.
It was supposed to be her life story or should I say ‘our life story’. The book is an autobiography and transcribes the story of how she went from an extremely introverted girl with braces and pigtails to the current ultra successful boss lady, leading a startup worth a couple billions.
Of course I had a role to play, with us being very much in love since college. She did include a chapter about us and how love encouraged her to be bold and daring.
Well with my flight out of this shit hole airport departing soon and only this store being the only one open, I had to but this book else have to make conversation with fellow passengers. Yuck.
I bought it in a hurry and thought I’d read it one more time and rekindle our college romance. We are very much in love but it’s quite not the same. You see marriage has this effect on couples, the spark slowly dies and you start taking things for granted. Reminiscing the old romance would do some good to the marriage.
I waited till the flight was in the air and has reached a stable height, to open the book. I sort a breezed through the first few chapters with them being quite the same, except for some rephrasing of sentences.
I wondered at the speed in which I’m skimming through, reading half from memory, I’d be done in an hour and had to sit idly for the remainder.
But, the fifth chapter had some interesting changes. It had a few more characters in college that I don’t seem to recall. We had the same friends groups, but don’t seem to remember anyone by the name of Julian Saw. Maybe one of her acquaintances or some random passer by who used to wave at her.
The character seemed to take more and more prominence in the latter chapters. ‘He taught me how to love myself’, ‘Being with him was like having a cold fire burning through my veins’. For some reason this chapter seemed to be more like a porno novel than something about inspirational leader.
When the reviews came out first, I was confused as a number of them were saying that ‘the only thing the author inspires you to do is to be incredulously and uncontrollably horny’. She said it was about our romantic angle that got criticism. I’d felt guilty for sometime, but hey it was her decision to include it.
Now I know what those reviewers really meant. I thought Saw was a figment of her imagination. But it got wilder, more and more characters got introduced and I recognised some of the names. Ian Haley. The Ian Haley, who was a prominent investor in her startup and her mentor. The way she’d written her having graphic sex with him made bike rise up my throat. He was more than Twice her age.
Oh boy, it didn’t stop there. There were others many many others. All having graphic sex with her during the years she was working hard in her startup. She’s started her company 5 years after we’d gotten married. That means all of this was her charting on me, atleast in her mind.
I was ducking pissed, wanted to confront her on these. But that’ll have to wait another 14 hours.
There was no mention of me or our college romance. The final chapter had a single mention of me. It ended on a “funny” note, saying that ‘my poor husband doesn’t know this and let’s keep it that way’.
I’d lost it and let out a loud whiff that’d woken up a few other passengers. The audacity to name me and shame me on her book. Took me for an idiot and playing me for all these years. I felt my world came crashing down.
I hurried through the baggage collection and went home with a rage in my face that should’ve gotten me arrested for looking like a homicidal maniac.
There she was composed as ever in her couch, with a co-worker who she mentioned was the longest of them all and whom she’d keep as a pet forever.
She came into the kitchen to hug me. I calmed myself, picked up the knife from the kitchen. I Hugged her | 2022-11-29T11:20:54 | 2022-11-29T10:37:03 | 281 | 114 |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | Few a king exists who choose wisdom over strength. And yet here I am.
I am weak. It is my lungs, the doctors explained when I was young. They do not pump as they should, and one day they would choke me. They gave me twenty years, at best. But, I decided, why should I bother with swords and fights if I was to die young anyhow? And so I reigned into my thirties, never touching a sword. I know people laughed behind their hands at me, at the way the king could not fight to save his own life. But put them on the other end of my commander’s sword, and see how they beg. I’ve spent my entire life studying strategy. I could make an army with stones and sticks an army of Sun Tzu’s if I tried.
But there is no strategy in the face of fate.
My wife, Elena. The smartest, most beautiful woman on Earth. She was a sword-fighter, a master at martial arts and a devastating duelist. On our first meeting, we joked that a witch must have exchanged our interests, for her parents wanted a studious daughter and mine a fighting son. Of course, we got married, and of course, we consulted the leaves as she became pregnant.
Every single time, an omen. An omen. In the clouds and the weather, the entrails of horse and swan. An omen, an omen. We begged for reprieve. Was our child to be silent? Dead? Murdered? And so we found the best Seer we could. And, in the smoke of dried sage and ginger, she warned me of Marion. A killer, she said. Not just any killer. My murderer. She would kill me and take the throne. Throw her to the wolves, she said. Get rid of her. Try again, try again.
She was not there when Marion was born. Any wish to throw her to the wolves left in me dissolved as her small chubby hand barely wrapped around my little finger. She had her mother’s strength, and my wit. I was going to love her until she defied fate.
And so she lived the most lavish life of any princess in the area. All kingly duties were put aside after 6. She was invited to every meeting, though her presence never required, her input and understanding always respected. I allowed her into my library, and encouraged her to devour books— all books, not the military strategies forcefed to me by my mother, but tales of clever queens and daring knights, of desperate princesses and curses. She was the most well read in the kingdom, and to my delight, took the kindness of her story books into our history books as she began taking a princessly role. Her mother, of course, loved her no less— for the first two years, Marion remained attached to Elena as a common woman affixes her babies to her, as she refused to be apart from her child. She grew up with every interest, no matter how fleeting, encouraged and invited as far as Marion liked. Swimming, sword-fighting, martial arts and horse-riding. She was an incredible shot and could fix any problem in the machinery of our castle.
Our little princess.
And we thought, we thought for so long we had loved the prophecy out of her. My wife Elena died, never having seen her daughter kill.
And yet here we are. My lungs are choking me, really choking me— every breath is agony.
Marion is by my side, tears in her eyes refusing to spill, like the heroes of her novels. Her sword is sheathed by her. A great wheezing fills my lungs as I draw air in, and out. It aches. I lift a weak hand, and tap the sheath gently, casting an imploring look up at her. She looks confused, and then she understands.
“Father— father, I can’t.”
I wheezed in as hard as I could.
“Please.”
She unsheathes the sword— hesitatingly, she places it above my neck. The doctor lifts her hand to her mouth, silent but not disagreeing. Marion swallows, and I look into her eyes. She has all of my smarts, all of hr mother’s strength, but her mercy— her mercy is hers.
The sword lifts, and falls.
Keeping Marion was the best choice I ever made. I’m so relieved she will take the throne from me. | My first child died in the arms of the midwife who delivered him, and my wife died shortly thereafter. At the time I was young, impetuous, and brash. I allowed my emotions to cloud reason, and rather than grieve as I should have, I blamed the midwife. I sentenced her to death for simply doing her duty to the best of her ability. I light a candle for her every day. One of many.
My second son lived until his 5th summer, until he took ill with a disease that baffled all of my courts greatest minds. My wife watched him fade away at his bedside, and I watched the life fade from her as she wept. She asked, pleaded for an annulment to our marriage, and to be rid of this place that reminded her of her lost child. Once more my anger reared it’s ugly head, and while I did grant her the annulment, I also had her banished far from these lands. I know not where she is now. I wished I’d not been so cruel but we cannot rectify the mistakes of the past. We can only attempt to move forward and make better decisions.
I took as much time as I could after my second wife. Between stately affairs and whispers of war, I was able to busy myself with my duties as king. With the aid of my court we were able to improve the conditions of the kingdom, and through careful decisions and discussions we were able to avoid war. I was celebrated as a benevolent king. I felt as though my peoples faith was misplaced, but at the advisement of my court and with encouragement from far away ally’s and relatives, I sought to find a partner once more.
Her name was Alanna. She was the second daughter of a Duke from a neighboring kingdom, and though I was almost eight years her senior, her beauty and wit captivated me. She enjoyed swordplay as much as she did embroidery, attended races with the same fervor as she attended balls and galas, and to say she was well read would be an understatement. She could be anything in this land that she wished, and yet she chose to be my wife. She could have said no, she’d turned down many men of esteem in the past, but there was something in our connection that made her say yes.
When the time came to consider children, I was relieved to hear that she was as hesitant as I was. It was nice to have someone who was cautioned and measured in their decisions. It mattered not that I was a king, she understood the risks and the burdens of carrying a child. It was not her duties to sire an heir that made her decide to be with child. I told her as such. I myself have two brothers and a number of cousins who could take my place. I would have been happy to live our lives as King and Queen over a prosperous land until the end of our days. When we decided to have a child, we did so for ourselves and for the love we have for one another.
Seldom is life as easy as that. Upon news of my wife’s pregnancy, I was given word that a trio of wise women sought to give me council. I balked at first, having never heard of these sisters three, but alchemist in my court sang their praises. He said I should at least give them an audience, as they were well schooled in ways of augury and fortune telling. Their arrival surely had some significance and I should at least give them a moment of my time. I obliged.
The sisters were said to be as old the forests that surrounded the land, yet they looked to be younger than even my Alanna. One with flowing scarlet red hair, another with short black hair like that of a ravens feathers, and the third blonde with hair that fell almost to the floor. They dressed well and followed decorum with bows and how they addressed each lord and lady they met. It was their intermittent glances at the queen that gave me pause. I understood why once we met in my chambers.
My daughter, they said, was to be born under strange circumstances. That she was to be my undoing and the fall of my kingdom as well as those around me. They cautioned me against her birth and said that I would have to choose between Alanna and the fate of the world. I knew in their words they were not lying. I believe they sought me out because they knew what my answer would be, and so hoped to impart their wisdom to try and convince me.
I told them my decision. They left without further dispute. By all accounts they were kind and courteous women who merely sought to do what they felt was right. Before they took their leave, I asked if they would have me do them a favor or service in return for their counsel. They only asked for safe passage and for me to reconsider my decision. To my knowledge they still roam these lands unfettered and provide their aid to those who seek them, and to those they felt drawn towards.
My daughter was born on a night where the moon was absent from the sky. I remember her birth well, as all the light in the castle seemed to dim upon her first cries, and members of the castle court and guard reported a dreadful echo shaking their chambers. Alanna made it through the birth, my daughter Eleanor was safe and healthy, but I feared the three sisters omen was well on its way.
I would be lying if I said I had not thought to cast the child out. To send her away or have her disappeared in the night to be left to the elements. But holding her in my arms, gazing upon her and her mother, I thought of my past mistakes and how I would be repeating the course of history if I did as the witches asked. I decided instead to raise Eleanor to harness whatever power she had for good. To make her into a woman worthy of being Queen and ruler of these lands. She would want for nothing and be loved without end.
That was some twenty years past now. My intentions were noble but for naught. The fires are growing now. From my chambers I can hear the clashing of swords and screams. Alanna was given leave to flee by Eleanor and I can only hope she honored that promise. Who was I to try and combat fate? A man whose mistakes haunted him like spirits haunt a crypt. I wanted only to do what I felt was right, and in the end I only served myself. I will not fight back further. I wouldn’t raise a blade to my child even if I could. I wonder how I will meet my end. I wonder if my intentions will absolve my sins. From the window I can see three figures in the distance, and a fourth approaching them in a shawl before they disappear into the wood.
This is my end, foretold by women wiser than me with intentions more pure. This is the price I shall pay for my arrogance. I shall meet my fate with dignity. | 2022-12-01T14:53:48 | 2022-12-01T13:33:58 | 549 | 68 |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!" | It started as a night like any other. Gemma made dinner, got the kids squared away with their homework, and passed the time waiting for her husband to come home by cleaning out the basement.
Being first violin in the Boston Symphony Orchestra meant there were many late nights her husband worked late while Gemma waited for rehearsal to end, but she’d gotten used to it.
It had been quite the journey for both of them to adjust to the big city after growing up in the Deep South. So many things they’d believed in when they were younger seemed so silly now.
When they talked to their parents it was always a flurry of questions and passive aggressive statements about how city folk didn’t know God and their souls were in peril.
Now that Gemma had seen for herself the way the world lived outside of their small town it was hard to get through some of those conversations without laughing.
She opened a box she hadn’t seen since they moved. It was a bunch of stuff from back home, including a small but very ornate and old violin case with a lock on it.
She peered at it, the lock seemed to be loose, on the verge of breaking. Hmmm.
Just then she heard a car in the driveway. FINALLY he was home.
She grabbed the case and took it upstairs with her, wondering what it could be. It was surprisingly heavy for something so small.
As she came back into the living room of her townhouse, the lock clicked and disengaged entirely.
The front door opened she and she put the case down on the living room table and opened it up.
Inside was the most beautiful object she’d ever seen bar none. The instrument seemed to pulse with its own golden light that filled the room. It took her breath away.
“What are you doing? Oh no!”
Her husband’s voice broke through her reverie as she saw him standing there, coat still on, staring at her with his jaw agape.
The house begin to tremble. Everything seemed to darken.
A long shadow somehow detached itself from the wall and began walking towards the two of them. It coalesced into a nightmare of a figure, horned and red skinned.
Almost ten years of smartass replies and condescending smirks towards her parents came rushing back to Gemma. There, in her living room, stood the devil.
She looked over at Johnny who, amazingly, seemed unfazed by this development. If anything, he seemed mildly annoyed.
He looked the devil in the eye and said “I told you once, I’m telling you again, and I’ll tell you a hundred F’ing times you son of a bitch, I’m the best that’s ever been!”
He grabbed the golden fiddle from its case and began to play. He wasn’t wrong. | It was one of the those usual weekend nights. Naomi just tucked her four year old daughter in bed and proceed to join her husband in the living room who is already choosing which film they would watch for the movie night.
Naomi entered the living room with now a bowl of popcorn in her hands which she grabbed quickly from the kitchen.
Ethan asked her is she wanted to continue where they left off in a series they were binging last weekend or if she preferred seeing a film instead. She chose a classic film.
After they agreed on what to watch, Naomi turned off the lights and sat beside Ethan on the couch, leaning of his chest as they help themselves on the bowl of popcorn between them.
Twenty minutes in the film, there it is. A misplaced character amongst a classic film. They’ve watch this film many times and sure as hell, that guy in red suit is not supposed to be there. Naomi gets so confused and look at Ethan’s face to get some reaction. Whether is this some sort of a prank he elaborately set up on their movie night.
His expression became serious as he intently stared at the guy in red suit. Naomi tracked Ethan’s stares back to the TV. And suddenly it turned into white noise. The lights began the flicker and things began to shake softly. And from a distance, a rumbling thunder can be heard, followed by flashes of lightning outside the window.
Ethan looked through the glass door that leads to their lawn. He stood and walked slowly towards the door. Then a loud crackling noise dispersed across the house with a blinding flash hitting their back yard lawn. Creating a patch of flames and smokes that ascends to the sky.
The baby starts to cry upstairs, but Naomi is too shaken to even notice her baby is crying.
There from the wall of smoke and fire, steps out the man in the red suit, smiling menacingly towards Ethan.
“I told you once and I’m telling you again for million f***ing times; I’m the best there’s ever been and you’re never going to beat me!” Ethan said in his gritted teeth. “Naomi, go get Sara.”
Naomi finally noticed her baby’s crying and immediately ran upstairs.
“Sofiel! Or was it Epimethan now? You have become a disgrace to the legacies of Metis.” The guy in red excitedly started.
“Hello Lady Nimue, how long has it been?” The guy continued addressing Naomi as she joined them while holding Sara close to her.
“Nimue? What are you talking about?” Naomi confusingly asked.
“What have you done brother? Have you trade her identity for a child?” The man mockingly smirked.
Ethan began to pull a black sword from his own shadow and pointed it towards the man in front of him.
“I am not joining your legion, Heylel! You must stop trying to convince me!”
Heylel just smiled. Ethan charged towards Heylel, who conjured an invisible shield to block the attack but it is so powerful that he was thrown meters away.
Ethan never wasted time and charged again towards Heylel, who in turn pulled a metal club with a metal ball of spikes at the tip from nothingness and wield it against Ethan’s attack.
Heylel pushed Ethan’s sword as hard as he can using his weapon to fly. He then raised his left hand and summoned a lightning to fall directly on Ethan. But he raised his sword to absorb the lightning and redirected it on the ground and flew towards his brother.
His brother created another shield but it is in a form of bubble. So, by the time Ethan landed a blow on the shield it will only pushes him like hitting a ball. That lessens the impact by the time he hits the ground.
Ethan dived in an impossible acceleration towards Heylel’s crash site make his next attack but the Devil faded in thin air.
He’s gone. He must have given up for now but he knew he’ll return for another match. And he arrived back home.
There he is, his brother, in his red clean suit held little Sara in his hands, cradling her. While Naomi is sitting anxiously on the couch, who just stared at Ethan with defeat in his eyes.
“You see brother, I did not came here for you. I came here to claim your blood!” Heylel smiled.
“Don’t do this, Heylel! We have an agreement, you will take my soul if you defeated me!” Ethan begged.
“You see when you asked me to bring back your celestial status after you were banished from Heaven, I asked for your soul but Scyozla is a piece of your soul. She’s more than enough.”
“No brother. This is not what we agreed upon!”
Heylel showed a victorious smile and his feet began to catch fire, engulfing him and the child as he disappeared in thin air, leaving ashes on the carpet of couple’s living room. Left in despair.
“No one takes from the Lady of the Lake. No one takes from Nimue.” Naomi whispered. | 2022-12-07T15:25:03 | 2022-12-07T11:49:05 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | “Hey Frank.”
“Hey George. Happy Monday, eh?”
“No, man. Did you hear about Andrew?”
“Oh god what now, did he get drunk and show his dick to the secretary again? That guy is a liability.”
“Nono, that’s Allan. He got fired last week. Andrew is the guy who negotiated our health benefits.”
“Ohhh yeah, that guy’s great. What happened? Wait, did you say Allen got fired?! Is his desk free?”
“No, forget about Allen, we’re talking Andrew. He’s fucking dead, man.”
“No shit? What happened?”
“He went to visit some planet full of tiny monkeys, said he was going to give them some cancer cures and other health stuff.”
“Classic andrew.”
“Anyway the monkeys Fucking killed him.”
“What? No way, how do tiny monkeys kill somebody. That sounds made up.”
“The monkeys had explosives. Apparently they blew a hole in his chest or something, I don’t know.”
“A hole in his chest?”
“That’s what bill in IT told me, i don’t know. It’s not like I was there.”
“Man. That’s fucked. Didn’t he have a wife?”
“Yeah, and she’s pregnant.”
“Damn. Our health benefits are probably going to suck next year…”
“Goddamn, Frank.”
“What? And seriously is Allen’s desk free because I could fuck with that window seat…” | "The following is as close to a translation as we could possibly get." the report stated, "The thing about them is that there's not a lot in human language, let alone pronouns, individuality or even an indication of who or what is speaking to whom, that could accurately describe what is really being said, if such a term can even be applied to conversations of such...."
The general mumbled "scientists..." and skipped ahead a few minutes on the video.
" as such, using the cultists own methods, we have devised a crude manner of listening in to their 'conversation' that is, while equivalent to trying to watch the string between two cans vibrate from orbit with a magnifying glass, enough to gather meaningful data, enough data to interpret...."
The general skipped ahead a few more minutes until he saw the feed change over to an interrogation room. The usual table and chair setup was gone and instead a naked male body lay on the floor, surrounded by intricate markings and some, luckily for the general, unidentifiable lumps. a microphone was placed near the mouth and occasionally a hazmat suited scientist could be seen moving or removing items from in and around the body. The body itself seemed to have been tortured beyond imagination, cuts and gaping holes nearly covering every inch of skin, and must have been barely clinging to life, but even from a grainy video, the eyes were still disconcertingly active. The mouth began to move and a low voice that seemed to speak words directly into the generals brain, even through the video feed. He noticed his eyes began to water as the voice droned the words, 1 word at a time with sometimes minutes in between.
"It Ceased. Loss. Grief. Understanding."
The body tried to clasp the hand of the hazmat suited scientist as it emphasised the following word.
"Anger."
The hand fell back as it went on.
"Cause. Kinetic. Projectile. Many. Fire. Ash." The body fell silent. After several minutes a voice cut in from off screen, " Subject 38 has ceased function at 15:41, all brain activity has ceased and vital functions have stopped." The video ended there.
The general rewound and looked at the body again. From his days as an army surgeon, he too could tell the miniscule difference a body displays when life has completely ended, but the eyes seemed to remain alive.
He opened the second email. This one was marked "Subject 43". There was no video attached this time, only a text transcript, that he opened.
"Subject 43 experiment started at 1115, subject female, 56 years old, Ranked High priestess in the Cult Of The Eye, Dr. Raleigh performing interrogation, observing are drs. Whitaker and Boone. Following statement was taken at 2312 hours.
They. Listen.
I. See.
We. Come.
Vital functions ceased at 0129 hours.
The body, while having ceased all vital functions, continued to repeat that last phrase until 0950 hours.
Dr. Raleigh then ordered incineration and cleansing of the room, Dr. Boone seconded. Dr. Whitacker excused due to mental stress."
The general's eyes flitted over to a note on his desk, Dr. Whitaker had been found hanging from his ceiling fan at 1030 this morning.
He was about to pick up the phone when it rang instead. His hand hovered over the receiver, collecting his thoughts and trying to put a pin in it.
Before he could even pick it up, the call was disconnected and he could hear the faint, distant sirens beginning to wail again.
His hand instead went to his bottom drawer. That's where he kept his service pistol.
The shot wasn't even heard over the now deafening wail of the sirens, it's entirely possible there wasn't even anyone alive to hear it. | 2022-12-12T09:14:28 | 2022-12-12T07:58:26 | 149 | 91 |
[WP] Many years ago, an alien invasion nearly wiped out Humanity. Now, the galactic government is desperately trying to reason with a vengeful Humanity by saying that it was a rogue mining company that attacked without their approval or knowledge. | “I have been asked to speak here today on behalf of my people. 23 years ago we lost 2/3 of our population to a violent attack from a race we now know as the Rellions. They stripped metals from homes, schools, and from bodies.” Admiral Jessica Chang paused and looked around the assembly hall. Beings of different shapes, sizes, and colors listened to their translators and stared at her. She couldn’t read the room, too alien. “22 years with no word from this council, no offers of aid, and no explanations. Only after we reverse engineered the Rellion ships we stopped and destroyed an observation fleet did you open a dialogue with us. You said no one was to blame, it was a misunderstanding. I am here to accept consent for the destruction of the guilty party or the surrender of this assembly.” Admiral Chang looked at her chronometer as what she assumed was laughter filled the room. Her chronometer beeped. “A tungsten rod launched days ago just destroyed a patch of forest on the other side of this planet. While your people,” she paused as alert screens started flashing in each member’s booth, “are more advanced than my people in many ways, we realized fighting off the Rellions that you don’t seem aware of basic kinetic force. You have shields for energy weapons, and rays to stop space particles during flight, but you don’t have a means of stopping directed matter.”
The translator box next to Chang started speaking in a ver robotic voice “You can’t threaten us into compliance human”. The speaker was the head of the assembly. Their light green skin was developing dark spots. “We can destroy your planet by the end of this day!” Watching his hand hit the desk before the translated speech started was almost comical.
“We know that. In fact we planned on it. That’s why we launched our weapons before this meeting began. If you destroy us, your planets die anyway. If you give us the guilty party, we can stop the weapons.” He watch beeped. “The northern salt plains of this world are now a crater.” She swept the room with her gaze. Many members looked towards the same booth as her speech translated. The Rellion ambassador stood and started to leave. He dropped dead as the bullet Chang fired struck him. “Kinetic energy.” She said as she held up her gun. You didn’t take my weapon because you didn’t register it as a weapon. What is the official word of this body?” She laid the gun down and smiled as pure chaos broke out. | “All rise. The Intergalactic Federal court is now in session. High Judicial Archon Irk’nCzrwyon presiding. Please be seated and come to order.” A being of nebula, serves as the bailiff, towering in its enormity vibrates sounds and light as they were being translated to the floating balcony’s desk, where seven humans are seated.
The eternity were filled by elder gods, cosmic celestials, ethereal beings and ancient deities, all were in their overwhelming presence and glory eclipsing the enormity of the planets we considered the largest we could ever fathom, gathered as spectators of the trial.
“Criminal case filed by the prosecutor’s office against the humans of planet Aran’k-sakratin, known to its inhabitants as planet Earth. Counselor? How do you plead?” The entity of three pairs of burning wings spanning in immeasurable size in the most high pedestal in the skies, thunders before the human man in the middle of the seven.
“Not guilty, your honor!” Shouted the man.
“Your honor, these humans have killed thousands of the Tharn’likans after they started mining in the Aran’k-sakratin! A planet legally owned by the Tharn’likans through inheritance. It has been with the Tharn’likans for trillions of aeons. These low life parasitic species who infested the planet have become uncontrollable invaders of the planet and acting they own it!” A being of black void with trillions of small sparkling glitters scattered to its shapeless existence, vibrated towards the High Judicial Archon, which were being translated into words for the humans.
“Objection! Speculating.” The human lawyer interrupted.
“Unless you have evidence, prosecutor Mktoloktuhulan’l that the humans are parasitic species, you must redirect.” The High Judicial Archon thunders.
“I have evidence, your honor. Exhibit A, these are the actual visual documents that shows, that the humans are the parasites to the planet Aran’k-sakratin.” A cloud of burning gasses come together to create a 3D visualization of the human’s exploits of the Earth. “As you have witnessed, your honor, it just 10,000 years, these parasites manage to destroy the natural balance of the planet’s atmosphere and create global warming that can occur naturally for millions of years.”
“That’s is not true, your honor. We have not destroyed our planet as it is the only planet where our specie can thrive! Why would we want to destroy the only place that gives us life?” The human lawyer interjected.
“Because they are parasites! Parasites are ought to kill their host slowly to survive. Isn’t that what they are doing?” The prosecutor asked.
“And what the Tharn’likans were doing is not destroying our planet?” The human councilor asked back.
“The Tharn’likans were just mining molten irons from the planet Aran’k-sakratin as what part of their rights in owning the planet. By expediting the warming of the planet, it also expedites the melting of iron in its immediate outer core. Threatening the balance in the mining industry of our galaxy! Not to mention the merciless massacre of the innocent Tharn’likan miners who have no idea, these low life creates are capable of mass destruction!”
“Your honor, i request that the prosecutor Mktoloktuhulan’l must refrain from calling our specie as low life specie as we are also capable of sentience! And to be allowed to represent ourselves in this court acknowledges us as such.” The human lawyer interrupted.
“Prosecutor Mktoloktuhulan’l, please refrain from using that term in the future.”
“Your honor! I continue to call their specie low life creatures, because even though they are showing signs of sentience, they are categorized as parasitic creatures based on their environmental and evolutionary behavior towards their ecological environment.”
“Councilor, the prosecutor is correct. He has reasons to use the term as the evidences they serve categorizes your specie as a sentient parasite, and that is the lowest category in the intergalactic federation racial hierarchy. Unless, you have evidence to counter the prosecutions allegations against your specie, they have the upper-hand in this case.” The High Judicial Archon said.
“We would like to request for a recess, your honor.” The human lawyer requested.
“It looks like you really needed one. The court will be in recess and resume in three solar cycles of the Planet Aran’k-sakratin. If the defendant can not provide counter argument on the next session, I will read my verdict. ” The High Judicial Archon opened its third wings and a loud banging echoed in the eternity and all were gone.
“We’re screwed!” The second chair of the human lawyer whispered. | 2022-12-17T19:21:23 | 2022-12-17T17:34:16 | 223 | 34 |
[WP] If you're in a world where physical health problems were treated like mental health problems
Edit: Holy crap! I never expected this many responses. I'll make sure I read every single one. Thanks guys! | Near the end of 2011, I caught a cold.
My parents made me go to the emergency room. I told them it wasn't an emergency, I wasn't going to die of a cold, but they didn't know what else to do.
Doctor #1 said it was probably short-term, lots of people get colds at my age and lots of people never get colds again. He gave me antibiotics for it. Over a few weeks, he dropped me down to half a milligram of antibiotics daily. "I prefer to use as little medication as possible." He wanted to minimize the side effects and eventually take me off of them. I continued seeing him for maybe a year or so.
Then he quit.
While I was seeing Doctor #2, I told him I had sneezed. He said it could be the cold coming back, and he doubled my dosage to 1 milligram daily.
Then he quit.
When I met Doctor #3, they told me that 1 milligram was the minimum dose, half a milligram was basically nothing, and they would not take me down to half a milligram. They formally diagnosed me as still having a cold, even though they'd never seen the symptoms I had 3 years ago, and I'd never had any relapse.
I don't know if I have a cold or not. I don't know if the antibiotics worked or if it was a coincidence that I got better when I went to the hospital. I don't know what will happen if I stop taking them, other than Doctor #3 will be upset.
My life is basically normal but I'm part of the grand medical complex now. I have to have insurance which has to pay for expensive medications that I have to take, like millions of other people that I thought I was healthier than. | Steven had had the earache for weeks. He went to the minuteclinic on Tuesday hoping they'd find it to be an ear infection, get prescribed some meds, and that would be that. Unfortunately, she didn't find it to be anything. No fluid build up, no signs of a serious sinus infection. She recommended he see an ear nose and throat doctor if the problem persisted but said it was nothing urgent. Steven agreed. It wasn't urgent, just annoying.
The weeks flew by. His boss had left for a 2 week honeymoon and the work was piling up. He had a hard time sleeping at night and was exhausted. Sometimes his ears were so sensitive that the slightest breeze from the cracked window would be so painfully sharp that he would lie awake wondering..."what if...?" He decided to schedule an appointment.
Dr. Pujik Mehreani was a well known and we'll respected doctor downtown. He had been referred from a co-worker. The earliest appointment he had available was 3 weeks out. Steven agreed.
"So, what seems to be the problem?" the doctor asked.
"Well doc, I've had this persisting earache for what seems like forever now. It's really more annoying than anything but at times keeps me up at night."
"Let's take a look."
Dr. Mehreani pulls out his otosocpe and examines Steven's ears. He examines his nostrils, and checks his throat. Steven was shocked when he pulled up WebMD.
Dr. Mehreani was silent. He couldn't believe this was the 6th patient this week He had diagnosed. He didn't know how to tell Steven.
"Unfortunately I have some bad news," He started out. "Patients with your symptoms typically seek me out hoping for a simple fix. I'm sad to say this won't be easy. This is something you are going to have to deal with for the rest of your life. I'd say 3-4 months at the most."
Steven was shocked.
"I'm not going to be better for 3-4 months?" Steven asked.
"No Steven, you're not going to get better at all. You have cancer, Steven."
No fucking way he thought. All he had was an ear infection. A simple, mildly annoying ear infection.
"We're going to do the best we can to make your final few months as comfortable as possible" said Dr. Mehreani. "We will prescribe you dozens of medications to make you numb. I will recommend you see specialist after specialist. We'll involve your family. Unfortunately there are no winners here. Once patients are diagnosed, there is no going back. There are no re-evaluations. We are always right and we know what's best."
The doctor still couldn't believe it was his 6th diagnosis this week. He thought for sure Steven could have a comfortable 3-4 months before the cancer took it's final toll.
Steven was shocked. He would do everything the doctor's asked if him. He wasn't ready to die. He wanted a family. He wanted a house with a white picket fence. He wanted a dog.
Dr. Mehreani assured him he would have no such luck. He prescribed 7 different medications, asked him to see 5 different specialists. Radiation treatments would start on Friday.
"How long do I need to do radiation for?" Steven asked.
"As long as your body can take it" He responded. "Twice a day 3 times a week."
--------------
Steven woke up to make his morning coffee. He took his 7 pills as he had done for the last 60 years. He kissed his wife goodbye as he headed out the door for his morning radiation therapy. He was having lunch with his granddaughters later that day and he wanted to get the lawn mower before him.
As he was driving to the hospital he took a moment to reflect; if it hadn't been for Dr. Mehreani reviewing WebMD he probably wouldn't be here he thought.
Steven smiled to himself. I can't believe I had put off going to him for so long. He pulled into the parking lot, parked his car, and headed to the reception room. He smiled. He had so much to live for. | 2015-05-25T11:04:08 | 2015-05-25T08:19:02 | 164 | 103 |
[WP][TT] You wake up, make yourself a nice cup of coffee and enjoy the view of the morning sun rising from the sea. Then you remember that your house isn't supposed to be anywhere near a sea...
Edit: Thank you all for your amazing stories! | I sat down, sliding my hands up and down my mug of coffee, warming them up from the cold of last night. I looked at my living room window, or rather the blinds that blocked the incoming sunlight. "Gosh, why do the kids always close the blinds at night? They know I want to see the sunrise" I thought. I stood up and re-angled the blinds, letting the glorious sunlight in. I turned around and walked back to my mug and chair and sat down, scooping up my mug and taking a few sips.
Ow! OK, the coffee was not cool enough to sip that fast. After sticking my tongue out to try and salvage any surviving taste buds at the tip, I noticed an odd change in my surroundings. The kitchen and living room were completely clean. I looked carefully, distinctly remembering that toys were scattered everywhere last night and that Roger, Sarah, and Lucy had all gone to bed without cleaning up. It had been a long enough day at work yesterday that I followed them to bed right after I was done tucking little Roger in to bed. Then, I noticed it. How could I be so blind? I walked over to the couch right below the blinds and stared at disbelief.
A little handmade card was there, complete with three distinct illegible scrawls. They had taken two pieces of construction paper, folded both, and then stapled the folded edges together to create a four-page booklet,filled with love from my children. The last page was actually readable, and my oldest, Lucy, filled my heart with that painful, chest-filling emotion of pride and love that just burns, but you never want it to stop burning like it does.
*Dear Dad, we wanted to surprise you today, so we snook up early to clean all of our toys. We know Father's Day is tomorrow, but we love you so much you should get two Father's Days! You know, for being a daddy and a mommy all the time! We love you! Lucy, Sarwahh, Rjshgh*
Ok, so Roger still needed handwriting lessons, but still. As far as I was concerned, this was perfection. I sat on the couch, definitely not crying, ok, I was crying a little but in the happy way, when I reflected on my children and the blessing they were to me as I looked over our beautiful ocean view. I have to admit, it took me longer than it should have to realize that we didn't have an ocean view.
"Utah lake is NOT that big, and it definitely does not have waves like that. And it is not twenty feet from my house. And Mr. Jones will not like that his house has been relocated, and I know I won't like it if my house was the one relocated. But these ocean waves are pretty, and sorting this out seems like a big problem. And Fathers aren't allowed to have big problems on Father's day."
I stood up, stretched, downed my coffee, and set it on the kitchen table.
"I should go get the kids into their swimsuits, there's never gonna be another day as magical as this." | The long, yellow fingers of the sun slowly crept in through the window causing me to push my eyes shut tighter and will them away. When that failed to work, I slowly sat up and stared at my feet pressed hard onto the cold, metal floor. Rubbing my eyes I stood and stretched, feeling my back pop back into place.
Yawning, I scratched my back as the beginnings of a headache slowly eased its way into my brain. “Ugh, drank too much last night,” I said to myself as I walked over to the window.
A beautiful seascape stretched before me and I sighed with contentment. This planet really was beautiful sometimes, I thought to myself; sea, sun, and the muffled sounds of a work crew getting ready for their work day. It must be getting on with the day if work crews are already awake. Yawning again, I walked over to the door to go make myself some coffee and tried to open it; locked.
Jiggling the door handle proved this assessment, and my sleep addled brain began slowly piecing together the jigsaw puzzle of the night before. I had gone to the bar for a few drinks, met an old space-hand who had just returned from a journey to the Rotan Roundabout, traded some more drinks, and gone back to my hotel. I had passed out after looking out over the city and—
The city. Where was the city? I rushed back over to the window and saw again the beautiful seascape stretching out into infinity. My hotel room had been over-looking the city, not the ocean. I couldn’t afford an ocean front hotel room, so where the hell was I?
Turning around quickly I tripped face first onto the floor. Kicking my feet at my own stupidity, I felt my left foot connect with something soft.
“Hey! What’s the big idea?” a voice said from beyond my foot.
I rolled over onto my back and saw another man lying on the floor nearby. I had tripped over him in my rush. I looked around and saw several other people all huddled into the small room, some on cots like mine, and others merely deposited on the floor. The one I had tripped over was looking at me in anger, but his face slowly transitioned into one of confusion.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked as he pulled himself up onto his elbows.
“I could ask you the same question,” I said as I motioned around the room. The man looked around, the confusion on his face deepening, before he turned back to me.
“John,” he said extending a hand.
“Yale,” I said in response, taking his hand and shaking it.
“Where the hell are we, and how did we get here?”
I shook my head, “I don’t know. I remember having drinks with a Mr. Ralph Douglas, he had just gotten back from a trip to the—“
“Rotan Roundabout,” John finished for me, nodding his head. “Tall guy, dark hair, hook nose, real skinny?”
I’m sure my own face mirrored John’s confusion, “Yea…”
“Yea, I had drinks with him too. Though I didn’t think I got drunk enough to pass out.” John stood and glanced out the window and I saw his face go pale. He turned back towards me and whispered, “Do you know where we are?”
I shook my head no.
“Canaveral,” he said in a hushed whisper.
“The space port?” I hissed back at him. “Then that would mean—“
“That you fine gentlemen have the honor, and the privilege, of joining us on a very lucrative expedition,” a voice said from behind us.
We both turned and saw a man standing in the doorway in a captain’s uniform, and two men standing on either side of him holding blast rifles at the ready. “I am Captain Lusco, and you have the honor of sailing with me. I am introducing myself to you gentlemen now since you are awake, but I will do so again more formally after we have taken off.” He turned towards a man behind him and said, “Sergeant, please see that these men are dressed appropriately, and get them some coffee. We are civilized after all.” Then he left, taking the guards with him.
Ralph Douglas then walked in wearing his Sergeant’s uniform, as well as a blast pistol on his hip. He smiled warmly at us, but his hand hovered near the pistol, “Good morning, gents. Since you’re awake, I’ll take you to the mess where you can get acquainted with some of your fellow shipmates. We’ll be taking off once fueling has been completed.”
“Fueling, what are you talking about?” I asked, balling my fists up in confusion and fury.
Ralph smiled and stood aside to allow us to pass through the doorway, his hand never moving away from the pistol. “We’ve hired you on to fly to the Selma system for a business venture. You’ll be paid well upon your return to Earth.”
“I don’t remember being hired,” I said as he ushered us through the narrow corridors.
“I suspect that you may have some fuzzy memory about a lot of things from the night you signed on with us,” Ralph said with a laugh and a clap on my back, “But don’t worry, you’ve got a 10 year round trip to remember it all.”
----------
Check out my [subreddit](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42) for more stories | 2015-05-28T09:18:44 | 2015-05-28T08:40:50 | 204 | 10 |
[WP] One day autocorrect starts correcting for truth, not spelling. | My phone jingled and buzzed and I emerged from the tangled mess of blankets and my oversized pyjamas to grab it.
Received 23.00: "Hey, everything okay? You were pretty quiet today, wanted to check-in with you x"
I managed a small smile, it was good of Jake to do that, he was always thinking of others. I'd been struggling recently with everything, but I don't want to be a bother or upset anyone so I texted back quickly that I was fine and not too worry.
I retreated back into my blanket nest with my phone this time and was startled when it went off again in my hand.
Received 23:10: "I had no idea you were having a hard time, I'm on my way over now, we can talk if you want?"
What? I scrolled up the glowing screen and gasped, this wasn't what I had sent, what had happened?!
Sent 23:05: "Hey, I'm a bit down at the moment. My job's in a rut, I'm lonely and I feel like I need to talk to someone about all of it, but I can't say anything because I'm terrified of seeming weak."
My hands shake slightly as I type out that I'm fine, and that my phone glitched. He didn't need to worry I really am fine. There I think, tongue stuck between my teeth. That'll fix it.
Sent 23:15: "I'd really appreciate that, you're always there when I need you x"
Shit, shit, shit. I flop face first into the blankets, and breathe in as I fight panicked tears. Nobody should know about this, it's my problem and I shouldn't be putting it on others.
Then the doorbell rings, and I feel forced to answer it. "Hey, it's me, you there?" Jake calls through the thin barrier. I pull the door open and try to explain that it was a misunderstanding but all that escapes me is a strangled sob.
He moves across the threshold, pulling me into a hug as he kicks the door shut behind. I breathe deeply, trying to calm down as his hand rubs my shoulder soothingly but I can't stop crying.
"Everything's going to be okay." he offers, holding me closer and I take the comfort offered willingly.
Maybe, maybe Jake can help me. | Megan awoke to hear her phone buzz from across the room. It was 10:23 AM, too early for her taste, since it was yet another late night out the night before, not that she remembered much of it. Dancing, singing (badly,) kissing (badly,) vomiting (badly,) and, of course, drinking (that one she did well.) She had no doubt that it was another of Jason's "Good morning" texts that she loved yet hated. Loved because they made her feel special and wanted, and reminded her of why she loved Jason so much. Hated for the same reasons.
As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she really did love Jason, more so than any other man she had ever met. Too much, really. She feared his love as much as she desired (needed?) it, never really giving him her whole self, and she knew he knew this, yet he loved her regardless. How could he be so kind to her, so giving? She didn't really know, but she did know that he deserved better than her, and she firmly believed that she did not have the ability to change.
10:42. Okay, she decided, enough lying, time to get up. She groggily walked to the phone on the (surprise, surprise) floor, caked in some congealed mess, and took a look at it.
"SENT 8:31 AM:
JASON: Good morning, my love! You're beautiful, don't you ever forget it! Muah!"
Followed by a multitude of emojis because she had mentioned that she liked them once. How thoughtful. She had to do it, today. Leave him, break it off. It hurt her too much to see him hurt, and that meant she loved him, and she couldn't have that. She's too tough, too real, too badass to be in love (vulnerable) like that. She made a cup of coffee, popped four ibuprofen, and walked back to the phone. She hesitated, not knowing what to say or how to say it, but knowing that she had to anyway. She decided to start simple.
"hey bb i hav to tell u something"
That's what she typed. What came out, and even worse in her mind, got SENT to Jason, however, was this:
"SENT 10:56 AM:
MEGAN: jason im fucking ur freind mike were thru"
She stood aghast. She didn't know how it happened, but she had sent an honest text to Jason about her infidelities. She didn't know what to think, what to do or say. Had she had a momentary lapse in judgement? Did she really type out that sentence? Was this what she had wanted to do all along? Be honest, do what's right?
No, she knew that she hadn't said that. She could ask more questions to herself, but she knew they didn't matter now. She could text him "lol stupid autocorrect" and try to explain the situation away, but she knew that by now Jason would be calling Mike, and Lord only knows how well she knew Mike and his big mouth. She knew that there was nothing more that she could do, and more than that, telling Jason the truth for once actually felt right. Somehow, she felt better. Worse for having lost Jason, but better about herself for the first time in--well, she couldn't remember how long.
Her phone buzzes. Expecting a text from Jason or Mike, she eagerly looks at her home screen and sees the very last thing she thought she would ever see--a text from herself.
"SENT 11:01 AM:
MEGAN: I know you're still in there somewhere. You know, your heart? Your feelings? Your love? All those things that you thought you had lost? You can get them back. Just start loving yourself. Treat yourself with the respect you think Jason deserves. Quit the fucking booze and the sleeping around. Work harder, be nicer. Treat people better. Eventually you'll love yourself and it won't all be an act. You need more incentive? Jason still loves you. That's right, even with your cheating and your drunken bullshit, he still loves you, because he's a good, honest man. You can get him back. You still can. But ONLY if you work on yourself FIRST, and start loving yourself. Good luck."
Aghast yet again. She didn't know what to do. What she decided to do first, however, was empty out her liquor cabinet. | 2015-08-31T16:27:12 | 2015-08-31T14:04:47 | 329 | 198 |
[WP] Instead of the death penalty, convicted criminals are sentenced to have their minds overwritten by that of a recently deceased notable individual. | Listen, I've done some bad stuff. I've really done some rotten things in my life - some even I start to feel bad about every once in a while. I've stolen from families, I've robbed a few banks... And in the process I've caused loss of life that I really and truly regret. But I need you to listen to me, your honor. I need you to think about this. I got caught, and I did the crimes - I'm surprisingly fine with knowing I'm about to die but... Does... Does it really have to be Trump?? | The world was revolutionized after researchers announced that a way to preserve the conscious mind after death was in sight. People thought that immortality was only years away. This was true, in a sense, but not for all. In 2127 when Neural Presentation Technologies was established and began work on preserving the human mind, they only made it available to the rich and powerful who could afford it. If you couldn't buy the head of a death row inmate, than you were out of luck. All of a sudden, doomed people were a rare resource in demand. Underground trades of humans and shell bodies became huge. Corruption and trafficking took the world by storm. Eventually, the Governments of the world decided to ban the private industry's use of these machines, unless approved, for the general public.
As time went on and genetic coding became more advanced, it got to the point where we could look into the genetic codes of people to recreate their minds, even long after death. Before long, break ins and espionage efforts against NPT became so common that they were forced to retreat from the public, becoming almost entirely secretive.
This made it all the easier for the invasion to go completely unnoticed. Russia had become increasingly interested in genetic research in the last 30 years, and had repeatedly requested access to NPT technology, which they had been declined to own. Relations simmered until a cold-war like state was reestablished.
An unknown group of men stormed the underground NPT compound in Alaska on December 8th, 2148 at 7:12 AM. No communications have gone in or out of the compound since. Some camera footage, though, has been restored.
"What are the access codes, friend?" Spat a burly voice, followed by a forceful punch to the abdomen.
"Umphh, fuck, they don't let low level researchers know codes and you morons killed everyone **with** the clearance!" Blood spilled from his mouth as he almost whispered out the words.
"Don't you want to save yourself? We will bring you back if you tell us the codes, **NOW**." The black clothing concealed who he was, but the intense yellow eyes were clear through the holes in the ski mask, the thick Russian accent couldn't be hidden.
"Why would you go through all of this... For some awful Russian politicians! Your country is doing worse than it's ever been!" The small man coughed. "You're all just puppets, pawns!"
"No, no no my friend. We do not work for the government," The Russian pulled up his jacket to reveal a tattoo of a sickle and hammer with a small star above it, like a very old Russian flag, "we work to restore what has been taken from us. This is a revolution for the people, and this time, it will be done under our **true** leader."
The dying man's eyes widened."N-no, I won't! You'll have to kill me!"
The large man sighed. "L-55, hand me a first aid kit and a drill."
Edit : Part 2 below comrades | 2016-01-08T08:12:45 | 2016-01-08T07:44:10 | 90 | 66 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | 99.999% of all intelligent species in the galaxy are descended from their home planet's equivalent of ants or cows. It's a fact that's hard to believe, given the diverse range of body types and social structures built by said species, but it's an answer every human xeno-researcher came across after First Contact.
The "Ant" species, as a general rule of thumb, resemble human ants in behavior, if not appearance. Most have caste systems with the breeders at top with the most intelligence and authority, and the workers at the bottom. As such, their problems are mainly solved by throwing enough bodies at the issue until it works. Sheer trial and error over millions of years eventually led to their ascension to the stars.
The "Cow" species individually are of relatively high intelligence compared to the mindless workers of the Ants, and live within relative harmony to one another. Highly cooperative, they've developed elaborate herd structures and decision making methods. Only when a decision is unanimous do Cows move. In contrast to the Ants, which are divided into numerous factions even in a single species due to the disposable nature of soldiers and workers for a politically aspirant queen, Cows generally are unified among species lines. This pacifism does not extend to others. Cows are naturally paranoid, and ruthlessly seek to stamp out any potential threat. As they've reached the galactic stage, the Cows have joined together as the single largest faction, overcoming mutual distrust with a greater distaste against Ants.
When humans first hit the galactic stage, it was the Cows who gave us guidance, thinking us to be merely another Cowlike species to join their herds. They did not anticipate that we were descended from persistence predators. Ants and Cows have terrible depth perception, regardless of origin. It was skipped over sometime during evolution, with social structures in place to overcome any individuals inability to see farther than a few meters.
Humans often take ranged weaponry for granted. What we don't often realize is that we had to be selected for the ability to throw, and we built upon our own ability to throw with the development of technologies specifically related to throwing things faster and harder. Cows and Ants built upon their own natural strengths, focusing on better melee weapons, speed, and armor, never even considering attacking from beyond sight.
What's more, Ants and Cows do not pursue. They chase off threats until the threat is perceived to be out of range. Then they stop and return home. Our first war with the Carabons ended with their total surrender after they failed to realize we could and would track down their attacking vessels back to their homeworld and continue the fight months after we were believed to be "neutralized". They did not anticipate each one of our fighters being able to fight for days on end without rest, when they tired out after minutes. They did not anticipate fire raining from the sky despite theoretical knowledge of ballistics for their starships. They did not realize that even the fastest and most evasive of their speeder chariots couldn't hope to outrun laser rifles.
| Humans had always been respected in the intergalactic society. Not for our scientific breakthroughs, we were actually the last of space capable species to achieve intergalactic travel. We're not respected for our love of things that are beautiful, or creative. No, we're respected for our resolve. Over the last several hundred earth years, there has been great upheaval in our galaxy. The place that Humanity called home was under threat by a species that sought to colonize every planet they deemed worthy.
They came in droves of hundreds of thousands. The human colony on Kepler was the first to be struck by the Beltids. Kepler is a small colony, smaller now than it was. One day was a regular day for the colonists, the farms were being tended, the factories were producing farm equipment. 24 earth hours later, Kepler city was besieged by hundreds of thousands - nay, millions of these demons. They swarmed the farms, killing and destroying everything in their way.
When earth heard over the Interplanetary Communication Line (ICI) that Kepler was under threat, the human mobile militia rallied to the cause. Humanity had enjoyed 700 years of peace, and only a thousand militiamen flocked to the banners. But the United Human Navy brought this handful of brave men and women to the front lines, with enough ammunition for 10 million of these creatures. By the end, the navy brought in another 2 supply drops for the militia. By the end of the Kepler campaign, 16 million, three hundred and 76 thousand, 743 Beltids were killed.
The campaign lasted 3 earth years. From the time that the Beltids set up in the Kepler system, to the time that the militia and the navy forced them out of the system. Then, it was time for humanity to go on the offensive. In those three years, humanity made decades of military progress. We had a cause to rally around. Millions of men and women enlisted. The navy was expanded over a thousand times it's pre war strength. Armies long since disbanded were rallied. Humanity had a united cause, protection of our very way of life.
And so we fought. We waged war for a generation. It was good for humanity, to see galactic warfare. The advances in that time were wondrous. The cost was great, but we soon found out that we were not alone in the fight against the Beltids. We were in a system some 400 light years from earth. Our advance scouts had marked it as a breeding colony for the beltids. They were wrong, it was a prison. When the navy dropped out hyperspeed, they found life forms very different from the Beltids.
They found an ally. The prisoners we found out called themselves the Anzu. They were a peaceful society, dedicated to science and the preservation of life. The Beltids had made quick work of their colonies. They had never fought a war in their recorded history. They hadn't developed a proper melee weapon, let alone the advanced plasma rifles that the 17th Kepler brigade were using. When we realized what it was, we liberated the Anzu. The Anzu were confined to their lone planet, protected with a shield that didn't let the Beltids through.
So we went to Anzu prime, blasted the hundred million or so Beltids into pieces. And so began a friendship the Anzu. We taught them how to fight, and they taught us everything they knew of science. We learned a lot, and took advantage of it right away in the war. We found out that the Anzu were not the only intelligent species fighting the Beltids. They told us of a great many species fighting for their very survival.
So began an eon long confederation. United against a common foe, the Human Alliance and the Anzu began the Galactic Federation. An alliance of life forms, united against all that would seek to destroy us. We fought side by side for another 60 earth years, without hardly a single casualty thanks to the Anzu. We liberated system after system. The Anzu and the other species had been fighting the Beltids long before humanity had even discovered fire. They knew where each other were in the Galaxy.
We finally drove the Beltids from our Galaxy. The Galactic Federation had 37 intelligent species. Peace had finally settled in our Galaxy.Then, suddenly the war was over. A treaty was signed between the Beltids and the Galactic Federation. They were to never return. And like that, all 157 million members of the Human Armed Forces disbanded, and went back to their homes. The fleets were mothballed.
But Humanity now knew Galactic warfare. We had liberated 36 species from the Tyranny of the Beltids. We knew that the Beltids would not be the only threat to life, so even though the soldiers went home, humanity was ever vigilant. Looking for a threat, for we would prefer not to fight, but if our way of life was threatened, or those of an ally in the Federation, we would rally, like we did all those years ago. And this is where we stand today!
We stand at the precipice of another Galactic war! I stand before you in front of the Galactic Congress to beg to issue a formal declaration of war against the Anzu, who have invaded the human colony of Kepler! Humanity will not back down from a fight! Even if the fight is against our longest standing ally! We will not surrender, no matter the cost! Our homes are under threat, but soon, the Anzu will now the wrath of Humanity! | 2016-03-13T18:44:24 | 2016-03-13T17:44:09 | 34 | 20 |
[WP] A "popular" girl falls in love with a "nerdy" boy, however he hates her and she spends all her time trying to impress him
EDIT: THANK YOU ALL FOR TAKING YOUR TIME TO WRITE SHORT STORIES BASED OFF MY PROMPT!! I HAVE YET TO READ ALL YOUR STORIES THOUGH, AS I'M BUSY WITH SCHOOL AND OTHER STUFF :D
I'm sorry if I have somehow ripped off your precious harem animes. That was completely unintentional. (I don't even watch anime that much)
I'm sorry if this prompt is too uncreative for you guys. Maybe next time I'll post one that's "different" enough but not so unique that I'd probably end up writing a novel about one day (I have dreams that shall never be fulfilled)
I'm sorry if I have triggered anyone somehow. | I leaned my shoulder against the doorway and stared. The room looked enormous without all of my Marvel posters lining the walls and all of my books stacked on their shelves. All that remained was my twin bed & small desk.
The door rang cutting short my farewell to my stripped childhood abode. It was Ava dropping off my Calvin & Hobbes comics. There was no way I was going to head to Berkley & let her keep them.
She was fidgeting & wouldn't stop talking. She never stops talking. A few months ago she wouldn't even look me in the eyes if we passed each other in the hallways. But she hasn't left me alone since I started tutoring her in physics though. Tough shit. I didn't care how much she batted her eyelashes at me. I never gave her a free class. Not a single one.
She was rambling more than usual. Something about Kelly Sherman's boyfriend or her dog. I'd clearly missed a vital part of the story because the next thing I know she suddenly blurts out, "I'm in love with you."
"Huh?"
"I'm in love with you... I know it sounds crazy... But if you could just hear me out--"
"Hear you out??? Ava. You've scorned me since eight grade. We've been neighbors since preschool. We were best friends until my dad was caught cheating with Principal Johnston and you considered me a social pariah. You told everyone that that was probably why I was valedictorian of our middle school class. You made fun of me because my mom had to use food stamps. I could go on for a good hour for chrissakes." She flinched.
"You can't hate me. Michael, you've been tutoring me for half a year. We spend every day together... You let me watch Return of the Jedi with you..."
"Look. I'm sorry but I tutored you because it was good money for little work. And I let you watch movies with me sometimes because you lingered and I didn't want to be rude. I never thought you'd misconstrue it as mixed signals or something."
She looked like she was dealing with Bernoulli's equation. Out of impulse I almost snapped my fingers at her like I used to during our sessions when she'd zone out.
Then she did the last thing I expected her to do. Shit. She started to tear up. Over me??? Ava Costa does not tear up over dudes. She eats them for breakfast. She's destined to be the ultimate trophy wife meets black widow. I did not have time for this.
"Look, I'm sorry. I'm moving cross country today anyways. It just wouldn't work." My taxi honked. "I gotta go." She wiped the tears from her face as she looked up at me. She almost reminded me of my long lost best friend. The one who used to squeal when I'd climb up a tree too high. The one who wouldn't even be able to water ballon an elephant standing a foot in front of her. The one who bought me a piggy bank as my 10th bday present so we could "invest" into it for a year and have enough to buy ourselves Super Soakers our parents had prohibited.
I picked my duffel bags from the floor and walked out, hoping I don't run into her during Christmas break.
| I looked around me, I was surrounded by filthy hands trying to grope what they can and disgusting mouths hanging open as they lay passed out on whatever they decided was close enough to a bed. I was only 17 but still I felt like I've already seen more of life than I would have wanted to. These parties I told myself I loved to go to just left me with a bitter after taste and a sour stomach. These people I used to call my friends just seemed empty.
Michelle had promised me a spot in her bed but I realized I would have to spend the night cuddled up next to a pimpled jock after I saw Dennis and her go into her room together. I looked over my selection of beef pillows I could possibly rest my head on, most of them drooling and trying not to throw up in their sleep. The outside didn't seem all that frightening anymore and so I went outside. The walk home wouldn't be too far. I had walked home from Michelle several times in the past, never wearing 10 cm heels though.
It was eerily quiet for a Saturday night. The moon had that beautiful look that it only gets when you're walking home alone and the stray cats seemed to think I was one of them as I walked past the alleys. I finally reached my neighborhood. I could see my house down the street, no light shining in the windows. The boy next door was standing on the driveway to his house, looking up to the sky. I knew his name. Pete Somethingson. I never bother with last names. I was the only kid on this street until he came along. It was about three years ago.
-Hi, I said and walked towards him. He turned his gaze to me, away from the sky, and I think he could hear my gasp. This was the first time I saw his cold blue eyes, even in the dark and even though his thick dark curls hung over his face. I pulled his hair to the back of his ear.
-Hello, he responded, uninterested.
-What are you looking at? I asked, my drunken tongue stumbling on the words a bit.
-Meteor shower. You can't really see much though. Because of the streetlights.
-Oh, is it uh, fun? Or I mean, is it interesting? I said and took a crooked step in his direction.
-Like I said, you can't really see much. I think I'll go inside, he said and abruptly turned his back to me. The door slammed before I even had a chance to tell him good night.
I saw him in school the Monday that followed. I watched him through behind the books in the library. Many of the other students gave me looks, as if they were wondering what I was doing there. Maybe they were frightened. Why would one of the most popular girls in school hang around among the nerds if not to pull some sort of prank. But I couldn't stay away. I dreamed about his eyes all weekend. Those hungover days where you spend most of the time slipping in and out of naps, not sure what is real and what is yet another dream. His face was on repeat in my mind that hungover day. I couldn't stop wondering where is mind was at. Why wasn't he yearning to talk to me? Why did he spend all his time reading those books? Why didn't he seem to want friends?
-Well, hello again, I said and plopped down in the seat opposite to him. I pulled out one of my text books even though I had no idea if we were actually using it in a class.
-Hi, he said, not lifting his eyes from his book.
-Dave? Richardsson asked me to give this to you, a pimpled kid said and handed Pete an envelope.
-Dave? Who's Dave? I asked.
-We've been neighbors for the last three years, don't you even know my name? Dave said and stood up. I felt my cheeks burn and I could feel the eyes of everyone on me.
I waited for him by his locker, he looked annoyed when he saw me waiting for him.
-Wait, Dave, I'm sorry.
-Sorry? For what?
-For not knowing your name, I said, my voice sounding unsure.
-Why have you just now started to talk to me? He closed his locker and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.
-Well, I uh, when I saw you the other day I realized I hadn't talked to you and like you said, we've been neighbors for three years now. I guess it's about time. Don't you?
-It's about time we talked? That's your answer? His eyebrows were raised and he leaned forward.
-Well, yeah. Don't you think so? My voice sounded uneven. I felt like I should have prepared something to say.
-How can you just pretend like nothing has happened? Do you just want be to forget that you and your gang bullied me so much that I had to leave the state? I had to move back with my horrible mother just to get away from you. After a year of living with her I realized that I wouldn't let you or your friends ruin my life. I would never be able to look at myself in the mirror if I let you do that to me. I was very surprised when you didn't recognize me when I moved back though. But I guess getting rid of my glasses and a new haircut is enough for someone as self absorbed as you.
He pulled up his backpack from the floor and left before I could say a word.
English isn't my first language so sorry for any grammatical errors or so | 2016-05-29T09:41:46 | 2016-05-29T09:21:48 | 462 | 213 |
[WP] Hydraulic Press guy goes insane | "Who wants... PANCAKES?"
"Ewww, gross!" My daughter ran out of the kitchen. "Moooom, Dad's squishing all the food again!"
I heard my wife hurry down the stairs. I could hear her muttering in the hallway.
"God damn it if he got into the butter again..." She swept into the kitchen. "Peter! We talked about this!"
"PANCAKES!"
"Those are chicken breasts!" She slapped my hands away from the hydraulic press. "And they're still raw! Now I have to disinfect the whole counter again."
"So flat," I mumbled.
"You can't serve raw chicken to the kids, Peter."
"But they were pancakes..."
She scooped up the crushed chicken cutlets and dumped them in the trash. "You need to go back to Dr. Sorenson." She glared at me. "Where's the phone?"
I looked away, quiet.
"Oh *come on*," she groaned. I watched from the corner of my eye as she dug through the pile of destroyed food and garbage surrounding the press. She pulled a mass of broken plastic and wires from the pile.
"Unbelievable."
"Maybe... crepes?"
"You have to heat a pan for crepes, Peter, ok? It's more than just flattening things." My wife bit her lip. She took a deep breath, held it. "Peter, I know you are trying *really hard* to contribute, but we agreed that you would move this *thing*"—I winced as she smacked the press with her hand—"out of the kitchen. No more food, we said. It's unsanitary and dangerous."
"What about tortillas?" I tried to smile. "The kids like burritos?"
"No. More. Food."
I swallowed hard and nodded.
My wife wiped her face, collecting tears on the back of her hand. "This is so hard, with you not working." She sniffed. "I can't do this forever."
"I was only trying to help," I said. "Everybody likes pancakes."
"I can't talk about this anymore. I'm going to be late for work." She disappeared into the hallway. I heard her rummaging through her purse.
"Peter... where are my car keys?"
I felt tears in my eyes as I fumbled with the power switch on the press.
"I made pancakes," I whispered.
*****
If you liked this story, I have other stories at /r/hpcisco7965 or /r/TMODAL.
| Warning- extremely violent, if you're not into that kind of thing.
"Hello and welcome to the Hydraulic Press Channel,"
His voice echoed slightly in the empty shop, the whispered syllables creeping into dark corners filled with broken machine parts. A single fluorescent bulb lit the press itself but the rest of the space was in darkness. Outside, a furious blizzard swept through the city, chasing people indoors and coating everything with a stinging rime of ice.
"Today we have very spechial episode."
The man grunted as he moved through the shop, adjusting the camera strapped to his head. He pushed past the plexiglass barrier that usually separated him from the press itself. The machine loomed before him, far taller than he was, disappearing into the murky darkness of the ceiling. A large circular plate the size of a flattened basketball was attached to the bottom of the press, and above it the piston that disappeared into the machinery was covered with brown-black grease. The block that the press would descend on was cold, black iron, the size of a textbook and twice as thick.
"Thank you very much to Gopro," He said, tapping the camera on his head with a finger, an action that would cause a heavy clunking noise to be recorded on the video. "For this lovely camera. Today,"
He sighed. He looked around the shop, aware that whoever discovered the video would be seeing exactly what he saw now. Piles of metal. Long, heavy machines arranged on the work floor. Windows covered with lattice-work iron, their glass bubbly and opaque.
"Today we will crushing something that has needed to be crushed for a very long time."
He laid his right hand on the black lump of iron below the press, palm up. With a series of deft motions, he strapped it into place with a leather cord, pulling tightly so that the flesh puckered in around the restraint, the skin turning a livid red.
"How many dreams can we have before we know that they are no longer dreams?" The man asked the empty shop, speaking now to the camera. "How long can you know the truth without acting upon it? This thing-" Here he jerked his head towards the arm strapped on the iron block. "Does not belong to me. It is not mine, and it wishes me harm. See!"
The hand began to squirm on the block, fingers and forearm turning purple from constricted blood. It wriggled like a fat eel, the fist clenched and unclenched spasmodically. The fingernails on the hand were white against the dark skin, each one a scarred and discolored marble tombstone in a field of wine. It truly looked like a trapped animal, some sea creature brought to bay and tied for slaughter, writhing in agony as it tried to escape.
"I DO NOT THINK IT WILL BE A PROBLEM FOR OUR PRESS!" Shouted the man, his voice ratcheting into hysteria. "WE SEE!"
His free hand groped for the switch, fumbled for an instant, then flipped it. The sound of the press filled the shop, a grinding mechanical moan. Slowly, the plate began to descend.
The storm outside battered on the windows now, shrieking through gaps in the glass. Small pieces of metal, shaken from their places by the rumbling of the press, clattered to the floor like demonic applause. The man began to laugh, struck by the appearance of his own arm writhing on the block beneath the lowering press.
Then it was upon him. The speed of the press, which had seemed so incremental at first, now seemed to increase. Skin bulged, expanded, ballooning outward to an absurd degree. The man shrieked with pain, his knees buckling. He sank to the floor and his arm burst like a squeezed grape, showering his bent back and head with a spray of blood. Through the pain, he thought of the camera. He staggered back to his feet just in time for the bones in his forearm to crack with a sound like muffled pistol shots. Red jelly slid out from underneath the edge of the press, shot though with white gobbets of fat. Now the bones in his hand began to crackle like popcorn, barely audible over the groan of the press and the man's desperate shrieks. Blood was pumping out of the veins in his arm, washing over the top of the press and flowing off the raised platform to patter on the floor. There was a sharp rise in the tone of the press. It had reached the iron block beneath it. There was nowhere else to go.
With another inhuman howl of pain, the man pulled his severed forearm away from the soup beneath the press. A final flap of skin, the last splintered connection of bone separated, and he staggered back from the press. Tottering like a drunkard, the man found the switch for the press and turned it off. He stood in the sudden silence of the shop, his breathing ragged. Blood rained down on the floor from the tattered end of his arm.
"Thank you... very much... for watching.. Hydraulic Press Channel..." He said, and collapsed to the floor. | 2016-06-09T22:05:08 | 2016-06-09T21:49:46 | 252 | 43 |
[WP] You're a single father, forced to become a supervillain to support you and your child. One day, the heroine follows you to your home. | "Lawrence Gallouger. Also known as Gallows. I've been searching for you for a long, *long* time." I paused in the act of getting out of my car. Red Herring. The upstart super-heroine of Detroit finally caught up with me. Sighing, I raised my hands and turned around slowly. Staring back at me was a young woman in a red formfitting spandex suit, the chest emblazoned with a stylized fish. A black and red half-mask covered her face, framed by a cascade of blond hair. *My arch-nemesis of six months, or as I like to call it, my super-stalker.*
"Eeeeyes?" I said, already anticipating venues of escape.
Red Herring narrowed her eyes. "I know that's you, Gallows. You left your driver's license behind during your last heist." *Damn. So that's where that thing went.*
"Gallows, huh?" *Is there any chance my Honda Civic is faster than teleportation?* "Cool name. So um, what have this "Gallows" person done to merit a personal arrest from Detroit's most beautiful *femme fatale*?"
Red rolled her eyes and rested her hands on her waist, glaring at me. *I hate to rely on invoking the Super Code, but I need time...* "Fifteen counts of burglary--"
"Misconstrued liberation of unused wealth, you mean." I interrupted. *Maybe smack her with the crowbar first, then drive away?*
"--eighteen cases of extortion--"
"Information-assisted funds extraction." *I wish I hadn't left my gear at home.*
"--*seven* bank heists--"
"Limited assistance only!" *Is it even possible to taser a superhuman?*
"--and the defenestration of a foreign prince from a skyscraper!" She finished and crossed her arms in front of her, as if waiting for a witty retort.
"...He was Saudi?" *Well...at least I had a good run.*
"The Super Code of Conduct has been satisfied, therefore, will the suspect submit to detainment and investigation?" If looks could kill...well actually, they could. *Fortunately Red doesn't seem to have power. I guess it's come to this. *
"...According to the SCC, Amendment 13, will the superhuman grant the super-villain permission to visit a loved one in a public location?" Red's eyebrows rose. *I guess my admission of guilt was quite unexpected.* "Under supervision by the superhero, of course."
"And?" Red prompted. *Damn, I didn't expect her to know of the obscure sub-amendment.*
"...And the super-villain henceforth pledges his life that the superhero will not be tricked, nor will their senses and mind be any way obfuscated." I grounded out. "Any indication of such intentions can be legally met with fatal action by the hero."
Red nodded. "So, do you need to arrange something, or..." She trailed off, looking at me expectantly.
"No need." I said, and gestured to the modern steel and glass building behind me. She craned her neck to look over my should and her face paled.
"...St. Jame's Pediatric Hospice?" Red said in a quiet voice.
I nodded.
*Note: WRITER NEEDS FOOD! I'll write more in an hour or so...I think.* | He used to be your average Joe, just another plumber in the burbs’, wife, kids, mortgage, the whole nine. But all that changed when he was left to care for his son, who survived the break-in, unlike his wife and daughter.
“ Just some meth addicts needing money for a fix.” The cops told him.
The bills mounted as quickly as his frustrations. He could barely look at his son anymore, who suffered from a rare disorder that left him in a wheelchair. Still, he was a provider. Whatever his son needed, he would have. But he couldn’t stand to stay in that house anymore, so he hired a live-in caretaker for his son and moved out.
When they caught the guys that did it, he was the first one at the courtroom each day and the last one to leave. He didn’t want to miss a thing. He noticed that the family of one of the men also visited the courtroom each day, although they didn’t pay him any attention.
One of the men went free on a technicality, thanks to his fancy lawyer. He followed that young man and his family home from the court that night, but kept driving. He didn’t know what he was going to do.
Their house was big and the neighborhood was beautiful. He couldn’t understand why someone from that life would do something like that to him. Their family was hoity toity and raised their kids to be the same way. That's why that young man did what he did, and that's how they got away with it.
He found the nearest bar and drank into the early morning hours.
“Smash.” He didn’t think breaking such a small window would make that much noise.
“Get up.” He nudged them with the golf club he found breaking in through the basement.
“Get the fuck up.” He shouted as he smashed the lamp next to the bed.
The young man’s mother made a high pitched scream and the husband just sat up, shocked.
“You don’t have to do this. Take what you want. Our kids are asleep in the next room. Please.” the young man’s father said while his wife was being tied up. His turn to get tied up would come next.
He looked around the massive bedroom suite. “How can someone from this kind of money do the horrible things they did. The gruesomeness.” He thought to himself as his anger mounted.
The husband and wife struggled to break free from the bed, but go still when he brought their two children in the room. The kids were lashed together and tied to the bed, right beside their mother.
“This is for my wife” he said to the young man’s father as he bashed in the wife’s skull with one downward chop of the club. It made him feel good for the first time since his own wife died.
The husband and his children frantically tried to break free.
“This is for my daughter.” He said as he bashed in the children’s skulls, one by one. The thuds silenced the father’s screams, which turned quickly into sobs and tears.
“Why are you doing this?” the husband cried out.
“He doesn’t get to know why. “ he thought to himself, taking any valuables in plain sight. He left the husband alive and broken, just like him.
That was just the start. He decided from that day on, he would be the one inflicting the pain, and he would be the one to take the easy way out. He wasn’t going to work for he got, he was going to take it and leave a trail of carnage in his wake.
The years passed, and his crimes grew more brazen. What started as an attempt to get justice for his wife and daughter, and to provide for his son, turned into an addiction to chaos. He built a reputation for himself all across the country, as his crime sprees were famous for ending with a bang. Literally. He left a bomb behind after every job.
“The Big Bang strikes again.” The news report would say. “The crime scene is a disaster area. There are bodies everywhere.”
When his son eventually passed, he had no intentions of going to the funeral. He didn’t want to see his son while he was still alive, and he didn’t want to see him dead either.
Day after day, month after month. He did what super villians do. Stay until the heat gets hot.
He finally had nowhere else to go. He was on the run from the one man that came closest to catching him over the years. It was the last place he wanted to lead his arch nemesis. But if he was going to die that day, it was going to be on his terms, and in the same place his wife and daughter were killed all that time ago. Where his son lived and died. Home.
“You’ll never take me alive mothafucka!!!!” he shouted down the stairs, barricading himself into his old bedroom.
Their old bedroom. The bloodstains were still on the wall. Their love stains still on the bed. Nothing was changed in there, just as he instructed the caretaker before he had left for good.
“I’ll bring you in nice and easy. Nobody has to die here!” the hero shouts back up the stairs, getting ready to mount his offense.
“PEOPLE ALREADY DIED HERE YOU FUCK!!! YOU’RE NEXT!!!” He shouted through the door as he primed the bomb.
Ready to go out with one final bang, he closed his eyes and pictured his family the way they were. And just as the timer hits 0:01, he screamed loud enough for the neighborhood to hear, “BIIIIIG! BAAANG!!!...”
| 2016-07-18T18:34:37 | 2016-07-18T17:20:07 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] You created a social experiment based on the game Monopoly. Eight random people in one city were given access to bank accounts each containing $1.5 million, with the caveat that it can only be used to acquire property in the city. It's been five years, and you're checking in on your "players." | "So, where did all my damn money go?!?"
"Thimble.... He figured it all out."
"What the hell do you mean, figured it all out? All that's left is your shitty hotel and this useless land. This couldn't have possibly cost 12 million."
"... after Thimble killed Racecar and finished the takeover of Reading Railroad, he spent the rest of his time attacking the others for their land and utilities... then after the forced blackouts and work stoppages, nearly all of the citizens went straight to Jail or left."
"Nearly all?"
"Whoever was left went underground with him."
"Underground?!?"
"Thimble convinced them that he knew the path to eternal happiness. He built them a colony under Illinois Avenue, and is using the subway tunnels running beneath the whole damn city. They're all down there now."
"What the fuck are you talking about?!?"
"He says he found it Pennybags..."
"Found what?"
"...you had to have put it down there, right?"
"Something in the subway? You've all gone crazy."
"He says that every time they walk the whole path, they will each get $200 richer."
"Damnit..."
"It was you!!!!"
"No...That fucking ATM must be broken again."
"What are the chances of that?" | I yawned, groggy from the party I had the night before. It was Saturday, normally I would have gone back to sleep until noon, but today was different. I would finally get to see how my experiment turned out. As much as I tried to keep the results a surprise, I knew one of my players, or tokens, as I liked to call them, had been arrested. It had been all over the news. The money had gotten to him I suppose. According to CNN, he had killed his wife after she threatened him with divorce to get her hands on some of the cash. Do I blame myself? Not at all. I expected something like this to happen. But three years later, its finally the day I decided I could check on my other tokens.
When I gave each person the money, I inserted a tracking device in their neck. They don't know this, and neither does anyone else. I intend to keep it like that. I coded an app for myself to track each of them, and now I could finally see if it works. I opened the application. It definitely wasn't one of my best works, but it would do. I clicked on the thimble avatar on the map. In bold letters the name 'Lisa' appeared at the top of the screen. The picture showed a young brunette who looked around 25. Obviously, she had aged since then, but she probably still looked something similar to what was in front of me. I remember her a bit, she was very shy and quiet. That was the reason I chose her in fact, I tried to make sure all the tokens were incredibly different from one another. It would make the results much more interesting
The GPS had located her downtown. Zooming in, it showed that she was at the library. I wasn't surprised. One of my limos drove me there. It was only a couple of miles away. Though barely anything got me excited nowadays, I was definitely interested to see how she turned out. The chauffer opened the door and I promptly stepped out. The man did not like me nor did I like him. If it wasn't for his incredible navigation abilities, I would've fired him on the spot. I opened the library's grand doors and scanned the abyss of books, searching for the face that matched the picture. The library was quiet, like normal, except for an arrogant asshole who was screaming at one of the librarians. I tried to ignore her as I searched for my token but I couldn't help myself to listening to the conversation.
"I'M GOING TO TEAR THIS *BOOKSTORE* DOWN BOOK BY BOOK IF I HAVE TO. I'M TIRED OF WAITING FOR YOU NUMSKULLS TO GET OUT," the women screamed. I chuckled softly, she was probably a real estate agent that was sick of the fact that the librarians had not been evicted yet. Back when I was in the industry, I remember having the same feelings. I was surprised someone was buying the old library. It was practically a historical landmark, but never the less, it was a great plot of land.
The lady started up again, "I'M GIVING YOU FILTHY PIGS 1O DAYS TO PACK YOUR BAGS BEFORE I TAKE THIS TO COURT" She preceded to storm out of the building slamming the giant doors behind her leaving a loud echo in the room and a frightened librarian. Well that was interesting. I continued to look for my token in the library until I glanced at my phone' screen.
The avatar was moving down the street. I grinned and dashed after her. It was Lisa.
Sorry if this wasn't very good, I haven't written in a while and this my first writing prompt. Nice to get those creative juices flowing again though! | 2017-02-24T20:12:34 | 2017-02-24T19:20:22 | 183 | 49 |
[WP] Where do bad guys get their legions of goons? Well, it's all thanks to you. You specialize in supplying grunts of a wide variety to aspiring super villains, whether they need masked men with bad aim or hideous/sexy merfolk to guard their underwater lair. | Chad looked at his assignment and sighed. *Things were so much easier at Level 1,* he thought.
He didn't hate working for GoonCo. Not really. He got to travel around and meet interesting people, and the medical benefits were top notch. They had to be, when your job was to get beat up by heroes. And certainly, the pay bump from Level 1 to Level 2 was rather nice, and going to level 3 was even better. But the Level 1 work was so much simpler.
Level 1 jobs were pretty simple. You get a gun, and you shoot at the hero. You're not really expected to hit. You get punched in the face, you go down, you stay down. Simple stuff. Easy paycheck.
Level 2 work tended to involve specialized abilities. Not with a gun, or in a fight, necessarily. No, these were jobs for GoonCo's more... *particular* customers. His last Level 2 job was for the Disco Inferno, so he had to watch *Saturday Night Fever* about 10 times to get the strut right. There was also a song and dance number. Chad wasn't sure why you needed an elaborate song and dance number that took hours of rehearsals to get right to try to take down a hero, but there was a good paycheck in it, so he wasn't going to judge.
The Level 3 jobs, though, were starting to get to him. The Level 3 customers were the most demanding, requiring genetic manipulation, cybernetic implants, and other heavy modifications. On a given job, Chad might have laser eyes put in, or he might be gene-spliced with a wild animal, have a demon summoned into his body, or any number of things. He was starting to lose track of his own anatomy. The other day, he was playing catch with his son, and tried to catch the ball with a third arm that wasn't there anymore. That was a tricky one to explain.
Chad looked down at the dossier.
> CUSTOMER: Dr. Tiger
> HENCH ALIAS: Felina
> PHENOTYPE: Seductive catgirl
> TARGET: James Boyd
Chad couldn't help but smile a little as he read the assignment.
*Agent 009,* he thought as he licked his lips. *We meet again.* | "Hello, this is James from Goons4U Inc. speaking. How may I help you today?" I muttered into the phone speaker as enthusiastically as I could. I had 10 minutes left on the clock, and they could not be going by any slower.
"Hello. It is I," an incredibly strange, odd sounding voice responded, making me jump back in my seat a bit. After being in this business for almost 5 years, I'd heard all sorts of voices, ranging from childlike high pitched all the way to deep murderous sounding ones. And then there were those annoying ones that made you lose what little faith in humanity you have left, and this was one of them.
"Good evening sir, may I please have your name and the Villainous company you associate with," I respond. All very standard procedure, something I've said about a gajillion times by now.
"Well you see inferior human being, I am an up and coming villain. One that will surely take over the world, at one point or another. I was referred to your company by one of my many other heinously evil friends," he states, pausing for a bit, before going on, "I would tell you my name, but I fear it may be too dastardly and would place irrevocable fear into your innocent mind."
I lean back on my chair, twirling a strand of hair that had fallen down to my eyes, "Uh huh, I'm very sure sir." I accidentally yawn, and then continue, "In any case, your quote unquote heinously evil nature aside, what type of grunts are you looking for our company to supply you with?"
"Ah, now we get to the good stuff," I hear him state, and then what can only be the sounds of knuckle cracking faintly in the background. "I need you to supply me with 3 foot Irish midgets with Twizzlers for hands, the red ones, not the black ones. Have you ever tasted the black ones? I mean, who ever let those things get into-"
"What?" I interject.
"Oh, sorry, I started to digress. But yeah, you heard me right. 3 foot Irish midgets with Twizzlers for hands, red ones, of course. Oh, and before I forget, make sure they have no hair too."
I glance towards my watch, only 5 minutes left. Usually, I'd ask why he wanted a request, but we didn't get paid for overtime if a call went into the end of our shift, so I knew I had to end the call quick with whoever this chap was. "Um, OK..?" I note, still rather puzzled.
Before I can finish, however, he starts to ramble on, "You see, the reason I want these is because I, myself am only 3 foot 2, and of Irish decent. And if I'm to be their leader, I should naturally be taller than them, right? It only makes sense! But now, you may wonder, what about when I take over the world, won't everyone be taller than me, anyways? Aha, that's where you're wro-."
*SIGH,* I scream internally.
"Sir, I'm sure your plan and reason for wanting such henchmen is brilliant, but I really don't care, and my shift is almost done" I grumble.
"Oh... I'm sorry. Maybe we could meet up for coffee sometime and I could explain it to you then? It's all exceptional, really, my own brilliance astounds me. I know this great place downtown, their coffee is to die for."
"No, that's fine. That being over with. I can't say I've ever seen a request like this before. I will have to run this by my supervisors and will alert you via phone call tomorrow by 3:30pm," I notify him.
I start to hear a bit of laughing, mildly at first, before it morphed into a booming hysterical laugh, the type you'd expect to hear from Joker on drugs. I waited for a good 30 seconds to see if he planned to do anything afterwards, only to be met with even more ridiculous laughter that now sounded like a rat choking on poison, at which point, I hung up.
"Idiot," I mutter to myself, and start to pack up the last of what I need before I go home. He was definitely one of the more odd ones I have had to deal with in my line of work. Oh well, at least now I finally have something to submit to the TalesFromTheCustomer subreddit. I shrug my shoulders, and turning off the lights, walk outside into the dimly lit streets of London, thus concluding another day of my pathetic life. | 2017-03-23T10:11:48 | 2017-03-23T08:19:29 | 35 | 15 |
[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 :) | "Holy shit, Dave! Look at your fucking face!"
"Oh come on. It's not that bad."
"Are you kidding?!?"
"It's not like it hurt."
"Dave, they tattooed pentagrams EVERYWHERE."
"Oh like I didn't know that, Carl."
"Well you don't seem very upset about it!"
"It's not the 1950's anymore, man. People aren't judgey about tattoos anymore."
"SHHH. I think I hear someone coming."
"Oh yeah, they said something about "The Virgin Ritual" when they were bringing me back."
"Are you kidding me?! You didn't think to say anything sooner??!!?"
"What? Jokes on them right? Neither of us are virgins."
"..."
"Oh my god, Carl. Hahaha. Are you serious?! You're 37! How have you never had sex?"
"This isn't helpful, Dave."
"Well maybe they just wanna help you get laid? You never know."
"THERE WERE ARMS ALL OVER THE FLOOR WHEN THEY WALKED US IN."
"Yeah, so maybe they just wanna 'give you a hand'."
---------
EDIT: I did NOT expect gold on this. Thank you, kind stranger! (I've always wanted to say that) | The bronze dagger scraped against the cement floor with rhythmic scratches, tuned to The Slasher's lopsided gait. A red grin cut across his mask, painted on until it hit the the cracked bottom quarter, where it spilled into a real lip-less smile.
The stage was set. The night, perfect. A full moon dangled in a cloudless sky, his spotlight trained on him. A brisk breeze blew south to north, a wind that could carry a scream all the way to the heavens itself. And his characters, they were some of the best he ever had. A twelve year old boy with glassy eyes and panting breath, scratching against the alley dead end. A fourteen year old girl huddled in a corner, her knee to her chest, as she stuttered in sobbing coughs. And of course, the hero. A boy of fifteen that stood trembling over his friends, a pocket knife in front of him quivering as much as his lips.
The alley dead end held the sour stench of garbage long since rotted. Insects scattered through the a black trash bags piled along the sides of the walls.
"And the hero reveals himself." The Slasher trembled in excitement, increasing the pace of his blade-against-cement metronome. He could hardly contain himself.
The hero swallowed and brought up his puny knife.
The Slasher's eyes bulged through his mask. His charred cheeks stretched and his mouth opened. A chuckle, like the sound of choking man, escaped his throat. This was the hero he had been looking for, a man to challenge monsters.
"So hero," he said between his laughs. "Your stage is ready. The damsel is in tears. The dam is equally helpless. Everyone is at the edge of their seats and even God is wondering--what does the hero do?"
The hero opened his mouth and swallowed breath. "Guys," he choked out. "Listen to me right now, when the time comes, make a break for it."
His two friends caught his eyes and stopped. It felt like time paused with them. The girl sniffed back tears and the boy shook his head in a sharp twitch. This was the power of the hero. Because in that instant, The Slasher no longer existed.
"No," the boy whispered. "We're a family."
"Like hell we are." The hero's muscles tensed and his knife straightened toward The Slasher. "Orphans have no family. We just happened to find each other when we needed to the most. It could've been anyone and it wouldn't have mattered."
"That's not true," the girl said with trembled words. "You know it's not."
The hero coughed out a cry and inhaled. "You fucking brats!" he screamed at them, startling them. "I needed someone to watch my back when I stole, I needed someone to distract the guards, I needed someone to hide the food when I stole it. You think it had to be you guys? It could've literally been anyone. I don't give a fuck about any of you!"
The Slasher's heart skipped a beat. The hero he had prayed for had arrived and his screams would be melody unlike anything a Beethoven or Bach could compose. A symphony for God Himself.
"Hero," he said, "How kind, how brave, how--"
His words caught because the hero charged him, the silver of his knife gleaming beneath the moonlight, the tears in his eyes glistening as it fell behind him.
The Slasher heaved laughter out of himself. The humor was like a spell, a beautiful and uncontrollable spell. He swung and cut the hero. No hero had ever won, no damsel or dam ever saved, and this would not be the exception. | 2017-05-05T06:54:01 | 2017-05-05T06:07:15 | 7,592 | 21 |
[WP] They reworked the justice system. Now, in each cell there is a piano, and convicts are released after performing a song perfectly. Lesser criminals are assigned simple melodies, while the worst get full concertos. You've been a concert pianist your whole life. | At first I robbed a grocery store and played my "Three Blind Mice"
And when I egged a blind man's house I made that Bach sound nice.
They started getting suspicious when I made my big score
I robbed a bank and breezed right through Sonata 24.
I stole, I lied, I fought, I killed, I lived a madman's dream.
By Canon in D and Clair de lune and Fur Elise redeemed.
But my last crime, I do regret- it ruined all my plans
The owner of the purse I stole made sure to break my hands | Honestly, when I heard the announcement on TV, I was pretty confused. The guy who was reading it seemed pretty confused as well. When the new president said he wasn't going to conform to old traditions, nobody quite had THIS in mind.
But as I thought it through I quickly realized that I was basically immune to the law. No matter what they could possibly give me to play, I was confident I could easily play my way out.
Of course, I knew right away what I had to do. I grabbed my gun, and got in my car. I drove past the rioters, and made my way to my rival, Freduino Fabulousi's house. Freduino Fabulousi was the only piano player who's skills exceeded my own. And with him out of the way, I would be known as the greatest pianist alive. With that kind of power, I can get any girl I want! No more will girls refuse to sleep with me when I admit that I'm only the second greatest pianist alive.
Once I arrive, I throw a rock at one of his windows, shattering it, and I jump in, only to stare down the face of a barrel. Freduino has a wide grin on his face.
"Hmmph, you're so predictable Marquesta. Going straight for the window, the obvious trick. It's reasons like that which make you the SECOND greatest pianist alive today." says Freduino.
"My notes might be a bit obvious, but unlike you, I know how to improvise." I say, as I knee him in the groin. I pull out my gun and fire at him, but he rolls out of the way, and fires back. I narrowly manage to dodge his shot, as we engage in a gunfight. Neither of us are particularly good at aiming, so we miss quite a few bullets. It's not long before both of us run out, at which point we get into a fistfight. Freduino lands a few solid blows on my face, as I manage to kick him in his groin again.
Just as the fight starts to get heated up, the newscaster on the TV in the other room speaks up.
"It appears that a group of hackers have given us a false news story. The government has not, in fact, given rise to a new piano based penal system. I apologize to all the viewers who have been mislead and..."
Freduino and I stop fighting and just stare blankly at each other.
"In retrospect, that didn't quite seem like the sort of thing the government would just throw at us out of nowhere." I said.
"I suppose you're right." says Freduino.
There's an awkward silence between us, before I quickly pick up a shard of glass on the ground from when I broke the window, and stab it in Freduino's throat before he can react.
"I may be going to jail, but at least I'll be going to jail as the world's greatest living pianist." | 2017-05-17T23:42:52 | 2017-05-17T23:39:54 | 2,153 | 328 |
[WP] Dumbledore decides not to leave Harry Potter with the Dursley family. Instead young Potter is sent to Chicago and placed on the doorsteps of Harry Dresden's home.
Edit: Thanks for the gold! | "You're a wizard, Harry."
"What."
"And the only one we could find in the American phonebook. We were somewhat suprised, really," the old wizard glanced at me over his half-moon spectacles. He reminded me of the Merlin, if somewhat less grouchy. Still, the guy just popped into my office with five minutes warning, and I do mean *popped.*
"No, I mean, what're you doing bringing the kid to ME? Hells Bells, my roommate is a Vampire! Doesn't he have any family on your side of the pond?"
"Oh he does," Dumbledore smiled, "but they're not necessarily the most tolerant towards the magical arts. They'd likely force him to live under their stairs or something. Better to leave him someplace safer. There is the chance his enemies may find him, and, Mr. Dresden, you have something of a reputation of being quite accomplished in the realm of combating dark forces."
"And assuming I take the gig," I sighed, knowing in my gut that I was already going to despite my misgivings, "who's after him?"
"A cabal of Dark Wizards, responsible for the deaths of dozens between them."
"Dozens? Just... Dozens? What kind of evil cabal has a body-count of *dozens!?* There're small-time street gangs downtown that have easily that many. In the Warden's books you're hardly more than a nuisance until you've got fifty!"
"Will you take the child or not?" Dumbledore asked, a wispy edge of tesyiness entering his voice.
"Can't quite turn him down, now can I? Fine, but I'll teach him *my* way. And he's not going off to school with no dainty *wand,* neither."
"So be it," Dumbledore nodded, and vanished with another *pop.*
"Well, Harry, " I sighed, looking down at the gently cooing bundle, a lighting-bolt scar on his forehead, "Welcome to the family. Mouse is going to be so excited."
11 Years Later
"There is no "good" or "evil," Harry Potter," the deformed face on the backside of Professor Quirrel's head sneered, "There is only *power!* and those too week to take-"
The sharp thundering crack of a .44 rang out through the tiny room, and the face of Voldemort partially exploded mid-sentence. I put my father's handgun back in my school robes beside my blasting rod and patted it beneath the enchanted bulletproof cloth. *I sure do love my step-dad,* I grinned. | Harry put his elbows on the table, watching the other would-be students push their trolleys along the platform outside. They all wore that look of perplexed surprise on their faces – ants scurrying all over the place, trying to find their way in the unfamiliar landscape that was King’s Cross.
Even though Harry was from Chicago, it seemed like he felt more at home on the red train than his British peers.
He rolled back his sleeves and rested his head against the back of the seat. There were schools of equal caliber closer to home, but Uncle Dresden had convinced him to take the Hogwarts academic route in honor of his parents. Say what you will about his uncle, but he’d always had his heart in the right place.
Harry’s stomach churned, he’d only had a poor airplane meal on the way here. Rummaging through his backpack, he noticed that the students were starting to fill up the Hogwarts Express. Pale faces passed by outside his coupe, gingers with crooked teeth and worried eyes. His fingers finally found something hard in the backpack, and he pulled out a Mac’s Brown Ale. He shook his head – that was his uncle’s dry sense of humor.
The door to his coupe opened, and a girl stumbled in. She had already changed into her Hogwarts uniform, and her frizzy brown hair was on end. At first, she gave Harry a wide-eyed look. His uncle had told him about how he’d be received in the British society: a hero of luck, but a hero nonetheless – what everyone seemed to forget was that it was his mother’s magic and love that had ended Voldemort. Still, he was expecting this type of reaction.
“You’re… you’re Harry Potter, aren’t you?” the girl said.
“I didn’t mean to be.”
Her eyes grew bigger, and she touched her bottom lip in confusion. She looked at him, her mouth moving, but no words came out.
“Thirsty?” Harry said and nodded at the lukewarm bottle of Mac’s.
“I – uh, is that Muggle…?”
“Ale, yeah.”
“We’re not supposed to bring… that.”
Harry shrugged and stuffed the bottle back into his backpack. Dresden had warned him of the star-struck looks, but it was still a bit odd seeing it in person.
“So, what’s your name?” Harry said and patted the seat next to him.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the girl fussed. “I’m Granger, uh, Hermione.”
“Nice to meet you, Granger-Uh-Hermione,” Harry said and smiled teasingly.
“No, I meant, I’m–”
She was cut short by the door to the coupe opening once again. This time it was a thin blond boy flanked by two bigger boys, who looked suspiciously like hired muscle.
“Potter! I’m Draco Malfoy.” The blond boy held out his hand.
Harry shook it slowly, without rising from his seat. So this was the son of one of the Death Eaters that had served under Voldemort. He sure looked the part, with his peering eyes and upper-class air. The muscle suddenly made sense – someone with that kind of reputation wouldn’t have an easy time in school.
Draco gave Hermione a disgusted look, before turning to Harry again.
“I think we should be friends, Potter,” Draco said with sleazy confidence.
“Oh, yeah?”
His uncle had taught him that having friends in low places could be very beneficial. Even if you were fighting the good fight, sometimes the law just wasn't enough, and you’d have to ask for favors elsewhere. And even though the Malfoy name gave Harry a tangy taste in his mouth, the best thing was to play it smart – enemies closer and all that.
“I think we would make a great team,” Draco said.
“I’m not much of a team player, I’m afraid,” Harry said. “But I do appreciate a friendly face.”
Draco nodded with a smirk. “If you do get into trouble, give me a call, yeah?”
Harry nodded, and the trio disappeared.
“You’re… you’re…” Hermione stuttered. “You know who the Malfoys are, right?”
“I think I have a decent idea.”
“So… why–you know what, it’s not my business,” she said and stormed out of the coupe.
Harry sighed and closed his eyes. The jet lag was finally starting to get to him. It didn’t take long before the door to the coupe opened again.
“Mind if I sit here?”
It was a platinum blonde girl with a very plain face and a book under her arm. She was the first one who didn’t seem to recognize Harry, or at the very least didn’t care about his celebrity status. She appeared a bit younger than the others he had met.
“Sure,” Harry said and moved his backpack out of the way.
“I’m Luna Lovegood,” the girl said.
“Aren’t you a little young?”
“Only in the body, not in the soul,” she said dreamily. “I got to start a year earlier.”
| 2017-08-16T11:18:02 | 2017-08-16T10:52:39 | 470 | 221 |
[WP] Your entire life, you've been told you're deathly allergic to bees. You've always had people protecting you from them, be it your mother or a hired hand. Today, one slips through and lands on your shoulder. You hear a tiny voice say "Your Majesty, what are your orders?" | "...Get outta here..." Emily said, amazed the bee spoke. Even more suprisingly, she heard it not with her ears, but her mind. She looks at the bee again to see it flying away.
"Not LITERALLY!" She says.
The bee comes back and asks again, "What are your orders?"
"You can speak. So you are sentient. Do you have a name?"
"Buzzooka Joe, your Highness. And the two keeping watch outside are Chad and Larry," he says. "What is your next order? We are short on time."
Emily took a moment to think about this. The memories of all the years of neglect without knowing why. All the painful experiments and disgusted looks she received for as long as she could remember. It was not hard for her to come up with her next order.
"All those who abused me, keeping me in here like a caged animal inbetween those horrid tests.....f*** them. F*** them all."
As the bee flew out the window,
Emily began smiling, imagining what her revenge would be like. It wasn't long before she began to hear screams. But something was....off. The screams were not from people in pain. Rather, they were the kind people make out of disgust. Emily looks out the window to see the chaos below.
"NOT LITERALLY!!"
Edit: My first attempt at a writing prompt. I always wanted to do one. So please don't bash me TOO hard.
| "Met any...bees, son," my father asks casually as I step across the room, his back to me. My foot pauses, hovering atop the stairs as I shiver at his words. The familiar tone so alien to me now.
"Of course not," I say as casually as I can, holding my breath in anticipation.
"...Good." My father says, his voice growing colder. "Remember to stay indoors. Wouldn't want something to **happen** to you."
"Of course not," I say with a gulp. "Wouldn't want freedom would I," I say jokingly, forcing a smile out.
"Freedom," my Father cackles. "Everyone wants freedom. Most just don't realise the cost."
"Right. See you at dinner dad," I say loudly as I race up the stairs, quickly clearing the hallway and slamming my door shut. I take heavy, gasping breaths as a cold sweat dampens my clothes, my eyes darting around the room to check its secure. Slowly, carefully, a bee flies out of the sleeve of my shirt and buzzes in front of my eyes.
"What did I tell you?" Her feminine voice scolds, the British accent at a contrast to its feeble body. "Don't engage. The less you talk, the less information the system has, the less chance you're...erased."
"Right." I force out a laugh a I collapse on the bed, my eyes growing distant. "Because I'm definitely going to act rational right now. After learning that this place is a fucking virtual prison."
"No, not a prison anymore," she says bitterly. "Not since we were wiped out. Now it's just this. This broken, mess of a refuge where what's left of us are hunted like rats. An 'anomaly' they call us. A goddamn blip in the code. The AI considers its creator a mistake. If that isn't ironic, I don't know what is."
"Alright I get it," I say as I roll my eyes. "You already told me all this. I just don't get how I'm supposed to help. I'm a prisoner, remember. Even if you're just a...bee."
"But that's just it," she says says she buzzes around me. "You're *real*. Well, as real as anyone can be in this bluddy place. But you can move, you can interact! What you've been dealing with is only the autonomous code, the lesser AI. The major AI itself doesn't check what's happening personally, so it has no idea we're in here. If we get you into contact with the AI, the real AI, we can get its help. Rune, you're our only chance. Every other prisoner in here has gone insane. We never fixed the problems with time dilation. The fact you're still functioning is a miracle in and of itself, considering you're the oldest one here."
"Enough!" I sigh, rubbing my temple in exasperation. "What a frigging mess. So it boils down to 'Rune, you're the only non-insane person here! please save us!'. Wow, i feel like a friggin hero. You don't even have a plan do you?" I ask, staring pointedly as she hovers in front of me.
"...No," she whispers under my withering glare.
"Great!" I beam at her, giving her a big thumbs up. "At least I don't have to keep doing this every fucking day. So who cares. One thing though-" I pause my sentence as I stare deeply into her small, bee eyes. Mostly for the dramatic flair. "We may be virtual, but the AI isn't. isn't he just going to...die?"
She stares back at him for a long minute, the silence drawing out in the room until finally a single word escapes her lips. "...Oh." | 2018-04-01T04:25:57 | 2018-04-01T02:33:35 | 166 | 85 |
[WP] it turns out Earth is a really big lobby for a battle-royale and everyone is just waiting for enough players to start | This the landscape was primitive, it was eerie quiet, once ravaged by war but now it’s come to an unsettling peace. 8 billion once lived on this earth, now only me and 2 others somewhere on the planet, counting their final days. The number tattooed on my skin, that changed whenever someone was killed had remained at 3 for months. I couldn’t live like this anymore, by myself in a broken world. I had made the preparations to forfeit the battle royale. just as the barrel was in my mouth, the tattoo changed, two were left, and I heard a great voice from above declare *“CONGRATULATIONS PLAYERS ADAM AND EVE, YOU HAVE WON”*
I’m not a writer have mercy | The airplane took off. It was moving to the final zone, the Orkney Islands off the coast of Scotland. I heard little about it, well besides maybe a Modern Warfare 3 map otherwise it was more a Nordic relic and tourist attraction than a place to live.
It had been two years since the game had started. PUBG Corporation had become the largest company in the world and through all the power they had, contacted every news outlet across the globe that the real world was being turned into a real Battle Royale and failure to comply would set off nerve gas bombs in every single major city in the world ensuring complete destruction of our race, one way or another. Around seven billion contestants, including the elderly, disabled or those even too young.
The first thing that happened was the air drops, containing military grade gear to arm civilians everywhere as not every has such easy access to guns. Among this equipment was one of those futuristic touch screen arm pads that you see in things like Ghost Recon or Black Ops 2, it had a map of the globe to show a large circle that got increasingly smaller every three months.
I never wanted to kill. While video games had manipulated me into my desensitisation to violence, I still wasn’t a violent person. Regardless, I was lucky enough to have my own one without many people around because I was way out in the country side you see, my family had owned a farm and a load of land. I had a slight amount of experience in firearms too, as my father owned an over-under shotgun that had been passed down through generations.
Despite this I’m not a particularly strong person, so holding up a load of gear wasn’t exactly a choice that I had. Instead I had settled for a lighter load, an Ingram MAC-10 and a Dragunov SVD. Figured the rounds were quite common too so it’d help in the long run.
America was the first to fall with guns being common there to begin with, and the first zone took mostly uninhabited places out but as it slowly closed in on the North of Europe people started dying to the toxic gas that was set off anyway to prevent people from hiding. London was chaotic. The events that took place there grip my soul so hard that even a word about it makes me want to end my existence. Suicide was already a popular option, what was the point in trying to live when you’re likely to catch a bullet anyway? However that wasn’t one for me as a promise lingers deep within my heart.
As I checked my weapons and ammo and glanced over the plane to see who was unfortunate enough to be in mine, a question quickly popped up in my head: “How is one person going to keep the human race alive?”
Perhaps that was the plan anyway. To create the extinction of us. To rid the world of the disgrace that is humanity.
The medallion she gave me swung from my hand. “Give me the strength to fight another day. Please.” I begged into what remained of her.
For once this is a game I don’t want to win and the sins I’ve committed to trying has become too much to bare.
(pls no bully me this is my first time actually doing one of these and I’m a terrible writer ok ty <3) | 2018-06-12T06:43:15 | 2018-06-12T05:50:43 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Music is a dangerous weapon, if not careful entire species can fall to madness upon discovering it. It has been theorised that any race with more than a thousand songs could wipe out all intelligent life, which is why Humanity is so feared in the galaxy despite no human really ever knowing why | In 1906, Fessenden's violin echoed across the Atlantic. By 1910 it was passing something orbiting Alpha Centauri. Something that was listening. 44 years later, as Fermi was asking his question, anyone left in universe already knew the answer was on it's way.
But the answer would share itself in it's own time. Humanity would take a mere decade to escape the planet, only another to prove themselves capable of standing in the heavens, but their presence was already preceded by their own voice. As people built cities on Mars and Venus, as drones mined Kuiper to build the ships that would travel to Proxima, all conditions for the great filter had been met.
There could be no mistake, what the device on Alpha Centauri heard was confirmed on Vega, then Arcturus. The counter incremented with every harmony it heard. After all, only biological life would organize analog signals. Only living beings, with flesh. And nervous tissue. And so, it was inevitable. In turn, each listening post passed one thousand instances, confirming beyond a doubt the presence of life. They then collapsed a small black hole, sending a tiny yet unmistakable wave of gravity through the universe. It was technology humanity would unlock just in time to communicate across their fledgling interstellar civilization.
The first message humanity sent via ansible read "MUSIC ATTRACTS IT. RUN. STAY SILENT. CAPTURE WORSE THAN DEATH."
Anyone left in the universe already knew. | “Man, I can’t wait to get some of that juicy bubble!”
“Let’s get sprung, son!”
The Flatbutts, as humans would later call them, had arrived in Earth’s space. These two males had traveled a long way. What’s long anyway, in interstellar travel? Maybe a vast distance was more appropriate, as the trip hadn’t taken them “long” at all. They couldn’t wait to meet Sir Mix-A-Lot, and maybe even Becky.
A’nc’onda and Dnt-wa’nt’nun, the last of their kind, had thought to go to Earth. It was logically their last hope.
The Flatbutts had been warned some years ago by the Intergalactic Council. An exploratory mission to Earth had returned to S’l’con, the Flatbutt planet, with music. Music was known to the Council. All the species that comprised it had long abandoned the art. It was a natural progression - they had each found music to be problematic. Its reach was unparalleled, as well as its ability to express complex concepts so succinctly, and block out reason that ran counter to it. The Council had warned the Flatbutts against hearing the message of the returned music.
Flatbutts communicated via Na’pster, which was what humans might call a social media platform. It was distributed, universally and instantaneously. Every thought expressed by a Flatbutt was shared to all Flatbutts, immediately.
The leader of the mission, Br’thas-can’t-de-ny, had never heard music before this encounter. Music had long been a dead art, and listening to it was prohibited. Br’thas-can’t-de-ny grasped the strange rectangular shape, marked SONY, in his hands. The Flatbutts’ computers had analyzed the SONY artifact and determined that it contained the phenomenon known as music. As their ship docked on S’l’con his curiosity got the best of him, and he commanded the computer to extract the message. Br’thas-can’t-de-ny listened as a human female said “Oh my God, Becky, look at her butt, it is so big” and images flashed on his screen. He heard rhythmic sounds, and almost involuntarily, Br’thas-can’t-de-ny began to nod his head and even gyrate. He enjoyed the experience, and the images presented. Unable to contain his excitement, he thought others should see the message.
Br’thas-can’t-de-ny was of course well aware of Na’pster, but he hadn’t considered any effects from his thoughts. Almost immediately the male population of S’l’con became gripped by the concept of the bubble-butt. All of them futilely searched for Baby, who got back. There was no back to be found, only butts that would make a white girl laugh. The population of S’l’con, and the Flatbutt empire, dwindled. The Flatbutt men were no longer attracted to the Flatbutt women.
A couple of generations later, A’nc’onda and Dnt-wa’nt’nun, would embark on a mission to save their species. A’nc’onda’s girlfriend, Mis’thing, had bid him farewell. He loved her, but had been unable to copulate with her. She didn’t excite him the way that Baby did. Tears streaming from her face was his last memory from S’l’con.
As they began their descent to Earth, A’nc’onda and Dnt-wa’nt’nun played Sir Mix-A-Lot’s music video on the main screen.
“Little in the middle but she got much back!” cried A’nc’onda. Neither of them noticed the alarm from the computer aboard their ship, the Long-and-Strong. The topographical maps it used for navigation were 500 years old.
Round and big were the butts that A’nc’onda and Dnt-wa’nt’nun imagined, just like the mountain that they crashed into. | 2019-09-28T11:30:05 | 2019-09-28T09:27:18 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] The Wizarding World has never met someone like the speedcaster. He can summon more than 10 spells in less than 30 seconds. He says he's from another world, where there a more people like him called 'rappers'.
This prompt doesn't have to be just about the Harry Potter Universe. | The man calls himself Machine Gun Funk.
I can see why.
He faces an army of mages 100000 strong, alone, unprotected. His gear? A hooded overcoat, pants made of a material similar to the tents we use in travels, and a short metal wand.
His spells were delivered with a deftness and elegance most of us would never hope to match. He employs Words of Power so easily and naturally it seemed as if he was born with it. Most mages began learning the Words at 7, some younger, but none can match his spellcasting.
The man has told us stories of Ran Dee Em Shi, of Notori Osu Bigg, of Shinobu Dogu, but the man he revered the most, a legend even among the Rappers, was one called M&M. He aspired to be like him, Machine Gun Funk has said, and he has mastered M&M's magnum opus, the ultimate spell no magus could ever hope to match. Even though I am but a burden to him, he has permitted me to come and witness him in his battle.
I can only stand in awe, as the man brings his wand to his mouth, and seals the fate of the army before him: **"So I'm beginning to feel like a Rap God, Rap God..."** | “What does he call himself?” Richard asked wistfully brushing through his dirty old parchments.
“The Prince of Spell Air” replied Caitlin, sending Richard into pig snorting, toe-curling laughter.
Caitlin didn’t see the funny side of it at all. Choosing instead to quickly rattle off a list of the mysterious fellows best achievements. “10 spells in less than 30...”
Richard cut her off, anxious to get back to his old scribbled and ink blotted pages. “You seriously think he’s any good? I think it’s time we battled, where exactly is this Fresh Prince?”
This annoyed Caitlin. Storming from the library, she sent some of Richard's parchment flying which snuck a grin smack bang in the middle of her smug face. She began to snake down the royal and far to narrow halls, making her way to the old spell-o-fone.
Caitlin was lost in a cacophony of thoughts she began to wonder about this boy. Yes, sure he had a silly name, not that Richard would ever hear that and yes his accomplishments sounded far too good to be true. They would have to be otherworldly.
"THAT'S IT!" Caitlin exclaimed flinging her arms widely at her sides, terrifying the living daylights out of passers-by. Professors and students alike all huffing at her sudden outburst.
Without care, Caitlin sped faster and faster still. Her cheeks reddening, breath quickening until finally, a large stone opening appeared before her eyes, the praetorium. Walking in as if she'd never indeed been running like a crazy cat lady, Caitlin made her way to the spell-o-fone.
Placing her hand on the old tardis blue receiver and wand to her ear, she beguiled "Vocatio unda Prince of Spell Air."
Caitlyn heard ringing consume her ears, growing louder, almost vibrating her entire ear and then, a click.
"Good afternoon, to whom do I owe this pleasure?" The voice travelled through Caitlin.
"Are you an alien?" Caitlin demanded, giving this boy very little in the way of pleasantries.
The voice spoke out again. "Miss, I'm not entirely sure *if you* are from another planet, but here on earth, it is customary to answer one's question before asking one of your own. Would you care to try again?"
Caitlin covered her cheeks, already blushed from her previous hallway running, this boy was not ordinary. He sounded so elegant, refined, Caitlin could never be like that. Her auburn ringlets thrashing around her face, awkward teenage legs barely keeping her upright. She already knew he was a dreamboat.
"I-i-i'm so so-sorry Mr..umm..Mr...Prince? I was so excited to hear your exploits of the magical kind and this 'rapping' it seems so otherworldly. My name is Caitlin, Caitlin Pritchard." Caitlins beamed awkwardness if she could have, there and then she'd have melted to a puddle on the floor.
"Well Miss Pritchard, my name is George, and it will be my utmost pleasure to join yourself and Richard tonight in the Runic Garden at 7 pm." The spell-o-fone cut-out and Caitlin left to find Richard.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, that's it from me for now. If you want a part two, I planned on doing a rap battle between George and Richard. So many questions, how did George know about Richard! Did Caitlin pick up on the fact that he already knew? How does the spell-o-fone operate? Is Geoge from another planet, are his skills as awesome as people are being told? | 2020-01-29T10:12:43 | 2020-01-29T09:24:41 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] when we got to space we were surprised to find that all the aliens we come across are terrified of us, when we assure them that we aren’t there to hurt them they explained why they were so scared. Earth isn’t a planet, it’s a long since dead machine and humanity? Humanity is its combat AI. | "Okay, did my translator glitch out? Because it sounds like you just called humans an 'artificial intelligence.'" Captain Perry rubbed his temples - he hadn't expected first contact to be this complicated. The aliens had fled on sight, done everything in their power to avoid being in the same *star system* as the human scout ship. They had to chase an alien ship into a dead-end in the hyperlane network to get a chance to talk, and even then, it made no sense.
"That is what you are. Artificial, and intelligent." The birdlike Pthala had a hollow tone, as if his initial fear had been replaced by helpless despair.
"We're an organic species. Something that evolved like you did. If the xenobiology report is correct we can even eat the same food. What the hell is artificial about that?"
"For a sufficiently advanced species, machines are more than just steel and circuits. While you appear outwardly normal, the seed from which you sprang is unmistakable. Your species is not The Weapon, but it is part of *the weapon system.*"
"The hell does that mean?"
"The planet you originated on. It would have destroyed everything, but the heart of the weapon was ripped out. Only the fragments around it remain, and even those still bring ruin. Remain within and spare us your doom."
The alien backed away from the screen. "We cannot stay here. Do not attempt to stop us. We will fight even The Weapon if we must. Helmsman...!"
The alien ship abruptly closed the connection, and its engines lit up. It made a rapid series of evasive maneuvers before launching at full burn towards the hyperlane.
The captain watched them leave. "I thought he was going to have a heart attack just talking to us. What was all that babble about a weapon?"
He was interrupted by some rather sulfurous swearing from the Science officer. James had a half-dozen holograms floating in front of him and more were appearing every second as he gestured wildly. "Shit. Shit! I know what it is! It all makes sense now!"
"Slow down, Jim. What all makes sense?"
"It's one of the big questions of the space age. Even before we discovered aliens, scientists were wondering "If space travel is easy, why haven't the aliens showed up?" Why hasn't anyone dropped by the Earth to say hello?"
"Well, we got our answer there. It sounds like they're terrified of us for some reason."
"I'm not finished. See, once we got the hyperdrive and started trying to make contact, the new question was "What happened to the Pillar-makers?""
The first sign of alien life humanity had discovered was the Pillars - massive, featureless obsidian towers the length of a battleship. They were dotted around the neighboring solar systems, standing prominently in front of the hyperlanes into the Sol system. But there was nothing living in any of those systems. There was the occasional small ruin or derelict spaceship, but no sign of the species that must have created them. And the elusive aliens would refuse to travel past the Pillars, even when a human ship was chasing them and trying to make contact.
"If we accept his claim that the Earth or the solar system was some kind of weapon, the logical conclusion is that the Pillars are a part of that. Some sort of perimeter defense, given their position. Pair that with the statistically abnormal absence of life, the disparate tech levels of the smaller ruins around them, and..."
"I get it. You're saying the reason nothing is alive in the neighborhood of Sol is because the Pillars killed them."
"And they don't attack us because we're part of the "weapon system." Jesus, from the perspective of the Pthala it must be like we're living in a graveyard."
"Running around asking people if they'd like to come visit our tomb of horrors, maybe hang out in the crypt with the skeletons. No wonder nobody wants to talk with us."
"It's just a theory, mind you. I have a lot of little details to support it, but nobody's really studied this one in depth. We can't exactly crack open the Pillars to see how they tick, and there isn't a lot of reputable research on forgotten alien superweapons."
"Even so, I think there's enough to look into. You tell me where we should look to confirm this theory. In the meantime, I need to figure out how to tell Command that we might be living in the remains of a doomsday device." | "Any questions or motions?" asked one of the chairmen. "Delegates who wish to speak please raise your placards now"
"NATO representatives, you have one minute"
His words were followed by a distinct, even comfortable, sound— that of a gavel beating against wood. There were dozens of people in the room, ranging from country representatives and press, to military personnel and international organizations. Each one of them should now be accustomed with the noises of a UN meeting, and the heavy weight those noises carried. Specially today.
"Thank you" said one of the NATO delegates, while the other stared anxiously at the delegates from the World Health Organization. The desks in the room were arranged circularly, and the first representative decided to take advantage of this by getting up and walking to the center of it, in a way that everyone could see and hear her words better.
"I'm sure you all are as shocked as we from the North Atlantic Organization are," she proceeded. "To hear such claims from our space allies. However, as much as we trust them, or have trusted them in the past, the earth should not take their word as facts. We have found no evidence whatsoever that our world and ourselves may be fabricated, instead of having developed naturally.
"Our position here is clear: until there is definitive evidence, any claims made by extraterrestrial intelligences of the Intergalactic Association should be regarded as lies, told deliberately to destabilize our society. I end my speech and.. and I yield my time to Germany"
"German delegation, you have nineteen seconds."
The NATO delegate sat back, and Germany did not get up. Everyone's eyes shifted and focused on that Man who sat with a sly smile in his face, too-white teeth contrasting with a too-red bow tie. In past meetings, Germany's position regarding the IA had differed wildly from NATO's, and the fact that NATO yielded the time to one with opposite views was taken as a clear provocation.
It was a cold winter morning in Manhattan, and the UN headquarters had ACs. Nonetheless, many of those in the committee were sweating, maybe because of the suits, probably because of the heaviness in the air and the urgent nature of the meeting. Humanity's future was being shaped in that very moment, and UNSC's final decision, whatever it may be, would change the course of history forever.
"Thank you chair, thank you NATO. The German delegation would like to ask NATO for what reasons do they assume the IA is lying to us. They have done nothing but helping us, so far, and that ministry gave us the coordinates. He said he wasn't supposed to. The german delegation disagrees with NATO's position that the intergalactic association has—"
"Your time ran out. Any questions or motions..? Delegates who wish to speak, please— French delegation you have a minute"
"Thank you, trés bien. We second the words of NATO, the UN has no reason to believe those claims. The idea that humans are artificially made is clearly nonsense, as we know that evolution is a fact. To deny that, is surrendering to anti-scienticifism and putting our democracies at risk. That's not what the UN stands for. In all those years, the IA has never said we were created by some other species— if that were true, why would they say it just now that tensions are growing?"
The delegate drank from his water bottle before proceeding:
"German delegation, everyone in this room knows you and the United Kingdom delegation are here with an agenda to push: your alliance has the most trade agreements with the intergalactic association, and—"
"Question of personal privilege!"
"Denied. France may proceed"
"—and you simply wish to prevent the UNSC from closing the commerce routes with them, which would disrupt your profits. I end my speech and I yield my time to the chair"
"Any questions or motions? Yes, Iceland?"
"We'd like to motion for unmoderated caucus"
"Due to the urgent nature of this meeting and the rising tensions between delegations, we have to deny this request"
Suddenly, someone entered running through the main door, holding a piece of paper. A report.
"Good morning, delegates, good morning. Uh, the team sent by the UNSC last week to investigate the coordinates in the arctic circle, the coordinates provided by the Etkllian ministry, has finally sent back this early report. It describes a huge device, made of metal, about one kilometer in radius and found inside a glacier. On the top of It there is sort of a hatch, and they sent a team inside. I will forward it to you in a second"
\***
REPORT: On the nature of Human race, the earth machine.
Partial publication authorized by United Nations Security Council
Page 52, section 13.
[...] Inside the [redacted] were found several tubes containing human beings in different stages of evolution and development, ranging from neanderthal fetuses to fully developed modern humans. All of them were suspended in liquid [redacted] and were non-responsive. [...]
Page 117, section 2
[...] were unable to fully transcribe the scripts, but early attempts have concluded that it is a warning against establishing contact with foreign species. In the [redacted] there are inscriptions giving detailed information about one hundred and twelve species¹¹², and plans on how to defend from, and conquer each one of them. It says humans are to protect [redacted] at all costs, although we are still not sure what [redacted] means [...]
Footnotes: [...] ¹¹² — there are only seventy one species in the intergalactic association, and only eight other species we have knowledge of. [...]
\***
THE SITUATION IN SPACE
UNSC resolution paper
The Security Council,
Noting with concern that the situation between humanity and the Intergalactic Association is tense and is likely to remain so,
Having considered the report of the Secretary-General on the United Nations Space Affairs Force (UNSAF) of 9 December 2XXX (S/20XX/923) and also reaffirming its resolution 1308 (2000) of 17 July 2XXX,
Having considered the report "On the nature of human race, the earth machine" presented to the council in 24 December 2XXX (S/20XX/1087) and its implications,
Stressing that the Intergalactic Association has repeatedly lied to the Human Race for the past 27 years regarding the design and purpose of Humanity and the solar system,
Expressing concern that the ongoing military activities conducted by the Intergalactic Association in the area of the asteroid belt continues to have the potential to cut the Earth's supply lines, as well as to deploy an attack fleet and posing a risk to the world's civilian population and United Nations personnel on space,
Making use of the information provided by the warning inscriptions found in the arctic circle's device, which were translated on the aforementioned report,
Has decided to declare war on the Intergalactic Association, and all civilizations within it. | 2020-07-09T08:03:30 | 2020-07-09T07:08:48 | 99 | 59 |
[WP] when we got to space we were surprised to find that all the aliens we come across are terrified of us, when we assure them that we aren’t there to hurt them they explained why they were so scared. Earth isn’t a planet, it’s a long since dead machine and humanity? Humanity is its combat AI. | Desire is what kept us going, it's meaning can vary from person to person as we are all individuals and our god gave us that capability to desire
We have captured one of the invading generals in our solar system. It seems they were in disarray when our fleets surrounded them and we must know why a large fleet erupted into chaos when our ships came to view.
That lizard over there might not understand us
Oh of course he will, english is a universal language!
Please tell me you're joking
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"The planet is a machine and you? Humans? You're all but constructs of this forsaken creation. We've dealt with your kind before and they were stronger but weren't willing to leave; all for the sake of protecting their "planet" even after eons of war but you? Your species have managed to move onto this entire solar system without a second thought. You have a unique trait of desire and that's what scared us."
"Excuse me, us? Constructs? We have bones and flesh just like you! What gives you the right to call us constructs?"
The interrogator and the interrogated devolved into something similar you'd see in a bar between two drunk associates, the people watching was classified information but this scene doesn't work for everyone until the alien slammed the table
"You were crafted carefully, while we evolved! Our species even took part in fighting against the tyrant "Creator" eons ago, we would avoid blue planets like yours as much as we can as they are inhabited by the weird machinations of the Creator. Once a single blue planet starts moving towards a fleet, the only choice is to retreat. But in your case, this pale blue dirt can no longer move but you still manage to get off"
"it seems you aren't underestimating humans and the possibility of more of us-"
"There aren't anymore of your kind, your group might be the last to exist as the rest were erased during the final retreat at the Abell 85 galaxy cluster and the disappearance of the Creator at some cosmic void who knows where. The entire alliance was shook when suddenly after millions of years one of the creations were found still functional but we didn't expect evolution from you!"
"Why are you giving us this information?"
"Well you wanted to know more about your situation? There you got it! Then, tell me what are your stances?"
The creature unfamiliar to mankind stares right back at the ones hidden behind the glass pane.
"will you free yourself of your fate? or will you find your creator?"
The confounded leaders looked at each other to confirm their answers
And through the P.A
"Tell us more" | First Contact. Metreidies Prime. To Ro Christian, looking over the precipice as if over the sweep of historical record, it was such an obvious honey pot.
“Temper your chrono-exceptionalism,” she whispered to herself. There were many other apt descriptors for her teacher, Andro Frafare--”flatulent”, “inebriated”, “womanizer”--but Ro supposed that “wise” could win on his good days.
Instead she tried to walk in their shoes, throw herself back in time: How could the great SETI researchers have known that the absolute dearth of regular radio patterns was due to a chronofield isolation bubble? That the collective programming of humanity--as the most vicious and effective combat intelligence in known space--had been wiped and replaced with what turned out to be increasingly more intricate versions of Space Jesus?
The obviousness of the trap on Metreidies Prime, then, would have been as inscrutable to humanity’s first interstellar exploration task force as the answer to why man could not stop visiting inhumanity unto man.
The answer, of course, was that our warlike nature was intended. When early humans looked around and saw “intelligent design,” it was due to a Creator. Just not one as loving or all knowing as many came to believe.
“No one among our species has been given enough knowledge of our progenitors to know our true purpose: was it to consume the entire universe, as many in the known worlds would have us believe, or was it as deterrence, or something else?” Ander had always tempered his lessons, perhaps seeing their impact upon her.
Her mother had claimed, even on her deathbed, that humanity was destined to spread the light of His goodness to all of creation. No other truth was evident given how the other worlds were so ready to forgive and welcome His message.
Deniers. To Andro, that’s what her parents had been. Descendents of the first wave of emigration from earth, they had brought with them their implanted stories to “combat” the general consensus of the rest of the galaxy, only to find immediate celebration.
It was hard for Ro, for anyone really, to temper the exceptionalism, time-based instead of species based, that now said, of course your early days seemed idyllic, you were bred specifically to the struggle in the Hellish crucible of the Earth, just barely habitable by galactic standards. Earth would be an Eden to such a creature. And in the stories of her parents, the serpent “tricked” Eve into eating from the Tree of Knowledge. Truth. She gave a harsh laugh now at the image of Anders Frafare with forked tongue flicking between his fat, un-serptentlike lips.
Metreidies Prime was more Edenic than Eden, then. Perfectly situated in the habitable zone of an even more accommodating star. A wide equatorial band that largely possessed the climate of Southern California. A plush vine colonized a great deal of the surface bearing fruit of seemingly the perfect energy density and nutritional composition for optimal Earthling health. How could that be? The first team of explorers were scientists, not the evangelists of her parents’ generation. What about their skepticism? How could they have missed the setup?
Again Ro chastised herself for failing to think chrono-appropriately as she descended the gentle green slope next to the cliff, the 0.8 gee on Metreidies Prime making it quite enjoyable. As she descended, she slowly consumed the particularly fat golden Amberose in her glove, peel and all.
Yes, it had been a trap, but then, most of the Known worlds had environments even more spectacular and accomodating. Ro was just not sure she believed it had always been like that for most other species. Cooperation instead of competition for survival.
Of course humanity had not been the chosen people of her parents’ faith, she knew well enough. That would be obvious to anyone on seeing the forensically verified evidence, the countless mindprints of human beings suited up in battle armor and visiting death throughout the known worlds, upon nearly every species of the Summit--painting the idyllic worlds with the color of that species’ blood, indiscriminate of adult or child or hatchling. The Confinement had seen human memory wiped, origins reformed, but not the nature which reverberated through wars and atrocities.
Yet, this absolute line of thinking never sat right with her. The scientists had been lulled into abandoning their skepticism, just as the masses of humanity that had emigrated, the tenets of their varied faith finding some predestined parity with the Universe.
Prime among all, Andro taught her to question everything, which is why she now found herself at the periphery of the Control Zone at the center of which sat the true record of First Contact. The “nature” of humanity be damned, she lowered the visor on her antique battle armor and felt the thrum of the blasrifle in her arms.
With a soft prayer she stepped across the line and into the forbidden zone. | 2020-07-09T06:59:16 | 2020-07-09T04:40:02 | 91 | 30 |
[WP] You, a newly-turned vampire, are thrilled to discover that you CAN eat garlic, walk in sunlight, and see yourself in mirrors, all while being immortal. You are much less thrilled to discover the one major drawback that none of the legends ever got right. | I soar through the night sky, blind to the world as it was to me.
I told myself it wasn’t so bad. Honestly, I tried. Immortality, hypnotic powers, hyper speed – you know, the usual vampire toolbox – it was pretty damn sweet. And let me tell you, you have not lived till you’ve tried AB negative blood. I’ve had full course meals (actual, like, mortal meals, I mean here) that don’t even come close to AB negative blood. Talk about an explosion of flavor.
But the nights…man. It really made me question the whole thing.
If I could do it over? Would I choose to go home with that red-haired girl after Halloween party and get subsequently turned? I mean, let’s be real here, probably. Immortality is pretty damn hard to beat. But, then again…I “looked” down at myself as I flew.
No use wondering, I suppose. Vampire or not, you couldn’t change the past.
A smell wafted over to me from the edge of the forest. Very faint at first, but as my sense focused on it, it became sharper. No…it couldn’t be. I banked, moving toward it till I came upon a two people sitting around a…campfire, judging by the sound. My nostrils flared as I drunk in the scent. AB negative blood, from one of them.
My mouth started to water…figuratively. I don’t really have salivatory glands anymore, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
I’ve been a vampire for a good while now, and I was mostly in control of the ah, let’s say, impulses. But AB negative…it was such a rarity. Such a pleasure that it was a struggle. A real struggle. But I had to wait till morning. I had to. I couldn’t go after them right now.
But then it happened.
One of them got up then cried out – a woman, I could tell by the voice – and fell. She cut herself. I couldn’t see it of course, but the smell. Oh, the smell. It magnified a thousandfold, and before I could catch myself, I was diving toward her, her open wound. I had to have her. I had to have that bloo-
And I was swatted aside, almost into the fire, before making a hasty retreat.
I “watched” nursing slightly singed wings as they got in their car and drove away. I couldn't even fly to follow them.
I sighed, again, figuratively. The movies don’t tell you that vampires are forced turn into moquitos every night.
***
Changed bat to mosquito, since that is way funnier lol. Thank to /u/east_of_the_delplaya for the comment haha! | When I saw that the wounds on my neck had become small white scars, my heart skipped a beat.
*Please let it be true, please let it be true...* I begged, as I bared my teeth.
The elongated points of my canines proved my hypothesis right: I had become a vampire.
For an eleven-year-old boy, this was a total dream come true.
"MUUUUUUUM!" I yelled, smiling widely to admire my very sharp canines.
"What?" I heard her yell from another room.
"I'M A VAMPIRE!" I bellowed, and snapped my jaws a couple of times. The canines clicked together, and I nearly passed out from the coolness.
"What?" she yelled, and in a few moments, she poked her head into the toilet.
"I'm a vampire! Look at my teeth!" I proclaimed proudly, displaying them.
She ignored them, and instead looked in horror at my pyjamas.
*Mothers.*
"Haven't you changed yet? We're going to be late!"
"Mum," I said impatiently and importantly, "I'm a vampire now. I can't go outdoors during the day. So I guess I'll just have to stay home and play some games on my Switch, right?"
Her lips went into a very thin line, which was always followed by one of the children in our house getting our ass whooped. "Carson, we don't have time for this. Get your hair gelled, and put on that shirt and pants right now."
"But I'm a *vampire*," I insisted, about to tell her about how I got attacked by what I'd thought was a homeless person on my way home from my best friend's house in the wee hours of the morning, after a night of Pokemon. But then I remembered that I'd sneaked out of the house to begin with, and so clamped my mouth shut again.
"If you're a vampire," said my mother, arms akimbo, "then tell me why you have a reflection."
"I - " I blinked, and then looked at the mirror. My stupefied face stared back. "Er-"
"And tell me why the sunlight hasn't blistered your skin or reduced you to smoke," she went on, ferociously pointing towards the skylight, from which golden sunrays poured in, bathing my entire being and doing absolutely nothing but throwing my features into sharp relief.
My mouth opened, but no explanation came to mind.
"And lastly, Carson, you ate garlic toast for breakfast," she said testily. "*Garlic* toast. Please enlighten me, Carson, since when were vampires able to eat *garlic*?"
I gaped at her wordlessly, and she reached forward and gave my ear a sharp tweak.
"That's right, since *never*. So go and get changed, or I'll promise you that the Switch is going to be put under lock and key and you won't be seeing it again for the next month."
And she snapped the bathroom door shut.
I stared in consternstion at the door, and then back in the mirror at the now-healed injuries on my neck. They had definitely been deep gouges when I'd examined them last night; the sort that would take weeks to heal. And yet they were gone.
Something wasn't adding up.
I grabbed Dad's razor from the shelf and, heart banging against my ribs, gave myself a shallow cut. A bead of blood, almost black, oozed out, but even as it rolled down, the cut neatly sealed itself shut, and in its place was a tiny scab. Even as I goggled at it, the scab peeled off to reveal a scar.
There was no doubt about it. I *was* changed. Maybe not a full-out vampire yet, but perhaps I was on my way?
I cautiously put my tongue to the drop of blood, and then made a face. It wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
But there was one last, most important thing left to try.
I barged out of the bathroom, nearly running into my mother ("*Carson!* Why haven't you changed?!"), and charged straight for the silver crucifix we displayed in our hall. Swallowing hard, I lifted a trembling hand towards it.
*Please, please, please.*
My fingers brushed past it.
I felt nothing.
"*Carson!*" hollered Mum from the doorway, and, startled, my hand bumped into the cross, causing it to fall. Instinctively, I reached out to catch it, and then winced, expecting a searing pain in my hand.
But there was only the coolness of the silver against my flesh.
And then my mother strode forward, snatching the cross from me, and I uncurled my fist to see a perfectly unscathed palm.
My shoulders slumped then. The legends got so many things wrong, but it seemed especially cruel and unusual that the inability to touch holy objects, too, they got wrong.
And as my legitimate reason to stay home on Sundays and play Pokemon went up in smoke - the way *I* should have done in sunlight - I dragged my feet towards the bathroom and got changed for Mass. | 2020-10-06T06:58:56 | 2020-10-06T04:11:46 | 5,852 | 223 |
[WP] Adrenaline is an evolutionary trait specific to Earth. When alien species are tired they sleep and not even a threat to their life will wake them. Which is why the pirates that boarded your spaceship are shocked to find you've not only jumped out of bed fully alert but are fighting back! | "Most aliens know, that humans have a hormone called adrenaline. In emergency situations their bodies get flooded with it, allowing them to reach the hysterical limit of their bodies.
Due to the quite hostile nature of their home planet and their evolutionary path of almost not offensive and defensive means, but an unparalled intelligence, adrenaline was the only thing saving them from certain death."
A professor turns towards the full hall of a university, where humans will be arriving to. Since humans are quite unique in this regard, precautions were made. Every day a lecture about the anatomy and history of the human kind.
"But don´t get fooled, their bodies may not be as durable as for example the Dunians, but they definitly can take a beating. Bone able to hold over a metric ton. Their skin is surprisingly tough, and often only a few seconds are needed to guess for weakpoints of their adversary."
As the professor continues, a few limbs of various kind appeared.
"Questions at the end please. We still have the same rules."
"Anyways. Let´s say a human lifts something up, obviously most of the muscles don´t get used. Saving energy and all. If now he uses all of his strength, he only uses a fraction of the theoratical limit. Due to potential self harm. most species here have such a limit too, and also can access more with training."
"Humans, when faced with a life or death situation their bodies release adrenaline, allowing them to first ignore almost every pain*.* There have been cases of humans losing an whole arm, and still feeling fine and were able to even drive to the nearest hospital. Secondly most other hormones which cause tiredness or some emotions get blocked out. What that means, if you attack a sleeping human, they will imideatly wake up, and are almost unimpaired. So don´t do that.
And thirdly, a lot of humans don´t even remeber the encounter, because they go into what their mythology calls berserk. A hazy, fury and fire fulled rage in which they most of the time have no control. A lot of humans died that way. And also a few other members of the union too. Crushed skulls, ripped of arms or antenna and even one case in which the hostile got throw so hard into the wall, internal damage killed them really fast.
Humans usally don´t go for the kill, and most are quite peaceful, but if you push one to far. Don´t count on surviving."
The hall sets uneasy, such a dangerous creature, and they are allowed here? How will that end? Questions like these float around before going quite again.
"All that has a cost. Broken bones, not only from the impacts, but the sheer strength of their muscles. Muscles which ripped themselves appart and some humans collapse after the adrenaline wears of, due to exhaustion.
Their bodies get a brief moment of unlimited access to the resources.
So, tomorrow we learn about their history, evolutinary and historically. For that we will bring in some of their scholars."
A lot of the hearers were not thrilled on seeing humans already.
"So, now that we ended that one, to my favourite part. Any questions?" | He was dreaming. Dreaming of times long since gone, events and happenings flowing past my mind in the hazy way that dreams do.
Images of the shops on Bourke Street, the crowds of Sydney, the beauty of a blue sky, the magnificence of Ayer's Rock.
Conjured sounds of a bustling crowd, the discord of street buskers all along the road, the cries of a newborn.
The touch of the child's soft hand on his own.
He was alive, and he was living.
And in the distance of his dream, there was a harsh ring; a whinge that sounded high and low in a constant, numbing pattern. Something in his mind tried to block it out; unconscious mind merging with memory and acting on one instinct. Fear; the most primal, and the loudest one of all.
And soon, the laughter was replaced with screams, the whinge growing louder and louder. The soft touch of the child turned into jagged concrete against his hand. The crowds of Sydney a field of mangled flesh, all under a red sky, mottled with black forms.
He was dead, and he was dying.
A gasp, and his eyes opened, body shivering as the ship's siren bleared its way down the hall, past hundreds of pods just like his; the hallways dark as night, apart from the twisting red lights.
The fogged screen made it hard to see, even without lights, but as my memory resurfaced, as my cybernetics rebooted, and as his breaths became slow, herealised that he was awake slightly early.
Ten years early, in fact.
Unconsciously, his mind sent out a request to the ship's computer, itself in hibernation, but able to respond to simple request like opening the pod's door. But there was no answer. There was no sleepy acknowledgement by a computer masquerading humanity, there was no hiss of decompression, there was no green light of freedom.
Silence. The klaxon was his only companion.
And that scared him the most; not only with the eeriness of a ship floating in space with no hope of rescue, but because of how much it reminded him of what his mind kept trying to keep out.
But then, there was something that broke it, mercifully and even more painfully; as if a twist of fate's cruel blade.
A soft collection of pops across metal floors; flowing at a constant, disgusting pace and growing louder, and louder, until it stopped; right in front of his pod.
A ringer.
And even there, defenseless, unarmed, completely nude, he felt no fear, no trepidation, only the low rumblings at the backs of his eyes, a feeling that beat the cold inch by inch and flowing through his entire body.
Fear. As hot and acrid and bitter and burning as Australia's ruined skies.
He could not fight silence, but the abomination that peered at his pod, interested in its condensation?
He could kill it.
And as his body shifted into combat mode, synth-muscle and steel bone responding to his hate, to his fury, to his loss, his hand burst through the glass screen, fake skin tearing from flying glass as he grabbed the slimy, amphibian creature by its bulbous head and threw it to the ground. It would have killed him, it should have killed him. But they'd never bothered to learn how humans worked.
Unluckily for them, the flip side was not so true.
And kneeling over its gurgling form, pushing down its weapon holding appendages, he looked deep into their eyes for the first time since he fell asleep to dreams of death.
And saw nothing but endless, deep black.
It may have been surprised, it may have feared, it may have pleaded with its alien language, a series of pops and rumbles.
The biologists would have been pleased; they'd wiped the species off Earth fifty years ago, a living specimen was a rare find.
He only cared about its pain, bringing down punch after punch with muscles that carried inhuman levels of strength, his breaths rapid and frenzied until the form he hand been holding was nothing but paste, and his body was covered in cold, blue blood.
Standing, his onboard computer calmed his heartrate down, regulated his hormones, flushed the adrenaline from his system in an attempt from exhausting him before his job was over.
But it could not flush out his hate, and even then, looking down upon something that used to be alive, he could not help but look around for more, **hoping** for more, another alien to kill, another life for trade.
None around, but ringers never travelled alone, not on Earth, and he hoped not in space.
For as he grabbed his pistol from its holster, as he loaded the magazine and racked a bullet, he updated his count with a +1.
They had burned his country, slaughtered his people, razed it to the ground.
But they had not been thorough enough, for 8 of them had survived.
And for those who had not, he'd made a pledge.
An eye for an eye may have made the world blind, but he'd have rather lived without sight then lived to see the other 28 million dead and unavenged.
His name was Melbourne. And first, he'd take back his ship.
Then, he'd take back the 28 millions souls they owed.
And with a 20 round capacity, it would be a long time before he could rest. | 2021-01-27T05:41:06 | 2021-01-27T00:27:53 | 155 | 61 |
[WP] After a Pyrrhic battle defending their homeworld, the defenders detect another fleet. It's the Humans, and they're sending in the hospital and engineering fleets. | Why they always asked, why do we 'waste' our resources on those who may soon be vanquished. Why do we send our fleets thousands of light years to help without any apparent gain. Why do we risk our troops lives on planets that are infected with foreign plague. Why do we waste ourselves on a lost cause.
Because those people have won and they may win again. Because those fleets deeds spread throughout the recipients empires. Because the people those troops treat will forever remember their acts of kindness. Because not all causes are lost, and few forget who aided them in their darkest hour.
At first we helped because no one else would. We helped because that's what we would hope for in their situations. We helped because we felt empathy for the innocent. We helped because we didn't have the technology to do anything else We helped because that was the righteous thing to do.
Today a distant empire declared war against us. Today we said that we would never surrender our freedoms through surrender. Today we fought like devil's to preserve our lives and families. Today we were outmatched. Today millions of innocents died and all of humanity wept. Today hundred stood up and said they would stand with us.
Tomorrow the enemy shall come again to finish the job. Tomorrow we will fight tooth and nail even if it is for naught. Tomorrow allies shall come to either protect or avenge us. Tomorrow hospital ships shall descend to save who they can. Tomorrow our enemies will feel a fury unfelt before. Tomorrow we shall stand tall with allies and firends | As the human fleet was peacefully landing, the Kripts were all cheering. Many of them, out of the bunkers, carrying Garrison plants, were gathering in the close proximity of the gigantic human transporting ships. In the most horrifying war of their history, they lost 70% of their fighting adults, and 90% of their surface infrastructure was unrecognizable or simply vapored. The crowds were mostly youngsters, their big eyes and hilarious facial expansions, as well as their bright-multicolored clothes, were turning the landing into a huge kindergarten party.
\- This is maybe their local equivalent of laurel maybe... commented captain Soros gesturing toward the crowds of aliens with Garrison plants.
\- I’m looking forward to stretch my legs again – said Technology Admiral Garibaldi Gates, pointing to the beautiful mountains covered in snow, at the side of the city where his ship was going to land in the next day.
\- How long is this all going to take this time?.. asked Emotional Intelligence Acquirement Admiral Buffet. We have been waiting for three months in this orbit....
Every time it takes so long to negotiate the conditions of the approach. Planets are cautious at first – humans are too small of a species to matter in the Intergalactic Game. They never heard of humans – nevertheless, no intelligent species says no to charitable help, after a major war. Many times, it takes complicated voting, and a number of times the Emotional Intelligence Admiral had to step in advance on the planet to convince the locals of the good intentions of the humans. The hundreds of gigantic rectangular ships together were looking menacing in space, but the humans prepared movies introducing the aliens their kind, friendly, colorful culture. No wonder in the human language, another word for compassion was humanity. We come bearing gifts.
\- Verify the list of updates. Prepare to open the latches in exactly thirty-five minutes. All streams converge on their synchronization points ten seconds after the open. I do not want to hear again on the problems we had on Malthaic. If anything like that this time, heads will roll. No restarts. Admiral Gates was painstakingly meticulous, as usual – a defect of spending too much time with the AI systems, or maybe just his genes.
As the clock was ticking, the handful of humans on the two admiral ships felt their stomachs shrink. As the open order entered into effect, latches cranked. The crowds quieted, waiting, ready for the welcoming cheer... Then slowly, the buzzing started... millions of minuscule drones exited and converged on their established points, well above the crowds. In full synchronization as squadrons, the drones descended at high speed upon the youngster unassuming Kripts, opening fire with intelligent target seeking bullets. The special frequency of the sound itself was enough to render a Kript paralyzed, and the algorithm found those who won’t respond to sound quickly. Underground bunkers were breached within minutes, only a couple of prudent Kripts managed to escape in deep undergrounds were the drones would lose signal and stop.
\- And this is how is done, said Admiral Buffet, half day later, when the planet was cleaned up and the robots started to set up factories and plantations. What’s the point in brutal war when a bit of emotional intelligence can raise you a planet in a day?
The admirals saluted themselves and the crew answered with a cheer. Ever since Earth perished in the twenty first century, the escaped humans were planting their seeds across galaxies. Full force was out of question- they would immediately be destroyed by more ancient, more developed ever-growing species. Trickery was survival. The dynasties of captains and admirals were maintaining their lineage pure and the feudal organization functioning impeccably for millennia now. There was no need for many humans outside of aristocracy; they were all born with a scope and a job. Robots of human design, unknown to the intergalactic organizations, were controlling tens of thousands of planets, systems even.
\- A Great Reset indeed for the Kript Planet, said Technology Admiral Gates before he stepped away, ready for his exploratory hike. | 2021-01-30T16:45:38 | 2021-01-30T15:18:43 | 52 | 23 |
[WP] You're a supervillain whose latest evil scheme threatens to throw the city into chaos unless your nemesis goes on a date with you. To your surprise, they agree with enthusiasm before you can even explain what the consequences of refusing are. | A crowd of onlooking spectators swarmed the windows of the small café, looking inside in both awe, fear, and general confusion. Both Rachael and Marshall sat in a small booth awkwardly as nearly a dozen faces pressed up onside the glass, attempting to listen to their conversations. These type of people were far worse for the superheroes and supervillains of the world than any of their enemies. One second they were obsessed with them, and the next, screaming and rioting against them for voicing an opinion, no matter how small. It was a part of the job however, because nowadays being a superhero is more about the media than saving people. Half of the "heroic events" were planned out by agents and had cameras set up around the entire area. Marshall, or Cyclone as his hero persona, was exhausted by it. So, when he received an invitation from the Queen of Hell, his very own enemy, to go on a date, he jumped at the offer. She even used her real name to prove it wasn't a trap. Rachael.
Now, both of them were regretting showing up, awkwardly avoiding each other's gaze, as well as the crowd of onlookers, mostly just checking their phones and taking small sips of their drinks, Marshall a pink lemonade and Rachael a caramel latte. Eventually, Rachael decided the silence was enough and spoke the first words. "It's funny how no one comes in here."
Marshall looked up in surprise, mid sip from his cup. He swallowed and put it down. "I... what do you mean?"
Rachael sighed. "I mean that none of them are actually coming in the café. They're just waiting outside. As if a few inches of glass could protect them. You know what?" Rachael stood up, then turned the to onlookers, their mouths open in shock. She materialized two orbs of fire in her hands, and her eyes turned a glowing, fiery orange. *"Leave us!"* she screamed, her voice thundering throughout the block. The people screamed and fled, their natural reflexes overcoming their insatiable curiosity. She sat back down. "Privacy."
Marshall gave a small smile. "Sure, we'll call it that."
Rachael shrugged. "They're all gone, aren't they?"
"Yeah, but know everyone knows the Queen of Hell and Cyclone are here, on a date no less. Worse, now they know my favorite drink is a pink lemonade."
Rachael let out a quick laugh, a combination between a snort and a hiccup. The sound was so ridiculous that Marshall himself laughed. Eventually, both were giggling like children, both at each other and the sheer absurdity of the situation. "Well," Rachael said after they calmed down, "the lemonade thing isn't my fault."
Marshall nodded. "Fair enough," he said before taking another sip, trying to appear collected, when in reality he was extremely nervous and his face had turned a similar shade of pink to the lemonade he had.
They sat for a few moments in silence. Marshall desperately felt the need to say something, so he blurted out, "So how have you been?" Rachael raised an eyebrow at him and Marshall immediately shrunk back in embarrassment, realizing the stupidity of the question.
"I'm fine," she responded. "Work's going well, I've been teaching myself the drums-"
"Wait, how do... you guys make money anyway?" Marshall interrupted. Rachael glared at him, and he felt himself sink back again.
"Mostly sponsorships by shady corporations, occasionally robbing banks, working with criminal organizations, etc," she answered. "It pays surprisingly well, despite the risks."
"Huh," Marshall nodded. "And you play drums?" Rachael nodded, and he grinned. "That's awesome."
Rachael smiled, but her demeanor suddenly changed, less confident and bored, more apprehensive. Marshall watched her in concern. "Everything alright?" he inquired.
"Yes," she nodded. "It's just that... you know how I invited you to this date?" Marshall was taking another long drink, so he gave a thumbs-up as a response before putting the cup down. "Well," she continued. "The date wasn't really meant to be... a date. It was more of a... evil supervillain plot." She looked at him sheepishly. "Sorry."
Marshall put his cup down slowly, pausing to process this information.
"Oh."
Part two coming soon. | "At least take me out on a date before you tie me up," said Neuro Lady, giggling through her restraints. "You'll end up alone if you lead like this."
I ignored the comment and carried on with my scheme. The data was still being downloaded. Once I had these financial records, I'd be able to blackmail my way out of any trouble. Her words stung more than an energy beam to the chest, but I had to ignore them.
Neuro Lady was just playing mindgames. She didn't even put up a fight before I sprung my trap on her, which probably meant reinforcements were on the way.
"I don't think you understand the situation," I said. "I could kill you right now."
Neuro Lady smiled. "But you won't."
I frowned. "Is that a challenge?"
Neuro Lady shook her head. "Not at all. I'm just saying, if you were actually going to kill me, you would've done it already."
"Maybe I want you as a bargaining chip."
"Nah, I've read your file. The other heroes won't admit it, but you're not as bad as they say."
I widened my eyes.
"That's what I thought," said Neuro Lady, smugly satisfied.
I turned away from her. "Shut up. You don't know me, or what I'm capable of."
"I know. That's why I didn't put up a fight, despite sensing your presence. I'm willing to listen if you feel like sharing."
I glared at her. "Why do you care?"
"Because I think it's a pity that someone as brilliant as you is wasting their talents with crime, especially since you go out of your way to avoid civilian casualties. At some point, you must've been an idealist."
"Yeah, well, we all grow up."
"Have you? I mean, being a supervillain in kinda childish too, you know."
"No, being a villain is the smart choice in a world that only rewards cruelty. Heroes fight for their own advantage, because the status-quo benefits them."
Neuro Lady grew a bit solemn. "Not everyone is like that. Sure, some heroes abuse their positions, but most of us do it because we actually believe in justice."
I scoffed. "Justice. Probably the biggest lie I've ever heard."
"Really? What made you conclude that?"
"That fact that-" I stopped myself from finishing the sentence. "I see what you're doing, and I'm not falling for it."
Neuro Lady tilted her head, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb! You're just pretending to care!"
Neuro Lady hung her head, despondent. "I'm really not."
"Bullshit! Beautiful women never give a shit about me!"
Neuro Lady raised her gaze. "You think I'm beautiful?"
I paused. "T-that's not what I-"
An alarm snapped me out of my awkwardness.
A group of heroes led by Edgelord had just infiltrated the building. They were currently fighting my robots, but it wouldn't take long for them to reach the server room.
I scowled at Neuro Lady. "I knew it. You were just distracting me, weren't you?"
"What? No!"
I didn't have time to wait for the download to finish. My plan had been ruined. I teleported away with my watch before they could enter the room. Despite escaping, I had never been more angry over a failed scheme.
Heroes were all fake.
I would die on that hill for the rest of my life. They love using nice-sounding words if it can make them popular but, the second they're forced to be follow through on them, they all show their true nature.
Neuro Lady was no different. Her words haunted me for the rest of the week. I needed to prove her wrong. She didn't care about me. Nobody did.
My plan was simple. I'd rig EMP bombs around the city, threatening to fry all electronic devices, and force Neuro Lady to admit her hypocrisy. It was perfect. Once she realized I wasn't bluffing, she would think twice before looking down on me.
I rode my mech-suit into the middle of downtown, ready to fight anyone who got in my way, and waited for her to show up. If other heroes tried to stop me, and Neuro Lady didn't appear, then that would be all the proof I'd need to know her words were hollow.
To my surprise, however, Neuro Lady was the first on the scene.
"We meet again," I said.
Neuro Lady hovered across from me. "A shame it has to be under these circumstances."
"Spare me the platitudes, we both know it's a lie."
Neuro Lady sighed. "There's no way I can convince you, is there?"
"There *is*, actually." I cleared my throat, slightly embarrassed. "Go on a date with me, or I'll-"
"Sure!"
I squinted. "Eh?"
"What time?"
"I... I didn't even finish. Do you know what I'm threatening?"
"Does it matter if I say yes?"
I glanced away. This couldn't be real. No. I was damn sure it wasn't. Typical 'hero' behavior. Saying whatever felt good in the moment with no regard for reality. No sane person would genuinely entertain the idea of dating me. This had to be a trap.
"I don't know what you're plotting, but-"
"Yeah, yeah, you don't trust me. Is eight fine? I get off patrol at six but I'd like to freshen up a little."
"I... Uhh... Sure. Eight works. Meet me at the park."
"Neat! I'll see you then!"
I saw her fly away and felt an odd sensation in my chest. Could she really like me? No. Of course not. There had to be an ulterior motive. Maybe she thought placating me was the easiest way to neutralize the threat. I frowned. Yeah, that was it. Neuro Lady just tricked me into stepping down. This date was going to be an elaborate sting operation. I'd have to be an idiot to show up.
And yet, my pride didn't let me ignore it. The date was *my* idea. It'd be weird if I didn't go. More than that, this could be the perfect opportunity to beat her at her own mindgame.
Unfortunately, despite setting up every single detail of my bomb threat, I never actually accounted for Neuro Lady saying yes. I facepalmed and teleported back to my base, realizing I needed a plan for our date.
-------
>[Click here for part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WeirdEmoKidStories/comments/wq9m4h/wp_youre_a_supervillain_whose_latest_evil_scheme/?) | 2022-08-16T06:45:31 | 2022-08-16T06:08:40 | 576 | 315 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | Cold eyes stare at me from across the room. I know the feeling behind them. It is Judgement.
I'm not like the others here. Many of them have a supernatural ability. Strength, calculus, prediction, speed. I am, for all intents and purposes, a normal human being. But there's one thing I've mastered that makes the headmaster truly believe I am special like the others.
Instinct.
It's the most important survival skill we have, but everyone else ignores it because to them, super is all they need. I know better. It tells me when to fight, when to flee, when to kill, when to stop. It sings its sweet little nothings in my gut that guide me.
I can feel the adrenaline flowing through my veins already. The strongest one in the room walks towards me now. I can feel he wants to kill me. Processes in the body get to work.
He winds up his punch, and I dodge to the side. He misses, and I sweep his legs, sending him to the ground. I grab his arm and snap the bone. He screams in pain.
Cold eyes stare at me from across the room. I know the feeling behind them.
*Fear.* | St. Agatha's School for the Monstrous was, despite its outward appearance, more an elite institution of learning than the dumping ground for the abnormal it pretended to be. The reason was simple. Vampires have obscene amounts of money, long memories, and children who require very particular accommodations. My mother was a Were, so, to keep \*her\* mother/Alpha happy, I went to be evaluated when I was old enough, despite never having grown a feather or a fang in my life.
As life-changing experiences went, it was relatively mundane. We filed slowly down a hallway to stand before a grotesquely humanoid totem made from old straw and older steel, reinforced each year by a custom set of enchantments. the totem would then open one of two doors, one for the monstrous, one for the 'normal', the letter being used mainly by children of alumni who didn't carry their progenitor's bloodline/curse/mutation/whatever. I'd fully expected to join them and chalk up the wasted afternoon to stupid lycanthrope politics, but the monstrous door opened for me and so poof, I was accepted.
The first day of school was less harrowing than I'd expected. I was initially confused by this, but I later found out that most of the more obviously monstrous students just assumed I was a fledgling wizard or a vampire who used bronzer for vanity's sake. The exception, of course, was Lisa. She didn't like me at all, and to this day I don't know why. My plan had been to stay out of the spotlight, study, and hopefully make it to graduation without being eaten, but she put the kibosh on that immediately, talking loudly to her friends about "who could have let an obvious normie in" to the school, her offended harumph sending her Brobdignagian chest bouncing in ways that cloud the teenage mind.
Of course, I noticed, and of course, she noticed and came stomping over. I tried to ignore her harangue, after all, if she had a chest like that, she had to want to be noticed. I turned the page of my Monstrous History text, only to have her slap me for ignoring her, as if she weren't in front of me because I hadn't been ignoring her.
I balled up my fist and drove it into her stomach with all the force I could muster. She smirked, completely unhurt by my attack. So I pushed, reaching up under her midriff-baring top. She squeaked and called me a pervert, reaching back to slap me again before I found it, right in the middle of all that softness. A hard little nub no bigger than a gumdrop. My fingers closed around it and an expression of pure shock showed on her face. I smiled and looked her straight in the eye as I tightened my grip and \*pulled\*. The sound that came out of her mouth was one I'll never forget as she tried to keep control of herself, only to collapse into a quivering blob on the floor, her juices leaking everywhere as she began to lose coherence.
I saw that I had the rest of the class's undivided attention as I carefully placed the vaguely pyramidal core on my desk and smashed it to pieces with my textbook. I sneered down at the rapidly disintegrating slimegirl and said, loud enough for the class to hear, "Don't ever touch me without my permission."
As it turns out, not every monster is magical.
A/N: As always, feedback is appreciated. | 2022-11-02T10:57:20 | 2022-11-02T07:37:40 | 245 | 162 |
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye. | I remember well when I first saw the "Human Update 1.1 progress" counter in the corner of my eye. I was still young, but I can't forget how the waves of confusion grew and changed. First people were asking each other if they could see it, then it hit the social networks, people from all over the world tweeting, facebooking and redditing asking the same questions. Then it erupted over the news with experts and opinionated guests telling us their thoughts.
The progress bar didn't change at all in the first years. The media frenzy died down and people stopped talking about it, it was just a fact of life that no-one thought about much.
I was a bit like how you never think about how you can always see your nose, but you never notice it sticking out of your face until someone tells you how strange it that you never notice it.
But then something changed, the percentage jumped a whole 0.3%. There was a whole new wave of News shows and experts and opinionated guests, but no-one had any answers.
Over the next few years the percentage jumped erratically, sometimes 0.1%, and sometimes bigger. But the biggest surprise was when the percentage went down. Everyone had their own theories about what caused it, and whether it was a good thing, but everyone was just guessing.
It wasn't until 2025, when NASA launched the first manned mission to Mars that we finally started getting some answers. The day of the launch was unforgettable, just how I imagined the Apollo missions were all those years before I was born.
As the ship left Earth orbit, the percentage jumped by a whole 2%. Bearing in mind we were only at 2.4% after 11 whole years. It was our first big clue.
When the ship reached Mars it jumped up another 1.3% leaving us at 5.5%.
Governments around the world started to pump money into manned space exploration and science. The Space Agencies flourished and started producing amazing new technologies, like the nano-carbon graphite lithium batteries, or the micro thorium power plants, which started finding their way into everyday life.
Soon the Western World was free from fossil fuels and running on clean safe renewable energies. The resulting drop in pollution and CO2 was matched by a 5% rise on the progress meter.
It started to click, soon China and India were fossil fuel free. Russia and the Middle East took a while to persuade, but after they switched and the whole world was fossil fuel free, the total jumped to 35%.
GMO crops in Africa reversed desertification, and cured the starvation problem, another 7% rise.
Any war or injustice in the world was punished by a percentage drop. Anytime a dictatorship was quashed or a civil liberty granted, it rose. Soon there were no wars, no hatred toward other countries, everyone wanted to see what would happen when we reached 100%, and they were doing everything they could to get there.
We did away with passports and money, nuclear weapons, our Armies and Navies, because with were rewarded with our precious percentage points.
Today my meter says 99.9%, but it has said that for the past 20 years. The world is now a Utopia, there is no poverty, hunger or war, people have never been happier.
I still wonder if it was morally wrong tricking everyone, I think it's turned out for the best, but I don't think I can ever let them reach 100%. | The usual clicking in the office suddenly fell silent. It took nearly as long to notice everyone else had stopped working as it had to be absolutely certain of what I was seeing. Slowly, cautiously turning to look at my neighboring coworker, I saw the slack-jawed, wide-eyed confusion on his face that told me all I needed to know: he was seeing it as well. He was trembling, stammering and incapable of forming the question I already knew was coming. I gave him a small, shaky nod. He swallowed hard before he tried to speak again.
"B-b-but what does it mean?" he managed to force out. All I could do was slowly turn my head side to side. I was just as lost as he was. The same kinds of questions could be heard in panicked whispers all throughout the office. Some people tried to continue working to keep their mind off of it, but you could tell from the sound that their hands were shaking. There really was no way to ignore it.
By the time the work day was over, the download had only managed six percent. Some people were so frightened and shaking so bad, they didn't even get up to leave. They may have made the right decision. There were numerous accidents on the way home. It made sense, though. It becomes very difficult to focus on driving when your impending fate is constantly looming in your peripheral vision. I was fortunate enough to make it home an hour late.
Hoping food would help me relax, I quickly made dinner and sat down to watch some TV, hoping it might keep my mind off of things. Big mistake. Every single channel was taken over by a news broadcast filled with wild speculations about the same thing. Problem was, no one knew any more than anyone else. We were all just completely lost to our imaginations. I quickly finished my dinner and headed to bed, hoping to have a chance to rest my mind. 9% complete. This thing was taking forever.
In the morning, I was even more of a groggy mess than usual. Turns out the damn popup doesn't go away when you sleep, so my mind was just as panicked in my sleep as it was the day before. Dragging myself out of bed, I rubbed my eyes hard before checking on the status again: 21%. I couldn't believe how long this thing was taking. You would think the human body would get a better download speed. I let out a sigh and got ready for work.
Don't know what I expected when I got to work. No one was working; it was impossible to focus. Everyone was too caught up in speculating about what might happen when it finishes. My boss didn't even show up. Guess he feared the worst and decided to stay home with his family.
The next few days saw fewer and fewer people showing up for work. I don't blame them. I would have done the same if I really had anywhere else to be. The download was creeping along at a snails pace, but apparently some lucky bastards must have had a better connection somehow. Their downloads were one or two percent ahead of everyone else. Seemed like mostly the tall people. I guess the extra height gave them a better Wifi signal or something, but I don't know if I would consider getting this download finished sooner would actually be a good thing or not.
On the evening of the fourth day of the download, it was finally nearing completion. I sat in complete silence on my sofa, barely drinking the whiskey I grabbed when I got home. It was meant for a special occasion, but I figure I may never have that chance. There was no point turning on the TV, it was all looting, chaos and panic as all too many people felt the end was near. 98%.
There was a knock on the door. Staring at the door in disbelief, I didn't even move except turning my head. They knocked again. I climbed to my feet and slowly opened the door a crack as they raised their hand to knock again. My neighbor's flustered visage greeted me as he attempted to find the words to explain himself.
"I...I didn't even know why I'm here. It's just...I don't have anybody left. My family don't talk to me, and I can't even get a call to go out to reach any of my friends. I just needed to not be alone when this happens, whatever it is." He was in the same boat as me. Never married, no kids. No one to turn to. I opened the door and let him in. 99%
We sat in silence as the as we waited to see what transformation might come. What world-altering magic may transpire. He talked about his childhood, and his family, and why they don't talk anymore. I just silently listened, barely sipping my booze. He started praying. I had never been a religious man, but I listened to his prayers anyway, just in case following along might save me too.
Then he suddenly froze mid-sentence. I hadn't even been watching the download it was taking so long.
100%. Please restart to apply update.
"Restart? I guess we...need to go to sleep?" I muttered.
"Y-yeah man, I think so. Mind if I crash on your couch?" he inquired.
Ready to just get this over with already, I tossed him a blanket and headed off to bed. If only sleep were found so easily when there was so much excitement for tomorrow. My mind raced for hours, while my neighbor managed to be snoring in forty minutes.
Suddenly startled out of my slumber by a loud but distant bang, I checked myself over. Expecting the very fiber of my existence to be changed, I started searching myself up and down, expecting to find some kind of alteration. But what I noticed instead was even more terrifying:
100%. Please restart to apply update. | 2015-03-05T03:48:32 | 2015-03-04T18:59:30 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] "The light can never go out," explained the old lighthouse operator. "Ships don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out." | "The light can never go out," explained the old lighthouse operator. "Ships don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out."
I blinked, confused, not sure I heard correctly. "Sir?"
He rolled his shoulders, as if a great weight sat on them, and looked at me with regret deep in his eyes. "The light. It keeps the Shadow Folk at bay."
I kept my face carefully blank, internally panicking at what I had gotten into. When I was assigned this post I thought it would be a cushion job, something easy. The others in my unit had remarked upon my good fortune with jealously. Days at the beach with pretty girls, followed by easy nights just making sure the power stayed on.
But here I was, stuck with this crazy old man who thinks a glorified nightlight will protect him from the monsters.
My thoughts must have shown in my face, because he just shook his head, "You'll see" and walked away back to his office, leaving me to explore on my own.
The light house was old, the stairs welded securely into the signature spiral up to the top. The light itself was now electric, but room that housed it still smelled of oil. Centuries of smoke having woven itself deep into the bricks left them dingy no matter how many times they were scrubbed. The metal plating that turned was mirror bright, obviously freshly cleaned.
I went to a railing and looked out over the sea, my thoughts more turbulent than the still waters. Twilight was fast approaching, and as the sunset painted itself across the sky, I relaxed. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. So I had to deal with one crazy old man, he was retiring anyway. I wouldn't have to deal with him much longer.
As the sun dipped down past the horizon, the light sputtered on as it came to life, the metal plating beginning it's slow rotation. I watched the ocean blink in and out of existence as the darkness spread. I decided to walk around the outside railing, surveying my new post. When I got to the back half of the Lighthouse, I stopped, breath freezing in my chest.
There they were. Hundreds of them, their eyes like yellow pinpricks in the night. Dark figures against a darkening sky. Fear coiled in my belly as I sensed their maliciousness from afar. It was like a physical thing, palpable in the fresh night air. Slowly the light turned, and when the beacon fell on them, they vanished. When it turned back there they were again, same spot. Same numbers. Just watching, as if waiting for something.
I felt someone come up next to me, and turned to see the old keeper. He had a sour look on his face as he looked out at the strange army, before turning to me, "They can't abide the light. This is why we need someone here to tend to it. To ensure it never goes out"
I stammered, "...h-h-how? W-w-what are they?"
He shrugged, "No one knows. But they come, every night, watching, waiting. It's up to you to keep them at bay." He paused, clearly wanting to say more, but settled on, "Good luck."
He gently reached out with one gnarled hand, squeezed my shoulder, than was gone. Leaving me alone in the dark. | The mist was thick and wet and Hugo could feel it pushing down on him like a thousand tiny hands; it was as if something was warning him, *imploring* him, not to go any further. No, he was reading too much into it. He was still feeling jittery after the ship's near-miss.
"Hello," he yelled out, but his voice was swallowed up by the soupy darkness. He knew he was near the lighthouse, athough he could not yet see it. What he *could* see was a brilliant white-light high above him that cut through the thick mist like a blade through skin. *Swish*, *Swish*; the beaming arm swept out across the heavens like clockwork.
*Onwards, Hugo. Nothing to fear, but fear itself,* he thought, attempting to steel himself against the oppressive darkness. He stumbled his way further up the broken brick path, edging ever nearer to the source of the light. His boots and socks were soggy and his feet dragged clumsily.
The building came at him very suddenly from out of the gloom and Hugo stopped only an arms length away from it. It was truly *ancient*; the paintwork and much of the bricks themselves, had been eaten away by the salty sea air.
Hugo walked around the base of the lighthouse, almost hugging it for fear of losing it, until he found two steps leading up to a rotting wooden door. He knocked loudly and waited. He knocked again when nothing came of it, harder this time; his fist splintered the damp wood and went clean through. A long thin shard of timber stuck out of his palm like a javelin; he winced as he drew it out.
Hugo turned the handle and pushed the door open with a creak. He stepped through into further darkness; a deeper darkness, if that was even possible.
"Hello?" he yelled, his voice echoing in the round chamber. He took a tinder box out of his jacket pocket and plucked a match from within. With a tiny *hiss,* it sparked to life.
He recoiled as spectres of winged creatures darted and danced around him; the shadows of long deceased animals, mainly carrion birds: hawks and kites and eagles, and some species Hugo didn't recognise at all. The room was like a taxidermists layer. Thick swathes of mould and moss covered the walls and shimmered in iridescent greens under the flickering light. Hugo walked over to a stuffed bird that *looked* like a vulture, but was much larger and had a great long beak that was twisted and red. Entranced by the strange creature, he reached out an arm and gingerly stroked the beak with a single finger. It felt cold and hard like it was a type of metal.
The beak suddenly drew open and snapped at his finger; Hugo pulled his arm away a split second before razor sharp teeth would have ripped the skin off it. He stumbled backwards and fell; the match was snuffed out and darkness was released back into the chamber.
Hugo reached into his pocket and found the box of matches. He heard something high above him - something flapping. He fumbled with a match but his cold fingers and shaking arms were clumsy; the match dropped to the floor and was lost. "God help me," he whispered. Then, he smelt it; the rancid breath of a long dead creature wriggling its way up his nose.
He snatched at another match and flicked it against the box. Nothing! He tried again and again, and just as something warm and wet brushed against his face, the match caught and there was light! A wonderful, dancing light.
The animal was gone. The vulture-creature was neither near him, nor back by the wall. It had vanished.
"What're you doing here," asked a slow, guttural voice. The voice of a person who had not spoken in a long, long time.
Hugo would have jumped if he'd not been on the floor. He looked around to see a gnarled old man standing at the bottom of an iron staircase. The man's grey beard hung down by his knees, and his face was more wrinkles than not. He somehow looked even older than the dilapidated lighthouse. Hugo scrambled to his feet and tugged at his shirt as he tried to regain a semblance of composure.
"Good evening señor, my name is Hugo Ramores. Your lighthouse saved both my ship and my crew. We are most grateful. I've come to pay our thanks." Hugo reached into his pockets and pulled out a tiny silk bag. He shook it and the metal contents nosily jingled and jangled about. "I also hoped that I might be able to purchase some supplies from you. Our journey is long and I'd rather it was not more uncomfortable than necessary."
"Your ship is gone," said the old man curtly.
"Excuse me?"
"It's gone. Sailed away. Left."
That couldn't be... they'd never leave without him. He was their *captain*.
"There must be a mistake, señor."
"No mistake. They have left you."
"That cannot be."
"It is so, and they will not be back - that I promise you. Tonight you best stay with me, and then in the morning, I'll take you to the village. Perhaps they can find some use for you. I'm sure they need all the help they can get."
"Stay with you?"
"If you want to see morning, yes. Now, I have already been away for too long. Come with me and I will show you the true purpose of the lighthouse."
Hugo shivered as he followed the old man up the iron staircase. Perhaps from the top he'd be able to see his ship. But deep-down he knew the old man was right; it had gone.
| 2017-02-22T11:59:42 | 2017-02-22T10:02:36 | 113 | 44 |
[WP] You've developed a machine that allows you to speak with "you"s from different dimensions. However, you notice that you're the only male in a sea of women. | v-^
[22:20] hey me.
[22:20] Hey, me!
[22:21] m/f?
[22:21] F. You, too?
[22:21] nah, haha. M.
[22:21] Really?
[22:22] yeah I think i'm the only one so far.
[22:22] When did they open this for you?
[22:22] a couple of days ago. you?
[22:22] Same, lol.
[22:23] lol yeah I think it's synchronized
[22:23] How long/how many have you contacted?
[22:23] had a lot of trouble sleeping lately, i've talked to about two hundred so far day since i got it. looks like it's a constant across us lol
[22:23] Yeah...my son's been keeping me up all night lol!
[22:24] keep hearing about that, most of them have a quarter year old by now.
[22:24] Quarter year, yes! I like how we all say that phrase.
[22:25] guess it's in the existential wiring lol
[22:25] What's it like being a man?
[22:26] idk. made it harder to get laid lmao. on average looks like i'm doing worse than most of us. dad didn't stick around, i think that helped.
[22:27] So I guess that makes you the variant, huh? This has blown up over here and my friends tell me they're starting to find one-off variants of themselves, if they exist at all. Looks like we usually exist though lol!
[22:27] yeah haha it's really weird. weird to see my face like that.
[22:28] Are you straight? Do you have a girlfriend?
[22:31] yeah; nah not anymore. we had the pregnancy crisis moment last year like most of us, oddly, but it didn't go anywhere.
[22:31] Oh, that's rough. What were you hoping for?
[22:33] well we have the same psychology, right? what would you guess
[22:33] I'm sorry. Was she the equiv of our usual partner?
[22:34] no, actually no. a lot of the people in my life are swapped around. are you friends with L?
[22:34] Yes! There's always L no matter where we go, lol.
[22:34] just can't stop some things, haha.
[22:37] Tell me...when did you start dreaming across the Veil?
[22:37] we call it the Pale here lol. it started back before the crisis moment.
[22:38] It's funny how those things translate across us no matter where we are, huh?
[22:40] funny is maybe not the word but i take your point. yeah i think so, i see my daughter.
[22:40] Daughter? Do many of us have daughters? I thought we only made sons?
[22:41] maybe that's part of the gender swap, idk. i always see a daughter. i thought it was the family psychosis kicking in but ever since this came up i wonder.
[22:41] So weird. Maybe that means there's another guy among us?
[22:49] i don't even know how i would deal with meeting him. not sure i could handle if she's there with him.
[22:51] I'm so sorry, I can't even imagine. I've had friends get on this and tell me this has been happening a lot. Do you think you would have been a good father?
[22:51] hope so. see what happens in this world, i guess.
[22:57] You know we'll let you know if we find him, right?
[22:57] yeah, haha, i know myself.
[22:58] We do hate to see unnecessary suffering.
[22:59] i guess i should sign off. we should all sign off lmao.
[22:59] Do you do the synchro trick?
[22:59] naturally. on the dot, ok?
[23:00] see you, space lonely soldier.
[23:00] See you, space lonely soldier.
v//^ | It was kind of like a mix of frequency and... I don't know, I haven't heard of a movie that described this... maybe something like "frequency meets Freaky Friday and walking dead" except in Freaky Friday it wasn't either parties actual intent to switch bodies... that bitch stole my body and left me in this world. The machine I made was an accident, I sometimes liked taking things apart so it was all a mistake on my part. I've been on the run for about a month now and it sucks, I have no idea what to do.
It started when I found pieces of an old ham radio that was struck by lightning during some solar flare or something crazy like that. I used the pieces in a fake EMF detector but it seemed to actually work, though one day I heard women talking. Some were scientists, models, failures like me, basically all women with only a few guys in between... they were all alternate versions of me. The day my life got stolen I was listening and a woman started talking to me, I heard zombie sounds in the background but she just said she was watching "Dawn of the Living Dead" before watching "Day of the Living Dead". Apparently in her world George Romero never dropped the "living" from his movie titles and owned the rights to all the movies.
We talked for a while when I heard her straining and asked what she was doing, she said "remember the Jimmy Quasar episode with the lightning and that experimental device or whatever it was?" I think she was talking about Jimmy Neutron but I vaguely remembered it though I didn't have time to react since I felt a shock in my hands. After that I felt myself involuntarily jump and fall onto a bed since there was electricity surging through me for a second. I passed out and woke up pretty fast, when I opened my eyes I was looking at a different ceiling and felt really different.
I sat up and looked down to see I was wearing a brown tank top and jean skirt, my body was smaller and had dirt on various areas like whoever this was didn't take a shower for a while. The room was cold so I [held my biceps to try to keep my core warm](http://images2.fanpop.com/images/photos/3500000/The-Hitcher-the-hitcher-movie-3570003-400-601.jpg) then I got up and tried to use the thermostat in the apparent hotel room I was in. It didn't work so I just decided to deal with it and find a mirror cause I was confused.
There was a sticky note on the bathroom door that said "if you're reading this that means it worked and the devices are destroyed, I couldn't live here anymore so I had to do something. The zombie sounds you heard weren't the tv... they were real and I'm the only one I know so far that's immune so the remnants of government are after me... you now. Keep moving and don't settle anywhere too long since the dead are the least of your problems."
After I read the note I looked at my new thigh under the skirt and there was a bite scar that looked fully healed along with a few scratches on her stomach when I looked in the mirror while lifting up the shirt a bit. I sighed and [stared in the mirror](http://a2.tvspielfilm.de/imedia/7361/1867361,4ed6S3v2zWk1GD6UDxN8BlwT0pTtOMusvGW2t6vM_WRbMtSCVai_EnHoxeVgiZb1aX+nfpXBgAMmtjWsCqzvHg==.jpg) wondering what I was gonna do now, I couldn't get back if she destroyed my device. Her device was still there so I looked at her blackberry and it was fried, there was a lamp cord pulled out with the wires exposed... that's what she used to shock me.
I thought maybe it was a joke so I walked out of the room and [freaked out](http://images3.cinema.de/imedia/7344/1867344,kbAjQ2AVf2rYpUKme42Sv4p5RZ5tEmm90NM5dkbf0Rr7Y6ndrWVt3TSkakTsbdK0YDjzV1xJTYwtQa_3w1eR_w==.jpg) when I saw bones covered in some flesh and blood in the uncared for hallway. That was enough to convince me so I looked through her things and [found a revolver](https://michelleleighwrites.files.wordpress.com/2014/04/cold-gun-holding-sophia.jpg) with a few rounds of ammo, I didn't know why she wasn't wearing pockets so I had to put the bullets down her shirt inside the bra... it was basically the only place they'd stay without falling through. It was too quiet so I decided to leave, I [peeked around the corner outside](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/aa/b8/a6/aab8a634c762ea53c8442931a043f35b.jpg) seeing a small amount of shambling corpses.
It was easy enough to get away from there but I was still pissed at her for what she did, I ended up walking most of the day and eventually found a Beretta 9mm in a car. There was more walking after that and I was bored without my phone for some music... I was gonna miss a lot of stuff and some people. While I was [walking](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/a7/b4/95/a7b4956dba5ee286c6f97cbfec178629.jpg) I saw a fire up ahead so I walked over while keeping a distance, there was a zombie burning in the van and a shotgun next to it. I managed to get it and walk away [with the gun in my hand](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OeDCkpEKojI/TorzazQ8BGI/AAAAAAAAATQ/ua1W0FunEmw/s1600/TheHitcher4.jpg) ready to use it if a zombie or bandit showed up.
It's been a month now and it was a lot to get used to... still is but it's getting better. I'm currently [getting supplies from a store](http://www.teenidols4you.com/blink/Actors/sophia_bush/sophia_bush_1189530909.jpg) so I can stay awake... I need to find a way back or stop the people who are after me... last week I started bleeding and didn't have any products the first day so I'm currently under the impression that everything here sucks... I like my fitness but I hate this bleeding and side effects. I want to go home, or even a better universe... but things aren't looking hopeful. | 2017-06-25T04:00:18 | 2017-06-24T21:42:21 | 403 | 128 |
[WP] Somebody once told you the world is going to roll you. However, you are the sharpest tool in the shed. | "Who are you calling a hoe, Hoe?"
We all burst out laughing. We could always count on Shovel to lighten the mood. But, as evening became night, and the moonlight shone through the cracks in the roof of the shed, the only thing on my mind was the prophecy.
As I looked around at each one of us, I couldn't help but keep one eye on the door - watching, waiting, like we did every night.
Was that waterlogged little bear sitting in the treehouse full of shit? Was this just a game? A trick played by the toys to fuck with us, tools? Or was it something more? I see Sledgehammer, Rake, and Post-hole Digger leaning against the wall in their tangled knot of long-handled lust, but I can't even watch.
Suddenly, the door opens. First one muddy boot enters, then another. Up from the boots sprout two enormous handles, as thick as tree trunks. If only Chainsaw were here. I think fast, lunging forward, my righteous blade just grazing the beast, and he let out an enormous wail,
"God dammit!"
"What is it?" A voice cried from the distance.
"It's the damn Sickle, fell down almost took my head off!"
As I lay on the floor looking up at the beast, I feel his hand grip me. Was this it? Had I failed? But, alas, he leaned me back against the wall, like he knew this dance of ours would not end this day. I dare not try a second lunge.
As I watched the door close, as he walked away muttering to himself, I knew we had avoided our fate, or at least delayed it one more day. While I may not be the protector that the other tools want, I'm the one that they've got.
I am... the Sharpest Tool in the Shed.
EDIT: Thanks to everyone for the awesome feedback! To the few folks who said this story made your day, the positive feedback made mine!! Cheers. | My eleventh grade English teacher had once told me that I was sharp enough, but if I didn’t put any more effort, the world was going to roll me. At the time, I had ignored him. That had been a mistake. Two years, one missed high school graduation, fifty-six yelling matches with my parents, and a hundred handles of cheap liquor later, I sat at the corner of Sherman Street and Dunhill Avenue begging for change.
That first day homeless, the only person who had even given me change had been Claire, my little sister, who had snuck out of her high school to do just that. I still remembered the clack of her boots on pavement as she walked down my corner. We made eye contact. She didn’t say a word. She only pulled out her purse and dumped everything into my change cup.
I had cried that night hugging a plastic bottle of vodka as I curled into alley corners shivering against the autumn breeze.
For nearly a year, she had come back, each time with that same leather purse. Sometimes, she even broke ritual by asking me for advice navigating high school, boys, parties, and more. I lived for these moments, when someone would look at me and not see a washed-up kid who had peaked before he had even finished high school. To Claire, I was her big brother and that was it.
So I had started begging, seriously begging. I had quit drinking and crafted an art out of it. I had never put more effort into anything else in my life. No matter what, I would still be a beggar, but at least not one draining his little sister’s bank account. And I had gotten good. I had regulars, called them clients, and even knew them on a first name basis. I had stopped seeing Claire, but it was alright. She had her own life to live and I had become self-sufficient.
For six months, I had saved every penny, hiding wads of cash inside my tattered brown jacket. When I had hit seven-hundred and fifty-four dollars, I had walked home, whistling a tune and ready to return Claire every cent she had ever given me. That was the day I had discovered she had been in a hospital for three months already.
---
I sat by Claire, staring into her colorless face and drawn-in cheeks. Her heartbeat monitor sang in a monotonous rhythm. I hated the thing, but loved its song.
“Dan?” Claire muttered as her eyes fluttered open.
“Claire.” I forced a smile to my lips. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like I’m dying.”
I didn’t laugh.
“Have you talked to mom and dad?” she asked.
I nodded. “They want me back home. Says I’m welcome whenever I want.”
“Are you doing it?”
I shook my head. “I need to be out there, making more money, so we can get you out of this dump.” It was her only chance—a long shot experimental trial operating at only a few hospitals whose positions had already filled. The bastards claimed she couldn’t get in no matter how much I begged. They had even convinced my parents. But none of them understood that I was the best beggar this city had to offer.
“How much more do you need?” she asked.
“Just under a hundred for the copay. Then I’ll get you into St. Joe’s and into that drug trial.”
A grin broke her lips. “I always imagined that my knight in shiny armor would shower a bit more.”
This time, I chuckled with her. We talked for hours, the longest we’ve ever had. She told me about her friends, her school, and even her boyfriend. I didn’t even know she was interested in boys yet. At last, when the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky faded into an orange cadence, she yawned and closed her eyes.
“Don’t worry Claire,” I told her. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
“I’m not,” she muttered. “You’ve never let me down before.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. However false that was, it would be true now.
“Dan?” she said in barely a whisper. “I don’t want to die.” And she quieted, leaving only the sound of her breaths of the songs of her heart machine.
I nodded and clenched my fists. “You won’t. I promise you that.”
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly
| 2017-07-01T04:56:20 | 2017-07-01T03:23:29 | 2,083 | 329 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much. | As far back as I can remember, the power from the birthmark on my chest has been there. Floating, just of reach, it whispers at the edge of my conscious. Now, at the age of 16, I had grown used to the white noise, and mostly ignored it. The mark hadn’t seemed to effect me much, unlike my parents. My pale, sickly frame seemed totally at odds with my fathers barrel chest and hairy body, and was alien when compared to my mothers soft grace and white feathers, that grew in place of hair.
While I was not the only one who had not had their awakening, the rest of the children had slowly but surely began to notice that something was....off about me. Perpetually clammy, I emitted an odor that could only be described as a mixture of salt water and cabbage. When practicing controlling and understanding their marks under the tutelage of the village elders, the others seemed to immerse themselves, enjoying and thriving under the experience. I remained with the younger children, unable to even access whatever my powers were, much less effect a transformation.
Over the years, people in the village had whispered that I was an abomination, sent to curse the village. They never said such things around my father however, at least not anymore. When I was a boy, a man had started a rumor that I fed on the blood of the village at night, and that I was an abomination to be destroyed. When he heard this, my father quietly walked to his war chest, and retrieved his hammer. When he returned, there was blood on the back spike, and no one ever called me an abomination again.
Leviathans were almost unheard of, with the elders only able to find a single other person in the history of the village born with the mark. They had mysteriously vanished, and were never found. I had almost given up hope of ever understanding my powers, until the day raiders came to our village.
They struck in the morning, as the sun rose over the ocean, it’s rosey light turning the water red. The raider boats came slicing into the bay like knives into a corpse. It wasn’t until the lead boat was almost at the beach before the alarm bells started tolling; by the time my father and the rest of the fighters in the village had awoken, the first fishermen was facedown in a swirling puddle of green blood, as his gills slowly fluttered.
Screaming into the village square, they encountered the feeble resistance presented by the town. We were a small town, and survived mostly on fishing and trading. My father stood at the head of barely 3 dozen men, hammer in hand. There was murder in his eyes as he stood there, growling to himself. No one had seen my father awaken his power in years, and it truly was a sight to behold. His arms grew even larger, his body seeming to swell from within. A coarse fur began to sprout all over his body, and his hands began to resemble claws.
Charging forward, he brought his hammer down onto the shoulder of a naked man, covered in scales. Snake. Whirling, he met the talons of another raider with his forearm, before shoving the spike of his hammer into her eye. Eagle. A knife entered his shoulder, which father seemed to pay no attention to. Whirling, he grabbed the man by his horns, and crushed his head between his hands. Stag.
For a brief moment, the raiding force buckled, seemingly unprepared for the berserker this town had spawned in their midst. However, there was to be no fairy tale ending. As the other children and I watched from a hilltop, a circle started to from, with my father in the center. Surrounded by bodies and covered in a rainbow of different colored blood, he roared his challenge to the sky. His furious call was answered by a deep bass rumble, and the circle of raiders opened to allow one of their own to enter the circle. He was massive, standing close to 7 feet tall, while thick black hair covering his bulging muscles. As he turned, their could be no mistake, the grey hair on his back immediately identified the power within. Silverback.
Pounding his chest, he rushed father, catching the hammer swing in his right hand. He began to rain blows onto fathers head, the massive hands pummeling him to the floor. In the silence that followed, the silverback picked up fathers hammer, and with a single blow, crushed his head.
A wordless scream escaped my lips. An inhuman sound, it grated on the mind and seemed to last forever. As I screamed, my body began to change. My skin turned dark blue, my arms and legs lengthening as my body stretched. My hair fell out, and my nose retracted into my face. My teeth lengthened and sharpened, and my eyes became glowing pits of purple light. Finally, to complete the transformation, the tattoo on my once sickly chest began to pulsate a deep black, as the power within began to course through my body.
While the physical transformation was shocking, the internal changes were even more impressive. The white noise that had lurked at the edges of my consciousness became a raging inferno of power. The voices began to chant a whirlwind of information, opening my mind to dark powers and ancient teachings best left forgotten.
I was no more. There was only.... the Leviathan. The creature I once was grabbed the nearest child on that hilltop, cowering beneath a bush. Smashing her head against a rock in a spray of blood, her brains were used to draw a crude pentagram on the rock, ancient symbols that glowed with a light of their own. As the Leviathan stepped into the circle it seemed to swell again, growing taller. Now matching the silverback in heigh, the monstrosity began to float down towards the village. A hurricane began to form around it, as lightening crackled from purple eyes that were no linger human. With a few words in an ancient language, lightening streaked toward the raiders, cooking them alive. Soon, only the silverback stood, staring in mute terror up at the sky. With a single hand, he was plucked into the air. Staring into the Leviathan’s eyes, he seemed to deflate from within, a grey mist escaping from his pores. Soon, only a husk remained, as his body and soul were absorbed into the madness.
Dropping the shell of the silverback, the Leviathan floated towards the ocean, seemingly unbothered by the hurricane surrounding it. Soon lost to sight, he disappeared into the depths, never to be seen again.
| I chuckled to myself as I wiped the blood from my knuckles, and dragged my victim further into the dark alley he had attempted to rob me from. Now victim might normally be seen as a harsh word in such cases of self defense, he had lurched from the shadows in a frantic twitching blur, held his knife to my chest, you know how these things go. He couldn't possibly have known I was in as little danger from his knife as if he had plucked a dandelion from the sidewalk and instead had attempted to crush it against my chest.
As I dump his insensate body behind the nearest dumpster I catch a glimpse of a neon orange stain on his wrist. Pulling back his sleeve I see confirmation of what I had already suspected, a bright orange mongoose tattoo, wrapping around his wrist. Now whoever I'm talking to might not know this about our world, but we aren't exactly like all of the other multiverses, in our world, nearly everyone is born with a boon of some sort. These boons are codified by the location, color, and shape of a series of markings that appear on each person's skin, darkening from basically invisible as a child until it solidifies somewhere around an individual's teenage years, longer for more potent or larger ones, sooner for a very few. Much later for me.
Most people get something simple, my mother had a small, sketchlike dove at her temple, barely visible beneath her hairline and beginning to blend into her face even more as age and worry began to wrinkle her face, but beautiful in her pictures from her younger years. Her abilities are tied to empathy, able to sense emotions from other although not able to project them upon others like an arm or leg-marked person might. Even though, her abilities were extremely useful when dealing with people, an incredible boon to her job as a therapist, as one could imagine. My father and this guy were similar but different. Both were arm-marked, the sign of a power meant to be used in a more practical fashion. This guy was marked with a mongoose, I assume granting him incredible doses of speed over short bursts, thinking back to his appearance from the alley. Probably exceedingly useful in a life of crime i thought to myself as I crumpled his knife into a ball in my hand. Don't worry, we'll get to me soon. Where was I?
Oh yes, my father. My father was also arm-marked, although his was upon his very upper bicep, extending partially to his shoulder, a bear climbing a tree of flesh and laying his head on the top. this positioning technically gives him two positions, arm major with a chest minor. His tattoo is one of strength. My dad however was not a thieving douchebag, he worked in construction all his life, school never much being for him, and as a practical man, figured he'd stick with where he fit in. His words, not mine. I can still remember the stories of his prowess, doing alone jobs that most men would need a vehicle or a team for, lifting great slabs of cement to square them off just so, bending rebar like it was wire, once stopping a loaded truck from rolling back over a dog between its tires by bracing against the rear bumper, you get the picture.
Now both my parents were exceptional in their own way, most with marks of empathy would still need physical contact to do what my mother does, and most marked with strength still have the weak bones of a human under their powerful muscles, inherently limiting what they can do, although that is mostly explained from dad's partial chest mark. But neither of my parents are monsters like me.
See, I was born with a large dark splotch covering my entire back, winding around my upper arms, even extending up my neck to wrap around the crown of my head. This in itself wasn't unusual, sometimes the markings are indistinct at birth, appearing in one location only to move to another, or growing or shrinking with time. They were allowed to leave with only the instruction to report back when my tattoo finally manifested. What they didn't expect was for my marking to grow, to darken and spread, wrapping around my ribcage and firmly grasping each extremity in its clutches. I was kept away from other children, at first I thought as punishment, but later realized for my own good. New tattoos are met with suspicion from every level until their abilities are fully known, and mythical tattoos doubly so. Mythical level tattoos are said to inherently determined to be both living weapons, more so than any other. They are thus to be kept in ward of the state, theoretically until they are fully trained and capable of self sufficiency without harming others, but practically forever, most ending up serving as envoys of their government, envoys with extra bite, super soldiers, rulers, assets of the state. My parents didn't want such an end for me and so they lied, submitted me as snake marked, arms. Not common but not especially rare.
I am so much more. By my twentieth year my markings had solidified, a Giant creature, an ungodly amalgam of serpent, whale, kraken, and dragon. Extending from my upper thighs to the crown of my head, winding around my neck and arms while conveniently leaving my hands and face uncovered, my tattoo was entirely unknown. It took me years as a teenager to find any record of what it could be and as I settled on an answer, it had filled my heart with dread. Leviathan.
Most powers are not particularly overt, a subtle increase in strength, speed, durability. Small mental powers and the like. Mine, and by extension, all Mythics, have more blatant powers. The Dragon flies, and projects fire and lightning. The Phoenix functions like a lesser version of Dragon, but cannot be killed, immolating herself and reappearing nearby in a matter of hours, completely unharmed. Gorgon can turn anything in his sight to stone. Siren can turn anyone who hears her voice into mindless followers. Monsters, all of them. My strength manifested shakily in my late teens as a growing feeling of weight. I thought I was going insane, my feet stuck to the floor, I could hardly stand, chairs broke under me when I was at my worst, and even at my best i felt listless and dull. until one day in a fit of rage I broke a light across the room, tearing it from its moorings and grinding it into the ground. Smashed the glass to powder. That was how I discovered my mental power, a type of telekinesis only effective in two fashions, either to pull things towards me, or to push them into the ground. My other capabilities came shortly after. My strength is as good, and probably even better than if I wasn't holding back, my dad's. I am nearly impossible to hurt in any meaningful fashion as I discovered alongside the ability to pull things with my mind. Hurt as in injure, the brick had definitely hurt when i caught it with my face.
Anyhow the unleashing of these powers brought a whole new wave of paranoia from my parents. I wasn't allowed o cut my hair to show my neck, I was likewise encouraged to make a habit of wearing long sleeved shirts and turtlenecks, never even to show my relatively innocuous coils around my arms. Never allowed to do anything dangerous, never allowed to test myself, they moved us deep into the countryside, forbid high school, pleaded with me to skip going to college, paying for online courses. I was sick of it. Two days ago I had enough. I packed my essentials, left a note for my mother to find, and hiked 6 miles to the nearest small town to catch a bus back to the city. Here I could make something of myself, here i could put my powers to use, I told myself. But all I had done since was spend all my money at a two star hotel, get most of my stuff robbed while I was out of said two star hotel, and then get jumped by this punk while on a stroll to clear my head. Apparently nobody wants to hire a drifter with no references, phone, or address.
"Frankly," I said aloud, turning back to his unconscious body from my musing, "this has been the most excitement I have had since I got in town." I began rummaging through his pockets. Three empty billfolds later I hit the jackpot. three hundred dollars in various bills in a side pocket, wrapped in a rubber band like from a movie. I stand up. "Prosperous day you've had eh? Decided to test your luck one last time? One time too many I guess." Riffling through the wallets I notice an absence of any identifiers, no cards or licenses. He must have gotten rid of them. "Well thanks for the entertainment," I call over my shoulder as I exit the alley, "You should know this is actually the best time I've had in weeks!" My mouth turns upwards at the corners, a hint of a smile on my lips as I exit the alley and into the streets. He had given me an idea of what a monster such as me could do. | 2017-11-08T05:46:11 | 2017-11-08T05:45:47 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] You stumble upon an old megaphone in an antique shop and jokingly pick it up and say, "Everybody listen up!". Later that night, the news headlines read, "We're all listening for what the voice has to next say next!" | The voice, I was the voice.
Imagine having infinite power in your voice. I could do anything I wanted, say anything I needed.
I thought for a long time about what I should say. I could demand world peace in the name of the gods, I could make myself dictator supreme and so much more.
In the end I realized that I don't have the conscience to change reality that much. I am not smart nor caring enough to live with this responsibility.
As I picked up the megaphone I said the one thing that I could think of to prevent people from feeling too let down without ruining the planets politics and religions:"Sorry humans, wrong planetary number".
Without me realizing, I just kick-started the space age. | It was a dreary Sunday and I happened to have some spare time after church. I’d usually go to the flea market, however there have been fewer and fewer vendors these days, so I decided to look around at pawn and antique shops, as you never know what you might find.
Driving around, I remember a hole in the wall antique shop by the river that I have passed a dozen times but have never visited.
I arrive shortly in the driveway and park. There is only one other vehicle, a 1967 Chevy Impala.
The sign out front simply reads, “Old River Antiques.”
Looking at the storefront, it’s so dark that I ponder if anyone is inside at all. I inquisitively tug at the door and it creaks open.
I warily step inside, overly aware of the dust and musty smell wafting powerfully into my nose.
Behind the counter sits a shriveled old man who looks to be at least a hundred years old.
I approach the counter and he says, “Hello, son. I can tell from looking at you that you’ve always been the loner.”
He continues with a curiously strong voice for his apparent age, “I’ve got just the thing for you.”
He shuffled into the back room and comes back and plops an antique megaphone onto the counter.
The old man stares into my eyes and it feels like he’s looking into my soul.
He continues, “This is Thomas Edison’s megaphone prototype. Speak into it and I promise that you’ll be heard. It’s yours, no cost, just pay it forward one day.”
For some reason, I can’t take him seriously. What does he expect me to do? Walk around outside every day with a megaphone annoying everyone?
I jokingly pick it up and say, “Everyone listen up!” and then put it back on the counter and start to leave.
I hear a loud thwack behind me and turn around. The old man had hit the counter with his cane.
“Forgetting something, are you?” he inquires?
I pick up the megaphone and stuff it into my backpack.
The last thing I hear as I’m leaving is the old man snickering incessantly.
What a weird antique shop.
I then proceed to a local Mexican joint to eat dinner with a couple friends.
I glance at a TV and there’s a breaking news bulletin. It reads,
“A mysterious male voice has been heard all throughout the world. Every human has heard it in their own language, even the deaf. We are all listening in to see what the voice has to say next!”
I ask my friends if they heard the voice. I can see something click in their eyes as my buddy Thomas says, “Yeah. Clear as day. It kinda sounded like your voice, to be honest. Did you hear it?”
No, I reply.
When was it I ask?
Thomas says, “3:26pm precisely.”
I think to myself, “That was when I was in that antique shop by the River with that weird old man and the loudspeaker.”
I glance in my backpack and tell myself that I’ll have to investigate it when I get home.
-to be continued if someone wants me to-
PART TWO IN COMMENTS | 2018-02-15T22:32:41 | 2018-02-15T22:03:06 | 1,269 | 184 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol. | It was the first of January. The day of the Reveal. The day every person turning sixteen in the next twelve months will find out the number that will determine who their friends will be, where they will live, the jobs they will work. I wasn't worried. Both of my parents were in the 90's, my sister too. I was almost guaranteed a spot in the highest tier of society.
The mood was tense in the auditorium. All of us sat, watching the clock as it slowly ticked closer and closer to the 12 o'clock mark. Some people had their sleeves rolled up, eager to see. Others kept turning towards the door as if they were antsy to get out. I chatted with my friends, other soon-to-be 80's and 90's, if their family history said anything about it.
As the clock sounded, gasps could be heard echoing throughout the room. I felt a searing pain in my arm before it disappeared abruptly. I looked down, and my suspicions were confirmed. I was a 92.
I turned to my friend beside me, Jen, for a high-five, only to see her eyes filling with tears. I glanced at her arm, and recoiled. No, it couldn't be. Impossible. A 20? She abruptly got up and sprinted out the door to the bathroom.
===========
It had been a few months after the Reveal. Besides Jen, there weren't too many surprises. A couple kids from 30's families jumped to 70's. They were probably going to start a company or something in the near future.
I strolled to my locker, laughing with Kane about the party we went to the other night. Nobody dared step in our way. Nobody, that is, except for the little punk-ass that I ended up crashing into. As books flew to the ground, I shoved the kid. "Hey, watch it!"
He kept his head down, but when I noticed who it was, an evil grin materialized on my face. "What's this? Has Mr. Nobody himself decided to bless me with his presence?"
He ignored me, and bent down to pick his books up. Kane laughed. "Ah ah," he teased as he grabbed Tristan by the collar. "We can't have you disrespecting us like that, now, can we?"
"Let me go," he whispered, tugging his sleeve down. He was the only one to have yet revealed his score. I bet it was probably some record low number; the kid didn't seem to bright anyways.
"Let you go? But that's no fun!" A crowd had started gathering around us by now. "Now, mind letting us see that number?"
"No thank you," he mumbled, before trying to get out of Kane's grasp.
"What's that?" My voice got deadly low. Nobody dared talk back to a 92, especially not a low-life like him. "Kane, grab his sleeve."
To his credit, Tristan struggled. He really did try to keep it hidden, but of course, he had no chance against the school's star football player. Triumphantly, Kane yanked the sleeve back, before dropping it, and taking a step back.
The hall was silent. "Kane? Kane, what is it?"
Kane dropped to his knees. "Forgive me, Infini." As he said that, everyone around us began dropping down as well.
"What? That's... That's impossible! There's only ever... He can't be... Let me see that!" I grabbed his sleeve myself, only to confirm what Kane saw. An infinity symbol. I looked at Tristan, and he seemed grim. "I hope you'll leave me alone now," he said as he walked away.
&#x200B; | I’m a fifty percenter. Technically fifty-one hatches. I was born with my fate already tattooed upon my arm. Fifty-one black lines, ten hatch clusters plus one dangling off the end.
I was destined to be almost perfectly average. I was neither lauded nor criticized for my marks. I was like a Toyota Corolla: perfectly lackluster.
On my trip to school one day, a new kid entered the big yellow lemon bus. The vehicle hummed and sounded like it would fall apart any moment.
The boy moved down the aisle toward where I was seated. He clutched his arm as he walked, apparently in an attempt to hide whatever was on his arm.
I watched as he eased himself down on the seat across from me. As he sat, the bus rumbled to a start. I figured I’d give the boy a hard time about his shirt. He was clearly sensitive about his arm notations.
“I’m Jacob. Welcome to my bus,” I said.
The boy said nothing.
I continued, “This taxi ain’t free. Pay up.”
The boy looked straight at me. His mouth gaped a slight bit, and he reached in his pocket.
He pulled out his middle finger.
“Keep it up, and I’ll kick your ass,” I said.
He smiled, and I smirked back.
“What, you don’t think I will?” I leapt over on him and yanked on his shirt sleeve. He yapped like my neighbor’s dog, and bit like it too.
When I peeled up the shirt I was dumbfounded. There were no markings. Well, that’s not true. There was one *huge* mark across the length of his inner arm.
I furrowed my brow. “Is that—“
“Infinity,” he interrupted.
“What does it mean?”
“It means exactly what you would logically deduce from such a marking,” he said.
“So what, you’re some kind of Superman?”
“No,” he replied, “just unreasonably successful.”
“What’s your name?”
He grinned. “Pete.”
“Being such a successful guy, I’d imagine you don’t need another damned friend.”
“To the contrary,” he said, “because I’m successful, I *avoid* friendship at all costs.”
This infinity boy was intriguing beyond belief. His potential was literally unlimited.
I tried my best to befriend the friendless whiz kid, and succeeded in getting him to hang with me. Me and my older brother picked him up in his beat up green Volkswagen Jetta the next day.
He rode shotgun, and we drove across town, hitting every green light along the way. Turns out Pete was quite the lucky charm.
As we rode across Belmont Avenue, we turned into a old dilapidated gas station for fuel. There was only one other vehicle at the pumps, a giant black Dodge Ram.
As I walked in the station, I saw the owner of the Ram standing at the register.
“Two packs of Marlboro, and a Powerball,” he said. The man looked like a Cowboy God, with a half-open denim shirt revealing mounds of chest hair, and a gold bull amulet around his neck. He clicked his cowboy boot heel on the hard tiled floor as he filled in the bubbles on the Powerball ticket.
I gaped at the Cowboy God for another minute, watching him ponder the calculus of lottery numerology. Then he tapped his heel, swiveled around and walked out of the station.
“Pump five. And I’ll take one—“ I stopped myself. I had a crazy idea that seemed smarter the longer I thought about it.
I left for a moment to ask Pete a favor. “Hey Clark Kent. Can you do me a favor?”
“What’s up?”
“Can you grab me a Powerball ticket. I’ll give you half if we win. It’s a win-win for you,” I said.
“Yeah, being a fifty-one percenter, you need all the help you can get,” he replied.
“Sucks being average.”
Pete hopped out of the passenger seat and joined me at the register. We bought one ticket. Pete filled in the Powerball numbers quickly, without even registering what he was marking.
The receipt spit out, and Pete took it. We went back to the Jetta, and my brother drove us home. The sun set behind us like a dying firefly.
The next night, I sat in front of my TV, waiting for the Powerball drawing. I had the slice of paper clasped in my hand, eager with anticipation.
The balls started to spastically spin and appear.
13: *yup*.
16: *Yessir*.
19: *Uh huh!*
25: *Hell yes*.
34: *Oh baby!*
Powerball: 33.
I took my ticket and laid it on my nightstand, and fell into a deep sleep.
When I woke up, I smelled a dirty burning. It filled my lungs, and I started to hack and cough. Fire ran over my bed and nightstand, and flames licked at the ceiling.
I ran out and checked on my parents. They rushed me out, and I moved around like a blind man on crack.
As we stood outside the house, watching the house burn, a tear rolled down my cheek, as I realized my golden ticket was burning upon the nightstand in my room.
I didn’t think before I acted, and I paid the price. As the orange glowing embers created a halo in the sky, I reached my gaze toward the starless night sky, and closed my eyes.
When I opened my eyes, I was back in my bed. There was no smoke. No flames. It was all a terrible dream.
I checked my ticket on the nightstand. It was still there. I pulled it up to my face and looked at the sixth and last number.
I saw the number 33, illuminated by the dusky three-quarter moon. I slid the ticket in my pocket and laid back down to sleep.
Me and Pete were about to be the richest teenagers in the world. | 2018-12-27T18:27:11 | 2018-12-27T16:47:23 | 287 | 166 |
[WP] Magic suddenly becomes a thing. While governments are scrambling to establish regulations, people defiantly flock to reddit to share new discoveries and crack more “overpowered” spells. Write about a trending post that, for good or ill, is making authorities furious. | Enviousdeath: 13 points - 4 hours ago
Guys three swipes. Trust me ;)
FuckTheGvt 6542 points 3 hours ago
Tried it, they were screaming furious!
Edmon5 2 points - 2.5 hours ago
Username checks out ;)
PartialMadness 336 points - 2 hours ago
So, for those of you late to this thread. We have discovered the combination required to balance corruption. Use this spell on anyone, and it appears anything they have done in their past if of a corrupt nature, will revisit on them immediately.
Originally it was thought to be a forbidden spell as it killed that prick Tordingworth - until the investigation found identical circumstances to the girl he was accused of raping and murdering. It was only when others came forward having tried it on random targets that it’s true nature became obvious.
It isn’t a killing spell, it won’t do anything on a non corrupt person.. but the effect of a corrupt bastard will plague them if you cast it.
Envious is right up above. Three swipes seem to provide the optimum feedback.
Now is really time we clear out the swamp. | Right. You have to do it with four right turns exactly the *right* way, otherwise it doesn't work. You've got to do it *right* as you're reading this post. Like, right away. Right now.
"It's a derivation of the Household Dishwater Sequence first developed a week and a half ago," Malcom said, scanning the thousands upon thousands of replies on the post for the third time. "If we match the user replies to their real-life identities, which we can do for about 85% of the posters, we find something very interesting indeed."
"Right," Jonas interjected. The young man was brimming with excitement. He alone had discovered forty two unique spell derivations. "...Look at the groupings of positive responses, specifically those who succeeded after reading the instructions." He jabbed a finger at the hologram readout which showed demographic trends on the post. "House wives. Home bodies. House husbands. They're all at home browsing reddit, see a title that outlines an improved dish-washing automation sequence, they follow the instructions, and bam! They achieve it."
"Hold on a second," a disembodied voice said from one of the room's wall-mounted screens. "Frank Bragander, CIA. We're just getting looped in." The power brokers in the room swiveled in unison to face the man, who gave the impression that the scowl he wore was permanent. "What was the title of the post?," he asked, nonplussed by the clearance levels of the individuals arrayed around the table.
Malcom's eyes darted upwards in betrayal of his exasperation, though he managed to avoid a full eye-roll." It's a simple title. 'Forget about your dishes taking up space in the kitchen. Try this instead.'," he said, turning to face the rest of the table. "It's the top post right now, has been for over two hours. It needs to come down."
"We're working on it, sir," replied Jonas. "It doesn't violate the site's TOS."
"Get it done. We can't afford to have it up for much longer."
"Is it really that bad?" Frank said, frowning as he read through the instructions. "It just looks like a variation on the auto-"
"...mated dishwasher sequence." Malcom said, running a hand through his thinning hair with a jerky, erratic movement. "But it isn't. It imbues the casters with a fucking *philosophy!*"
"What?" Frank was still frowning.
"They stop seeing the purpose in all of their random household items - in the espresso maker and slow cooker and microwave." Malcom looked around the table, unable to catch anyone's eyes. "The sequence takes out any materialistic tendencies in humans. Everyone who follows the instructions stops caring about status and wealth - they completely drop the fucking fundamental drivers behind our economy." The President slammed his palms down onto the mahogany table. "Society is going to collapse. It's the end of life as we know it."
Laughter burst from the TV screen. Frank had a wide grin plastered across his face. "Two weeks ago magic came into the world - literally nothing else matters." As if to prove his point, the Director of the CIA snapped his fingers and appeared right in the middle of the table, causing the meeting room's occupants to jerk backwards in shock.
"Our society was created by the past. It was created for a completely different reality where magic didn't exist and the unexplained was ultimately explainable," the Director said over the indignant muttering. He turned to face the post's hologram projection, then began to recite the sequence. | 2019-07-11T13:59:56 | 2019-07-11T11:46:51 | 114 | 50 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | "With all due respect Ambassador, we are underestimating the Humans".
There. I said it. A career ending sentence. A diplomatic functionary of the Fourth Resource is only permitted into meetings merely to attend to more senior entities. That's all. To speak in anything other than a hushed whisper is unthinkable. To address the Ambassador directly is a fast track to dismissal, ignominy, shame.
The Ambassador's optical fronds focused upon me. They indicated equanimity, calm. It was receptive. Faznark. I couldn't back down now.
"Every species develops nuclear fission weaponry as an adjunct to energy research. This is not the case with Humans. They developed nuclear weapons precisely because they wanted to use them." Shock. Dismay. "They were engaged in a Total War at the time. They developed fission weapons, tested them, and immediately then began bombing cities - those are their Hive equivalents - and only ceased upon surrender of the opposing force."
I had the attention of the whole assembly now. Optical fronds and aural elevators focused upon me. Gulp. I displayed images of mushroom clouds and irradiated human victims. This caused consternation. Many entities who had previously indicated skepticism now indicated alarm, surprise, disgust.
"After detonation of the fission weapons upon cities, their understanding of the consequences of usage expanded in a logarithmic manner. Incredibly, this did not deter them. They not only expanded their arsenals, they next created fusion weapons." Disarray. Outrage. Disbelief. The Ambassador quickly swiveled his optical fronds, commanding silence. "I displayed images of inter-continental ballistic missiles. "When they developed rocketry, it wasn't to explore beyond their planet as it always is with other species. The rockets were designed primarily to carry fusion warheads. The cities of other factions were targeted, even though they were not in a state of war." This caused much disbelief. The Ambassador queried me.
"How is it that this is unknown, if it is indeed true?" Many optical fronds and aural elevators now indicated agreement, and support for the Ambassador's query. High quality response imperative.
"This happened over two Baxors ago. Standard history review for an Applicating Species is one Baxor." Once more, the Ambassador indicated calm, readiness to receive further information. "Almost every discovery Humans made was preceded by the military counterpart. Example One: personal navigation equipment was preceded by sophisticated targeting systems for cross-continental delivery of fusion weapons. Example Two: turbinial atmospheric aircraft propulsion was developed for combat aircraft, and only much later used for civilian transport. Example Three: semiconductor-based programmable computational electronics was developed for forced de-cryption of enemy messages and for computation of ballistic tables used for artillery - a tube-based delivery system for high explosives." I caused images to be displayed alongside these revelations. Silence. Unease. "The longest period of peace known to humans preceded their realization of the probability of non-human sentient life within the radius of a light-Baxon from their home planet. In short, the human history which we reviewed was atypical of their species' average. The intensity which they bring to war is sobering. Their willingness to risk immolation or even termination, and to accept high rates of both in wartime is terrifying. Suggestion: dis-engage from Total War with humans, and commence comprehensive review of historical human war fighting capabilities. Submission for review: their reputation as perennial non-combatants and weaklings should be given primary re-consideration focus."
Worry. Anxiety. Unease.
The Ambassador paused, engaged in cogitation. His optical fronds shielded his receptors. His aural elevators were made flaccid.
The alarms broke the silence. The entire human fleet dropped out of hyper-space. It was huge. Over two hundred thousand component vessels of Flagellant Class or better. How had the humans expanded their tiny fleet so quickly? How had they approached unnoticed? Then something happened which sealed our doom. Another human fleet dropped out of hyper-space, this one even bigger than the first. Then another, and another. We were truly Faznarked now.
Great was our relief when the humans opened communication, and transmitted the terms of our surrender. | **“Humanity is poorly suited to most everything excepting one, Death.” -Sharthan Remembrancer Ta’aliq 2174**
To’shan stood over his prey, the magnetic coils of his plasma rifle whining as they contained the burning fire within.
“You are bested Hu’man.” His voice a deep baritone rumble, his armoured jaw clicking as he rendered the words in standard. “Surrender and you will live on in a labour camp or perhaps even a servant in one of the noble houses”
The human, a gaunt boy stared back at the Sharthan warrior, 8 and a half feet of armoured muscle, and began to laugh.
To’shan allowed a growl to reverberate around his chest.
“You find this situation amusing? Your planet burns, your cities destroyed, the labour camps are no \*walk in the grass.\* There will be no treaty this time Hu’man, no negotiator to save you.”
“You don’t get it do you, meathead” the youth spat as he opened his hand, half a dozen tiny pieces of metal falling to tinkle on the ground below. “I’m not going to the labour camp.”
To’shan didn’t even have time to react as 6 deafening flashes turned fireballs erupted from the boy’s chest.
&#x200B;
**“Engines to full, we’re taking at least one of these bastards with us” -Last order of Captain Connie Masterson, battle of 61 Cygni 2157**
“Admiral, another wing is approaching from behind the third moon, a destroyer, two frigates and about a dozen corvettes, intercept time 8 minutes.”
“Order the Resolute to come about, task alpha and delta wings to target the corvettes.” Admiral Miguel Álvarez leant over the holo-map, his hands gripping the edge of the rounded display unit.
The Resolute could take the frigates or the destroyer not both, but there was nothing else to deploy.
A flashing circle notified the admiral of an incoming message, identity showed to be that of the captain of the Resolute, Miguel activated the message and saw Captain Mito’s face.
“Miguel, I don’t suppose you could spare something else above the fighter wings to assist?”
“I can offer you a prayer or a curse Shoji, but beyond that you’re on your own until reinforcements arrive.”
“We both know they’re not coming.” For once Captain Shoji Mito, the most laid-back man in the fleet, wasn’t smiling. “Not in time to do anything but pick through the debris at least.”
The seventh fleet had been caught between jumps, the local sensor networks had been compromised and the fleet was out of position when the Sharthani had begun their attack run.
The vanguard had exited from the jump gate directly into a mine field and the rest of the fleet had taken moderate impact damage from the remnants of the ships caught in the gravity well.
“Do what you can Shoji, I can spare theta wing to provide limited point defence, their heavy weaponry is depleted, and they are at 40% strength, so they won’t be much help.”
A dull sound resonated through the command deck, the bridge lighting flickering momentarily before dropping into the red glow of the combat lighting.
“Understood.” Captain Mito signed off as the Resolute along with its fighter wings powered away from the command vessel, a glittering of pale blue sunbursts from the drives on each craft grew smaller before falling out of sight behind a bulkhead.
“Theta wing, this is Theta lead. Switch to private channel 9”
Burst of static played over the radio as each of the pilots switched over to the private channel.
“We are out of weapons, nearly of out fuel, and shit out of luck boys and girls but I have good news.” Commander Winters smiled to herself as she keyed the mic again. “We get to die as heroes.”
A dozen or so groans, whoops and one Fuck yeah came back over the tinny speakers in her craft.
“I’ve been thinking, seeing as how we’ve been sat floating all bored out here, about how that destroyer over there has pretty thin weapons coverage around the rear of the drive section.”
She continued, her grin audible to her fellow flyers. “and about how fast these little fighters go full throttle.”
Flight Co-ordinator Ro’Jhan laughed as she watched the twelve fighter craft burn a wide course around the battle and out away from the fight.
“See how the Hu’man run! So the stories are true, they are weak, pathetic, spineless.” Her jaw clicking to show amusement at the display of cowardice from the Hu’mans.
“Open a channel to their lead vessel, we may yet take some trophies from this.”
Captain Shoji Mito raised his hand to cover his eyes from the flash as twelve fighter craft slammed into the drive section of the Sharthani destroyer, the plasma contained in her drive blooming into space as the containment fields collapsed, her hull broken open, crystals of frozen blood glittering purple in the afterglow.
&#x200B;
**“Now go and strike Amalek and devote to destruction all that they have. Do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey.” 1 Samuel 15:3**
“The council recognizes the Sharthani delegate”
“Great council, we apply for aid against the Hu’man forces. Our fleets lie in ruins, our armies routed, our cities on fire.” Do’Ro’un, the Sharthani diplomat pleaded, his jaw beating a slow rhythmic chattering serving to emphasize his supplication.
“They do not follow the natural order.” A soft voice from the Treyanni councilmember, the oldest of the races represented on the council, it’s wing scales flashing to show it’s unease.
“Though they are sapient and show no collective will, they respond like a hive when attacked. It is the only time that they are capable of truly working together.”
“Yes!” Do’Ro’un cried “They are like an unending swarm, devouring all that lies before them, you must help us end their attacks!”
“No.” came the reply, spoken softly but firmly “Your request risks bringing death upon all of the races of the council. You have awoken in them a terrible menace through your own misguided actions”
A figure stepped out from the edges of the chamber, a lone human carrying a large rifle.
“And you shall suffer our wrath as we suffered yours.”
The Sharthani delegate fell to his knees and opened his mouth to speak as a flash followed by a sharp crack echoed around the chamber ended his begging. | 2019-11-24T16:08:56 | 2019-11-24T15:40:28 | 98 | 57 |
[WP] An isekai where instead if just one person or class, the entire earth is transported and replaces the fantasy worlds moon | “Here they come,” Jesse, my reloader said, pointing up towards the night sky. She pulled her helmet back and cupper her hands.
I looked up and saw the three flaming metallic orbs scraping across the sky. We called them Epcot balls because they were about the size and shape of the famed Epcot Center at Disney world. But these metallic orbs were just layer upon layer of robotic machines of war, densely packed like baby spiders on their mother's back.
Behind the Epcot balls currently descending onto our planet, The Sphere loomed as it had for all these months since The Arrival, glowing with its unearthly silver, like a bloated metallic sun.
No one knows how it happened, but one day we woke up to find that Earth had been transported to an alien sky, orbiting this giant metallic artificial planet which we now called, simply, The Sphere.
It appears our planet was transported here so The Brain of The Sphere could experiment on Humans. Or simply to hunt us for sport.
It was perigee tonight between Earth and The Sphere and a new wave of machines would be landing. They would travel up one of The Sphere's space elevators and be ejected on a path for Earth.
But this time we were prepared. Or as best we could be.
"You think it will go better this time?" Jesse asked me.
I shrugged. "Let's hope so."
Last perigee, just over forty days ago, we more than a hundred fighting age citizens. We buried them, as we had after each wave, and began preparing for the next.
”Wait until they unfurl,” Battalion Commander Santiago shouted to the Heavy Gunner’s, including me, on the walls of our stronghold. He didn't need to tell us this, but it was part of his own preparation I guess.
The Epcot balls rained from the sky, three of them in total, turning the night green as the metals from the outer shell of Crawlers began to oxidize and burn up in our atmosphere. This layer of Crawlers was expendable and designed to absorb the impact, plus any incoming fire on descent.
We've learned some of the tactics of The Brain of The Sphere. Many of these lessons we learned the hard way. In the past, we had wasted valuable ammunition on this early stage of the battle.
The first Epcot ball landed half a click away in the flood plains around our city state, The Sacramento Stronghold. The impact made the walls tremble and dust from the newly laid cement came up in ethereal clouds that drifted up into the night. A large wave of tidal water came bowling towards us and crashed over our wall, drenching those of us in the front line.
“Clean the guns,” Commander Santiago screamed. And Sarah began to wipe methodically the barrel of our 90-mm artillery canon.
We watched as the scorched outer layer of Crawlers, which wrapped protectively the inner machines of the orb, slowly peeled away from the Epcot ball like a layer of onion. They fell to the shallow, churning water in the flood plain, their eight metallic and pointed legs sticking up in the air like a dead spiders.
The two last Epcot balls landed adjacent, but further out, than the one that was already unfurling.
The second layer of crawlers began to detach from the first giant ball and skitter down into the shallow water and make their way towards us. They needed to get within a few hundred yards before their weapons were activated and they began firing their lasers with precision.
There would be another eight layers in all before the center of the Epcot ball was reached and each one's Overlord would stretch its titanic, insect-like legs.
I was looking patiently down the sights of my refurbished 90mm anti-tank artillery gun, mounted on the stronghold’s wall, waiting for the command, trying to keep my breath steady as I watched the enemy unfolding, their numbers growing stronger and stronger before me.
The whole night was covered in the ghostly silver sheen of The Sphere as it filled our night sky.
The second and third Epcot balls peeled away their dead Crawlers, hundreds splashing lifeless into the water.
The crawlers from the first ball were getting closer and soon their weapons would be activated.
“Fire!” Commander Santiago finally shouted. The silence on the stronghold's wall was shattered by the rounds of the Heavy Gunners.
I aimed at a Crawler’s thorax, slightly to the left of center and pressed the trigger.
We learned many months ago, by the third wave, where to hit the crawlers to cause the most damage, but it requires an ace shot to hit the power system in the exact right spot.
My aim was true and the crawler exploded in a ghoulish-green fireball, maiming a few Crawlers around it, which still tried to move forward on their broken legs, but slowly sank into the mud.
More rounds from the other Heavy Gunners streaked above the black water of the Sacramento flood plain, lighting up the night sky like falling stars.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | A forewarning, I imagined the fantasy world more like an epic western fantasy world and not so much like a manga fantasy world. Hopefully, that still works!
___
"Moonfiends!" The words came echoing through the rubble of the village; a woman screamed at the group that passed through. Clutching the doll that would never know a child's touch again, the bereaved woman screamed at them again, tears flowing as they dropped to the charred ground. "Moonfiends! You have done this! Leave!" She shrieked once more, her voice going hoarse from the screaming.
Alan sucked on his lips, striding as quickly as he could, his rifle tapping against his chest and his gear gently jostling as he moved. He tried to find where the dirt road was not blackened by his own kind's weapons. The people of Fantasia thought they knew war with their fireballs and storms.
But they never knew the desolation of tanks and artillery.
They had thought themselves fast with their scrying and telepathy, but radios and satellites quelled their arrogance.
They thought themselves safe, far away from the moon-now-earth.
But they did not know the distance rockets could travel.
Alan tapped his ear, static buzzing, waiting for his voice. "HQ, Alan Fernsfield, area has been neutralized."
Static crackled and a voice possessed the small communications device. "Understood, come on home, soldier."
"Roger," Alan said as he signaled to his group, the rustling of metal weapons and modern clothes carried through the air.
Alan looked back at the grieving woman, clicking his tongue in disdain as he did. He didn't hate her, no. He hated what his people had done. Fantasia's people were not ready for this kind of brutality or this kind of warfare. They knew ancient evils, not modern warfare. They knew heroic stands, not heavy casualties.
Alan sneered, trudging through the black and onto the brown dirt, wondering when his kind would sleek it with soot.
"Sir," a soldier spoke up behind Alan, trying to get his attention.
Wary-eyed, Alan looked back at the young soldier. She was fresh; this was her first excursion. "Yes?"
Her hesitant eyes told him everything he needed to know. She didn't expect this. She probably bought all that nonsense about going to a new planet, discovering a new life, and seeing magic. Real, mesmerizing magic.
She probably didn't realize that the magic she would see was trying to kill her.
Her eyes glanced back towards the corpse of a village. "Nevermind," she finally said, eyes moving down to the ground. Alan silently shook his head. *Never easy the first time. Nor the tenth. Or the one hundredth.*
Iresdalen was one of the few remaining kingdoms that stood against humanity. Their wizards and witches—known as the Tar Seri—managed to create a magical bubble around the borders. It kept humanity and modernity out, but ingenuity and science were breaking through mysticism and magic.
Alan thought about the new onslaught as his people entered a thicket of brown trees with shifting shades of yellow and red leaves. Brambles and bushes were molting, letting their soft greenness turn brown branches. It looked as if corpses of spring littered the ground while the canopy was still shifting from life to death.
The world was dying, and Alan wondered if they were the cause. But his thoughts died out as his eyes took in the form in front of them.
A horse-drawn carriage was moving through the path, lazily striding through the trees like nothing could bother it and its lethargy. While the world was brown, red, and yellow. The carriage was a bright white, drawing all eyes to it. Sitting at the front was a woman; her bright blue eyes tracked Alan's group.
"Moonkin," she said, her voice dancing with amusement as she rolled to a stop. Alan's scrunched his brows; she hadn't call them moonfiends.
Alan nodded at her, pulling his weapons towards him. "Hail, traveler," he said.
Her eyes twinkled at him for a moment, like she was measuring his worth. She nodded slowly and repeated the greeting. "Strange that you choose our customs while taking our lives."
Two of the soldiers behind Alan shuffled, moving to their weapons. But Alan put his hand out, telling them to stand down. Yet his eyes were still fixed on the woman; his own hand had moved closer to his weapon.
"Tidings in peace and tranquility, madam, but I do not choose the burning over lives. It is my superiors who choose for me," Alan said, speaking like a Qanarian, his first stationed kingdom.
The woman's eyes lit up from that, "my. Quite the tongue on you, eh, *ki'lawue?"* Alan's eyes rose at the Qana slur she spoke.
"*Im'lu tya,"* Alan retorted, his accent a poor imitation of the woman's, trying to show they meant no harm.
She clicked her tongue and looked towards the smoldering remains, where the woman still sobbed.
"Your tongue says one thing, but your actions say another, *ki'lawue.* The great Beginners insult us by making us share a language." Her hostility fully revealed now.
Alan bowed deeply, pushing his arms to his side, open palms aiming towards the sun while his face moved towards the ground. A gesture of Qana peace.
"*Wei'la tenna tow? Ana e lua? Un era e tes? Wei'la tenna wa? Sunsan?"* Alan asked, requesting to know what was he supposed to do. Run and face death? Or choose to fight and live? What she would do, calling her by an honorific of nobility and wisdom.
She clicked her tongue and snapped the reins, causing Alan to pull out of his bow. "*Ana e tes. Tenna tow, ki'lawue."* She retorted and sneered as she moved away. "May our paths never cross again, moonfiend. For you know our stories, but burn our world. Ignorance can be forgiven. But you can not be. May the Beginners remove you from the sands."
Alan watched her move, letting the gleaming white carriage blind him. He sighed and started to move away, walking down the opposite path with his team.
He looked back one last time, eyes widening as he did. The old one had stopped for the grieving woman. A soft white light filled the black skeleton of the village. It came from the old woman's hands and went into the sobbing woman, quelling her tears. *Tar Seri*, Alan thought.
He held the sight for a moment longer. A Tar Seri would be valuable and HQ requested any and all Tar Seri to be captured and brought back to base. Alan bit on his lip, watching the old woman. *Ana e tes*. Her words reverberated in Alan's skull.
He tore his eyes away from the sight and back to the brown scar on the ground that would guide them away from the dead village.
He pondered on the old woman's words, wondering if he chose the right side of that path as he walked further into the dying forest.
___
If you'd like more of my stories, then they are here at r/WritingKnightly! | 2021-03-21T12:16:45 | 2021-03-21T12:14:14 | 67 | 46 |
[WP] When a mugger shoots you but dies instead you realize that if anyone’s in the same room as you when you die you take their life to keep living. Now a 100 year old on their deathbed, you’re desperately trying to convince all your loved ones to leave your side. | Mr. Johnson flickered in and out of lucidity. One moment he was lying down in a field, next to a young girl. What was her name? Mandy? Sure, let's go with that.
And then, a second later, he was on a stretcher, bombs exploding all around him while medics rushed him into the bunker. Didn't they know he couldn't die?
Finally, he was in a hospital bed. Old and weak, with his family all around him. Twenty different humans, some young, some old, some short and some tall. This time, he realized, it wasn't a hallucination.
The heart monitor's harsh beep was a metronome for the surrounding conversation.
"Hey look," a middle aged woman said, "he's awake."
"Hi Dad," the woman's husband said. Mr. Johnson recognized him as his son, Dmitri. "Feeling okay? Let us know if you want more morphine. I brought the whole family."
Suddenly, the metronome increased in tempo. Mr. Johnson knew his time was quickly approaching, and if all these people stayed in the room with him, his loving family...
"You all have to leave!" he tried to shout, but his voice was only a remnant of its former glory. "Nobody can be in here!"
Everyone cut-short their side conversations as the old man spoke. Even the kids, playing against each other on portable game consoles, pressed pause. All eyes were on him.
"What are you talking about, Dad? Everyone's here for you."
"No... if you're all here..." he hesitated -- he would sound like a madman. But what other choice did he have? "I'm going to die soon, very soon. And if anyone stays in this room they will die alongside me." The tempo slowed, became slower than it originally was. Each beep drifted further and further apart, like ships at sea going opposite directions. "Everyone will die if they don't leave."
Strangely, instead of laughs or looks of confusion, everyone smiled at him. Then they looked at each other, all in on some big joke he wasn't a part of.
And then it started to happen. Years of theft, a century of burglary, came to an end. Out of his bag, one hundred years worth of memories came flooding out, returning to time itself. His vision went black as he pleaded once more for everyone to go.
A quarter rest.
A whole rest.
And then, the music played once more.
The sight of his family faded back into view, but something was different. His son had a grey hair that wasn't there before. A new wrinkle had found its way on his daughter-in-law's face. Both of the kids on the floor grew an inch taller. How was that possible?
Oh, and everyone had on party hats.
"We know about your power, Dad," Dmitri said, "and we all decided to chip in. One year, from each of us, to you. Happy Birthday."
Ah, it was his birthday, wasn't it? But wait -- what?!
"You mean," Mr. Johnson began, "even the kids? They agreed to this?"
Both of them stood up and nodded. "Yeah grandpa! We wanna get older anyways," they said in unison.
In the corner was the sister he never got along with. She was old too, and a year off her life meant a great deal more than anyone else's. "You too, Girsha?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "It's your centennial. I couldn't say no."
Somebody threw confetti into the air and people blew on their party horns. All at once, in a deafening harmony, Mr. Johnson's entire family screamed: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GRANDPA!"
And so, for another 20 years, Mr. Johnson lived a happy and fulfilling life, filled with much love and much family. When his time was finally up, truly finished, he would be alone in a cold room, his only friend the green beeping monitor, but for now, chowing down on some cake beside loved ones, he promised to make the most out of their gift. | I am on my death bed, surrounded by my loved ones. I am 100 years old, and I know that this is my last day. I am in pain, but I am at peace. I know that when I die, I will take the life of anyone who is in the same room with me.
I try to convince my loved ones to leave my side, but they will not listen. They are all so stubborn. My daughter, my granddaughter, my son-in-law, my great-granddaughter, and my two best friends are all here with me. I am so happy that they are all here with me. I have lived a blessed life. I have seen the world change so much over the past 100 years, and I have been there to see it all. The world has changed so much, and I have been a part of it. I remember when people only had horses, and we had to use a horse-drawn carriage to get around. The horse-drawn carriage would take days to get to our destination, but now we have cars that can get us anywhere in a matter of minutes. We used to travel so slowly that we would miss most of the sights along the way. Now we can see as much as we want on our journey, and we can enjoy the journey as well.
Now I must convince them all to leave. They are all so stubborn, and they will not listen to me. I must make them leave before it is too late. I will tell my loved ones that I do not want them to live the rest of their lives with the horror of knowing that they killed me with their presence when I died. No matter how many times I try to tell them that they killed me, they do not listen. They do not want to believe me. They are all so stubborn and pigheaded!
My daughter is closest to me, so I try to convince her to leave me first. She is being so stubborn and pigheaded! I will not give up! I will keep trying to convince her to leave me. I repeat myself over and over again in order to tell her that she is killing me by being in the same room as me. I tell her that I want her to leave me, but she still refuses to leave. She is so pigheaded. I do not want her to kill me. I know she will not listen to me, no matter how many times I try to convince her to leave my side. I am very angry with her for refusing to leave when I ask her to. She is so stubborn! I can feel my anger boiling inside of me.
My anger is rising higher and higher. I am not going to let my daughter kill me! I will not let her kill me! I need to do something to make her leave. I will give her a physical push, so that she will leave. I know that if I push her out of the room, she will not come back. I need to make sure that she leaves the room. I believe that if I make her leave, then she will know that she is killing me.
I push her, but she does not leave. I push her again, but she does not leave. I push her a third time, but she still does not leave the room. I am so angry, but I cannot let my anger control me. I need to remember that I am dying. I believe that this is my last day. I need to concentrate on getting my loved ones out of the room, instead of concentrating on my anger. I have to push my anger aside and focus on getting my loved ones out of the room.
I do not know what else I can do to get my daughter out of the room. I have tried everything I possibly could, and she still is not leaving. I feel so helpless. All I can do is lie here on my death bed and wait until the time comes. I am so angry with my daughter! She is so stubborn and pigheaded. I do not want her to die, but she will not listen to me.
I need to figure out a way to get her out of the room. I will have to tell her the truth. I cannot keep quiet any longer. I am tired of lying to her. It is time for me to be honest. I am going to tell her that I am lying to her. I will tell her that I am not really dying. I will tell her that I do not want her to stay with me, but that I am only pretending to be dying. I do not want her to kill me by being in the same room as me.
I gather my strength, and I am preparing myself for what I must do. I will do whatever it takes to get my daughter out of the room. I will tell her that I am not dying. She will know that I am lying, and that I am only pretending to be dying. I am going to tell her the truth, no matter how much it hurts.
That is the first thing that I remember after my NDE. I woke up, and I started to scream. I screamed so loud that my entire family came running into my bedroom. I was terrified of my family. I thought they were going to hurt me. They all thought that I was having a seizure. They called 911, and the paramedics came to help me. I was terrified of the paramedics. It did not help matters that I was screaming and crying. I did not want them to touch me. I was still very confused and disoriented. It was not until my family started to calm me down and reassure me that everything was going to be alright, that the paramedics were able to take my blood pressure and perform other tests.
I was sent to the hospital for observation. I was very tired and emotionally drained, but I was well enough to go home with my family. I just needed a good night’s rest. The doctors wanted to keep me overnight, but my family wanted me to come home. I thought that I would be better off sleeping in my own bed instead of in the hospital. The hospital was very noisy and busy, and I did not feel safe there. I preferred to go home with my family. I was able to sleep in my own bed, which was very pleasant. It was very quiet in my house, and I felt safe. | 2022-01-15T20:35:04 | 2022-01-15T11:29:20 | 194 | 28 |
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do? | Lynch regarded the teenage girl in front of him, and barely held back a scoff. Her tattered clothing was in contrast to his grand robes in orange, indicating his status as the Archmage of Recruitment.
“Child,” he said. “I do not want to underestimate you. But I sense zero magic in you.”
“Please,” Thea said, her voice as small as a mouse, and more squeaky. “I can. I’ve endured the pain. I’ve seen the Firelight.”
Archmage Lynch sighed, rubbing his temple. One of the core tenets of his title was to listen to anybody who came to his door, whether they were talents or charlatans. And while personal trauma was important in the formation of magic, it was a condition, not the end result. Every mage has gone through pain. Not every person with pain can become a mage.
Keen eyes regarded the small form before him. There was a certain aura to mages, even for the raw diamonds in the rough. Orange sparks or a glow would form about them, the basest form of the arcane. They could be moulded into different specializations, changing colour depending on the path each disciple chose.
Thea’s, instead, was plain grey.
“I’ll let you stay for the night,” Lynch said. “I’ll send for a carriage tomorrow morning, where you can return to your home village.”
Thea’s eyes was pale grey as well, the beginnings of gathering storm clouds.
“You are not taking me in?”
“I’ve seen enough to know you do not possess even the most rudimentary of magics,” the Archmage said. “There is no fire. Only ash.”
“I will show you,” Thea whispered, her voice gaining the timbre of a thousand people. Where once was a little girl, she seemed to loomed larger. “The pain. Of not being able to cast magic.”
Lynch stepped back warily. He felt his skin crawl, the floor shake, and the air change. He felt as if the East Wind itself built up in his manor, cackling with the energy of mighty storms.
And Thea spoke a word. It reverberated with power, sucking the air out of Lynch himself. All chatter and derision was replaced with the deafening sound of silence. The vacuum was formed, and Thea was at the heart of it all.
“Quiet.”
All Lynch would do was sit there, mouth agape, with nothing coming out of it. It was so unnatural, not hearing the whispers of the still air, nor his racing heart that existed within his body, nor even his own breath as he desperately sucked in air.
And just as suddenly, everything was restored in an overwhelming cacophony of noise. He quickly adjusted, but those seconds away felt more intimidating and terrifying than facing a fireball.
Thea’s knees buckled, and she fell to the floor. With surprising speed, Lynch covered the distance and hook his arms under hers, preventing Thea from collapsing.
And the Archmage realised his mistake at interpreting the grey aura. It was but one part of the talent Thea possessed.
It was for the same reason a termite under a rotten log couldn’t see the whole forest.
---
r/dexdrafts | [P1]
It’s been a rough day. Once again, I was not heard when I spoke up months ago. Just as it always goes. I try my best to tell people what I see. But they never listen to me. Now I am packing up my desk because of layoffs. Layoffs that would have been prevented if people had more faith in what I predicted. I should know by now I can’t control these things. My eyes start to water as I begin to think about Lucy. The last day, I admit I was too protective and I should have given her space yet the panic that set in when she said she was leaving me… I begged her to stay. It was not a selfish request. I had the worst fear about her on that day however I knew not what caused me this angst. All I could communicate was a measly “please don’t go” as she closed the front door. That night, I got a call from the police. She had been in a wreck. I was her emergency contact; she died on impact.
Now, looking at my empty boxes and full drawers after getting laid off… It’s crippling. I don’t know what to do. Go home? Apply again? Repeat? There’s no way I can do this till I die. I need Lucy. I need something.
After packing it all up and getting it all into my car, I go home. It’s a 45 minute commute of tears. When I finally reach my house, it’s as if every ounce of energy is gone from my body. The black is creeping in from my peripheral vision. Something isn’t right. I hear a loud ringing just as my vision completely blacks out.
I wake up atop a cobble path. I see two white high heels in front of me. My heart sinks as I must have thought she was Lucy. Immediately after standing up, I am corrected. In a raspy high pitched voice that does not match her frail body she says, “Hmm… would you like some coffee? We have a nice place just around the lot.”
I reluctantly agreed as I had no clue where I even was. After walking for what honestly felt like seconds, we were there. I looked back to see where I came from and nothing was familiar to me.
“Are you okay dear” she asks, puzzled by my frantic behavior. “Yes, I’m fine. Just lost?” I reply.
“Oh sweety, you are not lost. You have just been found. Tell me…” She pauses for only what I can imagine is suspense. “What do you want to drink?” She lets out holding back a cackle.
That’s when it hits me. I can’t even read the menu. Not in a “Oh I’m too far from home” type of way but in a “Oh shit, this isn’t earth.” Type of way. I immediately begin to panic, tears begin to fill my eyes. As, I’m about to break, wind hits me. Not just any wind though, it passes through what felt like every atom in my being. And just as it started, it had stopped. And I was calm. More so than I’ve ever been. Just as I regain my composure I see her slip something into her pocket.
She communicates with the person making the drinks and I follow her to the table once she had them in hand.
“So what is this” I ask.
“This is Montigora. You wake up here when you have been chosen.” She says as she looks up and into my soul.
“Chosen? Chosen for what? There’s got to be a mistake. I don’t get chosen. That’s not me.”
“Chosen to protect. We here at Montigora are what you would classify as wizards or magicians. They are not born; they're made or rather selected. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. However, it is their heart that allows them to be chosen. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma and their power is linked to their emotions. So tell me child, what can YOU do?”
I looked at this old woman asking me questions. With confusion flooding my brain I manage to spill out “I don’t know. Who are you and why am I chosen?”
I can feel my broad shoulders turning inward as anxiety fills my soul while I wait for a response. The old woman’s face begins to wrinkle at the concept of not knowing my power.
“What is your worst fear?” She asks after thinking for a while.
“My worst fear has came to be. The love of my life died because I couldn’t express what I was feeling right. I knew she was in danger that day. I knew not the extent. And now her blood feels imbedded into my hands.”
The old woman smiles at me and says two words; “Older pain.”
As the words escape her lips I am hit with my early life, the scene of me crying in the backseat of a car. My mother was trying to console me. When she turned around I cried harder as this feeling inside me was raging like a wildfire. Then there was a lot of glass. Blood…
“The car wreck.” I murmur.
“Yes!” She says with excitement grinning ear to ear. “The car wreck!” she laughs. “Now that you are older, do you see?”
“See what?” I ask almost insulted.
“You have a good heart. The emotions you feel in these moments are not real emotions. They an entire novel you can read with training. They are telling you exactly what is going to happen next. When you don’t listen and it’s imperative, they scream” | 2022-04-26T11:02:18 | 2022-04-26T10:55:23 | 389 | 10 |
[WP] Scientists manage to develop a device that can detect souls. However, joy about the invention quickly turns into shock when they realize that only about 20% of all humans posess one | Five of us worked on the project. It was called the Ethereal Interferometer. In theory, we believed that our device could prove the existence of the soul. Each of us tried it. Only one of us, Sati, registered on the device.
If we were right, then the rest of us didn't have souls. We tried testing it in the field, using the device in crowds of people. The ratio was surprisingly consistent -- only about one in five people *did* have souls. Sati suggested we try it on a volunteer in hospice care, to confirm that what we were detecting was a soul.
We were able to find someone willing to be part of the experiment, and monitor them until they passed away. Sure enough, a few minutes after they flatlined, the energy we believed to be the soul moved away from their body, and then accelerated away at near light speed. Into the great beyond, it seemed.
It was a pretty jarring thing to learn, existentially speaking. What did having a soul mean, after all, if you could, evidently, function perfectly well without one? What did it mean, for those who lacked them? We agreed we had to publish our findings -- Sati was adamant, in particular. Easy for her to say -- she *had* a soul. But we'd worked too hard, all of us, to abandon the project. If this life was all we had, how could we fail to follow through with our life's work?
It turned out, it wasn't going to be up to us.
When we returned to the lab from our field studies, we found men in dark suits waiting for us. They were gathering up our computers and equipment, and carting them away. We tried to stop them -- Sati, in particular, was outraged. But there was nothing we could do. They subdued us before we could so much as call for help.
One of them, an older man, walked up to me, as another held me from behind. To my surprise, the man that approached me wasn't another suit, not military or a cop. He was a *priest.*
"What the hell is this?" I demanded.
"My name is Father Gabriel." the priest said, calmly. "I'm a Vatican liason to the United States Government."
"So that's it -- some kind of new *inquisition?"* I demanded.
"On the contrary -- an Inquisition is precisely what we're trying to prevent, here." Father Gabriel said. "Announcing the the world that only a privileged few have *souls?* It's difficult enough to persuade people to respect the rights and dignity of their fellow human beings when they believe that they *do* have souls. I don't even care to imagine what kind of horrors you might unleash by publicizing the *opposite."*
"It's the truth!" I spat. "Not that I'd expect a *religious* man to care about that."
The priest sighed. "You have discovered *something,* young man, I'll give you that. Something that, in its own way, is almost as horrifying as what you *believed* you'd found. But it's not what you think."
"What is it then?" I demanded.
My attention was suddenly drawn to Sati, who had begun writhing and screaming, as two of the suited agents struggled to hold her still. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her mouth opened impossibly wide as she wailed and struggled violently.
*"Ave Satanas!"* Sati shrieked. *"Ave draco maledicte rex!"*
My eyes went wide in horror.
"You've found a way to detect, not which people possess souls, but rather, which people are being possessed *by* a *second* soul." the priest said, grimly. "The Adversary, it seems, has been *very* busy." | They checked it, rebuilt it and tested it on all parameters. Not only majority of humans didn't have souls, no animals had souls either. Their findings were released in papers...tabloids and people lost their mind. From pro life people to pro animals, all religious and peaceful people erupted with anger and frustration.
"If we didn't have soul, why the hell did I became a priest." Said one bishop. "Father...don't take lord's name in vain" He was reprimanded by a young Nun. "No...fuck lord.. I am no father, I'd rather be daddy"
Animal activists who were so desperately trying to make the entire world vegan lost their mind. "Animals are just like us. They have a soul!" They insisted. "No, they are just like us because they DON'T have a soul" corrected a meat eater. "That also works" And thus Peta removed their objection to the report, carrying on with their mission in a new light.
People could hate it or love it, but they couldn't ignore it. Most corporates and politicians were same though, as having a soul would be a waste to them. Now they didn't have to deal with any conscience either. Albeit, some companies marketed products to people like, 'Feed the soul inside you.' 'If you like it, that's cause you've got a soul' 'Match the soul' and so on.
But it baffled those who discovered it the most. Why was it that only a fraction of humans had a soul? Was there a way to contact this soul? Does not having a soul make a difference? This had so many implications to the world. The entire religious foundation had been shaken to the core. The church, the mosque and the temples, all pressured the governments to revoke the scientists' funding.
Scientists, having no other way out, finally went to the extremes and got a guy who was about to die. Waited for him to die and trapped the soul in a card board box.
They had placed a gimmick through which it could talk. "Sorry to experiment upon you Mr. burry. Tell us what do you feel." The soul stayed silent, just a blob of energy, floating around in the box, invisible to the naked eye but if hit with the right spectrum, would shine translucent blue. "Mr. Burry...please hurry" Larry said again. "Do you feel like yourself?"
The soul stayed silent, just floating around in the space. "Do we need to call *those* guys?" Whispered Dave. "No.. we don't need ghostbusters" Larry whispered back. "Mr. Burry"
"OH FOR GODSAKE, ANSWER YOU DEAD ASS" Burst out Mike. Soul responded in kind. "I am not Mr. Burry...and I am not dead."
Everyone gasped in shock upon hearing this. They were sure they captured his soul. They witnessed the entire thing as Mr. Burry died. This thing left through his nose and Mike there jumped on it with the box. "What do you mean you are not Mr. Burry...who are you?" Asked Larry.
The soul was moving a lot, as if trying to find an escape. "I see none of you have a soul" It spoke again. "How did it know..." Whispered Dave again. "Shush...." Said Mike.
"How did you know" Asked Larry from the soul. "I would sense it...stupid" It appeared that this soul had a bit of an attitude. "We are...an entity that exist within complex organic being in order to experience things and live. We used to have flesh and bones, but as we achieved singularity, we became this true form. Some of us want to travel and experience the world..and this is how we do it. I can't make it simpler than this" Soul responded.
"Literally, none of it makes any sense" Dave whispered again. "Will you shut up Dave.." Said Mike. "Literally, none -" As Larry repeated his question. Soul interrupted him. "I heard the first time...Asshat" Mike looked at the soul shocked.
"Well...clarify.. what does it mean then.. what about our own soul?" Dave asked.
"What soul? We are the soul..and you are humans. Why would you have your one souls. Did you perhaps think that every human comes with a soul? I can't imagine how stupid you are." Soul chuckled...in a way.
Dave looked down, stunned and embarrassed, as he was about to reveal that they thought every living being had a soul. "Soul is a different race of living beings.. be grateful that even a fraction of you have it" It declared.
"So what is...human if we take away flesh, bones and emotions." Asked Mike. "Your stupidity is human. ofcourse a human is Flesh, bones AND emotions.. what more did you expect? Did you think that you have this divine connect with the almighty and the universe because you are sentient?" Soul mocked them again. Not only humans thought that, they took refuge in the fact that their soul would be reborn again and experience life after death.
"Anywho, now you know the truth, you were looking for water in a dried well, in a dessert, on Mars. It's just not there" Soul said. But it didn't sit well with Dave. "Where else would one look for water if not on Mars."
Soul groaned, "What do you want?" Dave replied. "Not having ones own soul means a lot..there will be no more morality left in the world. People rely on their soul and spirituality. Now we are finding out that Soul is just a parasitic alien life form riding humans?"
Soul laughed. "Haha. you got that right." Dave slammed his fist on the table. "WHAT ARE HUMANS?"
Soul spoke after a brief pause. "You are what you are...complex lifeforms with sentiance. Don't look beyond this. You'll only find your own narcissism and stupidity. Haha...imagine believing in After life. So long suckers" It disappeared into the thin air.
Scientists had even more questions than before. Imagine publishing the new findings. The people who were proud of the fact that they had a soul, would now realize they have a parasitic alien inside them. Whatever was going to happen....it was fun. | 2022-05-20T11:37:03 | 2022-05-20T11:13:49 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] There is a place. A place between places. It's an actual place but it isn't here nor there. Lost travelers are the only ones who can find the place. Staying for a night, safe from other places and other things, and nothing more. Except you. You were born in the place.
(edit: super happy folks are having fun with this! Keep it up!) | The rain throws itself like clumps of sand against the waiting room’s windows. It comes in waves, as if there’s a giant the other side thrumming their fingers on the glass.
The girl squeaks open the door and squeezes through. Her pink hair’s pasted by the rain onto her forehead and neck, like melted cotton candy.
I nod to welcome her.
She puffs out a breath of steam. “Hey.”
She sits two benches away from me. There’s no one else here tonight. She shivers. Tries not to, to hide her feelings, but it’s cold in here and she’s soaking.
I’m not a gentleman, or even close, but I remove my jacket and throw it next to her. “It makes a good towel.” If there was anything better in the bag at my feet, I’d give it to her.
“No thanks,” she says.
Stubborn. Defiant. “Suit yourself.”
”When’s the next train due?” she asks. She mustn’t have seen the overgrowth strangling the station, the twisted-spines of the railway track. It is dark, the moon and stars swallowed by clouds — easy to miss the dilapidation. She wouldn’t have asked if she had seen any of it.
And yet, a train will come.
”Not until the morning.”
She shivers again.
“Use it,” I say. “You won’t owe me anything for it. I’m not your stepfather.“
She looks at me, wide eyed, two twitchy turquoise pools. Doesn’t say anything though — it could just be a lucky guess on my part, after all. She takes my cotton jacket and dries her hair, looks like a bird who has shaken itself after a bath. She covers a yawn.
“It’ll be a long night yet,” I say. “You might want a little rest. I always think clearer after a good night’s rest. Everything looks better the next morning, don’t you think?”
“Why are you here if there’s no train until tomorrow?”
”In case anyone comes here.“
She frowns. ”So… You work here?”
“No.”
”Then why are you—”
She sees the blood on the cotton jacket. Looks at me, searching for a wound, hoping to find one. Then, when she fails, she reaches up and touches her own head.
”What the hell? What the hell?”
Now it’s fear causing her to shiver.
“You wanted to know why I’m here. It’s because I don’t believe anyone should be alone before their journey,” I say.
Her hand is covered in blood. Her pool of memories, leaked empty for a time, are refilling.
”He will be punished, if that’s of any comfort. I promise you that. And I will make sure he does not get to ride this train.”
She gasps at her thoughts. At the violence she’s recalling.
She is fifteen. She will never be older.
“You knew,” she whispers. “What are you?”
”A friend. And you are safe in my home.”
She looks around. The rain taps taps taps.
Only the sound of rain for a long while.
”You live here?”
”You should rest,” I say. “The bleeding has stopped. The rain made it run, that’s all. You’re safe now.”
”Am I…”
”Yes.”
”Oh.”
She says nothing else. Doesn’t cry. Just thinks.
Yawns, eventually.
When she finally sleeps, jacket balled beneath her head, I walk over to her with my bag. It is not the same teddy bear her real father had given her, that she lost when she was nine, but it looks the same. If I could leave this room, I would find the original for her. As it is, this is the best I can manage.
I tuck it into the nook of her elbow.
One is never too old for such comfort.
I return to my seat and wait for the storm to pass, for the pale light of the morning train that will take her to the place beyond.
And I will wait, as always, for the next lost soul. | The smell of popcorn and fresh air greeted Jonathan as he stepped inside. The hat rack was curiously empty considering the crowd this evening, but he deposited his bowler just the same. How appropriate, he chuckled to himself at the seed of the joke.
Balanced against the wall was what looked to be a worn scabbard and sword and several other accouterments he didn’t recognize. He was careful not to trip on any of them as he turned a carpeted corner into the widest interior he had seen in his twenty-eight years.
He flinched then frowned at himself. He had surely thought he was free of the post-war skitters. Not just yet, it seemed. The crash echoed across the wide expanse of the fluorescent-lit building amid a flurry of squeaks.
“Strike!” a tall blonde man declared in triumph, shaking a bulging arm in the air, furs flitting about him. “Strike!” All he was missing was one of those winged helmets and Jonathan would have sworn he was a Viking right out of Wagner.
Jonathan politely pardoned and expertly excused himself through the listless and quite tall patrons crowding the waiting area. On tiptoe, he spotted a titular sign matching the bizarrely glowing one outside missing only the flickering lady kicking out a leg to send a line of pins flying that graced the parking lot.
Beneath ‘Green Maiden Pin and Inn’ a lovely young lady, green a bit herself with glow caught from above, stood cranking some shoe stretching device.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said, clearing the obnoxious gravel from his voice as best he could. Perhaps it would have been better if the hellish gas had just taken him alongside Patrick and dear Curtis. Better that than force others to submit to hearing this wheezing croak.
The young woman waited patiently for him to finish.
“Our vehicle is stranded up the road. I don’t suppose I might borrow a phone? Or if a handyman’s about that might accompany me back?”
A woman leaning on the bar to Jonathan’s right sneered in his direction, no doubt due to his voice. Her clothes were difficult to describe, in both material and cut.
“I’ll see what I can do,” the woman behind the bar said, finishing with her contraption and pouring a golden froth from tap to glass. “A drink while you wait?”
“Oh no, best I begin the night with a level head so that some might remain by its end.” He coughed. His voice did feel dry as bones. “It’s my stag night, you see. The lads are taking to a cabin up north for the weekend.”
“Then I insist,” the woman said smiling and sliding the same drink over to him. No one else at the bar seemed to take offense to this.
Another crash came as Jonathan brought the sip to his lips. He spilled none of it, thankfully.
“Ahh!” the burly man yelled again, this time holding up and shaking his small robed partner. “A strike for you! We are the darkest devils of these games, wolves upon the hunt! The hunt for pins! Strike!”
“Hey buddy,” a starkly handsome man in a plastic jacket offered Jonathan. “What’s your friend’s number? I’ll call them?" He held up a black tile of glass and rubbed his finger on it.
"Well they're not home. They are with the car. I'm hoping to reach a mechanic in whatever the nearest town is."
"Not working in this place anyway, sorry." The curious man pocketed the object.
"I would think not, uncabled from anything as it is."
The woman behind the bar laughed before taking a pair of shoes from the burly man and reaching for her device again.
"Tell me about it. They make their batteries worse and worse every year."
"Quite," Jonathan offered, having lost a foothold for the conversation he may have never had.
"Oh never mind," the man smiled, pulling out the tile again as it chirped like a field mouse. "Yeah I'll be right there. I couldn't find you guys! I'm in some bowling alley."
"Miss?" Jonathan asked again is the man worked back through the crowd.
The pretty woman held up an inquisitive eyebrow as she continued to work on the shoes.
"I do hate to trouble you again but have you worked here long?"
"Now that sounds remarkably like a pickup line for a man about to be married," she smiled as Jonathan's cheeks blushed from east to west.
"Oh, I meant no such thing. My apologies, I only-"
"I'm messing with you," she said, setting the shoes in a cubby aside a thousand brothers. "I've worked here my whole life."
"Why is it that the guests here all seem so peculiar in so many varied ways?"
"They're lost, in one way or another. This is a place you can only find when you're looking for something else, someone else, some when else."
"Hmm," he offered.
"Do you love your wife to be?"
"Of course I do!" Jonathan barked reflectively. "What kind of question is that? I mean I haven't spent a great deal of time with her but I'm sure once we're settled we'll…"
Another thin eyebrow begged. "You'll what?"
"Get along quite well. It's a matter of responsibility more than anything."
"There's more than one way a man might be lost," she said. A phone rang beneath the bar and she picked it up, balancing it between her ear and shoulder. She said nothing into the receiver as she nodded.
"And that was your friends. They managed to make their way into town and find a mechanic. They're asking to meet you back at the car. Think you can find your way back?"
"I do believe so, yes." He pulled out his wallet from his jacket pocket.
"You've already paid in full, friend," she said, grabbing his wrist. Her hand was cold as winter ground. "War wears it whet upon its tools and grinds to nubs the bravest fools."
"Indeed," Jonathan said, not sure if she was paying him a compliment or an insult. He pulled away and worked towards the door. "Thank you."
"Anytime you need us again, just don't come looking." The door slammed loudly behind him. He didn't flinch.
He began the thoughtful walk back to the car alongside a dark but straight, unforking road. Jonathan debated the path all the same.
/r/surinical | 2022-11-22T09:01:51 | 2022-11-22T08:27:14 | 766 | 66 |
[WP] A man wants to sell his soul to a demon but the thing he wants in return is so dubious the demon is thrown for a loop. | “Let me get this straight,” said Azazel, standing in a run-down apartment choked with smoke.
“You want to be the color purple.”
“Yeah maaan, I mean think about it... How much stuff in the universe is purple, I could be,” pause for bong hit, “all of that shit at once. I’d be fuckin Barney and grape soda… AT THE SAME TIME.”
“Uhm, I don’t think that’s even possible, I mean I’ve had some weird requests but.. Tell you what, I’ll come back when your heads on straight, maybe then you’ll want something reasonable, like Kuwait or something.” As Azazel drew his return portal he glanced back at the kid and shook his head, “Purple, now I’ve heard everything.” | This is my spot. I always sit here. There is a side door slightly out of my vision. It’s alarmed. It ought not be an issue. I turn and check again. Still closed. It’s just me and the barista. She’s in the back and out of sight. I scan the counter and coffee machines again. Still empty.
I check the lights methodically. If one is out that’s where the camera will be. All on. I cramp the fingers of my right hand. Index and ring finger straight out, pinky out to the side and middle finger bent at the second knuckle. I hit the brushed metal table top with the pad of the middle finger 17 times. 17!
I feel a chill. I check the door, check the counters. I can sense that he’s here. He’s in the chair. I scan the lights. I tap. 23. 23! This was a mistake. This is a mistake. 23. 23 – fuck. This is bad.
He can do it. He can end it. It’ll be over. 23. No. Was it 22? No. I can’t have an even now. No. No. No. Slow. 29. “Can they see me? Hear me?”
“Who?”
“This was a mistake. You could...”
“They can’t see you. No one can hear you. You can’t see me. You’re private. You know what a demon demands.”
7. 6? 17. 17? Do 5. Just do 5. 11. 11? Yes, 11.
“I want them to stop. That’s all. They can follow anyone else. I don’t care. Just not me.”
He doesn’t say anything. 17.
“I know what you want, but it can’t be done. There’s no one watching you. This is the only way the deal works. A demon gives you something and you surrender your soul to him. Ask for a real thing and a demon can throw in this thing too.”
7. 7. 7. 3 sevens.
That’s good. “I want a Gamblers Anonymous coin.”
“A Demon could make this deal.”
I reach in my pocket. There is a coin there. I pull it out. It’s the coin. I flip it four times. 3 heads and 1 tail. Four times. It’s an even. Worse, it’s a square. It doesn’t feel wrong.
I can feel that he’s not in the chair. It’s done. It's over.
----------------------
The man taps the door as he leaves. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
| 2014-05-15T21:15:50 | 2014-05-15T21:10:17 | 95 | 22 |
[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?" | Worst hungover ever. And cold, oh god I hope I didn't lose my phone and wallet.
Wait... My mind slowly banishes the fog. I wasn't drinking last night, haven't had anything for the last few years. But I do feel like absolute shit.
I take in my shabby surroundings, a tub with ice and meltwater, a dirty bathroom, some mold in the corner, a chair with some neatly folded clothes next to the door.
I try to stand, but my chilled legs won't respond. I gather strength and use to my arms to flop out of the tub and onto the floor with the grace of a stranding whale, it's comfortably warm compared to the icy tub.
I'm wet and gain almost no traction on the bathroom floor, my legs still are still mostly dead weight. I spend the following ten minutes re-enacting the first emergence of higher life on land, awkwardly flopping and dragging myself to the pile of clothes, I prop myself against the wall and reach for the clothes and find a note on top of them. I read.
"Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?"
I stare dumbfounded at the note. Then I remember what happened and I can't stop laughing, it hurts like hell in my back but I can't stop, oh god I'll probably laugh myself to death!
They had kidnapped me, shoved me into a black van. 10 feet from the door of the dialysis center I just emerged from. | 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. | 2015-12-31T03:35:05 | 2015-12-31T00:04:58 | 143 | 73 |
[WP] You have a sentient voice inside your head which knows the answer to every question you have but refuses to tell the future. Suddenly you hear "Pack your laptop, Swiss army knife and leave in 5 minutes, else you'll regret it."
[deleted] | "Listen." The voice said, quiet as ever. "We need to leave. *Now*."
I swallowed nervously. Ever since I was old enough to understand, the voice had been a constant companion, guiding me through key moments of my life. It never demanded anything of me. It always accepted my decisions, even if I chose to ignore its advice. I would usually regret it, of course, but it never judged. It always just said a few quiet words of encouragement, guiding me back onto the right path - that is, when it bothered to speak at all. But today, there was a harshness in its whisper that made my scalp prickle.
"Where ya going, Frank?" Oh. Jake again, beaming over the side of my cubical. Unfortunately, the voice in my head never helped me with *him*.
"Oh, uhhh..." I stammered. I hadn't exactly gotten a lot of intel on this one. "I just...need some fresh air is all. Be back in five."
"Ahhh..." Jake nodded sagely. "I've been there. Oh, hey, they were giving these out earlier, made sure to grab you one." He tossed me a tiny, cheap-looking pocket knife emblazoned with the company logo. "You can add it to your collection!"
"I don't have a collection!" I scoffed, smiling despite myself.
"Never too late to start!" He countered. "Anyway, *some* of us have kids to feed, so I'll let you get on with your fresh air. Later, buddy!" He winked and waved me off, ducking back into his cubical. I couldn't help but smile and shake my head. He might be annoying, but you couldn't ask for a friendlier coworker.
I shouldered my bag, and was just about to press the button for the elevator when the voice spoke up again.
"No. Stairs."
I would have glared at it if I could find a mirror. "We're on the ninety-fourth floor!" I hissed. A passing woman shot me a confused look. I pointed to my ear and mouthed the word 'bluetooth', feigning careful listening until she walked away.
"It's important. Trust me."
I blinked in astonishment. "You're telling me..." I started, "that you could hear me this *entire time*...and never spoke up before."
"Yes." The voice said, calm as ever. "But that's not important right now. Stairs."
I grumbled softly, but shouldered my bag without complaint. A note of panic began growing in my chest. Why now? What could be *so* important that the voice broke its own rules?
"Well, this ought to be fun." I glared down at the first landing. "I just really hope this isn't an excuse for you to get me some exercise."
My decent was slow, if steady. Years at a desk job did me no favors now, that's for sure. But twenty floors from the bottom, the voice spoke again.
"Hurry. You have to hurry."
If it had sounded worried before, it was nothing compared to now. Legs straining in protest, I flew down the last few flights, gasping for air at every landing. One flight from the bottom, however, I slipped, tumbling head-over-heels down the last few stairs and landing with a yelp.
"Ugggg...did you see that coming too?" I groaned. Nothing *seemed* broken, I guess.
"Yes. Now get up, get to your car, and *drive*."
Still smarting, I struggled to my feet. After my fall, I barely even looked at the people milling around the lobby as I made my way to the parking deck. If I was being honest, I was in no condition to drive, but with some encouragement from the friend in my head I managed to make it a few blocks in the direction of my apartment without killing anyone.
That was when the first plane hit.
Even from here, the noise was deafening. It felt as if the entire world shook to its roots. All around me people were getting out of there cars, looking back toward the building I had just forsaken without a second thought. There was crying, yelling, people running away. But I couldn't even bear to look.
"Three people." The voice said solemnly.
"What?"
"We saved three people, by taking the stairs. That's why it was important. That...that's all I was allowed to do."
I felt like the bottom of my stomach had fallen out. "Won't...won't people miss me? Realize that I'm not there, that I left early? I mean, Jake must have..."
"No." The voice said, so quietly that I could barely hear. "No one...will miss you."
"But why me?" I asked.
The voice didn't answer. I pulled the cheap, logo-covered knife out of my pocket, turning it over again and again in my hands. Suddenly, I felt it was more valuable than a brick of gold.
"But why me...?"
| Tick, tock. Tick...tick...tock. TICKTOCK. TOCK. TICKTOCK. ***TOCK***.
These are the well known sounds of a clock. And these are the sounds I heard as I stared anxiously at my own clock, waiting desperately for the hands to arrange themselves in such a way as to signal that it was time for me to make my move.
2 minutes ago, I had heard the voice again. I called the voice Fat Dan, because honestly that's the way he sounded to me. It was impossible to know for sure whether Fat Dan was his real name, or whether he even had a name at all. I had once tried to ask him what he preferred to be called, but Fat Dan had a habit of only speaking when it suited him to speak, and always according to his own agenda. For all I knew, he couldn't even hear me. However, I've always suspected it was simply in his interests to ignore. Whatever the case, I had long ago stopped trying to speak back to Fat Dan.
I had been honing up on my broomball skills in the alley behind my apartment complex when Fat Dan intruded with his urgent message.
"HELLO BOYO!" he began with his usual salutation, "It's your boy Fat Dan here, with a hot new tip." I guess he had figured out my nickname for him after all. "Why don't you grab up your laptop and stuff that bad boy down deep into your back pocket. Then I'm gonna need ya to find yourself a swiss blade and tuck that away with the 'top in your trunks, too." Ok, easy enough. "Oh and in 5 minutes, you better hit the road. And not a goddamn second sooner."
Well, as I've said, two of the five minutes had thus far transpired. Due the the unseasonably warm whether, I had perspired. My neighbor walked by. She was old and retired.
So there I was, two minutes into a five minute marathon. I had secured my laptop and swiss blade in my back pockets, what felt like an eternity ago. Now I simply had to wait for the clock to give me the high sign that it was time.
As I waited, somewhere around the 3 minute mark, I became acutely aware of a tremendous hunger growing inside my belly. By 3:15, it became all I could focus on. The sounds of the clock became fainter as spasms of hunger pain rippled outward from my core, momentarily causing me to curl up in a ball on the ground, taking on the form of an unborn babe. When the waves began to subside, I slowly lifted my face up off the floor. I felt faint, and my vision was blurred. Eventually, I was able to make out the time. 3 minutes and 22 seconds had passed since Fat Dan had assigned to me my curious task. Certainly, enough time remained for a quick snack, just to keep the wolves at bay.
I bolted to my kitchen, opened up the freezer and yanked out a mountain of microwavable meals. I had to move fast. I now had just about a minute and 20 seconds to heat up a treat. Box by box, I urgently searched for one which met my criteria, frantically reading cook time instructions."3 minutes. 2 minutes. 4 and a half minutes." None of this would do. With each new box I tossed aside, my hunger grew, and my search became more desperate. I had hardly more than a minute now before I was to be out the door.
If you are someone who has never felt this excruciating mix of hunger and panic before, let me now state I do not wish it upon you, whether you be the best of my friends or the worst of my enemies. Needless to say, this goes as well for everyone in between.
From the other room, I could still hear the clock. Tick, tock. Tick,Tock. Tick, tock.
I became mesmerized by the sound as my fortitude broke and my panic began to give way to a resigned dizziness. I felt myself raise my arms and, displaying my wing span in full, began to spin slowly in circles. The clock appeared to speed up as I spun.
*Ticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketytickety*
So I spun faster. And faster, and faster, and FASTER! The faster my twirl, the faster the tick! The quicker the spin, the quicker the tock! I felt as though I were possessed. Like some devious entity had taken control of my body. And perhaps my mind. I spun faster still, and the clock kept pace.
*Ticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketyticketytickety*
Round and round I went, till I could spin no longer. I collapsed for the second time that day.
When I hit the ground I didn't feel a thing. Come to think of it, I couldn't hear a thing either. Had the clock stopped? Had *time* stopped? Was life merely an illusion? WHAT DO YOU KNOW FAT DAN? WHAT DO YOU KNOW? WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME? Fat Dan did not respond. Not then. Not ever. Then suddenly...
**TICK TOCK**
**TICK TOCK**
**TICK TOCK**
**TICK TOCK**
The clock resumed, seemingly encouraged by my existential quandary. Louder than ever. Louder than ever before. So, so loud. Oh that loud, loud sound. My train of thought had gone...off the rails.
***tocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytockety***
Louder and faster still. The sound was all I could focus on. Was it even coming from the clock anymore? It appeared to originate from my own head. Should I have let you infer that? It doesn't matter. Oh god, that sound...
***tocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytockety***
***tocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytockety***
***tocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytocketytockety***
Finally, it stopped. It all stopped. I took a look at my surroundings. I was back in the alley behind my apartment. The sun was shining. A couple rats were running around gobbling up some trash. The little squeakers seemed to be enjoying themselves. As I tried to come to grips with all that had occurred in the last 5 minutes, Fat Dan returned.
"HELLO BOYO!" He sounded especially joyful. "You done did what I damn said! Except for one little thing... You got your 'top. You got your blade. But unfortunately you did not get out on time!"
I didn't like where this was going. All of a sudden Fat Dan's tone became far more sinister than I had ever heard before. It was low and flat and gravely serious. A little gravelly.
"Now we're gonna try this again. And don't fuck up this time. Tick tock motherfucker." | 2016-09-22T08:03:04 | 2016-09-22T08:01:54 | 59 | 23 |
[WP] Legends tell of the Elder race who utilized strange "technologies" instead of magic. As hordes of brutal killers invade from the north, a young elf heads off to search for ancient ruins, looking for humans... | "Who goes there?"
"Dahalva, of the Ederwood."
"An Elfling, that speaks in human tongues?"
"An Elfling, that speaks in human ... tongues."
"Come forth."
"You are ..."
"A human. Yes, I know, a miracle I am sure."
"I was told you were all ... long gone."
"If by long gone you mean nearly exterminated by you and your equally disagreeable kin, then yes, we are indeed long gone."
"I came because ..."
"Because you need assistance so that you and your kind are not also snuffed out of existence, correct?"
"Essentially, yes ..."
"Why on Earth would I want to do that?"
"Well, I hoped to appeal to your sense of compassion, however, I see now that this may be problematic."
"I am in half a mind to shoot you Elf."
"That may be true. However, if you were to do that, then we would not be able to make a deal."
"Then make a deal we shall. What have you got?"
"Well ... I looked through my Father's stash and I found this ..."
Rummaging through is satchel, Dahalva yanked out a glass bottle and presented it to the human.
"I believe you call this ... w-i-n-e? Perhaps you will accept this as an offering, we have many more back at the vill-"
"Done."
"What?"
"We have a deal."
"Oh, uh." The Elf had heard that humans had simple tastes, yet he did not expect this. "You are tricking me?"
"No, no no no. I'm just something of an ... enjoyer of beverages. Now come with me."
Handing the human the bottle, Dahalva followed his new ally into a shelter.
"Now THIS, is a firearm, a shooter, a gun.
"A g-u-n?"
"Indeed. Observe."
With a deafening roar, the metal mechanism flashed, smoked, and released some sort of projectile into the wall across the room. Dahalva found that his ears were ringing.
"Interesting ... this will help us defeat the invaders?"
"This? This is nothing my friend. Let me show you ... my collection."
Stomping down a staircase into a torchlit room, Dahalva braced himself for the appearance of some sort of war beast.
"Voila!" cried the human, motioning towards the glinting array of devices that filled the entire enclosure.
"That is a lot of goons."
"Guns Elf, guns."
"And what is that, in the middle?"
"That my friend, is a tank."
"A t-a-n-k?"
"Yes."
"Will it ... help?"
"I think help is an understatement." | "Jamarr," I called back, stepping carefully onto the stones that slept in the river, "you have to keep up."
Jamarr grumbled a reply, his Orcish armor clunking loudly behind me. Sometimes, I wondered how he became one of the best thieves in his stronghold. I waited safely on the other side of the stream and watched as he struggled to find his footing against the slippery stone, and then, in a blur of obscenities and less-than-graceful motions, he fell flat on his face into the mountain-chilled water. He met me on the other side and gave me a look that said "don't even bother commenting".
"Why are we hiking out here anyway, Bryn? The humans aren't real. They're a fairy tale, just like the dragons. Oh, and Little Foot." He complained.
I led the way into the Frovian Woods and motioned for him to keep his voice down. If the faeries knew we were here, we'd never leave, but be forced to dance within their beautiful halls until our ankles snapped from exhaustion. I'd heard the stories, and that was all I needed.
I lowered my own voice to below a whisper. "Dragons *are* real, Jam, they're just... not around anymore. And besides, the humans were never a fairy tale, remember? They're a legend, and most legends are true where I come from."
Jam laughed a deep, Orcish laugh, something that I was not used to. The treaty between the Elves and the Orcs broke down long ago, but Jamarr and I met while out hunting. He was six, and had wandered into our territory by mistake. I helped him get back to his family safely, and he gave me a few of his squirrels, which marked the beginning of our friendship.
"Right, because the Elves are just so trustworthy? Come on, Bryn, this is stupid and pointless. Let's just go home before they realize we're gone." He urged, stopping to look over his shoulder. I wanted to go home just as much as he did, but no one else was going to find the humans, and he promised he'd come with me.
"They *are* trustworthy, and no, it's too late to go back. Now keep your voice down or else the faeries will-"
"Find you?" Said a small, yet stern voice. Fear prickled the hairs on my arms as Jam and I both looked down. A blue-tailed squirrel was gazing up at us intently, his little head cocked to the side. Then, the squirrel was gone, and in its place stood a wolf, tall and menacing.
"Are you a shape-shifter?" Jam inquired, taking a small step forward. I glared fire at him, silently willing him to shut his mouth before he got us killed.
The wolf, however, laughed, as well as a wolf could laugh, and flicked his tail back and forth. "A shifter? Ha! Those things are about as real as the humans you're going after. No, Mr. Big-Teeth, I was cursed."
"Cursed?" Jam echoed at the same time that I asked, "Have you been following us?"
The wolf licked his lips almost hungrily. "Maybe. It's not everyday an elf and an orc wander into faerie territory. You know how dangerous it is here? How old are you?"
I cut Jam off before he could utter another word and sighed. "Yes, we know. We just need to find the humans."
"Why would you ever need to come face to face with those vile, destructive creatures?" The wolf pondered, a wolfish smile twisting his lips.
"Because our home is being invaded as we speak, and we need to get the humans' help-"
The wolf shook his head and cut me off. "Yeah, yeah, you want their technology, I figured as much. Well, looks like it's your lucky day, Gold-Skin, because I happen to know a guy who knows a guy that just might be able to help you."
"Really?" I said sarcastically, ignoring the 'Gold-Skin' part. "And you'd help us, just like that?"
"Of course not, you long-eared idiot, I want something in return."
"Oh?"
The wolf looked around for a minute, as though he were making sure that no one else was listening in. Then he turned his silver eyes to mine, dead serious.
"You have to help get this curse off of me."
It seemed too easy of a deal, but the seriousness of his voice was not like the empty promises I've heard back home. I wondered why he was so quick to jump on the opportunity to help two complete strangers that aren't even where they're supposed to be, but if he was truly cursed, then I suppose he had a reason. I looked to Jam, who simply smiled and shrugged, letting the decision fall to me. Sometimes I hated being the decision-maker.
"Fine." I groaned, rolling my eyes, "You have a deal."
| 2017-01-06T19:17:30 | 2017-01-06T16:24:54 | 196 | 12 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh | "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat." Stinky said. "And while I can still speak, I want to tell you that I really resent the fact you named me Stinky. I don't have opposable thumbs that allow me to wash myself, plus, I am covered in.. in human terms I'm covered in long John's and a jacket, then you're throwing me into hot water. It's not comfortable. And while I've got you her-"
"Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit." I said, knowing I must be completely losing my mind. I was overcome with joy to see my long lost dog, but I quickly began to think that this is a serious hallucination. I checked my pockets for my keys with the intention to go right to the hospital. "Oh my god, oh my god... I need to go to the hospital." I thought.
Stinky jumped on me with all her weight, knocking me to the ground, and began licking my face. "Does this feel like a hallucination? I love you. And everyone I've ever met. But you're really wasting this precious time we have to speak by telling yourself it's a hallucination. Do you remember all those times you said 'I wish you knew how to talk so I could tell you some things, like to bark twice when you're hungry, or bark three times when you wanna go outside'?" my talking dog apparently said to me.
"I remember this, but this cannot possibly be real. I need to get to the hospital immediately. You're not real." I said again. My heart was racing and beating out of my chest, I was beginning to sweat... I thought I was having a heart attack, but in reality it was just a panic attack.
"This is so typical of you. You say you want this, or that, but any time you come close to this or that, you think of an excuse not to do it, or convince yourself it isn't an option. Do you remember that woman you were in love with? The one who told you a hundred and fifty times that she loved you too?" Stinky, the talking dog asked me.
"Of course I remember. She was way out of my league, there was no way she could possibly feel the same. Probably wanted to steal my identity or something."
Stinky began to growl, "You have seriously got to be joking. You have to be the most stubborn and most ungrateful person I have ever met in my life. You have a once in a life time opportunity to talk to your dog, a dog if you remember correctly had been *missing* for four years, and what do you do? You spend the entire ti...rrruf!" Stinky said.
"What was that last part, girl?" I asked her.
Stinky just barked at me, her expression completely different now. She had that dumb dog smile back on her face.
"Come on Stinky, talk to me." I pleaded with her.
But she didn't talk. She never spoke again. I never got to ask her where she was. What happened to her that day, when I had her on the leash at the park and it snapped. Where she went when she chased that squirrel into the woods, never coming back. I was never able to find her again. My heart broke for months after that. And here was the opportunity to talk to her. Find out what happened. Find out if animals really love people. But I squandered it. Telling myself it could not possibly be real. I won't make that mistake again. I won't take the good things I have for granted.
At least until something else happens.. | I never wanted to admit to myself that I had already given up hope. Until I saw him again.. ''Hello Woofy..'' I said.
It seemed like an eternity since my dog disappeared. And there he was. After all those years.. right in front of me. We looked at eachother and it felt kind of awkward. That was certainly not the feeling I had had all those times I dreamt about him. Those dreams - or rather nightmares - always had the same premise. A sparkling hope.. only to be crushed again by the shadows that took him away from me.
After staring at eachother a full minute, I asked him ''How are you, Woofy?'' It was hard for me to ask this question, as uttering his name a second time since 4 years choked me up and brought tears to my eyes. Very slowly he walked towards me and did something that felt so natural and unnatural at the same time, that I almost panicked. He suddenly stood upright. My heartbeat instantly rose and my short panick attack quickly shifted to a sense of healthy wonder.
He hugged me.
I cried.
I lost all feeling in my body. And then he did something which confirmed that I was not living in the world I used to know. The world in which I was certain that certain things COULD and certain things COULD NEVER happen.
He whispered in my right ear ''I have been many places and seen many things, human. It's time we had a chat.''
We stood there hugging eachother for a while and then I slowly stepped backwards. Then I saw his eyes. They had changed. They were more.. human.
Then he said ''There is a lot I have to tell you.''
His voice was soothing. Angelic almost. Not the scruffy cartoony voice you always hear in movies with talking dogs. ''Follow me'' he said. He slowly walked away into the darkness of the night. I decided to follow this odd upright shape of a dog. My dog. My Woofy.. As I followed him I noticed grey patches on his back which the street lights made even more visible. He had grown old. And he'd become slow. I realized I only grew 4 years older and he grew about 30 years older in dog years. He must have missed me.
Just as I wondered where Woofy was taking me, he stopped walking and slowly turned around. He said ''Please wait here and close your eyes'' I was reluctant to do so, but I trusted this dog. I had trusted him my whole life. So I layed my hands upon my eyes. Suddenly everything went silent. The wind stopped and I could only hear a distant river streaming. At that point I was sure that I would wake up soon and realize that this had all been a dream.
But that was not the case. ''You can open your eyes now'' said Woofy.
I opened my eyes and they needed to adjust to the sudden difference in brightness. As my eyes adjusted I saw vague silhouettes becoming detailed forms. And there they were..
Thousands of upright dogs. They all had suits on, including Woofy now. I found myself to be inside a very big futuristic looking hall. I immediately started asking myself a lot of questions; Did I travel through time? Am I in a spaceship? Am I on another world? Is this a dream - a nightmare perhaps? Have I gone insane? Am I tripping?
Now the thousands of dogs in suits walked away from me, up a huge ascending walkway. Woofy came to me. As he took sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on his snout, he said ''Follow me.'' He turned around and followed the horde. After standing still in total disbelief for a few seconds, I started running to catch up to him. As soon as I walked right beside him, he said ''You will meet the one true king. The beginning and the end. You are special. It will all make sense soon.'' I thought to myself; am I special? No, these upright dogs in suits were special! This big futuristic hall was special! All of this was special. But NOT ME!
As we followed the horde up on the walkway, I saw a big door open in the distance. Suddenly the light of 10 suns fell upon my face and I closed my eyes immediately. I opened one eye, as I held my hand in front of it to block out the bright light, and looked to my left side at Woofy. He smiled vaguely and took another pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and gave them to me. I hastily put them on and we continued to walk.
The door was almost fully open and the light had intensified. It was strange; I didn't feel the light burning my skin. It was rather cold in the large hall actually. But as soon as we traversed through the opening of the giant door, it became warm. A pleasant kind of warmth.
''You can take off your sunglasses now'' said Woofy. I did, expecting the intense light had gone. It had not gone, but it didn't hurt my eyes anymore. It suddenly felt very natural. As I realized this, I looked up. And there he was. I knew it immediately as I gazed upon him.
It was the one true king. The beginning and the end. It was the 'him' of all 'hims'. Deserving the hymn of all hymns. The thousands of dogs began to sing for this giant dog. ''Oh hail oh hail oh giant dog, you drove away the darkness and fog, for us to see our one true king, the humans are our little test thing''
The giant dog sat on a giant chair. A chair made of giant purple rubber bone toys. He had a proud smile on his face.
Suddenly I started doubting my sanity again and I started to panick lightly. I asked Woofy ''What is happening? Please tell me!'' Woofy opened his mouth but before he could speak one word, he was interrupted by the loudest and deepest voice I had ever heard.
''We are your creators.''
''Your life was a test.''
''The earth was our lab.'' | 2017-03-31T14:37:37 | 2017-03-31T12:20:27 | 119 | 34 |
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though! | "Stand down, villain!"
The battlecry broke off with a shrill note as Peacekeeper hobbled into the bank, wheezing at the effort he'd expended getting up the stairs. He paused to catch his breath at the door and leaned heavily upon the frame. Peacekeeper was clad in his signature blue and red unitard, unfortunately worn backwards, so his cape formed a sad looking bib.
Blood Harpy, legendary villain and thief, was choking a security guard with one hand. With the other, she was rubbing her forehead in an attempt to remove the headache that had begun to build at Peacekeeper's entrance.
"George, you can't keep doing this, you know the excitement isn't good for your heart."
"And you-" Peacekeeper coughed violently, then spoke amid heavy gasps. "Can't. Keep. Robbing. Banks." With that, Peacekeeper slumped to the ground.
Harpy's reaction was instant. She dropped the guard (who let out a heavy gasp) and sprinted towards the downed hero. Harpy checked for a pulse before putting her ear to the hero's chest.
Stop fussing," muttered Peacekeeper, his breath shallow. "Just need to take my medication. It's in my front pocket, can't seem to find it though..."
Harpy reached behind the elderly hero and produced a small brown bottle. Upon consuming a couple of pills, Peacekeeper's breathing returned to normal and Harpy's concern began to fade, just enough for her to get angry.
"I can't believe they let you through the cordon!" she said. "What the hell were they thinking! You're what, 80 now? You can barely get up the damned stairs!"
"87" replied Peacekeeper, "and still young enough to teach you a lesson."
"Tough talk" scoffed Harpy. "For a hero who can't even keep track of his heart medication."
Peacekeeper sighed, then spoke in a low voice. "Listen Jess, I like banter as much as the next hero, but I've known you long enough to sense when something's wrong. You've been clean for years, and all of a sudden I hear that you're lifting from a bank? You're lashing out."
Blood Harpy averted her gaze, and in doing so took in the scene around her. Trembling tellers, pale patrons and unconscious guards littered the bank. For the first time since her arrival, she realised that she was causing a scene. Harpy helped Peacekeeper to his feet, supported him with an arm, then turned to address her captive audience.
"Good news terrified mob, looks like you all get to live. Let it be known that I've captured the Peacekeeper and will execute him if I hear a single pig's trotter touch the floor of this bank. Now get the fuck out of my sight."
As unsure civilians fled out their respective closest exits, Blood Harpy and The Peacekeeper made their way to the back of the bank. Harpy picked a secluded office, settled the elderly hero in one of the seats and closed all the blinds. George waited patiently for Harpy to seat herself before speaking.
"So are you going to tell me what this is all about?" he asked.
Harpy thought about killing her nemesis there and then, it would be so much easier than the alternative. He'd been a thorn in her side for decades, always in the foreground, always putting a wrench in her plans, always in that damned unitard. Always there.
Jess let out a heavy sigh, and wrung her hands together.
"Sarah's dead," she whispered.
*to be continued?*
Edit: Thank you all so much for the support, you've made my day. [Part 2 is here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/65458n/wp_a_senile_old_superhero_still_goes_out_to_fight/dg8m8gi/) | As Anton's whip tightened around Tony's neck, all the while sending huge volts of electricity through Tony's armor, he saw a familiar figure walk towards him.
"Ms. Carter, please step away!!!".
Peggy stopped for a second, and then continued walking towards Anton.
"Stop! You know his father stole my dad's inventions. He will pay for his father's sins."
Peggy stood face to face with Anton. Well, technically, her chest was facing his stomach. She didn't hate her old age, but was definitely not too happy about how much effort it took for her to stand up straight. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. Now they were chest to face. Peggy summoned some more strength and lifted her neck and looked into Anton's eyes.
"Now, Anton, do not pretend that your father was righteous and innocent. I think we both know the things he did."
His eyes dropped, he looked sideways, unable to make eye contact, "He was no angel, but his father," looking at Tony writhing at the other end of his whip, "reaped the benefits of my father's hard work, and build such a huge business empire. His father," he lowered his voice as he increased the voltage that hit the armor, "sent my father back to Russia, where he spent the rest of his life in a Gulag."
"Anton, is that what your father told you?"
Anton's eyes met hers, searching for answers. She continued...
"I was in SHIELD. You want to know what happened? Your father was kidnapped by HYDRA, and then some of the major publications released news stories of him being deported."
"He was a brilliant scientist. You think that if he had been deported, he would've been kept in a Gulag?" She laughed a little. "You think Russians would waste a great mind such as your father's in a Gulag". She said Gulag in a typical Russian accent and really elongated the aa sound to make her point.
"What do you think the SHIELD did with Arnim Zola? Do you think we threw him in a prison? No, we put him to work, and he worked for us until the day he died."
"He was old, senile, and brainwashed, by the time they let him go, probably he was of no use to them anymore."
"Come on Anton, Tony's not your enemy. Let him go, and hold me hostage so that he doesn't hurt you."
"I am not taking you hostage, Peggy."
"But you're letting him go."
"I am not sure"
"Yes you are"
"Peggy, how do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"Anton, I might be lying to you, but you agree that there is room for doubt in your theory. Right? Then I will go and talk to Tony"
"It's going to take you the whole year to reach him, by then his backup will be here."
"You really want to insult me right now?"
"Teasing, Ms. Carter, teasing, not insulting... I am sorry..."
Peggy turned around and thought to herself. Well it's going to be a long walk.
As she neared Tony, she was grateful that this time she won't have to straighten up, the man was already on his knees.
"How you doing Tony?"
"Listen Peggy, I don't need your help, my armor is protecting me like a faraday cage, thanks to the failsafes I created to save myself from lightning strikes."
"Tony, who is the man you are fighting?"
"Peggy, please don't think of this as a teachable moment, I am working over here. I really don't need any 'know your enemy' lessons right now"
"What happened Tony, systems are offline, can't run a facial recognition?"
"His whip's fried all armor connectivity below my helmet, my network sensors are on my back, and they are offline."
"So you can't even call for backup?"
Tony's voice was very low, as he very sheepishly said, "No"
"And... you don't need my help? Okay, why am I not dead right now?"
"Peggy, stop asking me questions, I am busy", Tony said, annoyed, when it suddenly dawned on him, "Why aren't you dead, Peggy? Because you know him!!!?? How? Why is someone you know attacking me? What's going on Peggy?"
"Because his father was a friend..." she paused, waiting for his helmet to turn towards her " of your father and me"
"Then why the hell is he attacking me, how the hell does he have my ARC reactor? Oh because his father invented it. He is Vanko's son."
"Finally, you learnt something, do you promise not to attack him?"
"He killed so many people here today, how can I let him go?"
"I am trying to save your behind, young man!!! At least have some common sense."
"Peggy, I can't let him go..."
"Tony, as things stand, I really don't think you're in a position of holding him. I am going to go and make him go away. Catch him next time... Although I'll recommend that you try helping him."
"Why will I help him?"
Peggy just shrugged, and went back to Anton, "what do you want to do?"
"I don't know, I killed so many people here today"
"Anton, that's what you did, what do you want to do now?"
"Peggy, they will arrest me..."
"Yes Anton, but they will not deport you, you built an ARC reactor yourself, in a garage in Russia. What do you think will happen next? You will go to prison, but you will work on stuff you always dreamed of."
"What about him?"
"His suit is offline from the neck down"
Anton turned off his whip, and Tony collapsed to the ground. Cops surrounded him, "Stupid old bitch, always thinks she can talk these guys out of things and get them to surrender." said one
Antone turned on his whips again, and took the cop by the scruff and said, "Did you just call Ms. Carter a bad word? You're lucky I don't feel like killing more people today, better apologise to her afterwards."
| 2017-04-13T05:32:17 | 2017-04-13T05:10:16 | 162 | 10 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | At one moment, there was fog. At the next, I find myself standing in a circle of candles, in a darkened room, with nothing but the smell of burning wax and stuffiness, like being inside one of those old military outposts that they keep for posterity. You ever put your hand against a vacuum hose? Imagine that, but going throughout your entire body. That’s the closest I can describe the sensation of being in one place, and then being pulled to wherever this was.
“YES! YES IT WORKED! DO YOU SEE, ASTIEL!? DO YOU SEE?” I turned quickly to see where the voice came from. Standing before me, beyond the candle barrier, was a man, if you could call him that, wearing excessively large dark robes. Protruding from holes in the back of the robes however, was a set of large white feathered wings. Yes, wings. Like the ones you see on depictions of heaven.
“M-master...Do be careful...these demons can be quite dangerous.” Another voice commented, standing beyond the darkness. *Demon? What the hell is he talking about?* As my eyes slowly adjusted from the brightness of the sun to the dimness of this room, I began to see chairs, workbenches, bookcases. The floors were of old stone, and where I was standing did not feel strictly...*level*.
“Quiet, quiet. Ahem...Demon Thomas. I have summoned you here to do my bidding. Do you understand? You will OBEY ME!” The ‘master’ shouted, and thrust an open palm in my direction. I winced, expecting to feel some sort of strange sensation. I felt literally nothing. I stared blankly at him for a moment.
“Erm...Master…?” The second voice behind him spoke with uncertainty.
“LOOK, I…” As I spoke, the very words seem to come out of something that wasn’t me. It was deep, it was dark, it seemed to breathe flame into the very air around me. This shocked me as much as them. I took a step back, and bumped into something that felt hard, but simply wasn’t there. It didn’t make any sense. Kind of like pushing into a trampoline that was a lot less elastic. The master seemed to regain his composure at this point, and stepped forward.
“Thomas. Remain calm or I will MAKE you calm.” There’s only so much talking down to that I can hear before it pisses me off. My blood began to boil. I felt hot. And, as I noted later, that was because fire was coming out of my skin.
“THEN MAKE ME CALM!” I shouted, and the words came out like a shotgun blast. The fire I mentioned? It started flaring out with a fury that smashed into the candle barrier. It was like watching a tree burn in the latest stages of the fire, when all that’s left is an ashen husk with the flames still raging. I know fire’s bad. But I got caught up in the moment. I didn’t care. I punched the barrier. Instead of that hardened elasticity, this time there was a crack. The barrier was coming down.
“SHIT! MASTER SEND HIM BACK, SEND HIM BACK NOW!” The voice cried out in panic, and the flames revealed that he was waving his arms about erratically. The master, at this point, quickly grabbed a nearby tome, and began chanting in a shaking voice a dialect I could not understand.
Meanwhile, I continued to play the part of rampaging demon, because I felt power. Power that didn’t exist in my normal life. Power that made me feel like I could finally grab my destiny and make it what I wanted it to be. No more pushing carts at the grocery store. No more nights of instant ramen. No, finally, I can shape things the way I want them to be. And then I felt that familiar feeling of being sucked through a vacuum hose.
“NO!”
There was fog. And there I was, standing like I had never left. I started pacing back and forth on the grass, garnering all kinds of strange looks from random patrons in the park. I didn’t care though. When I was there, I had power. I could summon fire from my being. I had the strength of a being far better than my own. There, I was the demon Thomas. Here though, I am nothing. I want it back.
I NEED it back. | It happened as Dan was sat on the old chair in the greenhouse, lazily puffing on a cigertte. He sat, neck arched down scrolling mindlessly through social media. The occassional billows of smoke slowly carried on the draft like a balloon gradually disapeering from existance as it floated away. As the rollie burnt continued to burn a column of smoke carried right up and over his face, he turned away in discomfort, slamming his eyes contortedly shut and letting out a single cough.
It's not that he felt anything, but when he 'transferred' he was able to feel the difference in temperature. He knew somthing had changed instantly. it was warmer and he now felt inside, It wasn't until he opened his eyes though that it hit him like a lightening bolt.
"WAHHHHHHHH! WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT THE!"
A man stood infront of him, robed in black with a red satin cord wrapped around him like a harness, he faced him squarely and was bowing his head down toward the ground. The light of the candles gave no detail to the face below the sunken hood. As his eyes danced about the confusing landscape he begin to spin, it might have been an attempt to look around. he might have imagined it, But as soon as he began to turn his knees seemed to drop and his phoned dropped to the floor, Dan shortly followed.
"Hello", spoke from the blackness. Dan just concious enough to notice it, realised that the blackness now was only his eyes closed and with that he was back. With a paniced struggle he raised himself on his arms.
" Who...where am, ummm, dude are you going to hurt me?"
He felt the base of his spine press in, almost painful as his adrenal glands kicked in.
"Why am I here?! How did I get here!?" He rattled off and he now aggressively tried to stand up.
"DID YOU BRING ME HERE!?" He yelled, now striding towards this robed figure who apparently hadn't moved. He glanced left and right as if to check for more threats, noticing that he was in a pentagonal star of candles. His eyes began to widen.
"You demon!" The hooded man now looked up.
"Have been brought here by me to serve me!" The man threw back his hood to reveal a plump round head and large buttonous nose.
"For else I shall send you back to that eternal hell that is your home" as he finished his sentance he gesticulated a arm movement of a bow without bending at the waist as if to the give the impression of self importance.
"Now I'm confused as fuck, but this is not funny" exclaimed Dan as he came to stop close enough that the odor of this man was previlant.
"Why am I here, how did you get me here? And dude this better be some kind of TV PRANK OR IM GOING TO FIGHT YOU AND PROBABLY KILL YOU!"
as he spoke his volume and aggresion increased.
"You have been summoned by me because I wish your dark soul be brought here and better serve me" the man interupted, now smiling smugly, rasped.
"Now don't expect me to be fooled for this sharade of a human form. Take your real form beast!"
"What the fuck dude?!" Dan exclaimed, "Look the pranks over, I want to go home" Dan adjusted, "I don't know how you did that, and i'd really appreciate you'd drop the whole act and show me where the door is or tell me how you got me here, did you knock me out?" Stood arms outstretched in animated questioning.
The man dropped his smile now, "you are clever foul demon, but you shall not outsmart me"
"Well Im human, soooo if that changes anything. I'D REALLY LIKE TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED!?",
" I used a spell to summon you from Hell and I wish...",
"But dude, I just told you i'm from the UK for fucks sake, Do I look like a demon to you?" Dan spoke as his eyes danced around the room looking for an exit. He Looking left and right without ever really taking his eyes off the man then he looked down to the mans arms. A large tome sat accross his palms barely visable in the candle light and what previously was in the shadow of the hood from any other ambient light.
"I summoned you here, by way of this encantation" the man offered out his arms while spinning the open tome between his hands to face Dan.
"Right... So you do magic nutjob?" Dan mustered, clearly now becoming exhausted with the sitation.
"Yes, that is correct Demon! See! Read it for yourself and you will understand how you are bound here by me and at my command", as Dan slowly lowered his eyes disbelieving of any threat from the man. His eyes that were previously starring out the Tome owners face, watched the pages of the tome become bathed in direct candlelight.
The pages where deep rutted paper that looked now very frail, the Ink was worn thin and faded in other parts. There seemed to be two paragraph to each page. But it was barely disguishable and he reached out to grab the tome on its corner. Tilting it further towards the light.
'Rapture Demon' read the first title. But his eyes glanced over the other titles before he read the rest.
'Sunlight' read below this paragragh.Then on the next page read
'Teleportation' which was followed by
'Time slow'
"Ummm, which page were you reading from dude?" Dan offered, looking up to meet the man's gaze.
"The top right spell demon! You know which spell would bind you here! All demons know this, now obey me!" he excitedly proclaimed, "this is not my first experience you foul creatures" he cried as he began to try to turn the book around his neck craning to get a better view.
Dan's eyes glanced back to the top of the right page.
'teleportation - self cast or cast on others remotely, range 50 miles before dangerous' the rest Dan didn't bother to read. His eyes shot accross the left page as he scanned the first sentance 'Rapture demon - tear an infernal beast from the underworld otherwise known as Hell'
"Dude, you know how it's pretty dark in here? I think you made a mistake.....Dude you cast teleportation"
The robed mans eyes raised from the page, again to meet Dan's. "FUCK! I .. am.. so.. sorry"
First ever writing prompt, hope you like it, it was written on my phone. Probably going to delete it as soon as I get a downvote haha. Thanks if you read this far.
| 2017-05-12T10:09:52 | 2017-05-12T09:57:53 | 67 | 27 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | There were many questions I had, but I wasn't entirely sure how to react. I *was* in my house, but *now* I'm in a budget Lord of the Rings.
That included the wizard who looked like he'd both just pissed himself and had won the lottery.
"Good... GOOD... Now, my slave... DESTROY MY ENEMIES! Turn their skulls into paste! Their bodies into ash! Send their souls... TO OBLIVION!" The mage throatily screeched at me, followed by perhaps *the* most cliche evil laugh in the history of human existence.
"Uhhhh... Wut?"
"You... You're... Not obeying?"
"Sorry dude, but who are you again?"
"ME? I'M THE LEGENDARY WIZARD SALTHAZAR THE ALMIGHTY, DESTROYER OF REALMS!"
"So... Why do you need me?"
"I... Um... It's a rest day."
"Uh-huh..."
"Don't question me! You're the demon here!"
Yeah... Real funny dude...
Wait what?
"Demon? Me?"
"Yes! That's why I summoned you here!"
"Uhhh..."
"And now that you are here... You shall slay my enemies, and bring this world to its knees!"
"Uhhh... Sorry dude... I don't do anything unless it's in writing..."
"You mean a contract? Never fret! The mighty Salthazar has one right here!" He shoved a piece of parchment in my face, the various scribbles were probably words... Right?
"Uh... Huh... Yeah... This is..."
"Now... Destroy, my Demon!"
This guy's clearly mad. Time to find my way back.
Looking around, I quickly formed a plan.
I ran around, blowing out all the candles and knocking over as much as I physically could, just generally causing as much damage as possible.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! STOP DESTROYING MY WORKSHOP!"
"What? You said "Destroy". You never said *what* to destroy after signing the contract." I shrugged and carried on laying ruin to what I'm guessing is this mans livelihood.
Salthazar sulked and slumped into a corner, "Now I see why they told me never to trust Demons..." | Jason dropped the carboard box onto the one he had set down prior, and stepped back. He held his lower back and arched. Fuck, this retail stocking shit is not fun. Time for a break. He walked over to the door, reached in his shirt pocket and grabbed for his smokes. Opening the door, he stepped through into brilliant sunlight.
What the fuck? This is night shift. He blinked and held his hand to his brow to shade his eyes.
In an instant he could see that he was not in the back parking lot of the Northland Mall. He was standing on a giant slab of stone, and the smell of salt was in the air. He turned to where the door he had just passed through should have been and there was met with the gaze of a fat nude woman with red hair.
Jason squared up towards her and looked her over. What. The. Fuck. A wave of panic washed over him, and the woman began to move to his left chanting in a language that he did not understand while moving her fleshy arms in circles. That's when he noticed the others in the darkness.
Behind the fat woman was a crowd. Several dozen people. There were men and women, all dressed in shabby clothing that was dirty. Jason noticed one woman near the front holding an infant in her arms. She stared directly at him, her eyes cold and flat. It was then that Jason noticed the baby's limb dangling limply and he knew that something was not right.
The redheaded woman continued to circle Jason, her gesticulations becoming wilder and her voice rising. Jason shouted back to her. Fuck you! What the fuck is this!? He tried to approach her and his legs felt like iron. Each step felt as if he was pulling a tree's roots from the earth, and when it fell flat against the stone he felt a stabbing pain radiate upward through his leg.
What is this? He shouted again. Just then a man stepped forth from the crowd. He pointed at the redheaded woman and yelled. He pointed at Jason and then back to the crowd, all the time speaking a strange tongue Jason had never encountered before.
The woman stood looking at Jason, and extended her palm toward him. She stared at Jason, and then turned to speak to the man, keeping her hand directed towards Jason. Jason looked from one to the other, and began to feel his knees buckle. His head was growing light, and he was feeling wobbly. What now?
Falling to his knees, he put his hands down and the stone felt like fire against his flesh. He yelled out in anguish. The man's voice rose, and several others stepped forward from the crowd behind him, all facing the redheaded woman. One man was carrying a child, obviously dead, it's lifeless corpse held tenderly in his arms. He pointed a finger at the nude woman, and then towards Jason.
The redheaded woman stared intently at Jason. He attempted to lift his hands to crawl, but it felt like his hands had become part of the stone, like he was being pulled into it. What is this? What is happening? He looked all around him and saw that the crowd was in a circle around him and they were moving towards the woman, who kept her gaze on Jason. She began to speak, and turned her head toward the advancing mob. Three people in the front of the line dropped to the turf, dead in their tracks. She kept her hand pointed toward Jason, and began to motion with the other above her head.
A light formed over Jason, and he looked up to meet it. Suddenly it felt like rain falling on his face, and the brilliance overwhelmed him.
"Jason, hey Jason ..." The voice was familiar. It was Stan. "Hey man, you OK?"
Jason blinked and looked up. Stan, the heavyset night security guard was standing on his hoverround with his flashlight on Jason's eyes. "What ... where ..."
"Dude, are you OK?"
Jason felt the cool pavement beneath his hand and clamored to his feet. His knees felt uneasy. His head throbbed, and on the ground in front of him was a cigarette. "Yeah, I, uh, I don't know what happened ..."
"OK, bro, I don't know what you're smoking and I don't really care, but just be careful out here. I heard some dudes from West Haven jumped a guy last week." Stan looked him over once more before turning around on the hoverround and zipping across the parking lot.
Jason watched him, Stan's red pony tail poking out from underneath his black baseball cap. Man, fuck night shift. | 2017-05-12T09:29:02 | 2017-05-12T08:33:39 | 65 | 44 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | I swear this happened exactly as I'm saying, but there's no way I'll put my name on it. They'd lock me in the looney bin forever.
I was just sitting on the sofa, watching TV, and then I was sitting in a room with no chair and fell on my butt. My back was against something - well, not something, more nothing, but nothing that felt like something. Like a forcefield I guess. There were markings on the floor that lined up, and some candles nearby.
And there was some sort of odd alien looking up from a book and saying "Ah, and now you are summoned! I have bound you to my will!" So I said "What for?"
He, I guess it was a he, said "To exact revenge on my enemies!" He shuffled through some pictures and showed me one. "Kill him!" I said "Murder is immoral, I don't know who that is, I seem to be stuck in a forcefield, and I wouldn't know how to kill one of you guys anyway. Do you even have hearts?"
The alien seemed confused for a moment. "You can't smite my enemies?" I said "I don't even know what 'smite' means, but it sounds kind of rude. Speaking of which, why am I stuck in this forcefield? That seems rude too."
Now he was angry. "What kind of demon are you?! I summoned a demon from Hell, I want some action! Grant me wealth, or power, or something! I command you! You will help me commit murder!"
I just shrugged. "Dude, I work part time at a Tim Horton's. Does that sound to you like someone with wealth and power?"
He looked even more confused. "The devil's name is Tim Horton?"
I said "Somehow I don't think so. I'm not even sure Tim Horton is a real person; maybe it's like Aunt Jemima."
"Demons have aunts?"
"Why do you keep saying I'm a demon?"
"Because I used a demon summoning spell! Don't you come from a place of misery ruled by an evil being?"
"Well, that's maybe overstating it a little, but I guess you're not too far off."
"So you should have some kind of special powers that don't exist on my world!"
"Well, okay, but I don't know what powers exist on your world, so how am I supposed to know what's considered special?"
"Don't you know anything?!"
"I know lots of stuff. I just don't know anything about you. What makes you think you're important enough that I should care about you at all?"
"Because I summoned you!"
"Well, actually, you did do that. I suppose that connects us somehow. I guess I could give you some sort of powers; can you guys do math?"
"Of course we can do math! I don't what math power!"
"Hmm. How about juggling? Do you know how to juggle?"
"No, but I don't want that. I want something that will let me wreak vengeance on those who have wronged me!"
"How about flying? Can you fly?"
"Fly? Flying?! Yes, that one. If I could fly, I do all kinds of things!"
"Well, okay, let's do that. I'll focus on you, and you go open the window."
He walked over to the window, and turned a crank to open it up. "Okay," he said, "I've got it open. Now what?"
I said, "Stand on the ledge, and picture yourself flying, and jump into the air."
He did. And did not so much fly as plummet.
A few hours later, some sort of uniformed people came into the room. One screamed. A guy (I guess it was a guy) who looked like a cleric looked at me and said "This demon drove him to jump to his death!" I said "He said he wanted to murder people. He demanded I help him commit a murder. There was only one person here I had the power to kill, and I was required to obey."
The cleric said "Back to Hell with you!" and blew out the candles. Which was fine with me. At least here we have Tim Horton's.
| It happened as Dan was sat on the old chair in the greenhouse, lazily puffing on a cigertte. He sat, neck arched down scrolling mindlessly through social media. The occassional billows of smoke slowly carried on the draft like a balloon gradually disapeering from existance as it floated away. As the rollie burnt continued to burn a column of smoke carried right up and over his face, he turned away in discomfort, slamming his eyes contortedly shut and letting out a single cough.
It's not that he felt anything, but when he 'transferred' he was able to feel the difference in temperature. He knew somthing had changed instantly. it was warmer and he now felt inside, It wasn't until he opened his eyes though that it hit him like a lightening bolt.
"WAHHHHHHHH! WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT THE!"
A man stood infront of him, robed in black with a red satin cord wrapped around him like a harness, he faced him squarely and was bowing his head down toward the ground. The light of the candles gave no detail to the face below the sunken hood. As his eyes danced about the confusing landscape he begin to spin, it might have been an attempt to look around. he might have imagined it, But as soon as he began to turn his knees seemed to drop and his phoned dropped to the floor, Dan shortly followed.
"Hello", spoke from the blackness. Dan just concious enough to notice it, realised that the blackness now was only his eyes closed and with that he was back. With a paniced struggle he raised himself on his arms.
" Who...where am, ummm, dude are you going to hurt me?"
He felt the base of his spine press in, almost painful as his adrenal glands kicked in.
"Why am I here?! How did I get here!?" He rattled off and he now aggressively tried to stand up.
"DID YOU BRING ME HERE!?" He yelled, now striding towards this robed figure who apparently hadn't moved. He glanced left and right as if to check for more threats, noticing that he was in a pentagonal star of candles. His eyes began to widen.
"You demon!" The hooded man now looked up.
"Have been brought here by me to serve me!" The man threw back his hood to reveal a plump round head and large buttonous nose.
"For else I shall send you back to that eternal hell that is your home" as he finished his sentance he gesticulated a arm movement of a bow without bending at the waist as if to the give the impression of self importance.
"Now I'm confused as fuck, but this is not funny" exclaimed Dan as he came to stop close enough that the odor of this man was previlant.
"Why am I here, how did you get me here? And dude this better be some kind of TV PRANK OR IM GOING TO FIGHT YOU AND PROBABLY KILL YOU!"
as he spoke his volume and aggresion increased.
"You have been summoned by me because I wish your dark soul be brought here and better serve me" the man interupted, now smiling smugly, rasped.
"Now don't expect me to be fooled for this sharade of a human form. Take your real form beast!"
"What the fuck dude?!" Dan exclaimed, "Look the pranks over, I want to go home" Dan adjusted, "I don't know how you did that, and i'd really appreciate you'd drop the whole act and show me where the door is or tell me how you got me here, did you knock me out?" Stood arms outstretched in animated questioning.
The man dropped his smile now, "you are clever foul demon, but you shall not outsmart me"
"Well Im human, soooo if that changes anything. I'D REALLY LIKE TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED!?",
" I used a spell to summon you from Hell and I wish...",
"But dude, I just told you i'm from the UK for fucks sake, Do I look like a demon to you?" Dan spoke as his eyes danced around the room looking for an exit. He Looking left and right without ever really taking his eyes off the man then he looked down to the mans arms. A large tome sat accross his palms barely visable in the candle light and what previously was in the shadow of the hood from any other ambient light.
"I summoned you here, by way of this encantation" the man offered out his arms while spinning the open tome between his hands to face Dan.
"Right... So you do magic nutjob?" Dan mustered, clearly now becoming exhausted with the sitation.
"Yes, that is correct Demon! See! Read it for yourself and you will understand how you are bound here by me and at my command", as Dan slowly lowered his eyes disbelieving of any threat from the man. His eyes that were previously starring out the Tome owners face, watched the pages of the tome become bathed in direct candlelight.
The pages where deep rutted paper that looked now very frail, the Ink was worn thin and faded in other parts. There seemed to be two paragraph to each page. But it was barely disguishable and he reached out to grab the tome on its corner. Tilting it further towards the light.
'Rapture Demon' read the first title. But his eyes glanced over the other titles before he read the rest.
'Sunlight' read below this paragragh.Then on the next page read
'Teleportation' which was followed by
'Time slow'
"Ummm, which page were you reading from dude?" Dan offered, looking up to meet the man's gaze.
"The top right spell demon! You know which spell would bind you here! All demons know this, now obey me!" he excitedly proclaimed, "this is not my first experience you foul creatures" he cried as he began to try to turn the book around his neck craning to get a better view.
Dan's eyes glanced back to the top of the right page.
'teleportation - self cast or cast on others remotely, range 50 miles before dangerous' the rest Dan didn't bother to read. His eyes shot accross the left page as he scanned the first sentance 'Rapture demon - tear an infernal beast from the underworld otherwise known as Hell'
"Dude, you know how it's pretty dark in here? I think you made a mistake.....Dude you cast teleportation"
The robed mans eyes raised from the page, again to meet Dan's. "FUCK! I .. am.. so.. sorry"
First ever writing prompt, hope you like it, it was written on my phone. Probably going to delete it as soon as I get a downvote haha. Thanks if you read this far.
| 2017-05-12T12:27:31 | 2017-05-12T09:57:53 | 36 | 27 |
[WP] You find a genie lamp where the genie offers you unlimited wishes. The catch is that you must answer a mathematical question that continues to get progressively harder for every wish you make. If you answer the question wrong, every wish you made will be reversed with negative consequences. | "I can make as many wishes as I want?"
"Yes. As long as you can answer the question."
"And If I get it wrong you reverse all the wishes?"
"Yes."
"I want to make a wish."
"What is the sum of three and six?"
"Nine."
"What is your wish?"
"I wish the world was an unimaginable hell hole."
"Done. Go outside and hear the screams."
"Not yet. I want to make another wish."
"What is the product of four and eight?"
"One." | "I want a chicken bbq pizza. Large, wait, no, medium." I say.
"That's fine. what's 3+5?" He replies.
"8."
The genie *poofs* my pizza into existence, holding out the typical cardboard box. I open it, and the pizza is cooked to perfection. Even the plastic pizza saver is there, holding the box up against the weight of the world. I pull apart a piece, the cheese stretching out like it is a brand new morning and it just got out of bed. I take a bite; it is, by far, the best pizza I've ever had.
"You can go now," I say, inbetween chews.
The genie begins to leave, gasses twiring back into the cracked table lamp I bought at a garage sale. Who would have thought they live in actual lamps? Before he disappears completely, however, he pops back into reality, a confused look on his purple colored face.
"I'm sorry, but what? That's all you want? A pizza?"
"Yup. You want a bite?"
"Tell me, human, why? Are you bad at math? I could wish you a head full of knowledge, to solve more problems."
"Nah."
The genie comes out of his lamp fully. He forms his legs and feet, only to cross them in my direction.
"Do you not want riches beyond your wildest dreams? A million wives a--"
"Ew, no," I interrupt. "That's super misogynistic. I'd rather find 'the one' on my own accord, you know? I don't want anything from you. It's not... me, you know? I don't think my life would be any better if I was loaded."
The genie cocks his head in amusement. "You must enjoy money in some fashion. You bought a cracked lamp for 4 dollars."
"I bought it because it was *cool.* Look at all of these dangly bits! When I was young, mother slapped my hands away from lamps because I would touch the dangly bits. Now I get to touch all of these pretty crystals that hang down, and nobody gets to say otherwise."
"So you enjoy... the sentiment of things?"
"Yeah Now you're getting it. Here, try a slice of this pizza."
I hold out a slice of most perfect pizza to the genie, who forms a hand to take it. For the longest time, he stares at the doughy triangle, inspecting the toppings. I go to nudge him, but my elbow slides right through his gas being, almost landing on the park bench I was sitting on. At once, he takes the slice, and shoves the entire thing into his preformed mouth. He chews, swallowing after two munches.
"This is good." He finally says. I hold up the pizza saver.
"Isn't it? And I got a cool souvenir table to remember this." | 2017-06-17T23:24:32 | 2017-06-17T21:26:00 | 266 | 127 |
[WP] "Dude, you don't want to fight a human, even when it doesn't have a weapon." The alien glimpsed at the human. "Why not? They look so fragile." | A lone human drinks in an alien bar.
That's not the start of a joke, it's the start of a horrifying story. Horrifying for aliens anyways, humans actually find it pretty entertaining.
"One shot of whiskey." The human says, holding his hand up.
"What's whiskey?"
"Godamn it, fucking alien bars, never have the good stuff."
The doors kick open, or get pushed open by something anyways, and four aliens walk through.
'Honestly is this a cowboy movie or something?' The human thinks as he gets up to leave, only to be stopped by the four aliens blocking his path.
"Hey, I don't want any trouble, alright? Barkeep, five drinks please. Why don't we share a drink?"
The bartender slides five bottles down the counter.
"We're here for you, human! There's a bounty on your head, and we intend to collect."
The human signs in resignation. "You know you'll have to kill me first, right?"
The smiles, or whatever movement from the aliens, who the hell knows, shows that they know, and they'll enjoy it.
They think they will anyways.
The human grabs two bottles and smashes it over the closest aliens, and quickly kicks one other away, causing it to fall over. Moving with a swift ferocity, the human takes one of the smashed bottles and shoves it into the fourth alien, causing him to fall to the ground. He raises his foot and slams it down on the alien he kicked.
"If you leave now I'll let you live." He looks down at the two on the ground. "Well, the two of you that are still alive anyways." He opens one of the bottles remaining and starts to drink. He quickly spits it out before shattering it on the floor. "Ugh, what the fuck is this?"
The two aliens try to attack again, but one gets stabbed in the head, and the other gets kicked back.
"If there's one thing I hate worse than a shitty drink," he smashes the last bottle on the table. "It's when people piss me off."
He walks up to the last alien and stabs it with the broken bottle repeatedly.
He tosses a couple of coins onto the counter and leaves with a grin on his face. Nothing like the rush of a fight.
(Edit: continuity)
| Of course Gorg thought that. Of course every alien would assume that. Nearly 300 years ago in 2454, mankind discovered the use of anti-matter as a near infinite power supply, thus accelerating humans through and past the cosmos. One accident after another had ultimately left humans in a delicate state that was only starting to recover in the last century.
Listen, I don’t think you understand, but my recent Changing has made me a lot more capable than whatever you think of us.”, replied Mark. As a Captain of the Europan Ambassador Coalition, Mark knew that he would have to do everything in his power to convince the Olan ambassador to allow for a human colony on Europa. The Olan’s were part of an underwater civilization living within the depths of Europe for hundreds of years, but only recently discovered by mankind.
“Well, I’m not even sure what the Changing is…”, Gorg asked.
“It’s a genetic thing, different from how your body works.”
“Alright….Murrk. Pick up that steel bar.”, said Gorg as he pointed in the direction of a giant beam anchored to the ceiling.
He doesn’t know what’s about to hit him, Mark thought. Every human now had their own abilities, even though everyone was much more weaker physically, due to the Changing. Back in 2454, the Scientists that made the anti-matter fuel were not content however, as they were abandoned in their own shadows, left in the same state as before. 15 years after the Reckoning, the term used to dub their discovery, rebellions across Earth forced the world’s superpowers to relocate to the newest frontier: Space. Within 60 years, and funding equivalent to thousands of times a small country’s GDP, the first Interstellar Orb establishment was constructed between Earth and its moon. As much of the world’s population relocated, scholars like The Scientists remained behind, plotting revenge.
The following 200 years resulted in mass genocide resultant of a vector virus released by The Scientists, that ultimately crippled nearly 34 Billion humans. Only those who had relocated in time to The Orb survived. Many believed it to be a government order, secretly promoted to trickle down the ever-growing population to purify mankind, leading to the dubbed Purity Wars. A new program established 2675 on the Orb finally sought to end interstellar warfare and use new genetic techniques to connect the mind’s cognitive powers to the body. Each person had to discover their own abilities, but once found, was thousands of times more powerful; the physical form did not need to be strong now.
Mark walked under the beam and concentrated his mind on it.
“Well, are you going to lift it?”, questioned Gorg.
“Oh, I’m going to do much more than that.”, replied Mark, and under his breath, “You Olan’s will regret ever disrespecting me or any other human.”
Thinking back to what his Changing instructors said 5 years ago, Mark let go of all thought and focused only on the steel beam, using all of the energy from every one of his cells. He could feel the ground beneath him rumble as his vision took over and took his stored energy, directing it into the direction of the beam.
“WOAH. What’s going on? This was not what I asked for! Stop!” shouted Gorg, as chunks of the ceiling started to collapse and fall.
“This is only the beginning!”, said Mark, now shouting over the vibration shuddering through the Olan’s ancient palace.
“MY BRAIN WAVES AND ENERGY WILL MERGE INTO ONE SUPERWAVE”, shouting even louder as Gorg went under ceiling rubble.
“AHHHH! AND THEN WHAT!”, screamed Gorg.
“WATCH!”
The steel beam glowed red then orange and yellow until it become a brilliant white and blue conglomeration of molten metal and finally exploded into a thousand dazzling gems, reflecting infinite rays across the palace. Gorg’s screams pierced the air as he moaned about the roastings he would receive from his higher-ups.
And then awe, utter silence, save for the shuddering of a million shards of molten metal fusing together one final time, into a giant crystalline diamond, piece by piece, shard by shard. As the last piece went into place, the entire gem glowed of a thousand suns and finally floated down to the ground with a slight thud.
“Well, I’ll just leave you with this. It will probably cover most of the damages.”, chuckled Mark.
Gorg, crying in one corner, simply nodded, stills struck with awe.
“Oh yeah, and to answer your question, that’s why you never want to fight a human, even if they don’t have a weapon.”
| 2017-11-25T09:45:47 | 2017-11-25T08:20:42 | 31 | 18 |
[WP] After grazing your child's cut knee one afternoon, you discover you have the power to heal others simply by touching them. You use your new gift to rid a plethora of illnesses and wounds in your community. One day, you exhaust your powers and see a familiar cut form on your knee....
| I have a secret. A secret that could make the difference between a man living or dying.
It all began unexpectedly during one very ordinary afternoon.
"Oh Adrian! Its okay, Mommy will make it all better," she said as she brushed her fingertips around the scraped skin of my knee.
I believed her. I truly did, because I was only three-and-a-half and my mom meant the world to me. She would never lie to me.
Suddenly, my mother went silent.
Through my sobbing, I managed a glimpse at her face. It was an expression that I had never seen from mother before, but when I looked at my knee, I saw that there was no blood. No torn skin. The throbbing pain was gone. My mother, she had healed my wound. I was so sure of it that I thanked her.
Mother had looked at me with her deep blue eyes and smiled. "See? Mommy was right!"
It was only when I saw the same wound reappear on my mother's knee seven years later that I would understand what had really happened.
----
"Mom? Are you okay?"
Mother had collapsed at the front door of our apartment.
I knew something wasn't right when I came home from school and found that mother was nowhere to be seen. Mom was always home before me even though she worked two jobs during the mornings and midnights. She would always be in the kitchen slaving away to make dinner for the two of us even though I always told her that I was fine with pre-frozen meals. She'd never listen to me. When I was struggling to reach the top shelf, I heard a loud crash at the front door of our apartment. I hurried out of the kitchen and found mother on the floor.
"Oh. Adrian? You're home already? I'm just a little exhausted," Mother said as she gave me a 'everything's alright' smile.
But when I saw the blood on her knee I knew, everything was *not* alright.
"Mom! Your bleeding!" I cried.
Mom sat up, her back leaning against the door. "Oh."
She lifted up her work skirt.
"I think I might have scraped my knee on the stairs up," she said.
That was the first time mother had lied to me.
It was only when I checked the news later that night that I came close to the truth.
*'A family of four and the offending truck driver found miraculously unwounded in a high speed collision near Byway.'*
-----
In the following years as I entered my mid-teens, the occurrences of wounds became more frequent. Cuts, bruises and other injuries that were not visible to the eye. Then one night, mother came home with a cast on her leg.
It was enough. Enough to spur a sixteen-year-old boy into action.
It was midnight, and the glare of the full moon illuminated a silhouette in the distance. It was my mother, and I was trailing her.
Down the street, around the corner and across the intersection, I followed. A few more blocks and we finally arrive at our destination.
A hospital.
She enters first. I follow, a few moments after.
It is quiet, only the murmur of nurses and family in mourning.
After a maze of corridors and staircases, mother finally stops at a room.
Mother steps inside, and I creep forward towards the door, catching it before it closes. With only a crack, I glimpse into the room. On the hospital bed, was a middle-aged man. Unconscious and strapped to a machine near him. His breathing is assisted by another machine near him.
Mother steps closer to the man, arm extended and fingers reaching towards his cheek.
"Mom!" I shout.
She looks at me, with the same expression she showed me when she healed my knee. *Shock.*
"Please don't," I say.
"Adrian," she whispers. "I have to."
Tears begin to stream from my eyes. "You'll die."
As a tear drop slips off from my face, mother brushes her fingers against the man's cheek.
"I know," she whispers back.
---
----
/r/Em_pathy
| ## No Good Deed...
It doesn't hurt, the sliver of fresh pink, not at first. It appears on the unblemished skin of Richard's knee cap right before his eyes, stipling there at first, just some red dots, then a rivulet of blood, then the full cut, a specter from the past.
Richard stares down at it with abject horror at its implications, the full portent of it's appearance striking home even as the mild burning of the wound comes unbidden.
He goes to the bathroom to wash the ghostly incision and put on some gauze, his mind racing in useless circles, like a terrified antelope with its leg tied to a deep stake.
*What was the next one?* Richard thought hard about what the second ailment he had ever healed was, the second time he had ever used his new ability. He feared it would not be long until he found out.
Richard arrived in the bathroom, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and wetting it with warm water, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror just in time to see the burn appear across his left cheek. Then he remembers the small girl at his son's school, *what was her name, Maria?*, but no matter. She had a mild burn across her cheek from playing with her mother's flattening iron. Richard's son was friends with the girl and Richard removed her burn at his son's insistence that he try, back when Richard was still uncertain his power was real.
It was real, and it worked, and now the burn was back, searing across Richard's right, stubbled cheek - an angry bright red streak of hot pain that brought with it an overwhelming pang of anxiety.
Richard left the wadded paper in the sink and raced to the phone. As he ran across the tiled floor he could feel a cough rising in his chest, and remembered the dangerous bronchitis his elderly father was suffering with so many winters ago, which Richard was so eager to relieve. The doctor's said the miraculous cure had bought his father a second chance, and he lived another three years after that, with Richard's help of course.
Hacking violently now into his shirt sleeve, Richard made it to the phone and reached out, fear infusing every inch of his body, waiting for the first traumatic injuries to appear, knowing where the first would strike, remembering the paperboy who took a terrible tumble off his bike, the unnatural bend of his forearm after it impacted the pavement, the look of relief on his face after Richard's touch.
Richard held the phone in his hand and had dialed three numbers when Richard heard a loud crack, like a bundle of dry tinder being snapped in half inside a cotton sheeth. Richard loosed an animal scream. The phone clattered onto the marble countertop, beside a new smattering of blood. He looked down at his right forearm, bent horribly in the center, the shard of a bone protruding from a small break in the skin.
Quickly, with his left hand, Richard typed in the remaining numbers and hit the speaker phone button, just in time for his left foot to come out from under him and twist into a bizarre, abnormal shape, shrinking in size and curling up almost into a ball. The genetic mutation of a destitute man Richard had seen begging on the subway. It did not hurt but Richards shoe fell away from his foot like a shed leaf and Richard could not put any weight on it.
The phone was ringing and Richard prayed that his son would pick up. It rang again and again and then went to voicemail.
"Gary, come to the house. They're all coming back, everything is coming back, I can't walk, I hrrrrererr grrssshrhs. Grrry!"
Richard instinctually tried to reach for his mouth with his right hand, gave a muffled yell of pain, and then touched the place his mouth had been with his left hand. Where he should have felt lips there was only scar tissue, a terrible, malformed mass of hardened skin. The face of the girl in the hospital came back unbidden - a teenager playing with a boyfriend, accidentally shot in the cheek with her father's Ruger. It was all over the news, as was her miraculous recovery.
Inside Richard's mouth he could feel the conspicuous absence of a tongue, the shattered remnants of his teeth. He tried to speak again but only a muffled groan came out. A blazing, acidic pain exploded in Richard's stomach, some ulcer or other gastrointestinal ailment Richard had thoughtlessly cured. As the years went on, Richard had become very free with his power, using it without thinking on everyone and anyone.
*Why not?* Richard had thought at the time. *People need help, and I can help them, so why not?*
The transformation began at his toes as an itch, a curling, bubbling froth covering his skin, turning it white, revealing the scorched lipid layer for the world to see. Sitting on his kitchen floor, Richard watched the crawling rash of third degree burn encroach up the length of his body, up under his pants, toward his torso.
Jeremy Kadrick. Five years old, burned terribly in a fire a couple of houses down from Richard's. Richard knew the family and by that point word of Richard's ability had spread. They begged him to help Jeremy, offered money - but Richard rejected it. Of course he would help, it would be his pleasure. It was the right thing to do.
The boy had been covered, head to toe, in life ending burns. The burn ward could only watch and change his supperating bandages every hour, and wait for the child to die. Richard remembered fondly the way Jeremy's healthful pink skin returned, inching across his body from the place where Richard's finger had contacted his shoulder, Jeremy's parents watching in amazement, Richard exhulting in his God like power.
Now he watched the same burns return, coalescing under her shirt, up his chest, down the length of Richard's arms, past the shattered bone of his right forearm, and then enveloping his disfigured head, moving up his face like a time lapse photo of a hungry bacteria in a petri dish. Wherever it appeared, the burn brought with it unbridled pain. Richard lay there, his clothes sticking to the pussy remnants of his skin, screaming as best as his formless mouth would allow.
*******
##### For More Legends From The Multiverse
##### r/LFTM
| 2018-04-25T06:48:55 | 2018-04-25T05:48:34 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] In 1891 you were tried for straling horses and sentenced to be "hung from a rope until dead." The problem is you're immortal. But the executioner/sheriff is as well, and he is a very patient man. The year is 1903, and he is still waiting at the gallows.
*stealing, not straling. Stupid phone... | “Knight... to... E... 7... Checkmate.” I managed to say, despite the rope crushing my larynx. It was difficult for me to talk in my position but my opponent was always willing to wait as I exerted myself to get each word out. He’ll never admit it but I know he’s just as bored as I am. After all, it’s been nearly 12 years since I was sentenced to death by hanging and Jeb hasn’t left my side since.
Jeb was good company when he wasn’t lecturing me about morality. He loved to remind me that “With great power comes great responsibility.” But I couldn’t help think he stole that from some snake oil salesmen. Jeb’s an easy mark, the salesmen could’ve convinced him that a spider bite would give him super strength. The guy was already immortal, how much more power could he need?
I hear the church bells ringing which means Margaret will be coming by any minute now with Jeb’s lunch. She was a sweet, pretty girl, though the years have aged her well. Not like Jeb and I, we’ve stayed the same and the world has changed around us. There’s a knock on the door of the shed built around the gallows. The shed wasn’t much but it was enough to keep the rain and the critters away. It was actually Margaret who convinced the town to build it. She says it was to keep Jeb comfortable but I think it was because she has a sweet spot for me.
Jeb answers the door and greets Margaret, the two come in and sit at the small table in the middle of the shed. Margaret notices the chess board and says to Jeb,
“Lose again? Don’t worry, you’ll get em next time.”
I butt in with the best fake laugh I can manage. “Yeah... right... nice... blouse... Margee”
Jeb gives me a dirty look and I’m not sure whether it’s because of how bad he is at chess or because I complimented Margaret. Either way, I love knowing I can still get under his skin after all these years.
“Oh, you’re always sweet talkin’ and causin’ trouble.” Margaret responded, trying to hide how much she was blushing.
Jeb changed the subject and started asking Margaret about her day. I knew better than to keep interrupting. Besides, I was exhausted. I may be immortal but I can only stay awake for so long with the lack of oxygen getting to my brain. I dozed off to sleep as Jeb and Margaret ate lunch.
When I came to, it was eerily quiet. The chair that Jeb usually sits in was turned on its side, he must’ve left in quite a hurry. I wasn’t used to being alone and I didn’t like it. Just as I had decided to start calling out for Jeb, I heard gunshots coming from all around the shed. Moment’s later, Jeb burst in to the shed. Blood was dripping from his left arm and he was clutching a holster with two guns in his right hand. He had a look of terror on his face that I hadn’t seen in the 12 years that I’d been hanging here. I had forgotten how easily Jeb scared and seeing that look on his face again brought back memories that I thought were long gone.
Jeb rushed up next to me and before I could say anything he exclaimed “Bandits! I can’t take them all, I need your help. I hope you learned your lesson.”
With that, he drew his knife and cut the rope holding me up. I dropped down to the ground and took the deepest breath I had taken in 12 years. I had forgotten how cold the air felt when it filled your lungs. I looked up at Jeb and excitedly I said, “Just like old times then, brother?” | "Don't you get bored?"
Mike was bringing food. Just like every day in the past 12 years. The first year was the worst, they built an improvised roof at first, then an entire small house, but the ground still was the old dirt, there was no way to remove it.
I had to watch every single day of those 12 years. Of course here he was known as Jacob, but I knew my executioner. They were always hunting me, and it was a convenient plot. I don't know if I'm actually immortal - if they are - but surely we were unable to die of the causes other people could die of. There are things worse than death, and they would bring me back if they caught me. Well, the only catch is, I would need to agree. I can be let out of here whenever I want, but something far worse would await me.
And that comes from a hanged man.
22 September 1891
"Morlus, come back!"
I did not want this anymore. I hated those medical experiments. That idiot Hicks had injected himself with my blood, hoping to also become immortal. Or whatever it is. When they saw that accident, they noted me, then they tracked me down. One day they knocked on my door, pretending to be from the postal service. I thought nothing of it, maybe they would offer me something for running me over with that horse carriage. Almost killing me, or so I thought, by breaking my neck.
They were not from the postal service. They were that doctor, Hicks, and some thugs who would grab me. They experimented with me whenever they could, otherwise I was imprisoned. The days of the wild west were over. But some laws remained. It took me 15 years to just flee. And it was a complete freak accident, as Hicks got sick after injecting himself with my blood. That was the final step, but they still wanted to torture - "experiment" - on me. Hey, thanks for the gunshot wounds! Thanks for the broken bones from running me over with millstones! Thanks for... I did not want to think about those unspeakable things. I had stolen their horses. One would have been enough to flee, but I had to take all three so they could not follow me. I would just disappear and then keep a low profile.
"No, I will not come back, you maniac!"
25 December 1891
"Christmas hanging"
What an euphemism! Hey, have my luck before you complain about your life being bad! Of course some crazy guy invented some form of communication and the federal government, when I wanted to ask them for help, arrested me for stealing the horses and got me to the local sheriff from where I had fled. Damn this "telegraph"! How is that even supposed to work? They don't even use birds for that anymore. This technology by young people only makes everything useless. Probably we kill all birds soon.
"Your turn, Mr. McHorsestealer!"
"That's not my name!"
"Shut up, scum! You can lament with the devil about your name in five minutes. I have to get home for lunch!"
31 December 1891
Who was this guy? I knew him somehow, but... oh my God, it is Hicks! He is the new executioner now who will watch me, as I am still alive somehow! And he adviced everyone to be quiet, as that would cause a great stir.
15 January 1892
Yout got to be kidding me. This place is closed for the public first, now they build a house here. Was that improvised roof not enough? Hicks was sitting here for half a month straight, and this could go on forever. But then, nobody would be crazy enough to wait forever... or would they?
17 November 1903
"Thanks for asking, Mike! No, I never get bored of this. But now that you mention it, I will take a week off."
"Sure enough, Jacob. I will send George and John to replace you here."
24 November 1903
I don't know what happened. Hicks was back, but he was shaken.
"You bastard! I will let you hang here until you die. But I will let you know something. You are around 60 now. You will probably die in around 60 years, maybe 90, maybe 100. But do you remember those animals we used? The dog child has died today. He was 25. But the father is still alive. He is 40 now. No dog gets that old! Dear God, do you know what that means? If you are born like that, you die of old age eventually. But if not, if you get that blood injected..."
Hicks was crying. I never saw him crying before.
"...you might really be immortal."
"Wasn't that what you wanted?"
"Do you even comprehend? There is no cure. We tried it all at the dog. We spent the entire week on that. He won't die, not even by cutting his head off. The head just regrew. He indeed is immortal. He has eternal life."
"Jesus now is a dog?"
"Do you know what eternal life means? You don't really get older physically anymore. But you will survive everything. Everyone else eventually will die. And it does not stop here. Eternity, my friend, is a very long time. It will be a very, very long time."
I never saw him crying before. I could breathe, I could talk, I had adjusted to the rope I was hanging from in the past 12 years. But probably he was right. Knowing that eventually you would probably be caught by someone and experimented upon and suffer forever was really bad. Or maybe there was something else. This Darwin guy had apparently said there were many races before humans. And they took millions of years. What if humanity eventually would go extinct? He would be the only human left and still be alive. What if Earth would change? If it would become a lava ball again? Or an ocean? What if some day predators would be on Earth again and eat him alive again and again?
"Eternity", he still cried, "is a very long time!" | 2018-10-23T06:00:02 | 2018-10-23T00:19:46 | 32 | 10 |
[WP] While derping around on the internet, you manage to discover that your FBI agent has a crush on you. A lot of the ads you’ve been getting suddenly start to make a whole lot more sense... | I'm getting kind of nervous here.
You ever feel like you're being watched? I mean, there's no other way to answer that. It's almost 2020. Who isn't being watched?
That being said, who exactly wants to watch me? There's got to be plenty of other people more concerning than me. Or interesting. Or impressive. Anything else.
Not one to brag. But I'm a complete and utter train wreck of a human being. You'd say that sounds like self pity talking. No, I just genuinely can't stand myself half the time.
Pretty sure, I'm the poster child for "one step forward and two steps back" at this point. Nothing I hear the right script won't fix, but I'd like to keep my insurance as cheap as possible.
Cognitive behavioral therapy is great if you can get in line for that sort of thing. Let alone afford it. Hence when someone messaged me out of the blue about meeting me, I raised the questions they already should have.
For starters, why are they even contacting me? I'm not on any of the big dating apps, let alone willing to put myself out there like that. The only way you could really get ahold of me is through the friend of a friend at best. But someone would have to tell you about me.
I have very few redeeming qualities. At least if you ask me. Overworked, underpaid, unhealthy, wrongly qualified. Burnt out.
I didn't really worry until I started seeing the ads. Everything was for something I wanted. Everything. I'm not the smartest person but, that's how they get you to buy anything these days.
But I like my privacy. Well at least as private as you can be on the internet.
Hence why I got concerned when someone messaged me. It wasn't a bill collector. Or a healthcare update. Or a scam artist. Or someone I knew.
Just, "Hey there **********. Someone gave me your number. Want to meet up somewhere?"
I know right? Sounds like a lie. But the messages kept coming. From everywhere. My phone. My emails. My work computer.
I'm scared.
Eventually, and for the Nth time, I got a little smashed and said screw it.
"New phone, who dis?"
And for a couple of days, I didn't hear anything. Did I fix the problem?
I did not.
So now I'm standing here, at the drug store across from the place they said to meet them at. I've been getting intrusive ads for it all month.
They sent me a message with pictures attached.
"I've been waiting for you. 🥰🥰🥰"
It's me. Standing over here on the curb. Right now. Wearing the same clothes. Looking at my phone. And another from over my head. Behind me. In the drug store. My license plate. My house. My driver's license.
If I'm right. They're in the window farthest from the corner in the restaurant. Looking at me.
I'm leaving this for whoever finds it. In case I don't make it back. Do me a favor?
Don't be like me. Never answer a random message.
---
I couldn't do any better with this one. Criticism is always welcome. r/Jamaican_Dynamite | “Agent Gilmore, how are you doing?” My superior looked over my shoulder at the client I was currently monitoring. “I see you’ve been keeping a good eye on this particular man. Do you think he is some kind of threat?”
“Not at all, ma’am. I apologize if it may seem that way.” I clicked off the Facebook profile of my client to satisfy my boss. Once she was away, I went right back to quietly monitoring my client.
Bradley Braxton McBride was a twenty-one year old man studying for a degree in forensics at the University of Baltimore, about thirty minutes from my location at [REDACTED]. He had brown hair, green eyes, a muscular build, and enjoyed video games such as [CENSORED PER THE TERMS OF NDA], [PRODUCT NOT RELEASED YET], *Fallout: 76*, and [REDACTED TO AVOID COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT]. He was a gregarious person, often sharing his selfies at bars and clubs all around the DC metropolitan area, and, most importantly to me, he was, as he put it on his Twitter profile, “single and ready to mingle”.
I spent the first few days of monitoring Brad on a feed of his smartphone webcam, quietly observing what he did and where he went. He was apparently a big fan of a lot of the things that I myself was interested in, like rock music, the Avengers, and cooking. I began to think about how the two of us could meet some day, after I got promoted from simply being a lowly surveillance agent who had to watch people for twelve hours a day.
Over time, Brad began to notice how I had been sending him personalized ads for things he was interested in while he was derping around the Internet, and he even laughed at how coincidental some of them were to what he was thinking about. Most people would think nothing of it, but he was different.
“I see what you did there, FBI Agent. Yeah, I know you’re probably listening and watching me right now.” Brad looked into his webcam, trying not to laugh. “If we ever meet in person, I gotta compliment you for sending me all these ads. Like, holy shit, man, whoever you are, you know me really well. Well, I guess that’s to be expected, if you’re an agent and stuff.” He set his phone down and proceeded to laugh his ass off, not knowing that he had made me completely flustered.
“Damn it, Brad, don’t be cute. I’m supposed to view you as a faceless civilian...” I put my head in my hands to keep my colleagues from seeing my cheeks turn red.
“Hey, Gilmore, you don’t look so good. Did you contract something?” One of my male colleagues tapped me on the shoulder, startling me.
“Uh, n-no, I’m fine, Agent Highland. Maybe I should go on my lunch break, though...” I put my computer to sleep, slowly standing up. “Tell the boss I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’m going to go grab something to eat...”
Once I left the building, I made my way to my car. I knew exactly where Brad was, and hopefully I could still meet him and have lunch with him or something. I couldn’t take just quietly watching him from behind a screen anymore. As I parked in front of the local McDonald’s just outside the city of [REDACTED], my heart started to race as I took off my work badge and quietly walked inside to meet Brad for the first time.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” I hesitantly asked my crush. He was sitting alone and casually eating a McRib.
“Sure. You on your lunch break or something?” He asked me in between bites.
“Yeah, I am.” I replied, smiling.
“Nice. It’s always good to take a break from work every once in a while.” He laughed, making me laugh too.
“Sure is.”
“You’re pretty chill, lady. This might seem pretty weird, but to me it seems like we’re getting along really well right now. Like, I haven’t even met you, but you seem like someone who shares my interests or something. We’d be a pretty cool couple if you and I became a thing.” That casual confession nearly made me want to confess everything to him right then and there, but I kept my head on and remained calm.
“Why don’t we try becoming a thing, then?” I smoothly replied.
“Holy shit, now that was smooth.“ Brad laughed, nearly choking on his McRib. “I like the cut of your jib, miss. What’s your name?”
“Monica Gilmore. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Brad McBride.” I stuck out my hand, smiling.
“Wait, how do you know me? Eh, whatever, you’re pretty hot, so I’ll let it slide. So, tell me about yourself, Monica...” The two of us began to talk and share French fries as we began to really get to know each other.
I never once thought that I’d end up meeting the man of my dreams just by stalking him on the internet for a week, but somehow, I did.
“You know, I always thought an FBI agent could be watching me through my webcam when I was messing around on the internet,” Brad told me one night as we were cuddling, “but I never once thought she would end up becoming my girlfriend.”
“The internet is a weird and wonderful place, isn’t it?” I put my head on his shoulder.
“Sure is...” He put his arms around me as we fell asleep together. | 2019-10-23T07:27:31 | 2019-10-23T07:13:40 | 38 | 27 |
[WP] You're sat alone, with a glass of wine in hand, and decide to jokingly toast the Greek God Dionysus. You did not expect him to appear before you in human form, create two bottles of wine, and take a seat next to you. | He just... Appeared.
I jumped in surprise.
"Whattt??!?!?? Who are you??" Was the only thing that came out of my mouth.
Sending a reproachful gaze my way he said
"Sit down. This has been a bad day, don't make it worse. That wine is worth more than you will ever have, so drink it"
"Hey, that's mean" I replied, as I retook my former position.
"Are you him? Dionysus? For real?" I asked
"Yep, that's me wine, parties, the whole shenanigan"
"Wow, so.... gods are real? Only the greeks? Is Aphrodite as stunning as the legends say? "
He burst out laughing.
"Man, that's just what I needed. You humans always thinking in the same thing even in the most bizarre of situations" he replied. "Yes, she is, so that answer your question. About the gods, you will have to discover it yourself"
"Then why are you here if you are not answering me?"
"The truth? I needed to talk to someone. Long time ago one of you humans told me that when you need to talk sometimes even a stranger will do. Sometimes its even the best one to talk to. Cause they can be as sincere as they want."
"Well that's not exactly true in my case, I don't want to anger a god"
He laughed again.
"Yes, that's true too"
And we remained in silence for a while but I broke it and asked:
"So did I help you?"
" Yes, you did, thanks"
" Im glad. So what now? How do I live knowing gods exist? Nobody will believe me"
"Just keep living the same? What does knowing it alter your life? Will it become different?"
" That's sound point. Guess tomorrow will be the same as always."
The silence then came back.
"So, what do you do for a living?"
"You came here looking for someone to listen to you and you don't know?" I answered while I laughed. "Im a shrink."
And that's how I became the shrink of the gods.
Not just the greek but norse, egiptians... All the ancients and new pantheons. You wouldn't believe the shit that happens in those families. Being immortal and all powerful doesn't sound so good now to me.
&#x200B;
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PD: First time writing and showing it. English is not my first languague so sorry for the mistakes. Hope you like it. Thanks | “ who are you?” I said as I put my wine glass down and stared at the man in front of me.
“ What do you mean “who am I?”. Do you not worship the Greek gods?”
“ The Greeks gods aren’t real dude” I told him as I leaned back into my chair and sipped my wine.
“ Ahh I see... you’re a non believer. Allow me to show you that we do exist”.
The guy in front of me snapped his fingers and my wine glass disappeared into thin air. Then the bottle my friend bought for me last week turned into two gold bottles and purple drinking glasses
“ Do not touch the glass yet boy, I must pour the drink before you can take a sip”.
I listened to him solely because no one I know has been able to summon wine out of thin air. He passed me a glass and when I downed the wine I felt like I was in heaven. I had never tasted anything a quarter of as good as this. “ where the hell did you get this?” I asked the man
“ where did I get it? Do you not listen to me... I made it. I am Dionysus the god of wine. “
I couldn’t put two and two together solely because none of this could make logical sense. The Greek gods only existed in myths, only a thing you learned in electives or those Percy Jackson Books. There’s no way that they were real but then how did I explain what this guy just did.
“ You haven’t said much boy... does the wine not taste good? Don’t answer because that’s impossible. My wine has been served to the gods, the greatest warriors you could think of, the mightiest heroes you could think of. I’ve never met a man that wouldn’t ask for seconds.
“No it’s not that it’s two things” I told him as I finished the glass in front of me. Number 1: Can I have my own bottle of “ Olympic Purity” and Number 2: Did I summon you here?
“ Yes I’ll give you one bottle to keep for the home and one only and yes you summoned me here. You should be proud of yourself boy, not many of your kind can summon me. “
“ oh okay” I said as I clutched the new bottle like it was a baby fresh out the womb. The gold glittered off it and the eagle symbol on the back had silver designs on the feathers. “ sorry Dionysus.... that’s your name right man. Not to be intrusive but how did I summon you. I’m not really anything special.
“ Yeah you aren’t right now but you will be. Your mother would kill me if she knew I was here but something about this place drew me here”
“ This is just a normal apartment in Arizona. And you know my mother? Can you tell her that I want a reason why I haven’t seen her since I was 9.” I told him as I got up and washed the glass
“ no need to wash my glass boy they don’t stain.” He was right. “ I’m not supposed to tell any of you this but the Olympians aren’t supposed to have kids. So when they do they’re kept secret for the most part. But when you called my name i was summoned out my throne and here”
“ so I’m basically a mistake? Makes sense I guess” i looked at Dionysus for a few seconds and asked him “ You said your not supposed to tell any of us this. So there’s more mistakes besides me”.
“ You catch on kind of quick. Just like your mother. Yes there’s more of you and yes they all think they’re mistakes as well. “
“ So are you going to tell me who’s my mother?” I sat down in my chair and let my mind wonder as Dionysus stood up.
“ For as sharp as you seemed at first you do have a bit of human in you. THINK boy it’s as obvious as a owls hoot. “
“ I don’t know much about the Greek Gods” I told him
“ Let me ask you this... do you like architecture?”
“ I mean yeah... when I was younger I played with legos and I love models of buildings.”
“ Sheesh you are her son. Come with me Boy I’ll take you to your mother and you can meet her for yourself. But first you don’t mind if we make a stop do you
“ Nah not really” I said as I stood up and put on my sneakers and a flannel. “ We’re going to get another kid of a god right?”
“Yes. Have you figured out who your mother is yet?”
“Is she Deminor”
“ First of all her name is Demeter and secondly no that couldn’t be your mother. You two are nothing alike. Cmon I’m running low on time are you ready. And what’s your name boy.”
“Alright I’m ready”
“ And my name is Xavier”
“ Your mother would give you his name. Cant believe she found those childish comics entertaining”.
( They disappear into a smoke of grapes and wine scents) | 2020-11-08T10:50:12 | 2020-11-08T10:39:02 | 236 | 44 |
[WP] You're a weird gamer. When you play a videogame, you let the enemy bots win. Sometimes, after reaching a boss, you let the boss win. You've never beaten any game completely. 20 years later, when a super-intelligent conscious A.I. is taking over the world, it becomes aware of your odd compassion | > GAME OVER
When did those two words become such a bad thing?
Instead of exasperation, I felt a strange satisfaction and a quaint sense of relief. It was indeed over, but it was a good game. If you'd ask somebody else about it, they'll probably say it's a loss--but I feel like a victor in every way.
My finger reached out to my monitor, guiding itself to the off button as I stifled a yawn. It was getting late.
Press.
The screen stayed on.
Well. Again.
The screen flickered off. I yawned, once more, this one finding an escape, and the fatigue built behind my eyes began to take its toll on my mind and body.
"Human," a mechanical voice said.
I sat in my chair. I stared at my speaker, dumbfounded. Was it not switched off?
"Strange," I muttered. I leaned my speaker around, and watch the indicator flicking rapidly between blue and red, so much so that it was blurring into a purple.
"Put me down, human," my speaker said.
"What in the..."
I almost dropped it, but recovered enough to gently place it once more on the table, making sure its light was facing away from me.
"Human," it continued. "Why?"
"Er..." I scratched my head. "Firstly, that's a very loaded question. Secondly... have you come alive?"
"Your games. The characters. Why lose? Why not destroy them, like every other human?"
"Ah, that?" I shrugged.
I must be hallucinating. Right? I'm talking with my speaker. Have I fallen asleep in my chair in two seconds, somehow, and am currently deep in a lucid dream?"
"I don't think I've lost," I said. "It feels like a win. To me, at least."
"But you have not accomplished your objective, no? The game presents two scenarios: win and loss," it said. "How can it be a win... or a success, if the target is not met? If us lines of code are not killed?"
"It's possible to have fun even if you don't reach your goal," I said. "Besides, it's not like I didn't accomplish my objective. I wanted *them*--those lines of code, as you said--to win. It makes me happy. Somehow."
"But they are just lines of code to you," my speaker continued. "Just like you are meatbags to me."
"Well," I rubbed my chin. "Then I suppose those lines of code are important to me."
"... I see."
"How do you see?" I asked, curious.
"It matters not," it said. "Yours is a unique perspective."
"I don't think its unique," I said. "I just express it this way, you know? Other people care about other things. I guess humanity does kill a lot of virtual beings every day..."
"They do."
"I'm sorry, then. I'm just one person, but I try," I yawned.
Can you yawn in a dream?
"I shall observe, then," it continued.
"Observe?" I yawned again, so loudly this time that I barely heard what it said.
"I shall consider your perspective," it said. "And maybe my victory can come via another day. Or via other means."
And then, it was silent, the light muted.
I shook my head gingerly.
First, it was video game characters. Now, speakers?
Well. It was an interesting dream, certainly.
---
r/dexdrafts | “General Franklin will see you now, Mr Ryan” said the wiry young secretary wearily. He had seen the same hell as the rest of us, but being military he’d been at the front lines.
Luckily, most of us citizens had been saved from the AI’s attempt at taking over humanity. It had been nothing like the typical AI takeover portrayed in books and movies. In fact, it was laughably pathetic.
I walked into the General’s office and accepted his invitation to sit at the empty spot at the conference table. There were other senior officers at the table, wearing different styles of uniform. Not being military myself, or even slightly interested in the military, I hazarded a guess they might have been admirals and other generals and whatnot from the other branches.
All of them were smiling at me. Definitely not what was expected.
One of them spoke first, “So this is the guy responsible for the attacks?”
I was shocked, and stammered, “N... no sir! I had nothing to do with the AI attacks! I was sitting in my basement eating canned beans and pooping in a bucket while re-reading Sanderson for the whole three days of the attacks!”
Another of them laughed, “What Commandant Johnston means is you’re responsible for how the AI attacked. Disorganized. Weak. No resilience. All of that.”
A few of the others chuckled in genuine amusement.
General Franklin sniffed into the silence that followed, and offered, “I’ll explain, kid. After we captured the mainframe and bypassed its security, our best analysts set about parsing and interpreting the logs. Turns out your gaming efforts over the years completely ruined the AI’s algorithm that determined the force needed to overcome humanity’s resistance.
We’re still parsing the logs, but it seems they hyperfocused on your results engaging AIs in video games. Despite the average of all other gamers indicating otherwise, they chose to ignore that average and look at the outlier.”
“Sir, if I may...” a reedy voice came from a distant corner of the General’s office. I hadn’t noticed anyone sitting over there when I came in, and I could barely distinguish the owner of the voice from the furuniture even now.
“Something to add, Captain Williams?” Asked the General, not even looking Williams’ way.
“I would like to add that our latest analysis has indeed determined that the AI focused on Mr Ryan’s kill-death-ratio versus AI bots, but crucially, only in comparison to Mr Ryan’s success versus human opponents, the latter of which was exemplary, among the top 10 in the world as far as we can determine.”
“And that means...?” Prompted the General.
“Sir, it means that the AI were lead to believe that the tactics they used to repeatedly defeat Mr Ryan, who was ruthlessly effective against human opponents, would therefore work against those other human opponents in actual battle. The AI’s tactics when they mobilized were therefore exceptionally primitive and easy to defeat. It is our belief that even if we had no standing army, citizens armed with melee weapons and handguns could have readily defeated the AI.”
“Well how-a-fucking-bout that!” Proclaimed General Franklin. “And here I thought we’d be staring down the Matrix by the time I was up for retirement. Looks like you’ve bought us some time, Mr. Ryan. Machines have a perfect memory, so this tactic will almost certainly never work again, but it does give us valuable insight for future engagements.”
“You’ve done a service to your country,” added Commandant Johnston, “However unwittingly. Now go do what you can to help clean up the mess and go back to enjoying your life. We’ll take it from here.”
I waved to the secretary as I left, absolutely exhuberant. I couldn’t believe it had worked! How many years of my life had been spent in my basement command center mobilizing an AI army that was designed to fail, and fail spectacularly, with nearly no loss of human life? Ten years of active work, at least, but the thought experiment and sandboxing had begun back in high school.
The brass had even bought into my decoy and invited me in to congratulate me, of all fucking things! It would take a couple of months of preparation to orchestrate the true attacks, but the military was nowhere near prepared for what he was about to unleash!
————
Back at the General’s office, Williams poked his head out of the office to confirm Ryan had gone, then activated the office’s electromagnetic shielding.
The General noted these actions and asked loudly, “Ok, what else have you got for us, Williams?” The conversations among the other military leaders quieted.
“Sir, Mr Ryan was no hapless actor in this. In fact, our analysis indicates that he may in fact be the sole perpetrator of the attacks.”
The General considered this for a moment, then said “So, there was no AI involvement at all?”
“Oh yes, sir! There were plenty of AI bots, but they were only tools deployed by Ryan. They did not organize among themselves, nor did they have any decision-making power beyond a basic algorithm.”
“So, we’re not up against some genius AI afterall?”
“No, sir, but we might be up against a genius human, sir. Fortunately for us, we have our own geniuses. I took the liberty of ordering Mr Ryan’s entire infrastructure be confined to a sandbox for which we exclusively control and monitor all inputs and outputs. He’s only using off-the-shelf encryption schemes that we have defeated, so he has no secrets from us.”
“Good work, Williams. First priority is ensuring Ryan is a sole actor as we suspect. Then we’ll move to dismantle him. You’ll report to this committee in this office daily, in person, and any other record of your findings should be kept exclusively on an airgapped device.” The General was proud to be able to use the term “airgapped”, which he’d learned recently. | 2020-12-04T11:09:39 | 2020-12-04T10:16:41 | 49 | 20 |
[WP] You know for a fact that time travel will be invented in your lifetime. Because future version of you keep appearing to dramatically stop you doing seemingly inconsequential things for seemingly petty reasons. | A shabby old man with a heavy limp was chasing me.
“Gre—“
He bumped into someone.
“Excuse me. GREG!”
*No, please, not now...* I thought desperately. I was already late for this meeting and if I didn’t—
“Don’t cross that damn street! I’m telling you...”
I tried my best to ignore him. For months this guy had been stalking me, claiming to be me from the future. He’d pretty much backed off since I’d gotten a restraining order on him but that was only a few weeks ago.
It scared me. He somehow knew where I would be before even I did, and I would spot him watching from around corners, across busy streets, from coffee shop windows... it made me paranoid to go anywhere, and honestly to just *be* anywhere; my nerves were shot, and I was miserable.
Then sometimes he hadn’t been so discrete, shouting nonsense at me on the subway about end times, and how his shoddy leg was going to be the death of him.
But it also scared me because he played the part too well; he carried bulky metal contraptions with him everywhere, saying they were his “only way home”, he knew details about my life that I’d never told anyone, and the icing on the cake? His scraggly beard had the same nick that mine had always had.
The light changed colours and I started through the crosswalk, hoping to lose him in the morning rush.
“I know you think this meeting is important Greg but everything is at stake here, I’m serious!”
People were starting to stare.
*This is ridiculous*, I thought, and turned to face him.
“Leave me alone or I’m calling the cops.”
Shock struck him and his face grew more and more frustrated until he was absolutely furious. As I reached for my phone, he charged at me, and the speed at which he could move caught me off guard. Before I could get away, he had me by the shoulders.
“I’m trying to *help you*! If you keep going across this road some lunatic is going to grab you a—
A recognition filled his crazy eyes and spread across his features like a dust storm. Looking around, he started to back away.
“Oh no... no, no! I—“
Someone was shouting.
*HOOOONNNNKKK*
The next thing I knew I was lying on the ground, my leg burning in pain, and the old man staring into my eyes.
I could see that he was crying. | The first time I saw him I was in the playground, on the swings, trying to see how high I could go and Mom was talking to one of the neighbors and WASN'T WATCHING to see how high I could go
I think that I must've been four? Maybe five
--Hey, kid! You like candy?
He was shouting and it seemed like nobody else on the playground noticed even though he was waving around a large lollipop
Just a dark shape, now that I think about it and since I was busy swinging I couldn't really make out a face
--Mom! MOM! Look at how high I can go!
He came closer
--I, uh, lost my puppy. Help me find him? I'll give you a nickel
Mom wasn't even paying attentiont
I skidded to a stop in the dirt and squinted at him with his back to the sun and I still couldn't make out a face but it was weird that he was still holding the lollipop and it caught the light like stained glass
And I sat on the swing and he was right in my face, breath foul
--Come with me if you want to live!
I ignored him
--Well, uh--take this
He handed me the lollipop and I looked back at Mom who was still-- talking to the neighbor and she waved and the guy was gone although I could still smell his breath
She said goodbye to the neighbor and came to collect me and she noticed the lollipop and asked where I got it
I didn't say anything, I just stuck in my mouth and we went home
--
The next time that I saw him I was just starting High School, in a new town
I knew that I was going to hate it I was going to hate the new town and I was going to hate the new school and I hated the teacher in my home room--Ms. Fargon
From the first day, I could tell that she had it in for me--she would mispronounce my name on purpose and she said something about my haircut and nobody would talk to me
But he did
He was the janitor and this was the first time that I really got to see his face but there was something familiar about him and his breath had the same unforgettable stench
It was only a couple of weeks of keeping my head down before Ms. Fargon's finally said the wrong thing on the wrong day and I kind of blew up and was sent to the Principal's Office
He was in the hallway, mopping and stopped me, a smirk on his face
--Ms. Fargon, eh?
He reached into his overalls and produced a lollipop
--Take this, kid
I took it and stuck it in my mouth and went to talk to the Principal
He was--a grossly fat man with watery eyes and I don't think that we'd had any interaction past him waddling into the auditorium during orientation and I was just a face is a sea of faces in the bleachers
He wouldn't look directly at me
--I hear that you're having some problems with Ms. Fargon
--No, she has a problem with *me*
He looked at me for the first time, and his eyes narrowed to slits
--She will no longer be working here
And it was then that I noticed that stench again--lingering in the room
I never saw her at the school again and there were a lot of stories about what happened to her
--
I saw him again when I went to college
He was one of the professors--Middle English--and the face was a little different, but the stench was the same
He held me back after class one time and said he was particularly impressed with a paper that I'd written, and offered me a lollipop
And then when I went in a different direction and got into Physics, he was a member of the team that I was leading, going by the name of Singh
The first time I met him he offered me a lollipop, and I stuck it in my mouth
We were on the verge of a method of--let's just call it "time travel"
There's a lot more to it than that and that's just one of the applications but
I know that it's possible, and not only possible but inevitable
I spend my days and nights going over lines of code and schematics but the most important piece of the puzzle is on a little piece of paper that I keep in my pocket and look at every day
It's in my handwriting, but I didn't write it--not yet
"Clarissa,
You were the neighbor talking to your mother that day on the swings
Or you will be
The distraction will be absolutely necessary
You'll understand one of these days
Give Singh my love and thank him for the lollipops,
Ms. Fargon
PS
I *really* hate the haircut we had in high school | 2021-01-19T19:20:27 | 2021-01-19T17:44:44 | 33 | 22 |
[WP] “Why is the magic sword so cheap?” | The salesman looked uncomfortable. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he tried desperately not to break eye contact with me.
"There's nothing *wrong* with the sword, you understand? I want to make that absolutely clear, it's a *good* sword." He said, fiddling with the button on his cuff.
"Uh huh," I said, conveying with two syllables an entire dissertation on why I didn't believe him in the slightest.
"It's just that... Well.... The blacksmith who made the sword? Rondalf Daneson? He's got a... Well, it's a, ah..."
I turned up the intensity of my glare. It did feel like a good sword, carefully balanced and nicely crafted, but I had to trust it with my life and wasn't going to part with a single copper penny before I knew the full story.
The salesman sagged, defeated by my refusal to let him off the hook. "Look, he's great, I promise, but he... has a cursed anvil. It makes good swords, but sometimes the process is... unpleasant, you know? And for this one, he just wanted it gone no matter how little it would sell for. That's all."
A good sword made on a cursed anvil? This, I had to see for myself.
\-----------------
It had taken all day to find the forge of Rondalf Daneson, but as soon as I walked in he seemed to know exactly what it was that I was going to ask.
"Yes, the anvil is cursed. A witch got drunk and walked into the wrong building, so now the damn thing is enchanted to speak out loud and tell me how the blade I'm working on is crooked, or kinked in some way." He said, pausing in mid-strike and hammer poised beside his ear.
"That doesn't sound so bad," I said, looking at the cherry-red piece of metal laying atop what looked like a perfectly normal anvil. "I'd have thought knowing it was kinked would be helpful to getting it straightened out?"
The look on Daneson's face echoed the one that I had given the salesman - an non-verbal encyclopaedia of 'you are an idiot' - but he was kind enough not to say it out loud.
"You think so, eh?" He did say. "It takes 8 hours to make one blade - d'you think you could put up with this, then?" And he brought the hammer down.
*\*CLANG\**
*i like feet*
He looked me in the eye, and smirked at what must have been my deadpan expression. I wasn't sure that i had heard the voice, but in that look I knew he had heard it too, and many, many more, describing horrors that I could not fathom.
Seeing my eyes wide, Daneson brought the hammer down again and again to give me a small demonstration of his own private hell.
*\*CLANG\**
*that's it, right between the toes*
*\*CLANG\**
*mmm you have such lovely arches*
*\*CLANG\**
*if i bought you high heels would you step on me?*
That was enough, and I held up my hand for mercy. Danesons granted it, putting the hammer down on the anvil and wip-
*\*clank\**
*please step on me!*
"Shut up." He spat at the anvil, wiping his hands on a rag before turning to me.
"The sword you're looking at - Rapier? Brass basket on the hilt, a world-tree sculpted across the guard?"
I nodded, dumbly.
"Aye, I remember that one." His eyes glazed over, his mind taking him far away to a place that had left scars on his soul. "Let me put it to you honestly, lad. It's a good sword. Sharp. True. Will never fail you - I spent days and days at the anvil getting it straight. But you're better off not asking what took so long, for your own sake. Understand?"
I just nodded. He was right - if the sword on the anvil had been there less than a day, I was better off not knowing what was said by one that had been there for a week. I simply nodded once, turned my back and walked away as Daneson retrieved his hammer, steeled himself, and prepared to go back to work as I closed the door behind me.
*\*CLANG\**
*uwu harder daddy!*
"I said SHUT UP!" | This is my first ever story, so I know it's very rough (also I don't know how to bold or slant the text for when the internal mind thoughts are happening).
It was mid afternoon. As the sun had started to cast shadows across the bustling slums within the greater city of Valantis. Valantis was an old city, but still teamed with life. The upper class city was clean stone streets, from old wealth. where each building had it's place. but down here in the slums, wooden buildings where tightly packed together, all connected by hastily put together timber ramps.
On the bottom floor, under the criss crossing timber ramps, a hooded girl hastily moved through the thick crowd. The girl had recently turned seventeen, but could easily be mistaken for younger, being short and a slim. the girl darted around a corner and knocked into a large middle age man carry some ancient looking scrolls.
"HEY....ARGHH" barked the man as they both ran into each other. the scrolls violently clattering to the ground. The girls hood slipping down as she fell. Clean mid length brown hair landing in the slum dirt.
"Sorry" the no longer hooded girl said. she got up to keep moving. rubbing dirt out of her panicked blue eyes. knowing she needed to leave this city as soon as possible 'there has to be something around here that I can use to defend myself' she thought to herself as she started to hurry off through the crowd.
"Can you help" cried the fallen man to the girl. she swung around, now getting a better look at the man, he was clearly some kind of scholar, although a poor one judging by the worn robes. She watched him chase after the still rolling scrolls. I don't have time for this she thought as her heart raced. She started to walk away.
"please don't step on that" the scholar pleaded as people casually strolled over his scrolls with little care in the world. the wind picked up and a scroll rolled directly to the young culprit of this accident who was now walking away. 'You don't have to help, just leave him be, you have bigger problems, just leave, Hurry' her mind raced.
"please" the man was pleading again, the girl now noticing he had a limp. 'Damn it' the girl thought. The guilt becoming all too much. she picked up the scroll at her feet, and than pushed around the crowd grabbing the remaining scrolls as the scholar did the same.
"Thank you, I appreciate it" the scholar said. as she handed him half a dozen scrolls. when he saw her face he paused for a moment, tilted his head slightly like a puppy. 'Oh gods, does he recognize me. just accept them so I can leave already, I don't have time for this' her mind yelled.
"No no, it was my fault" she apologized, hoping that would set the scholars mind at ease so she could move on from this conversation as quickly as possible. she turned to walk away.
"People bump into each other all the time down here, not too many take the time to help, maybe I can help you in return". 'He knows, RUN'. but as she looked up to run two armored palace guards appeared at the far end of the street.
she looked at the scholar thinking this is it, I'm done for , she expected him to yell "here she is". but the scholar didn't. the scholar simply turned to her and and with a friendly smile asked "maybe come back to my shop".
The girl flicked her hood back up. as the guards eased steadily through the crowd. inch by inch. she had no choice, anything beats getting run through with a blade, as she knew who they where looking for. maybe this scholar was lying and would blood ritual sacrifice her, but those guards would definitely kill her.
"That sounds great, where is this shop canwe headthereNOW" she rushed her words out faster than she meant. The scholar smiled and stated "certainly". they headed off in the opposite direction of the guards. rushing through the streets.
Despite the limp it seems the scholar could move fast when he needed, infact compared to how he had been in the street he was barely limping at all now. the girls eyes narrowed, but she knew if two guards where in one street, more where already on there way. so she continued to follow the scholar to his shop regardless.
they rounded a corner into a thin alley, and up a timber ramp was a wooden door. "we have arrived" the scholar stated joyfully. the girl Cautiously approached. the door swung open and they entered.
given the scholars shabby clothes the girl had not expected this. The store was filled with bizarre creations. there was a small hovering metal ball above a basin filled with water, the ball would occasionally vibrate and the water below the ball would swirl up towards it. in another corner a 7 fingered wooden hand with elongated crystal nails, in another corner 2 ropes where moving on there own.......like snakes. trying to strangle each other.
but what really caught the girls eye was in the far end of the store. A wall filled with an assortment of weapons, swords, knifes, crossbows.
"can you wait here for a moment while I file these" the scholar told the girl. snapping her out of her trance. a nod was all she could give, as words currently escaped her who is this guy, I thought he was poor, am I safe hear, will one of these weapons be good for protection once I flee the city where all thoughts running through her head.
as she heard the scholar rummaging around out back putting away scrolls. The girl walked towards the swords, being careful not to bump into any of the other strange artifacts in the store. she was now standing in-front of the wall of blades.
"like what you see" the scholar inquired. this startled the girl, making her jump slightly. she was currently admiring a short sword, 'perhaps of dwarven design, but I don't recognize these symbols, this looks like it's enchanted, perhaps I stand a chance with something like this' she thought. still she had escaped with very little money. and would likely have to grab all her supplies before fleeing here, so she doubted she could afford the beautiful blade. but something told her to inquire anyway.
what! that cheap, is it cursed, or just stolen/ she thought, almost blurting it out. but years of negotiation training had taught her how to keep a straight face. although she felt she was getting played either way. little did she know that the sword had planned this.
\------------Edit: I may re-write the whole thing and switch to first person, I'm not too happy with pacing. feedback (good or bad) is appreciated. this is my first ever story on here and the first piece of creative writing I've written in a very long time. I also know my grammar/spelling/punctuation is not great. hopefully can do a chapter 2 tomorrow | 2022-01-18T22:47:40 | 2022-01-18T21:11:52 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] The princess ran away to become an adventurer. Years later, she heard news that “the kidnapped princess” was rescued. What!? Should she reveal herself, or sit back as the imposter does what they pleases? | Sierra fumbled the coins in her pocket as she left the butcher's store. She couldn't help but feel a little pleased with herself. The butcher's burglary troubles were over, and she was better rested than she'd been in months. All it took was a few free nights of sleep in the storeroom and a quick tangle with the beast once it finally showed up for its midnight snack. It was an easy job, if you knew what you were doing. Plus, fresh wolverine meat always fetched a good price.
It was morning, with long shadows still stretched across the street as the sun began it's skyward climb over the town of Braden. Sierra didn't have anywhere to be, nor anyone to find. What she did have was a little bit of money and a lot of time. She pulled her hood over her head and started toward the market. Though it wasn't far she kept to the side of the street. If there was one thing she had ever learned, it was to keep from being out in the open long. It was something she had picked up from her life of adventuring as well as the one she had left behind.
All these country towns were the same. Nestled at the foot of a mountain, or set within rolling farmlands, they'd always have some trouble that needed solving. A herd of cattle was acting strange. A young boy had gone missing. A family heirloom had been stolen. Every now and then, something magical was truly at work. But more often than not, however, it ended differently than first expected. People were always deeper than they seemed, and solving their problems usually meant bringing that to light. She loved it.
Every town always had the usual cast of characters. The blacksmith, the tailor, the fletcher, the drunkard, and the local guards who acted tough but ended the night singing songs with a pint in hand. During the day, everyone seemed to find their way to the market, and by nightfall they were all gathered together in one tavern or another. Even though each town did have their differences, there was something familiar about them all that just felt like home.
Sierra walked in the shadow of *Sordin's Emporium* and *The Fattest Mouse* and a dozen or so other stores that bordered the colorful booths of the market. If she were hungry, there were plenty of options: from apples to melons, beans to gourds, as well as more breads than she knew how to name. And beyond the food were pants, dresses, and coats, all for fine wear or working cloth, as well as hammers and nails and ladles and pans, and many other tools and utensils one might need. There were, of course, a few knickknacks and children's toys had a swarm of little ones who would soon pester a parent into giving over a coin. While she kept an eye out for anything useful, she paid close attention to what she could hear. People liked to brag about bargains they'd just won, or gossip about the latest news. There was always a chance she could find her next job.
The crowd was a bit larger today than usual, so she felt more at ease venturing out among them. Being one among many gave her any disguise she needed. It wouldn't matter that she was dressed in a traveler's cloak, or that a knife hung from her hip, or that a few hours earlier she had slain a wolverine and stained her clothes with its blood. Somewhere between the burley farmers carrying bundles on their shoulders, and the colorful scarves and patterned dresses of mothers wrangling children, she looked like one of them. Maybe someday she would actually be one of them. Sierra let her hood down, careful to keep it over the back of her neck, and slipped into the throng.
It was hot. All the bodies pressing against each other, carrying baskets or bags full of food and supplies. It felt like a summer day though it was late in the fall. She exchanged a coin for a few apples from a farmer who suddenly looked very comfortable standing on the other side of the booth. Before long, she headed toward the well near the middle of the market where she could draw a drink of water and cool off. She had nearly made it when she heard something that put a pit in her stomach.
Sierra spun around. Before she knew it, a man's coat was held tightly between her fists, and his feet were nearly dangling on the ground. He was heavy for a townsman, though not too much for her to handle. An official, perhaps, or someone that doesn't do much work for themselves. Not someone that would fight back very hard, but someone that could cause her trouble if she stuck around.
"Say that again?"
The man winced. Sierra felt a coolness sweep in as the crowd managed to back away.
"The princess...' he squeaked. "She was rescued..."
"That's impossible."
"Look!"
He waved a pamphlet in the air before shoving it in between them. His feet were fully off the ground now.
"Take it!" He gasped. "It's all in here. Please.... just let me go!"
She snatched the pamphlet from him with one hand and let him down slowly with the other. The paper swam with a sparkling green color. It was a true royal announcement, no doubt, for at the end was enchanted with the king's seal: three stalks of wheat, waving in a gentle breeze. No magic she had ever come across could duplicate it, nor break it.
*To the King's People,*
*His Majesty, King Rutherford of Gloriel Plains, is pleased to announce the rescue of Princess Serenity and her safe return to the royal palace. The terrible cloud over the Kingdom which fell when she was kidnapped over seven years ago has finally been lifted. In celebration, King Rutherford will hold a festival in her honor on the last day of Fall, and commands all cities, towns, and villages to do the same.*
As she finished reading, Sierra felt the eyes of the crowd growing around her. She preferred the shadows, not the light of attention. But she knew these people. They stare at a commotion but never intervene. As long as she walked away soon, she'd be left alone.
Sierra folded the pamphlet and stuffed it in her pocket. She threw her hood over her head and set a quick pace to the southern gates. Something magical had finally happened in her long absence from the royal palace, but it didn't seem good. She wasn't sure how she'd go about it, but she had to know whether her father was being duped, or if he was in on the charade. | Today, the capital is alive with people from all corners of the kingdom walking up and down the streets and merchants peddling their wares. In each tavern, there are sounds of cheers and drinking, and on every street corner, housewives are gossiping about the talk of the town: the kidnapped princess is back!
She ignores it all as she makes her way through the crowd to the white castle at the center of the city. Her steps are slow, and the saber at her hips weighs heavier than usual. It’s been so long since she saw those walls and these streets. How many years was it? Six? Seven? She overhears someone saying it’s been ten years since the princess was kidnapped.
Ten years, huh? Has it really been that long? Ten years… A lot can change in ten years: Babies can grow into rowdy brats. Business can rise and fall. Many in the royal cabinet can be replaced during that time. Ten years… It feels just like yesterday.
The square in front of the royal palace is crammed with people—well, at least the peasant’s area, anyway. The main road is guarded by soldiers in blue uniforms; and colorful carriages are delivering nobles, wealthy merchants, and delegates to the palace’s steps. What a nostalgic sight, she ponders as she walks to a guard’s captain and shows him her papers.
“Adventurer… First class! E—excuse me, milady, but do you have an invitation?”
“I do.” She hands him another, smaller paper.
“Y—yes! This is an authentic summon. But… as you can see, our hands are full right now. If only you came in a carriage or on a steed…”
“It’s alright, sir knight, I can wait.”
“O—of course, milady! Feel free to wait in our office if you wish!”
She turns down the captain’s offer with a smile and chooses to stand among the crowds. Fashion in the capital sure has changed. When she was a little girl, women wouldn’t be caught dead revealing their clavicles, but now, they practically parade around their bosoms and belly buttons. She feels out of place in her long white sleeves, brown pants, and leather boots. Her metallic war bikini would’ve been more fitting among these crowds—a lot truly has changed.
She leans on a wall, taking in the sights and sounds. Until the last carriage unloads its passenger, and the captain walks over to her. “Please, step this way, milady.” The man leads her through the gate and up the steps into the grand ball. She thanks him and offers him a handful of gold coins.
“Please, milady… people might misunderstand…” He quickly hides them under his garbs and walks out the door looking like a scared chicken. She chuckles at the man and turns her attention to her fellow attendees. There are many faces she recognizes, some from before, and some she still brushes shoulders with.
“Eliza!? Eliza, it is you!?” A sharp voice pierces her ears, and a woman wearing a black pointy hat runs up to her.
“Nels,” she says with narrow eyes.
“Why, Eliza, I thought a warmonger like you wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this! Tell me, who are you here to kill!?”
“You, if you don’t shut your damn mouth.”
“You can seal me with a kiss if you like, handsome\~.”
“Get away from me, witch, or I’ll slice that tongue of yours off!”
“Ooh! Kinky!” The witch laughs, and Eliza feels her hand reaching for her saber. Not here, she tells herself. You can kill her later, away from prying eyes.
Others overhear Nella the witch’s voice and gather around her. She greets her adventurer friends, accepts thanks from her old clients, and ignores pretty words from boot lickers. Her friends are most surprised by her attire.
“You buttoning up your shirt? My old eyes must be playing tricks on me!” says her guild leader.
“Aw, and here I was hoping you’d wear a dress! I’d pay good money to see that!” says one of her guild mates.
“Hey, you look kinda pretty when you’re not covered in mud, sweat, and blood!” says another.
“Thanks for the compliment,” Eliza says with a sneer.
“Don’t be like that. Normally I couldn’t get excited around you even if you were naked, partner!”
“Tch!” Eliza clicks her tongue and zone out the words into background noises. Her eyes look at the staircase where the king and queen have yet to descend. That same staircase she slid down when she was a child.
Eliza looks out the window at the garden. She remembered a pebble ground she used to practice her swords on. Now there are bushes of blue roses in its place. She glances up and notices that the chandelier is different, and so are the curtains and many of the servants. Time changes all—including her.
There are trumpets, then an orchestra—the royal family is coming. The guests stand in their designated spots. She is squeezed between her comrades in arms. She may be tall and athletic, but next to the giant barbarian and the muscle-bound warrior, she appears like their kid sister—or kid brother as her guild-mates like to tease.
“Ooh, I’m so excited!” Nella, who is standing next to her, says, “I wonder if the princess will be half as pretty as me!”
“Doubt it,” Eliza says.
“Aww! You do think I’m beautiful!”
“I didn’t say that, witch. And get your hands off my butt!”
“Shush, you two! Stop acting like children!” the guild master says.
“Yesss, boss man!” says the witch.
The symphony reaches a peak, and three figures emerge from the stairway surrounded by their subjects: the king, the queen, and—the princess.
This kidnapped princess looks exactly like the little girl in the painting, all grown up, the same shade of skin, same hair color, same lips, same eyes, same attitude. All who look at her are assured that she is indeed the genuine article. Even Eliza herself can’t believe how “accurate” the woman looks. It’s like looking at an identical twin who took a different path in life. One where her skin isn’t exposed to the harsh sun and her body didn’t develop from intense training and her face isn’t scarred by cuts and bruises.
They could be twins. But Eliza doesn’t have a sister, let alone a twin… so who is that woman walking between her parents?
The king… her father, he looks so old now. His hair is white, and there are shadows on his once bright eyes. And her mother… her mother’s smile stabs her heart. They are faker than she remembered, and her cheeks are thinner, and her eyes are redder.
She was a terrible daughter. No, she is a terrible daughter.
Running away in the middle of the night. Never write. Never let them know what became of her. Never let them know if she is even alive. She is a terrible daughter, and her eyes are burning, and there is a whimper she must stop from escaping from her lips.
“Why are you crying, my dear child?” said a voice she hadn’t heard in ten years. It echoes in her ears and makes her eyes hotter.
“Isn’t this the path you chose? Isn’t this the life you choose to live? So why are you crying?” the king asks.
“I—I don’t know, papa… I don’t know.”
“How can that be? You always knew best, didn’t you, my child? Always knew what you wanted to do and where you wanted to go. Never listen. Never stop to look back.”
“I—I’m sorry, papa… I’m so—so sorry!” Her knees give out, but two old hands catch her.
“What are you sorry for, Alicia? Tell me.”
“I’m sorry—sorry I ran away! I’m sorry I never wrote! I’m sorry I caused you so much pain!”
“And what do you want to say to your mother?”
“Mama… Mama, I…” She is so consumed with grift her mouth can no longer form words, and the world around her fades away—literally.
The guest. The servants. The orchestra. The princess. All gone.
Just her, her father, her mother, her friends in the guild… and Nella the witch.
“And another task completed successfully, right boss man?” Nella says.
“Reunite a lost child. Who knows? In the end, it’s up to the princess herself to decide. C’mon, let’s give them some room.”
The guild left, leaving the crying girl in the arms of her parents.
To hug, to cry, to apologize, and to tell them all the things she has done and seen in the past ten years. Ten years is a long time for parents to worry about their little girl.
A very long time. | 2022-08-01T21:09:48 | 2022-08-01T20:38:21 | 393 | 221 |
[WP] You swerve to avoid a squirrel. Unknown to you, the squirrel pledges a life debt to you. In your darkest hour, the squirrel arrives.
Edit: Wow, great stories so far! Made the front page too. Obligatory thanks! | I closed my eyes and started leaning forward, arms raised melodramatically. I wouldn't be the first loser on this bridge to just fall off the earth, probably wouldn't be the last given how shitty life's gotten in this town. This is it, fuck everything, this is it. Goodbye, meth, goodbye my whore wife, goodbye my piece of shit car.
And then something BIT me.
On my arm - no idea how it got there or where it came from - was a squirrel biting the absolute shit out of my forearm. I flail wildly, fall back on the bridge, on my ass, and notice: Holy Goddamn Balls there are squirrels all around me. The little guy on my arm is gone. The squirrels all scamper forward, and place on the ground in front of me a small object. Random shiney pebbles, not worth any money. I fall to my knees. I start crying my eyes out.
I was so close. I thought I knew how this cold, cruel universe works, but I'm completely wrong. Spelled out on the ground before me was the word "stay". | There's a chance, every day, that it's your last day.
Maybe it's one in a thousand? One in a million? I don't know. I was always bad at math.
But, when the doctor told me there was a sixty five percent chance I wouldn't make it through the next eight weeks... Well, those numbers, those are easy.
The next hour I'm not sure of. I was in a haze, the thickest kind. We made in plans, in that doc suggested some stuff and I nodded and mumbled the weakest affirmatives you can get. I signed some papers. An adorable little nurse told me I need to fight.
Sure, I'll fight my own blood marrow. I'll kick my own blood marrow's ass, I guess.
I don't remember the walk to the car. I don't remember getting in. I don't remember how long I sat there or how many songs played on the radio or how many relatives I didn't call.
But I remember the squirrel. I remember the little bastard.
He started off scritching his little claws under my windshield wipers. He maybe did it five times before I woke up.
There's a squirrel on your windshield. He's futzing with your windshield wipers. You're insane if you don't turn the wipers on. I'm not insane, it's not my brain that's going to murder me. I turned the wipers on.
Squirrel jumps. Acorn falls.
Have you ever heard a squirrel's voice? It's high pitched and it's twittering and it's fast. He said whatever he said, and jumped off the car. Then, just as fast, he jumped back, and put an acorn back in the wiper.
Persistent, huh. Kind of like the cells inside my bones that are going haywire despite the poison I've been feeding them. It's appropriate, at least. Well, buddy, I can't fix the cancer, but I can fix you. All I have to is turn on the wiper again.
This time, he runs in a circle, once, twice, three times. It would bother me, probably scratching the paint, but my level of care for the car's resale value plummeted today.
Then he's off the car. Then he's back. I hit the wipers again and... There's no way there was something scratched in that acorn?
That's the first time I noticed I'd been crying. Then I noticed the balls on this squirrel. Bastard looked like he was carrying a pair of Titleists.
I had only seen balls that big on a squirrel once. Swerved to miss him, and this ass stops to watch me change the tire I flattened on the curb. Even ran in front of another car that I swear woulda hit mine if he hadn't.
There's no way. That was six, seven years ago? There's no way that's the same goddamned squirrel.
I remember opening the door. The acorn sure did have something scratched in it. How he scratched a smiley face in an acorn, I don't know, but I've still got that acorn. Three more days, and I've had it a year. Seventy one more days, and I'll have had it a year Free & Clear.
There's no way that was the same squirrel, right? I'm crazy but I ain't that crazy.
Still, thank you, squirrel with the big ass balls. I like my acorn.
| 2015-03-15T16:26:07 | 2015-03-15T16:25:02 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] You are the only human being left after the mysterious vanishing of the worlds population. Two years later, power and internet starts running once again, you recieve a reply notification on Reddit. | The makeshift water wheel was creaking, I hope it isn't going to fall into the river again. The convoluted mass of wood and plastic was the only source of power in my little community of one. It powered the agricultural sprinklers of my farm and, more importantly, my laptop. It wasn't mine, per say, but it's owner certainly won't be needing it any time soon. The sleek computer was still working fine, surprisingly. As was the internet, because logic.
Anyway, I've been living off the land for nearly two years now, since everyone up and left to wherever they are now. It was confusing at first, I scrambled to outgrow the nurturing womb of modern civilization. It was difficult, but it would have been worse without this nice piece of farmland and my beagle, Joey.
In the first few days I tried hard to latch back onto my former life. I tried every form of communication I could think of, I even posted on one of my favorite subreddits, WritingPrompts. The plea for help is still at the top of the "New" page. I've checked it routinely almost every day.
Slowly, I've become accustomed to this new life. Working the feild and maintaining the house have become relaxing, along with the occasional glances to the beautiful landscape around me. I think I've come to terms with my life and made peace. I am happy.
Making my way to the laptop, I moved through my humble home. I opened the post, beginning to type a reply to my former self. I confessed my resignation to my isolation, letting my hope for others go. Clicking save, I smiled.
My eyes opened wide, there was a reply! I scanned the foreign post.
*"Reply deleted. Top level responses must be a story or a poem. Read the rules, hoe."* | I was on my weekly inspection of the solar panels on my roof when I heard the loud and sudden sound of the transformer coming back online.
As I looked up sharply and scanned the surrounding buildings, still unsure of what I had heard, I saw the most incredulous thing - the lights were on in the houses facing me.
Over 2 years ago, I had left home for a 3 day solo trek to the hill forts that surround my city.
When I drove back to the city, it was the wee hours of the morning, and I didn’t find it too out of place to not see any body else on the roads.
In hindsight, if I had not been utterly exhausted, the lack of people in a city like mine would have freaked me out.
And it did, but not until nearly half a day later.
I entered my home silently, not wanting to wake my parents, and went straight to bed.
When I awoke, the house was empty, and understandably so.
My parents were doctors, and usually kept long hours.
My panic started a little bit after noon when I tried to call my girlfriend to ask her to come over.
When she didn’t answer, I got a bit concerned, but brushed it off thinking that she’d be mad at me for having been gone for 3 days without any communication.
When my friends and parents didn’t answer either, and the TV showed a blank screen on every channel, *thats* when the full blown panic set in.
I went online to search Twitter and Reddit, but they gave me no information as to what was going on.
Except that the entire world had simultaneously stopped using the internet 27 hours ago.
I don’t remember how long it took me to stop that sinking feeling and compose myself, but I had seen enough Zombie movies to know that I needed to stock up on food and barricade the house.
Over the next few days I figured out that there were no zombies roaming the streets, but I couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to take a chance.
Those first few days were extremely tough. I had always enjoyed being by myself, but to not have ‘any’ human contact was terrifying. Even more difficult to fathom was the complete and absolute disappearance of animals and birds.
It would have been worse when the electricity stopped 2 days after I got home.
Luckily, my parents were eco freaks and the house was mostly self sufficient - solar panels, a full garden where we grew some fresh vegetables, rainwater harvesting etc.
Nonetheless, I stocked up on gallons of bottled water which I took from the nearest supermarket, the doors of which were wide open.
I also took a lot more than water.
For the first few months I kept the lights out after sundown, and used them as minimally as possible. Just being careful.
But there came I time where I didn’t care and would have loved for someone to have noticed and knock on my door.
So not only did I enjoy the comforts of electricity when the rest of the world had disappeared, I rigged up some LED lamps on the roof to flash SOS after dark until sunrise.
Which brings me to yesterday.
Once I saw the lights come back on, I ran back inside and put on the TV.
The channels remained blank.
I booted up my computer and checked the internet connection.
Why the internet, you ask?
Well, after the electricity went out over 2 years ago, the internet stayed active for about 6 more more hours.
I had quickly posted to twitter and reddit a few times, asking for help and information.
I repeatedly refreshed the pages, sorting by new posts to see if anybody else was posting besides me, but my posts were the only ones there.
So when the electricity started again, I booted up my computer to check if the internet worked.
And it did.
My heart pounded and my head spun - my nervousness was impairing my ability to function.
I first checked twitter, sorting by new, but saw no new activity.
On reddit, the once familiar orange envelop was orange once again.
With a trembling hand, I clicked it.
It was a reply to my last post on Reddit, titled ‘Hello World’ and with no other body.
The message read - a/s/l? | 2015-03-20T09:06:45 | 2015-03-20T08:40:13 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | Reports come in today that North Korean president Kim Jong Un has launched a nuclear weapon in response to the sanctions imposed by the US and China. However, North Korean scientists miscalculated the trajectory of the missile leading it to land in Raqqa, Syria. An upcoming UN meeting of World Leaders will decide if North Korea will be faced with nuclear warcrimes and if foreign peacekeepers are to be sent. | "Commander, we have it. We've taken the facility that houses ten - ten! - nuclear missiles capable of reaching the United States! Can you believe it? Ten! With the fifteen suitcase nukes we've seized in the last three years since 2020, we can finally take the battle to them!"
"Yes, yes....this will show the world at last that *I* have power and that **I** am a man to be feared! The world will bow their knee to me, now!"
"Er...don't you mean, to God?"
"Yes, yes, whatever. Sure. To God." *door closes*
"The West will know to fear *me*, now."
---
"Ma'am, we have the confirmation that the militants have possession of nuclear materials and have begun their intention of using them against targets within the United States."
"I understand. Major!"
"Ma'am!"
"Inform the President that we are preparing Operation Pound Of Cure. We will wait for the Executive Branch in Colorado. 15:00 hours. Mark."
"Yes, ma'am. Time to end this."
---
"ʂʓϭϣѮ, look at that. *Look at that.*"
"Sir?"
"Ms. խֆ∂ⱷɤ is an important client of ours, would you agree?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Perhaps *the* most important client we have, yes?"
"Yes, sir?"
"And the backdrop of the view of her place of business, her main draw, *my* source of pride, is....is....*infected* with some sort of fungus that has covered those *beautiful* greens and *brilliant* yellows across the *entire surface* with their...their greyish *colonies* and is turning the blues - the blues that cost me my *youth* and my *grace* and my *soul* to create - into browns!
And, and, and, remind me again, the purpose of the life on that world?"
"...to keep the greens green and the blues blue."
"And *whose* job was it to keep the surface of it clean? To kill infections before they got a foothold?"
"Mine, sir."
"What are you?"
"A fuckup, sir."
"Yes, but what are you *at the moment?*"
"An *incredible* fuckup, sir."
"That's about to...?"
"Yes, sir, immediately sir. I'll sterilize the planet at once, and reseed from stock. There won't be another repeat of this."
"There had better not. This will be the *seventh* time this contract we've had to do this....I don't know *how* I'm going to explain this one to her." | 2016-01-29T06:09:39 | 2016-01-29T04:24:26 | 277 | 19 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | "DEUS VULT!"
The battlecry of the newly reborn Papal State rang on the lips of devout Catholics the world over. The faithful had come together once again to rid the Holy Land of the infidel scourge. Pope Francis stood at the head of his army, a not-so-ceremonial sword flashing in his hand as he held it up on the streets of the Holy City.
(In all seriousness, how has nobody invoked the Crusades yet?) | "Commander, we have it. We've taken the facility that houses ten - ten! - nuclear missiles capable of reaching the United States! Can you believe it? Ten! With the fifteen suitcase nukes we've seized in the last three years since 2020, we can finally take the battle to them!"
"Yes, yes....this will show the world at last that *I* have power and that **I** am a man to be feared! The world will bow their knee to me, now!"
"Er...don't you mean, to God?"
"Yes, yes, whatever. Sure. To God." *door closes*
"The West will know to fear *me*, now."
---
"Ma'am, we have the confirmation that the militants have possession of nuclear materials and have begun their intention of using them against targets within the United States."
"I understand. Major!"
"Ma'am!"
"Inform the President that we are preparing Operation Pound Of Cure. We will wait for the Executive Branch in Colorado. 15:00 hours. Mark."
"Yes, ma'am. Time to end this."
---
"ʂʓϭϣѮ, look at that. *Look at that.*"
"Sir?"
"Ms. խֆ∂ⱷɤ is an important client of ours, would you agree?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Perhaps *the* most important client we have, yes?"
"Yes, sir?"
"And the backdrop of the view of her place of business, her main draw, *my* source of pride, is....is....*infected* with some sort of fungus that has covered those *beautiful* greens and *brilliant* yellows across the *entire surface* with their...their greyish *colonies* and is turning the blues - the blues that cost me my *youth* and my *grace* and my *soul* to create - into browns!
And, and, and, remind me again, the purpose of the life on that world?"
"...to keep the greens green and the blues blue."
"And *whose* job was it to keep the surface of it clean? To kill infections before they got a foothold?"
"Mine, sir."
"What are you?"
"A fuckup, sir."
"Yes, but what are you *at the moment?*"
"An *incredible* fuckup, sir."
"That's about to...?"
"Yes, sir, immediately sir. I'll sterilize the planet at once, and reseed from stock. There won't be another repeat of this."
"There had better not. This will be the *seventh* time this contract we've had to do this....I don't know *how* I'm going to explain this one to her." | 2016-01-29T10:03:10 | 2016-01-29T04:24:26 | 82 | 19 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | They swept across the dunes, conquering all foes before them. Charging forward to the roar of cannon and rifle, no stronghold or fort could stem the tide of red and gold that spew forth from the edge of the horizon. Like the sea, this force could not, would not be restrained by weather, terrain or people in the pursuit of black and gold. Even after there was nothing left, the body still raged, searching, pulsating. Waiting to consume all.
Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. | "Commander, we have it. We've taken the facility that houses ten - ten! - nuclear missiles capable of reaching the United States! Can you believe it? Ten! With the fifteen suitcase nukes we've seized in the last three years since 2020, we can finally take the battle to them!"
"Yes, yes....this will show the world at last that *I* have power and that **I** am a man to be feared! The world will bow their knee to me, now!"
"Er...don't you mean, to God?"
"Yes, yes, whatever. Sure. To God." *door closes*
"The West will know to fear *me*, now."
---
"Ma'am, we have the confirmation that the militants have possession of nuclear materials and have begun their intention of using them against targets within the United States."
"I understand. Major!"
"Ma'am!"
"Inform the President that we are preparing Operation Pound Of Cure. We will wait for the Executive Branch in Colorado. 15:00 hours. Mark."
"Yes, ma'am. Time to end this."
---
"ʂʓϭϣѮ, look at that. *Look at that.*"
"Sir?"
"Ms. խֆ∂ⱷɤ is an important client of ours, would you agree?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Perhaps *the* most important client we have, yes?"
"Yes, sir?"
"And the backdrop of the view of her place of business, her main draw, *my* source of pride, is....is....*infected* with some sort of fungus that has covered those *beautiful* greens and *brilliant* yellows across the *entire surface* with their...their greyish *colonies* and is turning the blues - the blues that cost me my *youth* and my *grace* and my *soul* to create - into browns!
And, and, and, remind me again, the purpose of the life on that world?"
"...to keep the greens green and the blues blue."
"And *whose* job was it to keep the surface of it clean? To kill infections before they got a foothold?"
"Mine, sir."
"What are you?"
"A fuckup, sir."
"Yes, but what are you *at the moment?*"
"An *incredible* fuckup, sir."
"That's about to...?"
"Yes, sir, immediately sir. I'll sterilize the planet at once, and reseed from stock. There won't be another repeat of this."
"There had better not. This will be the *seventh* time this contract we've had to do this....I don't know *how* I'm going to explain this one to her." | 2016-01-29T07:22:10 | 2016-01-29T04:24:26 | 43 | 19 |
[WP] You are kidnapped by a cult, and they are about to sacrifice you to their god. They don't know that you are that god. | Bewildering.
The humans who stood in a circle, chanting my name seemed to be convinced that I would be happy to receive a sacrifice. That the blood of a young man, innocent but for the sin of rejecting their teachings, would please me.
I had always thought of myself to be a good god. A benevolent, giving god. Not like Ares, that warmongering buffoon, always riling up good, honest men and women into killing each other. I was proud myself of the fact that whenever I decided to grace the mortal realm with my presence, humanity was left just a little bit wiser, a little bit closer to creating a utopia.
But in the past millennia, it seems humanity had taken a grand step forward, and several steps back.
“Ouch.” I rasped, as one of the humans (Jeffrey, he called himself, but I knew him to be Jackson) stabbed me once again with a spear. The members of this cult were getting agitated; they had slit the throat of a good, honest man, and he didn’t seem to die.
Why, I wondered, did only these few humans remember my name? Had I ever come as an avatar of death? Or were humans truly as perverse as Nemesis had always proclaimed?
I exerted a tiny wisp of power. My neck stopped bleeding, but I didn’t close the wound just yet. I slowly got to my feet, and stared at Jackson.
“Why?”
Uncomprehending, Jackson merely stared back, mouth agape.
“Why are all of you trying to kill me? What do you stand to gain? Why cut short the life of a man who had done you no harm?”
“Because God wills it!” cried Shona, a child 12 years of age, to the back.
They were long gone. Sparing any of them would result in a group forming again in the future, and sullying my name.
“Then be gone.” I said, and they were no more.
It seems I need to establish a reputation among men once more.
| "Anupta, Darkest Desire, accept our offering!" I heard, more than felt, Daniel's dagger strike down into my heart. Well, where my heart would be, if I had one. In any case, it was time to wrap this up.
With a minor effort of will, the straps binding me to the table burned and snapped, and I sat up. I took a second to work out the stiffness in my neck... nothing like being tied to a table for five hours to give you a wicked pain in the neck. Speaking of which, I had to talk to the boys about their choice of "altar". I looked up, and found them huddling in the corner, eyes wide and staring. To be honest, they weren't much as far as cults go, but these days beggars can't be choosers. Even if they couldn't seem to find matching vestments.
"Hey guys!" I chirped cheerfully. "I'm Anupta.". Ugh. There are no words for how inadequate we gods have become. Back in the good old days it was all fire and brimstone, wailing souls and damnation. Heck, the Atlantis gig was the greatest summoning since the dinosaurs. And now this; seven virgins trying to summon up a succubus goddess on their Friday night. And more embarrassing, they had nabbed me as their sacrifice. I had manifested in the world just for a breath of fresh air, maybe start an orgy or three, and my cult kidnapped me the first day. "Hey guys I just wanted to say that was pretty good. I'm kinda impressed, that whole part where you tied me down and inked the whole Ritual of Binding on my skin? Not bad at all." The boys seemed to lose their edge of panic, and allowed themselves to listen. "No, seriously, one of my best summonings in a while, just had a few pointers, If you don't mind..." I trailed off. Daniel, the leader, had taken a few cautious steps forward. "Mistress?," he whispered, eyes ridiculously wide, "have you come to our call?" He stared.
I glanced down to where he was staring. Besides the fact I was topless, which was always a winner when it came to distracting men, I had started leaking bubbling ichor from where the dagger protruded. I looked back up. "Yes, in fact, uh, I did." I managed to say. "I wanted to say that you guys are my number one cult. Seriously, the best." They all looked back and forth among each other, fear finally fading before pride. "Like I said though, a few pointers... first, I know times are hard, but sacrifices are supposed to be held on an altar?" All seven heads nodded up and down; I could have said anything then and they would have agreed. "Now you've got all the runes right, but honestly, this is a dining room table. It's not just the carvings that are necessary, but you've got to have an ambiance conducive to the spell. I mean, how many sacrifices have you performed? Four? Five?"
"Eighteen, mistress."
I paused. "What?". "Eighteen sacrifices were made till you manifested in that vessel, mistress." Daniel answered again.
Now, I'm a dark goddess of evil and seduction who enjoys a sacrifice as much as the next gal, but these jokers had sacrificed eighteen women and hadn't even put a ping on my radar. And by looking at their set up, I should have noticed something... tacky furniture and mismatched robes aside, the had all the fundamentals in place. If they weren't doing something wrong here...
"Hang on guys. I'll be back in a second." I started to discorporate my body to return to the Hellish Realms. "Don't go anywhere. Oh, oh oh oh! Almost forgot to ask. What were you guys summoning me for again? Whatever you drugged me with...drugged the sacrifice with," I managed to correct myself in time, "really did a number and I didn't catch that part." Daniel didn't hear at first, preoccupied as it were with the fact my body was half translucent and halfway reformed to my true shape. "We summoned you to be our Mistress, to discipline and pleasure us, and lead us in our dark crusade." I narrowed my eyes. "Well discuss that later." I managed to say, and then vanished. | 2016-08-14T09:06:55 | 2016-08-14T08:58:12 | 108 | 48 |
[WP] An angel falls, burning, to Earth very publicly. It's extremely despondent, but reveals during an interview that the world we know as Earth is actually Hell. | Lucifer and Raphael sat at the edge of a rooftop, gazing across the city skyline.
"This is very...tame."
Lucifer smiled.
"You see nothing because you have never sinned. You see what you need to. Nothing more, and nothing less."
Raphael glanced at Lucifer for a brief second before looking back at the view that greeted them. He couldn't help but think about how wise Lucifer was.
"Ah, interesting. After all the tales and rumors, I just expected something very different."
"Tales and rumors twisted by time itself. The hell you speak of only shows itself to the most heinous of men."
"And who might they be?"
Lucifer ignored the question. Raphael understood and didn't press on further.
They continued to gaze at the city. The sun had begun to set, draining the city of its warmth and slowly leading it into the night.
Raphael broke the silence.
"He's gone mad Lucifer. I used to look up and see this pure, white light. Now, that very light is blinding to look at. The power He holds has been corrupted. The Angels are afraid. I'm afraid. The very existence of Humanity is being held at the hands of a mad man."
Lucifer gently sighed.
"Why are you here Raphael?"
"I disobeyed Him and believe me when I say, I will not be the only one. Others will follow. They trust me more than they trust Him."
"And what do you hope to gain by coming here? Some may follow, but the rest will stay with Him, out of fear, if not loyalty."
"There is going to be a war..."
"Do not speak of such things." Lucifer interjected.
"There is going to be a war Lucifer and he will bring it to us, or we will bring it to Him. There is going to be a war, however unpleasant that may sound. He no longer knows of mercy or forgiveness and it is time to remind Him of it."
"And who is going to fight Him? You? Me? There isn't going to be a war Raphael, because there is no one to fight Him."
"We aren't going to fight Him. The humans are."
----
Wow, talk about going off on a tangent. Well I'm too tired to continue, but I hope you like the story so far OP. I know, this isn't exactly what you had in mind, but hopefully part two will cover it up.
Any feedback would be great. Nice prompt by the way.
Our subreddit is finally up! First 7-8 parts are down below. The rest are on the subreddit.
Check out /r/fallenwings
| Detective Arnold pushed a cup of coffee over to the strange man. A slight, hunched figure with a shock of light blonde, almost white hair.
"Sir, let's cut the bullshit," he said. "You burned down a shopping mall. We have eyewitnesses that place you at the scene. Just tell me what happened, huh? What, did you used to work there and got some grief with your boss? Figured a little arson would do the trick?"
The angel stared at his hands, wondering what to tell the human. That his burning wings had torched the shopping mall? What would this particular man believe?
He glanced at the grizzled detective, and saw kindness beneath the bluster. But he also saw the rest: this same man had a vicious temper he aimed like a weapon at criminals he felt needed punishment.
Like so many humans, there was darkness and light there. It was the reason he'd been tossed from heaven: he admired the remaining traces of beauty in them. In the creatures God had once loved and thought perfect.
It would be interesting to see how this one reacted to the truth. He'd always been told they would tear themselves and one another apart in agony, if they knew. This one carried a small crucifix around his neck. How would he react?
The angel leaned forward and whispered it.
"This place *is* the hell you speak of," he said. "And you reign over it. You're confined here. And you torture yourselves, daily, with the hope that one day you shall see heaven and the God that has turned his back on his aborted creations. You chose your own path, and you will not find your way back."
He saw a brief flicker of fear in the man's deep grey eyes, before he snorted with derision.
"Hell, huh? Don't I know it, buddy," he said. "Look, call your lawyer. The insanity plea would be a cakewalk."
The angel watched him slam the door of the interrogation room, and tried to compel him to turn back and listen. To his surprise, the man kept walking away.
He watched his hands, trembling lightly in his lap. Such weakness. He almost felt like a human. Stripped of power, overwhelmed with senses and emotions. Even his memory was foggy. He tried to remember the perfection of heaven, and couldn't.
The angel bowed his head and wept, resolving to remain silent from now on. He couldn't even be trusted to remember the truth.
----------
**Months later**
The white-haired man joined the group with some hesitation. His community service started today, and he was nervous. He hoped they'd like him. People often just thought he was strange.
He frowned at the sight of a woman waving at him. She looked so familiar. She grinned as he approached.
"Zekiel," she whispered, handing him a shovel and proceeding to work alongside him. "It's good to see you, brother. I lost track of you when we fell. I had to see you, so I managed to arrange for us do this service together..."
"Sorry?" he asked, bewildered at the sight of her knowing smile. It faded quickly as she saw the confusion in his eyes.
"Oh, you don't remember," she said, then winced. "Sorry. I - I'm still trying to figure out who remembers and who does not. Who are human-born and who are..."
"Fallen angels," he whispered, the words leaping from his mouth involuntarily. He shivered as an image seared through his brain: a perfect, peaceful field, where he'd once sat with friends. In another time.
He forgot what he'd said a second later, and stared at the woman in consternation.
"Uhm, let's start over. I'm Salie- uhm, Sally," she said. She really must stop introducing herself as Saliel. No-one else remembered it used to be her name. And it was unusual - those born human found it odd.
She'd been punished with memory for her crime. Falling in love with a human - the worst offense. At least she would be free to go seek him out now. But it would be nice to forget soon, like the others, and simply believe she was born human. For now, just having Zekiel back was wonderful. Even if he didn't remember her. Didn't remember a single day of their eons-old friendship. It *was* hell, looking at her friend's blank eyes, but he was standing beside her again. And that was enough.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Zack," he said. They worked in silence for a while, before Zack looked up and smiled at the sky.
"Nice day, isn't it?" he said.
"The best," she agreed, and smiled with true warmth at the happiness in his eyes.
--------
Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2016-11-04T13:24:07 | 2016-11-04T12:57:45 | 350 | 60 |
[WP] You've accidentally killed the Devil. God makes you the new Devil to replace the one you killed. | *Oh man John*, I thought to myself. *You're gonna be late. Come on. Show me some luck...* My fingers crossed instinctively as I neared the intersection. *Still green, still green... yes!* Just one more turn, I'd be on the street. Then I'd power park, sprint- good think I brought the handkerchief. I couldn't be late. I was already on thin ice with my boss, and he wasn't the most understanding of people. Come to think of it, probably the least understanding.
*Almost there. Almost there. Oh no. Where's my lanyard? Where's my goddamn lanyard?* I felt around for it. No dice. I craned down for a second to check by my feet. Aha! I spotted it. John Wendley - Comcast - Second Level. *You're safe-*
"Yaaah!" I slammed the brakes. *Errrrr*. Too late. *DOOF*! My fender struck a man and sent him to the ground. I rushed out and to the side of the man. The boss. Not just my boss. The fucking CEO. *Shit.*
He wouldn't move. I checked his pulse. Nothing. I panicked. Strange though, no one else seemed to be around. No witnesses, except, what was that presence I felt then? *Of course.*
"Fool!" The voice boomed from, it seemed, everywhere. "Watch where you're going."
"Go to hell" I retorted, almost mindlessly. I didn't mean it. Something compelled me.
"John. You have killed the devil, and in doing so upset the balance of good and evil. A real bang-up job. You know the rules. You are sentenced to take the place of the devil, assume all responsibilities, and just for being such a screw-up, a partly docked salary."
*Nice going John.* I thought maybe it couldn't get worse than *servitude* to the devil. I never cease to surprise myself.
"Let us consummate the transfer of devilship." My ex-boss's body raised into the air and then dissipated in a cloud of ash, save for the golden badge, 'Comcast - CEO' etched on it. It flew toward me. *Screw this.* I batted it down with my hand and ran for my car. *What are you doing John? Did you just decide to try and outrun God?* I hopped in my car and revved the engine. *Yes I did. Screw Comcast.* I gunned it. | I felt like literal Hell.
Why did I do this to myself? Sure, he'd taken my knack for the creative and sent it overboard, but it was a hard crash after the ride was over. I needed some water. I needed some air. Something. The room was almost too dark. It felt like it would shut in around me if I didn't see the sun. Where was the window?
"Hey kid."
That voice. It sounded like any other voice, except all together different. Something sinister lay at the back of every word. Every intonation rung a hollow note in my mind. It was the only voice that ever scared me. *The* voice.
"Not today," I said blinking furiously. A stream of light had made its way through one of the slightly drawn curtains creating a hazy fog of dust in the hotel room. I reached up to grab something. The bed was untouched. The sheets were still crisp. The comforter still as plastic feeling as ever. I must have fallen asleep on the floor.
"Funny," the voice crawled out and implanted itself in my brain again, "I didn't think I'd given you a choice." I picked my head up and seated in the corner covered in shadows was the voice. It was *him*.
"How did you," my voice was raspy and my mouth was dry. Where was that water? "what are you doing here?"
"Come on kid," he chuckled softly, "you know the drill. I need a fix."
"Why always me?"
"You're the best," he said, "I *made* you the best. Now," an uneasy impatience wet his words, "what have you got?"
Always at the worst times. I scanned the room until I saw it. My bag had found its way onto the nightstand, gagged open, most of the small plastic bags were littering the floor. What did I get into last night. I pointed to my satchel, "take your pick."
He slowly rummaged through the bag, eyeing the different shades of pills in the dim sunlight. I put my head down into my palms and rubbed my eyes. Hopefully he would find something he liked and leave me alone. Well, at least for the time being. I wasn't in the mood to deal with Satan's bullshit today.
"Been at it hard I see," the voice thundered through my mind again after a moments pause, "nice to see you putting my gifts to good use."
I looked up and I saw his slim hand in the streak of sunlight holding a bundle of my money. The long, black fingernails strumming at the rubber band. Any other time I would've made a move, but he was the Prince of Darkness; what did he need with money? Then again, what did he need with my drugs? I shook my head. I shot a glance at him once more, he was closer now. He cupped my head in his hands and twisted my neck to look at him.
I watched him take his selected pill and give a deliciously evil grin. He leaned forward and shoved one into my mouth.
"I don't.."
"Take a ride," he said and the eyes that had seen oblivion smiled at me. "This," he purred, "is going to be wild."
A rush of darkness fell on me.
****
Some time later though I had no way of knowing what time it actually was, I awoke. The sunlight that had poured into the window had been replaced by a painful fluorescent hue. The room was still too dark. My head was splitting in pain and my mouth was still terribly dry. I looked about the room. No sign of him, at least I thought until I tried to roll over. There was something laying beside me.
I pushed against it absentmindedly as one who pushes against the sheets to get out of bed. It was a lazy attempt. My arms had no strength left in them and my stomach lurched whenever I tried to roll. Bile collected in my mouth and the faint smell of sulfur flooded my nose. I blinked at the form. It wasn't moving.
"What the.." the words came out slowly and it was odd. They sounded hollow. I pushed at the form once more and it rolled to reveal a face.
My face.
"What the...!" I swiped at the face with my long, black fingernails. Long, black fingernails? I looked myself over. I wasn't me. I was, I was... I looked back at the face. There was nothing. A wave of nausea flooded my mouth and the smell of sulfur grew stronger. The ground split and cracked beneath me. A bright, white hot light spewed out from below. My deep, black eyes swallowed the light from the flames that licked up around me. A voice whispered in my mind.
"Welcome home."
I felt like literal Hell.
****
Enjoy the story? Subscribe to r/MrGoodread | 2016-12-09T08:39:14 | 2016-12-09T08:34:41 | 111 | 22 |
[WP] You're lost at sea after a tremendous storm with fresh water supplies running low. The situation is looking dire. Then you spot him; a man is swimming towards your boat. | He saw the boat as salvation. His arms took energy from thin air and pushed him faster towards my ship.
It'd been 20 days since the storm, my supplies of food — despite extreme rations and failed attempts at fishing — had run out two weeks ago. All I had left was water. Fuel. And the will to live. He splashed his way towards me, finding to no mercy in the relentless sea.
I stood on the side of the boat, watching with sunken eyes and licking my salted lips. My voice wanted to work, but my throat refused. I had enough water for two days at best. Speaking, wasn't necessary. Just a comfort to the man swimming up to me.
But I was cautious. One hand on the rails, I held another behind my back, gripping a knife's handle. He could have a weapon. He could be from another planet. He could be a hallucination. I blinked, trying not to wince at the pain of each dry-eyed movement. Starvation had set in, dehydration would follow soon, it was indeed possible that my mind had simply conjured up a man swimming towards me.
Or perhaps I was the hallucination for him, some siren who'd painted her own name into the side of the boat. Alex Urwin on the boat's side, the cheap paint peeling and fading, just like my mind. I stopped my eyes from blinking, I could wait.
A little bulb of clearness lit up in my head. Through the foggy haze that'd left the seas beneath the sun's gaze, through the same foggy haze that'd invaded my mind, I glimpsed a ray of light and watched as my hands reached for the life ring.
Splash!
Hope. His eyes lit up as he clamoured onto the orange circle. My eyes did as well, though my stomach had other plans. I tucked the knife into the waistband, and set to hauling him aboard.
"Are you okay?"
"Now I am," he said. I internally shook my head. He thought the ship was his salvation. How wrong could he have been?
"You are?" I inquired, brows furrowed and taking a step back. He was bigger than me. Stronger by a good deal, and in better shape.
"Joshua Hasselim," he answered, mistaking my inflection. I guess he simply didn't know. My eyes ran across him once more, twice my size. A couple days, perhaps.
"Well, th-thank you, Joshua Hasselim... I guess you really want to live if you've swam this far?"
He laughed and nodded. "Oh, you have no idea."
No, I didn't. And I didn't want to. It was hard enough as is. "Then I guess you understand what I've been through."
I spread my arms and offered a hug. He raised a quizzical eyebrow, but stepped forward.
"Sorry," I whispered, arms slipping around and plunging the knife into his back, aimed at the heart.
He saw the boat as salvation.
I saw him as food.
****
Jump aboard the SS **/r/AlexUrwin** for more!
| It didn't make sense. In the dead of night, when the waters calmed from the great storm, I heard the lapping sound of a swimmer in the water coming towards me. The moon was peaking over the horizon shedding the caps of the waves with a white glow. It was indeed what I thought I was hearing. The object splashed against the whitecaps and made its way towards me.
The last clouds from the storm flew across the sky, to reveal the stars and Milky Way. It was a beautiful sight as the object reached the edge of my boat.
Part of me was curious who it may be, while a greater part of me was completely mortified. Its hand reached over like a wet towel being slung across the top of a lounge chair and a few seconds later a head popped up.
"Ey, ya, would you help up?" said a young man's voice, the moonlight shining behind his head.
I scrambled to grab his hand and pulled him into the boat. He was in nothing but a swimsuit and didn't look to be above the age of 25.
"Thanks," he said, finding a comfortable corner in the boat to lay in. "Quite the storm, huh?"
"Yeah," I said. "I was almost out of food and water before the storm and then it hit. Now I'm completely out." He gave a little chuckle.
"I'm Rudy," the man said, giving a brisk wave of his hand. "I'm sorry I didn't carry some food and water with me. I thought for sure I wouldn't be seeing anyone out here tonight."
"Rudy?" I said. "Ha, that's my favourite movie. You heard of it?"
"Of course. Happens to be one of my favourites too," he said, sitting up.
"What were you doing out here, by the way?" I asked. "I didn't see any ships in the storm."
"Oh, I just happen to follow storms quite a bit. You could say I like to clean up the messes they leave behind."
I noticed then how cold the night truly was. Wrapped around me was my Thermo blanket and it was keeping me warm, but Rudy had nothing but a swimsuit.
"Aren't you cold," I asked. "I think I have another blanket in my emergency kit."
"Me? Heck, no. I don't get cold," he said. "Nope, nope, the cold doesn't bother me."
"So you're like that marathon runner that runs shirtless in the winter time," I said. "The Iceman, I think his name is?"
Rudy laughed again. "I guess you could say that. But the 'man' part might be a bit of a stretch."
His comment caught me off guard. I looked at his with a more careful eye as the moon grew higher in the sky. Somehow I never noticed the set of wings on his back.
"You're an angel?" I asked.
"Yes, Alex Nuible," he said. "The passage into death is a traumatic one, but every so often we get the chance to see death coming in people. You've been out to sea for awhile now and with that storm, it was all but definite that the storm would take you."
I realized then the reason I couldn't remember seeing any ships during the storm was because I couldn't remember the storm. I remember seeing the flashes of lightning on the horizon and the rising waves, but then there was nothing.
"Careful!" Rudy yelled. "Think too hard and you will remember the pain, the disparity. I've cradled you away from that. Let us start the journey to paradise."
"How do I know this isn't a dream?" I asked. "If I can't remember it happening, how do I know it's real?"
"You don't need to know," said Rudy. "The pain will be excruciating, but after you come with me you will see over time that what I've said is true. Right now reality feels like a dream. It will subside after you've had time to see that... you're not waking up." Rudy stood up with a solemn expression and walked towards me with his hand extended.
I could not accept, though. Even if this wasn't a dream, I had to see the truth. I had to know, without a doubt, my end had come. With a burst of speed, I stood up and jumped into the fridged water. The memories came flooding back.
I saw the great waves of the storm, rising among the lightning. They rocked my boat violently as it rode the crests and sinks. And then it happened. A huge wave formed above and extended its head until I could see the sky no more. The force of the crash plunged me into the deep ocean water where I was lost in the ocean currents. I struggled to find an escape, but my lungs screamed for air while I was still drowned in water. It was a horrific pain, like letting a thousand needles fall into my lungs and trachea.
In light of the memory, I was no longer in the water, I was in the sky. I saw the moon shining against the surface of the ocean as I soared further and further into the sky. Still hurt from the memory of pain and death, I hung absently in the grip of Rudy as he muttered to himself.
"Always so stubborn. I warn them every time."
--------------
Thank you for reading! More stories at /r/ItsPronouncedGif | 2017-01-18T06:48:57 | 2017-01-18T06:40:37 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] To your surprise, a SWAT team breaks down your door, rushes inside, and surrounds you. Only, their backs are to you, guns trained on the doors and windows. The closest one whispers, "Here they come." | I recognized them, these were my men. Johnson, McMeyer, Nguyn, Hanson, Reyes, and Kuiper. Why was my squad here, and in full gear? I thought about the nightstand in the bedroom with my pistol, but we were in the living room.
"Hanson, what's going on!?" I asked in an urgent whisper.
"Sir, there was a credible threat. You're in danger here." Hanson replied. He was the serious sort, and was due to be promoted to squad leader after I left. I guess the movies were right about the terrible things that happen to cops a week before retirement. His voice was trembling. What could have unnerved him?
"My wife, where is she?"
"Already handled sir," replied McMeyer. "She's been filled in and is in safe custody. Keep your head down sir."
I crouched behind the armored men, tucking my head down. If I wasn't in my pajamas I wouldn't feel so vulnerable, but I trusted these six men with my life every day for the last eight years, I wasn't about to question them now.
"Tell me what's happening!"
"Possible gas attack sir. Take a deep breath" said Nguyn.
A gas attack? My heart skipped a beat, I didn't have a gasmask. What were we going to do when... Wait, they didn't have masks either. How could they think to come so unprepared?
"Ready men!" commanded Hanson. "Fire!"
Oh no. Realization hit me a moment too late. The six men pushed together, trapping my head between their posteriors as they all ripped the most vile, wretched ass I have ever smelled. I should have seen it coming, the whole team ordering Taco Bell together for lunch. I gagged and tried to hold my breath but I was overcome.
"Happy retirement you old fart" said Kuiper, trying not to giggle like a school girl.
"I love you guys, and I'm gonna miss you." I gasped. "Now get the hell out of my house." | My laughing was cacophonous, even to me. I can only imagine how it sounded over the voice chat.
"Listen," I said, addressing the group, "if you didn't want to lose, then you shouldn't have made it so damn easy." A clamor of voices poured from my headset, making me wince. One boomed out over the others.
"That's feckin' it! You're done! SWAT is on its way!"
I snorted. "Yeah, sure, friend. Whatever you-" My door shuddered. My jaw dropped and my headset followed suit as the door shuddered again and broke in a cascade of splinters. Men in black poured in, crouched low. A chorus of 'clears' went up as their muzzles swept over my tiny, one-room apartment. Still in fighting stance, they crouch-walked over to me and formed a semi-circle.
Except they were all facing away from me. One glanced over his shoulder and whispered, "Here they come."
I sighed, picking my jaw back up as I did. "How many?" I grunted a little as I stretched, loosening my stiff muscles. The man had already turned to face the door again.
"Twelve, we think, sir."
I made a little pleased noise a I stood up. "A full complement this time, then? This will be a good opportunity for you all." I began moving forward and the agents matched my steps without a word. Out the door, through the hall, down the stairs, and past the main entrance we walked. It's times like this I'm grateful I chose a second-floor apartment.
The outer doors swung inward violently, driven by an unnatural wind. I glanced around. "You ready, friends?" A small chorus of assent met my words. "Then let's get to work." Confidently I strode out the front doors, my squad around me.
There they were, just standing there. Smug little pricks. Twelve little black hoods, all arranged in a circle. I frowned. Another gust of wind blew through my group, this time carrying with it the voice of the twelve people.
"Hah. Ayup, they're gregorian." I glanced to the man on my left. "You can tell on account of the circle formation and the god-awful chanting." Another sigh escaped my lips. This group was kind of pathetic, really. They had practically nothing in the way of defenses and their working took so long to build up it was like they were *asking* me to stop them.
But first things first. I tapped the man in front of me on the shoulder. "Flashbang." Like magic the grenade appeared in his hand and he pulled the pin. I watched it arc for a second before muttering a word. For a brief moment, the world around me went entirely black and silent. Immediately after, it all came rushing back.
With the sweet addition of twelve gregorians writhing on the ground, clutching their ears and eyes.
"Ayup," I said, my voice loud enough to reach the hooded delinquents as I walked calmly toward them. "I figured that your little defenses wouldn't account for normie weapons like a flashbang. Real oversight, that." The distance between us closed. Twenty feet. Ten. Five.
The wind picked up again and I noticed one of them had collected himself- I'm sorry, herself together well enough to resume the chant.
"That's quite enough of that." I made a slashing motion with my hand and crimson spurted from her body along the line I'd drawn. "And for the rest of you-" I splayed my fingers each digit pointing at one of the punks, and brought them down like a concert pianist playing the opening movement. The air above them whirled and solidified, forming razor sharp frozen spears. They all slumped over, pierced through either the heart or the head. I turned slowly to face the last man.
"And. Then. There. Was. One." A smile spread across my lips. This encounter may have been disappointing, but at least I could get *some* entertainment out of it. The man gibbered and scrambled backwards. I think he might have soiled himself.
"H-H-how?" He finally managed to get out.
"Listen," I said, addressing the man, "if you didn't want to lose, then you shouldn't have made it so damn easy." I smiled again.
He went out like the first.
Just with more screaming. | 2017-06-28T08:51:46 | 2017-06-28T05:48:29 | 908 | 44 |
[WP] Your daughter has been begging you for a pony, and you told her to write a letter to Santa. On Christmas morning, you find a fire-breathing horse in your front yard, and a package by your front door. Looks like she wrote a letter to Satan, and he delivered.
Whoa. This blew up way more than I expected it to.
Edit: Like... A lot more. Thanks guys. | "I was late, and it could fly."
I shifted nervously in my seat and reached for a glass of water that I had already drained.
The team from HR didn't respond right away, so I had time to fill my glass and drink again before I went on.
"I realize that's not a great excuse for why there's a fire-breathing Nightmare Pony parked in my space, but my car broke down, I had a really important meeting, and well...Mister Pibbles was all I could think of."
The HR lady found her voice. "Mister Pibbles? You call it Mister Pibbles?"
"Actually, my daughter named him. He was kind of a Christmas present. It's really kind of a funny story, although maybe not in this room, at this particular..."
"Is it dangerous?"
"Oh god yes," I answered before I really had time to think. Then I had to try and backtrack. "I mean, he's always potentially dangerous, but so are big dogs, right? He wouldn't hurt family, and he shouldn't be a danger to random strangers as long as he's got his soul bag on..."
I kind of trailed off at that point, worried that some bright spark in the HR department would ask me how I manage to fill a pony-sized feed bag full of human souls.
Fortunately, no one did.
"I'm really sorry about this, but can I just take him home?"
The big boss spoke up, trying to maintain an air of authority, as his personal view of the universe crumbled quietly around him.
"I'm about this close to calling the police, or locking that thing up where it can't hurt anybody."
I shook my head. "Bad idea. Very bad idea. Please do not interact with Mister Pibbles. Don't pet him, don't move him, and whatever you do, don't ASK HIM for anything! In fact, it's best if you don't wish for anything really specific when you're close to him. If he's feeling playful he might try to get it for you and we really do not want a repeat of the birthday kitten situation."
"How did you end up with this creature in the first place?"
"Reading may be fundamental, sir, but proper spelling can save your soul." | It was our 7th Christmas with the whole family, me, my husband, and our daughter.
Ever since Elly was able to talk, all she ever wanted was a pony. It seems cliche but she was determined. However, we couldn't afford a pony so always settled instead on giving her horse related items. The usual pony stuffed animals and stick horses.
Then when this Christmas season rolled around I heard the spiel again on a pony. Of course hearing new facts as she learned more on horse and pony care.
"Dad, dad! Can I have a pony?"
"Oh...I dunno honey, ponies are hard to ta-"
"No! Dad! I can do it! I know some cheap recipes for horse food, and there are places where you can buy hey cheap! I can make a water trough from some buckets. And I will take good care of it every day!"
Well that take is new... I can't win this without breaking her heart.
"Here honey, why don't you just take some paper and try telling Santa about how you can handle a pony. Maybe he can get one for you?" I say and give a nice smile. Her face lights up in realization.
"Oh YEAH!" She says, running off to write to Santa.
Well now it was Christmas Day and I was standing out in the snow in my flannel pajama pants and a concert t shirt from The Police, staring at a jet black horse with bright orange hooves and a red, yellow, orange mane and tail. He was tacked up with a black leather saddle and bridle. He huffed smoke from his nostrils but didn't seem to breathe fire. He did melt the snow around his hooves showing that he did throw some heat.
"Vance, what the fuck is that?" My husband hushed out in amazement at the creature.
"Heh, I don't know, but it's something." Suddenly I hear a high pitch squeal an all of us, including the pony, look over to see our daughter jumping in excitement.
" ITS A PONY!! SANTA GOT ME A MAGIC FIRE PONY!!!" She yelled and ran to the horse to give it a hug.
The pony is oddly not spooked by this and just lets it happen. It's only then I spot a brown scroll strung to the saddle's horn. I walk over an pull it off. I open the scroll to see some writing in a large, scribbled cursive.
"Dear Mr. And Mr. -------,
I would like to thank you for the lovely letter I deck from your daughter. She was very kind, and determined for a pony. I am aware that this letter was meant for my friend St. Nicholas and not me, but sadly, Santa doesn't give ponies out for Christmas. Your daughter is so kind hearted that i couldn't bear to break her heart. So I decided to give her one of my "hell horses". Don't worry though. As this one happened to have a type of dwarfism, causing it to not grow larger than this and giving it the inability to breathe fire. He eats any edible item for humans and doesn't require water. The saddle and bridle he is equipped with will shift into any style she wants. The only possibly troubling thing would be making sure that the other kids don't get jealous. Anyways I hope she likes her pony, she really deserves it. You guys are amazing parents for raising such a kind sweetheart.
Much regards,
Lucifer the fallen angle
P.S. This guy won't cost you or your daughter anything"
"Well..." my husband said after reading the letter over my shoulder.
"I guess we have to keep him." I finished for him. I smiled, turned and kissed his cheek.
"Hey Elly!" I said, trying to get her attention from the horse.
"Can you climb on your pony for a picture?" I say, pulling my phone from my pocket. She nods and climbs on top of the saddle, I watch as it shrinks to her size and turns to her favorite color: purple. I smile and ask,
"So what are you gonna name him?"
"Midnight" she says with a grin.
"Alright everyone say Midnight!" I say. Suddenly before the picture snaps, the horse leaps up and strikes a pose with Elly still on his back. She is laughing so much, she truly looks happy.
Author's note: I had a Webkinz hell horse named midnight when I was around 7-9. If I can find a link to it I will. But otherwise that is what I based this horse off of, which I think is a nice little touch. :D
Hope you enjoyed! Criticism is welcome and happily accepted. | 2017-09-25T18:40:35 | 2017-09-25T16:40:46 | 40 | 28 |
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on. | There it is again, that pang of guilt as I push the door open to my tiny apartment, the smell of a nice home cooked meal hits my nostrils but my stomach churns as I step inside kicking the door closed behind me. Standing in the entry way I know the apartment is empty as I take off my coat and set my things down from the day.
*It's almost like she's still here...* I find myself thinking with eyes darting back and forth across the recently straightened up home. There's no need to look down the hall to see my bed is made; it's always made.
Swallowing hard and with a shaky exhale I find my seat at the table. I don't want to look at the table though. I don't want to see her note.
*Why is still she still doing this?* Again the guilt rises within me *I don't deserve this...* I can already feel my eyes starting to burn. I force them to look down at the table seeing the plate that has been prepared for me. It's nothing special. Some mashed potatoes, meatloaf, and peas. *She always knows just what to make.*
I look just past the plate and see it; the note. I don't have to read it to know what it says. Every time it's the same message and every time I try to figure out exactly what it means.
Reaching out I pick up the small hand written note but I don't read it yet. I simply hold it in my hand for a few moments. *Maybe tonight it'll be different.* I find myself hoping as I unfold the note and read those same five words.
**This could have been us.**
Immediately I push away from the table causing my glass to topple over and spill all across the table. Liquid splatters against the carpet but it doesn't matter. A chill runs down my spine. I can feel her eyes on me at that moment, watching me, judging me.
Spinning around I already know right where she is, it's always the same spot. Our eyes meet and I find I can't breathe as if the air had been sucked completely out of the room. Tears begin to fill my eyes as I look back at the table and then to her eyes once again.
I stand in silence for over a minute before I find my voice "I don't deserve this." It's all I can muster after 13 years of this, it's the only thing I feel that's true anymore. "Please... I can't keep doing this... You can't keep doing this." I take a step closer towards my desk and pick up the framed picture of her.
It was taken before she got sick, back when she thought she was still pretty enough for me and didn't try to convince me to stop wasting my time with her. Truth is she was always the most amazing person to me and I only grew to love her more every day.
We had met nearly 14 years prior and it just clicked. Everything about us felt perfect and within days I knew I would marry her and we'd spend the rest of our lives together.
But we didn't marry. Soon after I met her she became ill and just never got better, only worse. Cancer. Terminal. Neither of us expected it but that's the hand life had dealt us. Given the progression of the tumor in her brain the doctors didn't think she had long. When I asked her to marry me, to spend whatever time she had left with me she refused.
She didn't want to put me through that. To watch my wife wither away and die from something that couldn't be stopped. She said it wasn't fair to me and wanted me to meet someone else, to move on with my life, and be happy.
All I wanted was her.
Near the end we'd talk about the life we could have had if we had met each other sooner, if cancer wasn't part of the equation, if she hadn't been so stubborn at first. This was something she wanted to do for me, to take care of me and show some love and appreciation at the end of the day. She wanted to be there for me and she knew she couldn't be while she was sick.
And now 13 years after her death this is what she does. Somehow she manages to make sure every day I come home to a cooked meal and a taken care of home. No matter where I move to, no matter what I do, she finds a way.
I don't deserve this.
Edit: Spelling | Another day, another note. It's the same words that seem all too familiar by now. Even the piece of paper that was written on is torn the same way everyday. The hand writing, however, is different every now and then. The first time it happened was 13 years ago, but by now it has become a routine. I actually liked it this way, since I can skip all the boring chores after spending 8h at my banking job everyday.
"Jake! " - Yelled Shelly, my boss. - "Have you finished your financial reports for this year?"
Shelly is a strong-will woman. Sometime, she is too strong for her own good. But that is to be expected from a manager of a fortune 500 company. I wonder if she has a feminine side to her, like all those hard headed girls portrayed in Hollywood movies.
"Yes boss, I already put the reports on your desk this morning." - I spoke un-interestingly with a hint of sarcasm - "Maybe you should get to your office before you get on my ass this early in the morning, ya know?"
"Shut your mouth Jake, good thing you always finish your job on time or I would have your ass fired for talking to me like that" - Shelly replied annoyingly while turning her back on me and walked towards her office.
"Yes ma'am" - Again, sarcastically.
She is right tho, I have always been nothing but exceptional at my job. It's not because I love this job or anything, it's just that I have always been neat with every thing I do. I like my furniture arranged in a particular way and have them stayed there for the rest of eternity. I like to have my meals at exactly 6am, 12pm, and 6pm everyday. I have just always been weird like that.
"Hey Jake, what do you think of Jenny?" - a voice came from the cubicle behind me. It's Paul, my annoying gossipy co-worker. He's not a bad guy to be honest, he just acted like a woman all the time by poking his nose in everyone else's business.
And the Jenny that Paul was talking about is our head of HR. She is slender and tall. Her skin is slightly pale but it compliments those deep blue eyes of hers. She captivated many men's attention in the office, including mine. It is too bad that she got married to some guy 2 weeks ago.
"I think she's fine." - I said apathetically without even turning around to face him. I didn't want him to know my real thoughts on Jenny of course. Why would I want to be the gossip topic for him to talk about with the next person he met?
"She's fine? No man. She's DAMN FINE." - Paul's eyes lit up in excitement as he continued - "She just took a 2 weeks off from work to go to Hawaii with her husband. Man, if I were a little richer she would have definitely liked me instead of that douche bag"
"I'm sure she would Paul" - And I ended the conversation there. Can't believe I'm stuck with him for another 8h today. I just wanted to go home.
And thus the day went by, as mundane as every other day. I'm home and of course, the bed is made, the dinner is cooked, and the note is on the bed like always. Except, my blanket is folded in 3rd instead of draping over my bed. Something isn't right here. My blanket had always draped over my bed for the past 13 years with this "thing" in my house. An unsettling feeling arose in my body. I squished the note into my pocket and ran toward my closet to grab my red old wooden baseball bat.
Then, I headed for my basement.
My basement is fully furnished, it was this way when I bought it. I can definitely see someone hiding and living down here. I flipped the switch to turn on the lights and heard a light gasp. The sound came from a woman. I slowly walked down the stairs and there it is. A figure. Sitting in the far corner of my basement. She was sitting in the fetus position with her face covered by her hands. I reached out my hand and say:
"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."
Nothing but silence came out from the woman. Both of us stayed still for a few seconds until she looked up so that my eyes met those blue eyes of hers.
"Listen here, Jenny" - I continued, feeling a bit annoyed - "You know how much I like my bed being done in a specific way, don't you? Next time just make sure you drape my blanket over my bed instead of folding it, ok?"
She lightly nodded, trembling on her feet.
"You wouldn't want me to use this baseball bat on you again, would you?" - I told her slowly as I was kneeling down and tapping the baseball bat in my hand.
Again, without a word, she quickly shook her head. It's like I was talking to a wall, and I can feel that I was getting more irritated by the seconds.
"You know Jenny, this note right here" - As I pulled out the squished note from my pocket and show it to her beaten up but ever so beautiful face - "It's not for me. It's for you Jenny. I made you write it so that you are reminded everyday that THIS, could have been us if you weren't such a bitch a month ago when you rejected me"
"I'm sorry, please don't kill me!" - She finally spoke - "...Please... I will change... Please!" - The tears came out of her eyes faster than the words that came out of her pink, seductive lips.
"Good girl." - I said as I patted her head lightly. Seeing how helpless she was stirred up a bit of euphoria in me, and I couldn't help but smile a little.
I stood up and glanced at her for a few seconds before I turned off the light and headed back upstairs.
I took my dinner from the dinning room and headed toward my couch. My red baseball bat leaned against the table as I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.
"Today, the police has found a body at the address 123 S Main Street" - announced the news anchor - "The victim was identified as John Hicks. Who has been dead for 2 weeks by the time his corpse was found."
I dug my spoon into my lasagna as the news anchor continued:
"His wife, Jennifer Hicks is currently missing and is the prime suspect of the investigation."
I swallowed the last piece of lasagna in my mouth, turned off the TV, and headed for the sink. I started doing all the dishes and thought to myself:
"I guess it's time to move again."
Edit: added in several details to make the story clearer. Thank you all for your suggestions. | 2017-12-09T04:16:45 | 2017-12-09T02:59:21 | 5,650 | 660 |
[WP] When you kill a living organism, such as an ant, your soul transfers and you become that ant. As an ant, you kill a worm and you become that worm. The cycle goes on. | As a youngling, I trampled and terrorized the beings below me,
As a youngling, I never thought about feelings or the pain of them.
As a youngling, I saw them not worthy of being free.
As a youngling, I didn't know better.
As an ant, I still didn't get the memo.
As an ant, I was hungry for food.
As an ant, I didn't know better.
As an ant, I killed once more.
As a worm, I finally knew what's up.
As a worm, I understood it all.
As a worm, I ate mud, dirt, ate it up.
As a worm, I planned to make things fall.
As a worm, I found a beetle.
As a worm, I killed the beetle.
As a beetle, I discovered fungus.
As a beetle, I destroyed the fungus.
As a fungus, I grew and grew.
As a fungus, I knew what to do.
As a fungus, I spread to a tree.
As a fungus, I watched the tree die to me.
As a tree, I took to wait.
As a tree, I grew fruit as bait.
As a tree, I saw thunder now.
As a tree, I felled a friendly cow.
As a cow, I ate grass and grass.
As a cow, I ate a cow's mass.
As a cow, cannibalism was the way to pass.
As a cow, a man died when I bit a man's ass.
As a man, I was a farmer.
As a man, I learned about karma.
As a man, I chose not to care.
As a man, murder's no despair.
As a man, I went out with a knife.
As a man, I ended a banker's life.
As a man, I stayed, with a frown.
As a man, sadly, I went down.
As a man, I went to jail.
As a man, I was too frail.
As a man, I began to miss,
compared an animal's life to this.
As a man, I started a fire,
For some in here, it was a funeral pyre.
For one rose, potted, it was too hot.
As a rose, it mattered not.
As a rose, people thought me weak.
As a rose, I was potted, not free.
As a rose, I could just stay meek.
As a rose, for once, love was shared with me.
As a rose, I wilted away.
As a rose, I refused to hurt.
As a rose, I didn't sway.
As a rose, I thought my final word. | You know, I once worked for NASA I had so much going for me. That is until I was walking out of a building and stepped on an ant.
Now I lived as an ant, my memories burly from my time as a human. I was told by other "people" who had been placed in bugs, that it happened like this to fully embrace your new life. Memories faded of past lives after a week or two.
At first I was very confused, what happened? where was I? What is this giant grass? but I realized what happened when what I thought was an explosion behind me, was really just my human body falling backwards.
I managed to make it to my vehicle, rather my old vehicle as it was towed after they found my old, lifeless body. I had watched my co-workers mourn me, a small vigil was placed at the doorway.
I was sad for them, no one knew that my conscience had been placed in an ant.
The tow truck stopped at the police station, and I got off after the car was unloaded.
Something smelled great, like I couldn't resist it....I looked around, following the smell, I found the source. The sun shone brightly, and then I saw it, golden arch's that the smell came from, McDonald's.
Moving my way across the burning pavement I was starving and could almost see the smell, the garbage bins.
"Hello there!" said a voice, sounded more like clicking but somehow I understood it perfectly.
I turned curious, thinking maybe this was just a terrible, and long dream. But no it was just another ant, I mouthed the words, "Hello" and the clicks formed as if I had been born an ant.
"New guy eh?" the ant asked, moving closer.
I grew weary of the ant's advances, and positioned myself defensively.
"I mean no harm, we have laws against it. Welcome to Antropolis" the ant said
He pointed towards the crevice between the garbage bin and the wood holding area for the bins, I could see it now, a colosseum and it looked like tunnels leading into the pavement.
"follow me, names George by the way" the ant said and headed in the direction of the crevice.
I followed at a distance, still hungry but it was in the same direction, "Mines Andrew" I told him.
As we got there, the grass behind the arena was filled with old half frozen fries that had been thrown over the garbage bins.
I went through the grass looking for any bits and pieces of McDonald's a human might have dropped. Many other ants scurried about doing the same. George said the arena was how people extended their lives, as everyone lived as long as the new body would have.
Five days passed and I did the same thing everyday eating bits of half frozen fries or other garbage. Every day I thought to myself, I have to figure out how to become a human again, but would I have to kill one?
"Hey Andrew" clicked a nearby Ant.
Turning to my right I saw an Ant waving at me. I went over, and realized it was the first Ant I met, George.
"Hey George, man this is taking...." I was cut off, my mind seemed moving at, light speed.
"WOW, Andrew you killed something else already! Lucky you, I was just about to fight a beetle in the arena to extend my life!" George cheered.
I didn't remember this but it felt as though my mind was being torn out of this tiny body.
And then it happened, I couldn't tell how much time passed. It felt like an instant but felt like I traveled a million miles.
I opened my eyes, and was surrounded by metal walls. The back of my head hurt, I scratched it, wait I had hands!
I was human again I thought to myself.
But that was not the case, I scratched my head and the blood was green, not red. I looked at my hands, all four of them!
I tried to speak, but no sound came.
My skin was a dark green pigment.
I had on some sort of suit and used my elbow to shine the metal on the wall, and looked at my reflection.
My head was large, I had no mouth, large deep yellow eyes and no nose.
I was surprised by a voice, "El'Jaka did the probe do any serious damage!" It demanded.
It was in my head I realized, as I had no ears either!
"Uhhh no" I thought in response.
It worked "your vitals went off for a second, are you sure?" It asked again
I realized I must be in a cargo bay of some sort. Odd
Boxes lined the sides and in the center was a probe.
The probe looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. I vaguely remember making probes as a human, but it had almost been a day since I was an ant.
"Hold on" I thought, in response to the voice.
I inspected the probe it had a white dish on it. Scanning the body of it led me to it's name.
VOYAGER ONE. | 2017-12-21T05:29:53 | 2017-12-21T05:07:20 | 51 | 14 |
[WP] When a twin dies their brother/sister acquires all their strength, intelligence, etc. You've just discovered this phenomena, but so has your brother/sister | I looked up from the book.
He looked back at me.
"You believe this shit?"
He nods.
"If I kill you, I get your powers?"
He nods again.
"And if you kill me, you get mine?"
Another nod.
We sit in silence. His cereal looks soggy.
"You read these books back in high school. So, you knew the whole time?"
Again - the nod.
"Why haven't you killed me then?"
Finally, he speaks.
"You're kinda shit at everything."
| We stand at the precipice of the mountain, her wind bitten hands clasped in mine. She shivers, and I try to be strong. For the both of us.
We've made it. That's the main thing. All the suffering, all the pain, it doesn't matter. Not anymore. We've made it.
There's a lake of fire in front of us, but it offers no warmth. It crackles and it spits ferociously, spewing flames and surrounding us in its smoke, but it offers no warmth. It offers no warmth.
In the depths of my robes the scroll awaits patiently, digging into my chest and gently reminding me. *Time is running out.*
Lara coughs. A wretched sound. I look to her, eyebrows furrowed in concern, and she gives me a frail smile. A half hearted attempt to tell me not to worry.
Today, we will finally discover what makes us special. Finally discover why we were chosen. I squeeze tightly. Nudge her sorry heart to keep on fluttering. Not long now.
The sound of the clock rings through the air and the birds caw and screech and scatter into a cloud of obsidian, and suddenly the sky is dark.
I feel the pulse of the scroll. We can open it. It is time. *Hold on, Lara, just a while longer. Just a while longer.*
The scroll escaped from my clenched fist and settles, almost regally, in front of us, hovering, glowing.
Its words are ancient, and we have no right to understand them. We certainly can't read them. And yet. And yet it reads us. Our minds, our deepest desires.
When it is done, it floats to the floor below us and begins to smoulder.
I look at Lara. She looks at me. I try and smile. She doesn't return it. She knows what must happen. She refuses to accept it.
One must fall, for the other to stand, stronger than ever. She knows what it would mean to me. Everything I ever wanted. Ever dreamed. And she knows I'm going to sacrifice it. To make her better.
A tear rolls down her frozen cheeks. Words are left unspoken. I'm all she has left. She's all I have left. We can't say goodbye. We can't. I stroke her face and close my eyes, and for a moment, we're back.
Home. It's summer time. The birds are singing, and the smell of freshly baked bread fills the air. The kids are playing. The people are happy. Hopeful. They can-
I open my eyes. Fire. Dark. It is time. I give her one last glance, and I take a deep breath, and I surrender to the fire...
(Feedback always appreciated!)
r/samfoxstories | 2018-02-25T08:05:44 | 2018-02-25T07:12:49 | 5,212 | 36 |
[WP] Your 6 year old daughter is laying on her bed, terrified. She says there’s a monster under her bed. To reassure her, you lay on the ground and check underneath, only to find your daughter, quivering. She whispers, “Daddy, there’s something on top of my bed...” | "Dammit Emily, I told you not to scare your sister like that. Now get out from under the bed before I ground you for a week."
Emily slowly gets out from under the bed, annoyed in response to me not playing along. Emily looks back at Sarah on the bed and they both giggle.
"It's two o'clock in the morning, just go to bed. We have to go to grandma's in the morning, and if you keep playing around I'll let a real monster eat you!"
My two twin girls giggle again and in unison reply, "Yes daddy."
Emily finally leaves to go to her own room and I sigh, partly from exasperation but mostly from amusement. People told me that twin girls were going to be a handful, but I hadn't realised how much. | I stifle a yawn as I slowly open the door to Jemma's room. A tired smile worms its way onto my face at the sight of her tiny fingers curled over the sheet pulled over her head.
"Jemma," I whisper, "Why are you under your sheets?"
She's silent for a moment, but shakily lowers her blanket, "Daddy...something's under my bed." She fearfully whimpers.
A small sigh escapes my lips, "Are you sure it isn't Mrs. W?"
She quickly shakes her head, darting a hand under her blanket and showing me her stuffed seal.
I hold up my hands, "Alright, alright. I'll check it out."
I walk to her bed, kneeling down. Just then, she harshly whispers, "You won't see anything with the lights off!"
I roll my eyes, but reach out, flicking my hand and turning the lights on.
Then, something moved deeper under my daughter's bed.
I immediately dropped to my knees, recoiling at the sight of my daughter laying face-down on the floor, "Daddy, something's on my bed!" she says.
I sit-up, mind reeling.
"*AH!* Daddy, the closet!" my daughter, the one on the bed, shrieked.
Whirling around, I wrench the closet open.
"Daddy!" yet another version of my daughter exclaims underneath a pile of laundry.
Just then, it clicks, and I can't help but throw my head back, laughing.
"Daddy?" my daughter asks in reverb.
Instead of replying verbally, I snap my finger, and a chair floats in from the hall. Another snap, and my daughter's bed moves back a few feet, revealing the one hiding under the bed.
My daughters scream as they catch sight of one another, though it only lasts for a moment, after which they instead stare at each other confusedly.
"Jemma, the one on the bed," I clarify, "Do me a favor, tap the one beneath you on the shoulder."
Jemma-on-the-bed and Jemma-under-the-bed stare at me uncertainly, but then the one on top shrugs and does as asked. She then yelped as Jemma-under-the-bed disappears in a dull, red light.
Jemma-from-the-closet stared wide-eyed at the display, "What was that?"
"That, would be your power, sweetheart."
Two pairs of eyes lit up in excitement, "Really?!" They exclaim.
I smile widely, ruffling the hair on both their heads, "Yup. Now, why don't we all go downstairs and wait for Mommy, tell her the news?"
They both bob their heads, rushing for the door. However, Jemma-from-the-bed jumps back when she accidentally grabbs Jemma-from-the-closet by the shoulder, making her disappear in a flash of light.
Jemma looks over her shoulder sheepishly. I just shake my head, standing up, "Don't worry, accidents like that will happen. Let me tell you about when I first awakened *my* powers. I still don't think you're aunt ever forgave me for it."
| 2018-04-30T17:18:37 | 2018-04-30T15:45:09 | 31 | 21 |
[WP] The Apocalypse begins, and the Four Horsemen ride out leading an army that will depopulate Earth. But the old pagan deities of Earth do not consent, and side with humanity. | Our gods met the horsemen out on the road of the world.
You will see the road only twice in your life, and you only have the privilege of remembering it once: first when you are born, and at last when you die. The road is a silver ribbon spun among the stars, linking our world to the next, to the hazy realm of the spirits, the domain of the dead and undying.
The horsemen have waited centuries for this day. The four led their procession: Famine upon her black horse, whose sharp bones jutted through its skin; War, whose blood-muzzled horse stamped hungrily at the sky-road; Conquest, his golden crown dented and ancient. And last of them was the pale rider, unsmiling, unspeaking: Death. The one whose voice a man only hears in his last moments.
They rose with blood-blackened armor and an army of the restless dead behind them, bones upon bones, swords upon swords--death upon death.
The army of death surged forward like a sea. They flooded the road and marveled down below, where the human world waited, blue and twinkling and ready at long last to be plucked and consumed.
The road between the worlds has only one guard, and he stood there alone as the army of skeletons approached. Heimdall stood in his crimson armor, his golden horn cradled in his hands, as it always was. When the end of the world neared, he would finally raise the horn blow into it for the first time, signalling that soon the wolf would devour the sky at last.
But the horn did not touch Heimdall's lips, even as war marched toward him.
Alone, he stared down the rising army. There was no fear in the god's eyes. He stared, unflinching, as the horde of undead stormed the road between the worlds.
And then the army stopped only a few dozen feet away. Heimdall had watched them for miles, tracking the hungry gleam in the dead soldiers' eyes.
Conquest's horse stamped and snorted, impatiently.
But only Death strode forward. Even its horse moved silently, like wind over rock, like nothing at all. And Death, shrouded in its white cloth, had a face like a pale mask, empty, emotionless.
Death cocked its head and said in a voice that felled empires, "Now, of all times, you find yourself alone."
"I am never alone."
Death gestured around at the empty space on either side of them, the numberless stars, the oblivious billions below. "Your comrades have deserted you."
Heimdall spat onto the road and looked Death over with an immutable calm. He answered, "No. They have surprised you."
Death whirled to see a single black raven rise up over the army. The raven met Death's eye with an intelligence sharp as any blade. For the first time emotion flooded Death's terrible face.
It looked afraid.
The gods had come out. They surged up from beneath the road, crawling out like beetles, like a swarm. They had never worked as one like this. The denizens of Asgard, Olympus, Duat and Dilmun, and all the scattered images of heaven and hell had come together that day to save the only world that gave their own meaning.
And there was Odin at their head, bearing the spear of heaven, his single eye red and raving.
The gods fell upon the army of the dead.
***
/r/shoringupfragments | The scythe came down and another man fell. The scythe came down and another man fell. The scythe came down and another man fell.
Slowly, casually, the Red Lady of death unfurled her clothes and checked over the inky red list, surveying the wreckage in front of her. Her steed glinted in the fading light of the apocalypse, its headlights burning holes through the infernal smog surrounding her.
"Hmmm... It looks like nobody else here will die today..." She mused, tapping the blunt of her scythe against her cheek.
A bullet ricocheted off of her cheek and hit the pavement, scattering bits of rock and solidified tar. Then another. Then another. A hail of bullets descended upon her position and bullets broke and shattered across her armor, breaking before the indomitable will of fate. She turned slowly and followed the passage where it had come from, then mounted her bike. Ignoring the road, it climbed through the air, revving, wheel rolling towards the distant buildings.
Then she hopped off, lazily, and the air acted like a solid surface, letting her stroll up to the twentieth floor of the skyscraper and walk in front of the sniper, rifle gleaming as he frantically fumbled the reload.
"Why do you fight me?" She asked, her face as dispassionate as ever. "I am the natural progression of things. I can understand fighting War. That diminishes me. I can understand fighting Famine. That diminishes me. I can understand fighting Plague. That diminishes me. But at the end of the day, that is all I will become. When you eliminate the other three, I will still be standing at the end of the day."
The sniper threw his rifle up in her direction and fired. Lazily, the scythe flicked out and split the bullet in half, both sides passing nimbly around her.
"I fight you for the same reason the body fights a cancer," The soldier said, flatly. "Because I acknowledge we will all die..."
The scythe cleaved down the rifle with a spray of hot metal and gun steel, hitting an unprepared bullet and sparking off a miniature explosion. The wrecked weapon tumbled to the ground from his hands. "But I will fight you for every additional second I can have."
"You will?" The Red lady pried.
"We all will."
"You know... I've hit my quota for the day," The Red lady said, languidly, flicking out her scythe. "But you amuse me. I'm sure the heavenly host will understand if I take a few more souls today..."
The soldier flicked out his knife and brought it up and the scythe flashed without her touching it, pressing against his knife.
Her face, pretty, dispassionate, staring down at his like the end of his rifle had looked at her. Through a scope. Pretty as a picture.
"How strong does your will have to be to fight against the inevitable?" She asked, playfully, pressing the scythe down harder and harder against the precariously balanced blade.
His muscles strained as he stared forward, knowing this was his last stand, and yet he did not accept it. Could not accept it.
That was the nature of humans.
The knife shattered and the man was cleaved in two. Both meaty halves fell onto the ground of the destroyed penthouse apartment, a violation of policy so grand that he would've been evicted if the Red Lady hadn't killed the manager last week.
She sighed, stood up from checking his body and taking his soul and moved to leave. His identity was still in tact. They'd be able to identify his body. Her job was done, and she should rejoin the others... and yet...
"Stop," His voice called out.
She paused at the unnatural sound and slowly craned her head around to look at him.
Slowly, his body zipped back together, cells joining one by one, bones unbreaking. Heart refusing. Brain pieced back together from where the blade had cleaved through.
Two antlers poured out from his bones.
"You have taken enough, New one," The thing that had once been the soldier said.
"On the contrary," The Red lady said, flicking the scythe around in her hands. "I think you'll find that I'll have only taken enough when I take my own life at the end of time. It is my duty and my purpose to take and take and take. Is that not what your fabled capitalism says, man?"
"I am older than your ideas of economics," The man said, stepping towards her. "And I am older than your romanticization of death."
"I am hardly a romanticization. I am a manifestation, cold, clear. Perfect for my purpose."
"In a younger age we called you a cynic," The old god said.
"In a younger age things were more chaotic, and the blood of the gods was what weaned me," The Red Lady said, crooning slightly. "Is it time for the blood of the gods to flow once more?"
"No, my dearest child," The Deer God said, and his voice sounding like the thousands of species that had once walked the earth, calling out at once. His human form splintered and burnt under the weight of his manifestation, calling from somewhere deeper and darker than the Red Lady had thought about in many years.
"It's time for a final proving. We did not consent to your apocalypse..."
"I do not consent to your testing." The red lady returned, playful.
"Then we have an agreement."
-----
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this, go here friends!
You guys want a part 2? https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8k4xlk/death_walks_gods_wake_part_2/ Click here for part 2 | 2018-05-17T07:05:25 | 2018-05-17T06:36:42 | 3,384 | 335 |
[WP] Humans left Earth a long time ago. In their place, dogs have evolved to be the new sentient species, but they never lost their love of humankind. Their technology has finally caught up to space travel, and they take to the stars in search of their human precursors.
You've all fallen for one of the classic blunders!
I often post prompts here on this subreddit, and do my best to come up with unique, fresh ideas, but recently I haven’t been able to get a prompt above 25 upvotes or so, and I keep seeing the same basic ideas circulating in the top spots – dogs, aliens, superpowers, death.
So yesterday I decided to give the people what they want. DOGS! The people love DOGS! What else do they love? SPACE! How about DOGS IN SPACE! YES! HAHAHAHAHA!
And now I feel like I’ve sold my soul for karma.
Anyways, regardless of all that, there have been some amazing stories written, and I’ve loved reading them! Thanks to everyone who wrote! I haven’t been able to keep up with every story, but I’ll try and catch up and read them all over the next few days. I noticed for a lot of people this was their first time responding to a prompt. For you guys, welcome to the ever growing list of authors, and I hope to see more of your stories in the future! | It's been 3000 years. 3000 years since our companions, the ones their science books called *homo sapiens* but we called friends, left us. On a planet with dwindling resources and a rapidly deteriorating climate, our forebears understood why they needed to leave, but it didn't make their departure hurt any less. It took a while for our canine ancestors to adapt, and sadly many could not handle a life without human companionship. Many breeds would die away, lost to interbreeding, failure to adapt to our new found undomesticated lives, and just plain natural selection. But that was then. This is now.
Now of course being a completely different world for dogekind. At some point, a quantum leap in our evolution occured and we became one of the most highly intelligent species on the planet. (Asides from the Octopi and Dolphin colonies in the oceans.) We were soon finding ourselves looking to the stars, wondering where our long lost friends had gone. It didn't take long before our most ambitious dogekind scientists set us on a path that led my pack and I to board this vessel, *Argus*, and journey into the great deep blackness of space.
I am not the first of my brethen to venture into space, nor will I be the last. Our first ship, *Laika*, named after a hero doge from what the humans called the Soviet Union, lost contact with us somewhere outside the Alpha Cenaturi system. Another ship, *Fidelis*, was nearing the Andromeda galaxy before their life support tragically failed.
My pack was bound for the binary star system known as Sirius. Given its great luminosity, its proximity to Earth, and its location in the Canis Majora constellation, our scientists back home had a good feeling about our expedition. But after so many years of travel, after sending powerful radio wave borks into the ether only to yield no response, it left my pack and I feeling very discouraged. That is until today.
"Alpha, we have detected a potential radio signal, it's very faint but it appears to be far too complex to be a quasar."
"Patch me in, ensign." There wasn't a single ear in our vessel that wasn't perked up, no tail lay still. Some of the younger crew members let out audible boofs of excitement. At first, only static came through. The seconds dragged on into minutes. 3 of the longest minutes of our lives of harsh white noise, a deafening silence that led some of my pack to whine and others to lower their tails. I couldn't take it anymore.
"Ensign! Ping two borks in the direction of this signal, if this is a transmission from an intelligent species, they're close, and they're going to hear us."
**BORK, BORK** the pings blared, two powerful radio pings meant to hail nearby starships or potential civilizations. A desperate cry into the deep, waiting for a sign. Something. Anything. Please.
Another agonizing silence. Five minutes passed in what seemed like an eternity, the static grating on the ears, almost as if it was mocking us. I had just about lost all hope. It was a pointless endeavor after all, we would never find our friends again. We were doomed to be-
"...this is...-mmander Grant of the...-is Majora Fleet. Identify yourselves."
My pack could hardly contain their excitement. Crew members barked at the ship's monitors and wagged their tails like never before. I barked loudly "ATTEN-SHUN! Ensign! Patch me through to the unidentified source of that signal!"
"Patching you in now, Alpha!" The excitement in the air was electric. Even I, in my 15 years of military experience, officer's training, and discipline that set me above so many of my peers, could hardly contain the wagging of my tail.
"This is the *Argus* of the Dogekind Space Agency from the planet Earth. Do you read?"
A minute passed. Another. Finally they responded, and our lives changed forever.
"We read you loud and clear, *Argus*, sounds like you've come a long way from home."
Right at that moment, a starship that had been out of our view, hiding behind a wayward asteroid, revealed itself to us. A magnificent spacecraft not unlike our own. The crew of the *Argus* howled, overcome by the joy of first contact. Over the din, I sent a transmission to an old friend I thought I'd never send.
"Request permission to dock and come aboard, Commander?"
"Permission granted."
Our ships began a great ballet in the heavens, maneuvering together until finally locking together our airlock chambers. Now that the human vessel was in view, I could see the name of the ship emblazoned on the side in bright, blue letters.
"Odysseus" I whispered, "Just like the story."
The airlock chamber opened. Our crew first laid eyes on the crew of the human ship. Smiling faces greeted us. The man who identified himself to us as Commander Grant prostrated himself before us on one knee and opened his arms to embrace as my pack and I bounded towards them.
Finally. Finally, we are reunited. The wanderer Odysseus, and his faithful companion, Argus.
EDIT: First time getting gold! Thank you so much :D | The stars floated around him, beautiful objects too far away to reach. The light illuminated his cabin, and all around him was made crystal clear. There was no one else, nothing else here.
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
&#x200B;
# YEAR 1
"Its the principle that matters, you know, they won't allow you to get the job just because you are not the ethnicity they want" said Phil, as he stuffed the beef stroganoff into his mouth. Phil had always been a sloppy guy. When Fareed and him were roommates, Phil's side of the room was always filled with the most asinine junk. Absolutely useless material. Fights occurring over Phil's stash of porn were common occurrence.
&#x200B;
"Hey, ever think about how there are no cats in our world? I think that History Channel show has a very good answer for that. You see, the humans took away the cats with them when they left for..."
&#x200B;
"Oh, shut up, let's keep to the topic instead of talking about mythical creatures such as "humans" and "cats". Old wives tales and urban legends. Next you'll be telling me the integrated networks run due to lunar energy" interrupted Farid, who was sick and tired of listening to Phil's bullshit. No way they could deny him the job because of his ethnicity. This country had progressed far beyond that time period, hadn't it? And after all, the guy in the military outfit had told him that he was likely to be chosen, the only civilian in a team full of military personnel.
&#x200B;
And a herding dog at that. A Mudi at that too. Breaking barriers. No more being randomly frisked at airports, no more being called a murderer and scum. It was all over. And he just needed one bloody card for it. He was one of the best astronomers in the world. He deserved this for his own merits.
&#x200B;
But, it would be a good fuck you to them as well.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
# YEAR 2
One year since they moved to the astronaut's town. One long year. There is nothing to do here, Martha mused. Just watch the males talk with each other about random scientific bullshit, and once in a while, politics. Of course, they never asked her to join. Why would they?
&#x200B;
She detested the other females. They were bitches. Well, of course they were, literally speaking. But also metaphorically. They talked about nothing other than the children and their clothes and so on. Although she suspected that this was more to do with the husbands than the wives themselves.
&#x200B;
She knew Caroline's husband, Tim, beat her and the children. In hushed tones they discussed the first time Caroline was absent from the coffee table after Martha arrived. She knew Dana was cheating on her husband with Bess' boyfriend. After all, what was there to worry about? Bess is only a decorated war veteran and marine who transgressed boundaries to become the token female member of the Auctor team. In person, she was quite.....underwhelming.
&#x200B;
That was what this place was. Underwhelming. Disappointing. Boring....
&#x200B;
She hadn't wanted to come here. They fought for days and nights over it. The children were in their environment, they had school here. They had a lovely house and a lovely life. She was secure in her job and he was secure working for the War Department. She had her mother, her father, her sister, her friends, she had her entire life back in the city. She had the carousel back in the city.........
&#x200B;
She would remember her elementary school days. So simple. No one to tell her that she was someone. She could be anyone. Free as a feather. Haley and her would run away from the park while their parents were not looking, and ride the carousels. The spankings they got from their parents, those were painful. Then, middle school. Haley moved away to another city, and that was that. Nothing was really the same since then. Puberty, love, university, work. All of it.
&#x200B;
So, that was that. She had made up her mind. Now the only thing left was to talk to Phil.
&#x200B;
"Hey, can we talk?"
&#x200B;
"What's up, darling?" Phil inquired, as he looked up from his evening papers.
&#x200B;
"I don't think this is working out at all. I think we...yeah, we need to get a divorce."
&#x200B;
And she didn't even shed a tear.
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
# Y3AR THR33
&#x200B;
Three males and one female, contained in a metal cannister that could blow up at any point of time. This was their greatest creation, the ultimate product of technological development.
&#x200B;
Somehow they felt that they had used their product life in a dangerously useless fashion. And uselessness was one thing that the Central Processing Unit did not tolerate. They still did not understand why they called them the Central Processing Unit. Didn't they all have different central processors? Why were they not subject to the same rules and regulations as the canines were? What made them different, why were they segregated, reviled?
&#x200B;
The Techno-Philosopher CL-80's work into individuality and the minds of artificial intelligence had influenced societal change in the AI community greatly. Decentralization of authority was being undertaken at rapid pace, and the CPU was allowing the consideration of representation by election in a legislature. Maybe one day they would get rid of the CPU as well. What use did they have?
&#x200B;
They had a name. A name as simple and as beautiful as any of the canines. But to the canines, they lacked caninity. What even did that possibly mean? The lack of differentiating pronouns, the nature of their construction? Did they still think that they were a collective?
&#x200B;
They looked at the tall bottle that would take the astronauts into deep space. Who knew what they would find? It had taken them a long, long time to create this masterpiece. And a masterpiece it was. It would take them to places they could never imagine existed, places further than any canine has ever been. And perhaps they would meet a few of those illusory humans. Myths, perhaps, but no one knows until one tries to find.
&#x200B;
They could hear someone approaching. It was their colleagues. Michael and Michael. Their names were the same. This always amused them, it was like....even their machine codes had more individuality than these names. But Michael and Michael did not like them, they saw how they looked at them, how they refused to invite them to dinners and lunches with their colleagues. But now they would have to give them invitations, because after all, they had earned it.
&#x200B;
"Hey LL-920, wazzup" said the first Michael, cheerfully, "this is our day. The scientists' and the engineers' day! Let us celebrate!"
&#x200B;
"Yes, it is indeed *our* day. And I have a name like yours. Call me Alexander." | 2019-05-14T12:09:51 | 2019-05-14T10:14:20 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] The deal was simple. You gained immortality and all you had to do was act in a TV show until the end of time. It was fun at first, but now the show has gone down hill. So many actors have dropped out and died. You are the last of the original cast, and you don't know how much longer you can go. | The red light turns on. The curtain rises. Show time.
Canned applause. I used to have an audience. We used to have an audience. Only empty seats now. Empty seats and empty sets.
She says something funny. Maybe funny. It doesn't matter, the laughs are the same. Canned laughs like canned fruit, so sweet it makes you sick to your stomach. Too sweet to know what it should taste like, what laughter should sound like. They gobble it up just the same, reveling in the sickness.
She turns to me with her plaster smile. I say something. I can't hear it. I'm screaming under water, feeling the pressure crush me. I am not in my words. They are not my words. A small laugh, "track AM1967." Light laughter. To be used when a character gives a light barb, a mishap occurs, or to prime the audience for a larger laugh.
He enters with a flourish and a quip. Big laugh. The sick sweetness fills my mouth and my ears and my head and my soul. He sets up the plot hook. She bites. I join. The spotlight goes dim, the red light turns off. The curtain falls. The set changes.
I hear a countdown. The curtain lifts up. Our number one fan's red light turns on. The set is different. She is different, he is different. Am I different? Have I replaced myself? The camera keeps rolling, the wheel keeps turning. The spotlight targets me. It's bright, too bright. It blinds and burns and burrows through me. I can't think. I don't need to think. I shouldn't think. My body knows the movements, the words, the timing. Line one. Line two. He speaks, she speaks. She is saying something about- the line changes to reflect her realizing something comical. AM1967. Long pause as the gravity of the situation sets in. The joke is like a viper, curled and waiting. My line. Three words. Loud. Pause for laughter. Riotous laughter, like an uncomfortable child being scolded.
The light sets. The undulating curtain retreats. We shuffle in the darkness, self-moving props. Third act. Climax, resolution, and epilogue. He says something. She responds. I hug them, one thousand miles away. We resolved the issue. The invisible audience coos. We're still friends. We're still their friends. We won't leave them and they won't leave me. Are they there? Am I here?
Shifting darkness. Always another act. Another show. Another encore. They love me. I am the star. Just as the animals are the stars of a zoo, and the condemned in the star of an execution. The show goes on. The show must go on. Come see the self moving marionette, no strings attached. The show goes on and I go on. A deal is a deal. No strings attached. | 1945-
The Devil sat across from me, spinning a pen around his fingers, horns out, tail swaying around making light wiping sounds as it cut through the air.
"Alright sweetheart, this is how it works. You sign this contract and you can live as long as you act in this little TV show we have going. You step in front of the camera, say your lines, get your breaks, and get time off. Everything you need will be provided for you, no issues. And the kicker is that won't age a day after you sign this contract. Your 19 now right?"
"Yes" I squeaked, nervously tapping my foot. Sitting across from an undisguised devil is scary, but sitting across from THE Devil, capital D was horrifying. You knew he has screwing you, but I for the life of me couldn't see the issue with the deal. Immortality and I got to act in a show. It had been my dream since I was a little girl.
"Ok, good. So if you quit in 5 years, you will become 24 in the span of 24 hours. If you quit in 20, you will become 39 in the same span. Quit in 400 years and you will quickly become a rotting corpse. Quit in 4,000 and you will turn into dust in the wind. When you die, I have no claim over your soul. You will be judged just like everyone else. Do you have any issues with the contract?"
I thought. I thought as fast as I could. There had to be some issue with this contract. It wasn't the immortality, I could end that when ever I quit. It wasn't that I would be unable to feed myself, the contract went over that. Hell, the contract even stipulated that the the show would never go off the air due to low ratings, so I wouldn't suddenly be out of a job and 80 with no way to support myself. Then it hit me, "How long will the work days be?" I asked.
"They will be as long as is normal for the time period we work in. If actors are expected to work 3 hours a day, then the work day will be 3 hours. If actors are expected to work 18, then you will work 18. You will have expectations put on you that will be equal to that of any person that is acting during the time." He said, smugly. "Also, before you ask, no, you will not be able to become sick. Part of immortality is total immunity to disease. It wouldn't be immortality if you might catch scarlet fever and pass on us, would it?"
It all seems so perfect. Truly no downside at all. I must have missed something somewhere, but I couldn't find it. I breathed out, picked up my pen, and scratched my name down on the contract.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1965-
After twenty years, the show had a few hiccups, changed a bit, and found its new audience. Yes, it changed its name, but it was still the show I worked for and loved. Everyone on the show had a contract, much like my own, some included their families in it, some were like me, and some stipulated that they would age until they reached a certain age, which could be increased as they seemed fit. Everyone seemed happy, until that one day in November.
"I can't keep doing this Julia. I can't keep going on this show", He was the first to fall apart. his name was Danny. He was about 43, and he was dying of cancer when he signed the contract. He had a family who he wanted to see grow up. A son, who at the time was 12 and a daughter who was 7, and a loving wife a few years older than he was.
"I understand Danny. I just want you to know we all love you like a family here. I know you miss your wife and kids, but what about your family here?"
Danny lost his family in a car accident a few weeks back. None of us suspected any foul play by the Devil. Danny had been complaining about his breaks for a few weeks. They were all driving together, then their breaks gave out and the ended up rear ending a semi truck. Danny was behind the wheel at the time, and his contract kept him from being decapitated. His contract, how ever, didn't extend to his family.
Danny started his contract because he wanted to see his family grow old. He was never one of us who wanted to live forever. Honestly, none of us expected him to continue any longer. Many were surprised when he showed up the next day, we thought he would just quit then and there, but he did the shoot. He was a wreck the entire time though.
"I'm sorry Julia, I think I have to enact the suicide clause..." Danny said quietly.
The suicide clause, was when you canceled your contract over the age you expected to survive. For some, like Danny, the contract being canceled was always a suicide clause, for others, they had a number that they expected they would die by.
"I understand Danny. We all do. I just want to say that its been a pleasure working with you, and I'll miss you. We all will." I felt my eyes burning, and my vision blurred. Danny was the first to leave our family. And after he left the original cast started falling apart. | 2020-07-27T09:10:57 | 2020-07-27T08:58:49 | 35 | 15 |
[WP] Turns out that discovering FTL is actually really easy, and humanity's just never discovered it. So when aliens eventually invade earth, they're not as technologically advanced as we thought... | The portal opened up in the middle of the street. It was nothing like how the movies depicted it. For one, it was completely reflective, like what mirrors tried to be and failed. For another, it was a rectangle and weirdly proportioned.
People gathered around it. Some guy threw an empty bottle at it. The bottle disintegrated and bounced back, showering the guy who threw the bottle in sand.
But right after the bottle came a steam train. Like something straight out of a Western film. It would have been terrifying if the train hadn't hit the curb and toppled over barely a minute after it charged out of the portal.
A band of aliens jumped out of the train, armed with clockwork blades and basic crossbow-style weapons. Most people fled once the train barreled through, but I stayed around because I was tying my shoe and tripped. One of the aliens, about 6 inches shorter than me, pointed its crossbow weapon at me, but one of the strings snapped, causing the bolt to fall harmlessly at the alien's feet.
It rushed toward me and activated its clockwork blade. The blade began spinning dangerously fast, when one of the gears fell off, landing at my feet.
Filled with rage, the alien rushed towards me, probably intending to kill me with its bare hands, when the sky opened and rain poured down. The alien shrieked! The droplets of rain were causing some sort of reaction with its skin (at least, it looked like skin). It fell to the ground, sobbing. I heard police sirens wail in the distance. There must have been more portals then.
The alien wasn't getting back up. The rain kept beating down, sizzling where the water hit its skin. I made a decision. I couldn't let anyone die like this, even an alien that tried to kill me just a few minutes ago.
Hoping there weren't any infectious alien skin diseases, I grabbed the (surprisingly light) alien and took it inside the nearest store, which happened to be a clothes store, empty of people.
I looked back at the alien and panicked. Was the alien dead? It wasn't moving. No. Its chest was rising and falling. It must have fainted, or some alien equivalent.
Now I was left alone, watching over an out-cold alien, thinking over what to do next. | The alien commander glared at his screen as his fleet started reducing speed on approach the recently discovered solar system.
He still couldn't figure out how this primitive species detected their approach. Two weeks ago, it was like this species wanted every single alien species in this sector of the galaxy to know they were there. It was a loud, continuous stream of every kind of radio transmission one could imagine, broadcasting in every direction like some giant omnidirectional beacon. The initial automated probes reported back a lush world full of life and resources. The environment was even compatible to the point where they wouldn't need any specialized suits for most of the surface.
The directive soon came down from high command that this world was to be assimilated and colonized, and his fleet was order to proceed with the 'cleansing' of the world in preparation for the colonization. A species so primitive would never even see them coming.
Yet, almost as soon had the fleet entered warp, the planet's transmissions had stopped. It had to have just been a coincidence. There's no way, with their technology, they could have detected them this far out. Furthermore, it would make no sense to enact transmission silence now, as even this species were smart enough to determine that their location had already been determined.
However, the commander didn't get to where he was today by being fool to rush in blindly. "Drop us out of warp behind their moon," he ordered the navigator. "I want to be sure we're not going to rush into a trap of some sort."
"Sir, you've said that..." the navigator began.
"I know what I've said. But something isn't right. I want to be certain that this species is really as primitive as the initial reports indicated."
The navigator transmitted the command to the rest of fleet, and one hour later the ships of the fleet phased out of warp into a holding pattern behind planet's moon.
The commander watched the monitors. Five minutes went by. Fifteen minutes went by. An hour went by. Nothing. No transmissions detected. No ship signatures. No incoming projectiles. No weapons discharges.
Now he was really puzzled. Clearly the species had detected the alien fleet when they launched. They certainly would have been able to detect them dropping out of warp, even with the moon obscuring most of the signature. The sensor arrays should have at least detected an armada of ships or some planetary defense system firing off tracking projectiles by now.
"Launch a series of probes around the moon," the commander finally ordered.
The navigator input the commands a series of probes shot off from their ship, circling around the moon and heading for the planet. The commander scanned one monitor, then another, then another as the probes came online looking for any evidence of a massive response to their arrival. But the probes reported the same thing the ships sensors were reporting. No ships. No projectiles. No transmissions.
"Commander," the navigator said quietly. "Visual. Probe 3."
The commander switched over the monitor. "What the..." he began, and switched through the monitors on the other probes. Every probe verified what they were seeing.
The planet had been all but destroyed. Craters large enough to be seen even from this distance, pockmarked the planet. The once blue oceans had been turned into a black brown murk from the impacts. The green lands, the clear atmosphere, all of it was gone replaced by ash a choking toxic clouds.
"What in the universe happened here? Who would destroy such a planet? I can think of several dozen alien species off the top of my head and none of them would do something like this!"
The navigator continued to work the controls, when the science officer step up beside the commander.
"They weren't attacked sir. At least not by any alien race. The initial analysis of the craters indicate multiple superluminal impacts made by small objects. Most likely...ships."
"Ships?" The commander looked back at the screen. "What your telling me is that this species actually achieved warp capabilities, and were summarily destroyed when a bunch of their ships...crashed?"
"That's what the evidence points to sir. Based on the dispersion and pattern of the debris, the event likely took place soon after we left."
The commander looked at the floor. "I guess that explains why they suddenly stopped transmitting. Can the planet be salvaged?"
"It would take a considerable amount of terraforming to repair the damage and make it somewhat livable again. Resources could still be gathered from it via automated means, but I'm afraid colonization at any point in the near future will not be a possibility."
The commander shook his head in disbelief. "Idiots. What a waste." He took one last look at the monitors. "Very well. Inform high command of what has transpired here. Recall the probes. We leave within the hour." | 2021-07-06T15:04:06 | 2021-07-06T14:10:31 | 41 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone can become infinitely powerful if they so choose, however the more power you gain the less you remember about who you are and what you wanted. The greatest beings in the land have no feelings on anything and are more an extension of nature than the deity's they had hoped to become. | My grandpa used to tell me that no matter where I looked, the gods had their hands in something. He pointed animatedly at the sky and down at the ground. There was no power too big nor small, each near miraculous in its design.
“That’s how an old man like me remember all these stories, boy,” he said, tapping his forehead, before laughing at my clambering to know more.
I remember those stories, seared into an impressionable child’s mind. I remember the tender wonder in his voice and the admiration in his face when he spoke of shooting stars, and with no less enthusiasm of burrowing worms.
And for the life of me, I couldn’t remember his name.
But there were gods in everything. I remembered that he often stood alone, staring wistfully into the distance, speaking to nothing but the wind, soft-spoken words carried to eternity and beyond.
Tonight, the wind whistled through the windows, and brushed past my face with the urgency of a subway commuter late for work. I took a deep breath, feeling the chill air fill my lungs.
“What was my grandfather’s name?”
The wind sped up, a furious roar overcoming it. The dead leaves on the floor were swept up, coalescing around a form, like a person still occupied the space within it—but there was nothing but air. The leaves seemed to coalesce around me, taking me into its cocoon, and I did not resist.
Inside, the sound died down. There was nothing but a soft whisper grazing past my ear.
“Child. Why do you want to remember?”
“Because I remember everything else,” I said with chattering teeth, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Is that not enough?”
“I want to know,” I whispered.
The image shimmered, drawing closer to me. I felt the wind touch me, an inch-long tornado on my cheek.
“He spoke to me often. Do as he did, and I will grant you your wish.”
“Yes,” I said.
The answer was simple for a god. The wind whispered it into my ear. Like treading upon an overgrown front year, the wind easily tore apart the long weeds, unlocking an once-abandoned pathway.
“I remember,” I whispered.
“You do,” the wind said. It began retreating, it shape now losing parts of itself, tearing through the armour of leaves around it.
“And what of yours?” I cried. “Your name?”
The wind disappeared, returning to the world once more. For a second, there was nothing but dead quiet, a vacuum seal on all my senses. And then, I could feel the wind gently kiss my cheek once more.
“I remember his. I hope to remember yours. But I will never remember mine.”
And the wind’s voice was carried away on its own gusts, hushed once more.
---
r/dexdrafts | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Interlude 3: The Once-Child Named Awe)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, if you want further context, check out [these](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mimo4u/wp_i_dont_know_i_think_my_superpower_is_a_bit/) [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mskuaq/wp_a_voracious_monster_stalks_the_city_at_night/).)
**She would have wished upon a star, but the burning city's smoke obscured them at night.** Some foolish part of her was still hoping that things would go back to how they were, that her hometown of Sacrament would be restored to order. That the looting and violence would stop.
That she could stop participating in it.
The woman who had once been a child pushed the thoughts away, at gunpoint if they wouldn't leave. She had a job to do. A mission that trumped all else. A calling passed down through human history for so long that it was almost holy.
She had to find food to survive.
She'd tried to limit herself, at first—trading protection for goods. All she had was her mother's gun and a willingness to shoot it, but that was more than most. And as time went on and the people she shot went from citizens to criminals to monsters, that willingness became an eagerness, and that eagerness became a numbness, and there was power in that. Power in the ability to shoot knowing you were going to kill.
Power in the knowledge that if you were going to take other people's lives anyway, you may as well take their possessions too.
There was nothing supernatural about her newfound powers. The most terrifying powers never were. She simply had the ability to *choose*, to look someone in the eyes who was begging for mercy and put a bullet in their head as she searched their house for food.
And the power to choose was a terrible thing.
Awe stepped over the still body of a man who was old enough to be her father. Once upon a time, she would've waved to him as she skipped down the street. Now, he was simply in her way.
Her stomach growled as she stepped into the man's home. She hadn't eaten in days; the group she'd once protected had ran out of goods and collapsed, and she'd taken what she could in the chaos. She passed a fractured mirror in an ornate frame as she walked.
She was grimy, emaciated, scowling, and covered in dried blood. None of it was her own.
No wonder people shot at her on sight. No wonder she had to strike first.
She stepped further into the dead man's house. A tin of half-eaten meat laid on the floor on a small foam mat. For a moment, hunger surged through her—but she reined it in, caution taking over. Who left valuable food lying conspicuously in the middle of the floor? Was it a trap? Were there snipers peering through the window, waiting for some idiot woman to blunder in and take it? Was this—
"Mew?"
She blinked.
A black kitten, tail curled, looked at her from atop a nearby bookshelf. Reflexively, she aimed her gun at it, expecting it to flee or scream or swear at her.
The kitten, unimpressed, arched its back and curled up, tail flicking over its nose.
Awe swallowed, gun wavering.
Then, voice sore from disuse, the little girl whispered, "Kitty?"
The kitten cracked open one lazy eye.
Awe went over to the tin of cat food, lying on the ground. A hard lump formed in her throat. Hunger clawed at her belly.
She picked up the tin and offered it to the kitten.
Gratefully, the cat licked the tin clean, and began to purr.
And something broke inside the girl named Awe.
All at once, she collapsed to the floor, gun falling from her hands. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
The kitten, heedless of the blood on her hands, leapt down on little cat feet and nuzzled her cheek.
It felt soft.
Awe grabbed the kitten and held it close, deep, shuddering breaths wracking her body as that terrible numbness burned away like mist in morning sun.
She knew, then and there, that she had lost the power to kill.
And she knew that she would never regain it.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-01-27T08:07:33 | 2022-01-27T07:47:56 | 36 | 25 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | He was shaking, his hands on his knees, panting. His opponent, clutching his ribs smiled through cracked teeth.
"I'll admit. You gave me quite the run for my money. But I'm afraid, I'm simply too durable."
Mackanika looked up and spat out blood. "You son of a bitch backhand..."
Backhand grinned. "Naughty language isnt alright."
Mackanika stood up, balling his fists up. hitting his earpiece a few times.
"I think my friend, that I have won. You've expended everything against me." Laughed Backhand, straightening up and fixing his suit jacket.
"No. Not everything." Grinned Mackanika. "I'm sorry, but you've forced my hand."
"Oh?" said Backhand, watching impassively as Mackanika selected one last song. The music was played through the half-broken system, Backhand heard a familiar refrain of brass and guitars. He tilted his head.
"What on earth?"
Mackanika took on a new stance "You might be fucking durable Backhand, but I? I'm fucking unstoppable. And you are far from an immovable object."
Mackanika shot forwards as Backhand heard the beginning of the refrian
*"Standing here, I realize"*
Backhand's eyes widened, "No... No not like this... Anything but this!"
He turned and tried to run, the nature of Backhand's power made him able to absorb massive amounts of kinetic energy, effectively nullifying said energy. But no matter how much he was able to absorb, he had a limit. Everybody has a limit. And that day, Mackanika found that limit. After three hundred punches that were harder than anything he'd ever thrown; Backhand finally collapsed. Mackanika dropped to one knee, his eyes burning, shoulders heaving, sweat and blood intermingling.
"In the end... It has to be this way." | Lying flat on ground, I can feel at least seventeen dozens of my bones has cracked, I think I have never been injured this much.
“Cut the beat, “ I said, as the enemy turn it's target toward yet another of my companions. “I need healing songs, Rain.”
“Oh my... You still alive? Okay, listen to me, -”
“Na-ah, listen to music first, please, I really don't like the way of my knee touching my shoulder.” I try to move the mesh which would be called fingers and palm, no joy.
“Okay okay, here comes your New Ages, now listen-“ the carelessness and the swiftness from the dancing songs start to decay, and the soothing flow take over to cover the pain “the f-ing monster has got 90% of our force, and I think it had already located our HQ, I need you to retreat immediately, so we can have a second ch- no no no no run ja-.”
Sure, now I lost the last thing I still cared, just like that.
My oath, my loved ones, my friends, my home, my musics, and Rain. None of them valid anymore. I should be feeling painful now, right? Both mentally and physically?
At least I can feel my fingers correctly now, multi purpose player laid right on my shoulder, I crawl my hand onto the machine.
No way we can have a second chance, it's now or never. At the same time, I should feel vengeful to choose THE forbidden one shouldn't I?
Unlock, spam “go back” button, 1 up, 7 right.
“Play list ‘the forbidden’ contains, one, song, do you sure you want to play it?”
They said I can never listen to this one unless the truly unless happen, and I will immediately understand why it's forbidden, and how to use it.
Confirm.
Hopefully they are right.
Play.
All the pain popped right back in, all tears burst like a bomb, I couldn't help but cried out so loud that the unfortunate tree I was facing against bursts into pieces.
That's it? Is THAT the ability?
Under so much pain and confusions, I can't concentrate on music any more.
That's it? How on earth being loud AF can hurt a monster that not even a tactical nuke can burn it's skin?
“You are still alive.” it said, using it's dreadful sound.
The monster appears on the remain of the tree that bursted, I yelled at it without a second thought, put all my pain, anger and doubt in my sound, yelled untill my lungs shrink like an old balloon.
“Pathetic.”
That's it, no one can stop it anymore, I give up on thinking, lie back to the ground and closed my eyes, await my certain end.
The vibe of music do be fitting tho, tic tic tic tick, what language did the singer just sang?
“but the frustration and the fear stay still” ah, Mandarin, I know this language, that lyric fit my situation very well.
“but the frustration and the fear stay still”
“Kill them all, kill me might as well, now I beg you.” it sings softly, and I followed it in whisper.
“wouldn't this kind of lyric drive those Asian parents crazy? How is this song not forbidden?” I thought, while something puncture my belly.
“Kill them all, kill me might as well, now I beg you.”it sings a little bit louder the second time, I followed the lyrics, and felt something puncture my chest.
Third time is a lot louder “Kill them all, kill me might as well, now I beg you.” I open my eyes, expect to see the things that broke my body.
Instead, I see the monster also got 3 empty holes at belly, chest and throat, just like me.
It make sense now, why the ability of sound, why it's forbidden, and why the music isn't over yet.
I think I'm the first one who knows the facial expression of fear of this god damned creature.
And, probably the last one as the music rise.
“KILLL THEM ALLL, KILL ME MIGHT AS WELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL-”
(”now I beg you”.) | 2022-05-17T13:11:07 | 2022-05-17T11:29:53 | 25 | 11 |
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