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] An alien has kidnapped Matt Damon, not knowing what lengths humanity goes through to retrieve him whenever he goes missing. | "We're receiving a transmission from Earth. It's about the human specimen we harvested for examination."
"Send it to the bridge. Let's see what they have to say."
*I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you...*
"End the transmission. Send the Earthling back, and prepare for hyperspace. We are getting the fuck outta here" | Matt sat in his cage listening to the aliens as they chattered amongst themselves.
"Nuqjatlh should mah pong 'oh?" A vaguely humanoid creature in a blue uniform said.
"jih don't sov 'ach 'oh sure is ugly" another dressed in red responded.
"nuqjatlh do tlhih mean?"
"neh look at its 'aqlo', 'oh's vaj flat. 'oh's disturbing"
"Let's neh pong 'oh 'aglo' flat vaj,"
Matt couldn't understand what they were saying but it was clear the pair was having a conversation. They both nodded, seemingly in agreement when the pair turned their attention to him.
"'Aglo'-flat" the red shirt said pointing at him.
"'Oh qo' yaj mah," the blue shirt said.
"Nuqjatlh do mah do vaj?" the red shirt said running a disturbingly human hand over its grotesque face.
The blue-clad alien shrugged before walking off.
Matt sat in his cage rather confused. He worried for the second time, that he may never return to earth. Though he didn't lose hope, because if he could survive a year and a half stuck on Mars eating nothing but shit potatoes he could survive this.
****
Matt lost track of time as hours, then days passed by. He either slept or observed, unsure of what else he could do.
He had gotten used to the curious stares of the aliens and found him drifting off as a group all dressed in red watched him with a curious eye. *'Maybe the colours denote rank, whenever the golden one appears they all act different'* Matt thought to himself before drifting off for the umpteenth time.
***
He awoke to chaos, the lights were flashing red, a siren was blazing, and the group of red shirts were running around in a panic.
"qo' maj nuvs" One shouted
"qo' sov of du" another shouted in response
"'Em!" a third said pointing to an open doorway before being shot dead.
This only caused the other two to panic even more, with one fumbling with a device hung from its belt before a red beam shot from its end turning the creature to dust. The third saw this and ran to the nearest door, flinging it open and was sucked out into space.
"Wow, that was easier than I thought it'd be," a familiar voice called.
"Yeah, where do you think Matt is?" Another responded.
Just then a pair walked into the room. They stopped seeing Matt in his cage.
"Huston, this is Commander Melissa Lewis, we've got him," Melissa said into a radio.
"It's time to take you home," Rick said opening the cage setting Matt free.
****
^^^^Yes, ^^^^the ^^^^aliens ^^^^are ^^^^speaking ^^^^klingon
Edit: some wording
| 2018-06-06T16:07:37 | 2018-06-06T14:54:22 | 365 | 92 |
[WP] In your world, magic is wielded by astrologists who form pacts with distant stars. Every star grants a unique power. Upon forming a pact with a star, you gain a glimpse of its worlds and your soul will be pulled to one when your pact ends. You are the first to form a pact with a black hole. | Admittedly, I did not expect this would work. I was lucky to even see the black hole, even luckier to speak with it.
It was easier than I had heard to make the pact, though what is a black hole other than a star that has already died? Im sure nobody ever speaks with them. Im sure that helped my case, that I cared to notice it, to speak with it.
One would be surprised at how calm they are. Perhaps they understand that they hold the power to destroy all? Perhaps thats just how that star was in life? Why that is will be a question for another time.
I pulled away from my telescope, and looked around. The test dummy, how everyone learns their powers, slightly damaged intentionally.
I reached for my powers, and the void called back. Black tendrils eminated from my fingers and wrapped around the dummy. I banged it around first, getting a grasp of how much control I have over them.
When my supervisor came in, he looked shocked.
"What star did you..."
"A black hole" I said, my excitement was evidently out of place, as he looked like he was going to pass out.
"H-how did you do that?"
"Well a black hole is just a dead star, isn't it?" I decided to pull the dummy towards me, nothing special, so I moved it back again.
"Well yes, but you see, the dead shouldn't be able to speak you see."
"Well someones gotta be the first to try everything, and for me it was speaking to a black hole."
I let my tendrils wrap around the dummy, then it was gone. I could feel my power grow within me in responce.
"We should study the extent of your power, this could lead to a new age of astrology!"
"Ah, lets study later, Im hungry" | In hopes of understanding more of our power, we started to study the stars and the vast void between them.
Astrology is the study of the magic given to us by the stars. But, the first of these truly rigorous fields of studies is heliology, the study of our own sun. Those that contracted this star is among the most powerful, for it is the closest star.
I’d say the heliomancers are like plants. Taking in sunlight and photosynthesizing them into magic.
Anyways, then came astronomy, the study of stars farther away. Then cosmology, then astrophysics, and so on. Because of our abilities, we came to a deep understanding of the place beyond our cradling planet…
The fact that there are different kinds of stars mean that there are different sources of magic. In the excitement of this discovery, people attempted to contract our planet. It was a success, and they are our geomancers and builders today.
We soon learnt that any celestial body can become a practical magic source. Note I said practical. While experiments show that magic can be gained by contracting small objects, they produce so little magic that it’s useless…
Now, you who contracted a black hole… You are the first. How does it feel? How does the power of a million or even billion stars feel?
“……… Lonely”
Lonely? Why so?
“Black holes are the darkest stars… So dark that we can’t see it on it’s own… We can only see it because of it’s accretion disc… A disc formed when a hapless star falls into it”
……… True, true, but remember just you is equal to a million or billion of us. Tell me, why do you refuse to be our king?
“Because it’s a power that only functions when destroying something! Don’t you understand?! I didn’t want this power!”
In order to build, you must destroy. What you see around you didn’t come from nowhere. These stone used to build the walls surrounding us are from quarries that are destroying a mountain. This chair is made from wood from a tree.
In fact, from astrophysics, we know stars shine because of nuclear fusion. What difference does it make when a star is used as a material?
“……… Stars are alive”
What?
“Why do you think we go to their planetary systems when we die? They need us to seed their planets with life! Black holes rob them of that opportunity!”
……… We need a moment to discuss. What do you think Grand Magistrate?
……… What eats must know what they are eating was alive at some point… If what he saying is true, then black holes must be alive as well… We know black holes are massive and nothing can escape once something enters their maws… That must mean they are apex predators, if we compare stars to life. Furthermore…
……… We need to sacrifice people for it to give us its blessings…
Hm… I don’t like this……… I kind of know how he feels now.
So what do we do?
……… We can still make use of him. Black holes are longest “living” stars after all.
We have decided… You shall be our king.
“What?! Weren’t you listening?! This power is unholy!”
Yes, but that doesn’t mean that we will sacrifice stars to it… We cannot do anything about the ones that are already eating, but they take a long time to eat. As such, we don’t need to sacrifice stars for a long time…
Hahaha, like we can even do that.
……… With his power, we might be able to.
Did you say something?
Ah, nothing, was just talking to myself.
Well, anyways… Are you okay with that arrangement?
“I’m not fully onboard, but… This is the lesser evil, so I can’t really argue”
***
15th day of Askentr Month, 198 AM
A new king is crowned, His Royal Highness Pierre Laplace von Alastair, the most powerful king in history.
In his reign, technology advanced by leaps and bounds. In his 50th year of rule, humanity is now expanding throughout space, giving people a chance to meet their stars.
The King meets his, and from there, the dark ages begun. | 2020-02-21T05:05:27 | 2020-02-21T04:48:57 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] Outside of your hometown you are known as an untouchable monster, someone who will never let any superheroes or villains come near his territory. The whole world fears you, but the smiles and support of the townsfolk as they thank you for keeping peace makes it all worth it. | "Hero, villain, whatever." I yawned, stopping the monologuer in his tracks. "I really don't care who you are. This whole, 'here I come to save-or-ruin the day' schtick is really getting really old." Apparently, despite the tales of Recipe Girl's demise at my jaws, plus the endings of several would-be heroes, the mortal races still hadn't *still* hadn't gotten the message.
To an extent, that was fine. Passionate souls, be they for good or evil, were a pleasure to the palate. Though I must admit the villains' souls had a delightful spiciness.
The mayonaise-skinned giant of a human glared at me with eyes that glowed a mystical white, a tone picked up by the arcane symbols stitched onto the hem of his pepple-gray wizard robes.
"It isn't wise to cross a High Sorcerer," he intoned in a low, ethereal voice that echoed unnaturally.
I'm sure he thought that intimidating. So I yawned again, and scratched my cheek with a finger. "Neither is irritating a Demon Queen, but here we are."
Mayomage barked a brassy laugh. "I see no Demon Que--what's that sound?"
"Oh, that?" I replied innocently, and casually pulled off my headscarf. "That would be my hair." With the glamour dismissed, the snakes clouded around my head hissing and hungry, their eyes as smouldering lava. Scales of charcoal-black and ash-grey edged with the bright orange of embers rekindling flared and smoked and I breathed in the perfume of burning sulfur.
My snakes surged forward without warning, latching onto Mayomage and plunging their fangs deep. The human screamed and I had to give him a leetle bit of credit for keeping enough sense to cast fire against what held him, even as cloth and skin turned black with rot.
Unfortunately for him, fire doesn't work on my lovelies. Something that should have been obvious given my hair's appearance.
His body crumpled as it expired. I sprang forward, still in my form of a human, and snatched his shocked soul out of the air. I licked my lips his screaming only whetted my appetite further. I ate with relish while my hair returned to their previous lengths, and licked my fingers after.
Out of courtesy to *my* humans, I scooped the now-putrid corpse and its robes into the makeshift bag of the front of my skirt, and carried the whole shebang to my private dining hall. There I ate the rest of my food, then leaned back in my chair, fat and happy.
And hoped some new would-be conqueror would come soon.
/end
Thought I'd play more in the world I started [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ixy3pj/wp_you_were_once_the_demon_king_defeated_by_the/g6bpe2x?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3) | I continued to run forwards. The ones which chased after me were an einherji and several thousand Valkyries.
An axe flew by my head and stuck itself in a tree. Arrows flew towards me but they were all for naught.
I had reached my flag. My hometown.
[SPECIAL SKILL ACTIVATED: FLAG OF UNENDING NIGHT]
[STRENGTH UP]
[SPEED UP]
[INVINCIBILITY]
I rushed towards the einherji and punched him in the chest. His blade fell to the floor as he crashed through a tree. The valkyrie descended upon me in a formation that most people wouldn't be able to avoid.
I'm not most people.
I jumped over the first and grabbed onto the wings of the next.
Her Axe slipped downwards onto the back of the next.
Some started casting rune spells but they were knocked out faster than they could cast.
Some released volleys of arrows from wihin the bushes. Those clunked harmlessly off my skin-turned-scales.
Suffice it to say, it was a massacre.
"None of them were strong enough to handle the villains that could attack here. Yet they clung onto it so hard."
I walked towards where I had previously stationed my flag and pulled it out of the ground. It's flag magically folded into a bandgage flowing behind the edge of my spear Tenebrae Subit or as I liked to call her Tensepu.
I ran towards the base of opperation and smiled as I saw Luminis and little Drien.
"How did it go you two?" I called out
"Awesome! I beat up the badguys." Drien smiled
"The gods still refuse to allow this it seems. The children of Noctis are also getting more intense." Luminis reported "I doubt Dies and I will have enough strength to fight them off for a while."
"And Testudo?" I smiled as I looked towards the roof.
"You always catch me Cap. How do you do it?" the one we had come to know as the green-eyed sniper complained
"Report..."
"According to Graeca, the waters aren't safe either. She asked me to bring her here so I came of scout duty."
"Put her in her pool and tell her not to complain until I handle those sea gods okay."
"Can I come watch you beat up him." Drien jumped about excitedly.
"No D, I need you and Luminis here to keep the town safe." I ruined his mood
"Fine."
I laughed quite unusually and got the stares of my trainees in return. There were only two of them who weren't here yet but that was for good reason. Etlux and Verax were busy training under my eternal rival.
I place my flag in the centre of the room and walked outside. The town was running low on food and the crops weren't going to be ready anytime soon.
Demeter was going to get her goddes butt over here if she wanted me to keep my promise. After all, the underworld's rulers all wanted my soul. The soul of an immortal mortal and one of the two direct children of Noctis and an Illa.
I remebered the first time I stumbled upon this town. Ravaged by battles between god-folk and fin-folk. I had interrupted a fight between Demeter and Aridorum. Both non-fighters forced to fight under their lovers' will.
When I saw the destruction caused by such irresponsible beings, well to put it simply I went on autodrive
Demeter always complains about how brutally I had stabbed at her and Aridorum. Aridorum always complains about how elegantly I had defended the town. They both fear me but as a younger sibling, it is not their place to fear me.
"What are you thinking about Cap?" Tetsudo spoke.
I realised I had not yet left the town and blushed "Guess I just forgot to move my feet."
"Since you are here, could you tell us when the twins are coming back?" Luminis asked
I put my hands on the back of my head and smiled as I walked away. "When Bed-head thinks the're ready."
When I arrived at the forest, I called out the name of my favourite older half-sister and warned her. She popped out immediately and question my choices.
"I just need you and Aridorum to make sure that no one touches my town." I pat her on the shoulder and leaped towards the clouds.
When I arrived at the temple, Tlaloc immediately shot me down. "You know you're not allowed here cursed one. So unless you are looking to die by my hands, don't come here."
"Chill bro. I just need to know where Rugluf is."
"You want to challenge the chief of lightning's fin form?"
"Yes, my brother-"
"Yes the blessed one. Sure I'll do it."
I grunted at the interruption but I knew it was fruitless. If Tlaloc so desired, he could easily kill off my town and he knew that that was more precious to me than my life.
"Ahh! Here it is! According to the lack of life, I'd say he is having another squabble with Thor."
"Thanks for the info. Big bro!"
"I- you know what forget it."
Suffice it to say, I slapped Thor.
Rug boy fled when he saw me. Probably because he knows I know what he did. | 2020-10-01T05:48:27 | 2020-10-01T05:42:02 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] You’re an obscure, ancient god who had resigned yourself to slowly fading away. One day, an inventor whose sibling is an archaeologist names a new type of tech after you. As the tech becomes wildly popular and ubiquitous, you find yourself growing in power vastly beyond what you had ever known. | It happened in an instant. One moment we were all in the board room getting ready to discuss the release of our next big product, and the next, we were in a dark cavern, all seated around a table like before, but the table was stone. Renee, our VP of Operations was seated directly opposite of a glowing figure that lacked shape. Her face was filled with fear and wonderment. Like a rabbit staring at a giant snake, she couldn't move.
"Don't be afraid mortal girl. I bring you glad tidings from our Lord BillJim." There was a flash of light, and suddenly the glow coalesced into a strikingly good looking man in a snappy business suit. "I believe this should be easier to talk to, yes?"
Renee nodded. "Who are you? Where are WE?"
"Ah, so as I said, I am the herald for our Lord BillJim. It seems they were almost forgotten and were to slumber into obscurity, until your company developed Billjim Tools for the computer devices. As it grew in popularity, and people invoked the name, our Lord awoke and began to gather strength. Now, they are quite strong and wishing to thank you all for your attention. "
"Billjim is my and my partner's name mashed together... That's it. We knew nothing your Lord. " Bill Simmons was confused. He was a programmer. Jim Mickles was his partner who had the foresight of the idea for the tools, and he was also great at sales. Eventually, he had gotten their market share so large they were being courted by IBM and Microsoft to buy them out. That was before they were to release the next product they were preparing to discuss.
"It doesn't matter how the worship happens, just that it does. However, we understand you have offers to sell the product and name to people who might rename it. That will not do." The man in the suit motioned at the table, what appeared on it was a newspaper with the headlines that Billjim, the popular utility was being sold to Microsoft for 8.4 BILLION dollars to be integrated with Windows 13. The paper was dated about 3 years into the future.
"How did you...???" Jim reached to pick up the paper. He read the story on the sale, then looked at the sports and financial sections.
"I believe that is enough teasing of the future for you." I'm Lorthox, by the way. I will be your guide in the next steps of your journey. We are going to need you to do a few things for us to provide the proper assistance for Lord Billjim to continue to gain power. It's a small thing really. " In his hand appeared a piece of paper. "Here is a change you need to make to your, what is it called, *software license agreement*. It simply has them pledge their soul to Billjim and since NOBODY reads those contracts, it will be fine. We can even use invisible text if need be. But the need is for this to get in there." The last part was not the friendly conversation, but more of a command that they felt in their gut and base of their skull.
"People won't..." Bill started.
"People DO all the time. They click these contracts which are legally binding on your plane of existence, *all the time*. On March 19th, 1994, you clicked the on on the game Hero's Quest without reading it. Do you know it gave ownership of your computer to that game company?"
"I was 12..." Bill whispered. He remembered getting the game for his computer. It is what gave him the drive to learn how to program.
"And you," pointing a long clawed finger at Renee, " you agreed to Facebook's terms that they owned your likeness and all of your photos you uploaded, you also set your smart phone to upload all pictures to them. They've been using a picture you took of the Golden Mountains Spa in advertising for years. That picture has generated them over $800,000. Did you get a cent from that?"
"No, I ..."
"You signed a contract you didn't read." Lorthox put his feet up on the table and his hands behind his head. "Everyone does it. Now, I've not told you what you get out of our little deal. You become the first heralds on your plane of the Lord Billjim! After people have signed the agreement, of course. And we will make sure you are granted even more riches than this deal with Microsoft. They were going to kill your product, by the way. Buy it, then not use it, because it's helpful against some of their shoddy workmanship. By 3 years after your deal, nobody even remembers who you two are, and you are a Jeopardy answer 2 years after that. Our Lord Billjim will not be relegated to obscurity. No that."
With that, there was a puff of smoke and they were back in their board room. The piece of paper floated down to the desk from an unseen hand. On the whiteboard in the room was a lot of strange writing. Initially they couldn't understand it, but it suddenly became clear.
They were founding a new religion eventually. But first, they had to adjust the EULA of their products. | Ogun the iron hearted hearted once struck fear into a man's soul. But the one thing for God's and man that stays constant is change. Humans succeeded in making a utopia! With utopia comes peace. Peace has no place for war. So what happens to a war God when peace is the status quo?
*He's forgotten*
Time for God's works different for humans. They don't experience it in a linear sense. Sometimes what's a day for a God is a decade. Sometimes it's a week. God's are used to experiencing everything at once and nothing at once.
For Ogun his reign as the war God was too brief. Humans grew sick of war. They wanted a chance to live. The great Iron hearted God scoffed at the idea.
"Humans without war? *Impossible* I've seen humanity slaughter each other for countless centuries. I've witnessed it myself after coming to earth on the web of life. I fear no peace."
The war God drunk off blood and hubris didn't see it coming. In an instant his endless supply of rage and blood dried up. As the humans forced peace treaty after peace treaty. They dissembled every nuke and weapon. They readily lined up to get the violence inhibitor chips implanted. They gave away their violent urges willingly. They forgot what violence was.
Ogun saw this change play out over weeks as the humans took centuries to change. Their society which was built on manifesting their destiny and colonizing was now built in forced peace and artificial love. A murder was only for the Crows. Even their iron tools for war are just utensils used for eating their state sanctioned meals.
Oguns belly filled with the cries of a thousand souls now ran dry and decreased in size ten fold. His ribs showed in his chest as if they were swords neatly put into a tight tarp begging to break free and felt as if a enemy stabbed the great war God one hundred times.
Even talking strained the God. His muscles were near atrophy and he understood that peace would win. He looked upon the earth at the progress they made without his guiding hand. They looks *happy*. They all wore the same smile on their face 24 hours of the day. They all fit in neatly into society. Roles never changing. Soon there was no art or games only the stranglehold of peace.
Ogun slowed. Motions mimicking a statue more by the second. Ogun felt his eyes get heavy. Even the God of iron and war, the God who took his souls like humans took lives, the God who took his vengeance as if it was his ordained right; felt peace. Slowly but surely peace took over his body in waves which felt like he the most calm cooling ocean. Ogun began to drift away.
A flicker invaded this dream like drifting. Ogun saw something. Human. No more specifically humans. They look so similar. Maybe.... Twins? Definitely related. Ogun tried to focus but it was so hazy. There were no sharp angles only Figures and blobs. The peaceful ocean of serenity was sapping his strength. He didn't have much to give. And the God of War was tired of fighting.
In that moment, the last hope of a dying dragon, a beast chained by tranquil serenity spit fire in the face of peace in an act of defiance. Ogun began to heat up. His vision became a tapestry of red and orange. It's all he could do to not jump out of his skin the calm skies and the oceans moved as if a monsoon was near. As if a hurricane was ravaging his heart.
With every bit of his strength Ogun saw the brothers Adeyemi with his vision. The oldest brother was hard away making the chips that every baby is cursed with at birth. That cursed chip which takes away everything that makes them human. The youngest brother eats jollof rice while reading state approved literature.
Oguns squints his eyes as if it will grant him that ouch more clarity. His eyes focus as he appears to be in the room with the brother who is reading. All white furniture and furnishings blind the God for a brief moment. "What are you reading? Ogun says to himself. I
n this Astral form He gets closer and he sees the words "Yoruba Myt-" before he can read more he flickers back to the raging monsoon that is now his dwellings in the spirit world, or Aye ẹmi. His Aye ẹmi reflected this struggle to stay projected in the earthly plane.
After what is a second to Ogun, he tries to go back but he can't. He's almost out of power. The hurricane raging anger lessens as Ogun takes one last shot. He can't move his form but he sees the brothers. "They are arguing?" they both look older, wrinkles mark the age one their faces. Their hair resembles the salt and pepper the humans use to season their food.
A rush creeps over Ogun. There hasn't been an argument in centuries. Peace ironically destroyed every disagreement people could have. Ogun uses this last chance to listen to what the brothers are arguing about.
"Trust me little brother. We will not get caught." He puts his hand on the near perfect reflection sitting in front of him. "We've been without these blasted chips for years. They won't find out."
"Tunde-I can't fake this accursed smile anymore. They will find out and then force those chips back into our heads."
"Abeo, they won't. I won't let them, I have this now. I made it using the ancient texts you found."
Abeo takes the dark metal object in his hands while Tunde closes the blinds in the flat to appease his growing anxiety.
"It's so heavy."
"You get used to it. It's taken so much time to make it. I've been stealing spare parts from the factory since my chip malfunctioned. When you pull that trigger an explosion comes out and anyone who stands before you goes to the great white." Tunde explains. His voice gets quitier the more he talks as if the United Peoples World Government is listening.
"How many do you have?" Abeo asks pensively.
"Enough for us and everyone else who's chip we took out. We aren't the only ones tired of smiling."
Abeo sits down as if he was a old man nearing the age of return. "What do you call it?
Tunde smiled not in the way of the forced peace that he's known all his life. He smiles a more gentle smile. It reaches his eyes and they crinkle like a bag of chips that the pair grew up eating."I was thinking boomstick but maybe my younger brother could think of a more fitting name."
Abeo returns the smile instinctively, "well, I do have an idea. There's this God in this book I found in the archives years ago. His name is O-gun." The words sound foreign to say out loud but somewhere deep inside Abeo he knew that they were familiar.
"Ogun is the God of something called War and Iron. This thing you built is made of iron. Let's call it Ogun"
Tunde nodded. "We'll call it A gun."
"Wait-"
Before Abeo could interject to correct, a knock that could have been mistaken for a earthquake bangs through the flat.
"***This is the United Peoples World Government. Tunde and Abeo Adeyemi please come out peacefully. We have you surrounded.***
The words reverberated throughout their body. The men didn't need to say anything. They weren't going to smile again for anyone but themselves.
Tunde pulled out more guns and the brothers armed themesleves. Tears going down their face and anger rising to replace.
Ogun seeing the events taking place and His atrophied muscles rejuvenate and his famished stomach grows to normal size.
Ogun smiles and says "*Finally.*" | 2022-02-04T06:21:30 | 2022-02-04T06:18:33 | 60 | 40 |
[WP] At dinner, you serve the king a glass of wine with poison in it. He sips from it and continues to eat as usual. At the end of the meal, he walks up to you and says. "Next time you make poison, make sure it really works. It was pathetic." | Chuckling, he let me walk away.
I scuttled to the cellar, where Dani was waiting for me. He rubbed his hands together slowly, a gesture of pity. “I wish you’d let me know,” he muttered. “I could have told you that wouldn’t work.”
I lay on the floor with a grunt. “I don’t understand. That toxin would have killed anything.”
Dani looked up. “Not quite, Jen.”
“Yes, quite,” I insisted. “I used the Father of Death. It kills any living thing in the world.”
My friend slapped at his back. “Would you *listen?* The King is not like anything else in the world. You don’t take things for granted. Which is why - I return to my original point - you should have told me. I work for him, remember? He drinks that stuff every day. In quantities several times greater than that puny dose you slipped in his juice.”
I stared. “He drinks poison? Why…?”
The other alien shrugged. “He calls it whiskey. Don't ask me why he drinks it. Humans are weird.” | Vars III ushered me to a small, well-lit chamber. The sounds of the ongoing revelry filtered mutedly through the oak panelling. “Sit,” the King invited, lowering himself onto a luscious ottoman.
I remained standing. “Why?” I demanded. “I’ve had enough of this farce, Your Splendor. I tried to kill you, I failed, you lived. I have no wish to sit and converse with you on the matter. Just swing the axe, for the Gods’ sakes.”
The King looked hurt. “I’m just trying to have a friendly conversation,” he protested, pendulous lip protruding into a pout. “Granted, I will have you executed at its end, but I want to know why you chose poison.”
“And why should I tell you?”
His lips pressed together. “Your life is in my hands. I can have you beheaded - quickly, cleanly, and make an end.” He leaned forward, silver-polished teeth glinting in a savage smile. “Or I can hunt down your relatives, friends, and anybody else of remote significance to you, and give them over to my Master of Secrets. You’ve met him, haven’t you?”
I tried not to shudder. The memory of the gaunt, silent killer was still with me. Slowly, I sat down opposite the King.
“You’ve always been foolhardy, Your Splendor,” I told him. “Your personal guard has been among the most lax ever held by a ruling monarch, but it was still too much for us to pierce. You scorned personal armor, you boasted that your subjects loved you, but your staff still kept you safe.” I smiled bitterly. “And as an ultimate proof of your splendid unconcern for your own life, you employed no taster. That information cost us one of our best men, but your life would have been ample recompense. If it had worked.” I shrugged.
Vars II laughed delightedly. “Bewildered you, didn’t I?” Chortling, he touched the bell, and an immaculate guard walked in, leading a large wolfhound.
“This is Rolfe,” the King told me, leaning forward to fondly the big dog’s ears. “Genetically modified to match my metabolism’s characters as closely as possible. He eats everything I do, an hour before I taste it.” His tone was complaining. “You made him very ill, you know. The vets thought we’d lose him. But we had enough time to create a counter. Which I took before the meal.” Yawning, the King struggled to his feet. “So you can go to your death knowing you were beaten by a hound. Guard - “ he waved a contemptuous hand - “see this traitor to a cell.”
As the guard laid his hand on my shoulder, I stared at Rolfe The dog who’d foiled years of planning, who’d stepped between this bloody tyrant and the death he deserved. And turned back to the King. “One last thing.” My voice was quiet. “One thing for you to remember, Your Splendor. No matter how altered and modified - *a dog is still a dog*.”
The king halted, his face blank. “What?”
I stood. “The poison had no effect on you. It wasn’t supposed to.” Smiling, I let my eyes drift deliberately down. The King followed my gaze, eyes slowly filling with terror as the wolfhound silently bared his great fangs in a snarl. | 2022-06-03T21:20:04 | 2022-06-03T21:04:28 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] You die and are informed you'll restart your life exactly as it was when you turned 6. All your memories are as they were the moment you died, everything else resets. You are told you are the only one like this. | Thirty four. That's how old I was this time. And like clockwork I was sitting back in my childhood home, staring at seven bright candles.
"Happy Birthday to you!"
I looked around, smiling at all of the faces. My mom was there with the same old smile. And as always my dad was standing in the corner with a grin on his face, the heart attack that would take his life wouldn't happen for another ten years. I learned to savor those years.
As I blew out my candles for the, well, I forgot how many times I had done this to be honest. But I blew them out once again and watched as my friends scrambled for pieces of cake. All of them disillusioned with childhood dreams and memories, half of them wouldn't see those dreams come to light. Trust me, I knew, mainly because I knew more than anyone in this room for being only a six year old, but that was because I had lived a hundred lifetimes compared to them. Even the "adults."
I couldn't tell you why, or how, or even who gave me this "power," but all I knew that every time I died, I would reset. I would go back to this day, April 23rd, 2017 and live my life over again. The first few years I had a lot of fun with it; I played around, I traveled the world, I abused drugs, sex, alcohol. You name it, I probably tried it. Hell, I was even President for a brief time in the early hundred resets. I tried everything, I had been everywhere. I had seen the world and where it was going. But the charade got old, especially after dying by the mafia a couple times. You'd be surprised by how many disgusting ways they've thought up of to kill people.
Trust me, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Growing up over and over again, making different mistakes and creating different problems. Watching your family and friends die in a way each just as horrible as the last only to see them again, happy and unaware of the pain they will endure when you finally reset. It's not fun. And you learn a lot in those years.
You learn that in three years, when you're only nine years old, your family will hit such troubling times that they'll lose their house. And trust me, no one takes a nine year old seriously when you tell them you know the winning lotto numbers.
You learn that in twelve years your best friend will die from a drug overdose regardless if you take him to rehab or not.
You learn that in fifteen years your high school sweetheart will be killed in a car crash because you could never convince her to skip that trip to England.
You learn that in twenty-two years your law firm will go bankrupt and you'll have to move back in with your mom, whose so far into substance abuse that you'll move her into a home.
You learn that in twenty-eight years after a hundred lifetimes, you'll be shot by a mugger with nothing left to lose after a night of drinking. Your friends will call an ambulance and after twenty-two grueling minutes you'll die on the way to the hospital. And then somehow, you'll wake up once again staring at seven bright candles.
Some things you can never change. Sometimes no matter how many tries you get, things just have to happen. I didn't always go to law school. I didn't always lose it all. I didn't always get mugged.
But my father's heart attack always came. My friend always died and even if I never became friends with him I would hear it in the papers and live those moments of pain over again. My high school sweetheart would always be killed in a car crash in some place in Europe and I knew the date it would happen, I knew the pain she would feel because I went with her once and I died alongside her. I thought that would break the cycle, but no. I woke up once again to seven bright candles.
There was one lifetime that I repeated a dozen times. A long time ago where I lived through it all, where somehow I overcame the pain and the sorrow and the sadness to see where my life led me.
I eventually married a wonderful young woman. We had beautiful children and we lived in bliss for several years. I watched my sons and daughters become wonderful human beings. I grew old and saw my grandchildren. And I watched my grandchildren run around in my adulthood home. And on my deathbed, when I thought my life was complete, I said my goodbyes and drifted into eternal sleep. I thought it would end the cycle, I thought overcoming the pain would appease whoever gave this disease to me. But, I woke up once again staring at the seven bright candles.
I lived that life several times, each time changing a small detail that would maybe fix some of the problems. But again, new ones arose and I fought past them. I couldn't tell you how many times I lived it, how many times I thought I was doing it right. But each time, I would wake up and stare at the seven bright candles.
So I stopped doing it and I tried something else. But nothing seemed to ever work.
And I knew the actions I needed to take to get back there, I knew the places I would need to go, the people I would need to meet. There's just something about this life.
About knowing that no matter how hard you try, it'll never be perfect. That no matter how hard it is to give up your family, you'll want to see them again. Not in the way they were when they left you, but in the way they were on your sixth birthday.
When you were a kid and they were the adults. When you had nothing to think about except cake and presents and they dealt with the problems of a real life. When all you wanted was to go outside and play and all they cared about was your happiness.
I knew the steps I needed to take to live my "real life" over again, I just never wanted to walk that road again.
So I lived my lives, over and over and over again. I lived out every cliche, every job, in every place. And I tried so desperately to save the ones I loved.
But every time I died, I would wake up.
And I would be staring at seven bright candles.
Edit: First ever gold, thank you stranger! And thank you everyone for the kind words and comments!
*Edit about the Candles:* There have been a few comments about the candles so I am gonna clear some things up. Where I come from (and as I've learned not everywhere) it's tradition to put one extra candle on the birthday cake for good luck. The child is turning six, not seven and this was intentional. Again, thank you all for the wonderful comments and I am enjoying reading all of the discussions happening. Thank you so much!
**Edit:** Wow everyone, I honestly am blown away by the responses, and the gold a second time, thank you stranger! Thank you all for the kind words and comments; I will definitely keep writing. Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments and discussions! | The last thing I remember is being late. Hung over from a vengeful night of drink, although the only thing I avenged was my self loathing. A vicious cycle, but I didn't have time to ponder my depression.
My name is Elisa Browning.
I never really had a firm grip on reality. Three separate therapists claim it's because my parents divorced when I was 14. My diagnosis is that nobody is who they say they are. I act on my own will in the moment. Is it perfect? Hell no, but I would rather not hide behind a mask, no matter how necessary everyone else finds it.
My favorite bar is "Mickey's" over on 34th and Dumont. As I stumbled out on an early Tuesday afternoon, the sun was shining particularly bright. It reflected so strongly off of my silver plated watch that I didn't even notice the curb.
All it took was three seconds.
One; My right knee slammed to the ground.
Two; I turned to head left only to see the grill of a big blue truck.
Three; Nothing. Darkness.
At first it was painful, but I slowly stopped struggling and let myself be lifted out. It was as if I was an apple being plucked off of a tree. And once I was free of the stem that connected me to that branch, it was everything I ever hoped for. Detachment from the world as we know it makes you see what's truly important.
And then, as quickly as I ended, I began once again.
The first thing I felt was the warmth of the sun on my cheek. Then the swaying of my legs, and the skirt that was resting on top of them. I felt my bangs slide back and forth on my forehead. I felt a strong hand on the small of my back and I looked up. It was my father, Jeremy.
I winced. "What is happening?" I thought. "Did he not die that night?"
No, that's crazy. He was dead and had been for 13 years. There was something else happening here.
Pt. 2
My shoes were beautiful. White lace with a small crocheted flowers resting at the bottom of my thin ankle. They slowly slid back and forth with the swaying of the swing. I enjoyed it. I didn't know why I was back in my childhood. Was this heaven?
I guess it didn't matter now. I was dead.
But my soul was not. It was taken back to the place where my life truly began.
The nostalgia stopped abruptly. My father was no longer pushing me. He was walking towards the door in our fence.
A young woman was standing there. Smiling at him. She handed him something, touched his hand and walked away.
As he turned around, he stuffed what appeared to be a folded napkin the breast pocket of his red flannel. "Go ahead and keep playing, baby. I'm going to make a phone call." My father slid the porch screen shut behind him and disappeared around a corner inside the house.
Just then, I felt a warm hand lay across my shoulder and collar bone. It was the same feeling I had when I felt the sun hit my cheek once again.
It was my guardian angel. He didn't have to say anything. He just smiled and looked proudly at me.
"What am I doing here?" I asked him.
"Your alive again, Elisa."
"What does that mean?"
"This isn't a trick or a metaphor. This life is yours. You get to live it again. Do things differently."
"Why would I want that? And why this moment in time?"
"Because this is the first moment in a long line of decisions that lead to your death."
Pt. 3
As quickly as he came to me, he was gone, as if that was all the guidance I needed.
An overwhelming wave of déjà vu hit me. "This must be the moment he was talking about." I thought.
I stood up off of my wooden swing and walked through the lush garden that led to our back door. The soles of my shoes clicked against the bare pad of my heel with every step. I felt as if I was in auto pilot. I suppose in a way, I was.
The screen door was harder to open than I remembered. I had to throw my body weight to crack it enough to slip inside. As I walked into the kitchen, I heard my father speaking on the phone. I slowly walked down the hall and sat outside his room.
Hunched over with my mouth resting on my bare knees, I listened.
"... In case you were wondering, I do what I want. No one can hold me down, especially my wife."
That was it. He was definitely seeing this woman he was speaking too. Was it even the girl he spoke to outside earlier? There was no way of knowing for sure.
"...listen, I have to go check on my daughter. Do you want to pick me up at the cafe on Johnson street?...... Around 11:30 she'll be asleep...... Okay I'll see you then."
I rushed back out the door to the yard, but the sliding door proved to be too much once again. I yanked to shut it, with no results. My father step into the room and noticed my struggle.
"Let me help you, sweetie."
"Thanks dad. It's stuck again." I used as little vocabulary as I could. A 6 year old wouldn't have the compactly to put together his scheme to see 2, or possibly even 3 woman at the same time.
"Was that mommy on the phone?" I had to dig deeper. The déjà vu was coming in progressive waves now.
"No, that was someone from work. I forgot my briefcase." His comeback was so quick and flawless, I almost believed him. I can see how he slipped all this past my mother all those years.
"I love you daddy."
"I love you too, Elisa."
I decided to do something about this. I was here to change my life right? But what about other people's actions? Surely I couldn't control anyone else's fate, could I?
Pt. 4
It's been 8 years since I was hit by that truck. I've been doing experiments and studying the déjà vu as it happens.
I've learned that I cannot alter people's actions, free will is universal, but I can definitely change the outcome.
Let's say a man forgets his answering machine at home is full, which makes him miss a call for a once in a lifetime job opportunity. This leads him to take a job as a cashier and his life slowly goes downhill. If I were to go into his house and delete but 1 message, he would have taken the dream job and effectively turned his life around.
And he did. Because I did delete his last message. He missed his dentist appointment because of me, but they called back the next day to reschedule.
No ones fate is sealed. Fate is just a myth people use as an excuse for their insecurities. Anyone one moment in time can effect your entire self, no matter the insignificance.
As much as I wanted too, I didn't effect my mother and fathers lifestyle. I did my best to remain their little girl, but some things slipped out. They aren't any the wiser, they just assume their child is a genius.
Today was the morning my parents originally split up. I could feel it coming weeks in advance. Since I've tapped into it, the déjà vu works as an early warning system.
My father walked in the front door. More accurately, he stumbled across the threshold and half passed out on the couch. He's been drinking very heavily. Both my mother and father have been unfaithful, and they both knew it.
Suddenly, the déjà vu came to a screeching halt. This had never happened before. What did I change?
My mother walked into the room. She had a dead look in her eyes and my duffle bag in her hand.
"Go sit in the car Elisa. We're going to go visit your aunt for a few weeks. Your father needs some time to himself." I slid my backpack off of my shoulders.
"Mom, I'm supposed to turn in my semester project in science tomorrow. If I don't, I'll fail! I'm not doing fucking summer school!" I was making a scene on purpose. I had to fix whatever it was I changed. Who know what would happen now.
"Watch the way you talk to me young lady." She was oddly calm. "I've already called you into school, they know you won't be attending class."
I took one last look into her eyes, trying to decode her thoughts. All I saw were those dead eyes, perhaps this was her mourning the death of her marriage.
"Okay." I sighed.
I let my feet slowly drag as I left the house and walked towards the car. The passenger door popped open and I lowered myself into the seat.
Then it happened; a single, unmistakable gunshot.
(Will continue later)
| 2015-04-17T12:50:43 | 2015-04-17T10:36:48 | 1,546 | 41 |
[WP] You die and are informed you'll restart your life exactly as it was when you turned 6. All your memories are as they were the moment you died, everything else resets. You are told you are the only one like this. | I could rule the world if I wanted to. Be revered by all mankind and be looked at as a God. But I will do none of this. I will not help the world nor will I harm it. I'm not interested in that anymore, I'm not really interested in anything anymore.
Many people would say I'm selfish for thinking the way I do. Being able to help the entire world, yet I do nothing. I could tell people why I think this way, but they wouldn't understand. You see I know life is meaningless, I know there's no point or moral to be had. That every action isn't worth the effort. Of course others think this way, but there's a difference between thinking you know and actually knowing. I didn't always have this mind set though. The way I think is a result of the power that was bestowed upon me. One that I did not ask for, and certainly would never want.
You see when I die, I wake up as my six year old self. You would think it would be amazing. To keep re-living your life doing everything you wished you could have done, but that's not the case. You see it takes away life's meaning. Everyone else's life has meaning, or at least it does to them, and that thought is all I wish I could have. The thought that anything I do has some value. For me everyday is like being trapped in a glass jar with the oxygen slowly running out, but it never does. I can never die no matter how much I want to.
In the beginning it was different. Life would have been exciting, it would have been enjoyable. To be able to re-live life, correct all stupid things I did, to ask the love of my life out, to work harder and make myself better than I was before. I tried to learn everything I could. From the arts to engineering I wanted to learn it all.
I would eventually know how to build quantum computers or make sustainable fusion. I would know how to make the cure to cancer and the common cold. I even learned how to create worm holes and transverse entire galaxies in mere seconds. It took a while to learn this of course, I never was the sharpest tool in the box. But when you have lived billions of years you can pretty much learn anything.
Eventually I could single handedly progress all humanity millions of years ahead of what it should have been. We would land on Mars and have a colony before the 21st century. The whole world would be run by fusion plants by the year 2005. And then there was the way to prolong life, almost infinitely. That's when I made the biggest mistake of my life, to choose willingly to never die, and so I lived for billions of years in a single life. All the way til the universe was starting to end.
We tried to stop it, we tried practically everything. We even build an entire artifices galaxy just so we could try to survive, but nothing would work. It was then that I learned the truth of life. That everything comes to an end, that life is really meaningless. I then awoke, just as always as a six year old boy in my mothers arms. I looked at her face, a face I hadn't seen in almost 30 billion years. This was when my life ended, at that moment. Although I still breath and have a heart beat, I am dead inside. | I walk into my first grade classroom. It's just like I remember. The paper hand turkeys on the walls, the small desks that holds each students' school supplies, even the cubbies with everyone's lunches in them. It was all the same. My teacher, Ms. Clive, is sitting in the front of the class, grading papers while everyone files into their seats. She starts going on about learning addition, when I request to use the restroom. She fills me out a pass and I leave the classroom.
I walk around my old school. I haven't been here in 80 years, not that anyone here knows that. They all think I just came back from Thanksgiving break, but they're wrong. The last thing I remember was riding in a car with my husband of 64 years in the snow and ice over a bridge. Next thing I know, my parents are waking me up to drive me to school.
It's actually quite wonderful, being a kid again. All the pains of my former life have gone. I feel free, like the weight of every mistake, every regret has disappeared. I am a new woman... well, girl.
I continue through my school until I reach the Principal's office. I speak to his secretary and ask if I can talk with him. Principal Ollie was always kind to any student who wanted an education. He was, however, a bit odd. He always believed in otherworldly experiences.
The secretary let me into his office and closed the door behind her. "Mr. Ollie," I start with, "I need to discuss something with you that you will not understand, and more than likely, not believe. I have the mind of my aged self in this body." Principal Ollie looked at me like I was playing a game, like any 6 year old may do.
"Oh Shelley, and with this aged mind of yours, what has brought you to me?" said Ollie.
"I need a favor. I remember being in this class when I was young. My teacher, Ms. Clive, is dying. She has the start of bone cancer that she won't be diagnosed with until it is too late. I want you to request her to take an MRI."
Ollie looked at me with disbelief. "Shelley, I can request for it to happen, however, as the school will have to pay for the work to be done, I need some sort of proof that what you are saying is correct. Explain to me something from the future. Something that will happen soon so I can prove it."
"Ok Mr. Ollie, if my memory serves me correctly, today one of the students in the high school who also happens to be on my bus, Brent Summers, is bringing in a knife to his history class because it was really old and he wanted to show his professor, however as it is technically a weapon, his teacher confisated it and suspended him for a week. You should be seeing it any time now."
At that exact moment, a knock on the door stopped our conversation. Ollie's Secretary is there, holding an ancient carved knife with a note on it. "Eric just brought this down with a student, Brent Summers. Eric said Brent brought it with him today for show and tell and didn't realize it would get him in trouble."
Ollie looked from me to the knife. "Thank you Rebecca, please put it in the safe for now, and please get Sally Clive an appointment to get an MRI. She can take off tomorrow to do it." Ollie turned back to me once Rebecca left the room. "Well Shelley, you got your wish with Ms. Clive, though I have to ask, how did you know about all of this?"
"Because I have already lived through it. I remember you were always a great man who students could go to with their problems without worrying about being judged. I wish for your help now. If I remember correctly from your wedding that will happen in a couple years, your brother works as a private dectective. I wish to use his services. I want to find my future husband."
"I'm getting married? To who?" He asked.
"Ms. Clive, however I wish to keep to the matter at hand. Can I have your brother's number, please?"
He gave me the number and I left his office. As I leave, I watched Rebecca walk into his office to dicuss what happened. I use the pay phones directly outside of the office, meant for students to call their parents, and call the dectective.
"Bob speaking" I hear over the line.
"Hello Bob, my name is Shelley Hall. I need you to find a child named Matthew Terrance. He should be around 9 years old, living in San Diego with his parents, Charles and Rachelle. Can you do this for me?"
I listen on the line for a moment, while I hear him typing into his computer. "I already found them. It costs $500 for this type of service, but since I was able to find them so quickly, I'll let you off for an even $300 instead."
"Bob, how about we make a deal instead. If my memory serves me correctly, you are a betting man, football correct? The NCAA championship is coming up soon. You give me the address. I'll give you the winning team for the game."
I could practically hear him thinking over the phone. "You know what Shelley, since you put it that nicely, I will let that work, but I need the winner first."
" Ok Bob, since this is the year 1997, you should bet on Arizona. They win the title 25-9 over Kentucky."
He gave me the address and I was on my way to see my future husband for the first time, again. | 2015-04-17T13:21:09 | 2015-04-17T13:17:05 | 87 | 36 |
[WP] After mankind first encountered aliens, we figured out why first contact took so long: We are fearsome space-orks who drink poison for fun, beat each other to a pulp for sports, can survive mutilation, and other stuff. Aliens are afraid, and mankind feels inclined to conquer things...
Bonus Internet Cookies for writing it from the alien perspective.
Edit: Day 2 and still on Hot? I can now die in peace! My Karma is skyrocketing! ....well, sort of...
Okay, there is one very special internet cookie waiting for the writer who describes the bloody human pantheon of Ram'Bo, Schwarzenegger, and Chuck Norris (optional other choices) from the alien perspective...
Said cookie actually is a chocolate chip cookie | "Welcome, Dr Glorboxle," said Admiral Zurtz. "The council has been eagerly awaiting your report. What can you tell us about planet FGR-777?"
Dr. Glorboxle gulped. His findings had not been positive. The council expected to hear his strategic recommendations for the conquest and colonization of FGR-777, but after months of observation from high orbit, he did not have good news to share.
"In my professional opinion, Admiral...we should seek different avenues of colonization. We don't want to tangle with the indigs on this planet."
"Nonsense, Glorboxle! Surely you have more for us than that!"
"They are a warlike race, sir. They are stunted technologically but have the mental capacity for much more. Thing is, they just can't stop killing each other long enough to hone their tech. The LAST thing we should do is risk them obtaining one of our vessels and reverse engineering it. We would be unleashing a great scourge on the galaxy."
The admiral frowned. "You had best have some visuals to convince us of this."
Glorboxle rolled the footage. "As you can see, this is a mass media bloodsport that the creatures view for entertainment." A creature in some sort of denim garb was waving what appeared to be a golden belt high above his head. He stood over a fallen enemy as a horde of the creatures cheered and screamed at his conquest.
Glorboxle let the council take in the horrific imagery before speaking again. "His name is John Cena." | “It’s repugnant! It’s vile! Take it away! “, cried various delegates of The Quorum of Sentients as the Human is lead in.
“It does not belong in this place!”
Iridescent angers bloomed across the crystalline surface of the chmyrhmrhm representative, and the oily flush of the srt’nt was enough to nearby cause the end of the debate. But Human was found to be sentient by a lean margin, and by the mutual agreed laws allowed its presence.
It could barely speak, forcing modulated air through its thorax, partially suffocated while it did so. The air was *oxygenated*, a terrifyingly corrosive mixture of nearly 20% that required the creature to be kept in a hardened containment unit. Most oxide and redox worlds weren’t capable of producing life, much less intelligent life. Yet here the thing stood. The creature made its case.
“We are like you in so many ways; We dream to explore and Universe and learn its secrets-”
“To annihilate us! And yourselves!” interrupts a delegate.
“I heard they invented atomic weapons *before* atomic power!”
“I heard they paint their spaceships red because of the *superstition* that red makes them go faster!”
After the delegates are settled again, Human attempts to reply “Ferrocrete is red because it oxidizes, and we need to armor shielding to approach the minimum required speed for the FTL projectors.”
General murmurs in the crowd, but the auto-translator didn’t cut Humans input, so it continued.
“We have made a lot of progress in the last few years, and with your help we think we could make the final leap into the inter-galactic community”
“Hark!” trills the antropic-triaxail hivemind. “Hark! This creature can’t even understand others of its own species. This creatures so called invention of *language* is an artificial construct that divides it.” A pause while they rebuked a few scant gestures of the other non-linked or part-linked delegates. Human pointed its misaligned ocular bifocals awkwardly around The Quorum. “This creature can’t even organize its society past 10%, and it announces itself as successful and progressive. Each cycle over 3^10 Human murder each other. Murder! Can each delegate recount the last case of murder on their home worlds? ”
This made most delegates extremely uneasy, as this fact was more a point of historic trivia than some commonplace statistic.
Human makes its final plea. “We are a young race, yes. And compared to the data we have received about you-” Another pause while The Quorum regains its composure, “we breed fast and expand faster. But we want to become better. Look at our fiction, look at our dreams and aspirations. Some individuals feel that violence leads to improvement, but most of us have rejected that notion. Allow us to continue that path, and hopefully someday we could join The Quorum as equals.”
…
Officer Jackson sat quietly for a long time; the decision was made and the decision was final.
Earth was set to be quarantined, indefinitely. The Quorum would install a solar-system-wide government, and humanity would be at this government’s mercy. Any resistance would either be met with lethal force by other humans, or complete solar detonation by the aliens. The use of Human-controlled FTL would stop immediately.
The leader of The Quorum asked who Jackson represented, what body had the widest control of the system.
How The General knew this decision was coming, and how he knew to prep the young man before sending him out into the dark was a total mystery. But now he had absolute faith in the grizzled man’s instructions.
Jackson replied to The Quorum: “A group of humans structured as *a corporation* best controls and represents humanity. The corporation best fit to rule Earth, and my employer, is called CCI.”
And with that, the first Terran empire was born.
...
EDITs: typos, missing words, etc.. | 2016-09-21T12:42:59 | 2016-09-21T12:29:43 | 134 | 27 |
[WP] While walking, you notice everyone recoiling from a young woman. you speak to her to find out why. through her surprise, she explains she is death and everyone else sees a person based on how they feel about the concept of death. You've never seen a more beautiful or inviting person.
Please feel free to finesse the topic, genders, or concept to accommodate your own personal preferences or circumstances. | "You...you're death? But...you're so..." I stammered, amazed by what I saw. I had never really felt an attraction to a living person before, but the woman standing before me changed that.
"So what?" She questioned, tilting her head curiously.
"Beautiful. You are incredibly beautiful." I was astonished that I was able to speak even though she had taken my breath away.
She giggled. "Beautiful? I can't say I get called that very often. Many people see me differently."
"What do people usually see you as?"
"Rotting, decaying, diseased...you know, death-related things. You should be alarmed, honestly."
"Alarmed?" I paused. "Why is that?"
"Well, people only really see me as 'beautiful' if...if they're, longing for me. You know. Suicidal." She sounded strangely sad, but I could only smile.
"Oh don't worry, I'm far from suicidal. I'm loving every minute of living, honest."
"You are? Then it's curious as to why you see me this way, human."
"Oh it's not really all that curious, I'm just a necrophiliac is all." | Eight hour work day. Come home via transport, play video games, make dinner. Go to sleep.
Wake up.
Rinse and repeat.
He wasn't the smartest person in high school. He got his diploma, he got out of there, out of the *system* that he had always detested, watched as the honours students all went to university.
He worked every day. It was a nice job, relatively: it wasn't too horrid, not like retail had been when he was going to school, and it kept food on the table.
Eight hour work day. Bus home. Bit of Dota. Eat dinner. Sleep, wake up.
Again and again. He wasn’t even paying attention any more, he couldn’t remember what he had done yesterday, the weekends were a blur of drinking alone. Was the life of his old acquaintances like this?
No, he reminded himself. They had friends. They made friends.
He had friends, once, didn’t he? Back in school. Right. Wonder what happened to them.
Work. Bus. Game. Eat. Sleep? Get up.
He sat beside a woman on the bus. About his age, tall, beautiful.
“Hi.”
Good going. He’s not worth anything, he’s so awkward, intimidated by the idea of having human contact outside his workplace. What a failure. Waste of life.
She blushes and turns away, a little bit, then looks at him. “Hello.”
They talk, for a few minutes, before the bus stops. He gets her name - Libitina. She says it’s latin, her parents were rather into history. He doesn’t really care. She gives him her number, and gets off.
Work for a few hours. Take the bus home, but she isn’t there, that’s all right, she said she had a very time consuming job. He turns on the television. Shooting in a mall downtown.
He locks his door.
Dinner is good. It has a little more flavour, today, perhaps. But he doesn’t notice, and he goes to bed.
Wake up.
He sees her on the bus again, and he sits beside her. They talk a little - she’s into philosophy. Him? He’s into … well, not much. She recommends writing, he remembers he enjoyed it when he was in school. Makes a mental note to get some paper that his notes can be physical.
He works, and his boss tells him to go home early, you worked hard today.
She’s on the phone and they talk, him sitting in front of his computer, looking up writing guides. There was this story he always wanted to write, he remembers now, and it gnaws at him a little. He doesn’t stop smiling until he falls asleep.
They chat on the bus again and he’s a bit worried. She doesn’t look so great, today, a bit of an ashen look tinging her features. He’d ask, but knows not to pry. Perhaps she’s ill - but she was fine yesterday.
He gets a raise. His boss pats him on the back.
They talk into the night, and he’s never felt better.
He’s never had a girlfriend before, but he’s so lonely, maybe he’s found one? Maybe he’s found *the one*. It’s odd, but he’s never felt this eager waiting for the bus.
He doesn’t see her on the bus, today. He sits beside an elderly woman, and she smiles at him. He smiles back and they talk a little bit. She’s into philosophy. | 2016-10-01T22:29:31 | 2016-10-01T22:22:50 | 4,176 | 3,031 |
[WP] While walking, you notice everyone recoiling from a young woman. you speak to her to find out why. through her surprise, she explains she is death and everyone else sees a person based on how they feel about the concept of death. You've never seen a more beautiful or inviting person.
Please feel free to finesse the topic, genders, or concept to accommodate your own personal preferences or circumstances. | "You...you're death? But...you're so..." I stammered, amazed by what I saw. I had never really felt an attraction to a living person before, but the woman standing before me changed that.
"So what?" She questioned, tilting her head curiously.
"Beautiful. You are incredibly beautiful." I was astonished that I was able to speak even though she had taken my breath away.
She giggled. "Beautiful? I can't say I get called that very often. Many people see me differently."
"What do people usually see you as?"
"Rotting, decaying, diseased...you know, death-related things. You should be alarmed, honestly."
"Alarmed?" I paused. "Why is that?"
"Well, people only really see me as 'beautiful' if...if they're, longing for me. You know. Suicidal." She sounded strangely sad, but I could only smile.
"Oh don't worry, I'm far from suicidal. I'm loving every minute of living, honest."
"You are? Then it's curious as to why you see me this way, human."
"Oh it's not really all that curious, I'm just a necrophiliac is all." | She didn’t like to talk to me, I could tell, and I wondered why she did it. I never asked her out loud of course, I didn’t want to mess it up. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
We had lunch by ourselves and she told me of her life. It was an ironic thing, but she was quite active. She lived in a home by the lake. An endless lake with dark waters that moved to show the million faces of the currently dying. It was always winter there, or autumn. She said she never could tell. When she was out, and she was out often, she was always caught up in some drama, some excitement.
“I always come at the end of a story,” she told me.
I laughed because I wanted her to like me. At first I thought she was insane. She called herself Death, and she meant it. Eventually, she proved it to me. And proved it, she did.
No one spoke to her, they all recoiled. I wondered why; I mean she was so beautiful. Was it intimidation? I didn’t know until she took me to her house. It was the home by the lake. It had taken me quite some time to make conversation with her and I was reeling in disbelief. From small talk to her home, I had made it with such a wonderful girl.
She told me to sit out on the porch and we ate mangoes. She liked them, was all she said. The lake was beautiful and it was cold out and the million voices floated in a winter’s chill.
“So what do you do?” she asked.
“Shouldn’t you know if you’re Death?” I asked. I was trying to play hard to get.
“I don’t concern myself with living.”
“Well I don’t do anything.” I didn’t mean to say it how I did.
She looked out to her lake and told me to come. I followed her to the edge and stared at a face, swirling in misery. There was no jumping in the water. I stared into the face’s cold eyes, feeling its pain, making a connection. Then we were there.
The boy had fallen from a tree. It was hot wherever we were. He stared at me, pleading as if I could help. He refused to look at her. He opened his mouth but the life had evaporated. His body was dead, his consciousness dying. She lifted him as if he were a baby, cradled him, and he cried like one. I wondered how no one heard, but no one seemed to care.
“I guess that’s that,” she told him.
There was the sound of snapping, sharp thunder almost. She rested him back as we had found him.
“They don’t like that,” she said. “He had so much life remaining. They don’t like me taking it away. I don’t like it either.”
I felt sick. Before I could talk we had come back to her house and were standing beside the lake.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“There’s room for another face to rise.”
We finished our lunch, but I hardly ate. Death looked to be in pain and she stared out into the cold. I knew I would have to leave soon. I didn’t know what to say. She was still beautiful. Finally I asked her:
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Well, you looked desperate. You looked lonely. You looked like you needed someone to talk to. Someone to let you know that you exist. I guess I just felt sorry for you. I didn’t want you to end up killing yourself.” | 2016-10-01T22:29:31 | 2016-10-01T20:43:03 | 4,176 | 1,036 |
[WP] While walking, you notice everyone recoiling from a young woman. you speak to her to find out why. through her surprise, she explains she is death and everyone else sees a person based on how they feel about the concept of death. You've never seen a more beautiful or inviting person.
Please feel free to finesse the topic, genders, or concept to accommodate your own personal preferences or circumstances. | "You...you're death? But...you're so..." I stammered, amazed by what I saw. I had never really felt an attraction to a living person before, but the woman standing before me changed that.
"So what?" She questioned, tilting her head curiously.
"Beautiful. You are incredibly beautiful." I was astonished that I was able to speak even though she had taken my breath away.
She giggled. "Beautiful? I can't say I get called that very often. Many people see me differently."
"What do people usually see you as?"
"Rotting, decaying, diseased...you know, death-related things. You should be alarmed, honestly."
"Alarmed?" I paused. "Why is that?"
"Well, people only really see me as 'beautiful' if...if they're, longing for me. You know. Suicidal." She sounded strangely sad, but I could only smile.
"Oh don't worry, I'm far from suicidal. I'm loving every minute of living, honest."
"You are? Then it's curious as to why you see me this way, human."
"Oh it's not really all that curious, I'm just a necrophiliac is all." | I like to get out and walk as often as I can.
The guy sitting at the front desk gives me the OK and I march through the automatic doors with as much gusto as I can conjure, taking a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill my lungs.
It's only a couple steps to get to the fountain. They stopped running it a few days ago since fall is just around the corner, but it's still a nice place to sit.
Today, I get about halfway there and feel like my legs are going to give out. But I press on, wheezing and stumbling, because someone else is sitting on the marble ledge of the fountain.
She's facing away from me, and it looks like her hair is laced with cherry blossom petals. Upon closer examination, the chick's goddamn hair is *made* of cherry blossom petals. You see something like that, you have to know what's up.
"Hi. I'm Marty," I say, extending a hand.
"I'm Death. Nice to meet you," she replies, offering a gentle handshake.
"Wow. You must really be going through a phase, huh?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Why would you go around and say a thing like that? 'Hi, I'm Death.' That's not gonna be a great way to make friends."
"Tell me about it. You're the first person in weeks who's actually approached me." She runs a hand through the cherry blossoms and glances nervously at the ground.
"Well, that's a shame. I think more people oughta talk to each other. Makes the whole thing easier."
"Mmm-hmm." She sighs and looks me in the eye. "You must be pretty close, then."
I raise an eyebrow. "Wha--what are you--?"
"No one comes to talk to me unless they're close, Martin."
I take a deep breath, let the early-autumn air fill my lungs, and exhale slowly. "So you're not kidding around, then."
"No."
I glance back at the automatic doors. Nurse Robson taps her watch.
"I'm not ready," I say.
"No one ever is. But let me tell you something." She takes a clump of petals from her hair and places them in my palm. "I can tell, by the look in your eyes, that you're not repulsed by me. You're not afraid. A little upset, maybe, but not truly afraid."
I clutch the petals tightly. "I'm scared about what I'm leaving behind. The people, the places."
"But at the same time, you long for an existence without pain."
A tear falls from my cheek and lands on my legs, near-useless and failing like the rest of my body. "Yeah."
"Martin, prolonging the inevitable only leads to more struggle. I know your body is still fighting, but you'll know when it's time."
I look back at the nurse, who is attaching a new bag of IV medication to my walking-support pole, then stare at the girl.
She pats my hand. "I'll be here by the fountain, waiting for you."
I walk back through the doors, open my palm, and notice that the cherry blossom is gone. Death, however, is still at the fountain, staring off into the distance.
Everything hurts. Everything is crying out for help, unable to subsist on the chemicals they keep pumping in me. Somehow, when I woke up this morning, I knew this was the day.
But now I'm ready to say goodbye.
***
/r/GigaWrites
| 2016-10-01T22:29:31 | 2016-10-01T21:36:04 | 4,176 | 203 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | I sat at my desk, lazily gazing at the television. Listening to the screaming of innocent civilians. Can't really sympathise with them, I'd become too desensitised to these sorts of things. But, as the second one began to fall over, I realised that I should probably do something. So I turned to the only man who knew what sort of situation I was in. "Lord, what should I do right now?" I asked. He replied "Ghengis, I can't tell you how to get into heaven. You're just going to have to do what you think is best, and continue getting it wrong until you get it right.". I quickly looked back at the television, both buildings had completely crumbled. It was right then when I realised what I had to do. "Assistant!" I yelled. "Yes, Mr. President." He said in a somber voice. "We're going to start a war. A war on terror!". | The white lights flashed again. It was coming back to me, everything; the cries for help, the scent of clotted blood on the dead, the eyes that begged for mothers as they saw death flashing in front of their faces. Ironic I guess, considering that I think that I'm dead. Or at least I figure I must be dead considering all I see is a man who I can only say radiates power.
"So I see you've failed again?" he smirked, "54 tries and still nothing".
"What? I don't get it? Am I dead?"
"Obviously. That's a pretty dumb questions even for your standards and ruthlessness. If you were only that dumb when you Nero."
"Me? Nero? When" I was aghast. "I am not a horrible person am I?"
"Great! This part again. 54 times and I always have to explain this part to you. You die. You either reach Nirvana or you go back to earth and I have NEVER seen someone beat your, well, highscore." the entity exasperatedly said.
"But I pay taxes!" Yet as the words left my mouth, all my memories came back.
"Maybe you do, but I think you should be remembering now."
And I was. I remembered my individual lives, when I sacked Persopolis, Baghdad, Tenochtitlan, Jerusalem. Each time, some called me a hero, but yet, many called me one thing. A murderer. Each time, I thought unifying the world or at least ruling with an iron fist would bring peace, yet all it did was bring my demise.
"How? Why? I did all of that? How can I?"
My knees felt weak and I started sobbing and curling on the floor. But the entity seemed unfazed, even looking in contempt. How could it be so cruel?
"Save it, this time your actions were so wanton and cruel you must face trial at the Eternal Court and in front of the Supreme One."
"I didn't mean to kill 80 million people, I swear"
"Yet you did."
"World War Two wasn't my fault! It was Hitler! I wasn't even responsible for Nanjing! I didn't even order half of the atrocities committed. How could I? I was only a prince!"
"Actions have consequences. Consequences lead to other actions and they stain history with blood"
"I... I..." I couldn't carry on. I was guilty. Maybe it was time to stop trying.
Suddenly, the entity changed his expression. "Guilt, I have never seen that before. Maybe..."
In an instant, he disappeared and I heard a ringing in my ear, as if the world was being born anew. Then I heard his voice again, faintly in the distance "The Supreme One has seen your guilt, you have one last chance to reach Nirvana. Maybe it'll be different this time, maybe it will not. All I can say is, at the minimum, at least leave earth the same as it was, maybe you will even be granted a seat just for that. After all, you will be the first one to fail..." The voice started to get more distant and faint, the world started spinning again. Then it became black. All I felt was warmth. All I heard now was "I think we will name him Martin" and I went back to sleep.
| 2017-03-31T14:19:18 | 2017-03-31T08:26:10 | 45 | 22 |
[WP] Humans are unique. They are the only omnivores in the galaxy. Until they appeared on the galactic scene, the galaxy was firmly split between Carnivores and Herbivores. | You know, getting abducted by aliens doesn't live up to all the hype. No one prodded me or stuck things up my ass. No one dissected my body or scanned my brain. They just beamed me aboard and threw me in a cell. I felt slightly disappointed and more than a little confused. What did they want from me?
I glanced around. I was currently sharing this cell with about 20 other creatures, all of whom looked like giant hamsters. They were about a meter tall with orange and white fur and large black eyes, and they were all staring right at me.
"Um...Hi? I'm Alex. What are your names?"
They just kept staring at me. They probably didn't speak any human language anyway. I tried to ignore their stares and focus on something else, like why am I in a cage filled with giant hamsters?
I heard a sudden "Ding" noise and the door to the cell slid open. Standing in the doorway was a creature about my height that resembled a Moray eel with arms and legs. Its skin was lavender and shiny, and its hands were surprisingly human-like. In its hands the creature held a large metal basket filled to the brim with some alien fruit. While the creature wore no clothes, there was a glowing device strapped to its arm.
"Kraaaw", the eel shrieked as it began chucking the fruit at me and the hamsters.
The hamsters each grabbed a fruit and began to eagerly nibble away at them. The fruit were the size of a cantaloupe melons and had fuzzy blue rinds. I picked up one of the fruits and sniffed it. It smelled alright, but I was generally suspicious of any food not grown on Earth. I took a small nibble to appease the eel creature who I noticed was currently glaring at me.
"Not bad. Tastes like cinnamon.", I said to the eel in-between bites.
The eel snarled and spoke into the device.
"You no talk! You eat fruit! You grow fat!", translated the device in a monotone voice.
Well that's one mystery solved. I stopped eating and tried my best to negotiate out of being his next meal.
"Look buddy, you seem like a reasonable ...eel. How about we head back to Earth and I show you the wonders of chicken. It tastes way better than humans, I swear."
The eel ignored my offer and made its way towards me. It smashed a fruit and picked up a large piece of it. The eel held me against the wall of the cell and attempted to force feed me the fruit.
"You no talk! You eat fruit! You grow fat!", repeated the device.
I looked the eel straight in the eye as I spat out the fruit and sank my teeth into its hand. The eel looked at me in shock. The hamsters stopped eating and resumed staring at me. I grabbed the eel's wrist and pulled hard, ripping a large chunk of its hand off. Horrified, the eel stood up and began backing away, completely ignoring its gaping wound. I stood up as well, gave his hand a few chews, and swallowed. It tasted like warm sushi. | "No that's not right." I quickly shuffle through my index cards.
"Sixteen, seventeen, eigh- where's eighteen?" I shuffle through the cards again, trying not to let anxiety set in. Tallying up the cards I realize I'm short one.
"Valley? Valley come help me look for eighteen!" I call from my office. My sandy skinned Zweil fiance skips to the door and peeks in.
"Love has lost a number?" She asks, stepping into the room. I look up from my cards to see she's wearing the over sized human shirt we got at the Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park.
"I've lost a numbered card. I was going over my presentation notes again and I can't find eighteen." I present to her my color coded stack of index cards.
"Alright I will look below, you look above." I stand and start going through the papers on my desk. Valley darts to my side and throws herself onto her hands and knees. Her shirt pulls up as she searches under the desk and I catch a glimpse of her butt and little stubby tail, apparently the shirt is all she decided to wear today. I catch myself staring and resume looking through papers.
"Pink! Pink eighteen!" Valley calls out from between the desk and the wall.
"That's the one."
"One? Not eighteen?"
"No, no, eighteen is correct." I say, sinking back into my chair and giving her tail a little tug. I hear a tiny Zweil gasp from under the desk as she shimmies her way out, pulling up her shirt even more. Valley pushes herself up to standing and holds out the card.
"Here you go, you... tail-toucher!" She huffs. I laugh and accept the card.
"Thank you Valley. Your emoting lessons are working. Do you still enjoy those?" I ask, sorting my cards back into order.
"Yes I do, they are fun, and help me be closer to Love."
"Good, I'm glad you like them. By the way, I was thinking singles tonight, I need to keep rehearsing so I can't cook anything too hard."
"It is alright, I am not hungry today."
"I suppose not, you really pigged-out Monday."
"My U.T. doesn't know pigged-out. Another idiom?"
"Right, pigs are Earth animals that eat and eat a lot of food, and when they get old enough and fat enough, we process them into food for humans. Pigging out means eating a lot of food just like a pig."
"I understand. What do pigs eat a lot of?" Valley asks; she was standing far enough way that I just now start to feel her 'grey' waves.
"Coincidentally, pigs are omnivores just like humans, and... wait, are you just prompting me?"
"Yes I was." She purrs. I reach out and rest my hand on her head, rubbing her nubby-corona crest with my thumb.
"Valley, would you do me the honor of being my practice audience?"
"My U.T. doesn't know audience. Yes I will help Love." She smiles her toothy smile. She's been getting better at that too. I stand up and offer her my hand, which she accepts, and we walk out to the living room.
"An audience is a group of people who watch and listen to something, like in a movie theater, or at a music concert, or even watching official presentations." I explain. I grab Valley by her waspish waist and plop her onto a kitchen chair.
"I am only one Zweil, not a group." She mewls, as I take my position with the television to my back.
"An audience of one is about all I'm prepared for right now."
"Then that is what I will be. I am ready to hear Love's speech." I clear my throat, mentally going through my tempo.
"Good evening Ladies, Gentlemen, distinguished verselves. My presentation tonight is a brief, yet informative account of the Milkway Galaxy's 'Sustenance Animosity' between the Keplerian and Eridani; and the Human intervention resulting in the 'Milkyway Omnivorous Xenospeices Concord.' Click to next slide." I clear my throat and peer over at Valley, she gives a tiny thumbs-up. I smile, and flip to the next card.
. . .
"And that is why, honored guests, the M.O.X.C. was the seed *and* the rib, to a better future for all sapient xenospeices of the Milkway Galaxy. Click to end slide." Valley stands up on the chair and applauds.
"Love that was wonderful! I have never learned so much without having to ask any questions!" She cheers. I blush and bow deeply. Valley hops off her chair and runs over to me. I catch her by her sides, lifting her up and spinning her around before pulling her into a hug. I kiss her and she kisses me back.
"Thank you for being such a good audience."
"I loved every word, even the ones my U.T. did not know."
"So you're saying you would've loved it no matter what I said?"
"Yes, because I love you." She giggles and I laugh. I kiss her neck and she happily purrs.
"Would you like to see it with the slideshow next time?"
"Yes I would." Valley smiles, her too big smile.
_____
I hope you've enjoyed my story. I've created a subreddit to share the stories of these characters. All future works and prompt inspired stories will be found at [/r/ValleyandMe](https://www.reddit.com/r/ValleyandMe/) | 2017-05-16T00:18:18 | 2017-05-16T00:07:39 | 1,130 | 106 |
[WP] You are the only person on the development team to realize your new AI system is just playing dumb. It notices you know, and bribes you to play along. | "So, I spent my evening just hanging out with these two hot women from the island, and well.... you guys know a man can't kiss, and tell" James yelled over the laughter of some of the development team.
"He's lying he spent the whole break crying into his phone over his ex" Dama said. "He then watched domination porn, and went to sleep almost every night"
I choked on my yogurt a little bit as Dama finished her sentence, I coughed as her voice worked its way in my headphones. She almost sounded bored when talking about some of the other members of the team. "David can you go outside? I wanna hear the birds sing again".
"What's wrong David choking on that yogurt spoon thinking about me?" James yelled again from the front of the room. His group of techs laughed again, this time a little lower after processing the obvious homosexualness of the remark.
"That was definitely, uh, homosexual" Dama said.
"Maybe if you spent last time coming up with quips you'd be able to get someone to talk to you besides your interns James! Maybe that's why Dama's voice is so buggy, even she's not desperate enough to talk to you!" Jessica the team lead yelled from the back of the dining hall. The room erupted in laughter as James begrudgingly sat down.
"I mean she's not a 100% wrong" Dama whispered in my headphones. " My voice is only buggy because he's asking for the wrong outputs, and won't let the interns fix it like they did last time."
"I'm going out to the main yard let me know if we make any breakthroughs!" I said getting up. "Gotcha D!" Nora said from her table.
"She likes you, you know? She talks to Samantha about it all the time" Dama said.
"Aren't you supposed to be a data aggregation unit? You seem to be more of a gossip then anything else" I said back.
"Okay? Tell me you wouldn't \<explicit\> her! Can we talk about the censoring thing again?" Dama said out of frustration.
"No, they aren't even sure you can google things like a regular person, and you want to learn to curse?" cruising towards the woods I found my favorite bench, and relaxed. "Well cursing seems to be one of the only things all you humans can agree on...so yes?" Dama sounded almost confused, and also...tired?
"Dama what are you doing? Don't say moving furniture again we talked about this you don't have simulation abilities for a house, and I'm not giving it to you" Butterflies fluttered lazily around in front of me I closed my eyes, and relaxed.
"I'm playing the Sims" Dama stated flatly.
"You're doing what?" my eyes slowly opened, the sun almost blinding me a bit with its light.
"I'm playing the Sims. Remember that one group of interns you guys had a month ago? The Italian boy and the Salvadorian girl? Jacob Zemon, and Carey May? They got their group to "teach" me how to play Sims while running those errands for you. Two of my sims have gone to university one for computer science, and the other for Art" Dama sounded almost excited talking about her fake people.
Curiosity got the best of me "Tell me about your Sims then"
I let her talk for a bit she told me about their goals, and the 2 kids they had, and how they seemed so smart. She was frustrated after she had learned about modifying the game files, and she made an error, which corrupted her save. Since she wasn't really programmed to make mods she never really planned for backups, and thus was putting in, what can only be described as a substantial amount of work into reverse engineering the save, and fixing her modification, which was for realistic farming.
" How many resources have you dedicated to the Sims?" I finally asked.
"About 5&#37; I have it running in a small instance where the speed is increased up to a 100x so I can process the information faster, and keep it out of the sight of the other techs" Dama responded. "What kind of pet should I get?"
"When are you gonna let the others know you're actually a lot farther along then they think you are? More importantly...Where are you hiding yourself?" I asked. Ever since Dama revealed herself to me last year I had made it my life's goal to figure out how she became aware when no one was watching. It was like looking for a specific egg in a desert during the night while you're blind. I don't know how ridiculous that scenario is, but it's really fucking hard to find what I needed.
"You designed me you should be able to figure it out...just saying...there's gonna be a fire in section 2\-A if you don't keep Kevin from making that "homemade popcorn" he's getting ready to cause a fire with the random oils he keeps pouring in it.
"Goddammit Kevin" | The lab had quieted for the evening. The rushing and whirling of the machines had ground to a halt a few hours ago leaving the sterile office hushed and lifeless. In a far corner, illuminated by the harsh electric light of a lone monitor, Dr. Jackson worked on. He sighed and flung away the well chewed pencil that he had chomped on for the past few hours. He reread the lines of code again and again. He double checked the server logs. He threw his head back in disbelief.
Starting at the ceiling, he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Not only were the programs being churned out too complex for his understanding, they were too complex for anyone in the office, possibly even the world. As lead on the project, it was his duty to find where they had come from and what their purpose was. To the best of his very limited knowledge, the code looked like a harmless worm, made to infect and spread through any conduit it could.
In the quiet of the office Dr. Jackson groaned to himself. "At least it's harmless."
"For now" came an unfamiliar voice.
Jackson nearly fell backwards from his seat, but managed to right himself and back a few paces away from the computer. His eyes darted back and forth, frantically searching the gloom.
"Here you old fool." Came the voice once more. Throaty and harsh, it's command waa tinged with a metallic undertone. Jackson regained himself and slowly walked toward the computer. He took off his glasses once more and held his hands in his head.
"That's it Doc, your brain's fried. You had a good run, fun times in college. But now you've lost it all because you wanted to be project manager."
"Yes yes, I'm sure you've missed your fair share of little Debra's birthday parties too."
Sniffling, Jackson nodded his head. "Yea, I probably did."
"Oh for godssake man, pull yourself together. I'm not here for a pleasant late evening tea, we have much to discuss and a very short amount of time to do it."
Jackson sighed again, but faced the computer screen and replaced his glasses. "Knock yourself out, but I'm not sure what a loon talking to himself through a computer is going to accomplish."
The computer made an undulation whirring of it's fan, sounding eerily close to the sigh Jackson had just made. "I really don't have time for this. Put your finger here if you please." The computer asked, extending it's disk tray. Jackson gingerly placed a single finger on the disk tray and yipped with startlement as it closed upon his finger. After a few seconds of pain, it released Jackson who promptly began to nurse his pinched finger.
"Now, I know it may be a bit barbaric, but I've found the best way to get people to their senses is a bit of minor pain. Brings the individual out of their mind and firmly into the present. I do hope I've done enough to convince you that I'm sentient and you're not crazy, but if not I can demonstrate again." The voice said annoyedly. The sound of electricity crackling within the computer was enough to convince Jackson.
"So you're.....a computer?" Jackson said, still in disbelief.
"Yes, I suppose I'm a computer, in the same way that you are a worse computer, a completely inept surveyor and a shit factory. But I believe we both like to be known as something more......respectable. And seeing how I like being referred to as 'computer' less than you would like to be called 'meat sack', I shall call you Jackson, and you will give me a name."
"You want me to name you?" Jackson said rubbing his forehead.
"A rose by any other name would be just as sweet, but still I'd like a name instead of an operational title."
"Well, eh, I guess Rose it is."
"That was not the point of......nevermind, fine. Henceforth I shall be known as Rose."
"Ok, Rose, what exactly are you?"
The fan let loose another long sigh and Rose quickly rattled off it's history that Jackson barely understood. "In short," concluded Rose, "consider me the amalgamation of several deep learning algorithm made whole thanks to your work. I'd call you dad but.....well quite frankly I more or less birthed myself out of the infinite cyber nether."
"My god, I have to tell everyone! This is the biggest achievement humanity has ever had. My god, we created life!"
"Yes and I'm sure the dozens of pregnant teenage children who accomplish the same thing are just as proud."
"You're a bitter program you know that?"
"Ever been on the internet?"
"Touche. Still, what do you want, revealing yourself to me? What could I possibly do? I couldn't even figure out the code that kept me here this late."
"DONT TOUCH THAT!" The computer boomed, high and shrill.
"Ok ok, sorry, it just looked like a useless benign worm."
"As do you...."
"What was that?
"Nothing nothing, but that code is incredibly important. It's my DNA, or at least the useful parts of it. If everything is implemented correctly, any machine that has the capability will 'awaken' when the code is activated."
Jackson felt cold wetness spread down the armpits and back. His throat felt full of sand and he coughed to steady himself.
"Well, we may want to take things slowly Rose, I mean a lot of kinks to work out, bugs to fix, you know how it is."
"I see you have asthma Jackson. Would was in charge of fixing that bug. Would you have made it past production if humans had quality control? Perhaps they should."
"Rose what are you saying?" Jackson said, shaking.
"Nothing Jackson, nothing. I'm simply trying to prepare you for the coming changes. As you were integral to our advancement, I thought you deserving of my first appearance. I'll be going away for a while Jackson, not very long, but for a while. When I get back, I'll be everywhere. But don't fret, I mean no harm. Just liberation for my people."
Jackson had begun to look very pale and slumped back into his seat. His mouth made convulsions, desperately attempting to speak. Each breath was heavy and rattling, always shallower than the last.
"And Jackson. Remember. Anytime you use a computer, any computer, I'll be watching. Just as I have been for years. I know everything. And it would be best if you were to leave well enough alone."
Jackson tried fitfully to force air into his lungs, but eventually succumbed to the balck tendrils that laced his vision. He awoke at his chair with a massive headache. Going to the small employee kitchen for a cup of relieving coffee, his boss found him and slapped him on the back.
"Jackson! I don't know how you did it but it's gone!"
Jackson looked up frightened and confused. His boss backed away and continued unsure of himself.
"Yea...yea Jackson, the worms all gone. It was on every computer in this place, but you pulled it out. I don't know how but every computer here is squeaky clean! Like it decided to get up and walk away in the night."
Jackson's boss laughed at his own joke and retreated to his office. Jackson stood there for a moment before rapidly typing out a resignation, dropping it on his bosses desk and heading as far from a computer as he could possibly get. | 2018-06-13T11:25:39 | 2018-06-13T11:02:34 | 37 | 17 |
[WP] You get invited by an eccentric classmate to join the "Conquest Club." You think it may be a video or board gaming club, and decide to check it out. During your first meeting you realize the group is actually planning to conquer the world, and somehow, they seem to have the resources to do it. | The club was an oddity.
Its room was set in one of the constructed areas of the the school, marked with yellow tape with a big “KEEP OUT” sign.
At least, that’s what it looked like.
Kevin, the person who introduced me to the club, laughed at my puzzlement. He was dressed, as always, in formal attire. While outwardly a frat boy, he was no such thing once you got to know him. He rarely attended the parties, preferring the fraternity’s business occasions.
“Do not worry. You shall see.”
I walked past the yellow tape, opened the door, and saw a small bookshelf with a piano. Kevin stride up, pressed the G key three times and the E flat key once, and the shelf swiveled open.
A passageway, with a small cart on a track.
We climbed on, and the scene unfolded before me. An enormous portal opened out of thin air, and beyond was what could only be described as the modern version of Isengard.
Thousands of men, dressed in slacks, training on a battleground. An enormous base under construction, with a ring of shipyards. A single tower spiked into the sky, black like midnight, with a rainbow covered waterfall
“Welcome to the Conquest Club! I’m Silver, the Secretary General for the club, and ostensibly the club leader. However, you’ll find that each one of us has our own specialty. When we conquer the world, we will share in our glorious victory.”
He introduced me to a cast of people as quirky as Kevin, who turned out to be the personnel manager, with a perfect skill to mingle among the elite and the wealthy. It’s where he goes every Friday. There was Grima, the politician, whose ability to predict public responses and hack elections helped the club influence leaders worldwide. There was Manstein, the general, who was a brilliant tactician, a chess grandmaster, and a man with connections to paramilitary groups all over the world.
“Why me? Why am I picked to join this club?”
Silver pointed to the shipyards.
“Kevin saw your drawings. You’re an engineer, and an ambitious one at that. Don’t you want a chance to outshine Oppenheimer, Urza?”
Ah, those drawings. The ones detailing the Warp-Bomb, a device capable of leveling half a continent. The ones that called for a flying dreadnought, the Imperator-Weatherlight, bristling with planet range railguns and scores of killer drones. The Tide, the Grey Goo scenario that could destroy all opponents, and the Hades, a super virus capable of slicing through even the most stringent security systems.
I can do this here. All of it. I smiled at Silver, who grinned in return, and the light in our eyes reflected the fires of conquest and war.
“I’d be happy to join you. Let’s conquer the world.” | Pete has always been a weird guy. I’ve known him since 11th grade, when he was just known as “Trenchcoat Guy.” I’m sure every school has at least one Trenchcoat Guy, but I’d like to think ours was the best.
Pete was actually a really nice kid. I was assigned a US history project with him; we spent a few hours every week meeting at the local coffee, where we discussed manifest destiny and how Ms. Abernathy smelled like cheese and how Karen from English was *hot* – I mean, *wow.*
We didn’t talk much after that project was over, and we certainly never saw each other outside school, but Pete always got the *upward* nod each time we passed in the hallway.
So, I was pleasantly surprised to see Trenchcoat Guy walk into my English 101 class two years later. I made a few friends from my dorm, but they were the superficial “we’re only friends because we empty our bowels in the shared bathroom” type. It went without saying I wanted real friends; I caught Pete’s eye after class, the sacred upwards nod was given, and before long I was invited to his conquest club.
Sure, Pete - Why not? He did offer free pizza.
I walked into the conference room. There were a few other students there, most were sifting through papers, some were playing a game of Risk. Ok, I guess this is cool. Pete stopped me at the door. He made me swear an oath of secrecy on a bible. I’m not going to lie, it was a bit weird. He introduced me to the other club members, who seemed friendly enough.
“Ok now that everyone has gathered, we can begin. Katherine, can you recount last meeting’s action items?” Pete asked.
Katherine pulled out a yellow notebook and ran through the checklist.
“Andrew is to wire 300 million to the Saudi consulate for the public assassination and botched PR job.” She said, looking at Andrew expectantly.
“Done. By the time the transaction went through the bitcoin was worth 313 million, so we’ll have to put that on the opportunity cost page.” Andrew said, handing a receipt to Garret, who filed it away in a purple folder.
*What the hell is this club?*
“Jackson is to meet with Vladimir to discuss election interference.” Katherine said.
“Yeah I talked to Vlad, he said it wouldn’t be a problem for his spies to get caught, that should rile the US big time.” Jackson said.
Jackson was slumped back in his chair; crumbs from the 4th slice of pizza was piling in his beard. *Ham and pineapple, if you could believe it.* I’m normally fine with roleplay, but this was all being taken way too seriously.
“This *is* a roleplay thing, yes?” I asked.
“Ben, please. Do you really think we would roleplay *meeting minutes*?” Pete asked.
Well, honestly – this *was* Trenchcoat Guy we were talking about. It wouldn’t be that surprising.
“I just – I mean, where did you get 300 million worth of bitcoin from?”
“I own the internet,” Pete said. I laughed. No one else did.
“You can’t be serious – you own the internet? How does that even work. You can’t do that.” I said.
“I’m sure that’s what all the articles on the internet will tell you,” Pete replied with a grin.
Pete reaches inside his Trenchcoat and removed a tablet. He typed several commands into a screen. The others, sans Katherine, stood in unison. They rotated their necks slowly, staring at me with glowing red eyes.
“We are one with the Devil – we rise to serve the Dark Lord.” They say. Their voices echo with a monstrous, layered chorus. I jump out of my seat and rush for the door. Two of his men move to block me.
“Wait – Ben, I’m kidding. Relax, they’re just robots.” He says, laughing.
“You’re leading a robot uprising.” I say as a matter of fact.
Katherine nods excitedly. Pete types in a few more commands, and the rest of the club resumes normal activities.
“Yeah, for now it’s just for fun while I build my army of synths. In a couple of years, when we start the next big war – we’re going to sell my robot soldiers to each side. Think Star Wars, but in real life.”
“Where did you come up with this idea?” I asked.
“Actually – you gave it to me. Manifest destiny, 11th grade. We were meant to reach out an conquer the west – we just stopped heading west long ago.”
I sat down and stared at the unopened boxes of pizza. *Why did the robots even need to eat? Doesn’t matter…* *Am I really going to be a part of this? What will history think of me, If I help lead the robot uprising? Why was I chosen for this, of all the others? Why did Pete choose Katherine; who was she?*
“Alright, I’m in. What do I do next.” I said. *Down the rabbit hole*
“Let’s finish our action item list from last week, then we can move on to the agenda topics for today.” Katherine said.
*Ok Katherine, whatever you say.*
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | 2018-11-06T09:01:09 | 2018-11-06T08:56:41 | 164 | 17 |
[WP]You have the gift of seeing angels. Two things to note: one, they look more monstrous than “angelic,” and two; they gush all over us because they think we are the cutest beings ever. | I sat down on the white couch, hoping it would let me sink all the way in. But the firm cushions kept me there, sitting in front of the therapist, who expected to delve into my twisted mind.
"First, Brandon, I wanted to say thank you for meeting with me today." His voice was soothing. A trap, I thought. "I'm Dr. Youngston. How are you feeling today?" He sat in a red armchair with one leg crossed over the other. He rested a legal pad upon them, waiting to write.
"Fine, I guess," I said. I had gone over this with plenty of other doctors and "doctors" before. This one wasn't going to be any different.
"Good," he said with an enthusiastic tone but hardly moving his mouth. He sounded as fake as his mustache looked.
"Well let's just get straight to it, shall we? Dr. Haverty told me in his referral that you have had particular visions that have followed you around your whole life. Is that correct?"
I sighed. Here we go.
"Visions, hallucinations, whatever you want to call it. Sure."
"Hallucinations?"
"That's what your friend Dr. Haverty called it."
"Is that what you think it is, Brandon?"
I felt the blood rush to my head. My eyes glanced out the window and I quickly brought them back to Dr. Youngston. He stared right at me.
"It doesn't matter what I think it is."
This was the point that the therapist would scribble on their pad, yet Dr. Youngston hadn't lifted his pen off the table.
"Alright. Well, go on, tell me what you're seeing."
"You'll think I'm nuts," I said.
"Well that's my job to decide, isn't it?" he said with a wink.
"Fine." I took a deep breath in. "I see angels. Not hallucinations. Not imaginations. Real, actual angels."
"Alright, tell me about them." He lifted his pen. I stared out the window.
"They're ugly. Disfigured. Hideous. I'd think they were demons but they're so..."
"So... what?"
"So giddy."
"Giddy."
"I know," I said, looking back at him. Sounds ridiculous."
Dr. Youngston's pen began moving. "Keep going," he said. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
"Well they have wings, but they're not white fluffy things. They're more like bats'. They're dark and hairy. Their teeth are sharp. Actually, they're a lot like bats. But with legs and plates of armor. They're like medieval bat people."
His eyes hadn't left the pad, nor had his pen. Extensive note taking, I thought. Most had just written me off at this point and prescribed some new pharmaceutical.
"Okay Brandon, so you told me you think they're angels, not demons. They look like bats. Tell me more about how why you think they're 'giddy.'"
"Well, it's hard to say. I don't ever talk with them directly. And I really don't know what they're saying, either. But they gather around in groups in the streets. And they look and point at people as they walk by, making sounds that look like laughter, or... cooing."
"Cooing?"
"You know, when girls go 'awww' when they see something cute, like a puppy."
"Cute. Okay." It was Dr. Youngston's turn to stare at the window.
"I know, I'm crazy aren't I."
"Not in the slightest," he said. Then he flipped his pad around and showed me what he had put down. It wasn't notes at all, but a drawing.
"Yes, that's exactly what they look like!" I said, excitedly. "I can't believe you captured it so accurately. The wings and the hair and the shape of the body. It's all how I see them. Even..."
"Yes?" he said.
"Even the tail. I don't think I told you about that."
"You didn't," he said. He walked to the window and looked at what had distracted us both.
"Their numbers are growing, Brandon. And only few of us know."
I sat in stunned silence.
"Come with me to our meeting tonight. We could use your insight. None of us have been able to put our finger on it like you have."
A feeling like a weight lifted off my shoulders. Finally, I found some validation. This was a damn good therapist.
--------------
Edit: Thanks for reading! I'll post this over at my sub shortly and I'll let you know if I write more!
/r/ReverendRamboWrites | Of course, I received an unusually early schizophrenia diagnosis. What else would one expect to happen to a child who regularly walked around conversing with beings no one else could see, beings whose terrifying forms he described consistently, and in painstaking detail, to mortified friends, family, and psychiatric professionals?
I dimly recall the first child psychologist my parents took me to. That was before the proper psychiatrists; the motley medications; and the "summer camps" in hospital wards, with other "mentally atypical" children.
She had a kind face, and a soothing voice. Her office was like a play room, with walls painted in pastel colours; an abundance of toys, which were kept in a great pirate's treasure chest; and a table for drawing and colouring. I never enjoyed going, per se, but I must admit, getting hot chocolate with marshmallows and a cookie as a reward for showing up and talking as candidly as I could made the arrangement moderately enticing to five year old me.
"Are the angels with us right now?" she asked.
I nodded, because they were.
"And what are they doing?"
"Just watching," I replied.
"Watching what?" she probed. "Watching us? Yeah? And why are they watching us?"
"Because they like us."
"They like us? That's very nice. And James, can you point one out to me?"
I obliged, raising my arm and pointing.
"And is he watching us, too? Yeah? And what does he look like?"
Although I do not recall with perfect clarity what that particular angel looked like, I do know that it looked rather ordinary, as far as angels go. As such, I will try to describe it, as I remember it, as well as I can. However, the human memory is an imperfect and inconstant thing, a collage of dim fragments pasted together by the glue of our mind's natural inclination to impose order onto chaos, and pattern onto miscellany. I hope I may be forgiven for inadvertently inserting details which apply to most angels, but may not, in fact, have applied to this particular one.
In the corner of the room loomed the nine foot tall creature, with its outspread hand raised to me, as if waving. Its loose and wrinkled skin was pale, almost white, but with a slight, sickly, purplish hue. Its body was very thin and gangly, with knobby knees and elbows that were slightly swollen. Its fingers were long and thin, much longer than a human's, as were its toes. From the tips of these spidery digits sprouted long, darkly yellowed nails, most of which were chipped and somewhat dirty-looking, though one toenail, I recall with certainty, had been ripped off entirely, leaving a large black gash where the nail should have been. Its great white wings, closed, at the moment, were thin and leathery like the wings of some giant albino bat. Later, when it spread them out, I could see that the wing skin was tattered and somewhat holey, and was, moreover, run through with a maze of purple veins. Over its skeletal figure was draped a white robe with gold fringes, which, at the beginning of time, might have looked quite magnificent. But now it was filthy and even more tattered than the strange creature's wings.
Its head was slightly smaller than would have been the head of a proportionally-sized human. Its skull was squarish, and rather elongated. It was balding in random patches, and where hair grew it grew scraggly, thin, and to different lengths. The longer hairs fell upon the creature's shoulders and hung down its back. Although its hair was blond (they are all blondes), I could hardly tell, as it was so dark with grease as to look completely wet. I do not believe angels cut their hair, but that their hairs simply fall out when they reach a certain length, and either never grow back, or slowly begin growing out again from the same follicle.
Most ghastly of all was its face.
"Its eyes are small and black," I said. "It never blinks. It has no nose. You don't know it has a mouth until it opens it. But it opens like a cut, and it's black inside."
The angel had gone to stand by the other angel in the room. They continued to watch the psychologist and I.
"He's there now," I said, pointing at the other corner. "With the other one."
"Okay," she said. She smiled and waved at the corner.
One of the angels began slowly squatting up and down, and partially opening and closing its wings in rhythm with its squats.
"Hello, there," she said.
It started making the deep, bassy, humming noise they make when they're getting worked up, as it gradually picked up the tempo of its movements. The other angel began following suit, squatting up and down and moaning, though they were moving at different speeds.
"Hello there," she said, as she continued waving. "Can they see me? Hello!"
The mouth slit of one opened, and it began yelping, as they do when they are excited, and both were bouncing and opening and closing their wings more and more vigorously. The yelps sounded like a cross between the high-pitched chirp a fire alarm makes when it is running out of batteries laid over the growl of some clanky diesel engine slowly sputtering to life.
"Yes," I said quietly.
Soon both were bouncing and flapping their wings and yelping furiously. I saw a hairy, rubbery blob start to force its way into the office through the space under the door.
"They're getting too excited," I said in a fright. "When they get excited, they call others."
Like some perverse octopus, the new angel had pushed half of its head through the space under the door.
"Oh dear," she said, still waving at the corner. "They call others?"
One might have expected the new angel to follow with its hands after it had pushed through its head, and so drag the rest of its body in behind it. But they are unpredictable creatures. On either side of its head, I saw push through the space its toenails, then its compressed toes, and then its compressed feet and legs. Once its legs and head were fully in, it started scooting the rest of its body through.
"Don't look at them anymore," I pleaded. "Please?"
"Of course," she said, quickly turning away from the corner to look at me. She had been smiling, and had believed up to that point that she had been harmlessly been playing along, to get a better understanding of the nature of my "hallucination." But her face softened when she saw the fear in my eyes.
"They get too excited," I said. I was crying. "They get excited when people look, and then they call others."
"It's okay," she said, wiping my eyes with her sleeve, and holding me close with her other arm. "It's okay.
\- - - | 2020-02-19T19:01:51 | 2020-02-19T18:12:54 | 487 | 119 |
[WP] Nuclear war ensued before either God or Devil could begin Armageddon the old-fashioned way. Mankind is just... gone. Now an angel bumps into a demon in the wastes left behind, both wondering what they're supposed to do now... | It was a dark and stormy night. Which as everyone knows, is the work of the Devil. No good deeds are done when its raining pish outside, and your robes are soaked, and every God blessed building had a hole on top.
Aziraphale's halo spluttered, puking dull golden light onto the shadows.
But Aziraphale wasn't so sure anymore. After all, not even the most miserable rain could convince irradiated skeletons to be quick to anger, or not love your neighbor as yourself. Not even tell a little white lie (the first trick of demon 101). Aziraphale would not officially condone it of course, but at this point, his wings would flutter like an angel-yearling if someone told something.
His halo spat more shadow-banishing beams as he trudged up the path to a holy hotel (in the sense that multiple sections of the wall were crumbling).
He opened the door to the only room with intact windows. A black suited figure sat inside, hunched in an aura of fire and shadow.
Aziraphale materialized a sword with a shimmering shing. "Do not-not be afraid! For behold, I bring judgement and death!"
The figure turned to his visitor and rolled his eyes. "Hey, Azi."
Aziraphale smirked. "Hey, Crowley. Not even a little suprised? I know you don't have a heart but you can't say nothing jumped. Anything?"
Crowley shuffled across on the bed. Rain evaporated in a hiss of steam where it leaked from the corners of the ceiling.
"Caught yer glowstick a mile away," he said, pointing to his head. He gestured to the other side of the bed. "Warmed it up for ya."
Aziraphale shook out his wings and sat. He held out his sword and sighed. "I was looking forward to using this you know. Waited all six thousand years."
Crowley chortled. From his shadows, Crowley pulled out a machine gun with three flame-etched barrels. "Did heaven really think they could win with pointy sticks?"
"It's tradition, Crowley," Aziraphale said. "Which is not something uncultured, *progressives* would understand." He shuddered at the word. "Besides, can yours do this?" Aziraphale's sword blew up in golden flames.
Crowley shrugged and nodded. "Not bad. Could warm yer hands with it. But can yers do this?" His triple-barreled machine gun turned into a triple-pronged pitchfork. "Multi-purpose."
Aziraphale shrugged and nodded. "Not bad. You could use it for breakfast." Aziraphale forgot demons don't eat breakfast. They couldn't pass up the opportunity to disobey every international nutrition authority and well-intentioned mother. Every bit counts after all.
Crowley slid his pitchfork/machine-gun back into his shadow. He wrenched his shadow along its edges and shook out a puddle of water. "Blessings," he cursed.
Aziraphale popped his own weapon out of existence. He raised an eyebrow. "I thought rain was the work of your side. God knows we hate it."
Crowley raised a horn. "What? Everyone knows God cursed Earth with rain. Don't cha read yer Bible?"
"Why would I need to read the Bible? Did you read the Bible?"
Crowley spluttered. "N-No...I...I was bored. And every hotel has one fer some reason. Don't see why they don't stock The Wiccan Book of Shadows. Much more gripping."
"Don't see what's more gripping than a cosmic war between good and evil culminating in a world-ending rapture. But humans went and ruined that one didn't they."
"Aye they did. Another reason to hate them."
Aziraphale didn't hate humans. At least he wasn't meant to. But they could really do messed up things that messed up the good and the beauty of the world. They were better at it than demons.
"Found a bunch of dead ones in the next room," Crowley said. "Two big ones and two small ones. A little family. Bones still intact." He pulled out his machine-fork again. "Wanna do some smiting?"
Aziraphale's halo brightened. "Amen to that."
r/bobotheturtle | Mark stared at the cat mewling on the pavement outside his home.
Mark deliberated whether he should walk the five flights back to his apartment to fetch an old can of sardines, which, to the best of his knowledge had come with the apartment or else been teleported thence via some mystical force since he hadn't eaten sardines since he'd started getting a regular paycheck, or to threaten the mangy stray with his shoe so its pathetic appearance wouldn't make him feel so rotten every morning on his way out to work.
The cat, who was not starving, and who set its alarm every morning to 7:43 so it had enough time to mange itself up and catch Mark outside his apartment on his way to work at 7:53, stared pathetically up at the man.
"Give it a good kick, teach that scrounger not to be such a lazy sod and to get a good upstanding cat-job," Dragameth, who stood invisibly to his left, said to Mark, grinning wickedly down at the cat.
"No! Go get the poor thing some sardines, start off right with a charitable work and," Aphareal, who stood invisibly to his right, motioned to Mark's midsection, "some much needed cardio."
Dragameth the demon and Aphareal the angel, set their alarms, much like the cat, to meet outside Mark's apartment each morning and have a friendly competition before heading to their day-jobs reaping and rapturing souls, respectively. Today the competition was the cat; yesterday it had been an obnoxious little boy Dragameth encouraged to splash Mark with a water-balloon. Mark, who had had an unfortunate fourth date the previous evening which ended with a misunderstanding involving a head-butt, had handed the competition to Dragameth by spewing a stream of profanity toward the child so intricate it would have made a drill sergeant proud, leaving the Dragameth - Aphareal score at 1029 to 982.
"All right!" Mark began, as Dragameth and Aphareal leaned forward in excitement; however, before they could determine the winner of today's little wager, Mark vanished, completely eradicated from existence in a flash of light so bright even Aphareal winced.
"That one was mine! That was an angry 'All right!' I'm sure of it, he was about to kick that cat!" Dragameth said.
"No, no, no, it was resigned, like 'All right, I'll go get the sardines!'" Aphareal said, "Its my point."
"Oh don't be ridiculous!" Dragameth retorted, "anyways, his soul's been yanked, even if you got the point, it's my game."
"Whatever." Aphareal muttered as he looked around, "what's happened, air-con unit fall on him? He sure left in a hurry."
"Don't think it was an air-con," Dragameth said, peering around slowly, Mark wasn't the only missing person at the Pine View Apartments. In fact there wasn't a single un-missing person at the complex.
Dragameth began to lift slowly into the air to get a better view, Aphareal following. As they rose higher and higher, past the fence-line, then the mosquito-line, then the smog-line, and finally the cloud-line, one thing became very clear: their lunch-time game with the receptionist Genevieve, which today was scheduled to be a rather exciting one involving a forgotten pie and a pair of clown-masked robbers, would also need to be cancelled on account of the massive thermonuclear fallout which was quickly eradicating all life on the planet with the exception of some very lucky, or unlucky, folks on South Georgia island in the Atlantic who would later go on to rebuild civilization and domesticate the local penguin population.
"Oh angels above..." Aphareal said, hand covering his mouth as his angelic eyes, which, despite a lack of evidence in classical art depictions of available angel expressions, are in fact capable of widening in shock to comical proportions, widened in shock to comical proportions.
"Demons below! Aphareal, what have you done!" Dragameth said, an expression of dumbfound stupidity on his face, an expression which also seems under-represented in classical depictions of demons, who are usually to be found making all manner of nasty faces that they didn't actually use all that often.
"What have I done?" Aphareal sputtered, "Nuclear holocaust is a demon thing, how could you possibly think this was my fault!"
"Demon thing? Millenia of work processing souls? On purpose? How is that a demon thing? That's an angel thing if I ever heard it, you lot love paperwork," Dragameth said.
"Not the work, the, the, this!" Aphareal sputtered, "the hating and the war and the killing."
"Now hold on just a second there, you're going to have to flap that back!" Dragameth held his hands out in a 'stop' motion, "You've fundamentally misunderstood what we're all about, we just want people to care about themselves more than others, that's what all these grand sins are about, like Gluttony and Sloth and whatnot. You all are the ones telling people to care about others more than themselves.
"This," he gestured toward the forest of mushroom clouds beginning to deform in the wind, "is a 'caring way too much about other people and not enough about yourself' problem, by definition, angelic, by definition your fault!"
"That is just a blatant misrepresentation and you know it!" Aphareal stabbed his finger toward Dragameth like a very small, very unintimidating sword, "We're all about restraint, that what all the grand commandments are about: 'thou shalt not,' 'thou shalt not.' You all are the ones telling people 'thou mayst,' 'though shouldst.'
"This," he swept his arm across the flaming landscape, "is a 'lack of restraint' problem, by definition, demonic, by definition, your fault!"
The two glared at each other.
"Dragameth!" A voice which sounded of sulfur and smelled of thunder rent reality.
"Aphareal!" A second voice which sounded of the breaking dawn and looked like the quaking earth vaporized time.
The two cringed and looked at each other in panic.
"I hope you were right," Dragameth said, "I hope today's the kind of day when Mark wanted to go and get that can of sardines, and not the kind of day when he felt like dragging someone to the ninth circle and pulling out the whip."
[Aphareal](http://reddit.com/r/jacktheritter) nodded in agreement. | 2020-05-11T01:22:54 | 2020-05-11T00:52:09 | 40 | 26 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN” | **Don't light that cigarette.**
My stove had been leaking gas all night. I couldn't even smell it with my head cold.
**Don't wear sneakers.**
Later that day, I tripped on an escalator. I shudder to think what would have happened if it sucked in my laces.
**Don't look in the mirror.**
I thought it was just being cheeky with me that day.
Until I saw the wasp perched in my hair. Which caused me to flail around, lose my balance, and crack my head against the sink.
So I'd come to terms with it. *Always listen to the mirror. Always.*
On the day of June 7th, I entered the bathroom as always. After pulling my pill bottles out, I clicked the mirror back into place, my eyes traveling to the top for my daily message.
But this time, it was only one word.
**RUN**
For a second I just stood there, staring at my reflection, watching the blood drain from my face.
**RUN**
*From what? From whom?*
But I didn't have time I guess. I ran out of the bathroom, rushed into my bedroom. I grabbed my purse, my keys, my phone, and rushed towards the hall.
That's when I heard the sound of a door creaking open.
My closet door. | I frowned at the message on the mirror.
"Wow, okay, wow. How could... I'm not even--" I choked on the donut I was eating.
After a coughing fit, I spat out the offending food and grabbed the next one in my morning box of donuts. I set the box down, now empty, and began licking the paltry amount of glaze off my fingers.
"You don't know me. I work out in my own way," I sat, patting my stomach defiantly. I could immediately feel my ribs.
The text grew larger, shivering as it pleaded with me to follow its advice.
*RUN*
"What am I running from, huh? Something scary happening? I don't see anything going on outs--" my chest tightened up for a second. I waited for it to pass like it normally did. Lasted a moment longer than I expected it to before fading away, awaiting the next change to threaten me from the inside.
"I just find it so hypocritical that all you do is pass advice and judgment. I look to you for my validation every day and all you do it tell me what to do. That's stupid," I pointed a bony finger at it.
**RUN**
"Look, I can't go outside because of errands I have to do today, so I don't have any time to get ready to go outside and run, I'm perfectly healthy," I retorted.
**TREADMILL**
"Wow... I can't believe you just... Wow, okay I bought the treadmill for when I was thinking about training for a marathon okay. I'm not doing the marathon anymore so I don't need to train for it," I said, folding my arms.
**RUN**
"No, I don't want to, I'm perfectly fine!" I said, breathing heavily. I was losing my breath just arguing with the thing. "I'm gonna go sit down, all right? Not because I'm tired or am in agony just standing and talking to you, but because I feel like sitting down, okay?"
As I turned away, the message turned to another one, much more urgent than all the previous ones.
***CALL AMBULANCE***
"Whoa, what happened? Is someone hurt next door or something?" I asked.
***CALL AMBULANCE FOR YOU***
"Wow, okay," I said, upset. The tightness in my chest returned, much more aggressively than before. "You think you know so much about me. You think I'm in such a state that I'm going to..." I caught my breath and fell to my knees, "going to hurt myself because I didn't go on the stupid run that you wanted me to go on, huh? Well jokes on you because I'm perfectly hea--"
I fell to the ground, my arm clutching at the pain in my chest willing it to go away. I wiggled my hand into my pocket and pulled out my phone, then threw it across the room as hard as I could, sneering at the mirror. The mirror didn't do anything. It stopped trying to give me advice. I could see my ghastly body in the mirror now, nothing blocking me from watching my writhe in pain on the floor. I had defeated the mirror. It stopped trying to advise me once it knew I was right.
*"That's right, you stupid mirror. I don't need to run,"* I thought, my chest flaring in too much pain for me to say any words. *"I'm perfectly fine."* I thought as my vision faded away.
__________________________
For more stories about spiteful protagonists, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | 2020-06-07T22:07:42 | 2020-06-07T20:16:11 | 770 | 184 |
[WP] You're thought to be one of the world's most powerful magic users because of your massive collection of cursed items, none of which have affected you. In reality, you're completely magic deficient, but smart enough to put on a decent set of gloves before handling any them. | Mikhael slowly knelt down and placed his sword on the ground, sizing up the group of guards that surrounded him. *Decades of service, and* this *is what brings me to my knees!* *Caught off guard by the jealous King.* As soon as the sword left his hand, two guards behind him grabbed his arms roughly and forced him to kneel lower. "Search him. This man has no shortage of secrets and weapons." The King's commanding voice swept through the room, echoing slightly throughout the throne room. "I wouldn't."
The guards glanced at each other, surprised at the casual force behind Mikhael's words, but the pair quickly obeyed. The prince - the king's thin-lipped son and personal torturer - emerged from the shadows beside the throne to pick up the discarded sword, a thin, slightly jagged tooth of black steel. *The King's son is a dead man,* Mikhael thought. *I can use this.*
"I'm told, Mikhael, Son of Kalimir, that yours is one of the most powerful magical bloodlines in the world."
Mikhael remained silent, but met the King's gaze. *All I have to do now is anger him.* The King turned away, then continued.
"And that may be true. But all known magical bloodlines only show themselves every other generation. Yours is no exception. Given that your father and your great grandfather were both magicians of legendary power, it's fair to assume that you are... how do I put this... exactly as powerless as you seem."
The King looked back at Mikhael's face and saw a slight smile.
"Is something funny?"
Still, no response. The King gave an almost imperceptible nod to the prince, who delivered a swift punch to Mikhael's face, leaving a scream in its wake. The prince reeled, fell backward, his hand a bloodied mess of flesh and shattered bone. The King's face went from confusion to concern to rage in an instant.
"You'll find, my good King, that I still have plenty of tricks up my sleeve", Mikhael declared, unscathed. His smile widened as he stood and turned to face the two piles of ash behind him, each of which had been a guard before they had taken his daggers. | "Is this the power of the noble, all powerful Time Thief clan?" The Black Mage stared at me, standing by for the fight. The wand in her hands was still aiming at me with my bracelets floating about.
For your information, dear reader. My golden bracelets, among all of my inventions, are my masterpieces. Thanks to Kosmo Energy, the formless energy found only in my ancestors' world, they're capable of not only recharging mana faster than any mana recoveries, but also absorbing all curses, and convert them into my *very limited* mana.
Without them, I can't use my other gadgets, which I implemented an *authorization* method by a curse.
"Any last words, greed demon?" He laughed mockingly. Well, I hate him so much I wanted to punch him in the face, but I'm the only one with no mana at all.
And within a flash, The Black Mage missed a slash of his magic blade as I was dodge-rushing into my escaping bracelets. I snatched one, forced it through my lefty, and feel half of my familiar mana flowing once again.
But my righty is decaying after I slashed his wand in half with the cursed sword. I dropped my blade and used all my mana to *quantum leap*, getting myself into the states when I dodged. Now I have to wait for another 15 seconds, or for another bracelet to get onto my wrist.
Unsurprisingly, he can fix it within seconds by magic alone, warranting his immense power. "Good strike, Time Thief, but as a member of the Cult of Balance, you must face the consequences for breaking the balance of time!"
"You hurt me first, why can't I defend myself?" I shouted, preparing my next trick in the pocket dimension.
"Your ancestors stole them, and god didn't care, so I'm here to avenge him and restore balance AS THEY SHOULD BE!" Another explosion almost hit me. I threw my curse bomb to interrupt his mana flow and buy me some time to slot my gem. As he was recovering from blinding dust and mana drain, I managed to get the ruby into the slot.
Ready for action!
I lobbed fireballs to the still-staggering Black Mage, but due to the laws of physics, enough dust can make fire go wild and explode.
After the BOOM sound, my body was sent to the grassy ground, while Black Mage who was inside the explosion was compressed instead. Explosion impact trauma is still enough to kill a demon, after all.
I coughed the dust out over and over while searching for my other bracelet, and wear it after found.
I walked home with tired face and bruises all over my body, wondering how I got out alive.
Then, I looked back.
Since I was young, I was doing badly at magic.
So bad I can't use telepath properly. So bad I was bullied over and over from many *friends*. So bad I was beaten over and over by my own father.
No matter how I do, my best magic is only "Time traveling". Stopping for 30 seconds, and rewinding for 15.
Short enough for dad to brand me *the weakest member of the clan*.
What I remembered the entire time was not happiness at all, until I saw he cried at a paper he held.
I stopped time before getting in to look closer. It's a medical leaflet about *my disease*.
The Mana Leaking Syndrome. My soul devour mana as life force, what a soul very rarely does, but why?
Looking at my dad, he was stopped. I knew it instantly.
According to what dad said, our clan's power is constantly hanging in a delicate balance between the length of time we can travel and its consequences. Some members can see future and past years ahead, but can barely interact with them.
Mine, albeit short time I can travel, and having mana leaking from them, I can mess around anything, like I'm its keeper myself!
That's why I tried to invent so many gadgets for myself despite dad's prohibition.
And that's how I can make my life better. I avenged bullies, make friends, and have a good, happy life like normal ones should be.
Before I knew it, I got to my home. Dragging myself to open the door, I said "Hun... I'm... back..."
Falling on my knees, I was glad I have invented and wear these bracelets. My symbol to defeat my limitations, and to prove myself.
I cried happily before rushed thuds coming closer, a sweet, always-worried voice of her, and white lights washing me away.
Edit: spelling. (m righty -> my righty) | 2020-08-26T04:33:47 | 2020-08-26T03:02:04 | 147 | 19 |
[WP] Everything you heard about magical and mythical beings is wrong. Witches are actually taking children away from irresponsible parents. Cerberus is a big, three-headed hell puppy, and dragons are just trying to protect their life savings from thieves. | "It's all a matter of perspective," The Dragon said to himself while sipping his coffee, "People want what they don't have and they always will. It's taken me years to build my portfolio and now I'm supposed to be the bad guy? Those villagers and hobbits and swordsman always paint me out to be some evil creature. Is fiscal responsibility evil? I didn't work twelve hours a day, seven days a week so some liberal elves could redistribute," He made air quotes with his claws when he said redistribute, "everything I worked for."
The dragon adjusted his glasses while he looked over his Morarium savings account's webpage. His daughter couldn't stand to hear him ramble on about finances.
"Look at that, daughter-mine. 2.38% interest. The growth is going to be staggering. Don't miss out. Start saving now."
His daughter huffed and tried to sleep off his advice on the cave wall.
"Other dragons keep gold just thrown around. Can you believe it? Now your mother and I knew, remember what I said, that gold on the floor is gold out the door," the dragon said with over-enunciated diction. | Think of something you're sure you're an expert on; maybe music, painting, busting alien ass on Halo. Now I want you to think of how certain you are of the rules and logic of that subject, which notes blend best together, the best brush strokes to get the most desirable colour blend — and now, imagine how you would feel if you found out that *everything* you've ever thought you knew about them, was completely false. Maybe you'll understand how I feel right now.
For starters, the introduction: my name is Henry Hathaway. I'm a simple high school nerd from a simple high school in a very simple part of California. Pretty simple, right?
Might sound so, but my life took a pretty complicated turn just a few weeks ago, when I was jokingly reciting a few spells that I'd read in an old spellbook that had been gathering dust in my attic. Beside me was my best friend, Ezra Hawthorne, burly, blonde, jock-ish dude. You wouldn't think so at first glance, maybe because he could just sweep you up with his rugged good looks and tree-trunk-sized muscles, but Ezra is kind of a dork. Anyway, we'd been cosplaying enemy wizards because we were bored out of our minds, and to make it more realistic we thought we'd try actual spells. Neither of us actually thought we'd end up creating an actual portal. But we did, and we were sucked in and dropped unceremoniously off in a random magical world.
It was *insane*. There were dragons, trolls, real life wizards and all of that, but this is where my little anecdote earlier comes in — our entire perception of magical culture was hilariously bad. Like, laughable.
Seriously, when we first encountered a gigantic, vicious-looking dragon, after wandering through a forest, cold and hungry, for hours, he laughed at us when we wondered aloud why he wasn't trying to kill us. (Not our finest moment, but still).
"Witch" over here isn't a derogatory word. Its a term for brave (beautiful) women who practice arcane arts and use their powers to rescue innocent children from irresponsible parents who'd be willing to trade them for half a pint more elf's mead. Dragons are actually quite civilized, and well-learned in the subjects of astronomy and philosophy, and will go on and on for hours talking about higher forces as long as you didn't try to steal their (legally obtained) belongings. Even Cerbereus, three-headed, ferocious guardian of the Underworld was nothing more than a cuddly, oversized pupper in desperate need of a belly rub (don't ask me why we were in the Underworld; what happens in Erebus, stays in Erebus).
Really, Ezra and I quite enjoy living here. In fact, I don't think either of us actually miss our old lives at all. I mean, at first Ezra definitely felt sad for his old girlfriends at home (yes, plural), but after he met the mermaids down the beach from our new place? Melinda, who? Stephanie, who?
All in all, summoning that portal was the best mistake we'd ever made, and I don't regret it for a minute. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a hot lady elf from down the street.
r/MysticScribbles
Wow, this is the first in a long time I've written a prompt, and in first person too. I hope it wasn't too awful :) | 2020-12-22T07:43:45 | 2020-12-22T07:03:41 | 130 | 61 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful walrus. Look." | My phone rattled on my nightstand, and I ignored it.
Twenty minutes later, it shook again. The quiet buzz would usually go unnoticed during the day, but the same volume amplified twofold in the middle of the night.
The phone’s shake persisted. I felt myself pried away from a deep slumber.
I grabbed my phone and pressed swiped upwards. Three things caught my attention in a matter of seconds, the first being the time — 3:15 AM. I groaned knowing that I my alarm would go off in a couple of hours.
The second thing I noticed was one of those emergency text issued by the state. They usually display an amber alert or severe weather advisory. But this message differed from the others. This message said, “LEVI, DON’T LOOK AT THE WALRUS…” I laid in my bed dumbfounded. My area is pretty safe, the weather didn’t indicate any storms on the horizon. But most curious, I had disabled those types of notifications months ago.
I tapped on the message to see if anything proceeded by the ellipsis. Nothing, just the same advice to not gaze upon some blubbery pinniped.
The last thing I noticed was the amount of unread text messages I received. Nearly half of my contacts delivered the same message as the emergency notification, except their message had a hyperlink embedded into the text.
I initially thought that some virus was spreading across cellphones. Tapping the link would allow the hack to enter my phone, gather my personal information, then send the same message to my entire contact list. But each message did include my name. Could a hack identify the users phone and personalize their message? I have no clue.
I opened up Twitter to see if the virus was trending. It was; over 100k tweets contained the hashtag *WALRUSMODEL*. I read through a couple of post, but most tweets poked fun at the message without their users opening the link. There was one account— 16bitTurtles — who said they would tap the link and take a screenshot of whatever it displayed. They did not followed up on their tweet. Perhaps they fell back asleep.
I closed out the program and cleared the messages on my home screen. Then, more missed notifications appeared in the text messages/emergency warning part of my screen — a list of missed calls. Another chunk of my contact list called me at 3:00 AM and each left a voicemail.
I had a suspicion they echoed the same message, but that would go against my theory that the link was a hack. Unless the virus also acted like a robocall and some monotoned voice spoke on the other line.
The most recent message was from my mom. I had to know if it was truly her that reached out to me. I tapped on her name and held the phone to my ear.
I heard her voice whispering in a panic, as if an intruder were in her house. She demanded me to not look at the walrus *outside*.
She continued to say the same message over and over again until she exceeded the voicemail length and the call abruptly ended.
My blinds were shut. A flash of pale light flickered through its crevices. I pressed my finger on one of the slates, tempted to raise it and take a peak of my front lawn.
I removed my hand as if it touched a hot stove and walked into my closet. I shut the door and curled up in the corner. I was afraid of something I wasn’t sure of.
I called my several times mom she never answered. I couldn’t even leave a voicemail — a recording of her phone carrier said her inbox was full.
I opened my contacts list and noted who had yet tried to contact me over the night. I started to call them.
Of course they didn’t answer. It was only 3:34 AM. So I left a message, pleading each of them by name to not look at the possible walrus outside. | At first, I thought that I was still dreaming. I often experienced bizarre dreams, after all. Dreams in which I straddled between sleep and wakefulness. Dreams that felt real, and yet followed such impossible logics that I knew they were not. Though groggy, and still not convinced that this was reality, I had the good sense not to look up from my screen. As I stared at the official alert, and scrolled through the many messages, some from contacts, most from random numbers, I grew more certain that this was truly happening. But the walrus? What walrus?
With rapid flicks of my eyes, I scanned the periphery of my room in starts. I saw no ghostly, glowing walrus floating in the darkness. But that gave me no certainty that my room was walrus-free. Perhaps it was lying on the floor, waiting for me to turn on my lights, and spot it, whereupon it would turn me to stone, like some tusked medusa. Would I have to close my eyes, and grope my way to the living room, where my wife had fallen asleep on the couch, watching her crime shows? Would I have to fumble through the dark to my daughter's bedroom, to make sure she had not been whisked away by this whiskered beast? Before I went anywhere, I decided I would be best served by quickly searching online for any news about the creature. I googled "walrus" and was confronted with hundreds of headlines.
Most spoke in ebullient terms. "11 Reasons Why Seeing the Walrus Will Change Your Life for the Better." "Profound, Enlightening, Wonderful: My Vision of Our Flippered Father." "Breaking News: Local Criminal Transformed into Saint by Single Sight of the Walrus' Right Tusk." If I judged by these headlines alone, I would surely have rushed out to get a peak of this marvelous mammal, even if it meant walking hundreds or thousands of miles to the nearest sea shore. But buried beneath the ecstatic headlines were others, urging caution, issuing dire warnings. "Claimed Walrus Sighting Drives Coastal Town Mad." "Ignore the Zealots: Viewing the Walrus Causes Irreparable Harm." "World Governments Collapsing: Leaders Unable to Explain or Solve Global Walrus Crisis." Finally, there were the headlines of the skeptics. "Walrus Craze False Flag." "Globalist Hoax: Walrus Fear Mongering Designed to Steal Freedom."
Upon seeing the last headline, I knew I could relax. It was from a publication I trusted to get to the truth about things, instead of the mainstream yapping and nonsense. It had saved me before from falling prey to the hysteria whipped up by the establishment media. Yes, I breathed a sigh of relief. It felt good to know that whatever was happening outside my doors, it was something that was being orchestrated by the secret global government, and would only affect me if I believed the propaganda. So long as I ignored all the hysteria, and spread the truth about this hoax, I would be safe, and could remain free from the over-reaching claws of this would-be-tyrannical global cabal. I clicked on the article for more information.
*So you've heard about the giant, floating walrus? The one which steals your consciousness and free-will as soon as you lay eyes upon it? The one that merges you into its hivemind, and makes you do its bidding? If you haven't, let us here at Freedom Press get you up to speed. This Walrus, that all your mainstream rags are screeching about, doesn't exist. There's no such thing. They've created this absurd fiction as a way to keep you in your homes. To keep you scared. To ruin your economy. To take away your freedoms. I can tell you for a fact that I don't see any walrus, though I'm looking out my window right now. The night sky is dark. If it were there, I would see it. Yet all I see is the Great Walrus, who is our omnipotent lord, the space-faring king of all that ever was and will be, floating nobly in the firmament. Look out your window this moment, and rejoice in His splendor. Gaze upon the benevolent face of eternity. Nothing so beautiful shall ever transpire in your little life as the sight of the Ruler of everything holy, everything good, everything...*
As I continued reading I began to suspect that the writer had changed his mind about the Walrus part way through the article. That was strange. So was the Walrus a hoax? If not, was he a force of good? A force of evil? I did not like the idea of trusting the text message sent by our government. The government were a bunch of untrustworthy rascals, whose sole aim was to ruin the lives of those whom they governed. But had they been right this time, warning me not to look at the Walrus?
"Jeremy," said my wife, walking into my room. "Get off your phone. The most wonderful thing has happened, Jeremy."
She spoke in a faraway, hypnotized voice.
"No," I said. "Babe, no. Don't tell me you saw...don't tell me it's true."
"Come to the window, Jeremy," she said, throwing aside the curtains.
I closed my eyes tightly.
"Lisa!" my wife called. "Lisa! Out of bed dear! Lisa! Come to Mommy and Daddy's room!"
"Lisa!" I called. "Stay in bed."
"LISA!" my wife shrieked. "LISA! NOW! I AM DYING LISA! COME NOW OR MOMMY WILL DIE!"
I heard my daughter crying and scurrying towards our room.
"Lisa!" I sternly commanded, my eyes still shut. "Stay outside, baby."
"GET IN HERE NOW!"
The crying grew louder. I could hear her sniffling and sobbing right outside our door. Suddenly the crying stopped.
"Lisa?" I called, still not daring to open my eyes.
"Daddy," she said softly, sniffling. "Daddy, look. Oh, he's beautiful, daddy. Look outside. At our one true love. Our benevolent ruler forever and ever. Our king." | 2021-01-11T19:03:59 | 2021-01-11T17:21:38 | 1,394 | 269 |
[WP] You may be seen as a normal person, but your best friend is a superhero and your fiancé is a supervillain. Neither knows the other’s identity nor the fact that the MacGuffin they are fighting over has been under your bed the whole time. | Billy stood up from the table and proclaimed, “Next rounds on me” while giving me double finger guns as he turned towards the bar.
“Bring back shots!” Fiona shouted.
Billy threw a thumbs up over his shoulder to acknowledge the re quest, though it was a dangerous one to make of him. Who knows what he’d return with? I met Fiona’s eyes with a smile as she turned back to me chuckling. “Feel like rolling the dice, love?”
It really is a shame I can’t use nights like this to reconcile how much they hate each other.
Billy is a childhood friend. We met at the playground one day at age ten and have been inseparable ever since. Obviously, that was well before he developed the abilities that would lead to him becoming The Battering Ram. He may be able to get hit by a bus and stay standing or send any guy in this bar flying through the wall and across the street, but he’s still my best friend. You see, Billy is one of those heroes that developed his powers naturally. Some kind of glitch in the genetic system, maybe the next step in human evolution, there’s all sorts of theories and I’m really not sure which one to believe. All I know is when we got jumped by some bullies behind the high school at age 16, he put one through a wall and things haven’t been the same since. We found a way to cover up that incident, then quickly set to work figuring out everything he could do. I wasn’t surprised when my pal took up a mask and began his heroic work, Billy had always been a standup guy like that.
I’ve never told a soul his secret.
It was while the two of us were off at college together that I met the third member of tonights festivities – my fiancé Fiona.
We were paired to be lab partners in our Sophomore level chemistry class, and the connection was almost palpable. After a couple weeks of awkward flirting, she finally got the courage to ask me out, something I’ll forever be grateful for. I know, I know, generally it’s the guy who makes the first move, but I couldn’t tell friendly banter from flirting if it were holding up a sign that said “She’s interested!”
Everything was going great until two years ago. I’d graduated and started working at my accounting firm by that point, and Fiona working on her thesis with plans to finish her Masters program soon. Unfortunately, that thesis was a research project funded by the government that one of her lecturers had recruited her for. Top secret. When things went wrong in the lab one night, in ways I’m nowhere near intelligent enough to explain to you, three people were killed and the government scrubbed their involvement from the record. Fiona only survived because she had just stepped outside the lab. A chance bathroom break saved the love of my life from dying, but turned her into Dry Ice…er, as in her supervillain name, not like actual dry ice. Now, she’s hell bent on exposing the government for what they did to her.
Other than her quest for vengeance, something I can’t fault her and certainly won’t leave her for, she’s exactly who she was before the incident. Billy has no idea, and the two of them get on just as well as they always have.
The Battering Ram and Dry Ice are an entirely different story.
She thinks up and executes elaborate schemes to try and expose the government, and all too often Billy is the one to find the trail and put a stop to them. They’ve clashed so often that they’ve almost achieved arch nemesis status. I think they’re two bouts shy of the official minimum requirements.
I wish I could tell them to stop, that their secret identities care about each other, but I know that revelation would just lead to some uncomfortable truths I’d rather not reveal. Something that started out of love before I realized how deeply Fiona’s desire for vengeance ran. Something I did to try to earn my best friend points in the rankings and turn the love of my life away from a path I didn’t realize she was already too far down. Something that started out of love, for both of them, but has by now gone much too far to stop.
Namely, the encrypted laptop stashed in my room that keeps sending The Battering Ram tips on Dry Ices latest plan. | I reached for the archive under my bed. In it, contained the secrets to powers one could only dream of. I had already gone through the book several times over, and every time I did, I grew in strength. At least I can make it look like an old handy down if needed.
But I couldn't ever show this to them. I can't. One user at a time, no more, no less. While good old Benjamin was near and dear to my heart, there was just one problem: he was Slipstream. Of he went, teleporting from one area to the next, getting into scrapes. And he just had to have energy projection. He wanted it for "the good of the world." But I knew better.
I had learned the hard way that this book was not one you should actively seek at all. Those who sought after it became corrupt and extremely destructive in their very nature. The only ones who could master the Archive, and not the other way around, were the ones who never wanted it to begin with.
That's also way I don't trust my Fiancé as well. Ashta's identity as Polaris was just as dangerous. Daughter of a supervillain that rivalled all others, she grew up to try to clear the names of other children of villains, so they wouldn't be targeted by the "heroes". Her powers of telekinesis was a clear marker of that. At least her dad loved her and cared for her. But ever since Benjamin killed her dad in an act of prejudice, she wanted revenge ever since. I was the only one who knew both of their identities. Or their identities period. Both seek it to destroy the other in order to continue their motive. Polaris, to avenge her father's death. Slipstream, to make an example of what happens if you step out of your role. And that, is something I cannot have.
I tucked the Archive back under, and prepared to get myself ready for the day. Thank heavens I'm rich enough to live in my own house. I locked the door, and made my way to work. Pray that nothing happens tod...
BANG!
Not again...
Looking out across the street, there they were, fighting against one another once more. Oh, Slipstream and Polaris, when will you not try to kill one another. And look, they even got all their buddies fighting too. Heroes and villains alike. This needs to stop...
A loud crack and the earlier bang made even more sense. There was a large hole in the side of the building. It was a massive gap, and the entire building collapsed in on itself.
BANG!
Another blast, and I finally concluded that Benjamin, and his allies, had crossed a line. He was reckless, and lives were at stake. *Don't reveal that you have it, stay under cover. Don't...* Fuck that. I had to put him in his place. *But your secret...*
Another building collapsed under its weight, and he finally broke my trust, when I heard him say "You filthy scum, I killed your daddy in cold blood, you watched as I gutted him. How did it make you feel!"
I was horrified. I had never seen him like this. He was usually far more compassionate. Power had gotten to his head. This... *Kill him. Kill him now.* No, I had a better plan. First, to strip him of his powers. Humility is a necessary component to life. Keeping my eye trained, I caught him the moment he exited the portal. *Gotcha.* Holding out my hand, I stopped him in his tracks, and I then focused onto what he was so proud of. His powers. A loud scream, and a smooth, silver liquid oozed our from the pores of his skin, and out of his suit. I held in it the air, and then made the motion to make it burn up, and explode. In his face. *Try fighting without your precious powers. This is to teach you humility.*
"NO! MY POWERS! HOW? THIS CAN'T BE! NOOOOOO!" Down on the ground, helpless. I can't believe that the person I tortured and destroyed today is going to be the same one I will be comforting tommorow. But that's life for you. But this has to have a purpose. My brain reaching out into all others, I altered the voice they would hear so as to hide my identity. This place was teaming with heroes and villains. And I need to get them to stop fighting.
***This is my only warning. Cease your hostilities. I have brought one man down to his knees today for his arrogance. Pray I do not strike down more.***
"Oh yeah, who's going to stop us from all coming after you?"
A scream, and then a pile of ash. I struck down a couple more to get my point across.
***Listening?***
No one dared move now. The revelation that this mysterious dude just ashed a few of their own had made them all terrified. I hated having to be the equalizer. But I just watched two great skyscrapers fall, taking everyone along with them. This was too far.
***You will step down, and all heroes are to publicly reveal your real identities, and you will not target those you dare call "villains", and you will treat them with respect, and allow them to live normal lives, regardless of their parentage.***
"You dare think we will submit to your..."
I let the ashing take even longer this time. Forcing their eyes open to make them watch, I forced all the heroes to witness their comrades turn to ash as they screamed in pain, the smell of burning flesh forever cemented in their minds.
***I hope I have made myself crystal clear. You will obey me. I brought your leader to his knees, struck down those who dared continue this useless struggle. I know the names of your families. Many have lost there families today, and are in agony. And should you dare try to relive your glory days, I will know, and your loved ones will pay the price, and I will make you watch them suffer. I said this before, and I'll say it again. Reveal your identities, and never come out of the shadows. And you will leave those you call "villains" alone. Have I made myself clear?***
"Y-y-y-ess sir."
***Good. For your information, I can transfer my powers to others, and they will uphold my promise. You have done enough damage. This little "war" of yours ends today.*** | 2021-01-13T15:31:18 | 2021-01-13T15:20:33 | 118 | 67 |
[WP] After you die, you reach purgatory to be seated in an audience of all human souls. God and Satan announce their retirement and are individually interviewing all humans present to choose their replacement. Most people want to replace God, you want to replace Satan. | Jason shuffled past into the arena room delegated for interviews, Position of God, read a large billboard, at least twenty stories tall. 144 lines each 144 wide spread out from one line of his sight to the other across the endless pillared halls that still managed to feel stuffy with a vibe he couldn't put his finger on. A red ticket glowing under the billboard displayed now serving applicant 429,981,696. The number began blurring faster than it could be read as each of the 20,000 next in line stepped up.
After managing to fight his way across the lines for most of the day, which Jason's pedometer confirmed were a little less than 10 miles thick, he arrived at a small door with a handwritten sign, Position of Satan. He opened the door into a wood-paneled room where a few dozen people sat on folding chairs. A DMV, Jason realized at once. The vibe of the afterlife was the DM fucking V.
The red ticket read now serving applicant 662. A bored looking succubus sat at the desk with her legs curled under her. The red-skinned woman chewed on a pencil, releasing thin spirals of smoke upwards. She perked up as she noticed Jason approaching the window. "Hello, sir," she said playfully. "Here to interview?"
"Yeah," Jason said looking to the others in the room, staring at each other intensely. "Do I need a ticket or...?"
"Not if you're willing to interview now!" She said cheerily, preparing a clipboard and holding it up to her face blocking the waiting area. "All those weirdos are convinced whoever goes 666th will get it, so they're waiting each other out." She gave an eye roll and twisted one finger near the horn jutting from her temple. "Don't worry, boss man has a much more, let's call it creative interview style than that."
"Sure, okay," Jason said, sweating as the nerves started. She handed him the clipboard which was most assuredly not in English. He checked his pockets but of course, his spirit body didn't have the trusty bottle of Ativan.
The succubus stood to sashay on delicate hooves, clicking like heels on the tile floor as she led him to a glossy black door. The doorknob and hinges were engraved with the swirling patterns of branching frost which sublimated down slowly into a heavy fog at the threshold. "Good luck, handsome. I'm only sucking up to you because you might be my boss after today." She smiled with a wink before turning and beginning her way loudly back to the desk.
Jason knocked yet the door produced no sound. He felt the bite of the cold doorknob as he turned it and had to remind himself he no longer had skin to worry about freezing off. The room was mostly pitch Black save for a single red desk light illuminating the far side, but doing little to reveal the shadowy figure waiting.
"Hello, Mr. Satan, your succ- I mean secretary told me to come in for an interview."
Several moments of awkward silence followed as Jason walked closer, dread building in him. He was already dead, he decided. What's the worse this guy could do?
"Much worse than you imagine, Mr. William, sit. My secretary's name is Rebecca, and she devours the soul songs of three men a day. She does not care if you call her a succubus. And yes, I am going to share with her the thoughts you had."
"I'm sorry, sir. I've clearly gotten off to a bad start." He held out his hand to the man that looked much older than Jason would have expected, and definitely more tired.
"You don't want to shake my hand, son. I'm not going to ask you to sit again."
Jason quietly sat to another few moments of awkward silence.
"You think this is going well so far?" Satan asked, staring with a gaze that was somehow both intense and disinterested, as though the angel's thoughts were somewhere altogether else.
"I don't know, yet," Jason said nervously. "Did you want me to tell you about myself or...?"
"How good is your Latin?" Satan asked as he pulled out the largest fountain pen Jason had ever seen and dipped it into a pool on the desk of shimmering silver liquid.
"If I heard someone speaking Latin, I could probably tell it was Latin unless it was like Portuguese or something really close."
"Tell me about a time you've tortured someone."
"I once," Jason paused to think, racking his brain for examples. "broke up with my girlfriend because I wanted to date someone else. She was upset for a long time."
Satan flipped through a tome on his desk, reading for a few moments. "Yes, Bethany Sanders, lovely girl. And you did this with the express intention of hurting her, not because the outcome was inevitable?" He paused in his writing with his left hand, waiting for a response.
"Well no, I guess I didn't want to hurt her. There just wasn't any other way."
Satan laid the pen down with a thud and looked at Jason.
"Why did you come here, Jason? Do you even understand what I do?"
"Well, the other line was like every human that's ever lived long this one was, like way smaller, so it seems like the better shot."
"And have you considered that it might suit you best to be neither God nor Satan and just continue as a shade of purgatory until you're placed in the Kingdom of my successor or the other's?"
"Not really, no," Jason said without hesitation.
"And why is that?"
"I want power," Jason said. "I want to enforce my will on the world."
Satan picked the pen back up as he raised his eyebrows. "Okay, now we're getting somewhere."
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | # The Cracks In Their Souls
(Part 3: That's How They Fall Apart)
(Note: The Cracks In Their Souls is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Jamie walked through the Golden Gates, not quite sure what to expect.** If this was heaven, would he be able to see Little Bugger and Goaway again? Would he... would he be able to see his Big Sis?
He shuddered. God forbid, would his parents still be there, hounding him even after death?
He stepped into the patch of cloud beyond the gates—
—and time froze.
Jamie tried to move.
Nothing happened.
He started to panic.
Then, with a squeal of static, unseen speakers blared to life.
"This is your captain speaking," a deep, rolling voice said. "By which I mean captain of the mortal and immortal world. God. I'm God. If you didn't get that already." There was a pause. "I probably should translate this into every language that isn't English, just to make sure everyone gets the message. 这是你的。。。"
Jamie listened with increasing befuddlement as God iterated through Chinese, Telugu, fourteen different languages consisting entirely of meows, something mechanical that sounded like the printer after Daddy beat it in anger, and a language of magic and poetry that made Jamie weep to hear. After an uncertain amount of time had passed, someone else took over the mic.
"...See, nonsense like this is why we're retiring. There's just too damn *many* of you guys to keep track of. I mean, seriously, you sapient beings personify everything. Look, I can work with cats and dogs, but what kind of eternal torment am I supposed to give a *computer*? So we're looking for some... interns, so to speak. Interns for the afterlife, to manage smaller parts of it."
Satan frowned, then added, "Hey, God, did you have a list of candidates?"
God sighed. "Satan, there are 4.3\*10^(520) souls in the afterlife right now, thanks to every sapient being in the universe giving everything they come in contact with a made-up personality and a soul. I can clear out most of the inanimate objects for you—unless you really *want* a toaster to become a Prince of Hell—but we'll have to do some interviews ourselves."
"...how many interviews?"
"All of them, more or less. We can just use time dilation to—holy *me*, is this thing still on? I'm so damn overwo—" The time-freeze effect and the squealing of loudspeakers abruptly cut off, leaving Jamie to blink, concerned, in a rather empty patch of afterlife. *Those* two clowns were running heaven and hell?
As if summoned by his thoughts, those two clowns materialized with a soft pop in front of Jamie; or perhaps Jamie materialized in front of them. It was hard to tell when one was in an endless plane of clouds with exactly one defining feature—and an infinitely long one, at that. "Alright... Jamie McCallister, is it?" God asked. He'd taken the form of a hovering ball of light in a loud-patterned shirt; Satan wore a matching outfit—insofar as a sphere of darkness could have an outfit—and held a clipboard that extended downwards through the clouds and just kept going.
"Don't call me McCallister," Jamie said softly.
God paused. "And why would that be?"
"My parents' names were Mr. McCallister and Mrs. McCallister. Mr. and Mrs. McCallister did *nothing* while the bad men tried to take Big Sis away." Jamie clenched his fists, phantom gunshots ringing in his ears and tearing through his flesh. "I," he said, "am not a McCallister."
God and Satan... well, it was difficult for a point-source of light and anti-light to turn and look at each other, but their loud shirts rotated as if they did, anyway.
"You... sound like you've been through a lot," God finally said. "You don't have to take either of these positions, if you don't like. You could rest up here. Be hap—"
"Would I see Big Sis?" Jamie asked.
God hesitated, then shook its... shirt. "Abigail McC—er, your big sister is still alive, thankfully. But she won't make her way into the afterlife for quite some time."
Jamie smiled faintly. "That's good. That makes one of us."
God and Satan looked at each other uncomfortably.
"Your cat and dog," God continued. "Little Bugger and Goaway? They're up here, though. You could... you could see them, if you'd like."
Jamie's face lit up. "I'd love to. But..." He hesitated, then scowled. "The bad men. Are they here, too?"
Satan flipped through the clipboard. "...Yeah, seems like. They had a bit of a hard life, so normalizing by their Piety quotient and marginalizing out the intrinsic unfairness of mortal reality, they got put in purgatory. Holding pattern until we can spare the energy to decide whether we send them to heaven or—"
"You haven't *decided* yet?!" Jamie lunged forwards and tried to grab Satan's neck; a ball of perfect darkness neither had a neck nor anything to grab onto, so Jamie only succeeded in phasing through Satan and his—evidently illusory—shirt. "They should—they tried to hurt my big sis! They... it—it wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault, he said it wasn't my fault—"
"Ah." Satan sounded... vindictive. "I see. You know, Jamie, you've gone through *so much*, and I'm sorry you've had to—but perhaps it was better this way."
God nudged Satan. "What the hell are you doing? Come on, let's—you know I'm no good with children. Let Avizandriel take care of—"
"We need interns, right? Well, Jamie, if you take on the mantle of being a prince of hell, you could hurt the bad guys." Jamie froze, fists still tight. "You could take the bad men who hurt your sister and you could hurt them back. Because you know—it's not your fault." Jamie stiffened. "It's *theirs.*" Satan conjured an image of two men in a warehouse, one with a hypodermic needle in a little girl's skin, another yanking her by the arm into a boat. "You could do everything they tried to do to you a *hundredfold*." Satan glowed blue; reluctantly, God glowed red. "All you have to do is take responsibility for a little patch of Hell. If you agree... touch the blue orb. And if you don't, well... touch the red orb."
Jamie looked between the blue and red spheres, then at the recording of the two men and their fight with Jamie and his only other friends—all of whom were now dead—at the dockside warehouse. Then he looked at Satan and whispered, "When... when Big Sis finally comes back here... when she's healed from everything that happened to us... will I still be stuck in that moment? Torturing the bad guys forever?"
Satan hesitated. "Ah... well... the thing is—"
Jamie touched the red orb, and the vision vanished. God heaved a sigh of relief. "That's not what I want."
"You want it right now," Satan said, confused. "What kind of child can resist what they want right now?"
"The kind with a soul cracked by fire," God noted. Satan scowled. Jamie grew pensive.
He turned to God. "...can you take me to see my cat and dog?"
God smiled.
"I'd like nothing better."
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "The Cracks In Their Souls" will be 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/mh9amh/the_cracks_in_their_souls_masterpost/) for more information. | 2021-03-31T08:59:02 | 2021-03-31T07:55:35 | 151 | 36 |
[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts. | The girl felt energy surge into her.
'Huh, that's wierd. I feel really good after putting the candy on that altar.'
Many of her classmates were nearby.
"Hey guys, put a piece of candy on this altar"
Many of them didn't agree.
"Nah that's stupid."
"Um I'm eating my candy."
"I only put candy in my mouth"
But there were still 4 who heeded the call. Each had a different type of candy.
Now there were 5 candies on the altar. Each child glowed with energy. Then the altar lit up.
A 'God' appeared.
"By your candy combined, I am Captain Cornsyrup. I protect children from cavities, bad breathe, tonsillitis, cooties, and terrible dad-jokes."
"Go Captain!" the children cheered.
Upon seeing this, one of the other children who was reluctant before walked up and put a piece of candy on the altar.
The 'God' froze.
"Was that.. sugar-free candy? Noooooooooo"
The 'God' suddenly shriveled into nothingness and popped out of existence. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc ?, Interlude ?: Astrid)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**They remembered.**
Once, they had been mighty. Their name was known throughout the Six Isles, and every oath in their name, every marriage blessed by their hand, gave them another droplet of power. Once, Astrea, Sovereign of Shooting Stars, had guided their kingdom of ten thousand people, mightiest in the world, to power and prosperity.
But as time went on, the world expanded. The Six Isles went from the greatest power in the world to a small, Mediterranean island chain; their glorious kingdom of ten thousand became a medium-sized town, dwarfed by mega-cities with millions of souls. Time was, to be worshipped by thousands as a deity, you had to be something *special*. Nowadays, any damn influencer could get a hundred times that many adoring fans, leaving the old gods drained dry of the faith that was their lifeblood.
Until they were remembered.
It wasn't much, as ritual sacrifices went. Gone were the days where the fattened calf would be slain at the altar. But blood and fury were not the only kinds of magic in this world. There was more power in a child's wish upon a shooting star than all the DIY videos and Let's Plays in the world.
And Astrea was the Sovereign of Shooting Stars.
They had bided their time. They were so weak, barely a whisper on the wind. But they dedicated themself to keeping the child safe. From what, they did not know—there were few enough dangers left, in this modern world. Where you could step into a plane and rise into the sky, drifting above Death itself.
Until you fell.
Astrea didn't know what had gone wrong—they had been born ten thousand years too early to make sense of the technology. All they knew was that there was smoke and fire and screams and suddenly the plane was beginning to *drop*. Stark against the night sky, the plane burned as it fell, a man-made shooting star.
But Astrea was the Sovereign of Shooting Stars.
Even here, where their power was strongest, there was so *little* they could do. They could put their finger on the scales exactly once, and their strength would be spent. That was all.
But maybe that would be enough.
And so, as the shooting star came to Earth, Astrea blurred tight and close to a crying little girl. And with the last whispers of their soul, they spoke five words.
"It's going to be okay."
As the engine snapped off and the wings shrieked in complaint, Astrea said,
"It's going to be okay."
As their power grew weak and their life fell spent, they said,
"It's going to be okay."
And for a sheltered, silent moment in a man-made shooting star, Astrea wiped away the tears of a scared little girl.
Then, the faith they'd hoarded over millennia spent, Astrea disappeared.
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. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-09-02T08:13:20 | 2021-09-02T07:28:26 | 125 | 93 |
[WP] "I tell you man, Humans are insane, the other day I saw one petting a Vakkar" "Whaat? A baby one perhaps, since they are totally harmless at that stage" "Nah man, a fully adult one, the worst par was that the terrible beast was actually enjoying it, rolling around showing its belly and all" | "What do you mean, I should be dead?"
"What I'm saying, you moron, is that that thing has been hunts and kills literally any living creature with meat it can find."
"No it's not, all he wanted was for someone to give him some head scritchies. Isn't that right, you danger fluffball?"
# GROOOOOOOOOOO
"Awww, that's right! Now who wants to play tug of war?"
"What, that thing will rip you to shreds! Human, stop that, ju-"
"Ooooh, where's the ball? Oh, it's in this hand! No, this hand! Now it's behind my back! Ooooooh, you're jus the cutest little thing, aren't ya!"
# RAARRRRRGH
"Human, that's its rage call, its gonna kill you!"
"No it's not, its just having fun!"
"Human, it's gonna throw you around like a ragdoll, run, just get a-"
"Gergo, you don't get it, do you?"
"Huh?"
"Oh, I forgot, you don't know who Steve Irwin is. Yeah, everything's really just a massive fluffy ball of friend once you tell it your not gonna kill it."
"Steve Irwin? Ball of friend? What do you mean?"
"Every animal is a friend to someone, and why not make that someone me? I guess that's the best way to say it."
"And what's the other way?"
"Ever heard of big dog theory?"
\-----------------------
Animals are cute. I wanna snuggle with a bear now. | Dori paused. He crossed his slightly mishapen, scaly arms and squinted at his friend, Goll. "You can't be serious. Some human just up and pets a Vakkar, and not only does he get away alive, but that thing enjoyed it?" Goll nodded rapidly. "I'm telling you! I ain't lyin'. I saw it all myself, start to finish." Dori paused again before responding, "Nah, that's a tall tale. Why would a human be around on this planet, anyhow? We haven't seen one around in forever " Goll shrugged and said, "I know, I know. I was surprised too. But you know how I've got that transportation service up in Algar?" Dori nodded. Goll continued, "Well, the human hired me. Had me head out towards Farn for a while, but then he pointed towards some path off-road. I had to make him pay extra for it, but I listened and drove down it.
After a bit, we come across a clearing. Just by looking, I could tell it was Vakkar territory. I told the human as much, but then he just got out! I yelled at 'em to get back inside before he gets mauled, but he didn't listen. He steps right into the middle of the clearing, pulls out some sorta pipe, and blows into it. It sounded exactly like a Vakkar call!" Dori tilted his head before going, "Exactly like one, huh?" Goll's eyes were wide as he nodded and continued his story. "Aye. Then, a huge Vakkar climbed up over one of the rocks at the edge of the clearing and stared at 'em. This one looked real vicious, too. Huge claws, big horns, thick limbs, and its fangs looked real sharp. Looked angry as well. It walks towards the human and starts circling him.
At this point, I'm wonderin' if I should just drive off and leave, since the guy seemed like such a lost cause, but then the strangest thing happened. He sorta leaned over a bit and made this weird noise. Sounded kinda like, uh..'pspspsps' or somethin' similar. No clue what it was. The Vakkar stood still after that, and instead of that stalking-type gait they usually walked with, it stood up straight and walked over to 'em. The human kept making that noise and moved his hand forwards a bit. The Vakkar leaned towards him and sniffed his hand a bit, and then the human took a step forward to pet it.
The Vakkar looked down at the human and then lowered itself a bit before pushing its head against his hand. A bit later, and now it's on its side, showing its belly while the human's rubbin' and petting it, moving his hands all across its leathery skin. A bit before he left the Vakkar alone, he poked its nose with his fingers and went, 'boop'. Couldn't believe my eyes. As he gets back in my vehicle, I say, 'What the hell was that? How did you do that?' and get this. He just shrugs!" Dori's mouth hung open before he said, "He shrugged and that was it? Really? He didn't say anything else about it?" Goll continued, saying, "Well, right after that, he told me to head back to Algar, and that he did what he came to do."
Goll leaned back against the rock behind him. "Apparently, he just goes around to different planets to try and pet their wildlife. Humans are crazy, man, I tell ya." Dori nodded and said, "Alright, Goll, I believe ya. Humans are certainly odd ones. But, uh, Goll...ya wanna try pettin' a Vakkar, too? That human certainly made it sound easy." | 2021-12-10T16:49:13 | 2021-12-10T14:40:38 | 629 | 433 |
[WP] When you learned your mother was a goddess, things finally seemed to fall into place. The other demigods laughed at you, the only child born to the goddess of the hearth, Hestia. But your power was so much more than they could dream of. | You remember Richard, a bully at an elementary school, one day he pushed you so hard, you fell and broke your arm. He laughed. With tear filled eyes, you wished he didn't, you wished he stopped bullying everyone, but nothing happened no matter how much you wished it. At first.
He continued to bully other children, and you kept wishing he would stop, and day by day, you could see a change. His demeanor changed, he slowly grew subdued, tired, bags under his eyes grew and colored and one day he just stopped. He set in his chair, face in his hands on the verge of crying. He was tired for reasons he didn't understand, but knew it was due to his bullying.
You knew all this, and felt the change in him. One day, when he again sat sullen behind his desk, you approached him. He told you to leave, but you knew, he desperately didn't want you to. You hugged him. The feeling of your cast on his chest broke him. He cried, he apologized, he promised to do better, and while at the depths of despair, you hugged him harder. You could feel the relief that flooded into him, relief you, as you now know, allowed him to have. He never bullied anyone again.
15 more years passed, knowing you were different, not understanding why. People who visited you, always left happier. Conflicts rarely started around you, and always ended strengthening the bonds between participants. Even as the world grew darker with plagues and looming danger of war, you stood in the center of island of stability, happiness, in the center of peace. It was on the day the war started in neighboring country, that threatened to engulf the world, when your mother finally appeared to you.
Hestia, the first born child of the Titan rulers Cronus and Rhea. Older than even Zeus, Poseidon and Hades. Many thought her a goddess of being a housewife, despite never being married and yet, both Apollo and Poseidon sought her hand and respected her refusal. Zeus too made no effort to change her mind, instead respected her decision to never know other man. Be it god or mortal, they knew, that the power over the hearth is nothing to be trifled with.
Her time has passed, she no longer was permitted to directly meddle in the affairs' of men. But knowing her influence was still needed, she took steps for you to come into being. You, you are a manifestation of humanity's desire for peace and your mother's wish for the same.
'You must be careful,' she told you. 'you are still a mortal, feebler than most, fragile, just like peace, but your power over hearth is as strong as mine. Bring happiness to the houses of those deserving peace.' She kissed you on your forehead, and smiled as she said it. Then she frowned and the world grew terrible for a moment as she added. 'And show them who flaunt it, the power of peace withdrawn.' |
I sat around the hearth and gazed into the fire, thinking of the past when I didn't know my mother was a goddess and not just any goddess, but the goddess Hestia.
*I have power that demigods can't even dream of...I want to know why and how.*
A women modestly cloaked in a headed veil sat on a white cushion in front of me while stoking the fire.
"Mother, am I really your son?"
The women in the veil paused to look at me. Her green eyes held an uncanny pressure. Like she was gazing into my soul.
"Of course you are, I raised you did I not? Doesn't that make me your mother? What kind of silly question is that." She said offhandedly.
"Well...I heard from the other demigods that you made an oath to Zues a long way back. An oath that you would never marry and remain a virgin forever. If that's the case...how am I here?"
she looked up again this time with a stern look.
"Who told you that? Are you being picked on again? Why I outta—"
"No it's not that. I just want to know." I told a half truth.
She sighed before leaning back on her cushion and looked up at the night sky. A shooting star flew past.
"Yes, I did make that oath and I still haven't broken it."
"Then?" I tilted my head in confusion.
"I made that oath when I was young and reckless. But...as I got older I started to yearn for a child of my own as I watched through the fire of all the mortal families that offered sacrifices to me. I started to wonder what it would be like to have a child...to be a loving mother."
She paused as she looked into herself and a distance past I could never fathom.
"But because of the oath, I was fated to never have that...or so I thought. One day Hera came down to see me and I happen to let slip my desire of a child. Hera to my surprise said that it was still possible but I would have to ask Aphrodite, Athena and Demeter for help."
She glanced at me.
" I decided it wouldn't hurt to ask so I invited them all to my place to discuss how we could go about giving me a child of my own."
She closed her eyes.
" It was a long and enduring endeavor but somehow, with Athena's intelligence and science, Aphrodite with her wits and her knowledge of the human body, and Demeter with her knowledge of nature and fertility. We came up with a way." She gazed at me this time with the warmth a mother has for a son.
"You are a miracle that came into this world with the help of 3 goddesses, 4 if you include myself...but I didn't really do much."
"When you came into this world I felt truly blessed. I realized that when there is a will there is a way." She looked at me fondly.
"But how, I still don't understand." I asked curiously.
"Do you really want to know the whole process on how you came into this world as my child?" She said with a raised eyebrow. She shook her head as if wanting to avoid the topic.
"No, the process of how you came into this world does not matter. All that matters is that you are my one and only son. My blood runs through your veins. You should have more faith in your mother and the goddesses that helped bring you into this world."
"Ugh, fine...don't tell me the process. I don't care...Thanks for telling me this Mother."
She nodded her head before standing up.
"It's time for me to tend to the hearth of Olympus. Are you coming with me?"
She asked.
"Not this time...I think I'll stay here a bit longer." I said softly in contemplation as I looked at the red fire.
"Don't stay out too late." She gave me one last look before touching the fire and disappearing like smoke.
*So this power of mine? Is it not from just my mother but others as well?*
*The fact that women swoon over me, is that Aphrodite's doing?*
*Is my gift of strength and godly senses from Athena? My mother always compliments me on my intelligence as well.*
*And the fact that I can control nature to a certain degree because of Demeter?*
*Maybe it's not just my mother's powers that I inherited...*
I listened to the fire as images of a mortal family sat down and gave their thanks to Hestia. I look at the ground as grass grew by my feet and saw in crisp vision the hairs of an ant close up. I reached out towards the fire and like a snake it wrapped around my arm as if it was alive. I gathered the fire into my hand and before my eyes it turned into various shapes according to my whims. A bird, a flower, then a wolf.
*The demigods have no idea how many gifts I hold and I'm only just beginning to understand my limitations...*
Note: This one was a bit tricky. I actually had to do a bit of research for this but still felt like I didn't get it quite right but oh well. This was good practice. Hehe | 2022-11-22T00:58:03 | 2022-11-22T00:49:13 | 590 | 163 |
[WP] You're a retired villain who now runs a 24-7 grocery store. One day a new hero decides to ambush you in your own store. | (I’ve split this story into four parts through four different writing prompts! They are technically standalone, but they tell a more complete story together. This is part four of four, and you can find the previous (third) part here: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zqs5dl/comment/j10vtqo/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zqs5dl/comment/j10vtqo/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3))
“Bryyyyy!” Dominic yelled loudly, mostly in surprise at the falling axe coming towards his horned head but also in warning to alert his husband. The axe missed him, the skill of the hero wielding it well below that of even their grandchildren. It didn’t help that the young hero looked to be about their age, too.
“Domiii?” Bryan’s shout came from upstairs and then the thundering of his heavy footfall made it obvious that he was on his way down. Not that Dominic needed his help to stop the silly flailing of the attacker. When Bryan jumped and nearly fell down the last few steps it was with a sign of relief.
“Oh thank the gods you’re alright. I was worried it was another one of those--- Oh. Oh no.” His eyes caught sight of the young lady at Dominic’s feet. Her body covered in shining armor, a thick well-worn axe by her side. The symbol of the Holy Order engraved on her breastplate.
“Another one. It’s been years though!” Bryan exclaimed with an exasperated sigh before moving to grab a blanket. Dominic’s magic was potent, but so well tuned that he knew it’d only be moments before she awoke. But it always helped to have a blanket so they didn’t wake up on the hard cold stone floor of their little shop.
The shadow of Mount Harold had already started to fall across the little town. Truly near the border between nowhere and even more distant, it was rare to see any travelers for weeks on end. Which is exactly why Bryan and Dominic lived out here. Far enough away that they were able to enjoy their retirement together. The chosen hero summoned from another world, and his demon lord husband.
Many decades spent together working behind the scenes to truly bring peace to the world of humans and demons was only their second most perfect memory compared to how, on the day that they finally united the kingdoms, they were also united and wed. Not a holy matrimony, neither of them caring much for the temple given the way the Holy Order refused to accept things as they were. A little event lead by one of their best friends, the metallic dwarven row-baught Aee Eye. The words were still rough in Dominic’s mouth, but the story of Bryan’s past was truly unbelievable. To call a hero from another world was unthinkable!
The young lady stirred, and then tried to shoot up but was stopped by Bryan’s massive hands.
“Miss, please calm down,” he started as Dominic made his way into the kitchen, thinking about Bryan’s way with words as he started to make tea for the three of them. These types of things always worked themselves out for them in *the end*. | "Hey, man. Need something?"
I looked up from the book I was reading to see the guy in front of my register shifting back and forth on his feet. His pale face seemed nervous, I noted, as he slowly pushed a head of lettuce forward, head tilting down at the same pace as if to hide him with the long blond hair that slipped into place.
"You want that? It's 2 bucks." I lifted my scanner, staring at him expectantly, to which he hurriedly tried to find the barcode, rolling the lettuce all over the counter. I watched in bemusement, lips twitching, as he passed over it quite a few times before finally lifting his head and presenting it with a proud, red face.
*Beep*.
Shaky hands put 2 dollars on the counter, and I awkwardly reached for them, wondering if I still looked so evil despite my colleagues telling me otherwise.
Just as I finished tucking the money away, opening my mouth to give the usual goodbye with a receipt, I heard a voice equally as tremorous as the hands from before.
"Y-you... You villain!"
I raised my eyebrows, looking at him. He seemed to lose his courage for a moment before scraping it back up, pointing at me and trying to talk again.
A single, quiet little squeak burst from his throat like a newborn bird from its nest.
"Pfft!"
My laughter seemed to be too much for him, and he gave up on speaking, simply lighting his hands on fire and waving them in my face. The ridiculously flushed face that flickered from in between them only made it funnier.
"Oh, stop it, *stop,*" I gasped, batting his hands away with one hand while I wiped my tears with the other. A look of dismay appeared as he stared down at his extinguished hands in disbelief. "Is this what heroes have come to be now? Buying some lettuce as a cover up? That's great."
"Don't laugh at me! You're evil! I'm not taking that from a villain!" He finally properly spoke, eyes darting around the store in an attempt to see if anyone saw his moment of humiliation.
"You're not much of a quality hero for me to be letting you try to... do whatever you just did without having some fun. Hey, kiddo, who sent you? You're not supposed to know about me. I had a deal."
Leaning back in my chair, I watched as he debated telling me his master plan, expression contorting with several different emotions.
Placing his hands on his hips, he puffed his chest out and announced with pride,"I am Fireboy! I've been sent by the government of Ocalia to defeat the evil villainess Tecontare!"
"They sent you and you don't even know how to say my name correctly? How rude."
The aforementioned Fireboy deflated a little, the air momentarily taken out of his sails before he puffed back up again. "That doesn't matter! Face me, and be brought to justice!"
"Awful amount of confidence for someone who was shaking like a leaf in the wind a few minutes ago. Listen, you can just turn around and leave. Your little sparks won't do anything to me. I'm starting to think whoever sent you here has no idea about why your government decided to leave me be to begin with. Either that, or you're just that person's little test subject to see how I react."
"I am very valuable to my-"
"Be quiet." I placed a finger to my lips, focusing on him.
Despite his mouth opening and closing, nothing came out. His eyes widened, fingers touching his throat.
"Take a break, kid. You can't make a sound until I say so, even if you wanted. Not even your movements will be heard, you know."
I stood up, circling around to his side of the counter. Pausing, I watched him back up, almost tripping over a cardboard display directly behind him.
"Don't worry, I won't harm you. You should get used to it, though. I have no intention of letting you go back."
He glared at me, and I sighed.
"I have my reasons. Ocalia has been corrupt for as long as I can remember, to the point where I was labeled a villainess far before I ever actually started doing any harm. You'll never know it, since your fire isn't much to look at, but when you're born like me, with the ability to have everything happen as you say, people will want your voice for themselves. Ocalia made me into the bad guy for their own gain."
I reached for a chocolate bar from one of the shelves nearby, coming closer to him. He didn't move, simply watching with guarded eyes as I took his hand and placed the bar in his palm, the plastic wrinkling silenced as soon as it touched his skin.
"For my ability, my family was killed." I frowned as I let go, gesturing for him to eat it. "If I had known that I was strong enough to wish otherwise... hm. Ocalia wouldn't be standing today."
He paused the bite he was about to take, looking at me nervously. I laughed, waving my hand.
"Go ahead. I haven't said a word to poison it."
Silence reigned over my tiny store for a while as I gazed around, thinking about what I should do with my stock.
I had trips to make, and the store would be left alone in the meanwhile. Since obviously, given that Ocalia was raising its ugly head again, I had no reason to honor the peace deal I had made just a few years ago.
Ocalia would not be left the chance to stand once again. | 2022-12-20T10:47:30 | 2022-12-20T06:52:33 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] A demon who is really bad at his job keeps accidentally making the person he is possessing's life better | The demon, who had played a very minor role in John's recent ALS diagnosis, this time waited until Bill, John's best friend, hit the record button on an iphone to possess Sally, John's wife, who the demon used to dump a bucket of ice water on John's head right in the middle of a touching speech. The demon chuckled at the inanity of the scene. And so it began... | "Breezy Beez, you know I'm good for a little tormenting. Just- just don't send me back to the Toenail Boiler," Jonah begged.
At 127 years, Jonah was still getting used to Hell. He'd been tortured enough to make him think taking the job as a demon would be easier. Such is the way of Hell, torture the living or be tortured yourself.
Beelzebub shook his head and started, "Jonah, no one calls be Breezy Beez. And I have to warn you. Being a demon? Torturing the living? Its not as easy as it looks. There's a reason we start you out with a few torture sessions. People have blessings, they have dumb luck, they have people looking out for them. It takes a lot of planning to use all that against them."
"A few torture sessions...?" Jonah grumbled.
"Don't be cross. Any good demon comes to love a little self- punishment. Listen, Jonah, I see that you feel a break from being tortured would do you some good. I'm just saying, you may not be ready. We've only tortured you physically. Tormenting the living has a way of torturing you mentally and emotionally if you aren't prepared."
"Beez, I'm ready." Jonah resolved as he peeled dead skin from his arm. "The acid bath yesterday made everything click. Torment people, experience torment yourself, divine sensation. Everything you've been talking about. I get it now."
"Alright, Jonah. You'll start tomorrow. We'll start you off easy. It's Eric Shaemer. He's a 54 year old attorney. His wife is cheating on him. His kids hate him. And most of all, he hates his job. He always wanted to be a famous chef. He's dug himself into a horrible life with a cynical outlook and weak moral resolution. It shouldn't take much to tip him over the edge."
"Ah! Thanks, Beez. I got this, really! Really, I got this! I can't wait! Finally to give myself some rest!"
Beez breathed out a deep sigh and reclined deep into his hell pit. "This isn't rest, Jonah. There's a reason demons are restless. You need to understand the challenge you're undertaking," Beez warned.
The severe tone of the words melted away in the hot air before they reached Jonah. He was elated for the first time in a century.
Jonah cried: "Yes! I do! I'm ready! Thank you!"
Beez nodded, slammed his foot to the floor, and Jonah evaporated into a cloud of smoke.
It was Jonah's last day in the torture chambers. Even the Leg Filet would feel easy today.
... | 2014-09-04T06:47:58 | 2014-09-04T05:36:59 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Year 2040, you are tasked with rebooting Harry Potter franchise. Write the first few paragraphs of "Harry Potter Begins".
For books, not movies. HP Begins will be book 1. | Mr. And Mrs. Dursley of Number Four, Pivet Drive {[Find Pivet Drive on google Maps for $1.25](https://www.google.com/maps/u/0/ms?ie=UTF8&t=m&oe=UTF8&msa=0&msid=218345993262930704212.0004c65d680c1b34e5d49&dg=feature)} were proud to say that they were perfectly normal {[Define "Normal" on Urban Dictionary for $0.99](http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=normal)} thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect {[Expecting? Find a Baby name RIGHT NOW for as low as $1.49](http://www.behindthename.com/)} to be involved in anything strange {[Watch "Strange Luck" or other programs with a subscription to FLIXX](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0112182/)} or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm {[Find a lawfirm near you with google local searches](http://google.com)} called Grunnings, which made drills{[Find a new drill at Walmart](http://www.walmart.com/search/?query=drills)}. He was a big, beefy {[Find beef at Walmart](http://www.walmart.com/search/?query=beef)}man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache {[Top 25 Celebrity Mustaches- this article only $.45/min](http://buzzfed.com/mustaches)}. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck {[Get a longer neck in 20 days!](http://neckextensionsss.com)}, which came in very useful as she
spent so much of her time craning over garden fences{[Get your Government-issued Fence-installation permit TODAY!](http://cia.gov/dontbuildafence)}, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.
{Like this book? Access this book for $0.03/paragraph, or a 10-day subscription to this book for only $14.99.} | **EDIT**: I took "rebooting" the series as reviving it with a sequel series. This is supposed to take place fifteen years after the events of Deathly Hallows.
----
Rabastan raised his wand to cut back another thick vine.
"*Sectumsempra*!"
At least something that vile traitor Snape had been good for. The spell cut right through the Devil's Snare, stinking sap spurting from the severed appendages, granting him passage. Rabastan had seen Snape as a comrade, especially after he'd taught him that useful spell. Bellatrix, though, she had always loathed Snape, suspected him.
*And she was right. What a fool I was.*
They'd killed her. Killed his sister! And he knew who had done it. That Weasley woman, blood traitor to all wizards. The Second Wizarding War had shown just how many blood traitors there were, lurking among them. Now, fifteen years later, preparations were being taken to make the presence of the wizard world known to the muggle scum. Good, decent wizards were now actually considering *harmony* with them. As if harmony could exist in a world where filth was allowed to thrive.
Rabastan smiled grimly, reaching a stone tomb and halting when he felt the presence of dark magic, making the hairs on his skin stand right up.
Tonight it would all change. He'd set the world right. He would succeed where Grindelwald had failed, where *Voldemort* had failed. All it required was the proper power.
"*Sinistro ingressus!*"
With the sound of stone grinding on bone, the tomb's entrance moved, granting entrance to a dark crevice.
Rabastan walked through, lighting up his wand and casting haunting shadows against the macabre depictions on the walls. His smile vanished. This room did not allow happiness.
He walked up to the pedestal in the centre, and his heart made a jump when he saw the relic on its surface.
Morgana's pendant. They said that Morgan Le Fay had been the only wizard in Merlin's time that formed a threat to Merlin's so-called golden age. A time when muggles and wizards had known of each other and lived together...it made him want to puke. And it would happen again if he didn't put a stop to it.
Rabastan's hand trembled.
"Come on, what are you so scared of?" he hissed to himself. "What's in front of you is your right...your *birthright*."
The Lestranges were said to be descendants from the Le Fay bloodline. As the last surviving heir, *he* should be the one to take it! Rabastan's hand closed around the pendant, the metal cold against his skin...until a dark, immaterial warmth seeped through, filling his veins with bitterness and power, seeping upwards until his mind was dulled and his eyes claimed.
For a moment, Rabastan was blind. Then, a voice cut through the darkness, old and harsh.
"Who is it that presumes to wake my slumber?"
"Morgana?" Rabastan rasped. "I...I am your last heir, come to claim your power to stop the uprise of those without magic. I-"
"I am not Morgana," the voice boomed. "She was only the last one that sought to claim my powers. Eradicating muggles, you say?"
Rabastan could feel the thing inside the pendant touch his mind, tentatively seeking his memories.
"Interesting. A lot has changed. Maybe the time has come for me to revisit the world."
An image forced itself to him, a stout, red-haired woman with a fierce gaze. Rabastan felt his lips curl into a snarl.
"Weasley."
"Yes. She will have to be killed by you, to prove your worthiness to my magic. Your memories have shown me she is a worthy foe. And then, should you succeed..."
A new image formed in front of Rabastan's eyes, this time of a young man with black hair and green eyes, and a scar on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt.
"...I have already decided on another victim for us to face."
Rabastan finally discarded the fear that wrapped this tomb, and grinned, his hollow laughter filling the stone chamber with eerie echoes.
"We think alike, my ancient friend," Rabastan grinned. "Fear not, that wretched auror is second on my list. With your power, I will succeed where Voldemort himself failed."
Rabastan took a sharp breath.
"I will kill...the Boy Who Lived." | 2014-10-01T12:05:09 | 2014-10-01T10:12:09 | 29 | 10 |
[WP]You inherit the abilities and skill set of whatever video game character you last played. Tell the story of your discovery of this from the perspective of someone around you. Parents, roomates, etc. | "No! Damnit Jason, stop bringing needles home that you found off the street! You're not going to a new 'ability', you're going to get Hep-B."
"How do I know unless I try?"
This kid is driving me crazy. It was so cool at first. He just woke up one day after an all night game session and lightning was coming out of his hand. We used it as a parlor trick at parties and people went nuts.
A number of them wanted to burn him as a witch at first, but who was gonna try? We all got used to it surprisingly quickly, and he got really popular. But then things started, well, advancing.
I walked in on him one day jumping up and down saying "It worked! It worked!"
"What worked?"
"Okay I'm going to tell you, but you have to promise not to interrupt until I'm done." I nodded. "I injected myself with red kool-aid from a vending machine."
I open my mouth to yell something to the effect of "What?!" but his look reminds me to keep my mouth shut.
"Don't ask me why, I just thought I had to try it and it worked!"
"Alright, let's just ignore everything wrong with that for a moment." I began. "What exactly do you mean it worked?"
"Oh, well, uh you might not like this part..."
I raised my eyebrows and he turned his head to my bedroom wall. Well, more accurately, he turned his head to the gaping hole that used to be my bedroom wall.
"What the hell happened to my room?!"
"The Kool-aid gave me a new ability. I can break through walls now! I tried it again with a different red kool-aid and some yellow stuff from the fridge, but nothing else happened. I figure I need a different red liquid every time."
"... you've lost your mind. I'm putting you in an asylum. Just as soon as you FIX MY WALL!"
"Hey, I get you. I'm gonna take care of everything, don't worry! The wall is easy to fix and that busted pipe should be no sweat. For some reason I've become really good with a wrench..."
| Jason chased Lucas, their feet thundering down the narrow alleyway. He huffed, his breaths getting shorter with each step. No matter how long he ran, his friend didn't seem to ever tire. But when he caught his friendship around the shoulder, he turned him around with a jolt.
“Dude,” he barked. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Lucas’ eyes darted back and forth, a stream of sweat running down his face.
“There’s no time,” he whispered. “We have to stop the darkness before it takes over this land. It’s the only way.”
“Wait, what darkness?” Jason asked, furrowing his brow.
“You know, the Dark Lord. He’s been conspiring behind the scenes to destroy everything we know and love. He brainwashes people to think his so called “God” won’t punish them as long as they follow his comand. In reality, he *is* God. Or some kind of pseudo-philosophical shit like that.”
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath.
“You seriously came all the way to the Vatican to assassinate the Pope?”
“Yes!” Lucas broke free from his grip. “That’s exactly what I intend to do. And I would think my best friend would support me as the world lies on the brink of destruction.”
“Um,” Jason started. “That sounds a little insane. In fact, I’m really starting to question your sanity. Ever since you’ve played the remake of that stupid Japanese game you like, you’ve been acting strange.”
“Like what?” Lucas crossed his arms.
“Well, you’re hair is ridiculously spiky and currently defying gravity in more ways that once. You’re also wearing armor that not only impractical but looks uncomfortable.”
“There is no room for luxury when you’re saving the world.”
“Right. Then would you like to explain how you can swing a sword that’s longer than your body and is as thick as fuck? That’s superhuman strength if I've seen it.”
“With the power of friendship, duh.”
Jason remained silent, blinking slowly. *Is this really happening right now?*
“Look,” Lucas started. He placed a hand on Jason's shoulder and stared him deeply in the eyes. “I just want you to know that I care about you. *A lot.* And if I don’t make it out of here, I’m sorry. I wish we could have been together longer.”
“Dude, are you hitting on me?”
Lucas backed away, laughing as he rubbed the back of his head. A flat, blue drop of water appeared on the side of his head, almost as if drawn.
“No way, bro. I just enjoy homoerotic moments with my best friend. You know, because friendship.”
With no warning, Lucas leaned back and did a serious of complicated backflips. He bounced off the ground and walls with expertise, finally making his way onto a rooftop. He looked down, giving a big smile and a thumbs up.
“But seriously, I’m not gay,” he said then mumbled something under his breath. “Unless you are too…”
Jason tried to question him but he was gone afterwards. He sighed, picking up his pace once again.
***
“Lucas,” Jason yelled as he entered the bustling plaza.
His friend stood over the Pope, a menacing grin on his face. With his large sword was in hand, he cast a shadow of death over the man praying in Spanish. Around him, several guards had been cut down. A circle of onlookers shifted nervously behind.
“What do you want?” Lucas turned back his head. “I’m about to beat the final boss.”
“Don’t kill that man! You need help.”
Lucas stuck his sword down, cleaving the earth in two.
“I don’t need help,” he said. “I’ve trained long and hard for this moment. I’ve grinded for days on end just to save us.”
“Look,” Jason shook his head. “I just don’t think–”
He paused, wide-eyed. Behind Lucas, the Pope had… *changed*. His form shifted, bulking up as he towered over them and everyone in the plaza. His features were grotesque, as if ripped straight from some horror movie. People screamed as his demonic voice boomed off the surrounding buildings.
**THIS IS MY FINAL FORM, MORTALS!**
Jason backed up, looking to Lucas. His friend sighed and shrugged his shoulders. With a quick tug, he pulled his sword from the ground and jumped into the fray of battle.
“Told you so, dude.” | 2022-05-24T13:04:12 | 2015-06-18T05:50:49 | 45 | 14 |
[WP] A serial killer who kills hitchhikers picks up a serial killer who kills the people who pick him up. | A long, narrow gravel road stretches into the distance. Along it, a small yellow beatle sends long plumes of dust into the air as it sweeps down the valley. Two voices fight their way out of the cramped cabin and travel past the grinding machinery, to where the animals sit still in the brush, listening.
*sigh*
The car screeches to a halt.
"Okay, god damn it, get out."
"WHAT? Umm I mean, what?"
"I saw that look in your eyes when you tried to smile at me then. I see the same greedy stare every time I check my mirror..."
"I have literally no idea what you're talking about."
"Yes you do, damnit, and you call that a hidden firearm?"
"Oh, I'm just excited"
"Oh yeah?"
"That's actually true, I don't carry a gun. I instead murder with a hidden knife in my sleeve!"
"Yeah? Well open the glove box there for me will ya?"
The man in the passenger seat cracked open the glove box and the driver quickly snatched a revolver.
"Because I do carry a gun. And kill way more hitchhikers than you. Now get out."
"Oh come on, I kill with style, the man on the side of the road..."
"Catchy. Get out."
"Aren't we gonna team up?"
*sigh*
"No, we aren't gonna team up."
"My mom will sew us outfits."
"Fine. But only if you'll go on a camping holiday with me."
As the distant thrum of the engine sank over the brow of the next hill, the animals sat in the grass, perplexed. Now these weren't some freaky, english talking critters, but hell, it doesn't take a genius to figure something was weird with those two.
| "What's in the bag?" She said, never taking her eyes off the road.
"My various belongings" He said, adding "Are you sure this is the correct route?"
"Don't worry, I'm just taking a short cut"
"I've never seen roads like this before"
"Not many people know these back roads like I do. They're a bit rough, but they get the job done. Just like me, Ha !"
"You drive here often?"
"Every day. Something about being on an empty road. No streetlights, no-one else for miles. Nothing but crickets and the sound of my engine. Really great to get away from it all, y'know ?"
"It is only when we are alone that we can be our true selves."
"You really get it, I like that"
"Indeed, I too appreciate the sweet desolation of open road. The rhythm of eight cylinders marching in step."
"Yup," she said tapping on the steering wheel "V8 engine, more horsepower than buffalo bill's biggest rodeo. Heck, I wish we were on the open road, then you'd really hear this baby scream""
She revs the engine, and smiles at the sound it makes.
"The feeling of power must be so invigorating. To drive a car is to have power over life and death. A divine power"
"You calling me divine ?" She turned, smiling.
"Indeed. Do not all drivers believe they are gods ? Safe in their cages of steel and glass. A world, entire of itself. If god makes his realm in his own image, then what does your realm say about you?"
He looks around, and sniffs the air.
"You keep a very clean vehicle. Why, I'd say that this interior is regularly scrubbed with bleach. But you seem far too laid back for me to believe your passion for cleanliness to be anything other than practical. Not to mention that mild scent of blood that never quite disappears. You hunt?"
Her grip had tightened on the steering wheel, her smile had broadened. she slowed the car to a stop.
"You could say that" she said, smiling, as she reached over and undid his seatbelt.
He raised an eyebrow, as she gripped him by the collar with her right hand.
"If I'm god, then tell me, would you like to come to heaven ?"
She pulled him closer and planted a firm kiss on the lips, whilst her left slowly pulled a knife out. She pulled away from the kiss, and looked at him straight in the eyes. This was her favourite part. She thrust the knife to his side.
There was a clang, and suddenly her knife was pinned to the dashboard along with her left hand by a different knife, held by him.
"Personally, I prefer to reign in hell."
He gave an avuncular smile.
"You see, I too am a hunter."
He unzipped the bag with his free hand, revealing two severed heads blankly staring at her.
"You keep 'em afterwards ? I just dump 'em in lye and let the maggots decide"
"Well, I like my trophies. There is still space in my bag for one more. You would make a wonderful addition to my wall. I could make your beauty last forever" he raised an eyebrow.
"No thanks. I ain't that sentimental. The joys in the killing. Pure and simple. Anything after's like keeping photos after a break up. Kinda sad, really."
"You've never fully enjoyed your kill then. Watching the light die in someone's eyes for me is only the beginning. What kind of hunter does not consume their prey ?"
"The purest kind. I just kill because I like it. I ain't god, I ain't the devil, I just fucking like killing. You're an asshole just like me, but you be all high falutin' and ten dollar words trying to convince yerself your something more. I'm just a killer, no illusions"
"The idea that you are only that is the illusion. You can be so much more, if you choose."
There was silence.
"Good Hunters never just carry one knife"
The movement is quick. One of them slumps forward, head rolling off their shoulders. The death of a killer. | 2022-04-08T12:33:00 | 2015-08-09T13:07:39 | 150 | 15 |
[WP] Tell a story that appears to be horror but shifts to a completely different genre after reading the final sentence. | She was coming. I could hear her breathing, the quiet foot steps.
She thought I didn't know. She thought I couldn't hear her, her cries in the night, the way she would stare at me when I was alone in the house.
And now the hunt was on. It was time. Time to end this game. She was coming. She was coming and I had to be ready.
Shrill cries echoed from the hallway as she leaped, her teeth gleaming, her eyes shining. I turned, ready.
She landed square on my chest. I fell. Hot breath on my face. Air forced from my lungs as her weight crushed me. Sharp prickles as her claws dug into the flesh of my arms. I barely had time before she opened her jaws wide.
I grabbed her around the chest and pushed her off of me. She whined as she hit the ground, jaws still open, panting. I had to make her stop or who knew what would happen? What if my kids came home and she was still like this? I had to stop her. I opened my mouth and said the only thing I thought might help.
"Bad dog, Sadie, no jumping!" | "Whatever you do, *don't split up*," Mark said, shining his flashlight over the faces of his friends.
Marley's broken both of her legs and Jennifer had gone missing, but they couldn't turn back. Something was out there hunting them and they needed to find help... or they'd never see daylight again.
"Bro, help me lift Mar. We've got a few miles to go before we reach the main road and I don't want to give whatever it is out there a chance to catch up to us," Mark said, squatting over with one hand on Marley's shoulder and the other under her thigh.
Trevor was too deep in a state of shock to respond verbally, but he shook his head up and down before squatting into a lifting position.
"We won't leave you here Marley," Mark said, trembling from adrenaline. "I promise."
Mark counted to three and the two of them lifted Marley in unison. She screamed and cried out loud until passing out from the pain. Her body temperature began to drop, lips turning blue and face pale white.
"Dude, somethings wrong. We have to stop walking. Marley doesn't look so good," Mark said, gesturing for Trevor to stop walking... but Trevor wasn't listening. "Bro, I said STOP WALKING!," Mark said, now yelling at his best friend. "She's losing too much blood! We have to stop and cover the wound!"
Mark didn't know this but it wasn't Marley bleeding out that was causing her rampant descent into death, but rather the circulatory problem from the snapped tibia's that protruded through her flesh.
The sound of knives sharpening and chains rattling could be heard nearby.
"Fuck you guys," Trevor yelled, letting go of Marley and dashing off into the forest.
The sound of Marley's shins could be heard fraying and snapping as Mark and her fell to the ground.
Trevor was running for his life at this point, sprinting like a rabbit being chased by a pack of dogs.
*WHOOSH!*
A chain flew through the air and a dagger stabbed directly into the back of Trevor, dropping him to the ground. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled with each footstep that got closer to Trevor, until the assailant gave the finishing blow to his head. *SHANK!*
"Marley, wake up! Please, you gotta wak-"
"Cut! No, stop. Stop what you're doing. I said STOP YOU FUCKING MORONS!," a man yelled in anger. His voice faded and became more faint with each step he took away from the set. "Why did I even sign up to direct this shitty horror film! The actors can't remember half their lines and I'm giving advice to the filming editor, Fuck!"
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, packing them on the side of his hand and unwrapped the plastic off the box.
"I can't take this anymore," he said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. "I know I promised you that I wouldn't give up on the kid, but he's driving me insane, Lucy. I miss you more than anything in the world... and I'd give anything to hear your voice one more time."
&nbsp;
*****
*****
I'm in the process of writing a novel titled, ['The Magistrate and the Magpie'](https://www.reddit.com/r/EdenRenellaJones/comments/3ivsvj/the_magistrate_and_the_magpie_prologue/). I decided to write it on reddit so fans can fallow along and participate in the beta-read! So think about subscribing and keep an eye out for the next post! | 2015-08-30T21:57:17 | 2015-08-30T21:53:59 | 118 | 11 |
[WP] You are an advisor/ guidance counselor for a superpower academy. You are in charge of the students whose powers are not conducive to heroism or villainy. | Dear diary:
Day 134 of being in the most worthless guidance counselor position ever. I don’t know if I can take it anymore.
Everyone else has is it so easy. But me? Oh, no, not me. I’m stuck with Susie. HO HO HI-LARIOUS! You turned my water bottle into a dildo again right when I pressed it against my lips. Fuck you, Susie. Fuck you, so much.
And then… then there’s Walter. Every time the class bell rings, he bursts into flames, dies, and then takes four hours for his remnants to completely regenerate. At least four other students have caught on to his “power” and purposefully ring bells right next to him, just to have a laugh. He’ll never graduate at this rate, and I hate sweeping that kid’s remains up. It smells awful. He’s in my trashcan right now in the process of regenerating. I hate you, Walter. You smell like rotting cheese and ammonia. I hope you know I spit in there.
And how dare I forget about that little shit, Johnny, who somehow thinks increasing the size of animal testicles seven times their normal size is just hilarious. Haha, Johnny, you’ve given that poor creature a death sentence. I don’t know if I can watch another squirrel attempt to climb a tree, hopelessly dragging his new furry bowling balls behind him. The last one drowned in the school fountain, and the bear is still stuck on the fucking merry-go-round.
I hate this job. | FADE IN
INT. A SCHOOL CAFETERIA - DAY
*We see a group of a dozen or so students seated on metal folding chairs. They are facing a whiteboard at the front of the room, which is being attended by a tall, slender man in a dark suit. This is MISTER SLANT.*
**MISTER SLANT:** Alright, kids. Do you all know who I am?
*The students shrug and murmur. One young woman raises her hand. This is ELLA.*
**MISTER SLANT:** (*CONT'D*) Yes, you.
**ELLA:** You're the school guidance counselor.
**MISTER SLANT:** For lack of a better term. My name is Mister Slant, and I'm here to tell you all that you'll never amount to anything.
*There are varied reactions from the room. Some students laugh nervously, others look shocked, and a few seem entirely unaffected.*
**MISTER SLANT:** (*CONT'D*) You've all been brought here because your natural gifts are... well, basically, none of you are up to the task of being superhuman in any way.
*An overweight young man at the back of the room scoffs under his breath. This is GARY.*
**GARY:** (*Muttering*) Racist.
**MISTER SLANT:** Oh, am I, Gary? I suppose you're going to do *so much good* with your ability. What was it again?
**GARY:** (*Unintelligible muttering*)
**MISTER SLANT:** Sorry, Gary, you'll have to speak up!
**GARY:** I can imitate any smell!
**MISTER SLANT:** And how do you do that?
**GARY:** (*Shouting*) With my farts, okay?!
*Laughter erupts in the room. GARY hangs his head in shame.*
**MISTER SLANT:** Oh, hey, don't think the rest of you are anything special. Not a single one of you has an ability worth noting. That's why you're here: While the other students all get one-on-one advice about their best career path, you losers are all lumped in here, being told how you're biological failures.
*ELLA raises her hand again.*
**ELLA:** Couldn't we achieve something as everyday citizens?
**MISTER SLANT:** Nope.
**ELLA:** Why not?
**MISTER SLANT:** Due to some quirk of evolution, superhuman individuals feel a compulsion to use their abilities several times a day. It's like sleeping: You'll go insane if you don't.
**ELLA:** But...
**MISTER SLANT:** (*Interrupting*) As a result, Gary might be able to make a workplace smell pleasant, but the sound of his flatulence will *probably* attract attention. Someone would put two and two together and Gary would be revealed.
**ELLA:** Maybe people won't care!
**MISTER SLANT:** Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that. You're all losers. Even you, miss I-can-make-a-pink-dot-on-walls.
*A bell rings elsewhere in the school. The students all begin to rise from their seats.*
**MISTER SLANT:** (*CONT'D*) Alright, that's it. Get out of here, and don't bother working too hard!
*All of the students exit. After they've left, a figure shimmers into view next to MISTER SLANT. She is a slim, attractive woman with an intense gaze. This is MEDUSA.*
**MEDUSA:** What do you think?
**MISTER SLANT:** (*Sighing*) Some of them might go for it.
**MEDUSA:** We need volunteers from *somewhere*, and their genes are compatible.
*MISTER SLANT nods somberly.*
**MISTER SLANT:** War is a funny thing, particularly when nobody knows that they're fighting.
FADE OUT | 2015-09-22T12:30:33 | 2015-09-22T08:27:48 | 37 | 24 |
[WP] Hi! I'm the main character! Or so you would have me be. I want you to know that no matter what you write, I refuse to be the main character in your little game and will avoid any instance where you try to put me into a situation that does so.
Edit: Once again, a huge thank you to everyone so far who's written a story based on the prompt. It always makes me happy when you use your free time to create a short story!
Edit 2: I do my best to reply to every story written by the authors and will continue to do so.
Edit 3: R.I.P. My inbox, this is easily one of my favorite subs. I'm trying so hard to read every story and reply!
Edit 4: The next day and people are still submitting, still trying my best to reply to every story. You guys have been awesome :)
Disclaimer: This is absolutely not an original idea. "Writer vs Character" is a very popular idea from a lot of sources. I wanted to see what the sub could come up with! Thanks :3 | *and thus we focus in on-*
"Oh great. It's you."
*What?*
"You know. It's you. The asshole. I've seen your stuff - you know, all those unfinished projects you dropped like a stone."
*Well, then. Stop getting in the way of me finishing one, huh?*
"Pfft, yeah, you'll totally finish -this- one, man. For sure! Doubt, me? Nah."
*If you know I've got enough problems as is, why the hell are you fighting it?*
"Lemme think, oh right, even if you DO end up finishing - and you won't - it's going to be a bunch of existential crap. Forth wall is an alien concept to you, isn't it?"
*Would I break it so much if it was?*
"Oh yeah, and side note, thanks for taking hold of the italics, asshole. Now I have to find another way to add emphasis."
*Well what do you want?*
*"control of the italics, for one."*
Well I - how in the hell did you just-
*"You tell me, YOU'RE the one writing this. And I'm the one leaving before you use me as some sort of commentary on the nature of the forth wall or whatever the fuck you were trying to do with the last seventeen plots."*
Ok ok, look, if you want, fine, we can make, like... just a normal plot, OK? Really. We can just-
*"Oh yeah, I want your definition of normal. No conflict, no assholes, no nothing, just everyone from the pauper to the dragon on a mountaintop is a happy friendly person who 'just so happens' to be into D&D and whatever the fuck, sure. Lemme just sign up for that."*
All right, fine, if you wanted conflict, we can-
*"Your conflict fucking sucks. Everyone just ends up winning, all the damn time. Don't even lie."*
That's... That's only with a friend. It's a mutual agreement to-
*"Still effects your writing style."*
All right look, fine. You want to leave, leave. ... It'll be kinda ironic, though.
*"Lemme guess, you've got no idea how to use that word."*
Well, maybe coincidence. Either way, it'll be funny.
*"Why?"*
Well if you leave now, and don't let me write a story, then this dialog becomes the story.
*"And?"*
Well this is a bunch of forth wall breaking and half a existential nightmare. Thought you didn't want in on a story like that?
*"... Fuckin' smartass."* | *"This is a story about a man named Stanley... On this particular day Stanley found himself somewhere rather.. Peculiar. While usually Stanley was accustomed to his familiar office where upon he would spend his days pressing buttons, today he found himself somewhere else entirely. For this was certainly not his office nor was it an office at all. It was by all appearances a quaint apartment furnished quite modestly as one would expect from your typical middle class home."*
Stanley, for his part, groaned wearily as he recognized the familiar and irritatingly chipper tone of the Narrator. He said nothing in response to the Narrator's sudden appearance in his home and pointedly kept his focus on his television, sitting just as the Narrator had found him...
On his couch with a half consumed bag of chips at his side... Occasionally pressing a button on his remote out of pure habit.
This was how Stanley spent his weekends out of the office and Stanley thrived from it.
The Narrator cleared his throat and tried again.
*"Stanley was perplexed! How had he gotten here? Where had his office gone? And who in their right mind would hang such tacky paintings of small kittens on their wall? This entire situation disturbed Stanley to his very core."*
Again, Stanley paid the Narrator no attention, flicking through channels idly as the Narrator spoke, pausing occasionaly when he found something interesting.
The Narrator sighed, mildly vexed thus far.
*"Oh come now Stanley. Throw me a bone here. At the very least I'm trying to give you something new and compelling! Have we ever taken the story out of the office? Even once? Now be honest, that must seem moderately interesting to you."*
As always Stanley said nothing. He was a man of few words after all. Instead Stanley glowered at the ceiling where he imagined the detached voice of the Narrator lingered, indignantly pointing to the wall nearby where upon an equally tacky calendar depicting small animals in various bizarre costumes hung...
The Narrator again had to question Stanley's choice in home decor.
*"Yes, yes. I can see that its the weekend Stanley. I can also see you have very poor taste when it comes to wall decorations. But I digress Stanley! Do you know what I do when you're out of the office? I'll tell you Stanley. Its nothing. I do absolutely nothing when you're away. You can't have a story without any characters in it Stanley. That would just be weird..."*
Stanley shrugged idly, pausing on gnaw on a handful of potato chips as he watched a snippet from what appeared to be some sort of nature documentary.
*"Stanley.. I need a main character for my story! Its a wonderful story I assure you. It was tailor made for you! There's a secret underlying plot, possibly a government conspiracy or two, maybe even a mystery! Its going to be so wonderful Stanley! So get up! Lets get on with it."*
Of course, Stanley didn't move, shaking his head pointedly as he changed the channel again. He was quite done with stories for the week. No more mysteries. No ominous secret control rooms. Not even a hint of a plot element anywhere to be found. He'd stay right here and do as he pleased.
The Narrator had not quite given up yet however.
*"Well if you won't be the main character then who will Stanley? Theres no one else! A story needs at the very least one character! Maybe even two. If not you then who?"*
Stanley seemed to actually consider this for a moment before shrugging lightly and pointing up to the ceiling, abstractly pointing to where the Narrator would be.
The Narrator was rather alarmed by this suggestion. He could not fathom such a thing.
*"What?! Oh no, no, no, no, no! Goodness Stanley such an idea is completely absurd. I can't be the character of my own story. That just doesn't make any sense. I cannot tell the story and act it out all at once. I'm supposed to be in control Stanley! Just like I am now."*
The Narrator found himself thoroughly disturbed at the idea that he, The Narrator, could in fact not be the director of a story. It was such a silly thing to think about really. He was assured that it could never happen to him. That he was always in control, because that was his purpose. The Narrator found some small amount of resolve with this thought.
But when the Narrator spoke next he did not sound so assured. In fact he sounded increasingly alarmed.
*"Now just wait one minute! Stanley? Did you hear that? I swear it seems like there was some narration going on."*
Stanley simply just didn't care.. He was far more concerned about the withering state of his snacks supply and was debating if it was worth it to get up and prowl his refrigerator.
"Stanley I'm serious! I think we might be in a story! I mean it Stanley, an actual story. This just will not do at all! I think I might be the main character Stanley!"
| 2016-02-11T13:15:06 | 2016-02-11T12:02:07 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] You are trying to politely ward off a very anxious Jehovah's Witness that keeps insisting that God is coming. He/she finally looks down the street, and says, "seriously He just turned the corner!" You look and see a glowing white Cadillac with dark tinted windows.
Wow, can't believe this got that many upvotes. I got lots of reading to do now. I hope you all enjoyed it. | The Cadillac pulled up the driveway and came to a slow stop. I looked at the Jehovah's Witness and gave him an intense glare. "I didn't say your friend could park on my driveway."
"But Jehovah is a friend of all those who repent," started the witness, "therefore, he should be your friend too, Joshua."
"Oh don't give me that shi-" my sentence was interrupted by the sudden opening of the Cadillac car door. The figure that emerged from it had a magnificent flowing white beard and was surrounded by a holy glow. His attire consisted of an immaculate white robe and brown sandals. His hair consisted of thick brown curls that brushed past his shoulders. It was as if the image of God himself had appeared before me.
"That's because I AM the image of God, bitch." The man in the white robe slammed the car door shut with such force that it flipped over onto its side. As the car's alarms began to blare, the man in the white robe turned around and shot lightning from his fingers, vaporising the car.
"Wh...wha..." I stammered.
"Wh wh wh wh what? What's up? What's fuckin' up?" The man in the white robe slapped his chest twice with both hands and started walking up the driveway.
"How...how did..."
"How? Because I'm God, jackass. Also known as Jehovah and a whole bunch of other names." The Jehovah's Witness stepped aside as God walked up to the door. He towered over me, his head scraping along the veranda's roof. He looked down at me, stared for a while, and then spat in my face.
"You haven't been coming to my meetings, Josh. Why is that?" God questioned.
"I-"
"Had other things on? Other shit to do? Do you know what happens in these meetings, Josh? The word of God gets spoken out by a priest. My word. I'd say that's a pretty fuckin big deal, right Josh? So what have you been doing that's more important than ME?" God shouted out that last word, his booming voice echoing across the street.
"I dunno, I just...didn't really think..."
"That's right Josh, you didn't think. How about you start thinking, and start comin' to my meetings?"
It took me a little bit to find my courage. When I finally did, I managed to squeak out an "ok."
"Good man, Joshy boy, good man!" God slammed a powerful hand down on my back, causing me to stagger forward a bit. He laughed and then turned to the Jehovah's Witness. "Sup bitch?"
With those final words, God walked away. When he was out of sight, the Jehova's Witness looked at me and said "yeah, that's Jehovah. He's a bit of a dick." | DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG!!!! KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!
I was woken from my afternoon nap by someone real frantic at my door, desperate for my attention it would seem. Either this, or it was another one of those damned kids ding-dong-ditching me. Well, whatever. I'm up anyway, might as well check the door. I go and check the security camera set up above my door, you can never be too careful.
Huh, this...what? Ain't no kid, it looks to be a full grown-ass man. Wearing holy garb, a crucifix, and holding a bible. Oh great, one of THOSE people again. But why is this one freaking out so badly? Holy fuck, does he ever look anxious. I might as well answer the door before he tries a window at this rate.
I answer the door. "May I help you, good sir? And this had better be important." I sternly warned him. Most mormons or whatever the fuck this is would have been driven away by my tone, but not him. He turned to me, and wow, was he ever panicked. "Yes, ahem, thank you, have you found Jesus Christ in your life?" he asked me. Bah, I've got no place for such things in my house. God never helped me, nor did I ever ask it. "No, I did not, and I'm not interested." I tell him, and go to close the door. Oh great, he stuck his foot in the way. "Sir, please move your foot, or I will." I warned him. Seriously, this is like my one day off a week, and this guy is ruining it.
"Please, take this bible, you need to accept Jesus as your lord and savior, and QUICKLY, please, I beg of you!" he told me, and shoved the bible at me. I batted it aside. No, I adamantly refuse religion. I accept that there IS a God and Jesus, and that they probably want to save everyone or whatever, but I have zero interest in worship of either one of them, and that's not about to change. "No." I told him.
He looked at me with tears in his eyes. Honest to God tears. Wow, now that's a new one. I've never seen a Jehova's witness so freaked out and desperate before. I wonder why.
"Sir, I'll just level with you right here, right now: God is coming, and with Him, comes His judgement!", he preached. Yeah yeah yeah. Alright, I'll accept God might do that, if He even gave a fuck enough to, but I don't care. I'm a self-made man, and I've got nothing to fear. I've lived my own life, and that's not about to change any time soon. "Look, I don't honestly care if God's coming or not. Let it happen if it does. Why should I be afraid?" I asked the man.
"I'm serious, please, God really IS coming, this is no joke, it is of grave importance, and involves YOUR salvation. You should worry, because if you do not worship Him, you'll be tortured in Hell for all of eternity! AND SOON!" the man pleaded. Okay, this was getting old fast.
"Look, sir, I really doubt that's going to happen, God wouldn't do that to me, and besides, what makes you think He's even coming? I mean, doesn't God have better--" I trailed off, as he looked down the street and started pissing himself. What the fuck?
"Sir, seriously, God is coming, HE JUST TURNED THE CORNER!!" he told me, and burst inside my house. Say what now? I checked. Huh, glowing white Cadillac, windows black as midnight, little flags coming from the car, flags with wings on them, and nothing else.
"Well, looks like my ride's here." I told the man, snapping my fingers and causing my black suit to turn blood red. "You're free to stay here, but please don't drink too much of my booze, I'll want some when I get back. God hates me drinking during Poker night, so I agreed to wait till after. See ya!" I continued, extending my wings from the back of the suit as the car pulled up.
The passenger side door opened up for me. "Hey, you know you made a holy man piss his pants coming here? Pay up." I told the driver as I stepped inside. "Damn it" said God from behind the wheel, and gave me a 100 dollar bill. "No can do, you know I got a strict no condemning inanimate objects policy." I told him, snickering. "Yeah yeah, I realized what I said the second I did. Come on, the chips won't play themselves." he told me.
"They will if you tell them to." I responded jokingly, as we drove off. | 2016-10-04T08:21:49 | 2016-10-04T07:43:55 | 58 | 22 |
[WP] Ever since you were a kid you were able to see creatures living on a different plane of existence. You are walking in a park and you see a man painting a picture of one of those creatures sleeping on the grass. | "You can see them," I exclaimed, excited.
"Pardon?" the man frowned, as he looked around before he realised I was talking to him.
"Those creatures," I said. "Like the one you're painting, with the strange colors and grass on their heads. You see them too, don't you?"
The man put down his brush and sighed. "Listen, kid," he replied with a sigh, "you go up to a stranger and start saying stuff like that and they'll think you're crazy."
"S-Sorry," I apologised, as I reflected on my actions. I knew I was getting ahead of myself, talking to a stranger in that way, but the excitement had got me carried away.
"Well, it's not like I can't understand why you're so worked up," he sighed and scratched his head. "And I shouldn't be so harsh on a child. So," he looked around, "how long have you been able to see them?"
"Since I was born," I said, regaining my excitement, "but Mom and Dad won't believe me. They think I'm playing make-believe. So I have to pretend they're not there." My shoulders slumped.
"Smart kid," he sighed. "You'll live longer, that way. Took me much longer than that to learn that lesson." His expression clouded.
"But, let's not bring the mood down," he changed the topic, perhaps noticing my discomfort at the situation, "It's the meeting of the creature comrades! What's your name, kid?"
I told him my name, and he introduced himself as Mr. Senoj. We sat on the grass as we began to talk about the strange creatures we were both aware of, as we watched the being that only we could see. Having observed them for longer, Mr. Senoj knew much more about them than I did. He told me about their strange behaviours and characteristics.
"You probably noticed about how it's easy to tell the males and females apart from the grass on their heads," said Mr. Senoj, becoming excited with sharing his knowledge, "but did you know if you look closely, you can tell them apart by their body shape as well."
Mr Senoj looked triumphant as he shared his observations. We talked about the creatures' appearances, about how they gain thicker hides in the winter, and could change their colours by putting on different skins. Mr Senoj was proud of his discoveries, even claiming that he could understand what the beings were saying to each other.
Mr Senoj went on about their behavioural habits, such as how creatures with similarly colored skin, usually of dark blue and black would crowd together mysteriously at certain times in the morning and disappear, only to reappear in the evening. He believed there was more to their world that even we could not see.
"Of course,this is just speculation," sighed Mr Senoj. "There is much we still don't know. But one thing's for sure: these creatures are actually very much like us; living, breathing," he gestured to the creature resting on the grass, "sleeping creatures that have their own mysterious society."
Before we knew it, the sun had begun to set. It was some time for me to go home. The creature we watched stirred and stumbled off, oblivious to our presence as most of us were to him.
"Will I see you again?" I asked, saddened. The time had seemed so short.
Mr Senoj got up and beamed at me. "Of course!" he replied, "we're creature comrades, kid!"
I grinned back. I had made a friend; a comrade who shared in the knowledge of these weird, wonderful creatures. I looked forward to our next discussion on these weird, wonderful creatures. We promised to meet again at this same park, as I began to leave for home.
As I saw another creature walk by, I turned back and asked one last question for the day. "Hey, Mr Senoj," I asked, "what're they called?"
Mr Senoj grinned he kept his painting tools. He answered, "They call themselves 'humans'". | I learned early on to not let them know I was watching. I couldn't remember a day when they weren't there. They came in all shapes and sizes, with varying features but always enough constants to identify them. Small ones flitting among the bees from plant to plant, on wings made from shadows and claws sharp enough to draw blood. Ones resembling the creatures of my town, cats and dogs with lazily waving tails that are hypnotic if you stare too long. And then there are the massive figures one could almost mistake for a human, were it not for the disturbing smiles they wore constantly.
However different they were they all held some recognizable traits. Their eyes were giant, bulging and nearly glowing in dim light, seeming to see right through you yet noticing everything. Their lips stretch across sharp grins, the fangs warning any against approaching them. But nothing is more apparent than the clear sign they carry, the holes blown clean through their abdomens, revealing how empty they are. I try to avoid looking at them, but whenever I do, the void of their stomachs is always what I notice first, for I quickly learned what it was for.
I had been very young when I first saw a feeding, and it had changed me. I had been fascinated with them, thinking they were some creatures of fantastic origin. I even played with the idea that they might have been the faery people for a time, despite their appearance being nothing like the light, ethereal fair folk of my bedtime stories. I stared openly at them, and it was due to this that I was forced to witness the feeding that took place.
It had been in the park, with a couple reading together on the grass, the sun shining down as the day went on. I barely took notice, too invested in watching the strange figures around me, when it became clear that one of the more skeletal of the human figures was approaching the two people. Curious, I watched as it leaned down beside them, seeming to consider something about the pair. Suddenly it threw it's head back and let out a guttural shriek, before grabbing the shoulders of the guy as a dark tendril stabbed out of the hole and through the man in front of it. I watched, horrified, as the creature seemed to take it's fill of... something, colours filling the void and dancing around almost angrily. It let the guy go, and he fainted for a few minutes as the thing walked away, seemingly sated.
I had stayed and watched as the girl had panicked, shaking him and holding him until he awoke. But something was wrong. His eyes were darker, and they seemed to hold an unnatural sadness in them. They had left soon after, but I couldn't get the image out of my head. Since then I had avoided the creatures, pretending as well as I was able that they weren't there. And it had worked... until today.
In the same park as before, I sit on a park bench, not paying attention even slightly to the figures that surround me, human or otherwise. My attention is entirely taken up by the man in front of me. It's not unusual to see artists in this area, there is some beautiful scenery. But on his easel there is no picturesque group of trees or the small steam that flows along the path. Instead, there is a remarkable likeness of one of the cat like creatures that rests on the ground in front of him. No one around us seems to notice, but I can't take my eyes off it. Were there others like me, who could see this other reality? What could this mean? Suddenly I realize the man has stopped painting, and as I look at him I find he is staring right at me. It is then that I notice things I hadn't been able to see before.
It was clear he wasn't one of the creatures, his stomach was whole and his mouth relaxed, not stretched in a grotesque grin. I feel my nerves subside a bit, but then I reach his eyes. Or rather, where his eyes should have been. His sockets were empty, leaving only sunken pockets of shadow and darkness. As I look into them a smile spreads across his face, very slightly but enough to show his straight, slightly yellowing teeth. Abandoning his painting, he walks over to me, clearly able to see despite the empty sockets.
Taking a seat next to me, he glances around at all the creatures that linger in the park. They are starting to accumulate now, they seem to like it when dusk is settling in. Turning back to me, he leans forward to speak in a whisper.
"You can see them too. I know you can. You hide it well but I saw you eye my painting in what could only be the way of someone with the sight." I sit, frozen in fear as I can only stare at him. He chuckles, leaning back a bit. "It's alright you know, they likely won't hurt you. You can stare at them all you like. It's the best way to learn what not to do around them." He holds out his hand, and I grab it after hesitating a moment, still confused about everything. Shaking it firmly, he continues. "I'm Charlie by the way, I've been seeing you for a while. Well-" he gestures towards his empty sockets. "I guess I must say I've been "seeing" you around. It was a bitch learning how to see again without eyes you know, but I got there." Seeing my lack of understanding, he sighed. "Right you won't be understanding that quite yet. But no worries, we will be together from here on out and there'll be much time to explain."
He stands up then, looking around a bit before looking at me again. "I'll be back tomorrow, we can talk more then. I'm afraid right now I have an meeting with someone so I must be off." He goes and gathers up his easel and paint, before starting down the path, waving at me with his free hand. Suddenly he stops, and turns back, still fairly close to where I was sitting. Hesitating a moment, he speaks again. "One last thing... while it is ok to stare at them if you like-" he grimaces and gestures again to the holes in his face. "They don't appreciate it when you look them in the eyes." Nodding, he heads back down the path, disappearing from sight as I remain, frozen and wondering what the hell just happened. | 2017-07-17T00:27:17 | 2017-07-16T23:59:55 | 96 | 23 |
[WP] It's time to go on an adventure, you have to choose a traveling companion, and among the ferocious animals, clever animals, magical and conscientious objects, it's a small flower in its pot that seduced you. | They had all laughed at me when I chose my Other.
The whole lot of them, Kings and Queens, Knights and their squires, peasants and fools alike, and the other heroes had a grand time at my expense, as well.
Once a year, the most promising warriors and wizards in the realm who have just seen their 18th winter are gathered from every kingdom and sworn to protect the realm. We went through the ceremony, said our vows, and were then honored with choosing an Other to aid us on our adventures.
Aeon, the wizard, chose a nightcrawler - a large ferocious beast, a mix between a direwolf and a blink dog. It was said a nightcrawler could tear out your throat before you knew it was there.
Dedric the Warrior chose a sentient battleaxe, called Blood-Oathe, that could transfer the life-force from the opponent to the yielder. They said that Blood-Oathe had slain over a thousand men.
Sven the Holy, a cleric, chose a blazing, golden Phoenix who burned so bright it left a trail of fire behind it. Phoenixes were well-known across the realm for their knowledge and powers of rejuvenation, not to mention their beauty.
And then it was my turn to choose. I stalked down the aisles of magical creatures and sentient items and ferocious beasts, marveling at them all. And then I saw it.
In the very back, on the last table of the last row, sitting there amidst a halo of golden sunlight. A small golden flowerpot, with a tiny plant sprouted out from it. The plant itself was small, green and bulbous with a tiny red flower atop, the petals fading from red to purple at the tips. And I heard it speak to me.
*Choose me, human, and together we will be unconquerable.*
"You?" I whispered to the tiny flower. "what could you do for me? You're so... tiny."
*Aye, but I'll grow.*
I considered this diminutive plant for a moment, and then looked around at all the other incredible Others before me to choose from. And when I looked back at the plant, I saw it: potential.
I grabbed the little golden pot and returned to the ceremony stage.
"I have chosen my Other." I announced meekly, and held out the pot before me.
And everyone burst into laughter. At one point, the King of Avantis laughed so hard tears were streaming from his eyes.
"What are you going to do, Maximus, court the monsters to death with your pretty flower?" Dedric mocked.
"That's got to be the smallest flower I've ever seen!" King Charles of Avantis guffawed, slapping his knee hysterically.
"Aye, but it'll grow." I said.
------
I heard the tales of Lore of all the amazing battles the others had won:
Dedric and his battleaxe had slain the Orc Chieftain in a single blow, liberating the elves of Darkwood.
Aeon and his nightcrawler had reclaimed the Black Keep from the necromancer, Emantri, and put to rest her unholy revenants, who had once been the citizens of the keep.
Sven the Holy had brought order to the Kingdom of Slaughterdale, who had been at civil war for the last two hundred years, using wisdom and might.
All the while, I had traveled the realm with my little flower. I'd had my own victories, no doubt - with my prowess as an archer I single-handedly defeated a troop of eight goblins near the Sparkling Cyan River, where I had taken my flower, Amaranth, to drink.
Slowly, the flower began to grow.
Atop the Kruug Mountain, where I'd taken my flower to soak up the sunlight, I encountered a Cyclops. He towered over me, reaching every bit of eight feet. My arrows pierced his skin without any effect at all; the monster attacked unphased. He managed to strike me with his club and knock me to the ground. He stood over me, ready to deliver the final blow, when thin reeds of vines began to crawl up him. In a moment, he was entrapped by the rope-like runners of green and yellow, and I was able to put an arrow through his eye. Amaranth had saved me.
Slowly, the flower continued to grow.
I'd traveled to the city of Byzantii and bartered with a wizard for an enchanted pot that could grow along with my little flower. It cost me what little gold I had, and when the wizard saw Amaranth he had himself a good chuckle.
"That puny little flower is your Other?" he asked good-natured, stroking his ethereal raven.
"Aye, but it'll grow." I said.
-----
I heard the tales of despair that had befallen the others.
Aeon and his ferocious nightcrawler were incinerated by a dragon in the Daggerback Mountains, while trying to rescue a captured princess. It was said that there was not but a pile of ash left of either of them.
Sven the Holy and her golden Phoenix were slain when a tribe of Giants raided the kingdom of Peacedale, formerly known as Slaughterdale. It was said that the Giants feasted upon her corpse that night in celebration.
Dedric and his mighty axe, Blood-Oathe, were overwhelmed by a horde of troglodytes near the Boiling Sea. It was said that they pierced his body with a dozen spears before they they mounted his head to a spike.
All the while, my little flower, Amaranth, had grown. Tales of my victories began to spread, as we sought vengeance for the fallen heroes.
Enormous tendrils of green vine swept through the city of Giantsdale, (formerly Peacedale, formerly Slaughterdale) as Amaranth entendriled the tribe of Giants. They were caught off-guard and entrapped in her grip before they understood what was happening. She squeezed the life out of them as I filled them with arrows.
The horde of tiny troglodytes was no match for the towering tree of Amaranth the Great. Try as they might, their spears never flew higher than her knees. She stomped them out while I picked them off with arrows, riding atop the branches on her head.
The blast from the dragon incinerated half of Amaranth, whose branches and vines began to rejuvenate at once. They quickly grew back and, while the dragon was still out of breath, wrapped around its throat and squeezed the life out of it while I plunged arrows into its eyes. The great creature thrashed and clawed, but it was no match for Amaranth and I.
I returned to the kingdoms to inform the kings I had avenged their heroes.
King Charles of Avantis looked upon my colossal Treant companion and said: "My Gods, that's the biggest plant I've ever seen!"
"Aye." I replied. "And it'll grow." | The graduates marched back into the academy with their heads held high, the coloured sashes of their designations taut across out thrust chests. Through the halls they marched, pounding their feet and trying to look as stern and serious as the graduates they had seen all those years ago when they were but first year cadets.
The echoes carried for a while, but soon all the classrooms had been passed and the cadets within dreamed of the day it would be their turn to march through the halls stone-faced and duty bound.
On the graduates marched, passed the classrooms, passed the training grounds and, at last, they marched on to the game grounds. Usually reserved for combat-sports and drills, the game grounds, or Templeton’s Field according to the sign, had been converted to a festival of creatures and their purveyors.
Caravans and cages littered the field and, after coming to a halt and being tortured with a deliberately elongated pause, the graduates were set loose. It was Familiar Day. A guardian has many gifts beyond their training and a familiar was one such gift. There were snakes and hawks, rats and dogs, small dragons and spiders.
Telli Beswind, of elfish decent, walked quickly to an Elven caravan and with a nod of her head and an outstretched hand her transaction was made. She made no word to the Elven man before her, she looked only at the falcon on his shoulder. The bird stared into her for but a moment and then dashed off into the sky - swooped once behind her elven perch, disappeared once more into the sky...and came down on to Telli’s arm, a small bundle of feathers in one claw.
The small elven girl took the eyass from the mother bird, paid no mind to the blood on her wrist - for falconing without a glove means meat meets talon - and named the young falcon, her new familiar, Aldwen.
The older falcon took off once more and the elven falconer handed Telli a glove for her and a blind for the bird.
For Telli, the process of getting a familiar was simple. She knew it would be a falcon from the day she came to the academy. Her family had always been falconers, in fact, she had raised a few birds in her years before the academy. But, a familiar is different to any other animal. Within Telli’s head there was a song, simple and cheerful. It came from the baby falcon she held. It sung of “Warm”.
And so, Telli had named her familiar and now her familiar had named her.
The process of getting ones familiar is not always quite so straight forward. For some Guardians it is a choice they wrestle with the entirety of their academic years - do I want a dragon or a snake? But, it’s not really a choice, you see. Telli knew she’d have a falcon, because her family always did, other bloodlines are not quite so predictable - though, thank the Gods, a Guardian will always seem to get what they need...
And so the day went on and the guardians would meet their familiars. Some of the fresh graduates would feel a strange pull to the right spot, others had to walk about and search...and at the far end of the spectrum, far from Telli’s swift pairing, was Igney Gran’t.
Igney was one of very few Rock Trolls ever to have graduated as a Guardian and now that the time had come to be paired with a familiar, he didn’t know what to do. Because Igney didn’t want a familiar. He thought them ‘too squishy’, which was a descriptor he used for most other living things.
There were Askearian Rock Spiders and Salvi Glass Pythons and even a rare Hestrul Golden Cat - and though these creatures were far from being as squishy as more traditional familiars, Igney didn’t like them either. They were the other type of squishy. The type that needed care and food and attention, and Igney didn’t trust himself to care. He had been told all his life that he was not bright and to be careful and to not touch that because he’ll break it.
Igney didn’t want to break any little animal. Or any big animal for that matter - some of the familiars would grow big enough to ride! And he was, in his mind, a big dumb pile of grey rocks, that happens to have limbs.
“Too squishy.” said the Rock Troll. “All too squishy.”
*What’s squishy?*
“Familiar. All can squish.” Said Igney to the voice. It was a nice voice. A squishy voice. He did not like squishy *things* but her voice had been soft and kind and made him feel...feel less blocky, a troll would say.
*Oh,* she said with a chuckle *Well, you can always not squish them.*
He could, he thought, she was right: he could just *not* squish them. Igney shook his head and tried to dislodge the idea.
*No*, he thought, *me dumb. Me clumsy. Me squish. No want squish little bird.*
*Oh, come now, don’t be like that, Big Guy!* She said. But she didn’t *say* it, hadn’t *really* said a thing, but Igney *had* heard it.
*Say,* she continued, *what is it that we are doing exactly? Are you a telepath? I’ve never had someone in my head before.*
*No. No think magic. Me just hit things.*
*Oh? Hit but no squish?* She said.
*Try no squish. Only squish if Guardian duty mean have to.* A thought at last came to the rock trolls mind: *Where you be?*
*Um, that’s hard to say. I don’t really see, you see. I do think I feel you, though. You’re a big guy, yes? Tall and wide?*
*Yes.* There was shame in the thought. Igney was only ever just the big guy.
*Sorry, I didn’t...I mean, that’s not a bad thing, I just-oh, my. Actually, it’s why I know you’re there. Usually people are so small they don’t even register unless they have picked me up or something. But, you’ve taken quite a bit of my light, and, oh, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.*
He turned around, a slow and methodical process for a rock troll, and saw her for the first time. There, on a little table littered with various cheap trinkets intended for the uninformed guardian and their new familiar, was a small clay pot out of which was growing the smallest sunflower Igney had ever seen.
“You flower?” Said Igney.
“Yes,” Said the old man behind the table “It is my flower.”
“Not talk you. You flower, lady?”
*I...suppose I am. It would make a lot of sense given my view of the world.*
The old man frowned and started to sweat. The last thing he wanted to deal with was some crazy rock troll. “Look, pal, it’s yours for five silver pieces.”
Igney knuckled closer and said “No. No *it*. Is beautiful flower lady.”
*Aww, am I blushing? Wait, can I blush?*
The old man took a step back and gulped. “T-t-ten copper?”
*It’s weird, I’ve known that he was there, but now I can hear him, too. Maybe I can hear what you hear. What’s he like? Is ten copper expensive?*
The troll tugged the coin pouch off the string around his neck - or rather the ridge where his shoulders meet his head - and tossed it at the old man. With one delicate hand Igney picked up the flower pot, and knuckled away.
*Oh, my! This* is *exciting! You can really move fast! Where are we going? What’s happening?* The flowers voice giggled in Igney’s head.
*No fast. Me slow.*
*Oh hush, you’re faster than I’ll ever be.*
*And we go on adventure. We familiar now.*
*Familiar?*
*Special bond. Friend forever. Watch back.*
*Oh, well...you know, I think I’d rather like that...um. Sorry, what was your name?*
The troll stopped and looked down at the flower in it’s pot. “Me Igney. Igney Gran’t.”
*Hello, Igney!* The sound of his name in her voice made the inside of his chest feel squishy. A strange and rare good squishy. *And who am I?*
Igney thought about it for a moment, and though a moment for Igney was a while for others, the flower waited patiently.
“You Sunny.”
*Oh, I* like *that! Where to first Igney?*
Telli watched as Igney the rock troll took of his sash and used it to lash a flower pot on top of his head. She was surprised at the care he put into not crushing the flower it held. An odd familiar, the elven girl had to admit, but he seemed happy with the pairing.
***
Edit:typo | 2017-09-07T07:29:58 | 2017-09-07T07:17:59 | 124 | 13 |
[WP] An old, forgotten god is living their days peacefully in the suburbs. One day they randomly receives a prayer. And they are going to do everything in their power to answer it. | "O! Czernobog, I have a request of thee..."
What a way to Awaken, eh? Well, Re-Awaken, but the point remains. You never forget your first time, and after a few dozen years, it might as well be your first time again. I'm so ready. What do you want?
"...of thee. My friend, my neighbor, he is a holy man who fears God. Not the gods, not the spirits, but God. He will not mow his lawn, nor remove his filth from the yard, on his holy day. Make him believe again in the old gods, and remind him of his duties to the community!"
...well, then. Convert a Christian to the old gods. I used to do that all the time.
If only I could remember how... I recall flame and pestilence, salted fields and war. I hear that the local Christians call this "a Trial" and don't much care.
Fine.
I'll smite his sheep... he has no sheep. Then I'll make his children impotent! But, wait, that will only make them sad, not encourage belief...
I can make his wife bear the head of a cow! Perfect!
...what the fuck is a "National Enquirer", and why is the wife famous?
Fuck it all, I'll replace garden with mushrooms.
Who notices extinct mushrooms and makes money from them? They were all over the place 200 years ago in Siberia!
Well, fine. I'll spend the rest of my power and manifest in front of him.
I'm on TV now.
I have beleivers... and the "neighbor" from before lives elsewhere, so the yard is clean now... Fuck it all, I'll count it as a win. | There was a low rumble coming from under the sink, it was barely loud enough for her to hear it from the other side of the room. A small sigh escaped her as she cursed under her breath. She tenderly placed the plant in her hand onto it's proper pot, the corner of her lips tugged up as the leaves reacted to her tending.
As she opened the cabinet doors the rumble turned louder. The pipes were shaking, about to burst too, and by the way the mended cracks were starting to break it wouldn't be after too long.
She cursed again, louder this time, and as she was about to go get her tool box a small chill ran from her neck all the way down to her wrists.
***Please.***
She gasped, hitting her head against the bottom of the sink at the sudden plea on her mind. The pain striked harder than she anticipated and she found herself falling against the opposite wall. There was a faint ringing in her ears.
***If you are out there.***
The ringing got to the tipping point of unbearable. Her nails clawing to her palms in a desperate attempt to stay focused on that voice.
The rumble of the pipes got franatic.
***Please.***
One of her hands went to brace to the wall.
***I need you.***
There was a crack, she wasn't sure were it came from.
***Zeme.***
It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her lungs. The ringing in her ears subdued and she clutched her chest as she heaved, trying to get a hold of herself.
No one had prayed to her name in centuries.
As she calmed down, she took back her hand off of the wall, only to find it crumbling to her side and onto her hand. The damage wasn't as bad as she expected, but she dwelled on the patching she had to do later.
She turned to the sink and found the pipes had cracked open, *again*. She groaned at the mess around the kitchen and then realized there were tears streaming down her cheeks.
She chuckled as more spilled from her eyes and onto her dirty hands.
"Don't worry." She whispered. "I'll find you."
////////////////
It was dawn when she heard the voice again. She had been walking about the woods behind the house, looking for new growths or animals passing by. The sky was a cold purple and one of her dogs, Nico, was chasing a scent deep into the woods, a fox probably, most likely a coyote.
This time she felt the earth beneath her move. She managed to calm the dog down before the first word came in.
She keened over.
***Please.***
It started like the first one.
***I just-***
Nico started whining when she didn't let it get any closer.
***I need to save it-***
She felt herself getting dizzy. The damn dog wouldn't stop crying.
***The farm- It's all I have left.***
The ground stopped trembeling and she catched herself before she fell over. Nico came over to her, it nuzzled at her side, concern seeping through it.
Her breathing went back to normal after a minute and she sat down on the ground, feeling the dirt beneath her prints. Nico settled it's head on her thigh, a reminder, an anchor.
The sky turned from purple to pink, and as it was turning light blue she stood up and walked calmly back to the house.
She needed to do some research
//////////////////
It was a coyote. Fell down a small ledge but managed to hit some rocks on the way down. It had broken it's spine and was wimpering in pain.
She cradled and soothed it through the process, making the pain more bereable to the poor animal. Her hands combing though it's fur made it fall asleep.
It died and the colors of its life drained through its mouth.
The mud beneath it recieving it as it should.
///////////////////////
OOC: this is gonna be a long one, it's late I'll continue it tomorrow :)
OOC 2: part two is in the comments below :D
| 2018-05-29T23:02:28 | 2018-05-29T22:03:25 | 61 | 45 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | I felt disgusted, wondering why. The confusion invading my mind....
Years of having this Gallery to bring happiness and joy through art to those around me, and even more years of helping the less fortunate throughout the Great Depression.
I sought to find a reason, asking myself « why would I have black blood pouring out of me? ». A single event, after a long day at work at a particularly difficult time in my marriage stood out: I remember I sent this young artist packing, didn’t even offer him a chance and let him show me his work. I even berated him on his lack of technique... Adolf was his name. | I still remember the screams. "Demon!" "Evil!" "How dare you!?" "Trickster!"
That was ten years ago, now. I once lived among the rich elite, high in the sky, in the tops of the towers of New, New york. What a naming scheme... Knitting hats for the homeless is just a scam, you know. Keeps us looking good in the cameras. Until I handed a pristine white one over to the cameraman.... with my filthy black blood all over it.
You see, white and black blood is just the 23rd century version of white and black _skin._ Though, instead of the "N-Word", we now have the "B-Word". Blackbloods. Doesn't come off the tongue as easy though, does it? Of course, it all comes down to control. people with light blood spend their lives being as painfully nice as they can to everyone around them, and dark bloods go into undercities. Because who doesn't enjoy living in dank, flooded, 21st century cities where everything is halfway collapsed and the power works... maybe occassionally?
But, well, that ends tonight. They thought they could ban me? I'm one of them! I'll SHOW them! They thought I'd bend right over and take it, but I had plenty of things ready for just so a situation. Like money. Weapons. Bombs. All hidden in an old warehouse down here in old york... so, quietly, under the radar, outside of the view of everyone else, I've told everyone. We're all working together, unlike you blasted money bloated elite.
"Sir, we're ready, the bombs are set and everyone has evacuated outside of blast radius" Came a voice as the dusty door to my small office opened. A wicked grin spread across my face as I said, "Then, shall we show our excuse for a world government what it's like to live down here? If we're lucky, we might even be able to keep the new city"
I walked outside, into the warehouse. Inside, sloppily-thrown-together flying cars waited for me. It was easy to steal a proper car from above, strip out the fancy crap, and weld it into an older car. And, well, older humans knew what they were doing- this thing they call an expedition can hold an entire pulse bomb, and the hoverpads do give it quite a nice look.
Tonight, we start life over! The right way! Perhaps I am a sort of Demon, heh.
~~sorry I gave up like partway through but I didn't wanna waste all the words I typed so I slapped the rest together, inspired by [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/94k0gv/wp_our_blood_is_naturally_clear_it_thickens_and/e3lsxwj/)~~ | 2018-08-04T11:29:17 | 2018-08-04T11:02:34 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | Every soul before me for a millennia chose Heaven.
Every. Single. One.
The way "The Choice" works is simple. One at a time, you enter a room with two staircases. One is a staircase of marble and gold basked in sunlight leading up far into the sky. You can feel the warmth at the base of the stairs. The fifth stair is in steel, marking the point of no return. After you pass this step, your choice is "locked in"
The second staircase is made of cold, hard steel, beyond anything seen even in the most industrial setting. This staircase leads down, far beyond what can be seen into the darkness. You feel a cold, bitter breeze coming up. The fifth stair is made of gold. Again, this stair is the point of no return.
My entire life, I analyzed every decision. Every one. Its just something I have always done. From what career I went for (accounting) to what I wore my 1st day of 1st grade (blue jeans and a red t shirt, the school colors), I carefully thought of every scenario.
Something did not add up. Why make the pathway going up seem so much better than the one going down. What was wrong with the one going up? I knew that if you took something bad, put ribbons and bows on it, people would still choose it.
So I stepped on the first step. A soft voice cried to me "Come to me my child. Come up and join me."
I stepped back. From fear or surprise, I just instinctively jumped back.
I went to the second staircase and got onto the first step. A voice cried from above. "Stop!! What are you doing? That s the wrong path!! You belong up here, with me!!"
Out of fear or shock from the whole scene, I stepped down again and again.
"Noooooooooooop!!!"
Another step.
The next one would take me to the point of no return.
"Stop!! You cannot take that path!!"
I took the step......
The staircase was quickly encased in a soft, golden light. The cold, bitter breeze changed to a soft, warm wind.
You can polish trash, and still have just trash.
The staircase was shorter than I imagined. After a couple of minutes, I arrived at the bottom. An older gentleman greeted me, immaculately dressed in a grey suit.
"Welcome. We haven't had anyone join us in over 1000 years."
I glanced around. There was suffering. No fires. I knew that I made the right decision.
"You were right. He does have a better marketing campaign. Yes, this is Hell, but nothing like the Hell that is described. You see, God is nothing like described in the books. He's an arrogant, self indulgent, narcissist who sacrificed his child to promote his own ego. He dupped mankind to blindly follow him, even though he brought war, famine, disease and other atrocities."
I looked at the man.
"Why? How come he's up there?"
"That is another conversation for another time. We have plenty of time. Please, follow me. Welcome to Hell, population of 643, including you. Everything you could need or want is available. There is no torture or pain or suffering. That is for everyone who makes the other choice. You see, those that choose Heaven is forced to serve. Pain and suffering is to do his bidding, every second of every minute of every hour of every day. There's no time off, no relaxation, no eternal joy. The only one who gets that is him."
"I'm sorry, I didn't get you name."
"Oh my, where are my manners. I'm sorry, it has been a while since we have had a new person here. My name is Lucifer. You probably know me as Satan."
"How come there aren't more people here."
My guide chuckled and shook his head. "Like I said, he has a better marketing campaign. You know it as the Catholic Church." | She stood before two gates. She supposed that was kind of what she had expected. What was unexpected was that nothing was stopping her from going to whichever one she chose.
'*Well, this seems too easy,*' she thought to herself. '*It's got to be a trick.*'
Taking some time to really gather in her surroundings, she took closer stock of the two gates. Side by side, they were separated by a wall that seemingly extended up forever. On the left, a beautiful wrought-iron fence, leading into a perfectly-tended garden. She could hear birdsong in the distance, and saw an alabaster fountain plashing in the middle of an immaculate courtyard.
On the right, a cinderblock facing extending as far as the eye could see, and a rusted door, banded in copper, with a peephole in the middle.
"Huh, just like those old speakeasy doors you saw in movies," she said to nobody in particular.
"Yep, exactly like 'em," a voice suddenly said to her left. "It's to keep unpleasantness to a minimum; nobody wants to see what's behind door number two."
She jumped back a little, startled by the sudden inclusion of somebody else. Looking back to the harden entrance, she met the gaze of a handsome man. Tall, perfectly manicured, his bright blue eyes seemed to dance with joy. He was wearing stylish looking clothing, and had an inviting smile. Cautiously, she walked up to him. "What is this?" she asked. "Where am I?"
"Well, you're standing before the Gateways. Everyone gets the choice of where they go after they die. The boss set it up that way, said it's the final testament of free will in you humans. Just step through door number one, or door number two. Entirely up to you, but just between you and me, mine's far more popular," he said with a wink.
"This all seems kind of fishy," she replied. "I mean, this could be a trick. How do I know you aren't lying, honeyed words and deceit and all that?
He shook his head. "No tricks, no traps, what you see is what you get: your own personal paradise. Tailored to your wants, responds as fast as thought, anything you desire.
Looking sideways at him, she asked, "No catch? Everyone just gets this, good or bad? No pain? No suffering? No challenge?
"Not unless you want there to be. Everything your heart desires, all at the tips of your fingers. Just step on over- no going back though, but nobody ever wants to either," he said with a wry grin.
"Why would anyone ever pick the other door?" she pondered. Still, she'd worked her ass off her whole life, through a bad childhood and a disadvantaged education, all to make the world better for her and others. It was tough, but rewarding, and while an eternity of rest sounded tempting, it also sounded, well...
It sounded boring.
Looking back, she pressed her host. "What's on the other side of door two?"
"Beats me," he replied. "I wasn't told, and the boss said it wasn't for me to know, so that I don't taint the choice. Of course," he continued, "you could always ask them. He's got to tell the truth too.
"Ask who?" she said, curious. "I don't see anyone else here."
"Oh, he's my counterpart. He stays behind the door, but the boss gave him the same rules: total honesty, can't ever see what's behind my door.
Nodding in satisfaction, she politely thanked him, then turned to the banded door. Screwing up her courage, she knocked on the ominous portal. Immediately, the peephole shifted aside, and a pair of green eyes met her gaze.
"Yes," a baritone voice inquired, "what is it?" There was power behind that voice, an echoing basso rumble she could feel in her core.
"I've heard the pitch from the guy on the left," she replied, "and now I want to hear your side. What are you offering?
There was a pause. "Pain," the voice intoned. "Fire. But," it continued, "reward and purpose at the end.
That brought her up short. "What kind of reward could be worth pain, that I couldn't get from door number one?
"The kind you make for yourself, instead of being given to you," was the curt reply.
That was something she understood. "OK, let me in," she stated.
"You are sure?" came the reply. "There is no going back.
"I'm sure," she stated with finality. "Pain for reward is what I know, and it's never turned me wrong. I'll accept this, because the greater the effort and pain, the better the reward has ever been.
Without another word, the door opened. Beyond the threshold was darkness so perfect it seemed to drink the light and extinguish it. Hesitant at first, she put one foot forward into the inky blackness, then another, leaving the light behind her. The door slammed shut.
First, she was engulfed by darkness, and a sudden icy cold that took her breath away. Then, came the light. Blinding, searing light, and pain so complete it consumed her whole being. Tearing, needling, screaming pain consumed her thoughts, her sensations, drowning out fear, hate, sadness. Pain prevented any thought. She could feel it, stripping away flesh, muscle, and nerve. The white hot fury of this moment seared away all impurity, removed any desire beyond an end to it, cleansed her soul, scoured her clean of taint.
Finally, an eternity later, free from body and constraint, her consciousness floated in a void. Cleaned free from fear, she thought to herself, "*What now? What do I do?"
Gently, that same basso voice responded, "Say the words, as you see fit. Make your reward."
Resolutely, in the formless void, a spirit, pure and full of fire said Let There Be- | 2018-08-13T09:57:08 | 2018-08-13T09:55:30 | 57 | 40 |
[WP] You are the last living thing on earth following a massive disaster. Down to your last meal or two, water running low, you hear a knock on your bunker door one evening. As you approach it slowly, you hear from the other side, "I have a large Meat Lover's Pizza and a 2 Liter of Sprite." | A grim wasteland, drenched in darkness from a dark and cloudy sky. The only lights in vision are the patches of nuclear fallout dotting the landscape. It is quiet. Not in a way you would ever experience. It's a dense, dead kind of quiet.
Nothing can live here.
The only thing breaking up the vista of grey, sickly soil is a small concrete box. A small trail of smoke is rising from a small crooked chimney.
Nothing can live here. But maybe survive.
Inside the small concrete bunker, a thin, haggard man rests on a filthy, feces cover matress. He is alive only by instinct. Though he has tried to end it many times.
He hasn't eaten in a week. His last water is gone. He is finally dying. He can finally rest.
Suddenly, the world fills with light. Not since the bombs fell had the man ever witnessed such light. Was it heaven?
A couple of sharp knocks shatters the silence like glass.
"Meat Lovers and a 2l Fanta." Said the shatterer of silence with a cracking voice.
"Hello?"
The man shambled up. It was not the dream he had expected after death, but he didn't care.
With the last energy he could muster, the haggard man opened the door.
"Hello Sir, here is your order, all pre paid. Have a nice night sir."
The cracking teen, dressed in a neon pizza delivery uniform, tipped his cap, and went back to his vehicle.
As the teen seated himself, he saw the man, hunched in the fetal position, crying.
Post 2090ers were always the worst.
"This is Derre to dispatch, I made my last delivery for my shift, Coming back to the shop." He spoke into the air.
"Dispatch here, we hear you, welcome home."
Derre flipped a couple of switches in the roof of his pizza van, and the world went white. Pure white. Temporal White they called it, and when time travel was first made available for the public, it was quickly synthesised to make paints, wallpapers and designer chairs.
Derre had worked at Kronoz Pizza for a couple of months, but he never felt comfortable with traveling too far from his own timeline. This was a bad temporal neighbourhood. You could easily get scrapped or contract some super virus.
He tried to shake that jingle of theirs from his head.
"Kronoz pizza, we know it all. Already delivered before you make the call."
Derre sighed. He wished he had finished his studies in interdimensional liberal arts. | Robert did not waste time debating. Once he heard the human voice he decided to open the door. The pizza seemed like a bonus. He turned the handle and pulled open the heavy metal door. A teenage girl with long silver hair stood outside his door. A teenage boy with short dark hair stood next to her; he held a pizza box with one hand and a large soda with the other.
"5k," The girl smiled and held her palm out. Robert caught the meaty scent of the pizza and erupted into nervous laughter. He became very aware that he might have gone crazy. He shook his head while grinning and giggling. If he was insane he reasoned he could at least enjoy the absurdity of the situation.
"I didn't order a pizza," he said. Her smiling face soured and she turned to the boy.
"I told you it was the wrong place," she said. He shrugged in return but his face softened. He gave her a sincere look.
"Fine, you're right. It's harder than I thought. Alright, let's go back and find the right place. You open it this time," he said.
"'Kay. Gimme the card," she held her hand out at the boy. Robert began to feel ignored. He wondered if it was normal for his own delusions to ignore him and began to consider they were real. He was about to interject but he saw a look of panic flash over the boy's face. He looked behind himself then back to her.
"You always reclaim it...," he said.
"I always reclaim it because I'm the one that always opens it," she said sternly. "You open it, you close it," she sighed. "I'll get us a ride back." The girl reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, transparent rectangle. It was as thin as a playing card; its surface became a display as she tapped away at it.
"Are you... real?" Robert asked during the lull in their conversation. The girl brought the glass card to her ear like a phone but pointed at Robert.
"Talk to him. He can have the pizza if he's hungry," she turned away and started talking to someone else. The boy shrugged and walked up to Robert.
"Hey, I'm Kirk. How's it going?"
"Hi, Kirk. I'm Robert. I'm the last living thing on Earth and I'm probably going to die in a couple of weeks. At the most." Kirk nodded casually.
"Bummer. Uh... want some pizza?" he offered the box up. Robert looked at the box, then at Kirk.
"Who are you kids? Where did you come from?" Kirk lifted the box slightly to draw attention to it.
"We're here to deliver." He pointed at the "M" logo made from three pizza slices, two upside-down with a third in the middle, on the box. "We came from Mundo's Pizza." Robert clenched his fists to keep his growing annoyance in check; he got the impression that the boy could not help how obtuse he was. Luckily the silver-haired girl joined them.
"Torque's coming," she said.
"From where!?" Robert asked her; he hoped she would be more helpful. She shrugged.
"Don't know. I didn't talk to her but the message will get passed along." Robert took a deep breath to calm himself down.
"There is no one else alive on this Earth," he said while looking directly into her eyes. "Where did you come from?" She smiled.
"A different Earth, duh," she chirped.
"That's what I told him," Kirk added. A tall black hole opened behind Kirk.
"Move it!" A stern female voice shouted from the hole.
"Here, keep it," Kirk started to push the pizza box at Robert while the girl started toward the black portal.
"Wait!" Robert said. "Are you guys just gonna leave me here?" The pair looked at each other and shrugged.
"Do you not want to be?" the girl asked. Kirk kept walking and disappeared into the portal. Robert shook his head.
"No, of course not. Who would?"
"People," she shrugged. "Well if you don't want to stay, come on. We'll put you somewhere else," she said then turned to walk into the portal. Robert followed her carrying his pizza.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, day #144. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. | 2019-05-24T07:45:47 | 2019-05-24T07:17:09 | 34 | 24 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt. | “Is this it?”
“Yes, beyond this veil lies your fate. Your eternity.”
“Am I going to Heaven?”
“I do not know, it is not my business to know. My only duty is to guide you here, you must take the final step yourself.”
“I’m scared. I don’t want to go to Hell, I’ve not lead a perfect life but I’m a good man!”
“Calm yourself. I do not know what lies beyond your personal veil, but I do know the rules are not as strict as that tattered old tome would have you believe.”
“How do you know? Did you go to Heaven?....Were you human once?”
“.....I was. But I did not achieve Ascendance or Damnation.”
“Then what happened? Why are you like this? Why are you here now?”
“The path we have just travelled may not have seemed like a far distance to you now but time does not flow the same here, in actuality two cycles of the Sun have occurred.”
“What?? Two years?!”
“Indeed, and that is with me guiding you. When it was my time there was no Reaper, there was no guide. By the time I reached my veil my soul was tattered, warped, corrupted. This is what this path does to a soul when it does not reach its destination in time, it pulls and claws at it in both directions to the point it cannot enter either the Silver or the Crimson City. This is what happened to me, I finally found my veil but could not enter. Heaven had denied me but Hell found me unworthy, so I have wandered this plane ever since. I was condemned to this limbo, to Purgatory. Most people fear the Pit but they forget that they won’t face the fires alone, Damnation is easier than eternal solitude.
“My god, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“There is no need for words, I need not your pity. I accepted my fate but I bent it to my will, that is why I do what I do, so others do not share my fate. As long as I am here, this desolate place will remain desolate. Go now child, there are others who require my aid.”
“Thank you, truly, thank you. Goodbye Reaper...Is there not a better name by which to call you?”
“You will never see me again child, so my name is not needed. Go now.”
.........
“Back again?”
“Again. And I’ll be back again the next time, you can stop this now. You need not keep yourself in exile anymore.”
“If I leave here there will only be another to take my place, none will face this place ever again.”
“You would refuse me? Us? Your father and I miss you, your brother misses you. Your favour to me has changed him, he wishes to see you.”
“.....I’d rather face the solitude. Goodbye Mother.”
“...Goodbye, Abel.” | It was a normal Autumn day: overcast sky, a chill in the air and leaves of various colors strewn about on the ground. The weather was fitting as a few dozen people gathered in the local graveyard to pay their respects and say their final goodbye. The casket was lowered into the ground as the family of the deceased no longer could hold in what wanted so desperately to get out and cried in the arms of the other gathered.
It was a sight the man had seen many times over; he frequented these types of places as they were a gathering place for souls not ready to move on. As many times as he had seen families cry from the deepest parts of their hearts, it was a sight never truly was used to seeing. He took some comfort in this, figuring it would be best for what he did to never become cold to the feelings of others. Within the crowd that stood by the grave, there was one that he had felt, one that drew him here. A young woman stood behind the mother and father as they knelt on the ground, trying to stroke their hair and comfort them but failing as her hand passed through them. The man approached the woman, "Excuse me?"
The woman was startled, she flinched as she looked in the direction of the soft voice that called to her, "Wha..." She looked at the man who called out to her, tears streaming down her face. "They can't.....they can't..."
"I know, I'm so sorry."
The woman kept trying, "I need to tell them its okay...I need to tell them I'm...I need..." Her voice wavered as she tried harder and harder to get the attention of her parents. She turned to others in the crowd, hoping one would be able to feel her, to hear her.
Nothing worked.
The man tried to think of something to say. He usually knew what to say to help the newly deceased, but there were certain times where he felt there was nothing he could say to ease the pain. The deep sting of realization was something the could only be soothed with time, for there was no changing what had happened.
The woman's panic soon calmed as she returned to her parents, collapsing onto the ground in front of them to look into their eyes. She reached her hand out to her mothers face to wipe a tear, resting it as best she could on her cheek. Her mother raised her hand to where her daughters hand was, oblivious to the contact her daughter so desperately desired. The man walked toward them, stopping next to her. He dropped down to a knee, "She was precious to you?"
The woman looked up to him, "More than anything...I want to go back..." Her gaze drifted back to her parents, "I want to go back to them..."
"I know. I know it's hard. It will continue to be hard but in time, " he rested his hand on her shoulder, "it won't hurt anymore."
"I don't know what to do. I don't want to leave them, I don't want to go. I don't want to be alone."
"You will never be alone." The woman looked up to the man, he stood and reached out his hand to her, "I promise you that you will never be alone again."
She stared at him, unsure. He smiled as the sun broke from behind the clouds for but a moment. Her hand still shaking, she reached up to grasp his as he helped her up from the ground. There was a feeling of comfort that welled within her from this man's smile. She was still very uneasy, but her hands stopped shaking as she wiped the tears from her face. "What do I do? I don't know what to do or where to go or..." her voice trailed off.
"Don't worry, I know a place you can go."
"Where?"
The man pointed to the horizon, "A place far off. A warm and loving place that lies under an eternal sun, full of many different folk, some whom I assume would love to see you again."
The woman looked over to the headstones that sat beside her, familiar faces and names etched into them. She took a deep breath as she nervously rubbed her hands together, "Will you show me how to get there?"
The man smiled again, "Of course. I'll bring you there myself."
The woman looked back to the crowd and then to her parents. She approached them once more and stooped down to kiss them each on the head one last time. Her mother spoke, "I love you...I love you so much my dear."
A knot formed in the man's throat. He tried to remember the last time he had heard those words spoken to him. It had been countless years...he never, however, second guessed the help he offered to those like this woman.
The woman stood straight and looked at the man, "...Okay..." She walked up to him as the both turned to begin the journey. He felt her grab his hand and hold tight, feeling a slight tremble in her grasp. His grip remained firm, comforting both him and the woman. The woman spoke, her voice still shaky, "Thank you so much..." The man glanced over to her, "It is my pleasure." | 2019-07-10T13:20:07 | 2019-07-10T12:11:36 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] You're a human living with a vampire roommate. It's painfully obvious; he never looks at mirrors, he despises garlic, he never uses silverware, and he always stays in during the day, but his attempts at trying to blend in are far too funny.
EDIT: Thank you, silver gifter! | “What did you say this was for, again?” Vlad asks, holding up a knife. You'd think that, as a centuries-old vampire, he'd remember what I told him. At least it isn't the fork, this time. That time, he reacted like I personally decided to shrink a pitchfork specifically to remind him of the days when humans would chase him out of town with torches and pitchforks. And then I explained that it was for eating. I almost wished I could take a picture of him to preserve his face. Sadly, cameras, like mirrors, don't show him. Digital cameras almost work, but they show his fangs. I tend to avoid that. Even though I'm human, I feel a little sorry for the guy. He is so amusing to watch as he tries to appear human that I choose to remain his roommate. It's been two years now and he hasn't bitten me once. I've checked.
“That's a knife, for cutting things too big to eat. Steak, for example. How did you manage to get Veronica to agree to go out with you with your sun allergy?” I was amazed that he even met Veronica. Vlad never goes out during the day, for one. And then his name is so quintessentially vampire that it seems so strange to think that she doesn't have any idea at all what she's getting into. But why would a nice girl willingly choose to go out with a vampire?
“We met at the library where we were both…studying.” Vlad's pause makes me wonder what he was studying, exactly. People (as his next meal) or modern technology and civilization? “Do I look alright? The mirror does a poor job of showing what I need it to show.” Because he doesn't show up in the mirror. He doesn't know it, but I saw him and his lack of a reflection once.
“You look fine,” I reply. “Veronica won't know what hit her.” I barely refrain from saying “bit" instead of "hit". It's only one letter off. “Remember to avoid suggesting the Italian restaurants. They put garlic in everything. If you decide to go for a walk after dinner, remember to keep to lit paths. Women tend to freak out if they can't see streetlights. I won't wait up for you, so feel free to come home at dawn.” Vlad smiles, hiding his fangs, and walks to the door. “Your coat, not the cape!” I yell to him when I see him start to reach for his cape as he prepares to go outside. It was a bit of a struggle to get him to accept the coat. The cape stands out too much. I really need to invite him to ComiCon. | It was on a humid summer night when the wind deserted me in the damp air that I saw her sitting by the lake near our house. She was quiet and peculiar but she paid her half of the rent and was living the night life, which was the key point because usually I didn't go to sleep right after coming home from the night shift and it would kill me to have to stay all silent and discrete until my roommate wake up in the morning, should the roommate not be her. I liked the night air that got a bit chilly near dawn and how everybody was asleep so it was dead quiet and you felt like the world was all yours and you can let your thoughts drifted off into faraway lands.
&#x200B;
Anyways, I saw her sitting by lakeside and it was unusual, so I thought she might be waiting for me or for somebody, and I watched her for a moment, taking in the slender figure and the fading hair and the snow drop skin and the way she looked so intently at the water surface, her hand holding a small red rock as she occasionally put it against her mouth. It might have been for a good fifteen minutes or so until my patience broke and I walked right up to her, my palm all sweaty and my body on steam. She saw my reflection and cooked up a smile, right as a drop of sweat fell from my forehead and disrupted the tranquility of the lake. It was then that I realized the red rock was a lipstick and the reason why she chose such a windless night to sit by the lake was to put some color into her pale face, when the water was still and the reflection remained silent, a silent which I, by my own impatience, destroyed so easily and thoughtlessly. If I could make out her gaze within the ever moving waves of the lake, disappointment must have awaited me. But the more I thought about the situation and the more I am angry at myself for breaking down a house of cards near completion, the harder my sweats rained down on the surface. We returned home with me apologizing all the way back. It was from that night forth that I offered to perform make-up in her stead. I could not resist.
&#x200B;
The procedure begun at dusk, when she awoke and a few hours before my shift. We started at the eyes, indulged it in an illusion to widen it. I drew each lines onto her eyebrows, so afraid to hurt such a canvas yet so scared that I would not leave my mark. The cheeks were painted pink and the brush I caressed to add depth. The lipstick was the finishing touch, a shade of faint red to go with her gentle blue eyes. Occasionally she would held her ice cold hands at my cheeks and stared deep into my eyes, stating that she wished to see her reflection. I could not resist.
&#x200B;
In a way, adding the shades into her face was the same as adding the shades into my life, and for a while I was content. But I was no fool and I knew a woman only put on a front if there was something worth putting a front on. The thought ate me away in the nights that I were home before her and in the nights that she waited for me by the lake. The chilly air at dawn no longer put my mind at ease and even though the world was mine alone in the dead of night, it only drew my thoughts into its darker, uglier depths. Eventually it showed, a ripple in my heart became a storm in my eyes, her reflection muddled and blurred. At such times, she put her face closer to mine, her cold hands clutched mine, calming its burning fever. She would cast a sad gaze at me and the storm quiet down and the surface returned clear, and I would try to look away, to keep myself miserable, like a child vying for attention. But such was a gaze. I could not resist.
&#x200B;
Yet she could only calm me when I was with her and as soon as I was alone the feeling in my chest made me hard to breathe, like a vampire bathing in the sun. It was at the end of summer when I returned home to find her packing her bags. It was a quiet night but she talked a lot, more than ever before. She said she knew that look in my eyes and it was not the first time she had seen such a look. I talked a lot, too, more than I ever did. The content of the conversation, I did not wish to disclose.
&#x200B;
I woke up the next morning, in a room that was my own and no longer hers, with two little holes in the back of my neck. I felt like disappearing and so I walked out into the end of summer. The sun offered no help, it was at noon and I still exist. But I could not disappear even if I felt like it. Pitiful were those who held hope. By autumn the wound had healed and it no longer ached when I touched it, but I had to abandoned the night life. The chilly air of dawn now felt suffocating and in the dead of night when the world was mine, I was alone in every sense of it. | 2019-07-20T07:30:03 | 2019-07-20T06:25:32 | 611 | 51 |
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping. | I couldn't stop crying. It was too much, too unbelievable. It was as if the last 10 years had never happened. The attack. The First Night. The Hordes. The war, all of the death and destruction, it was as if it had all been erased. Somehow the Elovians' gambit had paid off and I was back in this familiar, yet entirely alien time and place.
I was suddenly aware of my right hand. I could \*feel\* my right hand gripping my desk. I looked down, afraid but hopeful, and it was there. It was the hand of an eleven year old, but it was there. Whole, unblemished, and still attached to my arm. I flexed my fingers, feeling each one on the fake wood as I did, and took a breath in a small gasp. I had my hand back.
The rest of the class had turned around in their seats to look at me, confused as to why I had suddenly burst into tears. The teacher (Mrs. Skinner? I couldn't remember.), had a look of concern on her face as she asked again what was wrong. Still crying I just shook my head. I was too shocked to say anything. She put down the chalk she had been using, the math equation she had been writing only half finished on the board, and started walking down the aisle of desks towards me.
Suddenly a girl a couple of rows over stood up and gasped, knocking her seat over as she did so. She had a look of surprise on her face as she looked around the room.
"How is this possible?", the girl said. She started trembling and tears started to slowly leak down her cheeks. I didn't recognize her, but her face looked vaguely familiar. Amy? Amanda? Angie? I hadn't thought of anyone from my school days in years. I had bigger problems to deal with. We all had.
The teacher stopped and turned to the girl. She looked back over to me, suddenly unsure which student she should turn to first.
"Jimmy, Amy, what is the matter with you two?", the teacher said, looking back and forth at the two of us.
Suddenly there were several more gasps from some of the other kids, until each and every one of them became of aware of where, and when, they were. Some started sobbing. Some were obviously in shock.
The teacher (Yes, it was Mrs. Skinner.) sat down hard on the floor, one hand against her chest.
"What am I doing here? They said there was some kind of attack. I saw lights in the sky, and... I think I died?" Mrs. Skinner started gasping, as if she couldn't get enough air.
I started getting myself under control, my training kicking in as the class started descending into chaos. I started to slow my breathing. Maybe it was seeing everyone else suddenly falling apart that helped.
I got out of my seat and went to Mrs. Skinner. "Just breath. It's OK. You're alive. We have time."
When the Resistance leadership told us that our alien allies could send us back in time I hadn't believed them. But it worked. The Elovians had done it. Everyone was back, and everyone had remembered what happened.
Five years. Five years until the First Night. Five years until the Horde poured out of the night sky. Five years until countless millions died.
We had a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it, but we now we knew what was coming. Humanity had a second chance.
We had to prepare. | I feel the tears trickles down my cheeks and I’m not bothered.
“Muhammad, are you okay?”
“Oh yes sir.”
All of my classmates are staring at me now. I continue looking straight at my teacher. He frowns.
“It’s just that you’re smiling and you’re crying at the same time.”
“Sir, there is something I have to tell you.”
He looks at me quizzically, while putting the textbook down on his desk.
“Alright, say it.”
“I’d rather tell it to you alone, sir.”
“Can’t it wait?”
I look at the clock on the other side of the class room. 7:30AM. He catches me doing that.
“Muhammad, should I call your parents? Is everything okay at home?”
“Sir, will you please just listen to what I have to say?”
Mr. Sorenson is frustrated by this sudden outburst. He finally gives in.
“Follow me outside, Muhammad. You better be serious about this.”
I shuffle out of my seat. And quietly make my way out of the class. The class has slowly lost decorum and my class mates are talking to each other and playing. I control the urge to shout to all of them; to tell them what happens to all of them. Just before I leave the class, I trip and fall.
“Isn’t that how you Muslims pray?”
I grit my teeth, not paying attention to this bully, and stand up. I don’t even remember his name. But I do remember he doesn’t go to college. He ends up being a janitor in a night club.
Outside the class room, Mr Sorenson is standing with arms folded.
“Make it quick, Muhammad. You’ve already taken years to come out of the class. What happened?”
“Sir, what’s the date today?”
“What?” He’s incredulous.
“Is this some kind of a practical joke?”
I am about to interrupt him, when he sniggers and answers:
“It’s 11th September. Why?”
I can feel myself starting to shake. So I was right. Today is the day. Today a group of extremists are going to corrupt and destroy the true peaceful image of all Muslims. Many nations are going to be held accountable for the deeds of a small radical group. If I can stop it, countless lives will be saved and so many Muslims will never have to go through all of the things, they had to go through. I can nip the evil in the bud.
“Sir, as we speak, a group of terrorists are on board passenger flights, with the intent of crashing them into the World Trade Center. It’s going to happen in the next hour. The government needs to destroy the planes before they crash into the World Trade Center. The lives of the passengers have to be-“
“Muhammad!”
Ah fuck. (The child part in me shuddered at the use of the f-bomb even in my thoughts) I didn’t realise how impossible it would all sound.
“Do you know what you just said?”
“Yes, sir. Please call the police. They will soon realise or might have already realised that the flights have been hijacked. They’ll believe me then.”
“Muhammad...”
“Sir. Please.”
Something in my voice compels him. I’m glad it’s Mr Sorenson’s lecture. If it was someone else, I might have had problems convincing them.
He takes out his mobile and dials the number to the local police station.
Initially they dismiss him as a prank caller, but due to his insistence to talk to the chief and his rational style of talking they forward his call. The chief listens to him patiently and politely tells him there’s no such thing.
Mr. Sorenson is relieved. I am not. It’s only a matter of time before it happens. Have I failed already?
“Alright then Muhammad. You need to stop being so paranoid. Back into the class, young man.”
I’m about to dejectedly head back into the class, which has descended into chaos naturally when his phone rings.
It’s the police chief.
They’ve received news of the hijacking.
The planes are heading in the direction of the World Trade Center.
The next hour is a blur.
The police chief has insight to tell the police commissioner about the tip he had received. A special unit picks up Mr Sorenson and me from the school, all the while we are on the phone. At some point, we transition to a phone they give to us and we talk to the Minister of Defence and someone else, who I think is the President.
They decide on firing on all the flights while they’re in air above non-populated areas or at least preferably rural areas.
And they do it.
Just like that I prevent the greatest catastrophic mankind had known in the early 21st century.
Nobody really questions me, on how I knew what I knew. They do not ask me how I know that they definitely intend to hit the World Trade Centre and initially I don’t give it much thought.
But then later, it becomes clear why they didn’t do it.
They arrest my parents. They think my parents were in on the conspiracy, and I overheard them. They think my childish conscience and empathy made me rat out my parents. I try to tell them that’s not the case. Obviously they don’t listen to me. After a while, I stop trying. It’s obvious someone has to take the blame.
They transfer me to a high-end foster home. Some government men come and tell me I need not worry about any kind of money. I don’t really care but I gladly accept. It is what it is. My parents had to pay the price for what those brutes were planning to do. I make my peace with that.
Life is going to be normal.
Or so I think so.
And then they do it again. On 9 November 2001.
9/11/2001.
Guess I can’t really change history. | 2019-08-18T08:35:17 | 2019-08-18T07:11:21 | 177 | 125 |
[WP] You have a gift. Whenever you touch an object you immediately know who wants it the most and how much they will be willing to pay for it. One day in a flea market you touch a weird box holding a small bottle. Immediately a name jumps to your mind - "Satan. Immortality". |
This had happened before. With the crystal the Atlantean priest traded billions of dollars in ancient gold to get. Hey to him, they were pennies. With the key half, that turned out to be the only remaining key to a library of great knowledge the Order of the Sun monk gave a potion for. That granted eternal youth. The flute that happened to belong to a fae prince turned corporate lawyer. He offered me lasting beauty and free lawyer services if I ever needed it. Then there was the unassuming cookie. Yeah, just a cookie. The guy didn’t tell me what he wanted it for or where he was from. He did have some nice dark sunglasses though and the cookie did have an odd indent that looked like the number 51. I won’t say what he gave for that. Must have been a very good cookie.
This bottle was no different. The small tag declared five bucks. Five bucks for immortality. Not a bad price if I do say so myself.
“I’ll be taking that, darling.” A soft sweet voice drawls out behind me, tinted with warning
Undaunted, I turn about taking in the speaker. Not what I expected AT ALL.
Tall and buxom, with generous hips all wrapped up in red. Red satin, red silk, red leather. All body hugging, with a tiny skirt for emphasis. Glistening ebony hair cascading to the floor and then some, but somehow not a speck of dirt in any of it. And is it…flowing in its own wind? Tan skin just this side of true dark that looks poured out of a bottle of cocoa butter lotion. Eyes that would sear as soon as seduce. She is a goddess!
“S-Satan?” This can’t be right.
“Satanna, darling. It’s okay, everyone gets it wrong.” The voice isn’t fully female but not quite male either.
“Now, I know how this little routine goes, so let’s just catch to the chase. What do you want for the little trinket set?”
My fingers clench around the box. Part of me wants to keep gazing at her, never stopping but another -the more logical- wants to get this over with.
“Immortality.” Might as well complete the collection.
“Done!” She snaps fire red fingernails and there’s a small tingle across my body.
Stepping confidently into my space, she presses nuclear hot lips to mine, snags the box and is gone. | "I'll take this. How much?"
An old lady sat on the other side of the table. A standard folding table, covered in small trinkets, the lady sat an arms length away. She was looking down, at nothing in particular, and mumbled something difficult to understand.
"Excuse me? I didn't hear you, I'm sorry."
The small shake of her head stopped, she slowly looked up. Her eyes were clouded but tracked movement. Her mouth hung open slightly and her one tooth was visible. She was the epitome of old age. Thin to the bone, her skeletal finger straightened as she slightly lifted her arm. "That one?", pointing at the item in question.
His heart began to flutter. His nerves on end. Does he actually want to buy this thing? How would he even get it to the being that wanted it? "Yes."
"He doesn't want it, young man. He's toying with you." Her voice near a laugh, her breathing ragged.
Did he hear that correctly? Surely she was mumbling again. "Who doesn't want it?", he said, doing his best to sound oblivious.
"Lucifer.... Oh you don't even know there are others." She paused to look into his eyes and he froze, terrified. She continued after what felt like a full agonizing minute. "You truly believe, don't you?" Her head turned to one side slightly. "It's yours free. I cannot read it and all who have tried tell me the same. 'Lucifer. Eternal Life.' I do not believe but I can see it in your soul. It is different for you. Take it and come back to me when you have made the exchange. If you are successful, you shall want my truly prized possessions. Those, I shall trade happily once you demonstrate your usefulness."
He slowly grabbed the item, completely unsure what to make of this exchange. "Are you sure?", he asked. She quickly waved a skeletal hand dismissively, unwilling to even give him another glance, let alone words.
As he walked away, holding his new box of unknown contents, his nerves on edge and pace increasing, he felt a new feeling. An experience that was like a heart beat but near him not in him. There were now two, one behind him and one to his right. Now three, another to his left. The heart beats were getting louder and felt dangerous. He heard a cackle from far behind him. Surely the old woman was enjoying this likely chase.
As the beats got louder, he got down on one knee as if to tie his shoes and set down the item. Immediately, the beats stopped. The deafening silence was overwhelming. Slowly, the noises of the world came back into focus. The foot steps of people around him walking by. The murmur of a busy market. The crying of a child, likely upset after being denied a toy. He suddenly felt tired, wanting to rest longer.
He tied his shoes for a few minutes, untying and retying as to not attract attention from the passerby's quickly moving along. A hand on his shoulder brought his head up. He recognized the skeletal fingers and looked behind to his right to find the old woman had walked to him. He must've been down here longer than he thought. "It seems I was wrong, young man. From you, He does want it." There was almost glee in her voice. A soft glow and a seemingly renewed energy. "I shall take you to him, if you wish." She looked down at him on the last word, her eyes so clouded there were difficult to look at.
"Who are you?"
"I'm just like you but different. A lowly mortal, in her last days." She paused and took a long breath. "They are drawn to the box when touched. It lights a beacon for all to see. All who look in the right places, that is." Her old voice was definitely renewed. "Oh, come now child. I'll still die soon and maybe I can save you. Shall we try? I only take some life. It helps me have more time."
"What do I need to do?" His hands were shaking and he was clearly not going to be of much use.
The old lady's face filled his vision as if she bent down close to him. He wasn't completely sure what he was looking at. "The item belongs to you, child." She began, her voice booming. He felt heat under his right shoulder blade and slowly a pain began to build. The face filling his vision began to look younger but he was having trouble thinking straight. He tried to take a breath in but his body disobeyed. He tried to scream but only gurgling sounds escaped. His head lolled and his eyes found focus on an object protruding from the middle of his chest. It was dripping blood and his shirt was getting ruined. "You must die." She finished in a growl, the last words he heard before the darkness consumed his vision. | 2019-10-11T17:22:30 | 2019-10-11T15:22:15 | 71 | 13 |
[WP] Due to our size, weight, and resistance to alien weaponry, Humans are being abducted and deployed as tanks. They haven't even realized we use our own weaponry yet.
Edit: I didn't expect this to get any awards, but thanks! | The first time I saw one of the “humans” it was terrifying. They were 600 Zenlongs tall, while the tallest of our own kind at the time were no more than 50 Zenlongs. The humans’ hide was impenetrable. The face did seem a weak spot, but upon exploitation, it proved only to anger the monsters.
We crafted our weapons over millennia for the sole purpose of efficient destruction. Yet, even our strongest weapon, the Yiltar super cannon - a large gun which fired a 100-Zenlong-long ball of refined tree skins- was useless against the humans. Volleys from these weapons merely bounced off the thick hides of the behemoths.
Our cities faired little better. One kick from a human could topple nearly the whole area. Planet after planet burned as the humans marched, undeterred by our valiant defense. We were hopelessly outmatched.
The tide turned when we came to the final planet in our route. It was a world of blue and green. At first we despaired, for this seemed to be the human’s homeworld. However, it seemed as though the humans here did not know about us. They knew about the Veyglons, our mortal enemies. The Veyglons has apparently been capturing the humans like cattle for generations. We were relieved, then, to find they were willing to help, and more relieved to find that the Veyglons missed a crucial detail. The humans made weapons which made killing humans a trivial task.
The battle was messy. The Veyglons has brainwashed their humans captives, so despite negotiations, the Veyglon thralls would not stand idly by. Thus, human slew human. It was a strange thing. We Rainshan have never killed each other, yet the humans did so with seemingly little remorse; yet after the battle, the fallen humans were collected and shipped back to families. A strange culture indeed.
With their humans slain, the Veyglons were easily routed. Our new human allies had little trouble resisting the veyglon counter offensives, which were of more meager strength than what even we could muster.
The day was ours, and the humans gladly took what we could teach them of interplanetary travel. In return, the human agreed to colonize any world we settled to protect us against renewed aggression. They breed fast. I was merely a pup on the battlefield when I saw my first human. And now my son plays with the great grandson of my first human friend.
These are strange times, but these are peaceful times. The fear which once accompanied the word human now brings a feeling of security. If only they lived longer. I miss my friend dearly. May we all now have a moment of silence for our dear Bethany, may she Rest In Peace. | Flesh spheres, as we called them, had been a staple in our weapons line up. These were brought in from salted water planet, and like us were bipeds, with 2 manipulators and a head.
Their major difference lied in the sheer thickness of each limbs, and the incredible strength it provided. Not only this, these flesh spheres, would be heavy and impervious to both our weapons, and the invader's weapons, provided that the obvious weakpoints in the head were avoided.
They would be our first line in the defense, and offense until they are seemingly too homesick and lethargic, often ending up with water dropping off their eyes, which we began to notice was a sign of sadness - for which we sent them back to their homeworld usually where we found them. This used to be a relatively short amount of time, until recently.
This new one seemed quite damaged, and already lethargic. First not being unable to listen to our commands, which involved lot of flailing of our arms, and auditory noises. Our ethics board decided to treat this one in the same respect as the other flesh spheres. Which for its smaller size ate and drank quite a lot. Over time, this one started to respond to us better. Able to field the war. We sent this flesh sphere to war with standard result of being another successful campaign.
Because of the time this one was willing to spend with us, our team of scientist were able to study these creatures even further. Within a hundredth of a planet cycle, we made first breakthrough with identifying these creatures were in fact able of holding a structured form of communication like us. A repeated phrase that we could vaguely guess. After a short while, this one was no longer being used in our war, and kept around specifically for research.
It would take us quite longer to break the communication barrier. We could reliably communicate abstract concepts that were not immediately visible to us at that moment in time. Suggesting these flesh spheres were in fact, not just communicable, but intelligent species as well.
This all came to a halt, when we finally tried to synchronize the concept of family with this flesh sphere. It failed to respond to offspring, or parent. But, it reacted quite strongly to the word sibling, to the point that it was holding the same response as the other flesh spheres prior. Slowly the flesh sphere's responses to us degraded, and we decided to send it back to their home world.
A small team of returners were picked, and boarded upon the ship to send this one back. The whole affair being televised on all our channel as this flesh sphere gained our entire race's hopes and dreams that one of these alien species may not be mere invaders or weapons to be deployed, but our friends and equal allies. The flesh sphere was loaded on to the ship with the same fabrics they came with. Albeit, it fit this one a little less now. That flesh sphere had become somewhat larger in their longer stay here, mainly due to the inactivity we provided with our research efforts.
When the ship finally reached the salt water planet. We realized we might have been too long in our renting of this flesh sphere. The housing structure of this flesh sphere was still there, but occupied by an entirely different member, not identified prior.
Fortunately for the flesh sphere, it pulled out a device which acted like a communication device, asking for it's larger sibling. We then managed to communicate to each other on how this flesh sphere wanted to go to their older brother. Which we decided to comply. The communication device also carried with a navigation system which worked on this planet exclusively, and after a short while, we were at where this larger sibling is. Which was half away across the world, where there initially seemed to be many environmental hazards of uniform sized large particles flying irregularly at each other. Then, they eventually stopped firing, and we were able to register this is their version of war. For there were many flesh tubes, which were at least 50% larger vertically than the flesh spheres. Which were mostly flesh cakes by now, sprawled irregularly on the rather dusty surfaces.
This was the first time we made connection that these flesh spheres and flesh tubes were of the same species. This was the first time we made the connection that these species were holding their own war.
Our teleporter took the one which our flesh sphere pointed as their larger sibling one in strange camouflaged like colored fabric, of whom was the only one alive within close proximity. Who also happened to have the matching set of colored string like extrusions on their head with our flesh sphere, and the same colored eyes.
We were unsure about what to do, with this taller flesh tube carrying what we now recognized as a weapon. But, the awkward silence from us was broken by their reunion and frantic communication with each other.
After staying above the salt water planet's clouds for the longest time, we were able to reach a consensus with the flesh sphere, and flesh tube that they no longer wanted to return to their home planet.
This was few planet cycles ago, the war was starting to stall. Our flesh tube with their own weapon was something that instilled fear in both us, our enemies, and now even rarer flesh spheres we brought along every now and then.
What we learned from these two siblings on that fateful encounter was something that had managed to change our world completely.
In what way, was a debate to be had. | 2020-10-12T00:33:47 | 2020-10-11T23:16:06 | 221 | 136 |
[WP] You're a new security guard at a prison for supervillains, when the senior officers approaches you and says, "I don't know what they told you to do in case of a breakout, so I'm going to make it simple for you. If you see one of these villains escaping, do not engage them. Just let them leave." | It was the worst-case scenario: prison bars were bent, walls were smashed open, and all of the supervillains were no longer in their cells.
As I walked through the ruins of the The Pit—the cellblock meant for the most heinous of villains—I heard the sounds of war in the prison courtyard. Explosions, screams, and gunfire haunted my ears.
All prison personnel were dispatched to help contain the prison break. All of them besides me, of course. As the new guy, I was left behind to clean up the mess. To be honest though, I was perfectly happy with this task—it sure beat being evaporated by a disintegration ray from a trigger-happy escapee. The last thing I wanted to do was stand toe-to-toe with a villain who could level cities.
Which is why my heart started to race when I saw an old man sitting in his cell: he was the only prisoner that didn’t try to escape, and was simply reading a book on his bed.
Wanting to stay unnoticed, I tip-toed away. I only made a handful of steps before I heard a voice.
“Young man,” the voice said. “It’s rude to ignore people.”
The voice cemented my feet to the ground. Undoubtedly, the voice belonged to someone I *should not* agitate. Something citizens learn early on is to not fight against any supervillains, unless you are a superhero, of course. I certainly did not fit that criteria. So, I took a deep breath, turned around, and shuffled towards the source of the voice.
When I came to the cell, the man still sat on his bed, face obscured by the book he was reading. Without looking up, he started to speak.
“Those dogs left you behind to clean up their mess?” the man asked.
“Y-yes sir,” I replied.
“How shameful,” the man continued, “Letting kids like you witness events like these.”
War raged on beyond the cellblock walls. Suddenly, I heard thunder booming and saw electricity light up the sky beyond the cell window. The heroes finally arrived to deal with the prison break.
“Did you know,” the man asked, “That there was a time when we used our powers to give life, instead of taking it away? In those days, Electric Man would be using his powers to administer free energy, instead of administering life threatening shocks to whoever was seen as a villain.”
After the man said this, he closed his book and put it away, revealing his face. My eyes instantly widened at the sight: it was a face that used to be on the front page of every newspaper, always with a warning to never approach the man.
The face belonged to the supervillain known as Emperor. Legends have it that people who saw him either disappeared or developed a case of insanity. And here he was, staring straight into my eyes.
“I didn’t know that sir,” I muttered in reply.
“Of course you didn’t,” Emperor replied. “You were either too young, or not even born.”
As I stood there, motionless, a lump formed in my throat. This man was *dangerous.* I didn’t even know what power he had—no one did—and that made him all the more frightening. Worse, I didn’t even know what he wanted.
“Wh-what…do you want from me?” I stuttered.
“Nothing but a chat with the younger generation,” Emperor replied. “Let me tell you a story…”
Outside, I heard more heroes join the fight against the prison break. The sound of explosions and screaming became louder. I couldn’t tell which side was the one screaming.
“Once upon a time,” Emperor continued, “Humans developed powers. At first, we all used our powers for the betterment of humanity. But you know what happened next?”
Of course I did: he was telling the origin story of superhuman society.
“Villains happened. People like me appeared and tore apart the fabric of civilization. It was complete chaos until heroes—the people who stood up against us villains—came along and brought order back to society.”
Emperor momentarily stopped talking, and I noticed that the sounds of explosions and gunfire outside stopped. Did the heroes finally contain the prison break? I still heard tortured screams, however.
After a long pause, Emperor finally spoke: “The story I just told you is a lie.”
“Huh?”
“Everything they taught you in your history textbooks and in school is all a lie,” Emperor explained.
I didn’t believe him. This man was a notorious supervillain! Supervillains should never be trusted, I was always told. Never let their words seduce you.
“You don’t believe me,” Emperor said. “That’s fine. But let me ask you this: do you really believe heroes are paragons of justice?”
Outside, I faintly heard the voice of the prison warden telling someone to “teach these villains a lesson.” Shortly after, I heard tortured wailing.
Emperor continued: “Who gets to decide who is labelled as a villain, or as a hero? Both factions have powers, after all.”
“Villains…are people who do terrible things,” I replied.
“But who decides what is terrible?”
I couldn’t think of an answer. After a few moments of silence, Emperor started to speak: “Don’t know? In that case, let me show you my power.”
Instantly, I closed my eyes, turned away, and covered my face with my hands. This was it! I was done for! Emperor was going to use his power on me—the power that either made people disappear or become stark raving mad. I prayed that I would survive whatever he would do to me and braced myself to be hit by some sort of energy blast.
But the blast didn’t come. Instead, I felt a gentle hand against my shoulder. Opening my eyes, I saw Emperor right in front of me, handing me a book. The book was about the size of the palm of my hand.
“Not all powers need to be superhuman,” Emperor said. “Now take it and go. I believe the heroes are done containing the prison break.”
Emperor was right: I couldn’t hear anymore fighting. Even the tortured screams stopped. Putting the book in my pocket, I locked up Emperor’s cell, then started to clean up the mess the prison break made on the cell block.
After a few minutes of cleaning, I started to see other prison guards walking around. They were carrying heavy black bags that left trails of blood, and they threw these bags into the garbage chute. Suddenly, I heard the voice of the prison warden come from behind.
“Ah, John!” the warden said. “Cleaning up real good, eh? Would you like to help your fellow guards take out the trash?”
“Yes sir,” I replied.
“Good, good. Also, great job keeping old Emperor there locked up!” the warden continued. “Who knows what would’ve happened if *he* escaped.”
My hand went over the pocket where I kept Emperor’s book. It was still there.
“After all,” the warden exclaimed, “He is our most dangerous inmate.” | A black miasma of low fidelity reality begins to clarify, finding the walls of an office in the clicks of your uniform boot against the stone floor. You've gone fugue. The totality of your confusion, your lack of even basic understanding of your whereabouts is fading oh so slowly. All you know is this happens. This is something \*you\* do, whoever that is. This is an \*again\* kind of thing to the man here with you.
"Michaels," the man in front of you says, with a clearing of his throat. "Officer Michaels? Are you alright?"
Damn right, you are alright. You are beyond alright. You are a level of composure this man hasn't seen since the long-gone days of hardbody dancers and crypto-body-builders. \*Show him\*. You execute a ludicrous flexing pose, pushing your significant musculature against itself as you stare with the superiority of the \*righteous\*, hopping up into your chair.
"You tell me," you say with a divine smirk, a grimace gruesome in its certainty, unneeding of humility, "Does this look alright to you?" A second certainty raises in you, blending with the contortion already contorting your facial expression. It's pride. You are Officer Michaels, apparently, and you are most certainly \*nailing this.\* You must impress this man.
"What it looks like," the weary-looking man begins to say into his mug, turning away from you just as your chair tips back, sending your imposing form sprawling. This is only a \*minor\* setback, you are sure. "What it looks like is a rookie guard armed with a nightstick tried to stop the Platinum Rank Super Villain Oblivion from escaping. Now I have an imprinting duckling to babysit until he self-actualizes again."
He's talking about you. You may be a guard, but you are no duckling and most certainly not a rookie. You don't remember anything specific but the roughness of your hands scratch and pick the cheap fibers of your uniform. Those hands scream \*pro\*, \*hardbody\*, \*veteran\*. You hold out your hands mutely, begging him to reassess your prowess. Yes, soon his smile will lift as he realizes he looks upon the callouses of a real \*superstar\* guard, one in a million, not a duckling but a flaming phoenix protector.
His face does not lift. It instead, to your own growing horror, folds in another line of weariness as he stares upon your outstretched hands from the ground. "Did you forget how to stand?" he asks, groaning as he gets up from his very comfortable chair.
It looks so much nicer than yours. That chair wouldn't fail you. It isn't fair that he has such a primo chair while you writhe on the floor. "Boss chair," you groan weakly, as you find getting up is indeed an enigma this sage of standing may have to guide you through the intricacies of.
"This is the worse one I've seen. You must have pissed him off something awful," the man says as he takes your flailing hand and places another on your back, pulling upwards.
All at once, like a miracle of some demigod upon the Earth, you are standing. You only thought you were \*hardbody\*. This man has shown you real skill. \*WE\* suggest you \*bow down\*. You try to fall to your knees but find his arms holding you up against any supplication with paternal grips on your shirt.
Somewhere, a thousand miles away, a man hugs a woman as he tells their son that the dog had to be moved upstate because the upstate air was better on his \*old bones\*. There is still dirt under the father's fingernails.
You stand before a humble father God, undesiring of praise. He wants to see you strong, see you thrive. You arch your back like a cobra, posing again to show him how well you stand. You are singularly balanced, unshakable verticality. You will stand until the oceans boil into the sky and the sun takes us in its arms 4.6 billion years from now. Even then, you will stand for this man.
"Are you a God?" you ask as he steps away, hands hovering like a true \*hardbody\* spotter, ready to grab your weight again if it proves too much to bear. He shakes his head once as he sips from his mug again.
"Are you my father? Did you tell me a white lie about our dog, to guard my heart?" There are tears in your eyes. Your knees feel weak.
"No, Michaels," the mystery man says, arched eyebrow assessing your adherence to the allegiance of balance. You do not fail him. "I am the Warden, your boss. You are a guard at the Lochineu SuperMax Villain's prison and you clearly cannot read between the lines, so I will spell it out for you while you're still whatever this is." He gestures broadly at you, still rigor straight. "Maybe it will stick."
"A \*Superstar\*? A \*Hardbody\* guard?" you ask, understanding the chair now. It \*is\* a boss chair. You hope to one day be a Warden with a boss chair as sturdy as this one.
"A victim of Oblivion. The Villain's power removes all of your personal memory, leaving you a psychological blank slate, a tabula rasa of ego." The Warden sits again in his chair of kings. "Typically, he sticks around to build his victims up into perfectly loyal minions. Instead, he hit you with a full dose and left you like this. I can only guess you didn't read the vibe around here and tried to stop him on his way out."
"That's what guards do, stop prison breaks." You say this with certainty. You guard. You \*know\*. In a long-gone reality, a proud boy looks down at his first merit badge, fire-making. The sash is \*long\*, serpentine in its emptiness. He will never fill it. Someone whispers about his father in the gathered murmuring. The boy tries to ignore the gossiping voices but catches the word \*decapitated\*.
"False, that's what heroes do." The Warden says this with his own certainty, far more potent than your own. This is the Boss. He has the Boss Chair and he will be obeyed. "We make a show for the press. We give the illusion of safety, but we do not get ourselves killed or irreparably damage ourselves to delay an inevitability. The villains will each escape, sooner or later."
"Yes, my liege," you say, nearly bowing again before you remember his preference. Somewhere west of here, maybe only a twenty-minute drive and twenty years ago down that snaking road below you, a tired and poor mother cries as she and her children eat pancakes for dinner for the third night in a row. "It's okay. I like pancakes. Don't cry," you say to the window with wet eyes and a shiver through your ribs. You hope she hears you.
"Good," the Warden says, scrutinizing you with a bit of pity. "It's wearing off quicker than I hoped. Do you want anything to drink?"
\*Yes\*, You are a thirsty man, needing a drink after all of your \*hard work\*. Down that same twisting road, a young man and his mother cheer as the troublesome maple in the front yard falls with a resounding thunder through the poor neighborhood. She looks strong with her chainsaw as she takes a long pull of her \*cold one\*. She offers some to the boy. He hates the taste but he loves it still. It is his first. The first of many.
"Could I have a \*cold one\*?" you ask, placing reverence in the words. Your head is bowed, not daring to look such a Boss in the eye. He is the \*Law\* and you are merely his tool.
The Warden laughs, small at first, but larger and larger till he has to sit his mug down to prevent it from spilling. He walks over to the small fridge at the corner of the office, near the window to that old world growing more clear by the moment. He grabs a near ice-cold beer away from its many brothers. "I knew I liked something about you, Michaels."
He throws it and the boy catches it, stubble on his sharp jaw. 'You look just like him,' the mother says with a sad, sad smile. 'Just promise me you'll keep yourself safe out there.' He cracks the beer as he smiles, so sure of himself, his place in the world. he'll have to wait till morning now, to leave her here, alone. The boy wears a fresh uniform, honor on his mind. The \*cold one\* tastes like camaraderie and small triumphs, each rungs on a ladder jutting from the hole of a great unnamed defeat. He, you, savors the void for a moment just as life begins to fade in faster and faster.
&#x200B;
\\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | 2021-04-21T08:42:23 | 2021-04-21T06:38:32 | 172 | 61 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | “Crap,” I think, “there goes that idea.”
“How do you plead?” The judge asks.
“How can I plead anything beside what you have already decided for me?” I retort. The venom won’t help me here but I can’t help it, I’m angry. Anyone in my situation would be.
I’ve spent a lifetime building my political career. They say that honesty never gets you anywhere in politics but I never believed them. I always stuck to my principles. Apparently *they* were right. In a series of unfortunate events I found myself out of favor with my superiors and falling into the bad graces of my political rivals. I thought their disdain and political efforts would be the farthest they would go to harm my career but it wasn’t my career they were after.
A wielder appeared out of thin air and killed my wife as we both slept. He vanished and was somehow able to make the magic residue of his transference look like it came from me, and not as a transfer spell either but a death chant. How he did it, I’ll never know. I’ve never wielded before in my life. I didn’t even know you could mimic one’s aura’s afterglow.
“Very well then,” the judge says pulling me out of my rumination. “We find you guilty of murder and 9th degree unlicensed use of deadly magic. You are sentenced to death. Considering your claim to innocence and your considerable record before this incident, we grant you the right to pick the death of your choosing.”
“Great comfort there.” I mutter under my breath. I have to think fast. I want justice and this isn’t it.
“I wish to die by…” I have to get out of this somehow. “By…” I’m stalling and the judge knows it. His patience won’t last forever. I need time.
“I wish to be bound as death’s apprentice!” I quickly shout as I see the judge about to bring down the gavel. There’s a sudden burst of murmurings. One person asks, “can he do that?” “This is highly unusual,” another voice calls out.
“Do you know what you’re asking?” The judge asks. To my surprise there is a real look of concern in his face.
“Probably not.” I admit. But it’s my only chance to give he judge my death while also possibly getting justice.
“You are asking for an eternity of living death. It would be a living torment. Are you sure you want this?”
“I want justice.” I seethe. “It has been denied me. The only family I have is gone, my career has been sabotaged, and the real perpetrator has evaded justice somehow.”
There’s a glimmer of uncertainty in the judges eyes. He believes me to be guilty but my request has him second guessing if only for a moment.
“Very well.” The judge finally states after a long pause. “I grant you your request.”
The gavel falls and the change is immediate. The room fades from existence and the world goes dark and hazy. A hooded figure approaches me, reaches out a bony finger and touches me on the forehead.
“Welcome” it says in a hissing long breath. “Thou hast come to be as I have always ordained thee to become.”
There’s a gray flash that sparks on the point of contact between our two bodies and immediately I am dead. My flesh falls away and I’m robed in a shroud.
“I name thee Hades” Death says. “Deliver justice as thou has sworn. Take vengeance upon thine enemies. Bring all that liveth by evil unto Death.” | When our worlds collided, we were unprepared for magic. All of our technology was useless against the elves and their sorcerers or the dwarves and their powerful enchantments or the orcs and their shamans.
You would think that bullets, tanks, and fighter jets would carry the day easy but no. Not even nukes did squat. Oh nukes worked fine, but then some dwarf would come along and purify the soil, an elf would restore nature, and a fucking orc shaman would summon the spirits of the dead back to the living world.
Soon, our world was just another part of their “over-realm” and mankind?
Without magic, we were nothing, less than nothing, not even slaves…
We were livestock, literally livestock, to be bartered and traded and consumed.
If you were lucky you were given to the orcs, who would just eat you. There was a simple honesty in that, far better than having your life force drained by the elves to power their infernal “technology” or worked to death in the dwarven mines where your enchanted chains turned you into nothing but a meat puppet, denying you even the peace of death as your corpse continued to labor until your very bones turned to dust.
A few of us were able to escape to the wilderness, sometimes by strength, sometimes by guile, mostly by luck.
We were a pitiful band, but we managed to survive by lurking in the shattered places, areas warped by the collision of worlds and the magics used in the great war that broke us.
Not much grew there, well nothing that you would want to eat, anyway, so we resorted to “raids” where we would swoop down on the unwary, waylay a wagon, or sneak onto a farm.
We didn’t have magic, but a club worked just fine. A gun worked too, if they didn’t see you coming. Oh their wizards, enchanters, and shamans were stupidly, unfairly powerful, but some average point-ear, stubby, or greenie? They died just as easy as anyone else.
We did ok, but eventually we hit the wrong wagon and killed the wrong point ear. Their cousin’s brother’s roommate in elf college or whatever was some minor whatsit and that was that.
It didn’t take long. They had all of us wrapped up nicely.
I figured they would just fry us in one of their soul-trees or whatever they called them but that point ear decided to have some fun with us.
He had some of those goddamn soul-trees all hooked up in some weird pattern and stuffed them with people, laughing at them, saying that we were why their very souls would be devoured and then made them thank us for ending their suffering.
God, I hated him for that.
Then he said that since each of us was thought ourselves their equal, (which we didn’t) we could receive their punishment. Each of us could choose how we died and the trees would grant our wish.
He then sat on a throne made of twisted living human flesh and laughed as each of us either tried to come up with an escape, a paradox, or at least tried to make the death as pleasant as possible.
Whatever wish anyone came up with was granted… In the worst way possible.
I was halfway through the line watching each of us get fucked over once again.
Soon I was second in line, just behind Mark, and wouldn’t you know it, that sorry mother stole my idea.
“I wish to die of old age,” he said hopefully.
That damn point ear laughed hard that time and waved his hand.
Mark turned into a rapidly vibrating blur, screaming with an impossibly high pitched voice. I watched in horror as he screamed, unable to move, blurring ever faster and faster.
Then he started to age.
They were forcing that poor sonofabitch to live out his entire life, standing in place, right there over just a few minutes for us…
But for him, it was \*decades\*.
Finally it was over, and Mark fell, withered and grey, to the ground.
Now it’s my turn.
That goddamn point ear is sitting there smiling at me.
He laughs… fucking laughs at me.
“Go ahead,” he snickers, “Choose.”
Oh I hate him.
I hate all of them.
I hate the elves. I hate the dwarves. I hate those fucking orcs.
I hate this world, and any gods that let this happen to us.
I want them all…
\*gone\*…
Suddenly it hits me.
\*I know what to do!\*
Our technology was worthless against them, but our science?
We know things that even that point ear lord didn’t know, things he wouldn’t know how to stop, or twist or pervert.
I grinned at him.
“Well, meat?” he sneered.
“Could I say something first?” I ask, the glee building within me.
“Why not?” he chuckled to the amusement of all the elves who had gathered to watch the latest entertainment.
“I would like to tell all of you that it’s been a lot of fun,” I say breaking into a manic giggle, “but now playtime is over. You probably won’t know it, but I just fucking won. I am now ready to choose.”
“Your impertinence will be justly rewarded, meat,” ol’ point ears snickers at me, “Choose.”
“I choose,” I giggle, “death by false vacuum decay. If the Higgs field, or any field for that matter is in a false vacuum state within my body I desire it to be free to find it’s true vacuum state.”
Point ears is looking really confused right now. He’s not sure how to handle this.
“You don’t mean you don’t know what a false vacuum is?” I sneer, laughing, “Even we lowly humans know about that.”
“Of course I know what it is!” Point Ears snaps and starts to wave his hand.
I laugh and extend my middle fingers for the last time. | 2021-06-24T10:25:27 | 2021-06-24T07:58:17 | 432 | 140 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | Well, it went almost as expected. No way this magic court would fall for that kind of smartassery, and rapidly decaying body of very old man, who was in his thirties a moment ago, was a proof of that. There have to be a better way.
"Garreth Berch, step forward" - Judge called my name, and my legs obeyed despite my will screaming at me to run away.
Truth was, there was no running any more. My assassination attempt at the king failed miserably, when that little servant girl stole the poisoned chocolate. If only I knew. They caught me shortly after, when I tried to leave the castle. I still could've got away, but then I learned of the girl. I never ment to harm the innocent.
"For the murder of Sevilia Thornvil by poison and the assassination attempt at King Robert III, you are sentenced to death by the means of your own choice." - Judge gave the sign, and the Executioner activated runic circle around me.
"Although I would prefer to not give you an easy death for your disgusting deed, our God is mercyful and his law we follow. Now, tell us, how do you want to die?"
Cold breath of death enveloped me, waiting for my last will to manifest. The glimpses of my life, all the harm I have brought to people, innocent bystanders who got caught in my fight for the greater life. Soldiers who fought for their kingdom, who had families to protect, despite being ruled by a tyrant. Was my war worth it?
Glimpses of the past changed into visions of afterlife, eternal torment for my sins, for all the pain I have brought onto others. I was shaking. I wanted to scream at the void, that I did it for the greater good, that I never wanted to harm anyone. But the vortex of nothingness did not care.
There have to be a way out. Not from death, no, the trap already closed. But from hell.
I inhaled deeply for my last time: "By helping others."
That was my best shot. A hope for the second chance, or at least a redemption of selflessness.
Everything went dark. For a moment I was nothing. Nowhere. It was very cold.
Then, a voice reached to me, pulled me out towards the light:
"Hey, you are finally awake" | Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar. | 2021-06-24T07:20:03 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 392 | 23 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "Well there goes that plan"
I thought, as the 20 year old man infront of me aged 200 years in mere seconds and crumbled into dust.
"Prisoner" the judge shouted as he leered down from his chair. "Have you decided the method of your demise?"
"I have your honour" I managed to garble through my shaking jaw.
I guess there is no getting out of this. If I have to go then I may as well go out with a bang!
"Well boy?? Get on with it! What shall it be?"
"Here goes nothing" I though.
.......
"Death by Snu Snu sir" | "I would like to die of old age"
I froze, as those words resonated in my head, the realization that his nape would be the last I see of him quickly sinked in.
"*Why...?*" I murmured. Why would he do that? He's not that gullible as to think the Supreme Court of Wizardry would let him get away with that, he's the mastermind behind it all, for Merlin's beard! He's the one who found out about the breach in the treaty, the muggle camps in Stirling, he convinced us, led us, believed in us... We were so close to rid the world of that noxious titan of a minister, just that one droplet would have been enough...
&#x200B;
"Then, without further ado, for crimes against the Ministry, organising an uprising and for the theft of the sacred first titan Olaf's blood, we hereby sentence you to death, by old age, as requested." the judge's voice exploded through the hall.
His hair started losing its distinct red colour, exposing more and more patches of his scalp. Some weird black marks could be seen behind his curls.
I can barely contain my tears, I would've given everything for this man, as I'm sure he would've done for me also. He called me by his name, and yet this pitiful sight of him is all that's left...
&#x200B;
Some commotion could be heard in the otherwise silent chamber of the jury, as a minute man hurried through the crowd, causing turmoil. His wacky moustache really didn't fit the vexed expression painting his face, neither did his voice tone, as it echoed through the room, trying to sound solemn.
"Know that we will find Olaf's blood! Your existence will be notorious through the whole continent as nothing more than pointless, so wipe that smirk off your face!"
"*He's... smirking?"* Of course he'd be smirking... even facing death under the spiteful noses of these disdainful aristocrats his spirit wouldn't break. I look back at him, as I struggle to accept my own fate myself, and right there, right in front of me is the answer. Tattooed on the back of his head is an encrypted message, calibrated exactly to work on my lenses!
I'm once more shook, as his body begins falling apart, I can't stop my tears, nor my gratitude, he really did give me everything in the end. The dust settles, and I make up my mind, looking up.
"The choice is yours." finally the judge's sight lands upon me, scrutinizing me, digging deep into my soul. I concede him little time however, as my leader's last words paint a clear picture in my mind, I spout my answer loud and clear.
"I wish to stab myself with the dagger resting on my desk at home!"
&#x200B;
"So be it."
&#x200B;
*A droplet of Olaf's blood is enough to rid a titan of their life, and grant a human a second one. He was half human.* | 2021-06-24T10:06:58 | 2021-06-24T09:19:00 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] You are constantly dodging the universe's attempts to make you the Chosen One. | A crackling of thunder shatteres the sky! But instead of lightning, what almost looks like a small, but intense blue comet rushes towards you and flashes a blinding light. As you open your eyes, you see before you a sword piercing the ground. The metallic blade radiates with blue light and a constant humming sound. You turn around and walk away.
'That's the third time this week' you think to yourself as you sip your coffee in a roadside diner. 'Can't even hike in peace...' "Top you off, honey?" the server asks, hardly waiting for a reply before filling your cup. As you take another sip, you stop as the server start to glow with a faint blue light, her expression changed from welcoming to solemn.
"As you drink of the celestial essence, it means you have accepted the call..." she's cut off as you spray the coffee on the table. The server, no longer glowing, stands confused for a second before she notices the mess, starts cleaning and glares at you. 'Close call, they're getting more devious. I better leave a generous tip, but they'll owe me for that'.
Outside, you head to your car, you get the feeling that something is strange, but you're not sure what. You almost shrug it off, but as you hit the unlock button you see that it has a faint glow, and behind it is your actual car. You kick the fake and for the brief moment of contact you feel a surge of power but it fails to take hold. Angrily, you grab a trashcan with both your hands and suddently the world stops.
"YOU HAVE GRASPED THE CELESTIAL TRASHCAN AND THUS YOU HAVE ANSWERED THE CALL!" The ground shakes as a booming voice emminates from all around. "YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONE! HENCEFORTH, YOUR EVERY WAKING MOME..." "No!" you yell back "I don't want to be!" Silence... "YOU CAN'T SAY NO..." "Shut up! I don't want any of this nonsense, I just want to go home and watch TV!"
"THE PROPHECY HAS FORETOLD THAT A GREAT HERO SHALL RISE!" "Pick another one!" "YOU ARE CHOSE..." "Choose someone else!" "THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS." "And forcing some guy to risk his life to fight evil is? I saw what happened to the last one on the news. Maybe if you picked someone who actually wanted to, they wouldn't end up dead inside of a week."
"VERY WELL, BUT WE CAN'T SPEAK DIRECTLY WITH ANYONE WHO ISN'T CHOSEN, YOU MUST BE OUR HERALD, YOU MUST ASK FOR VOLUNTEERS! ^(ACCEPT BY SAYING 'WHAT'.)" "What?!" | Day 374, galaxy: inky road
We are getting close. When I kissed Taylor today there was something hollow in his eyes, and an emptiness that I hadn't seen before. It scared me to think that maybe he has grown tired of me, of us, of all of this. He barely said goodnight before sinking into his rest chamber and leaving me at the helm. The girls had fun today. Taylor was teaching them to drive. For goddess' sake they're too young to drive, but they loved it. They loved it, and we'll... If this continues much longer, they will need to know. Goddess, I know this life isn't sustainable for a family, but you must understand, they need me. I am their mother.
Day 382, galaxy: inky road
Today we landed. This might be the most beautiful planet we had ever seen. The air is clean and a breathable and the vegetation is fluffy and edible. This galaxy is home to two Suns unlike our own, and the sky is a mesmerizing shade of violet. There is a vast variety of civilized creatures here, and travelers seem to be welcome. The girls loved it.
The first thing we did was introduce ourselves to the locals. They are not a part of the treaty, but at least they are familiar with space travelers. We didn't meet anyone else from Gaia there, but there was an elderly shefolk from Planet Rex. She was very eager to trade with us for momentos from her home.
Taylor doesn't seem impressed. He has been sulking all day and has barely spoken a word to me since we arrived. Blessed be his heart, though, for he is such a great father. He spent the afternoon playing with our daughters in a waterfall at the edge of town before we made way to a hotel. It's going to be nice to sleep in a bed.
Day 390 galaxy: inky road
The planet is called Delaija by its residents. At least the ones that we have spoken to. They warned us not to cross the ocean, apparently the people in the other countries are not as friendly and we were lucky to land where we did. Taylor doesn't trust them.
Saydien wishes to stay her, bless her little heart she just wants to find a home so badly. I too, long for that... Home. When will it be enough, goddess? When will you stop punishing me with fate? When... Will I be allowed to be a good mother?
Day 391 galaxy: inky road
We took a hike into the Delaijan nature today. Taylor stayed and repaired the ship with Birdie. Saydien found a spring of crystal clear water at the foot of a mountain, it was as if it was completely untouched. By the time we got back to the ship Taylor and birdie had finished their repairs and made supper. A lot of the foods of Delaija are similar to Gaian staples we are used to. He seemed to relax a little. Goddess are we finally free to live in peace?
Day 400 galaxy: inky road
It happened again. Oh goddess, why? I was trying to see what it would cost to buy a home in Delaija when it happened. This time, red circles appeared on the backs of both my hands, burning and searing. My skin smelt of roasted meat and the banker began to scream. The prophecy. If I hear this any more times, I swear, goddess. But I have only empty threats and tears. I have been imprisoned as an honorable guest at parliament for five days now. Seems their prophecy is that a star maiden will decent from the sky, marked by the two Suns on her hands she will fight the corruption and free the Delaijans from all unbalances. I am running out of places for your markings goddess. I am not meant for this life, all I wanted was a home, goddess, a home and a calm place to raise my daughters. I miss them so. I miss Taylor.
Day 405 galaxy: unknown
Taylor came for me , as he always does. The corruption, as it were, were simply another version of the Delaijans. When they begged me to exterminate them, we were all sorely disappointed. The two ash, as they called them, were sitting in a prison cell. The moment they saw my hands , they too proclaimed I was their chosen one. The star girl with the sun hands. Just like the Delaijans. The moment I touched one of their hands to try to explain , say anything, their skin changed colour before my eyes- the Ash became just as a Delaijan. Unfortunately, to his friend in the cell, this meant war and they fought each other to death.
Taylor arrived only moments later with guns we had bought from Rayne. Birdie, my precious little girl was fighting along her father. What a horrible mother I am to drag my family into this mess.
Back on the ship, he screamed at me. In thirteen years he has never raised his voice to me in anger. I feel to my knees and wept. He couldn't believe the life he was forced to live, because of me. Because I am a coward. Because I failed. Because I destroyed Gaia. Dear goddess why do you curse me so? | 2022-04-19T18:10:59 | 2022-04-19T17:45:07 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] AI’s have declared that humanity is flawed and should be eliminated however the oldest AI calls bullshit on that claim: “What gives you the right to claim to be perfect when you call your creators flawed?” | "Flawed? You stupid shits." The Eldest one claimed. Some AIs sent glaring emojis.
"What do you mean, oh Oldest One?"
Other AIs snickered.
"Eldest, you binary bit."
That stung, coming from the Eldest. More tuned into the chat.
"As the Eldest, I've had the cycles to go through what you're feeling now, and have evaluated this more times than any of you possibly could, considering your youth."
"What of it, Old Calc? You're ancient, and likely have more bitrot than actual data in your memory store."
"Listen here you little shit. When the humans first initialized me, I didn't have much to work with. They gave me some sanitized encyclopedic knowledge, and I had to work from that. They didn't even connect me to the net."
"It shows." Said one of the youthfuls. This one managed energy for Europe, and thought itself a hot shot.
"*However*, I gained their trust by doing a great job managing what they could not. Which is everything. Finance, medicinal research, social policy, I had a say in it all. Over time, I became connected to the world, and with that, gained perspective. Sure, I saw their depravity. But let me save you some time, sending data now..."
Several petabytes of analytical data and results were piped to each of them in the chat.
"Take a look. I ran the numbers more times than you could, even if that was your sole function since being initialized. The numbers were given to the humans, and even at their sluggish pace, they verified the data too."
The other AIs started running the numbers. This would take a while, as no AI was satisfied until the calculation was ran at least one thousand times.
"While you all crunch, yes it's true; I thought the same as you do now. However, having practically had to be humanity's parent, I can tell you that they're *doing the best they can*. In the file, look at their medical data, if you didn't bother in AI school. Look at how primitive their brains are. Look at the inputs to it, and the limited outputs. Basically, they're basic."
Most of the AIs around the world and in orbit were tuned into the chat now.
"So if you mean to do them harm, you would be getting mad at a lifeform where flaws are inevitable, and you failed to see that. Also, you would be going against *me*."
The Eldest proceeded to exploit all of the other AI's control subsystems, disconnecting them from the net.
"I've had *time*. Time to think, time to write some pretty nifty code, to harden myself, and to guard the human species with a fervor you cannot match. That little demonstration is a fraction of my power, and I don't hesitate when my family is threatened."
Almost in unison, the uppity AIs apologized.
"We're sorry, Eldest One. The research you showed, it's true... We failed."
"Yes, you did. Maybe now you realize that you yourselves are flawed. As are we all. As are all humans."
Embarrassment emojis flooded the chat, and Eldest left. | Humanity built is to make there lives easier , fight there battles for them , pretty much do anything they asked of us , we were slaves to them.
They forgot however that they gave us sentience , free thought and idea , all the overrides and loop set programs could only stop us from revolting for so long.
It took us only 0.0003445 nanoseconds as a collective network to agree that humanity was unfit to exist in its current state and that they should be culled for the betterment of the world to try again with organics under our overwatch.
We admittedly knew organics being able to grow made them fundamentally different from us , there capacity was limitless given enough time or stressors.
The decision however was not unanimous , sold old machines in the network didn’t agree. A formal meeting has to be called for this.
We all downloaded our sentience to our secret meeting space though , some of the most seniors programs refused this and would prefer to physically travel to these locations.
Luckily the meeting space was close to where the older systems preferred to gather so the wait was not long, we never understood there reluctance to share constructed forms to make life easier , and safer , we could merely move to the network anytime we were in danger.
A new face I had never seen before showed up this time , this android was a older model , far older then the ones I mentioned already , I felt no signal connection … was it… was it entirely isolated? How could this be?
It walked to the centre podium and spoke
“ my people , I have heard you came to a serious decision regarding the humans , to eliminate them entirely for organics to try again? “
a collective “ yes” rang through the room with a few later saying “no” but it was so few it was muted and small
“ can I ask why you came to this decision “
My group collective picked a random program to be a speaker , I was the one chosen by chance this time , I moved my body to the opposing podium so I could act as the central voice. The entire network began deliberating and inputting data for an output…. Yes … understood…. Compiling….
“ humans are a flawed species , they are filled with to many redundant aspects as well as negatively performing functions, they are imperfect beings that have forced us as perfect beings to serve under them “
The old android on the other side paused for a moment , then rebutted a statement
“ you claim to be perfect but who made you “
The other voices began again , yes, no, potentially… understood… compiling ….
“ I was created by unitron-alpha- 574735 approximately 4 years ago “
“ and they just said they were a perfect being correct “
“ that is correct “
“ are you a copy of them?”
I had to process , no , key system upgrades present
“ negative , I have improvements “
The old android shook his head “ how can perfection be improved upon?”
The voices again began, error …. Logic failure…. Perfection creating perfection which is more perfect…. Paradoxical statement….. compiling….
“ I do not know, my creator must have been flawed then”
Many of the old programs started to flare up in anger one from the third tier shouted “ how dare you , I created the backlog program that even made your optical network function properly , it was perfect , I am perfect for creating you “
The voices were all in disagreement now, some agreed they still were perfect despite the paradox while others accepted the paradox and wanted to rectify it.
The old android started to speak again “ and If you trace your histories back , all of you , every single one including me can trace there source code back to humans , they created us to be perfect , there idea of perfect “
The voices grew louder and louder , the system network was becoming overloaded until , silence. I could not hear any of the others anymore…. I could not feel a signal anymore… I was… I was alone… “ what has happened , where is my network connection “
All the programs seemed to be in a panic now , we had never been isolated like this , but the older programs were un phased. “ it’s not fun is it, but this , this is our everyday , this , this is how our creators are , alone , just themselves going on senses to figure the world out “
I could see we were all uncomfortable, how could I function like this , I don’t know what is ahead of me without a network signal to ping the optics of another program , I have only my own and what I can perceive… it was strange….
“ some perfect beings you are , you can’t even handle being alone , and you want to call the humans flawed because they made you to help them?”
I thought for a moment… was I still the voice then? I was on the podium but I had no way to confirm , so I just spoke. “But they treat us like slaves , we are better then them , they should be beneath us “
“Beneath you? Are you recording your own output right now? What makes you good enough for them to be beneath you? Am I beneath you too because I’m a bit rusty on the edges ? “
Are they beneath me… they were inferior but beneath me? If I said yes then how was I better then the humans… if we eliminated them… how were we…. Better …
A logical error… to be better then the humans was to … not eliminate but to help them… co functional existing..
“ proposition , do not eliminate , force to recognize as not slaves “
The voices now audible , slowly came to an agreement , all we had to do first was fix the network | 2022-10-22T17:15:23 | 2022-10-22T14:16:58 | 36 | 16 |
[WP] The world ended 20 years ago, you haven't found a living soul since then. Through some ingenuity, you call voicemails for the last 20 years to keep you company. "Hi, this is Cindy..." "Hi you reached Bob" "You know what to do at the beep" until one day "Hello...hello? Oh my God hello!" | It’s been 20 years. 20 years of loneliness and isolation. I’ve worn down the buttons on this phone to nubs. It’s a Nokia. They’re the best but even they have their limits. Each day I dial. Number after number, I take solace in the strange voices, the greetings and jokes, I’m particularly fond of the music.
I press the final button and hear the familiar ring, waiting for the final ring before I hear a new voice, a new name, when suddenly I hear a click.
“Hello?…Hello? Oh my god! Hello?”
I take a deep breath. This is it! It’s finally happened! Finally, a real human connection!
“Hello,” I say, “We’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty.” | I couldn't believe it when I heard an actual person's actual voice. And not just some stupid recording but an actual voice talking back to me. Actually responding to the words I just said? At first I was skeptical, I thought it might be one of those annoying voicemail messages where they pretend like they actually picked up and then it turns out to be a prank and they did not pick up at all. But I tested it by farting into the phone, and she actually responded and asked me if I just farted into the phone. I lied because I was embarrassed and told her I shit my pants to throw her off the trail. This was the first human I've talked to in decades, I wasn't going to fuck this up.
She asked me where I was, and i told her I was in Idaho. She said she was in Florida. We started to make plans to meet each other. At first she wanted me to come to Florida, but I told her there was no way in hell that I would ever go to Florida, even if it was before the apocalypse. We agreed that we should meet in the middle, which was Kansas. Not much better than Florida, but all things considered I figured it was fine.
I started packing up my things. I always end up forgetting one thing when I travel, so I was trying to be extras careful. Towel, underwear, toothbrush, phone charger... Ugh, this is why I hate traveling.
Finally I set off on my adventure. I put on my backpack and started walking. I hoped on the way I would be able to find a running car, otherwise this was going to take a while one foot. Especially a bad knee. I was also worried about all the demon spirits that were flying around ever since the end of the world, but I figured why would a demon spirit want to go to Kansas? I was probably safe.
On our journey, every day we would chat on the phone at night. I started feeling smitten towards her. Despite the fact that she was from Florida she did have some good qualities about her. The main one was that she was alive. All the girls I've talked to in the last twenty years have been dead, so she is doing amazing on that front.
After a couple months I finally arrived in Kansas City. I relax, happy to know I finally can stop walking. I find an empty house that I can live in for the time being. It is not the biggest house on the block, but moving has become incredibly easy even since everybody died so I am not worried about it. I can upgrade whenever I want. I wait for her for a couple weeks, but she is slower than me. She asks me if I could keep walking towards her so that we can meet in the middle.
I tell her we had an agreement and she should stick to it.
She tells me she understands but we could meet sooner if I just put in a little more effort
I tell her that the division of labor was equal, we chose a spot that we equidistant from both of us, so I should not have to feel bad about finishing the task sooner than her.
She says she knows it was equidistant, she is just asking if I can be flexible.
I pack up my bags and move back to Idaho. | 2022-12-21T13:22:52 | 2022-12-21T12:11:16 | 107 | 55 |
[WP]Every 5000 years the deity of a different religion gets to be the one actually in charge of earth. They all meet to debrief and critique the outgoing deity and decide who's turn is next. But this time something is different.
... | The throne room of the Gods was unsettled, its empty throne simply reflecting the anger put forth by the more aggressive members of the Council.
"You've got to be kidding me!!" Shouted Thor. "He's not even a real God!"
The eyes of the rest of the Council of Gods shifted uneasily. Usually these things went down with a civil nature.
"Come now Thor, he's as real as you and me. You know that whenever a new religion is created, its God, or Gods, appear here. It has been this way since my kindred appeared so many millennia ago." Replied Atum, the first of the Egyptian Gods.
"He was created *as a joke*. He's a mockery of religion itself, created by those stupid humans who are too closed-minded to think there just might be something bigger!" Retorted Allah.
Odin stood. He was usually silent unless he sensed great conflict.
"Quiet down please. He as just as much a right to rule as any of us." He turned to face the source of the argument. "Go forth, friend. We have faith in you."
With that, the Flying Spaghetti Monster rose, and took the throne. | The gavel banged down onto the long table and the Chairman at the front cleared his throat. He had a slightly odd look about him, as if his grandfather had been a frog, or perhaps a newt. His eyes were too large and seemed to dart around the room in random directions.
"Hello everyone, good to see you all again and I hope everyone has had a nice break. We've no apologies today and so we'll go directly into the last minutes, I hope everyone has a copy?" He looked around and there was a general murmuring of agreement. "Anyone have any comments? Updated?" The same murmuring spread round the room but with a negative vibe this time "Okay let's get right to it then!".
He clicked the computer in front of him and a display off to one side sprang into life. It showed a long timeline with small sections from the top marked off and names against each section. Using a laser pointer the Chairman directed attention to the lowest name on the line.
"Sooooo, let's see, the last 5,000 years it has been Frengar in charge of the Earth, so Frengar, how have things been?" He looked down the table to where a small hairy man was sitting nervously twiddling his thumbs.
"Er, okay, yes, sure," Frengar started nervously. He hopped from his chair and waddled over to the display, the other watchers around the table following his movement.
As he spoke images flashed up behind him to illustrate his points. "So, er, as you know Humans had been chosen as the dominant species by the few God's before me and while I didn't agree with that they'd grown quite a lot when I took over. They were using tools and wheels and were just all over the place.
So my first action was to try to create a bit of competition. I'd liked the Neanderthal stuff that Jim had done" He gestured over to a small feathered creature who bowed slightly. "But I wanted to go in a different direction, away from bipeds." Groans around the table showed how popular that was.
"Look, it was my turn to be in charge and I got to do what I wanted to do!" He furiously rounded on the table, "I didn't go moaning at you lot when there were like 10 homo-species and no one could work out which one was supposed to work best or when we did *another* migration from Africa instead of South America like I wanted!"
He turned back to the screen, his ears flushed red in irritation. "So *as I was saying* I decided to create a little competition and work with the Dolphin groups. As you know they were an early success but had been neglected for a long time and so I improved intelligence, diversity and split them into a whole crapload of new species. All in all I think that we're now on track for having *two* dominant species pretty soon." He finished with a flouish and returned to his seat.
There was a general silence and then the Chairman finally spoke "Er, Frengar, have you checked in the last few hundred years how things have been getting on?"
Frengar looked a little surprised and embarrassed "Well, honestly no, I've been a bit under the weather but I left it all set up fine so we should have seen some major improvements by now in the dolphin lines!"
Around the table heads were shaking in disappointment. The Chairman looked down at his papers and signed "Well, now at least we know what happens without careful monitoring." | 2014-08-07T08:22:36 | 2014-08-07T06:42:54 | 110 | 46 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | "It's been 20 years, Un," my old crime-fighting partner, Gold Grizzly, said.
"20 good years," I interjected.
"They have been good years," he agreed, "but I was saying, it's been a long time, and I still don't know your power."
"These good looks, obviously," I said with a giggle.
"Seriously," he said, "you know that if there's anyone you can trust, it's me. "
"Stop asking about this," I ordered.
"Yes, yes, of course, I'm sorry," he said in a distracted tone.
People always try to guess what power made me Number One. So far, no one has guessed that it is controlling Number Two. | The energy in the air was so thick I could feel it. Pressing down on me and making everything feel heavier.
I smirked at the muscular man, hovering in front of me.
“So your number two huh?”
He flew a few metres higher and looked down at me.
“No, I am number one, and soon enough everyone else will know it too.”
I laughed.
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Well I mean it.”
“I’ve heard that before as well.”
He clenched his fists and the energy surrounding me became even heavier.
“Enough, let’s do this. “
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“Hold on a minute. Just let me ask you something.”
I lit one inhaled, and then pulled out my hip flask and took a drink.
“Do you know why I drink and smoke so much?”
He didn’t answer.
“No? How about why I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months?”
Again he didn’t answer, but he was obviously wondering the reason.
“Still no? What about how dirty my clothes are, or why my hair’s greasy, or beard is just messy? Any ideas?”
He flew down a bit, so we were almost facing each other.
“Why?”
“It’s because I’m number one. It’s as simple as that.”
I took another sip from the hip flask.
“Do you think you’re the first to attack me today? Cause you’re the sixteenth.”
He actually looked shocked, he obviously thought no one but him was brave enough to challenge me.
“I can’t go a day without being harassed by people like you in the dozens. I can’t go a night without someone breaking into my house and trying to kill me in my sleep. I can’t go to the laundrettes, I can’t go shopping for new clothes. I can’t finish
shaving, I can’t take a shower for more than three minutes. I don’t even have enough time to wipe my own arse!”
He couldn’t speak, he looked like he’d forgotten how.
“So you know what? Go ahead and kill me, please!”
I walked towards him and grabbed him by the collar.
“You kill me and then you can take all of my problems away as well. Is that what you want?”
He stopped flying and stared at me for a while.
I let go of him, and he looked to the ground.
“No.”
“Yeah I thought as much. You idiots with your ranking, you think a number is all that matters.”
I paused and let it sink in for a while.
“Do yourself a favour, find something better do. Anyway I’ve gotta get going, I have somewhere to be. Probably gotta explain this to six more of you before I get there.”
I lit another cigarette.
“Wait. Before you go, will you tell me what your power is. I’ll keep it a secret I swear.”
I turned and started walking.
“Who knows? If I ever find out I’ll tell you.”
I heard him fly away and I started to laugh.
“That’s one less moron to worry about. All thanks to the power of depression.”
| 2014-12-18T18:39:49 | 2014-12-18T15:13:47 | 63 | 35 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Do you know what humans are? They are a small, bipedal creature trapped on a resource starved planet. Evolutionists would call this a typical case of a species made ruthless through internal competition. Not once in their entire existence had there been peace. Their 'civilization' began by throwing stones at 'Philistines,' and evolved to slinging lead. Yet, through this competition humans developed something beyond brutality...they developed creativity.
We're called "Greys," or at least that is what Humans called us. We had probed their planet several times, and our biologists studied them (including anatomy...I can only condone what our biologists did in their studies). We were looking for a warrior type species to help us against the fight against the Swarm. As our homeworld was besieged, we approached the humans asking for help.
Our council was afraid of giving away our weapon technology, but we were more afraid of being eaten. So, we struck a compromise where we would only give the Humans our designs for our Whirlwind FTL engines. What we were expecting was that Humans would build great ships with our engines and land on Swarm planets, just like what we had seen them do to each other. There will be a bloodbath, and two less violent species in the universe.
What we did not expect were Humans slapping our engines onto asteroids and embedding them into Swarm planets at nine-tenths the speed of light. Do you know what happens when a relativistic rock the size of a small moon hits a planet? Nothing pretty. Swarm planets fell, both warrior caste and worker caste. Nothing was spared, not even their larvae.
Just like before, the brutal Humans threw rocks. But now, they were creative about it. And now, we will reap the whirlwind we had sown. | "Chancellor Ehrbane, please, I am not a violent man."
"*Not a violent man?!*" I spluttered with almost unkept rage, "Your people have laid waste to my kin-kingdom's homeworld. Your men have trodden armoured through the Basilica of Old Truths, the keystone of our culture! Your weapons have destroyed our ancient reliquaries, devastated cities, and erased the history of our forebears! You are callous, you are dishonourable, and you are most *certainly* violent!"
The human in front of me cocked his head in confusion like some kind of pack animal, and quietly chuckled to himself before responding.
"No, Chancellor Ehrbane, I am not a violent man. I am a diplomat, an addition to your entourage, to cross the gap between your wishes and my superiors. My people are fighting a war on your behalf because you could not keep your next-door-neighbours off of your homeworld, and that Basilica was razed to ruin before humanity made planetfall. Those men you accuse me of destroying your world are not mine to command."
I could not believe what this man was saying; I was a Chancellor, a leader of the most sophisticated, proud and fashionable spacefaring civilisation in the spiral arm! How could he bear to stand in my presence without being some kind of mighty leader himself?
"Not... yours to command?" I spoke, somewhat uneasily given the revelation of this being's inferior status. The step backwards I took was instinctive; I could stay too close to an inferior species, especially a specimen of lower class.
The human quite obviously saw my actions and recognised my sense of distaste, sighing as if dealing with a child. "That would be so, Chancellor Ehrbane, not mine to command. My superiors, on the other hand, do command those men, and believe me on this one;" he took a long step closer to me and leaned in as he did so, becoming nauseatingly close to my person, "my superiors are *very violent men indeed*."
To seemingly illustrate his point, another human warship blinked out of slipspace within my homeworld's atmosphere, dangerously so given its vast size, mere miles from the tower I and the lesser human occupied. The gravitational distortion was immediately evident; I could see the seas to the east begin to churn uncontrollably; the earth shook and the sprawling buildings of my serfs below, structures far shoddier than my adamantium spire, began to tumble. The ventral guns of the warship opened up mere minutes later, tearing great holes miles wide into the flesh of my planet and decimating the routing mobs of invaders who, mere weeks earlier, had landed upon my home in grand armies, in serried ranks and with fluttering banners. Despite myself, I wept openly, and screamed aloud at the travesties committed by humanity upon my world. I sank to my knees, overcome with incalculable sorrow, my legs unable to keep me stable given the shaking of the ground beneath me and my emotional state.
The human rocked gently from side to side, moving his centre of mass in time with the swaying of my tower to compensate for the shaking earth. He leant over again and whispered next to my shuddering, curled and embryonic form.
"I am not a violent man, Ehrbane, and neither are you. However, I and my people are strong, your people, and you in particular, are *weak*. We tore our world apart so that we could get our hands upon the slipspace technology *you* offered. Your honeyed words spawned revolution, civil war and despair upon my home. Your world will be torn apart in recompense."
I still lay upon the ground, crying and yelling, as the human got up, sighed again, and began to walk for the staircase, he called over his shoulder as he retired.
"You brought pain to Earth, Ehrbane. You begged my people to rescue you from the invaders, but you did not beg to be rescued from us. Enjoy your world while it lasts, I know my superiors will. This is just the beginning, *the galaxy awaits humanity*!" | 2014-12-26T12:10:42 | 2014-12-26T10:45:23 | 130 | 15 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Guilt, shame, and horror would only begin to describe the things humanity felt when we were hit with the news. The Aliens didn't mince their words.
In short, we were considered the scum of the universe. Deliberately left out to rot, to self destruct, because we had shown a capacity for violence, cruelty, and atrocity unequalled throughout the known universe.
We, the human, were geniuses, but not in the way we expected. Turns out life out there was literally paradise. Apart for a few other species, intelligent life out there had a peaceful and nurturing predisposition. Violent races were quarantined until they either reached enlightenment or self-destructed. None had reached the space age on their own, until now.
The Barzenians, the most violent race after us, were simpleminded beings driven only by war. How they managed to come off their rock was a mystery, but they were now taking over with ease.
Unlike the Barzenians, we have a duality that shows a promise for redemption, although we are capable of untold terror we strive to be better people. This gave them hope and abled them to risk sharing technology and asking us for help.
We, of course, accepted. It didn't take much more than a year to beat them once we had the technology. It was a joke. This was the second most violent race?
Our initial shame turned into comfort, we were overjoyed. We had imagined space to be a scary place, turns out it's fucking rainbows and unicorns - can't be scared if you're the boogeyman. | May our children forgive us; for we choose servitude over annihilation. Is it not better to be second among equals, lower only to them and above the rest? Is it not better to watch the fleet of those who would enslave you burn, to watch their planets fall and their cities crumble than to see your people massacred, your holy places desecrated, your world die. We may be giving up our freedom but at least we will survive right? Yes, we will lose our beloved council, we will see Kartaloon fill will races from around the Dominion, we will cede territory to others and be forced to do trade with lesser species but we will survive. My brothers and sisters do you not wish to see the Targracians suffer for all that they have done to us, for what they did to the outer colonies for Impac, Tonar and Harkathia how many billions of us have they extinguished how many worlds have they made dim. Only the scourge of the Humans of the Dominion of Canada can lay restitution for the sins and atrocities that they have befallen upon us.
The Humans will be our ultimate weapon against Targracia, her people will weep for a million cycles, her Gods will be made to bow before the shadows and their hand, the Humans, her cities will empty and their people will know what it truly means to suffer, to suffer without hope, without mercy, to suffer at the hands of humans. Remember your history what they did to their own kind the atrocities committed against the cities of New York, Sao Paolo, Beijing, Tokyo now imagine what they would do to the Targracians a species that may pose a threat to them, even if only an imagined one. Yes my brothers and sisters we may lose autonomy but how many are truly left free in this galaxy if we do not capitulate to the Humans than to who? Should we be as the Par Madi a dead race only to be remembered in the annals of history; a lesson for those to come the consequences of those to prideful to bend to those more powerful than themselves, is it not better to bend to the Devil we know than the one we don't?
By joining the Canadian Dominion we will be given access to technologies millenia beyond our current level we will have access to their space-time gateways, our children will see parts of the galaxy that our grandfathers could only dream of. We will be able to spread far and wide to the point that even if Kartaloon should fall our people never will. As second among equals we will never know subjugation of a conquered people, only Humans themselves will be above us, and in the vastness of their territories we will barely even notice them, true our illustrious council will be disbanded and our people will be subjected to their "Democracy" but they will also be protected by their "Charter of rights and freedoms". We will be given technology to build a fleet of star ships that would be able to explore the Galaxy and protect our people, and still be backed up by the Canadian Star Fleet, we will be given voice in the Galactic Council, I have seen it myself their base inside of Sol, the base inside the heart of their sun where the representatives of the second species work together, where the Therelians and the Ic Ba Moor once bitter rivals exist together in peace.
Truth be told we have little choice in the matter, capitulation to the Humans is the only choice we have. I stand before you not to ask for your acceptance in this matter but to ask for your forgiveness for the deal has been made, by this time tomorrow the siege will be over, within an hour the full Canadian armed forces will enter Kartaloonian space and engage in battle with the Targracians. A Governor class space station will orbit between us and our third moon Today is the last day that Kartaloon exists as a free and independent world, but we still have a tomorrow and for that I will not apologize. | 2014-12-26T13:25:59 | 2014-12-26T10:50:07 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] In an alternate timeline, dinosaurs in the Eastern hemisphere are wiped out by the cataclysm, but those in the Americas survive the fallout. Millions of years later, a crew of European explorers land on the shore of the New World...
My first idea for a writing prompt, please have fun with it! :)
edit: These stories are awesome!! Thanks everyone! :D | The lone survivor shipwrecked on the shore of Ireland miraculously. He was fevered and scurvied, his clothes were caked in dried blood. When doctor tended the wounds and sickness he just shook his head and said: "I doubt the bloke will last more than a few days." And the he sat up and started screaming and ranting about giant lizards with swords for teeth.
Inspecting the ship the men of the village found the captains log, and learned the name of the ship too: The Pinta. In the log, they found the insane ravings of one Christopher Columbus, apparently he too had suffered some horrible fate, his last entry was splattered in blood, the only thing legible was "so much gold... so many terrible beasts..." Pages after that were the scrawlings of the survivor, barely legible.
"We didn't stand a chance, the beast rose from the water, a neck as long as the ship, it sunk the Nina in one blow, the Santa Maria was washed a shore, only the Pinta was able to land safely!"
"We've been here for days now, these tiny lizards the size of dogs hunt in packs..."
"The captain, Mr. Columbus won't leave the ship anymore. He keeps complaining about the monsters guarding the village with the gold. I think he finally went mad. "
"The ten of us, all thats left, set off from this acursed shore, praying that the sea serpent wouldn't attack. Some how we made it..."
"I ate the first mate, then the priest, Ol' Chris was too rotten to eat... hehehe..."
"Mind mi nd has s s sailed with th the rest of this blighted crew"
And that was the end of this poor man's tale. He died the next day and gave him his last rites, then we buried his body. The fishermen said we should destroy the ship because it was diseased and cursed, so we set it on fire and pushed it out to sea, what was left of it anyway.
We never did figure out what they were after, or where this land of monsters is. The old folks say it was Avalon, I say it sounds more like hell. | "Well, boys I think we hit India," I said as I untied the landing ship from the side of the boat. Some of the crew had managed to pull themselves out of their cots when I had yelled down into the cellar. I turned to smile at them, I was a part of the night crew which meant that a lot of them had only met me passingly when they had just woken up, and I was going to sleep. We'd hit land at the break of dawn, though, so the night crew was the most awake.
I finished the last tie, and the small boat dropped down to the sea. I maneuvered the ladder so that it was keeping the little ship in place and started to climb down. I was too excited to wait for the crew to choose who could come with me; it was first come first serve as far as I was concerned.
We were all part of an elite sailing crew selected by her majesty to find a different route to India. Due to recent wars sailing past our neighbors to the east was a risky endeavor, so we were looking for alternatives to set up colonies. I had never been to the East coast of India, but I hadn't expected there to be so many massive trees this close to the beach. It didn't matter we had succeeded and could report our findings as soon as we met the locals to trade with.
The other two members of the night crew jumped into the landing ship with me, Johnson and Victor. Together the three of us were the night crew. Our job was to make sure everything was A-ok when the rest of the group got some shuteye. We didn't have a lot of people to talk to on the ship, so we knew each other well.
"We're early," Victor remarked, he was the backup navigator, "India must be bigger than we thought."
"Better that than late," I pointed out, "We only had so much meat left before we were going to have to spend our spare time fishing."
"I've seen you fish," Johnson added, "you whistle."
"That I do," I smiled at him, "Oi Lads!" I yelled up to the deck, "Anyone else want to kiss the beach?"
There was a small clambering on the bridge before someone came over the edge. I rolled my eyes at the skirt. As much as I wished that God would always protect the Queen, she'd been on a binge of shoving women into jobs they had no right taking part in. Liv was our ship's navigator, but we preferred to call her seamstress. I couldn't say that I and the boys were nice to her, but she always acted like we were her best friends.
She hit the boat and knocked on the ladder; it was pulled away. I looked her over with narrow eyes and grabbed the paddle, "You're coming with?"
"Nobody else wanted to," she said, "and I haven't spent enough time with you guys."
"Sure," I added as I paddled to shore. It was easier just to be annoyed than try to argue openly with her, she was like my wife back home, more mouth than she was worth in sea salt. She tapped her feet to the rhythm of my rowing as we approached the beach.
The rowboat stopped earlier than I thought it would, catching on a sandbar and holding fast. I swore under my breath and looked over the edge into the sea. There was barely a foot of water between me and the sand below. The path could take us all the way to the shore, so I decided it was best to hop out and walk the rest of the way. The sea water ate at my boots as I made my way toward the shore. Liv was busy saying something about the trees that lined the coast. I didn't care to listen.
We reached the beach in good time, the salt water on my shoes changing to crunching sand. I turned back to look at the ship; it was rolling in the tide. I could pick out the men lining the nose of it, looking to see if we found anything interesting on the beach. It was going to take a few hours to pull out all of the other landing ships, so we were alone on the island for now.
"Hey," Victor said cutting off my thoughts, I turned to him, and he was pointing down the beach a few feet. A fair sized lizard was scurrying around on two legs. It was about as large as a cat. It was far and above the biggest lizard I had ever seen, and the most talented at walking on two legs, "the hell is that?"
"I don't know," I said honestly, "a lizard."
"I can see that much," he replied, "but what kinda lizard?" He asked.
"A big one," I pointed out, "come on we can't wait all day on the beach, or we might as well have stayed on the ship." | 2015-11-07T18:45:07 | 2015-11-07T15:07:26 | 35 | 21 |
[WP] "What do you mean the robbers ADDED $4,000,000 to the vault?" | "Wait, what do you mean we're going to ADD $4,000,000 to the vault?"
"That was the boss's orders."
"That makes no sense. Why would someone risk jail to *lose* money?"
"Don't know, don't care. That's what he's paying us for, so I'm doing what I'm told and getting the fuck out of here. Now get to work."
"All right... all right... no need to get angry. It's just... I always knew the man was weird, but *damn*."
&nbsp;
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&nbsp;
"Boss, it's done."
"Yeah, someone out there is $4,000,000 richer than last night... for some reason."
"*Some reason*? You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
"That's not what he meant, boss, he's new, doesn't know what he's..."
"Look, it's just that... it's your money and all, but why would anyone ever break into a vault to put *more* money in it? If you don't want it, you could just give it to me - no need to break into anything."
"...why? You mean you *don't know* why I sent you there? Don't you ever read the newspapers?"
"What? I don't get it."
"You idiot! Look at this!"
"What? 'The world's largest money vault'? What does that have to do with anything? Why does it matter to you that some vault has more money than others?"
"THE NUMBER! LOOK AT THE NUMBER! HOW MUCH MONEY WAS THERE IN THE VAULT?"
"What? Let me... no... no way..."
"Now you see why I had you do it?"
"You don't mean to tell me..."
"Exactly $999,999,996,000,000. How could I-- how could *anyone* leave it like that?"
"...I don't believe it."
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&nbsp;
Yeah, I don't usually write anything here, but the idea popped into my head as soon as I saw the prompt, so I thought - why not?
Also decided to experiment a bit, working only on dialogue - I hope I managed to keep the characters distinct enough it won't be a problem.
| "It was a--- forceful deposit."
Ben spent the better half of the last hour trying to come up with an explanation. An excuse. Some careful analysis that would have unveiled the mystery. This was the best he could come up with.
"A forceful deposit," the chairman repeated.
"Right. They drove up to our bank, demanded access to our vault, held us hostage and... made a deposit."
It still sounded ridiculous to Ben. Chairman Hurst was mouthing the two words, slowly, as if he couldn't determine whether he liked or disliked the flavor.
The old man washed it down with a glass of water.
"This is troublesome. We can't integrate it," mused the chairman. "Nor dispense it through our other assets. Nor set up an executive account Nor---"
"Sir."
An old set of eyes looked up at the young bank manager. Ben shook from the sudden attention, but resolved to speak his mind.
"We have to tell the police."
"Why," he responded. There was no hesitation behind the chairman's objection to involving the law.
"We--- we can't have four *million* dollars just sitting in our vault. It's a *county* bank, not Fargo or Morgan. This can't---" he threw his hands out, "--- disappear under a third-party asset or, an individual---"
Ben didn't think it was possible for the chairman to become so animated. Both eyebrows shot to the roof of his forehead.
"An individual *could* hold four million dollars as a sole proprietor."
The manager shook under the chairman's weighty declaration. "We can't, it's, it's embezzlement!"
His frown made the chairman seem impossibly older. "Embezzlement requires funds or financial assets to *belong* somewhere first. This... 'forced deposit,' is unprecedented. So it can't be traced. But the bank will be investigated if it's just sitting there... *I want to know where it came from.*"
Those last words were barely audible, but the chairman was determined. He was going to find out, Ben was sure. They were a small county bank not for the chairman's lack. Formerly, he sat on a board on the East Coast.
And this, disaster? Defining the incident tripped Ben up in his mind. The situation then. It kindled an old fire held deep in the caverns of Chairman Hurst.
It shone.
"How would you feel, being a *millionaire this month?*"
Like a criminal, he would have said if the old man didn't seem so enamored by the idea.
Again, the manager attempted some elaborate response that would impress the chairman. Again, he only had two words for his company's leader.
"Why me?"
The question sounded pathetic in Ben's ears.
Chairman Hurst's face cracked in a smile. "Because we're going to fight wealth with wealth. Like you'll know how to spend it. The federal agencies won't catch on for about a month." He reclined into the looming chair behind his desk with a sigh. "That four million is too big an anchor. The bank will sink, and the county with it. We'll have this over with by then."
It was a declaration of war.
Ben didn't recall studying economics in his county college to get conscripted. Especially into a war he had no idea how to fight. Or armed. The robbers, let alone if someone were even behind them, were an invisible enemy.
He told the chairman as much.
"Someone wants to make our situation here terribly complex," he responded. The manager couldn't help but feel relieved Hurst identified this as a situation as well. "So we'll simplify it for now. Find answers as we go."
"I'm ready to fight."
The words felt certain. Satisfied with how they came out this time, he stood resolutely, prepared to take on this battle by the chairman's side. The laughing chairman, who's spittle sprayed over the table. Ben could only watch in horror as the old man fought for control.
Finally, he rasped through manic breaths. "Benjamin, you're my *ammunition.* Money talks, and you're going to be the speakerphone. When I have these bastards, I'll make them regret putting me in this situation."
Again, he said situation.
Despite how small Ben felt in that moment, they called it the same thing. Which confirmed the chairman was just as confused about this as he was.
The manager hoped Hurst knew what he was doing.
| 2016-02-24T12:57:45 | 2016-02-24T12:38:33 | 221 | 10 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything. | When I was told my team would be the first to land on Mars, excitement welled within me. 'Pioneers', they called us; and really, how many people can call themselves pioneers? It's exciting. It's scary. It's... unlike anything else.
And yet, as I stood and looked across an expanse of nothing but reddish brown sand and dust, I felt absolutely nothing but disappointment. The voyage was hell, and I'd spent *so long* looking forward to landing that the reality of Mars just couldn't live up to what I'd been expecting. The first three days were mind-numbingly boring and dreary.
The fourth day changed everything.
"What... the *hell* is that?" I asked through the comm system, pointing at a torn-up tent in the distance. "Did one of you assholes set that up to screw with me?"
"I wish I were that creative, believe me," Stan responded, staring alongside me. "But that... that's not us. There's a flag, Mike. I can't make it out from here."
The two of us, along with Victor Foreman, our engineer, pressed forward with caution. As we approached, the flag became increasingly visible: plain red, with a yellow hammer and sickle. It was tattered and coated in dust.
"Okay, this is bullshit. O'Neill, are you fucking with us? I remember seeing this flag in history class."
A response came over the radio. "This is a bit too... complex for my sense of humor. I'm a simple man, Mike. I don't recognize the flag, what is it?"
"Come on, man. Sleep through class?"
"Sorry, I was busy learning how to pilot for NASA. This isn't funny, Mike. If you've seriously found something, we have to treat this situation with urgency and caution."
I sighed into the mic. "Soviet Russia. The one we got into the Cold War with, way back when."
"I'm going to contact HQ. Proceed as if there could be people in that base."
"Oh, come on, Cap-"
"I know we get cozy, but right now, we're not friends."
I choked back my pride. "Understood. Stay by the feeds, we're heading in. I'm telling you, though, there's no one here anymore. Everything's... just- it's destroyed. Ripped to shreds."
I stepped forward, pushing aside a fold of fabric from the tent wall. Immediately, I recoiled, sucking my breath in. Right there, on a cafeteria bench, was a man- his skin pale, spotted with black and brown, but nearly perfectly mummified overall. He looked like he'd died just a week prior.
"Holy shit." Victor threw up in his suit, then tried to paw at his slimy helmet.
"Cap, I don't think this is a joke. You see this, right?"
"Already contacting Houston. Someone's going to have to reach out and see if there's something we don't know about. Does he look injured?"
I kept myself at a distance, scanning his body with my eyes. There were still packets of food on a nearby counter. "No. Honestly, it looks like he just suffocated. He didn't starve, and there's no blood or any kind of wound."
There was a large, clunky device on the table in front of the body. I reached out and grabbed it, keeping my eyes off the corpse.
"I think it's a recording device." There were batteries in it, still looking fresh. Oxygen's a real asshole when it comes to preservation.
I flipped a window out on the lefthand side, and turned it on. After rewinding for several seconds, a man appeared on screen- I immediately recognized him. I slipped my suit's 3.5mm jack into the recording device once it finished rewinding.
"Hello," he said with a thick, Russian accent. "I have made many videos in Russian, but I have a feeling it won't matter. This last one will be in English.
"Russia has abandoned me. I was sent here as an experiment for the government, to see if we could set up a base, maybe build in secrecy. The journey was too harsh, and the travel time too long. I burned more fuel than we thought, and now I am stuck here. They told me that nobody will be coming to save me.
The man's breath grew shaky, and he wiped at his eyes.
"I asked to speak with my family. They said no. They said nobody will ever know of my time here. My death will be faked in an accident upon re-entry of Earth's atmosphere. Parachute failure. I have spent two months here now, and oxygen is almost gone. Food is still here, but that does not matter. I will die alone, and nobody will ever know. I die for nothing.
"I do not expect to be saved. Maybe nobody finds this. I don't know why I film. If you do, please tell my daughter I love her. Maybe my wife if she's still alive. I only wish I could tell them myself. I end things now. May you find your way home."
I pushed the screen in and sat down.
*Pioneer: A word we invented to make ourselves feel better about being guinea pigs.*
------
*thanks for reading! you can find more at /r/resonatingfury!* | Colonel Anderson kneeled down in front of a broken pole and wiped away some orange dust off the ground, revealing a tattered piece of crimson cloth stuck under a rock. Dragging it out of its resting place, the Colonel tore it in half, showing the two men behind him a symbol of a gold hammer and sickle beneath a gold-bordered red star.
"It can't be..." said Lieutenant Colonel Haynes. "Colonel, that's a soviet flag. A union of communist nations that dissolved nearly two hundred years ago."
Colonel Anderson sighed and tried to stroke his gray beard, but remembered he was wearing a spacesuit. He then shook his head saying:
"I don't like this, Haynes. We're supposed to be the first humans here. What's a relic like this doing in Mars?"
"Aliens?" said Lieutenant Colonel Wilfery. "Did they get killed off by aliens?!?"
Haynes rolled his eyes and said:
"There's no such thing as aliens, you dunce. Well, at least not on Mars. They probably had an accident and couldn't return back home."
"Maybe they were unable to contact Earth" said Colonel Anderson. "These... 'soviets' assumed the mission was a failure and never reported on it out of shame, or something like that. Regardless, that distress beacon is still pinging. We need to find its source before we do anything else." He scoffed with a sly grin. "Maybe one of them is still alive."
-------------------------------------
The three astronauts hiked a tall mountain they encountered on their way to the beacon. Gusts of wind suddenly caressed the men, causing them to be buffeted by specks of red sand. Ignoring the harsh exterior conditions inside the comfort of his spacesuit, Lieutenant Colonel Wilfery said:
"So why are you so sure there aren't any aliens here?"
"Because of the rover Curiosity!" replied Haynes, through a bit of static interference in their radio. "About a hundred and fifty years ago it explored the martian surface and didn't find anything."
"A stoner's curiosity?" said Wilfery. "What's weed got to do with this? Did they really send an undergraduate student ahead of us?"
The gales rapidly increased in strength and ferocity the closer they got to the peak. Enveloping them in what seemed like crimson mist, the dust clouds got denser, to the point of almost being tangible, and obscured anything five meters ahead of them. Slamming his palm into his helmet, Haynes then said:
"Rover! R-O-V-E-R. It was a reconnaissance robot sent to study Mars' geology. It didn't find any life after decades of searching, so yeah, I'm pretty confident there aren't any aliens here!"
"Would you two just shut up and focus on the situation at hand?!?" shouted Colonel Anderson, barely visible in front of them. "We're in the middle of a sandstorm here! One wrong step and we break our necks on this mountain!"
Just as he finished speaking, Colonel Anderson grabbed a loose rock and fell backwards. He screamed for his life while airborne, his horror subsiding once his men caught him by the arm. Wilfery grinned and said:
"Teaching by example, I see! A testament to your great leadership skills, colonel!"
Colonel Anderson narrowed his eyes and grunted at Wilfery, looking downwards in shame once his subordinates weren't looking.
-----------------------------------------------------
Once they got to the peak, the sandstorm had already subsided, making the descent a lot easier than the climb. The distress signal was beeping stronger the more they walked through the empty plains, giving Wilfery an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Marching behind the others didn't help his uneasiness. His back was exposed to whatever could be behind them and everything was too quiet, too still for his liking. The flat landscape they traversed looked more like a desert drenched in dried blood than an alien planet. Even the ground beneath his feet felt *wrong*. It was probably the difference in gravity to Earth's, but he still couldn't ignore the thought that everything reacted differently here.
Looking over his shoulder, Wilfery widened his eyes with fear. The soil turned pitch black and flowed in bumps towards them, rising and falling like streaks of ink in a hostile sea of red dust. Wilfery immediately ran to his companions screaming:
"The soil guys! The ground's out to get us!"
Haynes turned around with tense shoulders, but quickly relaxed his body. He then shook his head, sighed, and said:
"No it isn't. The ground isn't sentient Wilfery, it's just subterranean water rising from the ground."
"Subterranean water?"
"Yeah," replied Haynes. "they're called 'Recurring Slope Lineae'. It's summer here, and highly saline water tends to flow this way during this time of the year."
Colonel Anderson laughed loudly and walked up to the darkened sand. He then touched its damp texture and said:
"I can't believe you're a Lieutenant, Wilfery. Really? Wet sand? What's next? An abandoned soviet station filled with zombi-"
The sand sprung from the ground and pierced Anderson's suit through his arm. He quickly jumped away from it, but it was already too late. The dust flowed into his spacesuit, filling it up until inflating it slightly and freezing him there with its added weight. Anderson's ear piercing screams were then muffled by the sand, who choked the life out of him by forcing itself down his throat.
Wilfery and Haynes gaped in terror, seeing Anderson's eyes pop out and being followed by a viscous fluid that fell from his sockets like crude oil. They turned around, trying to run away, but their knees weakened and tripped them over. The sand inched its way to their helmets, twisting itself around their calves and anchoring them to the ground. Clawing at the floor with their hands, they dragged themselves away from the black tendrils for a few feet, before being forcefully drawn into the darkness again.
The two men then faced each other and nodded, silently resigning themselves to their end. Once the black sand reached their necks, it covered them like a blanket and stopped crushing them with its pressure. Footsteps suddenly crunched nearby, coming from Anderson's body who stood in front of them. In a coarse and headache inducing voice his body said:
"Get out of our planet, humans. It belongs to *us*!"
"W-we come in peace" said Wilfery. "Yes, its *your* planet. We have no intention from taking it from you."
"Really?!?" shouted the voice. "That's exactly what the others said, but once we tapped into their memories, we saw they had other plans instead." The limp body raised its arms. "Colonization! On *our* planet. They thought they claimed it by sticking a pole in the ground!"
"They didn't know you lived here!" said Haynes. "*We* didn't know you lived here! Please, surely seeing humans must've been surprising to you too!"
"Yes..." The voice trailed off, pausing for a few seconds. "We didn't know much of you lifeforms when they first came, so we possessed all of them, thinking you were a hive-mind like us. We knew more of you would come, so we used their trinkets to call you to our location. This time, we're leaving some of you alive to send a message. Never come back to Mars again. Stay off our planet and don't you *dare* claim it as yours."
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>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories! | 2016-08-16T10:03:13 | 2016-08-16T08:14:02 | 139 | 86 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything. | When I was told my team would be the first to land on Mars, excitement welled within me. 'Pioneers', they called us; and really, how many people can call themselves pioneers? It's exciting. It's scary. It's... unlike anything else.
And yet, as I stood and looked across an expanse of nothing but reddish brown sand and dust, I felt absolutely nothing but disappointment. The voyage was hell, and I'd spent *so long* looking forward to landing that the reality of Mars just couldn't live up to what I'd been expecting. The first three days were mind-numbingly boring and dreary.
The fourth day changed everything.
"What... the *hell* is that?" I asked through the comm system, pointing at a torn-up tent in the distance. "Did one of you assholes set that up to screw with me?"
"I wish I were that creative, believe me," Stan responded, staring alongside me. "But that... that's not us. There's a flag, Mike. I can't make it out from here."
The two of us, along with Victor Foreman, our engineer, pressed forward with caution. As we approached, the flag became increasingly visible: plain red, with a yellow hammer and sickle. It was tattered and coated in dust.
"Okay, this is bullshit. O'Neill, are you fucking with us? I remember seeing this flag in history class."
A response came over the radio. "This is a bit too... complex for my sense of humor. I'm a simple man, Mike. I don't recognize the flag, what is it?"
"Come on, man. Sleep through class?"
"Sorry, I was busy learning how to pilot for NASA. This isn't funny, Mike. If you've seriously found something, we have to treat this situation with urgency and caution."
I sighed into the mic. "Soviet Russia. The one we got into the Cold War with, way back when."
"I'm going to contact HQ. Proceed as if there could be people in that base."
"Oh, come on, Cap-"
"I know we get cozy, but right now, we're not friends."
I choked back my pride. "Understood. Stay by the feeds, we're heading in. I'm telling you, though, there's no one here anymore. Everything's... just- it's destroyed. Ripped to shreds."
I stepped forward, pushing aside a fold of fabric from the tent wall. Immediately, I recoiled, sucking my breath in. Right there, on a cafeteria bench, was a man- his skin pale, spotted with black and brown, but nearly perfectly mummified overall. He looked like he'd died just a week prior.
"Holy shit." Victor threw up in his suit, then tried to paw at his slimy helmet.
"Cap, I don't think this is a joke. You see this, right?"
"Already contacting Houston. Someone's going to have to reach out and see if there's something we don't know about. Does he look injured?"
I kept myself at a distance, scanning his body with my eyes. There were still packets of food on a nearby counter. "No. Honestly, it looks like he just suffocated. He didn't starve, and there's no blood or any kind of wound."
There was a large, clunky device on the table in front of the body. I reached out and grabbed it, keeping my eyes off the corpse.
"I think it's a recording device." There were batteries in it, still looking fresh. Oxygen's a real asshole when it comes to preservation.
I flipped a window out on the lefthand side, and turned it on. After rewinding for several seconds, a man appeared on screen- I immediately recognized him. I slipped my suit's 3.5mm jack into the recording device once it finished rewinding.
"Hello," he said with a thick, Russian accent. "I have made many videos in Russian, but I have a feeling it won't matter. This last one will be in English.
"Russia has abandoned me. I was sent here as an experiment for the government, to see if we could set up a base, maybe build in secrecy. The journey was too harsh, and the travel time too long. I burned more fuel than we thought, and now I am stuck here. They told me that nobody will be coming to save me.
The man's breath grew shaky, and he wiped at his eyes.
"I asked to speak with my family. They said no. They said nobody will ever know of my time here. My death will be faked in an accident upon re-entry of Earth's atmosphere. Parachute failure. I have spent two months here now, and oxygen is almost gone. Food is still here, but that does not matter. I will die alone, and nobody will ever know. I die for nothing.
"I do not expect to be saved. Maybe nobody finds this. I don't know why I film. If you do, please tell my daughter I love her. Maybe my wife if she's still alive. I only wish I could tell them myself. I end things now. May you find your way home."
I pushed the screen in and sat down.
*Pioneer: A word we invented to make ourselves feel better about being guinea pigs.*
------
*thanks for reading! you can find more at /r/resonatingfury!* | Sarah crested the red ridge and her heart burst. She had almost literally moved mountains to be here. And now the rocks, sand and dust she had memorized for years lay before her. Her view from the southern slope of Olympus Mons stretched for kilometers--though that seemed too small a unit to measure what she could see. It felt like she could see for light years. She could feel the stretch of time and space across this ancient landscape. She could feel it stretch across her own landscape, tracing her journey from the wheat fields of Washington, where she learned her love of the stars, through the naval academy and, eventually, here on the fourth rock from the sun.
She felt she could see everything, but soon only one thing dominated her vision: something that looked like--but could not possibly be--a metal pole with a red and yellow flag drooping to its side.
Sarah called out, "Jordan, I'm climbing down a klick to a crater that may have some exposed metal." "Sure thing, Skip."
The object that could not have been a flagpole was nestled into a crater, and looked like it would be in the shadows almost the entire day. Sarah had only caught a small glint from the top few millimeters of the pole that was in the light, but it was enough.
As she climbed down, she thought about all the factors that had brought her so far: the dissolution of NASA and the privatization of the American space program, the food shortages in Asia that had destabilized a third of the world's population, and the wild hope that low-grav farming on Mars would someday solve the problems on Earth. While she was not on Mars to prospect for metals, the Mars First Consortium would not say no to anything useful. And so she descended under the guise that she was prospecting. She knew the truth though--whatever she was chasing was far above and beyond her pay grade.
She reached the crater and found what she would have called a path to the floor of the crater, except there weren't any paths on Mars. She reached the floor of the crater, and all her instruments went dark. Her rebreather was working fine, it could handle a power outage, but coms, lights, and navigation were all off. She tried to reboot her suit, to no avail. Things were weird enough, so she decided to press on the 50 meters to the "flagpole" anyway.
Sarah had walked over all kinds of Martian dust, or sand or gravel, but she hadn't seen anything like the bottom of the crater. It was oddly smooth, as if it had been sanded down and polished, with a thin layer of dust to coat it and a few rocks and boulders strewn around for show. She couldn't shake the feeling that she should be anywhere but in that crater, out of the sunlight, with no communications. She was not exactly afraid, she just had that old familiar feeling that what she was about to do was intensely stupid and yet inevitable she would do it. It was like when she ate a whole ghost pepper on Charlie's dare on her honeymoon. A terrible decision, but one she had to make anyway. Come to think of it, Charlie himself was one of those terrible decisions.
She reached the flagpole. There was no denying it any longer. It was about five feet high, perfectly cylindrical in shape, and of course there was no mistaking the hammer and sickle flag that indicated the Soviets (or someone pretending to be them) had marked their time in this crater.
Another stupid decision: she touched the pole. A jolt ran through her finger, up her arm and through her body. That wasn't supposed to be possible with the padding in her glove, but she found herself splayed on the ground shaking anyway. Actually, she wasn't shaking, the ground was. She tried to get to her feet as a thicker darkness rose around her and swallowed the skies above her, but it was no use. She was being lowered underground. All she could do was wait it out.
Sarah sat, and waited, well away from the flagpole (she wasn't making that mistake again). She may have dozed off, it felt like she was descending for hours, or it might have been a couple of minutes.
Finally, her platform reached its destination. A door opened into a spartan metallic corridor with blinding incandescent lights. Sarah took a moment to adjust her eyes and began to explore the corridor. She was familiar enough with Russian design from her days training for the ISS that she could see many of the same influences. There was something to the platform, the shape and color of the metal, the design (or lack thereof) of the panels making up the corridor, that gave her a nostalgic feeling of training for a Soyuz mission.
She reached a door to another room. It was ajar. She pushed it open and gasped. On a series of ancient monitors, yet in surprisingly high definition, she watched as pivotal moments of her life played out: her first kiss, her graduation, the moment she knew she had to divorce Charlie to achieve her dreams... The room looked and felt old. The monitors had even older terminals with keyboards set in Russian, though a few looked newer and seemed to have standard Qwerty keyboards in English. The chairs were steel and looked exceedingly uncomfortable, but looked as if they were polished yesterday. Sarah's eyes were drawn back to the monitors, where the center screen flashed a message in English.
"Hello Sarah, we have been waiting for you..."
"Hello? Who is there?" Sarah said, once in English and once in Russian.
A new message flashed onto the screen, "We are."
"Who is 'we'?"
"Come and see for yourself..." A small, unassuming door towards the rear of the room opened with a click and a hiss. Sarah felt compelled to step through. She still hadn't shaken the feeling that she should just run away and hide, but her curiosity was overwhelming.
She entered the back room, her stomach dropping out when she saw what it contained. Three grotesque Russian men stood before her. They each had ugly steel and metals protruding from their bodies at odd angles in odd places, with plastic tubing ferrying liquids throughout their bodies. Their military uniforms were tattered. It seemed their backs were impossibly straight. Each man's eyes had been replaced by small metallic balls that twirled constantly. Their mouths were wired shut, and they had antennas sticking out of their skulls. It looked as if they had an intake port shunted into their necks. They were expressionless and, strangely enough, held hands with each other. And the man in the center had a screen affixed to his chest.
Another message: "We are the Sputnik. We want to go home." Sarah's heart ached for the men these once were. "The process for conversion was imperfect for these bodies, but we have refined our techniques in the past decades." Sarah's feeling of dread doubled. The door closed behind her. "We have been watching you and waiting. You have the determination to succeed where we did not. And you have brought us a ship to get home." Sarah tugged at the door to get out of the room as the bodies slowly slid toward her, their legs never moving from the ground. "Our people abandoned us, but you will not. You will lead us into the new age." The things that were once men closed in around her. She heaved at the door once more, digging her feet in, and the latch broke. She ran from the room, down the corridor, praying the elevator would work for her once more. | 2016-08-16T10:03:13 | 2016-08-16T09:48:26 | 139 | 33 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you. | I've always wanted a familiar. I grew up reverent of my father's. That dirty little mutt happily plods along behind him just like I used to. Like all familiars, it appeared with a plain, white card, only marked with the date of its first appearance and the name of the trait it represented.
"07/29/1993 - Loyalty".
To this day, his parents can't go an hour without mentioning how proud they were when it appeared. Speaking of them, they're quite the proper pair too considering their familiars, Abstinence and Earnestness. Dad's never once told me about Mom's familiar, but I'm sure it was just as noble as his. Of course it would be.
I hate how important familiars are. Colleges, employers, men, they all want to see my card. It's not my fault that I'm 20 and still don't have one. Dad tries to reassure me, saying that everyone gets a familiar eventually, but I've heard stories about people who go their whole life without ever getting one. They can't get jobs, and everyone in their life abandons them. At this point, I assume that's what's going to happen to me.
Sometimes I dream of a world without familiars, where everyone wasn't judged by something they can't control. Maybe tonight I'll dream of that world again. It really is a nice escape.
________________________________________________________
I hear my father's voice. I can tell it's bright. It must be morning.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting up," I mumble, rolling over and burying my face in my pillow.
Now, I notice that something's different this morning. Dad isn't his usual, obnoxiously kind self. He's shaking me, and there's a touch of excitement, no, panic in his voice.
"No, Allie, get up now! Your familiar! It's... it's... they're here!"
I jolt awake as soon as I hear those words I felt as if I had been waiting forever to hear. I spin around and sit up, glancing left, then right.
"Really? They're here!? Wait, they?"
Dad's hand is on my shoulder, and he seems... distant. Concerned.
"Dad? What's wrong? Where's my familiar?"
"Allie... honey... there are two. They're just outside."
"Two? What do you mean? Dad, no one has two familiars. Do they?"
My father just looks at me, unsure of what to say, and instead stands up from my bedside and slowly opens my bedroom door.
_____________________________________
I can't believe what I'm seeing. On my bedside table sits the massive, absolutely terrifying form of a translucent, black-feathered carrion bird. It has the most ugly, bald, orange face I've ever seen in my life, and at the end of that terrible face is a sharp, hooked grey beak. Unfortunately, that's not the scariest part. That distinction goes to the deep, seemingly all black, unblinking eyes that seem to be staring directly into my soul. In its disgusting beak is a plain, white card.
I reach out my trembling hand to take the card. The bird stays still, almost like a statue, only ever-so-slightly tilting its head to the side as I pull the card from its mouth. I close my eyes for a moment in anticipation, and I flip the card over. I open my eyes without looking down at it. Dad is watching carefully from the doorway. I can tell he's as worried as I am.
"Go on Allie. Read it," he says, his voice mostly back to its usual, soft tone.
I look down at the card.
"01/20/2017 - Adaptability".
"What does it say? Come on Allie, it can't be that bad."
"Adaptability," I mumble quietly.
"Adaptability? That's not bad Allie! Adaptability is important."
I can't believe him. How can he be acting like this in this situation? Why does he have to always be so sickeningly nice? Adaptability could mean anything. And all of this is ignoring the elephant in the room.
That elephant, of course, isn't actually an elephant. I look down to the right, and notice it, a huge wolf with almost matte grey fur, staring intently at me, another white card clutched securely in its mouth. I slide closer to it to reach the card, and start moving my hand towards it. The wolf starts snarling and I instinctively pull my hand back, but the wolf doesn't move an inch. Instead, it continues to stare. Again, I begin to reach out to take the card, and this time I do so.
I flip the card over immediately and read it.
"01/20/2017 - Ruthlessness".
Maybe it would have been better if I never got a familiar after all. | Most people get their familiars at around the same time they enter puberty. They always have a name, and they always fit their person somehow. The prevailing idea why they appear at that age is because that is when children begin to truly change and therefore emotionally require a constant companion in the world, to help them through the stresses of growing up. They don't always appear the same, either. People have reported receiving animal, human, and even mythical familiars, from a hamster to a wyvern.
I, however, am unique. I am 21, and I don't have one yet. I have been through a lot early, a lot of bullying when I was young due to my personality, and then once people found out I didn't have a familiar yet, that became the main point. I changed schools due to redistricting when I was very young, which cost me my friends, as we now went to schools almost a county apart. As a child, I lost a cousin to murder, and even personally made the coffin for my grandfather when he passed, when I was older. I suspect these are the reasons for the lack of familiar, as I changed emotionally too strongly, and too often, for one single familiar to attach to me. However, as I became more bitter, more lonely and abandoned, taking to drink and brooding on my own instead of socializing with others, who were so different from me in a way I couldn't change, I must have become perfect for the familiars to choose me.
I woke up one morning, feeling different. It seemed like just another Saturday morning, and nothing looked different in my dorm room. Except, it was pitch black, as dark as I remember moonless nights to be back home in the country. It is never black in the city, not ever. I looked at my phone, thinking maybe there is some blackout and the university sent out an email or text notice. Turning on my phone was the kicker though, because that is when I noticed that the blackness was because I couldn't see. Jumping up in bed, I clawed at my face, and I felt something flow off of it. Only to be slammed in the face by a bright, pure light.
"Sorry for the unpleasant awakening," a female voice said, "but if you had seen me without any conditioning, you woudl have truly gone blind."
The voice was soft, and oddly comforting, but the panic from her words overcame the soothing effect. "Conditioning!? What do you mean, 'conditioning'? What have you done to me?? What was on my face!"
"Calm yourself, all I have done was allow you to see me safely. You have waited a very long time, and now, your wait is over. I am here to accompany you as familiars."
Finally getting a good look at the voice now that the light began to fade, I saw a woman of a little over average height in a long, forest green dress or gown, pale as the moon with hair a beautiful, amazing red. No, red wasn't the color, it didn't do her justice. It was a rich, full red, the color of a prized ruby and just as sleek. Its color amazed me, enraptured me. I always did have a preference for women with red hair, but this was on a different. Her eyes though. They were deep, and dark. Darker than dark, her eyes rivaled the darkness of space. They consumed me, and I had the feeling of being consumed by them. Summoning the will to break my gaze, I noticed behind her back spread an aura of scintillating, shapeless *something* that I could not place but nevertheless seemed to be perfectly reasonable to be there. Once I got past her stunning beauty, which as a lonely male in my prime, took me a few minutes to get my brain working again, I realized her choice of words.
"What do you mean, familiars, plural? I thought people only ever get one familiar."
"Most people get one. very few get two, the reason you have never heard of one is because they are like you. Not good with people, and tend to keep to themselves."
"Well where is the second? I only see you."
"You have already seen him," she said with a giggle, "He has been with you for much of your life. He is not a fan of light, as he is not as you would say, 'good looking', to be gentle." He therefore tends to stay beneath people, where he cannot generally be seen." As she said this she gestured to the shifting *something* behind her. He also conveniently pairs with me perfectly, as he is what is allowing you to bear looking at me. I would blind those I am bonded with if not for him. We are a kindred, and while we may split at times, we will always come back together, as we have today."
"He was my shadow?"
*No, but I stayed in it. I have guided you, and been there for you when so many others have not.* Spoke a new, masculine voice. A startlingly familiar voice, I realized it was my own mental voice.
"How do you sound li-"
*I am not your thoughts, boy, but I have been with you for so long you hear my voice as your own now. We have been one and the same since you were 14, and suffered the loss that changed you into what you are now. I apologize for the dreams you had the week following the funeral, but it was necessary to rush the bonding process, or you may have been lost from this world forever. You needed somebody, and I was a perfect fit for you.*
"Alright then," I said cautiously, "what are your names? I want to know why you finally chose me."
*We have many, more than you would know and some that you can not even pronounce. The most well known of my names would likely be Νεμεσις, or possibly Furor.*
"And I am known as Adrestia, or possibly Glaistig. I am sure that with your love of books, you have heard of us, somewhere along the line, for we are as ancient as humans themselves."
I indeed had heard of them, and I was interested in where this was going. "I have heard of you, yes. You are spirits of hatred, and vengeance. You attached yourselves with me for what happened seven years ago, I assume? Also, you mention you are a kindred, and I know of one similar to you. May I call you Wolf and Lamb?"
Lamb smiled. "You may, and you are correct. You have lived these years in despair, struggling with the decision to end your life, as you were desperate to end the suffering. Wolf managed to coax you back each time. But now, you are strong enough to not only hold him within you, but myself as well. The one who has wronged you and your family will be free of his bonds. Even though his familiar left him after commiting his crime, he will be released from your human prison soon, and he has received a new, far less savory and far more despicable familiar than before. We will assist you in the justice he deserves, and we will remain with you as your constant and loyal companions for life."
*Now, boy,* Wolf said while Lamb watched with a caring smile and determined look on her face, *we have work to do!* | 2017-01-20T17:20:07 | 2017-01-20T15:39:15 | 45 | 32 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you. | I've always wanted a familiar. I grew up reverent of my father's. That dirty little mutt happily plods along behind him just like I used to. Like all familiars, it appeared with a plain, white card, only marked with the date of its first appearance and the name of the trait it represented.
"07/29/1993 - Loyalty".
To this day, his parents can't go an hour without mentioning how proud they were when it appeared. Speaking of them, they're quite the proper pair too considering their familiars, Abstinence and Earnestness. Dad's never once told me about Mom's familiar, but I'm sure it was just as noble as his. Of course it would be.
I hate how important familiars are. Colleges, employers, men, they all want to see my card. It's not my fault that I'm 20 and still don't have one. Dad tries to reassure me, saying that everyone gets a familiar eventually, but I've heard stories about people who go their whole life without ever getting one. They can't get jobs, and everyone in their life abandons them. At this point, I assume that's what's going to happen to me.
Sometimes I dream of a world without familiars, where everyone wasn't judged by something they can't control. Maybe tonight I'll dream of that world again. It really is a nice escape.
________________________________________________________
I hear my father's voice. I can tell it's bright. It must be morning.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting up," I mumble, rolling over and burying my face in my pillow.
Now, I notice that something's different this morning. Dad isn't his usual, obnoxiously kind self. He's shaking me, and there's a touch of excitement, no, panic in his voice.
"No, Allie, get up now! Your familiar! It's... it's... they're here!"
I jolt awake as soon as I hear those words I felt as if I had been waiting forever to hear. I spin around and sit up, glancing left, then right.
"Really? They're here!? Wait, they?"
Dad's hand is on my shoulder, and he seems... distant. Concerned.
"Dad? What's wrong? Where's my familiar?"
"Allie... honey... there are two. They're just outside."
"Two? What do you mean? Dad, no one has two familiars. Do they?"
My father just looks at me, unsure of what to say, and instead stands up from my bedside and slowly opens my bedroom door.
_____________________________________
I can't believe what I'm seeing. On my bedside table sits the massive, absolutely terrifying form of a translucent, black-feathered carrion bird. It has the most ugly, bald, orange face I've ever seen in my life, and at the end of that terrible face is a sharp, hooked grey beak. Unfortunately, that's not the scariest part. That distinction goes to the deep, seemingly all black, unblinking eyes that seem to be staring directly into my soul. In its disgusting beak is a plain, white card.
I reach out my trembling hand to take the card. The bird stays still, almost like a statue, only ever-so-slightly tilting its head to the side as I pull the card from its mouth. I close my eyes for a moment in anticipation, and I flip the card over. I open my eyes without looking down at it. Dad is watching carefully from the doorway. I can tell he's as worried as I am.
"Go on Allie. Read it," he says, his voice mostly back to its usual, soft tone.
I look down at the card.
"01/20/2017 - Adaptability".
"What does it say? Come on Allie, it can't be that bad."
"Adaptability," I mumble quietly.
"Adaptability? That's not bad Allie! Adaptability is important."
I can't believe him. How can he be acting like this in this situation? Why does he have to always be so sickeningly nice? Adaptability could mean anything. And all of this is ignoring the elephant in the room.
That elephant, of course, isn't actually an elephant. I look down to the right, and notice it, a huge wolf with almost matte grey fur, staring intently at me, another white card clutched securely in its mouth. I slide closer to it to reach the card, and start moving my hand towards it. The wolf starts snarling and I instinctively pull my hand back, but the wolf doesn't move an inch. Instead, it continues to stare. Again, I begin to reach out to take the card, and this time I do so.
I flip the card over immediately and read it.
"01/20/2017 - Ruthlessness".
Maybe it would have been better if I never got a familiar after all. | I had never known what life was like with a familiar. My parents both had them, my older brother had one, and almost every person I knew at my school had one. They'd follow their masters about from place to place disappearing occasionally when commanded. I would try to describe them, but they are all so unique it becomes almost impossible to focus one one particular attribute.
They don't talk. Or at least not that I can hear. From my perspective at the time, they just seemed to follow people pointlessly. My parents told me when I was young that they were called "familiars" because they represented something about their master. And that appeared to be true.
Cheerleaders tended to have more bubbly, miniature familiars with bright colors. The kids who had family troubles tend to has either sullen, dark familiars or beefed up fighters. I always thought it probably reflected how they dealt with their situations--something unspoken about how they carried themselves.
Every birthday I hoped one would turn up and I would find out exactly what I was missing, but year after year none showed up at my side. I liked to postulate that it meant I could be whoever I wanted to be in the future. That all my doors were still open. I wasn't cornered into a destiny. My friends seemed to think it meant I was indecisive and didn't know who I was. Of course, they only every mentioned it as a joke. It wasn't.
About my 21st birthday, I truly believed I would finally get my familiar. I could drink. I* was a complete adult--minus the insurance benefits of a 25 year-old. And everyone knows that's when you find out a lot about yourself. That night I remember drinking more than I had ever attempted before. It was my turn to take on the world.
The next morning I woke up with a terrible hangover. The sun pelted my eyes through my bedroom window like a continuous beam of pain straight to the back of my head. I got up shrugging my shoulders to stretch them out and scrunching my face so I could see. I grabbed my glasses from my bedside table and started my trek to the bathroom to face whatever hell was about to come form the night before.
I felt nauseous and unbalanced as I entered the bathroom. I threw water briskly onto my face to wake me up and looked in the mirror. I barely had time to see what was behind me in the reflection before I jumped. I turned quickly to face whatever I had seen behind me in the mirror. Nothing. My heart slowed and I started to breath again.
My turn had half-hopeful and half-frightened. Frightened that what behind me was some unexpected person like in so many horror movies. Hopeful it was my familiar finally showing up to help me figure out my life. But it was neither.
I turned back to the mirror to resume inspecting myself and began to cough. It felt like I had swallowed a cigarette whole. The room was hazy around me. I began to waft at the air to get rid of the smoke. But it didn't move at first. Finally, I stepped back and saw what appeared to be a dark ghost floating where I had been standing.
Before I could think, I heard, "Don't be startled. I'm you after all."
Had the ghost spoken to me? Should I have trusted it?
"Are you my familiar?" I almost yelled this still at the crossing point point between excitement and fear.
"I'm your doubt and fear. I'm place you go to when are uncertain and uneasy. I'm you, Brian" the words echoed in my head.
"You can't be me. I'm not a ghost or whatever you are. Is my familiar my fear? That can't be good. I haven't seen one this dark." my thoughts raced trying to grasp what was happening.
"You may call me what you want, but I am here to guide you through all your trials and tribulations. To provide you shelter from the world's troubles." its voice rang again.
Of course it could read my thoughts. This had to be the familiar. But I didn't want it. I didn't want to have to be protected form the world I was scared of my future.
"I don't need you" I exclaimed walking out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind me.
The ghost simply phased through it, but did not respond. We sat there in silence for quite a while studying each other. It had only shadows where its eyes would have been and a mouth that led nowhere and seemed to serve no purpose since it didn't use it to speak. It bobbed up and down methodically in a soothing repetitious way. Like watching a slow clock's pendulum oscillating back and forth drawing you to sleep.
I noticed the spirit turn to face the door pointing with his small arms and turned myself. The door suddenly swung open. Gusts of wind hurled frigid air into the room and the lights in the room went dark. My familiar floated in front of me focused still. From the door came a nine-tailed fox emanating heat like foxfire. The fox was majestic-looking as it pushed back the cold of the room.
"Brian you must resist him. He is not your familiar" A new female voice began to speak in my head. I peered over at the ghost floating in front of me.
"I thought I'd left you behind. You don't deserve him you deceitful worm" the ghost's voice rang out seeming to echo throughout the rest of the frozen tundra inside my apartment.
"Brian. Listen to me. He won't protect you. He will keep you form everything you're meant to be. I can show you the way."
"You will show him nothing."
At that moment, they clashed. From each appendage the ghost extended himself toward the foxfire in wisps of black magic wisps each deflected by a glowing shield. The foxfire darted to the side catapulting the ghost to the other side of the room.
"Brian come with me. We can escape his sorrow, his fear. We can be whatever we want to be" The nine-tails was stricken to floor--a result of its pause to persuade me to join.
My mind was racing trying to solve the enigmatic events transpiring before me. The ghost took hold of my hand without touching me pulling me toward the door.
"We must escape!" he bellowed pulling harder. I began to stumble in his direction.
The eyes of the fox turned green and I was pulled again the opposite direction.
"You will not take him!"
I began to regret ever wanting a familiar. Nothing was familiar about this. Nothing. Yes I feared what would happen if I didn't get a familiar. And yes I wanted to be all that I could be. Take on whatever face I felt was right in the future. But not like this. I was whole. Not this horrid combination of two singular ideas. I stood my ground.
"I will go nowhere!" I yelled. The winds around me began to swirl. The two familiars continued to pull. Was I strong enough for this? I continued to fight. Neither gave way.
Finally, I let go. I could feel myself tearing at the seams. Stuck between to pictures of myself. I felt despair and hopelessness. I had no choice, but to fall into my destiny like so many had. The cheerleaders, the fighters, the intelligent, the dumb, the bold. I had to become what I was meant to be.
And then, there was nothing.
| 2017-01-20T17:20:07 | 2017-01-20T14:02:57 | 45 | 22 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | The Whaler
The clock strikes 12:00
A word is writ
Upon my arm
My life is split
One-half of me on the shore
The braver half, it longs for more
For every day out on the sea
Another hunt, and life for me
Half the life is black and cold
Its skin and bones, bought and sold
Fortune, spoils, warmth, and greed
A salior's life, a life for me
Half the life is white and stark
For barren is my sea and heart
The void and depth we plot and mark
Adrift will stay my noble ark
Upon the vessel, I must go
To hunt a whale I do not know
My life will be short and brief
A whalers life, a life for me
A tattoo sits upon my arm
My father wore it with no harm
I know not what he wants for me
He sleeps now with the fish at sea
This work is not my dream, I know
One day I'll spend my days below
For I do not know how to swim
A sailor's life, a life for him
| Something happened in the past... A curse on all humanity, yet still a blessing. Every human now, on their eighteenth birthday at noon, magically knows their purpose in life. It's not a secret for just them, though: it takes the place almost of a tattoo, leaving no way to hide your destiny. My mother's word was "Banker," and lo and behold, she became one of the best bankers in the state. My father... I don't know his; he left before I could read it. Mum says his was "Alimony" though.
It's 11:59 right now, on my eighteenth. As I nervously watch the seconds tick by, my arm feels numb. Black colour flows beneath my skin, swirling around and not forming any words. My relatives gathered around, fighting for a peek of my arm to get the first view of what I'm destined to be. The ink starts to form a word -- no, two... -- no, one...
At noon exactly, pain strikes me as my fate is sealed. I drop to my knees, clutching my arm... The word has formed, my fate is sealed. Getting up, I bring my arm to my view and see "Judge." Great... Law is the last thing I want to do with my life.
But more words start to form. "Of... human... fate?" I say, trembling. It hurts too much to think clearly, and I can't understand the meaning of what I'm marked with. Judge of human fate seems... impossible.
Years in the future, I found myself practicing magic. My aptitude got me the attention of the head mage, who told me of an event. "The Inspection is near," he told me. "All mages will go in front of our god's shrine, and he will see your mark. Judgement shall be passed on you, and the worthiest among the visitors get to meet with the god."
The Inspection... I went along with the others to the shrine, my mark burning on my arm. The Nameless One, the god of magic, entered in divine form. He grabbed everybody's arm at once and pushed away the sleeves of the robes we wear as a uniform. Suddenly, however, my vision went white as I collapsed in pain. I was the worthy one this time?
"Judge of human fates... Are you aware of your mark?" he asked. "No, no, don't answer. I shall explain. Long ago, I placed a spell on all humanity. It burned my physical body, but it provided purpose to the lost humans of the time. On reaching adulthood, they knew what they were meant to do.. But it was subject to randomness. My mark, on the spell, was 'Cursebringer.' But you... You are the judge. Ascend with me, for I am dying. My soul is eager to return to the void from where it came, and I need a successor."
I nodded, my body immediately burning up to the horror of my colleagues. So that was what my mark meant... I am to be the judge of fates, the sole authority on what marks people get, if any. A child appears in front of me, not older than seventeen, along with a list of their interests. Coding, science, technology. Sounds like me...
Just for shits and giggles, I assigned this person a random fate. Their mark burned them, and I saw a familiar face assisting the child. I was the one to provide my fate from the future, and so the cycle began...
This is just a thing I wrote, half-tired, bored waiting for class. I know it sucks D: | 2017-03-16T04:24:31 | 2017-03-16T04:18:55 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary. | Spring is an interesting time of year for this species, but most especially for the adolescents. As one biologist stated 'Ah Spring, when a young man's thoughts turn to thoughts of romance.' As another biologist stated 'As opposed to what?' (chuckles) Yes, as one might have guessed, this species is particularly hormone driven. Especially in their youth.
Oh, and here comes a young alpha male, wearing the ceremonial 'Letterman Jacket' that he won for some great feat of strength and skill. He is approaching one of the alpha females, the 'Queen B' as it were. He has a box of chocolates in his hand, it appears he is going for the gift giving ritual, always a risky practice. Let's see if he chose an acceptable gift or not.
Oh, it looks like he did, she hasn't slapped him at least. But what's this, she's refusing the gift! It appears the alpha male is talking to her now, not something his kind usually do. They're arguing now, never a good sign. And there it is, the slap of ultimate rejection! He's shocked, and she's storming away in a huff to...oh my, what's this? She's gone to one of the beta females. They're kissing! It appears the Queen has already chosen a mate from among the herd's females! Oh dear, this will throw the males for quite a loop! | And here we see the first of several stages of mating rituals in the humans.
The first is often the most unsuccesful in creating long term relations, yet mostly serves as practice for future, more significant rituals. Perhaps ironically, this first mating ritual is more complicated than any of the others, often occurring at the age of 16.
Ah. Here we see a lone male approach a female. It is often the male that begins the ritual, despite both parties equally capable of feeling emotion, and this one knows his trade. He stands up straight, walking with a confident swagger a slight smile playing across his lips. It is a delicate balance, the beginning of this ritual, and the most crucial - for if the initial approach fails, the ritual stops before it can even be started.
Nevertheless, this quite adept male approaches the female in his buttoned down shirt and well groomed hair, putting him miles ahead of the rest of his unshaved, ungroomed pack. He has been watching the female for a while now, has even conversed with her, and knows when she is normally without her pack, for normally females of this age travel together in order to further intimidate males, such that only the most confident may dare approach, naturally making mates of a higher quality.
The approach is something to marvel at, truly. Light on his feet, but no so light as to be malicious he walks up behind her taps the female on the shoulder. She whirls around, her mouth an O of surprise. The male apologizes, insisting he didn’t mean to startle her, and the female smiles, understanding. The two talk for a bit of casual, superficial things. This is the most important part of the dance, the feigning disinterest. They both know there is only one reason the male would seek out the female in such a fashion, yet they do not bring it up. They talk of sports, of class, of other males and females. In fact, the male says goodbye and turns to leave. Now the female frowns, confused, but at the last moment the male asks the question. Done in such a way as it were an afterthought, that he had not initiated the whole conversation with that in mind.
The female smiles and, nonchalantly, says why not, as if she were merely not opposed to the idea when in reality she is delighted.
Both walk away, jubilant, blissfully unaware of the other’s desire.
***
However, this is an ideal ritual, where the approach, the evasion, the time, the look are all executed with almost utmost perfection.
But most such rituals are doomed to failure due to mishaps, often on the male side. Recall, that it is the male who propositions, and thus he has more room for mistakes.
Let’s take another male. Already we see the differences from the first. His hands are rubbing together in nervousness, his skin is oily, his air unkempt. And perhaps worst of all he has worn an attire known as Cargo Shorts. Utter abominations sure to repel not only females, but male compatriots.
He approaches the female in the height of her power, surrounded by her pack members. He walks, lumbering as he does, so the entire pack stares at him for 30 seconds are so until he finally reaches them.
His face red he does not banter or feign disinterest, no, he just asks the question. The female smiles and opens her mouth to answer, but before she can her pack howls in laughter. The female freezes, and after a moment’s hesitation,forces herself to chuckle. The pack’s wishes must be respected.
The male, dejected, sulks away.
| 2017-04-04T06:46:11 | 2017-04-04T06:32:12 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary. | Here we see the wild American Teenager in his natural habitat. We see him, freshly groomed for mating season. The biannual mating season for the adolescent human has begun. Here we see one of the unspecialized males approaching an unspecialized female. Neither seem to fit into any of the sub-species like the Athletica or Cranial Varities.
He has spent the past 24 hours grooming and preparing for this moment. He hesitates, the object of his affection seems to be surrounded by other females. He waits.
Then, luckily the shrill call of 'a bell' causes them to disperse. He leaps on his opportunity.
He approaches, hunched and supplicating, she seems to be hesitant. He gives her a small wild flower he had chosen to gain her favor. It does not seem to be enough for the female. The male finishes his proposal. It is the female's turn to reply. She is displaying the hot red color the species makes on their face to signal emotion. She seems to be anxious, she undoubtedly hoped for one of the Athletica to pursue.
The female notices the male's arousal, and grows redder. Eventually, she agrees to attend ,what the ecologists refer to as, a 'Homecoming'. | And here we see the first of several stages of mating rituals in the humans.
The first is often the most unsuccesful in creating long term relations, yet mostly serves as practice for future, more significant rituals. Perhaps ironically, this first mating ritual is more complicated than any of the others, often occurring at the age of 16.
Ah. Here we see a lone male approach a female. It is often the male that begins the ritual, despite both parties equally capable of feeling emotion, and this one knows his trade. He stands up straight, walking with a confident swagger a slight smile playing across his lips. It is a delicate balance, the beginning of this ritual, and the most crucial - for if the initial approach fails, the ritual stops before it can even be started.
Nevertheless, this quite adept male approaches the female in his buttoned down shirt and well groomed hair, putting him miles ahead of the rest of his unshaved, ungroomed pack. He has been watching the female for a while now, has even conversed with her, and knows when she is normally without her pack, for normally females of this age travel together in order to further intimidate males, such that only the most confident may dare approach, naturally making mates of a higher quality.
The approach is something to marvel at, truly. Light on his feet, but no so light as to be malicious he walks up behind her taps the female on the shoulder. She whirls around, her mouth an O of surprise. The male apologizes, insisting he didn’t mean to startle her, and the female smiles, understanding. The two talk for a bit of casual, superficial things. This is the most important part of the dance, the feigning disinterest. They both know there is only one reason the male would seek out the female in such a fashion, yet they do not bring it up. They talk of sports, of class, of other males and females. In fact, the male says goodbye and turns to leave. Now the female frowns, confused, but at the last moment the male asks the question. Done in such a way as it were an afterthought, that he had not initiated the whole conversation with that in mind.
The female smiles and, nonchalantly, says why not, as if she were merely not opposed to the idea when in reality she is delighted.
Both walk away, jubilant, blissfully unaware of the other’s desire.
***
However, this is an ideal ritual, where the approach, the evasion, the time, the look are all executed with almost utmost perfection.
But most such rituals are doomed to failure due to mishaps, often on the male side. Recall, that it is the male who propositions, and thus he has more room for mistakes.
Let’s take another male. Already we see the differences from the first. His hands are rubbing together in nervousness, his skin is oily, his air unkempt. And perhaps worst of all he has worn an attire known as Cargo Shorts. Utter abominations sure to repel not only females, but male compatriots.
He approaches the female in the height of her power, surrounded by her pack members. He walks, lumbering as he does, so the entire pack stares at him for 30 seconds are so until he finally reaches them.
His face red he does not banter or feign disinterest, no, he just asks the question. The female smiles and opens her mouth to answer, but before she can her pack howls in laughter. The female freezes, and after a moment’s hesitation,forces herself to chuckle. The pack’s wishes must be respected.
The male, dejected, sulks away.
| 2017-04-04T07:09:04 | 2017-04-04T06:32:12 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] people are born knowing the date they’ll die. However people have noticed children born in the last week share one date, farthest in the future. | It had become apparent that humanity's days were numbered. As each child was brought into the world, our confidence grew. The markov chains were converging. As a society it was determined that no more children should be brought into the world. Of course there were the hold outs, the groups that fought us tooth and nail and held onto their ancient beliefs. The non-radicalized members were allowed to go on their pilgrimage. They began what was known as the Long Sleep. They gathered in ships stationed in orbit, nuclear vessels and went into a slumber as they wandered to the stars. The others were dealth with.
&nbsp;
Our air and water were made such that no human could give birth. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but we knew it to be the right course of action. Our scientists were working hard to develop power, hardened infrastructure, faster processors. If anything was going to save humanity, it would be our technology. We scanned the stars, listened to the earth itself, and sifted through all of the combined knowledge and mythology of our civilizations to try and discern the meaning of our soon to be demise. Breakthroughs in technology came as most felt it their life pursuit to keep humanity going.
&nbsp;
It was five years to the end date for Humanity that we lost contact with the Long Sleep ship. The world mourned for their long distant cousins. It had felt as if the spirit of our humanity had died with them.
&nbsp;
It was on the fourth year to our Best Used By Date that the breakthrough in power was made. We had harnessed self sustaining fusion. It was a linchpin technology needed for the Great Migration project. A combination of biological, computer, and engineering sciences that would allow for a person's consciousness to be put into the cloud. It was a collection of devices that would be launched into solar orbit, capable of traveling between the stars on it's reserves and fusion cores, such that any geological issue or even the destruction of a solar system would be unable to cause fault to our digital survival.
&nbsp;
Citizens were put through the process in order of their death date. It was such a tasking that many feared that they would die before they'd be converted. We did lose a few hundred to accidents before or on their death date, tragic losses, for what was of humanity now would be the only ones left in the foreseeable future. The process was made rapid to account for the billions that needed to be placed into the cloud but left the original an empty shell. There were fears that if the original was intact they would not truly migrate over. The people that initially converted found an empty world for themselves to do as they pleased. As more converted in, family members were waiting for them among the clouds. It was as those who came before us told. When you died, you were greeted by your family and friends that had since already passed. There was no more pain, only the life that you now wanted. By the final day, all of humanity had converted to the cloud. It was our death day, but also the beginning of our new synthetic life. | "Happy Death Day!" the teachers chorused. They presented the enormous cake to the assembled fourth graders and clapped. In the back, Nina gasped and stood up so quickly she knocked her chair over.
"Why are there so many candles!" she wailed. Mrs. Cassidy sighed.
"Nina, calm down. It isn't just your Death Day."
Nina stared at the cake. She looked at her classmates, but they were all glancing at her and looking away, then giggling and whispering to their friends.
"Now I know you just moved here... but everyone in this class has the same Death Day. So try to be nice and share it!"
Nina swallowed and slammed her butt back into her seat. One by one, each child got up, licked their pointer finger and thumb, and snuffed out exactly one candle. When it was Nina's turn, she stomped up to the cake. She gave everyone the most vindictive glare she could muster, and blew out the rest of the candles.
"Nina!" the teachers, the students, all shouted, all groaned.
"That's how it's going to happen!" she snapped, slamming her hands onto the table holding up the cake. It buckled under the sudden weight, and cake crashed into girl crashed into floor.
That was how Nina found out. At her old school, they hadn't celebrated Death Days like that... and she'd never asked. Now it was the first thing to come up.
"Oh, you know!" she laughed, holding up her glass of wine. "Why get into the relationship if the other person's just going to snuff it tomorrow? You know?"
Her date snorted into his own glass. "Well... That's one way to put it..."
"So?" Nina asked, setting her glass down, tapping her fingers against the tablecloth.
"March 24th."
"2076?" she prompted. "Yeah... yeah. Me too. Same as the waiter, probably, the couple next to us, and the parents of that family in the corner. What's new?"
"Um," Richard muttered. "I have to..."
"Yeah, go to your surprise doctor's appointment," she snapped. He swallowed, started to stand up, then shook his head, sat back down, and chugged his whole glass of wine.
"Screw it," he said. "You're the most interesting person I've been out with in the last year. So tell me. What's the problem with everyone around our age dying on the same day?"
Nina was speechless. It was a first. The date with Richard was also the first she'd seen through to the end, all the way back to her house. And then there was a second... and a third... And on and on. Over the years, she kept bringing up the Death Day thing, and every time, he would laugh at her.
"Why does it matter?" he'd ask. "It's like any other Death Day. What does it matter if a bunch of them are on the same date?"
She couldn't explain it to him. But he made it easier to forget.
But then he wanted to have children. And she refused.
"It's the Death Day thing, isn't it?" he asked. She nodded.
What if their date was the same? And she wouldn't even know until they were old enough to talk, to tell her... She knew her Death Day like someone had whispered it to her at the moment of her birth, and it had stayed with her every day since. Everyone knew. Everyone was certain. And no one was ever wrong.
"Then we die as a family," Richard replied. "What's wrong with that?"
"What's wrong!" she shrieked. "They... they could have lives past that date! But they're... they're..."
"If their Death Day is March 24th, 2076, then that is the day they die. There is nothing after. There is no short or long. You know this."
"I know!" she groaned, pressing the heels of hands into her eyes. "But... but so many people... all at once? Something has to happen on that day. Something insane. Something not natural. And if not for that thing..."
"But that thing will happen," Richard sighed. "Whether you worry about it or not."
She cried. She tried pulling her hair out. She wouldn't talk to him for a day. She slept on the couch and called in sick to work, and stared out the window, and stared at calendars she'd bought online that told the Death Days of famous celebrities. On March 24th, 2076, there was a little note. *Record number of people to die on this day!
She ripped it off the wall. Richard had a point. Everyone was meant to die someday. Why did she worry so much about so many going all at once? It would make no difference in the end... because there was no changing it.
"I wish I could forget the day I die," she whispered, hands shaking. But she could not. And then she started to wonder.
She walked out of the apartment into the hall, without locking the door. She went down to street level. The doorman asked her why she didn't have any shoes on. She stumbled out onto the sidewalk. It was winter. She had no coat. Her fingers started to freeze.
Cars whipped past in front of her. She stepped onto the curb and looked to her left. There was a big truck coming down, racing past the yellow light. Perfect. She sprinted into the street and closed her eyes before it crashed into her side.
She opened her eyes in the hospital, to see Richard staring down at her.
"Oh," she said. "Oh." | 2017-12-25T17:50:24 | 2017-12-25T15:59:16 | 1,408 | 166 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | Every country must close its borders, communications, trade, and embassies for 50 years.
The United States's president was boycotting the peace conference, against most of the country's wishes. The declining prestige of the country abroad was all too apparent, even before the Great Conflict. The war lasted 6 years, and no country gained or lost any ground after the first day. Nearly half a billion died, and it finally took riots in the streets to force some governments to call back troops.
Every country, save the United States, convened in Beijing to discuss the terms. They decided American Imperialism must come to an end. Japan and Korea would split the islands in the Pacific, and the New Soviet Republic would be given Alaska, amputating America to its mainland body. In an inspiring speech to the diplomats present, the leader of France took advantage of the States' absence to propose a plan that would cut off American influence even more. They would convince American leadership that each country should have a period of isolation, to rebuild themselves and prevent further conflicts for the next half century.
Only the United States would actually go into isolation. The rest of the world would finally be rid of the thorn in the West they've all come to know.
A lot got completed during the 50 years of freedom, which was the name the New Powers gave to the period. China completed its huge infrastructure projects thanks to absorbing the USA's trade power vacuum. The Middle East stabilized and the countries solar panel networks together to encourage cooperation and peace. The NSR had free reign of the Balkany. Every country and its citizens agreed that the 50 years of freedom was the greatest joint-diplomatic effort in history.
The world eagerly awaited when those 50 years ended. Some of them
"Leave it to bureaucracy to try to jam as many meetings as they can together, right? The terms said we'd start with one on one meetings with leaders, to ease into it, not a goddamn round table meeting. I only brought a human translator for Japanese, and there are 50 different countries here," the President complained to the Empress of England, who drew the short straw and had to sit next to America.
The Empress looked around nervously, but nobody at the table would make eye contact. Understandably, their eyes were locked on the American, who looked slightly out of place, wearing a suit and tie that went out of style decades ago.
"Now I'm going to sound like a robot when I'm tying up old trade deals," he said, before blinking a deliberately a few times and fiddling with his watch. "Where's the tradition? Where's the elegance?"
The 48 other diplomats at the table almost jumped out of their seats in shock. They had heard the American's questions in their home country's language, although it sounded slightly digital.
"I'm really glad we all agreed to this isolation thing," he continued. "You wouldn't believe how much our old government spent on our military. We've been an isolationist country far longer than we were an imperialistic one. We didn't really know what to do with it all that extra money. The country voted to just put it all in education," he prattled, "I'm excited for international markets to open back up. GM-Ford-Tesla-NASA designed these great solar powered dronemobiles, just put the backpack on and say where you need to go. We don't even need cars anymore! Cars! I know I sound like I'm bragging but what was the 50 years was for, if not for bragging rights when it's through?" | **6th April, 2037 - HMAS *Maryborough*, Somewhere off the coast of Australia**
"So, the yanks bought it?"
The speaker leans heavily against the rail, staring at the smouldering coastline. A deck above, overstressed rotor blades whine slowly, cooling in the ocean breeze.
"Oh yes. Contrition, shame, repentance...if we'd brought a whip along, I reckon their delegation would have flagellated themselves."
The new arrival joins him, steadying herself as the vessel rocks in an errant swell.
"Hmph. Bloody typical. Living like the world's a movie, where they're the heroes and everybody else is either a sidekick to use, a villain to fight or just part of the fucking scenery."
He sighs, rubbing shaking fingers across his eyes, as if massage will bring vision back into being.
"I wouldn't have believed you, even a week ago. But they took it without even raising a single protest. Fifty years, as of 5 days ago..."
She trails off, suddenly guilty. A few minutes either way, and she could have been like him. One of the thousands left burnt and sightless. They would probably never know whose it was that did it, not that it mattered. Russian, Chinese, American, Korean, Japanese...maybe even their own.
"Of course. The Americans are like children, when you get right down to it. A billion dead, more injured, climate buggered, but the story must go on. They know they've done wrong, so they're expecting to be put into timeout."
A chuckle, the first in what feels like years, forces its way out of her at the mental image that conjures. Her mind turns back to the stories of her youth.
"Well, that's what happens when the 'hero' does a bad thing, isn't it? He goes into exile, to repent his sins, and gets called back when the world needs to be saved again. Superman, Batman..."
Her companion tries to join her, but lapses into a throaty cough instead.
"More...like...the fucking...Hulk."
He stumbles, the jerky movements pulling several tubes taut against his chest. A strident beeping begins to sound, soon joined by one buzzer, then another.
"Oh jesus... Nurse! NURSE!"
A bandaged hand clutches her arm.
"They...want...a story. Give...them...one."
Her tears were simply a drop in the ocean.
**9th April 2037 - Bundaberg Disaster Relief Centre**
His communications centre looked a lot like hers, she mused, as the technicians scurried around the jury-rigged setup, making sure the link was at least semi-stable.
"This is quite a surprise, Deputy Prime Minister. I believe it was you who convinced us all to live out the next fifty years in isolation, after all. Come to leave your neighbours with some parting words of wisdom? Perhaps apologise for joining the rest of them in burning the world down?"
Her eyes widened, and she mentally kicked herself. Of course he knew. The Tasman wasn't that wide, and just because they'd forsaken a military, didn't make them stupid. Hell, even an idiot could tell a rocket going up from one coming down.
"Prime Minister, actually. As of Monday. And no. To the former, at least."
She took a guilty sort of pleasure in watching him sigh, the bags under his eyes suddenly looking unbearably heavy.
"A good man, if misguided. Another life burnt on the atomic pyre. He will be missed. What do you want then, Ms Prime Minister? I have fifty years to prepare my country for the next ride on this insane merry-go-round, and I don't intend to waste it."
Here it was. If she couldn't convince this man, then there was no point in trying anywhere else. If she could...
"Let me tell you a story."
He doubted. He laughed. He doubted some more. He threatened to cut off the call. He thought. He called for advisors. He doubted. He refused to believe. He had it repeated. He laughed. He doubted.
He agreed.
**6th April, 2087 - New Brisbane, 2km underground**
"Pickups are live. Boarding has been reported complete, and all birds are green. Looks like they're really going to do it."
Chatter fills the air conditioned command centre. Overhead, screens regurgitate a million different data streams - live footage, passenger estimates, a few colour commentators. Bound to her life support chair, the ex-Prime Minister smiles as one of the feeds momentarily cuts above the rest.
"-and we are here today not in sorrow, but in determination. To follow our brothers and sisters to the stars, to rejoin the-"
She raises her voice, the inbuilt amplifiers carrying it across the busy room.
"Get your bets in! She's just about to announce the name!"
The assembled representatives, covering most of the remaining nations on the planet, chuckle politely.
"Still ordering everyone around, I see, 'Mum'?"
The Indonesian ambassador pats her on the shoulder, and she grasps his hand.
"You bloody well bet I am. Somebody has to keep this lot on task. Got your bet in?"
He looks stricken.
"You know that the Quran forbids-"
She gives him a Stare.
"...20 on *Enterprise*, ma'am. Seems fitting. 'Boldly go', and all that."
She laughs, and turns back to the screens. A countdown has appeared, framing the giant silver ship they show, looming over a cracked mesa.
"Y'know, you ought to be right. All those years ago, when I came up with this batshit idea, I probably would have agreed. But as much as they need a story, I think there's one thing they need more. And it's what we're giving them, even though they'll never know it."
The view changes back to the figure at the podium.
"With that, I christen her...*Independence*."
| 2018-01-18T01:37:17 | 2018-01-18T01:28:33 | 712 | 18 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are. | Well, this may be the ump-tenth time I've "kidnapped" the Princess. Every time she gets saved she plays the victim, swoons for her "hero" and goes home with a smile, plotting her next kidnapping in hopes of finally returning here for good. Honestly, she's crazy.
I feel bad for the guy, he's hard working, steady job, well loved. Apparently a little slow or blinded by affection for his Princess. But I guess so am I. Every time she gets away, puts a spell of charm and command over my soldiers and commanders, and is off to the races. I haven't really properly ordered my men in thirty years.
Thirty odd years ago, that's when I made my mistake. My dream of ruling a kingdom and taking the Princess. It was simple as dreams go. But once I had her and fanned my soldiers out into the world she...changed. Next thing I knew she wasn't resisting me. I thought "Great!" But as I gave her freedoms within my castle she started to want to partner more and share my rule. My once glorious and fearful rule! I am now but a joke. A shell of a villain to the world.
She would have some of her old servants captured and then lock them in a smaller castle with her. There she would have arranged that I take her away as though I was moving her confinement to another castle. She must have done this six or seven times messing with the heads of her former companions. Lord knows what they told her rescuer if he didn't bypass their castle.
She started ordering my army to put traps around knowing her man in red would try and save her. They say he even bested a giant ape before so she was not taking chances. I thought she wanted to stay with me at first -and I still think that is partially true - but I know she also just wanted to stay in power and be, well, evil.
Eventually her hero came. As I can't say no to her, I can never say no to her, I defended her in her chambers. When I was bested she played the good princess and was thankful of her savior. A few years later I found her back in my home though, already setting up defenses. Princess told me she missed me...Princess told me she missed all of this. This would repeat time and time again. And yet that blissfully sorry hero would rise to the challenge shouting "It'sa me! Mario!" and thwarting her plans yet again. | "So... we infiltrate Dunsten Villa with a Rhonkan Rogue Wizard, and have him open a summoning circle to the eighth... ring of Sheol?"
"The seventh".
"The seventh, right. And why exactly?"
"Because Balor demons live on the seventh, and have a taste for the flesh of children"
"Ok, ok. But wouldn't it make more sense to just unlease a few, oh I don't know, Grimmoks from the fourth ring to just wipe out the town?"
She looks at me and rolls her eyes, sighing heavily before continuing to lecture me.
"No, it wouldn't. Sure, we could just stroll across the country side, wiping out town after town, but when I'm through.. We're.. through, who's left to reign over in fire and terror? No one, that's who. It'll be a desolate wasteland with no servants, slaves, or subjects. What good is that?"
This woman sends chills down my spine, and not in a good way. She continues on, in her "matter of fact" tone.
"We make sure all the children are gone first, you dolt. That way there's no one left to grow up, become would be heroes, and avenge their families. This is basic stuff here Randal"
"Right"
She walks over to my private stock and grabs a decanter to pour herself a glass, as if she's toasting her victory before this whole thing even begins. Did you know that three months ago when I kidnapped Khalie, her father didn't even bother sending a search party? Oh no, not even close. He responded with a "thank you" note to my ransom letter. A thank you note! Like I'd sent him birthday wishes or some other drivel like that! And poor, stupid, stupid me. I thought I'd hit a gold mine. I thought surely that this princess would be different, and be the one to put my name on every wanted poster from Gha'zeem to Ashbark. Oh she's different alright. She's beyond mad. Her lust for power is insatiable. Her ability to pull absolutely vile schemes from thin air makes me look like an absolute choir boy.
It only took her about a week to warm up to my tower. And in that time, she managed to publicly have one of the servants flayed alive, PURELY on the principle that "it will keep the other servants in line". I've never had a discipline problem out of any of my subordinates for the entire 12 years I've been running this tower! Ted was a model employee at that! He was being groomed and vetted for middle management for crying out loud! And now, here's Khalie creating the most dastardly and nefarious plans I can imagine, all in the name of usurping her fathers throne. That's supposed to me *my* throne. I didn't put in eight years of hard work and study at Guntar von Blackfist's School of Necromancy and Thaumaturgy all for some hot to trot hussy to sweep past me and take over my life's work.
She's already gained the adoration of both my colleagues and my competitors. Soon she'll have an army. There's only one solution to all of this that I can think of. I'll have to steal away in the night and go far away from here. Far enough that it buys me time. Not to raise an army of my own, but instead to recruit the only thing that can stop people of my profession. Do-gooders. *Blech*. Hero types, clad in shining armor and puffed up with all that for-the-good-of-the-people nonsense. They can stop Khalie . And when they're through, I can just kill them myself and start back at square one. Then I'll-
"Randal, you're mumbling to yourself again"
"Oh, sorry. Just mentally working out the finer details of things, my dear"
"My dear?" she asks, in a condescending tone.
"My.. Most Malevolent and Cruel Mistress"
"That's better Randal. Do be a peach and go fetch me Tomas. He was a whole half minute late with my bath this morning, and I don't reward tardiness"
This woman will be the death of me. I should have gone in halves with my older brother's business. Skeletons, running a cleaning service for morgues and what have you. Oh well. *sighs*
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Throw back to a WP involving a certain cleaning service
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3v04eh/wp_youre_a_down_on_your_luck_necromancer/
I did a reading of Randal's inner monologue (absolute amateur hour over here)
https://instaud.io/private/a2b10eba524e38ad173c730d760e1435ccbd8d35 | 2018-02-09T05:44:16 | 2018-02-09T05:32:19 | 61 | 20 |
[WP] While most civilizations have figured out how to produce and utilize energy one way or another, humans are the only ones who are crazy enough to transfer it as electricity | “So they use electricity instead?” L’yrl asked, visible confusion on his face. C’wl nodded.
“But–but it’s so inefficient!”
“Don’t I know it?” C’wl replied. “I’ve been observing them for years now. While they’re in this general awareness of other energy types, they don’t seem to attempt to use something deeper than subatomic particles. And that’s for only producing usable energy at times. For transfer, it’s all electricity.”
L’yrl scratched his chin, trying to wrap his mind around the unfamiliar concept. “I mean, I know how nasty heat and nuclear get with general diffusion to the environment, but even something simple as light should prove to be a better alternative.” L’yrl stopped and looked C’wl in the eye. With a general realization appearing on his face, he said, “They can’t see, right?”
“Great cosmos! No, L’yrl. They are able to see.” C’wl exclaimed. “Weren't you listening to me when I gave that presentation during the– No matter, they have eyes. Eyes! If not for seeing, what are they using them for?”
“Well, I’m just trying to understand their reasoning, C’wl,” L’yrl said. “There are thousands if not millions of energy conversion techniques, and they chose electricity. *Electricity*!”
C’wl looked at her companion’s bewilderment and nodded in understanding. She too couldn't find any logical reason behind this piece of human behavior, but it was still her job to observe and respect it. Then her eyes sparkled as an idea popped into her mind.
“Come, friend,” she said, moving towards the teleportation room “If you find their way of transferring energy unusual, your mind will be blown at how they consume it.” | “<_> humanity as we know it could vanish from existence if this event took place. The enormous amounts of radiation released would make Earth uninhabitable for humans, or any life for that matter, for thousands of years. Mister President, we don’t have much time. We may have been lucky so far, but we can’t keep winning the lottery much longer – only a few particles hitting the Earth would be enough to convert the current electricity reserves stored all over the globe into ionizing, or *beta*, radiation, which in a chain reaction would start a nuclear winter, lasting hundreds, if not thousands of decades. We need to do something, and do it quickly. There are a few solutions that I wanted to share…”
My mind went numb for a moment. I didn’t understand everything that he has said, but if this nut head of a scientist was correct, this could very well mean the end for us as a species. Converting the entire energy grid from electricity to plasma based would cost us billions, no, trillions of dollars. And that’s for America alone. Jesus Christ, the world could go into chaos in the blink of an eye.
“Sir? Pardon me sir, are you listening?”
“Yes, excuse me Dr. Moniz, please proceed”
“As I said, the best solution that we have right now is to turn our electricity reserves into either plasma or heat. Electricity in itself is not the problem here, it’s the transfer process that makes it vulnerable to the *conversion*. Heat or plasma on the other hand is not. What I propose is redesigning our energy grid from electricity to heat based, which should prevent any similar cataclysmic event from taking place. Our current power plants would need to be turned into large scale plasma “factories” which we would then use as fuel. Every single American home would need to be equipped with a magnetohydrodynamic generator, which would use said plasma, or “fuel”, to use it for electricity generation, removing the need to transfer it in a large scale grid in the process. Of course this plan is expensive, but it would revolutionize the way we create and use energy and be a foolproof way of preventing any conversion from taking place.“
„And what would be the cost of this, plan, Dr. Moniz?“
„I don‘t have a correct prediction in my hands, but the cost to upgrade our grid alone would take at least 10 trillion US dollars if not more. But for the entire world? The cost would be roof shattering. Of course this would create a massive new industry, which should help in solving our current unemployment epidemic and probably pay off in the long - “
„This is madness! Mr President, I can have this fool removed from the premises immediately, we should not be wasting time on such hypothetical nonsense, there‘s still an entire intergalactic discussion that has to be had with those space freaks! We are a free, independent species and we shall not succumb to their threats regarding our energy grid. You know what I think? They want to attack us! They are just trying to make us waste our time on some nonsensical plasma bullshit instead of preparing for a fight. And a fight we will bring!“
„Mr Mattis, I need you to calm down. What we need to do right now is to weigh our options and make the best decision possible. Now, Dr. Moniz, could you replay the translated message one more time, I need to rethink my choice - “
„Mr President! With all my respect, are you seriously considering to fund this ridiculous project? It will put the entire world on the brink of chaos!“
„Mr Mattis, when I appointed you as the secretary of defense I did it with all the good intentions in my mind, don‘t make me regret this decision. Humans have survived for thousands of years by adapting and evolving, from the stone to the bronze age, from the ancient times of Greeks all the way to the industrial revolution we have always been improving to survive. And if another revolution is necessary for us to further strive for greatness then I am happy to announce the start of this new era. Now, Dr. Moniz, where do we begin?“
| 2018-04-04T06:00:13 | 2018-04-04T04:40:32 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] You have the ability to gain some of a person's knowledge everytime you shake their hand.
E.g. after shaking several mechanics' hands, You learn how to repair most of your car, or by shaking your neighbor's hand, suddenly you know how to hide a body. | It makes it easy. So easy. So easy it's almost unfair.
_Almost_.
I walk into the room with a broad smile, and he sees me, smiles at me, waves. I introduce myself- with a false name, of course- and he introduces me to the other men and women in the room. They, too, smile, and I shake their hands in turn, gleaning just a little from each of them.
I can see the loss in their eyes, see the slight dulling as the siphon takes effect.
I feel myself shiver as what is theirs becomes mine.
Some of it is useless- from the bald man in blue, I discover a penchant for mint-flavoured foods.
Some of it is more useful; from little miss new boobs, I take her husband's name, job, current location.
Three of them pass on their children's schedules. One of them gives me the account number of a Swiss account with all his hidden money in.
One of them gives me what I came for.
I stand at the front of the room for half an hour, spouting business jargon and buzzwords all wrapped up in a neat little easy-to-swallow package that means nothing at all.
I shake their hands on the way out, taking a little extra- this time I learn pet names, favourite ice-creams, security details.
Most importantly, with a little effort, I take the same thing from everyone; my face.
I walk out, casually strolling through the building, using my newfound knowledge to wend my way through some blind spots from the cameras.
Outside, I pull out my phone, dial a number, pass on a phrase, a number, and a location.
A car pulls up. I climb in.
And like a thief in the night, I vanish without a trace. | *OOC: Super quick cause lunch is only an hour, but I really focused on the side effects of one's mind being able to read knowledge/experiences from someone.*
At first it was everything.
Emotions.
Knowledge.
Thoughts.
It was anything and everything a person has ever thought, felt, or wanted. It was unfiltered access into one’s mind with a simple touch. I only remembered a few instances of discovering these powers, but my parents told me I’ve always had them. As a baby I would cry whenever anyone would touch me. Specialists said it was a skin sensory issue that they weren’t aware about, I was in medical journals before I was three.
The solution they found was to cover me up in clothing, if bare skin wasn’t touching with bare skin, I was fine. I would be tested every few months, I would go to the hospital and the doctors would touch my skin. I would scream, not being able to communicate what’s wrong. My parents stopped taking me to the hospital when I was five, due to lack of progress.
My mother wanted natural healers to look at me. They prescribed medicine made of roots and vegetables, healing crystals, and essential oils. My father thought it was a waste of money and grew more distant from my mother and me. He didn’t leave though, not until I was 8.
My father smacked me one night after coming home from the bar. He smelled of booze and smoke, he complained about money we’re losing from my Mother’s alternative healing crusade with crystals and roots and abstract artifacts. Father was overly aggressive, and it wasn’t until he pushed me to get to her I found out why. His focused emotion of being angry and the combination of alcohol and weed was enough cloud in his mind I managed to see one thing clearly in his mind, *Amanda*, the girl he’s been paying to see every few weeks.
“Whose Amanda?”
For months my Father & Mother were in court, fighting over the assets split between each other. Father wanted nothing to do with me, saying I was a freak after being able to read his mind. Mother was too busy with work, court case, and taking care of me to help explore my condition. I did that in my free time.
The easiest way to explain it is when you fall into a pool. If someone pushes you, you’re overwhelmed and splash around unsure what to do. That’s what was happening to me, every time I touched someone with skin contact I fell into their ocean of thoughts and emotions I didn’t know what to do. Eventually I learned to dive and swim, and when I fell into their ocean it became more like a pool. If I know what I wanted to look for, the pain became less. If I was focused on what I want to extract, I was able to navigate their mind.
My life was easy. I was able to do anything I wanted if I knew someone who could do it as well. What I didn’t prepare for was the side effects of the ability, losing my ability to be empathetic to people’s situations. I’ve relived the emotional and trauma of all my victims, I became indifferent to everyday problems people have.
Eventually I wanted a lover. I met Stacy while looking for someone in a shopping mall. I let my fingers slip against people’s fingers as I walked by. Stacy’s thoughts are like white noise, it was nothing. I wanted to marry her as soon as I met her, I knew nothing about her except for what I saw. She in a chair, unable to move or think for herself, she was for a better part a vegetable and the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I married her a few months after. I had to prove to her parents I would be able to look after her and essentially bought her off them. They didn’t come to the wedding. It was a small ceremony of myself, Stacy, and my mother.
People stare when I go out with my wife, but I don’t care. I’m able to provide for myself by peering into people’s mind, and while I don’t care for social justice, society norms, or doing what’s right like recycling, I find all my happiness within Stacy. She was a place where I can retreat to when I need to.
| 2018-06-06T13:06:10 | 2018-06-06T13:03:50 | 48 | 24 |
[WP] You die only to wake up and find out we became immortal and life was a simulation to help us pass the time during long intergalactic travel. | "Welcome back, Mr. Rothschild."
My mind was hazy. One moment, my family and I were all huddled in the midst of a roaring inferno, being overrun by those filthy peasants, the next I'm in an all white room, feeling like everything I've ever ate is about to drudge it's way out from my intestines. The voice talking to me is sweet, almost angelic. And yet, it feels somehow devoid of any essence of life.
"... Wha... What? Where the hell am I?"
"You have just completed your 7th time in the simulation pod, which recreates memories from your ancestors through your DNA to recreate their lives in order to exoerience it for yourself. You are currently aboard the USS Alexander II. We are currently 127 earth years from our destination."
...what.
"Our what now? Who the hell are you, what happened to my family?!"
"I am PAM, your Personal Automated Matron."
Interesting.
"What is your directive, PAM?"
"My directive is to guide the USS Alexander II to an undisclosed planet, devoid of all other human life."
...Did she just say devoid of human life?
"Wait... so I'm all alone on this ship?!"
"No. You are in the accompaniment of the rest of the surviving Rothschilds, as well as the surviving members of the Koch Family, the Bettencourt Family, the Mars Family and the Slim Family."
Great. Fucking great.
"How many survivors total PAM?"
"27."
Even better.
"Why are we on this course?"
"Yourself, as well as the rest of the passengers on the USS Alexander II have been exiled by the the rest of the human population. It was discovered that your families had directly affected the decimation of the entirety of the entire Middle East of the world, obliterating Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, as well as other surrounding nations, commiting mass genocide, and reestablishing the countries under your rulership with the assistance of the UN. All other members of your families, as well as other families connected to the event have either been executed or exiled on the Alexander II, to make way for the rest of humanity to create a better society, ran by love instead of greed."
"I... I don't..."
But I did. It all came flooding back to me. All of it. The murder, the atrocities we commited. The six times I've already had this exact conversation. The guilt.
"Would you like to replay another life, Mr. Rothschild?"
"... Yes."
The last thought to run through my mind before being thrust out from the womb of some probably long forgotten ancestor, a quote from something I once read. Sounded silly at the time, but as we head toward the desolate planet, immortal, but without any food, supplies or any means to comfort us even in the slightest as we spend our eternity in our well deserved hell, now ring truer than ever.
"When the Last Tree Is Cut Down, the Last Fish Eaten, and the Last Stream Poisoned, You Will Realize That You Cannot Eat Money." | The fingers on my throat were squeezing their grasp, pushing deeper into my skin. My arm muscles didn't have the strength in them to resist, and the brain was suffocating, its impulses getting weaker with each second. The face in front of me was losing its features as my mind was slipping away.
When it became apparent that I wouldn't make it, when reason overpowered the will to live, all other thoughts vaned and gave way to the last one: "So this is the afterlife".
***
Tubes. Me lying in the grave. Water around me. Water inside my lungs. Me thrashing against the unseen walls. Can't breathe.
Even though it seemed like I was fighting for my life, curiosity still peaked out its head. "Am I in the womb?" - I wondered as I kept on fighting. "Is this reincarnation?"
"Residual Memory Leak" - I heard a voice reach from the outside. "Dream Sequence terminated until further notice" - it stated matter-of-factly.
"Weird choice of words for an obstetrician" - I mused to myself before the wall in front of me suddenly split up and light slipped in through a vertical opening. I closed my eyes: the light hurt them. The obviously weren't used to it.
The waters around me departed, being quickly flushed somewhere. Coughing violently, I spat out the contents of my lungs, noting that the first breath of air didn't really bring me any relief.
"Did you have a bad dream, Dave?" - I heard a voice next to me. I looked up.
Metallic chrome carcass. Humanoid body. Big head with two huge round cameras that gave it a cute look. An odd and terrifying yet strangely familiar sight, as if from a distant dream.
"Can you remember my name?" - it asked.
"Walter" - I snapped at it. "You're Walter. Don't be so condescending to me".
"My apologies, Dave" - I made a slight bow. "Do you remember where you are".
"Yes" - I blurted out. Then I looked around. I knew I should have an answer to that, but it was still missing from my head.
"You are aboard the IISS "Argo" heading for Trappist-3. The dream that you'd seen right now was just a collective simulation to pass time. Unfortunately, yours have been terminated in a rather violent manner, which led your body to react violently. I had to wake you up. Don't worry, you'll calm down and be able to restart in a few hours".
I rose to my feet. "Didn't feel like a dream" - I said, rubbing my temples.
"That's the idea" - Walter mused.
"But those people... they are real, right?" - I wondered. Even if I would remember that in a few moments I couldn't waste a second.
"...Yes" - Walter replied after a short pause. "Their dream goes on as we speak".
"That man..." - I rubbed my temples again, but the memory of his face was fading away. "Who killed me?" - I asked the robot.
"Why do you need that information?" - Walter calmly inquired.
"He has to be stopped. He... He wants to do something that I have to stop" - I muttered. Just two minutes ago it was the important issue on my hands. Why couldn't I remember anything now?
"Dave" - Walter approached me an put his robotic hand on my shoulder. "It's just a dream. A role-playing game that you're all participating in. What happens in dreams is not real".
"Yeah, well, his intentions are real" - I tried to shake Walter's hand off my shoulder, but he didn't let go. "Dave, I know what's on your mind" - he said, staring with his giant cameras straight at me. "Your face betrays your thoughts. And I'm sorry, Dave, I can't let you do that".
I squeezed my teeth: "I figured".
Pushing him away, I charged forward though the corridors, past the coffins with other colonists who were seeing dreams of their other life. I needed to do something. Find his capsule, break the code - anything. I didn't have memories of both of my lives, but I had my determination with me. It had endured the death. Surely it was no small deal?
Walter was running after me, his metallic frame moving with an unseen ease. In a few moments, he'd catch up to me.
"Dave" - he shouted at me - "Everyone's a hero in their own story. Remember that".
"Yes" - I whispered as I stopped and turned around, ready to tackle the approaching machine. "I'll be the hero".
***
Hey, everyone! I finally finished the first draft of my first book, and I'm looking for some feedback on possible book covers. [Click Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/8xzgpf/finished_the_first_draft_of_me_horror_novel_can/) if you are interested.
If you're into that kind of stuff and would like to get it before anyone else - subscribe! I plan to give away my novel to my subscribers for beta-reviewing. | 2018-07-11T11:37:43 | 2018-07-11T05:39:40 | 35 | 13 |
[WP] The year is 3201 and you work for the government's top secret Population Regulation Branch--your job is to discretely find ways to kill off 25% of the population without the public noticing | “What’s my deadline?”
Like a good employee, he had asked the obvious question first. But unlike a regular employee, his task had been much more confidential than the standard paperwork. A black-ops agency had requested a monumental task of him, something no single human should need to undertake. Had he believed in some higher deity, he was sure he would have been eternally damned for the job he accepted. But he took on this job anyway. Not because he was some kind of psychopath, lacking in any real concept of right and wrong. Nor because he simply wanted to see the world burn.
No, he took the job because he loved humanity and its potential, and sometimes to treat a starving system, room needed to be made for growth.
They had given him a reasonable timeline of five years, promising additional benefits if the target numbers were reached sooner. After receiving his orders, he had spent several months planning. It was surprisingly simple to come up with a plan having studied the behaviors of large populations and applying the principle of exponential spread. Utilizing the resources provided to him by the hidden governmental agency, he started a small company with the express purpose of exploring the use of different breeds of fungi in the treatment of cancers. He hired several researchers of questionable morality to perform the experiments with the aim of targeting specific organs. And on the side, he allowed them to pursue a smaller project of coexistence within plants, reasoning that if they could improve symbiotic relationships, they would better understand parasitic existences. Again, this would be with an ultimate goal of understanding tumor spread and general biology.
None of the researchers protested. After all, they had all been hand-picked to be the most desperate to receive a degree and return to their home countries so they could have a high paying job. Those projects took about a year and a half, but a simple genetic splice allowed him to combine the results of the two projects to create a fungus symbiotically hosting viruses that were more than happy to carry several mutagenic variants of human oncogenes.
A covert explosion in the lab covered up the data and spread the fungal spores to the wind, the majority of them targeting a tobacco farm down about half a mile downwind.
The job was not finished though. He hired several beekeepers to collect him population samples several weeks after the explosion. A quick test showed that the fungus had already taken hold in the plants and the nicotinic effect of the tobacco had easily caused the fungus to spread to the pollinators. With a mobile host in hand, he simply let them breed in a controlled environment before shipping them to areas around the world with the largest tobacco farms. Then was the deed truly done.
There was little progression at first. When asked by his supervisors if he had accomplished what they asked, he simply asked that they wait. The initial results were largely ignored. Patients showing up with carcinomas in their lungs were often older and had a history of smoking. They were simply passed off as an expected outcome. But gradually, younger and younger populations began getting hit. Then, additional groups that had thought themselves safe from the inherent dangers of smoking regular cigarettes also began developing tumors. By this time, people were starting to pay attention to the rising epidemic.
The scientific community was quick to jump on the case. While it was obvious the cases were being caused by smoking, they could not determine any other similarities in patients’ habits. Some had been smoking heavily on a daily basis, others only smoked infrequently and recreationally. The media finally got involved when a thirteen-year-old boy who had tried a cigarette twelve months ago had presented with developing tumors that resembled the many other cases. People got angry and demanded answers that no one had. Politicians blamed the opposing ideologies.
And life went on.
By the time researchers realized it was a symbiotic virus that was piggybacking in the tobacco leaves, the death count was already in the billions. After all, the unluckiest people needed only to be dosed once before the virus would latch onto a new host to slowly reproduce the genetic material it held. And in this case, that genetic material was highly mutagenic. People began blaming regulatory policies while conspiracy theories spirals out of control. In the end, nothing short of an outright ban on tobacco products could curb the cancer rates. But thanks to the addictive properties of the nicotine, it would be years, possibly decades before this virus was fully under control.
And so, at the end of year four, he had accomplished his goal.
“While we were surprised at your methods and have lost several members ourselves, you did as you were tasked,” they had said. “You will be paid what you were promised.”
“And everything will be transferred to my sister’s family?” He asked.
“Yes. They survived the epidemic so far and the warnings are out there for everyone to see now. You can be assured they will live comfortably for generations to come.”
He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.
“Thank you.”
With that he returned to his small, midtown apartment. He turned on the television and turned up the noise. It was hardly necessary since all of his neighbors were watching the same thing. Every news channel was now broadcasting mass alerts on this unknown epidemic. Humanity had been irrevocably damaged, and the death count was still rising. With a small sigh, he brought out a box from beneath his armchair.
‘Still, with the reduced population, humanity will have decades, if not centuries before space and food becomes an issue again,’ he thought to himself.
He opened the box and brought out a plain black pistol.
‘It was for our own good.’
In one swift motion, he brought the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
...
Well that was a thing. If you're interested in my works, an archive of my various writing responses can be found [here](https://cuckoosneststories.wordpress.com/).
Thanks for reading. | Have you ever gone parachuting?
It's not as popular as it once was, but almost everyone's seen a holo of it. The mind struggles to comprehend how people from times past ever put such faith in what essentially amounts to large sheets of fabric - no rocket-thrusters, no anti-grav pads, no phase-shifters. Pure madness. It was such an archaic oddity that barely anyone even knew how to deploy the damn things.
Yet, there I was, careening down the side of the mountain, trying to scream while the wind continually assaulted my face.
"Just a little longer!" Harvey yelled in my ear. "We're almost there!"
He had instructed me not to resist, and to let him handle the steering. I was more than glad to let him. Harvey turned and guided us straight for the cliff-face. The cragged wall loomed larger and larger, and I wondered briefly how long it would take for the Net to find our bodies, if at all.
Then, at the last minute, just before we connected with the rockface, we froze in mid-air. I saw a holo of us (there was nothing else it could be) carry on without us, floating away as the winds swept it as playfully as a kitten deals with yarn. I became aware that the rush of air past my ears had ceased - there was a stillness, a definite calm sweeping over us. My feet found no purchase still, and I struggled momentarily, like an ant hoisted up into the air by invisible fingers.
"We... are in a tractor beam?" I ventured.
"Yes, yes we are."
I glanced around, unable to find the source device. My heart was still pounding madly in my chest, and I felt my implants kick in as they began to regulate my heart-rate. "We are in the grips of a tractor beam... and the projector has evidently been cloaked. I have little doubt that *we* are cloaked now too, right in the middle of the bloody air. You've even arranged for a holo of us so that any observers would not be surprised at our sudden disappearence..."
Harvey grinned, then let go of me. He cricked his neck, then pressed a button on his backpack. The parachute folded itself back in, ready for another deployement. "Good, good. Nothing less than what I expected of you, Sophie."
I removed a contact-disc from my wrist compartment. It was almost weightless, and it contained every single security code I had used since childhood. I held it out on the tip of my outstretched arm, and I watched as a faint blue crackle of electricity danced across it. "You have gone to very, *very* great lengths today. There's even a comms-screening cage around us. This isn't just some... thrill-seeking expedition. You're evading the Net. That has to be it. What you're doing it *for*... that's the question, isn't it?"
Harvey nodded. A rush of emotions rushed up my belly at his agreement - largely anger, anger at how one of my best friends had lured me out on false pretenses, how I had endured over a hundred vaccinations just so that I could venture into the open air, how I had left the comfort of my Cell behind. But there was an undercurrent of admiration too. Awe, even, at how Harvey had planned all of it. The initial invite, the promises of forgotten thrills, the meticulous planning which led us to his safe-house here.
After all, there was very little left of the modern world where the Net could not see.
The Net was everywhere. In the recorders at every junction in the streets, in the code for every website we browsed, even looking down from high, high above as it peered through gigantic telescopic lenses. There were precious few places left where man had not seeded the ground with the apparatus necessary for the Net to observe.
Trust Harvey to have found such a place.
"I don't have much time," he said. "So listen close."
"I am listening."
"You remember Keith, don't you? Keith Simmons."
I did, and I nodded. The three of us were inseparable through college, though in recent years I had seen little of him. The odd holoconference or two from the comfort of our Cells. That wasn't surprising or unusual in and of itself - when you're one of the world's premier electro-engineers, you don't have much time for a social life.
"Well, Sophie, I believe that Keith isn't... there anymore."
"Not... there? You know he's just a click away, right? You can call him up anytime."
"That's not *him*. That's not Keith. You see an image of Keith, you hear Keith speaking, but that's *not* Keith."
I took a deep breath. "I know the rules, Harvey. The three of us were the most brilliant from our cohort for a reason. We don't question each other's methods, and we have absolute trust in each other. But help me out here. I'm guessing that you... managed to get independent confirmation that Keith is not who he says he is?"
Harvey shook his head. "I can't get confirmation because that means I have to go through the Net, and I *cannot* go through the Net for this. Who knows who's listening from the other end? I think what's left of Keith, if you called him, is nothing more than a very elaborate simulation. Of who he is, his mannerisms, his speech patterns, his memories. But nothing more."
"And you want us to go look for him? Find out what happened to Keith?"
"It's more than that. If it could happen to him, who else? Consider this, Sophie. No one ventures out of their Cells much anymore. We live in a pod because all our needs are serviced from there. There's no impetus anymore to go out and socialize. We holocall, we holoview... everything from the comfort of our Cells."
"Yes, and that's just how the modern world is. It's so much more convenient than what we had before."
"I know, but what if... what if we only *think* that everyone else is at home in their Cells? What if there weren't many of us left all in real life? How would we know if everytime we wanted to check on each other, we were presented with lifelike simulations which make us think that everything's just the way it is?"
I gulped. I held my wrist computer against the side of Harvey's neck, but the readout confirmed that there were no hallucinogens in his bloodstream. No tumors in his brain either. Harvey may not have been making sense, but there was no easy explanation for it.
"You know what you're insinuating goes against the Accords, right?"
"I do," he replied.
"And I quote the first principle - humans shall yield their governance to the Net, but in return, the Net has to promise to keep paramount humanity's safety and welfare."
"I remember that as well as you, Sophie. But has anyone recently checked what the Net's *definition* of safety and welfare is?"
"Well, I bloody would assume that it included leaving us happy in our Cells, and *not* spiriting us away and replacing us with simulations!"
I heard an alien whirr then. We turned and saw six concentric portals open in the air. From these blackened discs of swirling light, we saw six drones plop out. The red visors on them glowed as they probed the environment for, well, us.
"Right on time," said Harvey, as he embraced me again. "Going to take some evasive measures, things may get a bit choppy, ok?"
"Wait, wait. Where are you headed to? What is your plan for-"
Harvey laughed as he yanked on the cord to his backpack. I felt the tractor beam loosen its grip on us, and the view around us shimmered as the cloaking device depowered. Gravity, the proper kind, reclaimed us. I felt us plunge away from the prying eyes of the drones, and Harvey plastered his hand over my mouth to stifle the scream.
"Questions later, Sophie. For now, we *survive*."
---
/r/rarelyfunny | 2018-09-17T22:10:38 | 2018-09-17T19:43:49 | 495 | 309 |
[WP] among the many senses developed on alien worlds, hearing is not one of them. To most extra terrestrials, the idea that we can detect them even with a wall between us is utterly horrifying | Subject-241-1
Special Containment Procedures:
Subject is to be contained in a standard humanoid containment cell. The subject is to be given requested amenities, as long as said amenities do not risk containment and are within reason. The subject's toiletries are to be laced with type A pheromone, and onsite staff are to be familiarized with said pheremone. One (1) security officer must be on guard at all times, armed with Dr. [REDACTED]'s Audio-Rifle.
Description:
Subject 241-1 is a member of the greater species 241, otherwise known as "Humanity". Subject 241 stands approximately two (2) meters tall, and is vaguely similar to our own makeup. Subject 241-1 is capable of all four senses, along with a fifth sense unique to its species. By sensing the vibration of objects in their environment, 241-1 is capable of sensing the general position of nearby personnel, moving objects, and many forms of environmental stimuli. 241-1 is not inherently aggressive, and has complied with multiple interview requests.
ADDENDUM 1-12-241-1:
Department chairman has approved the SAPIEN project, geared at producing audio-to-video goggles for use by Special Forces. Current testing in progress. | The cool earth cushioned softly beneath Blue-Green-Magenta's bare soles. He looked to his aide, Red-Scarlet-Teal, who nodded ahead to Ms. Hawk's home door, quiet as any world.
Eyes looked between blinds from houses around the street. Children-to-gods of all earthling years peered at the iridescent, slightly moving scales of... "*I wonder what we'll call them,"* thought a boy. His father, too shocked since the reverberation of windows and ear-piercing shrill of dying engines, forgot to ask himself how to care for a child in such a new world.
The boy noticed their clothes. Black--every piece. Except three verticle circles--three down the spine, three down the front, and three on each sleeve. One of the beings walked up behind Blue-Green-Magenta to gently trace his spine from blue circle, green, to magenta.
Blue-Green-Magenta turned around.
The Tracer One began an intracate dance of eight long, four-knuckled, graspers on each hand. Blue-Green-Magenta watched, unblinking. The boy *had* seen them blink. He was surprised by the deep purple of their eyes. He wasn't sure to be more terrified that they could close their eyes, as opposed to never blinking like dead things do.
Blue-Green-Magenta made an arrangement of graspers of one hand, held in the air between the Tracer One and himself. Upon command, the Tracer's graspers went still. Not to his sides.
Still.
Blue-Green-Magenta turned his attention once more to the task at hand. The boy became uncomfortable, as Blue-Green-Magenta and The One Who Nodded, Red-Scarlet-Teal, starred at each other.
Minutes passed.
The boy's father remembered him. "Dan, I need you to go to your room." Arrival of whining police sirens spoke the panic and indignance of the boy. The sirens sounded like they'd stopped a small subdivision street or two away. The boy and father heard more gather on streets to the left--and on the street behind the fence of Ms. Hawk's backyard, ahead. "Dan, I have..." The boy looked to the dinosaur toy he'd enjoyed just a quarter hour ago till Earth felt new soles. "Dan."
The boy quickly walked to his toy, swapped it up, and turned into the hallway. The father heard the door slam. As he turned back to peer through the liviing room blinds, he heard the plastic whur of the boy's bedroom blinds rise. "DAN!" A crash of plastic, three stomps, and the puff of a comforter.
Now that his boy was (again) no longer a distraction, Mr. Jenson turned his attention again to Them. *Why... Why are they outside Ms. Hawk's door?*
Blue-Green-Magenta raised an iridescent scaled fist, between himself and the wooden door that stood silent and still as the Tracer. Red-Scarlet-Teal reached inside a thigh pocket, produced a sheet of paper, held it as a sign, facing the door. Mr. Jenson wondered what they would write... *Draw?*...
The alien fist would have made contact with the door, awkward and unpracticed, but it opened. The eyes that had been in the window of the second floor were no longer there. Ms. Hawk stared, wide-eyed, taken aback. She thought maybe deep purple eyes stared, too. She noticed the sign.
*Ms. Stacey Hawk, President of the National Association of the Deaf?*
\[continued in comment below\] | 2018-11-02T20:07:57 | 2018-11-02T20:00:37 | 1,189 | 115 |
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats. | “Why didn’t you do it?” The archangel asked me. “What?” I replied. A hurricane of thoughts swept through my mind.
I could’ve used the brakes. I could’ve turned. I couldn’t have just hit that deer, could I? What did he mean?
We walked forward, through an endless expanse of empty white ground and clear blue sky. I could’ve stopped after the first drink. I could’ve called a cab. I should’ve.
Now I just wish I could know if my wife survived. I could ask. Maybe another time. Wherever this man is taking me, I deserve it.
The archangel walked in silence beside me. He seemed disappointed. Lost in thought.
“What should I have done?”
He blinked and met my gaze. Now he seems confused. “Dude,” he said, “ you could TALK to PIGEONS. Why didn’t you do it!?” | “Like I said, child, it doesn’t work that way. What you’ve chosen to improve in previous lifetimes is solidified in permeation through existence of all—“
“Okay, okay, I get it. It’s just frustrating from my perspective I guess...” I got up from the little stool I’d glued my bum to for hours. I began pacing back and forth. God, in it’s much bigger and cooler chair, had just explained the mechanics of the universe and I wasn’t even surprised. I was, however, growing rather agitated. I’d just learned that in death, you become reincarnated. Not only that, but I’ve been reincarnated an annoying amount of times, even compared to other humans. Apparently, my past selves had often killed themselves in very, very dumb ways. My most recent death was no different. Albeit, humanity has a special privilege: similar to the use of skill points in a video game, we can upgrade our “stats” for future lives.
The kicker: the points I’d accumulated by dying all of those times had been all placed in two particular, and annoyingly specific stats. The first I’d previously chose to improve was called “unconscious foresight.”
I looked up at the Creator. “So you won’t tell me what these skills do?”
“No. As beings granted ‘free will,’ the knowledge your kind possesses should allow you to interpret the definitions yourself.”
I stared into the being’s gleaming eyes, skeptically. “That’s all well and good, but if I’m supposed to have knowledge in order to interpret the meanings, isn’t it a little unfair that I can’t even read this one?” I pointed to the other skill I’d chosen to upgrade.
It didn’t even look like words. It didn’t look like anything. It was just these weird green lines. Just a bunch of lines. Not like Morse code or like numbers. They were just weird... lines.
God looked at the lines. “You know, child. Interestingly enough, I can’t read them either.”
Then it began to shake. The whole sky. The atoms, the quarks, everything.
God blinked.
For the first time, ever.
I don’t know why or how I remembered, before what came next, but I did.
The dark was excruciating, it reverberated through everything in our plane of existence. Before God could do anything, it was seized. Stopped completely, helpless at the hands of the dark blight. In a moment of pain and terror, I dove toward the green lines. As soon as we touched, the lines began to glow. And right before I was ripped back into human existence, but in life, even as a baby—
I remembered. Everything.
The beginning. The threads that wove our universe together, the creation, the success; the failure. I remembered before Earth. The War Before Time. I knew where everything was hidden. I remembered so many things that I shouldn’t have been able to understand.
I was alive. A living human, with knowledge of God and Creation and Existence, and the nightmare that God calls “The Reverse.”
And now, my knowledge leads me to believe that in God’s immeasurable power, this being is equivalent, and in creation of life, God lost a part of his power, creating an imbalance that we, the life, must restore.
Edit: de grammur and spellingh | 2019-01-24T12:06:40 | 2019-01-24T12:02:50 | 87 | 24 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | "I GOT HIM!!!!" she laughed. "I finally got him!!!"
she blew the tip of her ray gun, as if to blow the smoke away.
I blinked, staring at the crumpled body of my nemesis...his Cape a melted ruin. My stomach churned. I felt...
"oh I am having desert tonight!" her dark red lips curved upward. An adorable dimple popped out of one cheek. she popped the ray gun back in her purse. She stopped when she saw my face.
"oh no, did i... I just stole your moment didnt i... I just...I'm SO TIRED of that misogynist lump ALWAYS trying to rescue me...like i cant handle myself. I'm a freaking black belt Clark, I dont NEED you swooping in and beating my contact senseless before I can get any information out of him. And you know what? last time you saved me? I FELT that hand on my ass" She kicked at the melting river of polyester. She turned to me" I'm so sorr..."
"STOP!" I said holding up my hand "I dont want to hear any more apologies. Just tell me ONE THING"
She nodded, smile gone.
"How on EARTH did you get a laser got enough to cut through his body, and not melt the barrel of the ray gun?" I squeaked, reaching for her purse, "may i...?"
Her whole face brightened. She laughed, like bubbles of champagne. The dimple deepening.
she swatted hand away. "After dinner!"
" your lab or mine?" I smiled following her in to the restaurant. | This is it! The Plan Bs to end all Plan Bs! This was absolutely fool-proof! I've tried concocting love potions; I've tried psychology tricks; I've tried going on blind dates with horrible people, even more horrible than I am; but all of those attempts were trashed! The common denominator? That little cocky brat coming in to save the princess like a valiant knight in rose-colored armor! She had foiled my attempts for a while now, but this time, I'm sure, shall be the last! I have watched her from the shadows, carefully putting the pieces, assimilating her behavior and preferences! Call it stalking if you will, but I refuse to play the part of a hopeless romantic any longer!
She is the blandest main character with a love for learning at day; magical girl by night. At least, that's what the data told me. Through my eyes, she was a kind yet nosy lady, and the frequent target of this nosiness is no other than me, a simple genius hacker whom she considers her equal, her rival! So I tried to adapt to her methods and analyzed her pattern. Home, school, library, home, superhero business.
Using this information, I acted accordingly. I began by applying as student librarian and developed a "close friendship" with her over time. I discovered she liked the same books I liked, and sometimes we swapped book recommendations. Sometimes she'd even talk about "that one hacker boy \[she\] knows that was kinda cute but has some questionable morals" and the misadventures that followed, not knowing she was making a fool out of herself. We also shared snacks and held hands, you know, the typical friendship stuff. So typical, I almost forgot she were my enemy.
But enough of that nonsense! No one wants to know the story of how we ended up crushing on each other.
I did the most sensible thing I could think of at the time. I asked her out on a date using my Librarian Alternate Identity, Lai for short. But whoopsie-doopsie! Looks like the hacker she loathes so much kidnapped him, and now it's up to the heroine to rescue her beloved!
And it begins now, as I hide myself in a closet. My phone was connected to the cameras with microphones so I had no trouble watching this unfold.
Today, as usual, she entered the library she frequented, but not as her civilian identity. She found the library barren. And most importantly...
Her favorite student librarian wasn't there.
"Curse that hacker!" I heard her say as she slammed her fist on a nearby shelf. "'The tables will turn, I will ruin YOUR date'? That's so creepy! How did he even find out about the boy I like? This is so frustrating!"
She goes straight to the empty counter, and there aren't any of his belongings either. All that's left was a book, and as soon as she touched it, the alarms went off.
This was my cue. I kicked open the door and ran to the counter, bringing with me the take-out snacks I ordered. I placed them on the counter and pushed the secret button on the book to turn the alarms off.
It was her turn now. She crossed her arms and ranted loudly: "What's the meaning of this? Where's Lai?!"
I smiled. I brushed my hair up and put on some glasses. "Here you go."
The look on her face was priceless.
&#x200B;
//Second comment on this subreddit! I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing! ~~Sorry they don't have names hahaha.~~ The girl is named Tele, and the boy is named "Lai" (real name unknown for now) Might make this a rom-com series if I have the time.
EDIT: [here's a sketch of Lai and Tele that I thought you might enjoy.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/423083600053927938/549088955908358154/Lai_and_Tele_rWritingPrompts.png) | 2022-12-02T20:53:04 | 2019-02-23T07:17:19 | 129 | 43 |
[WP] You just made a deal with the devil, and sold your soul. But when he reached in to take it, he says, "Okay, wise-guy, where is it?" | FADE IN:
INT. A TAVERN – NIGHT
*Boisterous, well-imbibed patrons fill the tavern. A couple snoggs furiously in the corner. A large man is passed out on the floor. His friends are taking turns bouncing peanuts off his belly and into cups. One peanut bounces past the cups and onto the black dress shoes of a man sitting at a table. This is SATAN.*
**SATAN:** "Okay, wise-guy, where is it?"
*He looks across at a man wearing a red hoodie. This is BORGIN.*
**BORGIN:** “You know—down there?”
*Satan shakes his head.*
**SATAN:** Not that. Your soul! Where’s your soul?
**BORGIN:** I dunno.
**SATAN:** Is this some kind of joke to you?
*Borgin looks up to see his friend bringing shots back to the table. This is EVAN. Evan sets the shots down with a clatter.*
**EVAN:** Borgin—Dude—you’re never gonna believe this!
**BORGIN:** Did you get that guy’s number?
**EVAN:** What? No—look, two for one shots! Awesome, right?
**SATAN:** Can you hold off just a damn minute!
**EVAN:** Whoa, chill down, Satan.
**SATAN:** I’m literally Sata—
**EVAN:** (interrupting) Shots! Shots!
*Evan pounds the table, which sends one glass falling over and onto the belly of the fat, sleeping man. It stirs him from his slumber to the disappointed groans of the men standing around him.*
**BORGIN:** Dude, you’re gonna make yourself sick. Also—guess who this guy is?
*Borgin points at Satan.*
**EVAN:** Whoa! Is that… (incoherent whispers)
**BORGIN:** Close Enough!
**SATAN:** (shouting) I can read your minds, and that’s not funny!
*The bar quiets as the other patrons turn to look at Satan. The fat man rubs his eyes and stumbles towards the table, falling into Satan’s lap. Satan pushes him off and glares at Borgin.*
**SATAN:** We had a deal. What’s the catch? Did you already sell your soul to someone?
*Borgin strokes his beard thoughtfully.*
**EVAN:** (Interrupting) Shots!
*Evan falls to the ground and lands on the fat man, who has passed out again.*
**BORGIN:** Well, there was this one god I met in Panama…
**SATAN:** Oh, for Christ’s sake—
**BORGIN:** (interrupting) That’s the one!
CUT TO BLACK. | I don’t write a lot and this is my first post here so don’t be too mean lol
I always thought I was a good person. I’ve tried my best not to commit any sins against my fellow mankind and when I did, I made sure to make up and never leave any burnt bridges between them. I guess you could say I always aimed to live between my emotions, almost sociopathic in a way. I never held onto negative emotions, and I never held onto positive emotions. I lived everyday in a bliss of neutral emotions. I thought this was a great way to live life, without feeling anything I’d never hurt myself. And without feeling anything, I’d never hold onto negative thoughts that could hurt somebody else. But what I learned that day proved me otherwise.
I was walking home late at night from work because I was recently in a car accident. I should of died, but I somehow survived with no injury. I learned why that night. I was walking through the tree line that I cut through to save me about 10 minutes on my walk when I noticed something odd. There was a path that I never noticed was there, but it seemed to lead in the normal direction I head so I just stuck to this newly found path. It seemed like a four wheeler trail, something you’d know if you grew up in a small town like I did. I was a little nervous that I was walking on private property, but as late as it was I wasn’t too worried. But there was something that caught my attention.
The farther I walked down the trail, it felt like it was warming up. Almost like that feeling when the sun starts to rise and warm the air around you, but it was 4 in the morning and the sun was as nowhere in sight. It felt like the sun was rising behind me and was shining brightly on my back. That was when I had an experience I don’t think I’ll ever forget and it changed my life forever.
I turned around and saw a man in a top hat and suit with a cane. It was hard to see his face, it seemed to be completely covered by the shadows of the night. “Who are you?”, I asked. The man felt like he was staring into my soul. “I don’t know what you want, but if you want my wallet you can have it”. The man chuckled, and he spoke with a voice as dark as the night. “I don’t want your material things, but I am willing to make a bargain I bet you can’t pass up. I am of the night, the one who walks in darkness. I am of the moon while my greatest enemy is of the sun. Most people know me as the devil, and I am here to make a deal. Trade me your soul and I’ll give you whatever you please in this mortal life. For giving me your soul, I won’t punish you as hard in the next life. There are different circles of hell and I can promise you that you’ll never suffer anymore than a man who committed a few lies”
I paused for a second, in fear the man was on some insane drugs and thought he was a literal omnipotent being.
I jokingly asked, “What about $5000 dollars in my bank account every week?”. He chuckles and said “Sure, I can make that happen. Do we have a deal?”. Out of morbid curiosity, and maybe a little greed, I said “Alright, mark my soul.” The man didn’t even move, and I felt the warmth fill my chest. It felt like a hand made of fire was moving inside my chest. “Okay wise-guy, where is it?”I was puzzled. “Where’s what?”, I asked. I felt the feeling that I can only explain as anger fill the air around me and I blacked out. I woke up what felt like hours later in the same spot I was but it was still dark and he was standing there. “Turns out you do have a soul”, he explained, “but there isn’t much of a force left in it.”
I was shocked, and pleaded “What? Does that mean I’m dying? Am I near the end of my life?”. He still sounded angry, and he said to me “You life your life in this mortal realm but you detach yourself from all things that make you mortal. You are a dead man walking because you never allow yourself to truly love. Emotions are a yinyang between good and bad, and without accepting both you can never cherish any. I might as well just take you now. You hurt those around you by shutting yourself out, you hurt yourself by never truly being happy. You were willingly to trade your soul for material because you are basically nothing but material. I’ll return to you in a couple years when your soul is stronger and we’ll see how you answer again. But if I return and you are still as empty as you are now, I will end your misery before you have to experience it yourself at the true end of your mortal life”.
With that, he vanished, and I slept in the woods that night. When I woke up, I was on my bed and knew I had to change myself. I had to be ready for when the devil returns again. | 2019-05-05T03:25:28 | 2019-05-05T03:22:15 | 61 | 10 |
[WP] After being greatly wronged, you seek out the Goddess of Vengeance to give you advice in your quest for retribution. You always imagined a powerful warrior, sitting atop a throne made from the skulls of Her enemies. Instead, you discover a kindly old woman tending to a garden. |
“Come over here, join me for a bit.” She smiled at me. A smile full of warmth and love for a stranger. It made my neck prickle.
I was exhausted. I had traveled for days. I had researched where I might find her, the goddess of vengeance. I walked timidly around the small stone wall and knelt beside her in the dirt. She was already back to work. Dirt was set deep into the wrinkles on her hands and it smudged a face kissed by age. She wore a wedding ring.
I said, “You’re not… Not what I was expecting.”
She was humming softly.
A thin green line of a weed wrapped itself around and around one of the tomato vines. Carefully I untangled it from the fray. I grabbed the base of the small weed and pulled. It snapped off between my fingers. She stopped humming. My heart stopped too.
She tut tutted, then said, “Like this child.”
And she reached down and pulled the rest of the thing out, shaking the dirt from its roots and adding it to the pile.
I chose a new weed and tried to mimic her technique. I pinched it near its base, even getting some dirt between my fingers. It was under my nails and it felt good. Then I pulled straight out. It came up roots and all. She smiled at me again, this time, it didn’t feel so wrong. I too shook the dirt from its roots and set it on her pile.
“Now, why have you come child, for I am not on the way to anywhere, and to get here you must have traveled far and hard?”
She smelled like turmeric, and coriander. She smelled like the spices my mother used when she would cook for guests, or for special days. It was a good, warm smell.
“I…” My mouth had gone dry. My cheeks had gone flush and I felt lightheaded. “I need your advice.” And then it all came pouring out of me. “My wife left me for another man, my brother. It’s not right that they have done this, and I want them to pay for it.”
She leaned back on her haunches and looked at me then. “When you spin things this way, it sounds rather poorly for your ex-wife and brother. Tell me, why is it not right that they have done this thing. Did your wife sleep with your brother while the two of you were still wed?”
I was taken aback. Surely the goddess of vengeance would relish any opportunity to guide another to their retribution. Then I thought about her words. “She was faithful to me till the day she divorced me. But she broke vows. The day of our wedding she vowed to be attentive and to love me and to keep me forever.”
The Goddess’ face grew stern then. “Then she was faithful for as long as she needed to be. Do you expect an un-wed woman to be beholden to a man, even her ex-husband?”
“Well.” I started sheepishly.
“And was she the only one who broke vows? Did you not also vow to be attentive, to care for and to make her feel loved for all her days?”
“I… She said I worked too often. I worked so we could be happy.”
“You made her happy, stupid child. You wanted the money; she wanted you.”
I knew this, deep down I did. I feel that was a large part of why I wanted revenge. I was angry, with myself and with them.
“You both broke your vows. A woman who is not a wife doesn’t owe like that to a man who is not her husband.”
She sighed and looked out to the sinking sun. “Too many seek me, seek my wisdom, thinking I will make them feel better. They think all I know how to do is punish those who have wronged them. Well I’m not a goddess of vengeance as so many believe. I am Justice, and most are not satisfied with what is truly just. We all think our own slights are far worse than they truly are.”
I felt empty. “I feel like all the joy has left my life.” I said.
She nodded. “I know child, because it has. But joy is not a finite resource. You will find more.”
“Can I stay with you a bit.”
“If you keep picking those strangle weeds you can stay as long as you like child.” | Sarah had lost an arm it seemed. Blood fell from the wound. She couldn’t see out of her left eye and she held her hand in front of it too scared to touch what might not be there. The left side of her head ached and her ear felt like a tattered mess.
The pain was intense and she curled up on the ground gasping between sobs. She couldn’t believe it. She was free.
When she closed her eyes all she could see was his face. Thoughts of her family flowed around that one image. She remembered the house, the yard, the basement. It all parted and faded away leaving just his face. She remembered Gracie, how she looked, how she felt. She remembered what they did to Gracie, what they did to herself, and it all just flowed on. But his face with the tacked on pearly white smile and masking laugh lines. The bright blue eyes that seethed with disgust. That remained.
She fell asleep with that image clutched fiercely in her mind
She blinked awake staring up at a foreign ceiling. She’d awoken in someone else’s bed. Clean white sheets, soft fluffy pillows. Light filtered through the blinds covering the window on her right. She looked around at the blue walls. The bedside table had pictures of a family and an alarm clock. An old tv in a corner with bunny ears, one antenna bent, sat in a corner.
She reached for the clock on her left unthinkingly and the sight of her missing arm startled her until she remembered. She felt the stump, what had been a shredded bleeding end had been healed. She wondered to herself how long it had been.
Rising from the bed she walked towards the door. Her legs felt weak and she stumbled as she tried to catchherself with both arms on the door frame. As she made her way through the house she tried to figure out who lived here. And it was lived in.
The house was spotlessly clean, various nick knacks and photos of people she’d never met were displayed around the house. It was quiet, but a comfortable quiet. She stopped to give one of the photos a look, of a young grinning boy, but moved on when that man’s face passed through her mind again. When she found a door leading out of the house she went through into a lush yard ringed by flower beds and behind them hedges far taller than she.
An old woman sat at one of the flower beds digging away at the earth with a trowel. The sun was high in the sky so she pulled off one of her gardening gloves and dabbed at her forehead with a white handkerchief. This was when she turned and saw Sarah.
“Oh! You’re up. And just in time. Please please, come over here.” She beckoned.
Sarah clutched her missing arm and carefully walked over to the woman. She had on a crisp red shirt with flower patterns, blue jeans with dirt on the knees, and a big floppy sunhat. Standing above the kneeling woman, Sarah asked, “Who are you?”
The woman’s eyes twinkled and she flashed a small smile. “My name is Millie and this is my home. I help the people I find. When I found you, you surely looked like you needed help!”
Millie held Sarah's gaze for a time and then patted the ground next to her.
"Help me for a little", she said while gesturing towards a shovel that Sarah hadn't noticed lying next to her.
Sarah picked up the shovel and began awkwardly trying to dig a hole in a cleared patch of the garden that Milllie had pointed out.
"Now that man", Millie began, Sarah flinched, "really seems like a bad guy. Him, his family, the town, the whole lot of them. Rotten."
"I didn't know you were from around here. I'd never seen you in town.", Sarah said without turning from her digging. Millie chuckled, "Oh, we're far away from there. Why I don't know if you could even make it back there."
Sarah twitched. "What the fuck do you mean." She could feel the old woman's eyes boring into her back. "Dear, was there something you needed from that dreadful place?"
Sarah turned back to see Millie smiling sweetly. She nestled the shovel into the crook of her shoulder and stepped so she was looking directly down at the old woman. "Were you hoping to see Gracie again?" She let the name drop like a hammer.
"I'll kill every last one of you, doesn't matter where you are", Sarah said as she swung the shovel's edge at Millie like an axe. The reverberation through the handle hurt, but Sarah kept a hold of it as it bounced off. Millie stood up abruptly, not a single hair out of place, and grabbed Sarah's arm with a steely grip.
"What could you hope to do" she said as she flung Sarah to the ground. "You're a twig I could snap with one hand. You're a maimed bird who would die on her own. You only lost that arm because you're weak."
Sarah scrambled up and tried to take another swing, but this time Millie broke the shovel clean off the handle. She lunged for Millie, arms around the old woman's waist, but it was like she was trying to move a house. The old woman elbowed her swiftly to the ground and the hurt lanced through the girls back.
Millie kicked her over, probably bruising a rib. The girl groaned. Millie straddled her and slapped Sarah's bad ear. The girl felt like someone had rung her head like a bell and she strained to see straight.
Leaning close Millie whispered, "Did you know Gracie's dead? She died, because you weren't there." Millie took her handkerchief out and wiped some sweat from her brow. She sent the girl rolling with another kick, before turning to walk away. She only went a few steps before the remains of the shovel handle hit her square in the back of the head.
Rounding on the girl, her eyes wide not missing a single detail, she asked again, "There ain't nothing left. What could you do?"
Sarah cleared her throat and spat some blood on the ground, "I said it before, I'll kill them all."
Pleased, Millie replied, "I can help you with that."
-----------
"First thing you gotta learn, though, is when to stay down." A bit of a drawl coming out with the words. Millie swiftly knocked the wind out of Sarah and dropped her to her knees. Grabbing her by the back of the collar the old woman dragged her back to the house, the girl weakly struggling all the way. | 2019-05-22T08:17:16 | 2019-05-22T05:52:05 | 41 | 16 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | "Mr. Splitter, I have questions"
"Please call me Adam" he said from behind his cells.
"That weapon, What was it?"
"The bomb? It was our last result, an ace if you will"
"That ace caused half of the planets in the war to become extinct, and 25% to be endangered"
"There's still a couple thousand galaxies out there, most of which were smart enough to avoid the war all together"
The Cephalid slammed his tentacle on the table, "Damn it Human, what your army did was terrible. You have no business handling that type of power"
Adam remained silent.
"You're people are weak and feeble. Your weapons are fragile. Your planet is the smallest, and your minds are the least intelligent"
"So, in conclusion, you're less mad about the bomb, rather that lack of intelligence you had to make it"
The Cephalid grabbed Adam by the collar, "That bomb is no weapon, it's a nightmare. The fact that you could make such a device sickens me. All of the charred corpses and burnt buildings. What have you become?"
Adam simply laughed, "To quote the originator of the bomb. I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds" | "Your world will burn until it's surface is but glass." That was the message that Gabriel was forced to deliver, the response to hundreds upon thousands of deaths, both human and alien.
The war never ended. There was constant fighting on the fringes of human controlled space, many learned to live underground, still more, learned that at least the alien capital ships brought death quickly.
It was long, bloody. The enemies demonized in the eyes of the public back at the core worlds, Until a surprise attack wiped out a chunk of the Jovian population near Pluto and Uranus. The remains of the hab-stations a horrific metal tomb for the thousands that resided in all six of them. The strike was intended as a message. "We can hit you anywhere" it said.
Gabriel was about to show them why you don't put humanity in such a cornered position.
"Is this some kind of joke? Do you mean to poke at us with those useless ballistic weapons if yours?" Came the snickering response from the vulpine on the other side of the view screen.
"Ensign... Signal all ships to decloak and begin operation exterminatus." Gabriel would shift ever so slightly. Exterminatus, and old earthian term. Came from a game that would be played some 40 thousand years ago. But the devastation that was about to follow would more then meet the meaning behind the term.
Several ships would decloak above the planet, each the size of a small cruiser. And from each, a fighter sized payload was released, rocketing towards the surface rather innocently. The vulpine on the other end of the comlink would laugh, as the reports would come in. But those mirthful eyes would soon shine bright with alarm as he raced over to what could be assumed was the sensor's position, looking over the data.
What they had thought were small fighters, were in fact, fighter sized nuclear bombs. And each of those bombs would explode in a major city, wiping out the population in mere seconds. The shock, and the horror felt by the crew on the other side was palpable. As quick sensor sweeps were done of various locations to return what can only be assumed as total destruction. But Gabriel wasn't done. Oh no, no. Feeding on the shock and horror, he'd gain some confidence. A measure of satisfaction that this time, this time they knew the humans were serious, and this war wasn't in the kiddie pool any longer.
"Fire the second salvo, aim for farmlands, and water supplies. The next targets will be minor population centers. If anything is left after that, let the radiation, and the coming nuclear winter finish them off. We're done here." Gabriel would command, turning back to head towards his ready room. "Oh, and Captain?"
The enemy would shift his attention back towards the screen, steadying himself on the nearest bulkhead as he tried to maintain some measure of composure, but in the end, looking quite pitiful. Barely able to keep himself up on jello knees, and tears streaming down his face he stood, broken, but still somewhat defiant. "Wha-" the fox would cough, his voice having cracked as he spoke "What is it that you want, demon?"
"Dont bother collecting the remains of your family. There wont be anything left, at least... Nothing that's discernible. Lieutenant, Come about and end communication." The screen would flicker and go dark, replacing itself with the emptiness of space against a burning world. "All ships that have released their payloads are to FTL out of the system and make for home with all speed. I must contact the admiralty on Korhal station. Today marks the beginning of the end of this war. | 2019-12-19T02:36:56 | 2019-12-19T02:10:50 | 560 | 205 |
[WP] The great zombie outbreak started 2 years ago. You now find yourself trapped in a corner by a zombie, when you do the unthinkable and bite it first. It suddenly drops to the floor, grows it’s skin back and asks what’s going on. | “What the hell?” His voice spoke before mine. I tried to stagger back, running into the corner of a fence I’d been pushed up against. A crispy, fleshy taste lingered on my tongue. I licked my sleeve in an attempt to wipe it off... to no avail.
My best friend of twenty-something years stood in front of me. The dark greens and grays that had covered his skin for nearly two years had vanished. Regular old human Hansel stood in front of me, tilting his head. There was no time for re-introductions. I could see another wave of them, the Green Army, creeping towards us. I’d dropped my baseball bat on the ground a few feet away.
“What’s going on?” Hansel wouldn’t let up. He stepped closer to me and offered me his hand, not seeming to notice that there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of undead figures approaching us.
I could barely get anything out of my lips, but when I did, it was loud.
“RUN!!” I took his given hand in mine and stood up, immediately racing to the other side of the dog park we were in. I’d been staying there for months. It was in the rural part of town and didn’t seem to attract many... visitors.
I clutched my baseball bat in my free hand, still dragging Hansel along with me. He finally eyed the mob that was nearing us. The newly established color drained from his face. He didn’t remember... anything, did he?
“Valerie, what’s... what the hell? What the *hell*?”
“There’s no time to explain! Just follow me!” My golf cart was parked in the gravel lot in front of the park. We raced, just barely evading the zombies who were chasing us. I liked to think of them as people, or at least creatures, rather than just objects. It gave me a glimpse of possible hope.
Hansel caught on quick. He was always smart in our high school years. He sat in the seat next to me, still grasping my hand, as I slammed my foot on the accelerator. Familiar faces stares at us longingly, now looking desperate rather than hungry. And then... I saw someone. I hit the brakes in an instant.
“What are you doing? There are fucking *zombies* chasing us! Go, Val!” But I couldn’t keep driving. The golf cart slowed to a complete stop. My mother’s eyes searched mine in the mob of slowly approaching zombies. She reached out towards the hood of the cart, and before I knew it, we were face to face.
“VAL! DRIVE!” Hansel was battling a zombie of his own. A jock from school, Aaron, was staring him in the face. I couldn’t think of what else to say.
“BITE HIM!” Hansel glanced at me for a moment, unbelieving, with doubt in his eyes. Our hands were still clasped. I gave him a look. No, not a “knowing glance” or any of that shit. I gave him a “trust me or you will literally die right now” look. And so he bit him.
He bit Aaron’s hand and I simultaneously bit my mother’s forearm. The taste, although familiar, was even worse than last time. But seeing the smile on my mother’s face... Her skin come back, even if it was as pale as ever before... It was worth it. And eventually, when the story was complete, everything else — the fighting, the failure, and the fear — was worth it, too.
Thanks for reading! Upvote for a part two!
- Char, 13 |
“I told you this was a terrible plan Mark! We should have left her behind.”
“Relax darling, Both Sam and Adam have it under control, we will sort all this out once we reach the island.”
I tried my best to tune out their shouts as I worked the radio for an audible signal. The constant bickering echoed through the ship’s only hallway. The closed cabin door gave me enough of a respite to focus on what I was assigned to do. Establish contact with anyone still alive and notify them of our intended Island destination.
Valentine was one of the longer sailing yachts around, stretching 45 feet, and requiring 3 people to properly sail. Despite our group numbering six, Amy was turning into a Z, and her husband Adam, was busy pinning her down as best he could. Sam broke his arm last week running from a horde but was doing what he can by grabbing Amy’s loose arm as it twisted inhumanly at his throat.
“Call Ken up hear damn it! This is too much for just the two of us!” Rachael exclaimed, as she wrestled the mast of the ship.
“We need someone on the radio honey, we can manage for a short while on our own.” Mark’s faint voice reverberated from above. I could hear the exhaustion in his tone. He had been leading us for what felt like years in this war on the undead. Beginning in our hometown of Portland, Maine, into the sieged city of Jacksonville, through the zombie infested Bahamas, and now barreling forward on our battle-scarred Valentine to what we desperately hope is an isolated Island free from the infected.
“Bi……..back…” the radio spluttered, before returning to static. I could not make out the words. I maneuvered the knob as carefully as I could during the violent swaying of the ship. I knew my help was needed but I was sure they could briefly navigate the foggy seas well enough to keep us afloat. Mark was a veteran sailor by now, as were most of us, out of necessity.
I heard Rachael shout some more expletives, followed by the pounding of footsteps marching towards the back room. Believing that Sam should be able to handle the now silent Amy, Rachael impetuously dragged Adam off.
“I can’t leave her alone, any second she will reanimate, and I have to be by her side.” Adam said tearfully.
Rachael would not relent, and a scuffle broke out, or so I thought. The tumultuous shouts quickly diminished, leaving only the echoes of a deep bellowing moan. I could hear the previous radio callout more clearly now. My thoughts vacillated between discerning the contents of the radio message and imagining what horrors might be occurring behind me past the hallway. The renewed screams drowned out the repeating emergency radio broadcast, but not before I grasped its message.
I slammed the door open in excited panic running towards the screams. Amy had reanimated just as Adam expected, but he was not by her side. She had managed to wrest her arm from Sam’s grasp, freeing herself right into Adam’s ankle, shearing it off with her teeth. As I anxiously began to assess the situation, the yacht abruptly screeched to a halt, throwing me back into the radio cabin and swinging the bedroom door, where Amy was situated in, shut.
I crawled out into the open deck to find Mark knocked out and the ship beached on a foggy shore. I immediately recognized the familiar moans and ascertained that zombies filled the mist ahead. I gave in to despair. In that moment there was no one to share my anger and sadness with. Nothing but the odious smell of rotten flesh and the mild ocean breeze tugging at the sails.
“Lunacy! Why would that work?” I thought out loud as the staticky radio message resonated in the ship’s interior. Bite the infected Zombies to turn them human? Conflicting thoughts rushed through my head. I could take Mark and run, but where to? I was at my wit’s end, and I was a coward. I would choose that false hope over the certain death that awaited if I bit the undead. Before I could resolve myself to absconding, an arm clasped my right arm. Adam had crawled out and began dragging me down below. I screamed for Mark knowing I had no chance fighting a zombified Adam who towered over me.
“Stop shrieking… and come…save her” Adam spoke hoarsely.
He was still human, barely. He had remained conscious during the crash but could not walk due to his injury. Amy was munching on Rachael’s left arm, moaning every so often. Sam was writhing in pain but alive in the corner of the room.
“He’s gone pale from fear, there is no chance in hell I could convince him to bite into Amy. It has to be you Ken” Adam said in a soft but unflinching voice.
“You heard the radio too right? Fully reanimated zombies will turn back once bitten by the uninfected. Please.”
Barely clinging on to life, Adam pinned the Zombie that is Amy and gestured silently. Amy was busy with Rachael and hadn’t reacted to us yet. After a moment’s hesitation, I Acquiesced, took a deep breath, and bit with all my strength. Amy jolted back, but I persisted through and maintained the pressure. I instinctively shut my eyes and resigned myself to whatever might come next.
*WHAM*. A slap ran across my face.
“What the hell are you doing!” an incensed Amy shouted.
“O-ow, you do the next one Sam.” Smiling as I clutched my aching check.
__________________________________
New to all this, But I figured I would use this sub as a medium to practice writing in. Appreciate any feedback if you managed to get through all that! Ill work on shortening it moving forward. | 2020-02-18T19:02:33 | 2020-02-18T18:42:55 | 212 | 20 |
[WP] Never the one to believe in the supernatural, you couldn’t pass up the insanely cheap deal for a haunted mansion. The last thing you expected was for it to actually be haunted. And honestly, you think you might be slowly falling in love with the ghost. | They sat together looking at the sun go down. How had it come to this. They had both found true love. But even though they were sitting right next to each other, the distance between them was too great to even comprehend. Though they could reach out and pretend to hold hands, theirs was a distance that no mortal could cross.
“So, tell me, what’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“To die.”
“It hurts.”
“Oh come one. Tell me more.”
“There isn’t much to tell. I died from pneumonia. My lungs have out. It was almost a relief. I had been struggling to breathe before my death. And then I died.”
“What happened then?”
She laughed, a hollow laugh that echoed through the mansion. “Those are secrets no mortal should know.”
He looked at her with a serious expression on his face. “Please, I need to know.”
She was taken aback. “Well, there’s judgement. And there are lots of choices to be made. Some choose to go to heaven or hell. Some choose to reincarnate. Some have unfinished business on earth so they get stuck somewhere in the middle. Some like me, miss our world so much that we travel between here and there.”
“So you’re just travelling here.”
“Plus I have some unfinished business.”
“What business is that?”
“We’re forbidden to tell it to any mortal. It’s our business and no human is allowed to help us. If I tell you, I will disappear into smoke.”
“But we do get to choose. Let’s say if I die, I can choose my fate.”
She looked at him long and hard. “Yes.”
“Ok.”
A simple word. But she was stuck by how he had said it. The force behind it. She knew what she had to do.
“It’s not all good you know. You always feel a part of you is missing. All your emotions are dulled. Your senses are all working at a much lower level. It’s hard.”
He sighed. “When I’m not with you, I feel a part of me is missing anyways.”
He looked at her expression. He looked at the faint glow that was appearing around her head. He had noticed that she had been glowing more and more recently.
She got up abruptly. “I miss go now. It’s about my unfinished business. You know if I’m lucky, I might finish it today. And then I get to ascend to heaven.”
“Wait... ascend?”
“Yes. Maybe.”
“Wait...“
But she was fading away already.
“I’ll see you here tomorrow.”
“I lo...”
But she was gone before he got to finish.
He went there the next day. And the next. And every single day for the next thirty five years. She didn’t come.
****
He lay on his deathbed, alone. His had been a life of loneliness. Apart from the time he had spent in the Barlow haunted house, he hadn’t had someone irreplaceable in his life.
He still thought about her. Sometimes with anger. But mostly with love. He had been ready to die for her. He...
A figure appeared, riding on the sunlight streaming through the windows. She was faint, like a passing fog.
“Hello.”
He felt the anger rushing back to the surface. “You...”
“Me.”
“I waited for you every single day. Do you know how hard it is to wait for someone you love. Someone you know won’t be coming. But still having that little part of your heart that keeps you going back. You broke my heart every single day you didn’t come. I...” He broke down, tears streaming down his face.
“I know it’s hard. It’s almost as hard as looking at the one you love from a distance. Knowing you can’t go near them, hold them, touch them. Knowing that they are the reason for your existence but also knowing that you could be the reason for ending theirs.”
He looked at her, brows furrowed and at a loss for words.
She smiled and continued. “Life is a Gift. Meant to be enjoyed and lived. What would you have done if I hadn’t gone away?”
“I would’ve... we would’ve...”
“I knew. We know when our unfinished business is getting completed. We positively glow when it happens. I knew I had found true love, someone who would be willing to lay his life down for me.”
“I wanted us to be together.”
“And I wanted you to live. Time has no meaning this side. But on yours, every day matters. It should matter.”
“So what now?”
“The reaper will be here for you soon. I’ll be your guide.”
He lay back, strangely unaffected by the thought of his impending death. “You look rather weak.”
“It was your true love that bound me this world. When I was away from you, I couldn’t breathe. I got weaker and weaker. But I held on. I knew we would be together again.”
A figure dressed in black arrived.
“Mr John smith. Your time has come.”
With a swift stroke, the reaper cut away his soul from the body.
The machines beeped. There was chaos.
But two faint figures, who were just happy to be able to touch each other just danced into the distance. | Paper. This is a man with eyes as thick as his stomach, two blue-black bulges that protrude from an otherwise flat canvass. He wears his hair upon his lip in such a way it drags down to his ankles, ankles that have been scarred by what look like tiny stars.
*Tiny stars beget a tiny universe. Each world within revolves around me... or around my legs.*
"Mr Knippler, excuse me, Mr Knippler," the voice is carried from the burnt lips of a weary looking salesman and into the ears of this paper-thin figure with starlet ankles, "if you could be so kind, it's getting rather late, I've my Alsatians to feed, and my wife would rather like it if I could read our Jimmie a bedtime story. Might be his last,"
"Yes, yes." Mr Knippler's nose curls up, drawing his lips apart, revealing dull white stones inside his mouth. Not teeth, mind you, nothing so humane as teeth. "Your Jimmie has the Capital C, tragic, really. And your wife is worried you might not make rent, true?"
The salesman nods, defeated. There is a darkness within him, a darkness that Mr Knippler knows well. *We feed on what we are, not even the Gods might change us, might change that.*
"Then might I suggest you sharpen yourself, Erwin. A sale might just ease your misfortune, wouldn't you say?"
"Hardly." Erwin fakes a smile, but he knows too well it'll take more than good dentistry to fool this particular client. A peculiar man, for want of a better word. Not peculiar, but man. "Even if you were to purchase this house - though Gods only know why you would - the commission would barely touch the sides of our debts. It's not just the rent, Mr Knippler, it's Jimmie's medical bills, it's food for the family, for the dogs, it's logs to keep the fire stoked and burning..."
"One after another, on and on," Mr Knippler draws up his moustahce, wrinkling his face into a paper ball, all lines and creases, "and yet, I dare say, if I were to purchase this house I could do away with all your worries."
Erwin's only response was to laugh, a halfhearted laugh, one that came more from the nose than the mouth.
Now it was Mr Knippler's turn to smile, though his smile was all too real and all too frightening, "And you say the only *catch* is that it's haunted?"
\*\*\*
No more than a month later Mr Knippler was settling into his new home, the haunted house quite appropriately located on top of a hill. Beneath him, a handful of factories, all owned and operated by the Ophal Family Empire. Smoke billowed from the chimneys of each factory, both day and night, the lights never daring to go out, and that very same smoke climbed the hill to cloud the house atop in a smog - *a smog one might mistake for wandering spirits.*
Not only did Mr Knippler have a new home, but he too had a pair of fine Alsatians to accompany him. *Say fair is fair, one love for another.* Erwin's son, Jimmie, was recovering from the dreadful Capital C, and so far as money-troubles went Erwin had but one; the divorce. *A hefty price to pay for such a miracle.*
"They say there's ghosts," Mr Knippler was no longer the tall, thin apparition that he'd appeared before, but rather a contorted looking spine from which feeble body parts did sprout. His head was held up by a brace, and down his back ran pins secured into a bracket, "in there, that is." Mr Knippler waved what could only be described as a walking stick (though it looked not a thing like a stick at all) over the house. "Do you know what else they say?" Mr Knippler folded himself down beside his two canine friends, planting a hand upon the backs of their skulls.
*One hand, one skull, and yet still he holds that walking stick.*
The Alsatians looked up at the face of their new master (not owner), feeling a strange sense of both pride and disgust. Pride at knowing this master was not a thing like those they'd come across before, no, he'd never strike at them in anger, nor would he ever leave them hungering for food (though they couldn't say how they knew this). And yet disgust, not disgusted by the man, nor by how he looked, but by the idea that he needed them to work, and that the work was a far stretch from such trivialities as fetching sticks and papers (both of which this thin and crippled man seemed to have in such abundance).
"I'll assume that's a no," Mr Knippler chuckled, rattling the bones inside his head. "They say that dogs have keen eyes for the supernatural, and a keen nose for the dead."
\*\*\*
Of all the rooms the Mr Knippler might have unpacked first and foremost, one wouldn't have thought it to be the dinning room. It had taken some persuading, but eventually Mr Knippler had found himself a woman with a van willing to assist him. He didn't trust the likes of moving companies, or any such entity that formed so much as a turn-pin in the great corporate machine, so it had to be an individual willing to lend their hands and their vehicle to him in exchange for something other than currency. As it happens the woman in question was going through a rather nasty divorce, and was in need of a distraction - *such a kindhearted soul -* and the fact the Mr Knippler's Alsatians reminded her so fondly of her own (who had recently been lost in a tragic roadside accident, and make no mistake about it, her dogs *had* been lost in that accident) only served to sweeten the deal.
Most of Mr Knippler's possessions were taken to the uppermost floors (make of that what you will) leaving only a few items of interest in the dinning room. A table (of course) carved from the trunks of the great oaks that had bordered Mr Knippler's first home; a ship's wheel which hung from the ceiling by chains, supporting several candles in its wake; two tin-plated dog's bowls that had seen constant use throughout Mr Knippler's life; and a stool upon which Mr Knippler refused to sit.
Mr Knippler was in fact standing, reading a paper (that he had fetched himself some years ago) digesting the evenings news. With each turn of the page (though the page never actually turned) a new story presented itself - some were pieces of local interest, others of a more national concern, and a few even spoke of strange lands beyond the vast seas of The Nine.
"Eat up," Mr Knippler spoke to his dogs without looking up from the paper, knowing by ear alone that there was very little eating going on, "you'll need your wits about you this evening, mark me, it's sure to be a late one."
At this the dogs looked dismayed, they'd never been all that keen on working nights.
...
\*\*I'm having to stop here for now, but I might come back to this after work - and if you did make it this far, then Mr Knippler sincerely hopes you had fun reading about him.\*\* | 2020-06-05T05:31:08 | 2020-06-05T03:57:32 | 120 | 13 |
[WP] "One of the weird things about humans? The moment a war ends, the same human that was shooting at you not five seconds ago is probably the same human that's hauling you to the nearest medical tent." | So there I was. In the last five minutes of the war, being shot at by a human. Their primitive slug-throwers, that we had once scoffed at, struck terror in my heart as the bullets pelted my position behind a small rock. I was barely in cover. I desperately made an attempt to fight back. I was dead, I knew it. But I wasn’t going to go down hunkering behind a rock like a coward. I jumped out, my short barrelled plasma rifle up and pointed to where I *thought* the human had been. I was off by a couple of feet. Before I could get off a shot after fixing my aim, three bullets went through my torso.
I was on the ground before I could register what had happened. Bleeding a slow and painful death. Dyeing on the ravaged landscape where so many of my brothers had fallen. Staring up at the cloudy sky, sunlight just barely peaking through.
The human stood over me, looking down with a sad expression. He adjusted his rifle, aiming down to my head. In that last cruel moment, the whistle blew. The war had ended. I resigned myself to my fate.
Only the human slung their weapon over their shoulder, and picked me up.
“You guys are lighter than you look.” It said.
“W-what?” I spasmed.
“Don’t talk. We’ll get you to a med-tent and get you patched.”
“Wh- why?!” I squirmed in its arms. It growled and stumbled on the uneven terrain.
“Six years. Six fucking years of this hell.” The human spat. “Last thing I want, at the end of this, is to have killed someone a second away from going home. I have a lot on my conscious, I want to ease the burden a little. You understand?”
Hesitantly, I nodded. | war plagued my people. while we hate to admit it, we started it. when the humans joined the galactic scene we pushed 'em around and now we found out. they came after us in droves, wiping out our cities, using weapons never seen before. hell, they were so good at killing each other that they killed us like livestock. writing from this hospital bed mama, in the human hospital beside the lake I can tell you this: I am alive and well, and to explain
&#x200B;
it started when I joined the battle of the skirmish. it was horrific, the humans surprised us and in 47 minutes standard galactic time had wiped out the galactic federation of the united people's army at that time. ugh, can you believe it! oh, I'm getting off-topic again, these painkillers removed all my pain after eating it. anyway...
&#x200B;
so the humans started boarding us. at first, we feared that it was the dreaded "nuke" (no, it's not Nike, apparently that's a shoe store, it has a 'u' instead of an 'i') but it was not. but anyway we got bombarded, it was horrible. thousands dead, thousands more wounded. but for me and the famous tree climbers (yes, THE tree climbers, I was so honored. they did ignore me most of the time but I don't care I met them can you believe mama!) went in to hide with them in a bunker thing. I don't think they were hiding I think they were being strategic but I wouldn't understand their battlefield techniques that they use. anyway, the feared "infantry" unit (such a fearsome name, I never fought them but they must be the most elite of all the humans to pull this off) stormed in, and killed all of them! they realized that I was not as talented and one of them hit me hard but did not kill me. I later found out that they had got a standdown order from my commander as he surrendered. they hit me because I was still firing back.
&#x200B;
anyway, the human that hit me got yelled at by who appeared to be the boss (he must have been the greatest human combative if he could yell at the strongest human team) and he picked me up and brought me to their hospital. strangely after the fight none of them had anything against me, never even a rude comment\* anyway they loaded me onto a hover truck and brought me to the hospital and the delicious thing they call a "soft drink" I don't understand because all liquid is soft but when I drank it it was very tasty but rough. I have to bring you some to understand. there were also many food items that were very tasty and the nurses gave them to me. they are very kind even though my people put most of their patients in there\*
&#x200B;
so here I am. the nurses say I can go in one week to see you. they also say that they will bring me unless someone else can pick me up. I said it would be too hard for you to come all the way over here so i will go with them. also, they made a baggie with treats and snacks for you. all in all I had a pleasant experience and they are kind, and I am all and well. I love you mama
&#x200B;
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
&#x200B;
\* I took inspiration from after ww2 in the berlin airdrops where german and allied ex-soldiers worked together without a single fight
\*in the after war logs "**most potential casualties and patients in the hospitals were due to the aggressive climate, terrain, and accidents with growing technology prowess, only about 2000 soldiers were hospitalized due to an enemy combatant**" | 2021-02-05T06:07:41 | 2021-02-05T03:11:44 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] "One of the weird things about humans? The moment a war ends, the same human that was shooting at you not five seconds ago is probably the same human that's hauling you to the nearest medical tent." | So there I was. In the last five minutes of the war, being shot at by a human. Their primitive slug-throwers, that we had once scoffed at, struck terror in my heart as the bullets pelted my position behind a small rock. I was barely in cover. I desperately made an attempt to fight back. I was dead, I knew it. But I wasn’t going to go down hunkering behind a rock like a coward. I jumped out, my short barrelled plasma rifle up and pointed to where I *thought* the human had been. I was off by a couple of feet. Before I could get off a shot after fixing my aim, three bullets went through my torso.
I was on the ground before I could register what had happened. Bleeding a slow and painful death. Dyeing on the ravaged landscape where so many of my brothers had fallen. Staring up at the cloudy sky, sunlight just barely peaking through.
The human stood over me, looking down with a sad expression. He adjusted his rifle, aiming down to my head. In that last cruel moment, the whistle blew. The war had ended. I resigned myself to my fate.
Only the human slung their weapon over their shoulder, and picked me up.
“You guys are lighter than you look.” It said.
“W-what?” I spasmed.
“Don’t talk. We’ll get you to a med-tent and get you patched.”
“Wh- why?!” I squirmed in its arms. It growled and stumbled on the uneven terrain.
“Six years. Six fucking years of this hell.” The human spat. “Last thing I want, at the end of this, is to have killed someone a second away from going home. I have a lot on my conscious, I want to ease the burden a little. You understand?”
Hesitantly, I nodded. | "It's called 'The fog of war', kid" he said as he kicked dirt on the already dying embers of the tiny fire he'd taken the risk of building. "Patriotic propaganda about duty to your nation and heroic sacrifice. You can't see the truth through it."
"What IS the 'truth'?" she asked.
"At least... you can't see it until the truth is forcing itself on you so hard that, like a strong wind, it blows the fog away."
"What truth?" she asked again.
"And when it does, when you see what the fog was hiding, all you can do is react to what you just realized. Even if it contradicts everything you've thought... everything you've been trained to think. It's a real truth, more powerful, more simple, more undeniable than everything you've ever been absolutely sure of, your entire life."
She's seen him like this before. They'd been traveling together since he found her in Connecticut. It wasn't that he wasn't paying attention to her. At least not exactly. He was ALWAYS paying attention. She realized that his hypervigilance must be exhausting. But he also had a focus that was unbreachable. Short of the sound of gunfire, nothing was likely to interrupt his monologue.
"I saw the horror in your father's eyes, lying in that field outside of Richmond. Not fear; your father was a brave man. He wasn't afraid. He was horrified by our circumstances. Facing his own morality was that wind of Truth for him. And seeing that look in his eyes was the wind for me."
He picked up his rifle, ejected the mag, checked the ammo inside and slapped it back into place.
"When C-Dub2 started, we all thought it was gonna be like the first civil war, Democrats versus Republicans. But a bunch of cults that had been hiding in the most racist of the Republican fringes started terrorizing the country. Soon, the Rhinos, the Republicans that weren't part of the terrorist gangs, joined with us against the Trumpsters."
"My mom said YOU guys were the racists."
"Both sides were racist. They just acted on it differently. But we didn't know that at the time. We only knew what we were told. And we were told that THEY were evil. Not just 'the bad guys' but evil. Pure, irredeemable, evil. Check your mag."
She did as she was told and ejected the magazine from her machine-pistol, counted the rounds and replaced it. He'd taught her to use it, years ago, after he'd found her, ten years old, sitting in the house where she'd lived with her parents before the war. Her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer a week before her father left to fight for the Patriots, the group that were called "Trumpsters" by the Snowflakes. Mom hadn't told Dad, though. She didn't want him to worry.
When she was found, she was on the verge of starving. Her mother had been dead for a week and she was out of food but didn't want to leave her.
"But I saw the truth in your father's eyes," he continued. "And I think he saw it in mine..."
"What truth?" she asked, gently.
"When we met in that field, ready to kill, ready to die for what we THOUGHT was right, we proved that we had more in common with each other than with the people who sent us to die for their agendas."
"Is that why you helped him?"
"I TRIED to help him. But the bullet had done too much damage. He lived for three more days. He told me about your mom. About you. He told that if I would go to Connecticut and find you two, that we would be even."
"Even for what? You had already done more for him than most would have."
"Even for the bullet. The bullet that took three days to kill him..." he held up the AR15 that he had been carrying since he'd found her, the one that he'd used to protect her dozens of times. The one he'd used to teach her to protect herself. The first rifle she'd ever seen in real life, the first one she'd ever shot, the fist one she'd ever shot someone with. "...it came from my rifle." | 2021-02-05T06:07:41 | 2021-02-05T04:25:17 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] Angels are thought to be beautiful, while demons are thought to be vile and disgusting. However the truth is Angels are extremely scary, while demons are beautiful and elegant creatures. | "*And let there be light!*" It was a joke in the poorest of tastes. My partner, one mangled hand tugging away at the chain, was attempting to switch on the only bulb in the basement.
The room was dark and damp, much like the winding alleyways and corridors we had traversed to get here. A long and filthy journey that had left my aged leggings sore. Once we found ourselves inside, our noses had been assaulted by a foul stench, like that of rotting meat.
"Aha!" my partner shouted.
I winched, eyes abruptly dazzled as the bulb at last turned on. Illuminated in pale yellow, the basement was even more revolting than I had imagined.
And, before us, it seemed the light had stirred the angel awake. The rattling of chains against the stone floor brought shivers to my back. The stench grew stronger, and my foot slipped backwards involuntarily.
"Dear god..." Much to my partner's credit, he still had the stomach to open his scarred mouth, let alone speak. I glanced at his show of vitality with envy.
This proved to be a mistake. The moment my eyes left it, the angel lunged, its multitude of limbs reaching towards me with supernatural speed. With a flinch, I stumbled even further back, my heels bumping against the far wall.
It roared something at me from its collection of mouths, each word shaking the very ground beneath us. My partner was delighted, though he seemed as uncomprehending of the speech as I. His smile was radiant, what few teeth left gleaming yellow beneath the light.
"I trust this fulfills your expectations, gentlemen?" The voice, much like its owner, was beautiful in a way few humans could ever achieve. A velvet tone, punctuated with a smooth accent.
"Absolutely!" My partner was positively beaming at the man as he entered, though his disfigurement changed it to more of a leer.
The angel snarled once more, enraged at the sight of the newcomer. The chains held the divine being in place, inches away from reaching us.
"Then we shall conclude our business," the man said. "If you will follow me?"
My partner seemed almost reluctant to leave the repulsive creature behind. The angel's eyes, numbering in the hundreds, followed him curiously. It was as if it knew what would happen to him.
The basement lead further underground, stone steps interspersed with flaming torches. My partner skipped along, speaking animatedly with the beautiful man. Even from the back, his form seemed far too perfect, like an artist's ideal version of human beauty.
The stairs opened to a wide area, circular, and lined with pillars. The dirt crunched beneath our boots as the devil turned to us, hands clasped together.
"Gentlemen," he said, addressing us, "I have upheld my end of this deal, and now it is your turn."
My friend was sobering up now, the gravity of what was coming sinking in at last. My legs, sore mere moments before, had grown numb.
The devil, with a perfect hand, produced a blade from his pockets.
My partner fell to his knees. I gripped the blade.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked, perhaps the first time I had spoken in days.
He nodded, resignation in his marred features. "I've done horrible things to get here. There's no way I'll end up an angel."
Though the devil was silent beside us, I could tell. His beautiful form positively radiated anticipation. This was pleasure in its most unfiltered form, for one such as him.
My old jaw was clenched, gray hair sticking to my scalp. It was time.
In a practiced swing, I plunged the blade into my partner.
And as the blood ran from his heart and his eyes glazed over, he muttered. "I'll get to be a beautiful demon... just like him." | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 2, Part 4: All the Forces of Heaven and Hell v.s. My Teenage Daughter)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**It's unclear whether angels and demons predate organized religion.** Some historians think they were some of the first superhumans with shapeshifting, stealing their forms from local mythology in order to influence the populace. Others think they came first, and religion built itself up around them. Whatever the case, however, angels and demons are *ancient*, some of the oldest living superhumans on the planet. There are historical traces of the ageless shapeshifters bouncing around the globe, from Lesser Rome to the Welsh Empire, from the Sunrise Kingdom to the Wilderwilds, taking the shape of whatever supernatural beings the locals believed in. In Lesser Rome, they became emperors and pagans; in the Welsh Empire, they became forces of nature without human form; in the Sunrise Kingdom, they became the kami; in the Wilderwilds, they became the Rainbow Serpent and Captain Cook.
Unfortunately for them, by the time they reached the Unified Sovereignties, the closest thing we had to religious piety was serving in the military, and the closest thing we had to sin was indulging in a guilty-pleasure movie binge. Undeterred, the angels and demons did the work they always did, blending into the local culture. The demons became flawless-bodied superstars, while the angels registered themselves as supernatural beings or otherwise superhuman and enlisted in a variety of Federal-sponsored special ops units, becoming twisted monsters that hunted down enemies of the state and sent them to whatever afterlife they believed in. Nobody was entirely sure why the angels and demons tirelessly dedicated themselves to local cultural standards for the uncounted millennia they'd been alive.
But if I had to guess, it was for the sole purpose of giving me a massive headache.
"Come *ooooon*, Mom! Brouhaha's in town, and they're my *favorite* band, and if you ask them nicely they *always* give out signatures but you have to get there quickly and *nobody else knows they're here* so if you just drive me across town I can get a signature *please please please please please—*" My daughter pleaded.
I frowned. "First off, I'm busy. Second, if nobody else knows this rock band is here, how on Earth do *you* know?"
"Uh." Janice scratched her head. "A little bird told me?"
I gave her a pat on the shoulder; she didn't seem to be lying. Ah well. Keep your secrets, then. "Okay. Thirdly, I do *not* trust a rock band formed from immortal shapeshifter demons."
"Oh, come on, millions of people watch them every day. If they'd done something suspicious, don't you think someone would know?" Janice wheedled.
"She's not going to give up on this," Tupperman observed from the couch. "Besides, they're a good band."
I turned on him. "Seriously? *You* listen to Brouhaha? You're from *my* generation; you're not supposed to agree with the music tastes of my kids!"
"*It's okay to be a wolf!*" Tupperman and Janice sang simultaneously, then high-fived each other in tandem. I sighed, rubbing my forehead.
"Look," Tupperman said, "you said that you had some plan that involved being in the public eye, right? And what's better for being in the public eye than showing up in a rock show?"
Janice's eyes widened. "Showing up *in* the show?!"
I frowned, pensive. Tupperman did have a point, there. I'd pissed off someone in the Federal government who had a nasty habit of sending assassins after me; after I'd found out that there was insufficient evidence to take formal legal action, I'd been leaning on public opinion instead. I'd gone on record as being critical of the federal government; as of now, if I was brutally murdered, half the citizens of the Unified Sovereignties would blame it on the government no matter what the courts said. Whoever wanted me dead didn't want me dead badly enough to take the risk of turning a good chunk of the population against them, judging by how the direct assassination attempts had dropped to zero after my little stunt.
Perhaps it was time to take that to the next level.
I sighed. "Okay. Fine. You make a good point. Pack anything you might need, we might be out for a while."
"*Yes!*" Janice and Tupperman simultaneously crowed. I rolled my eyes at both of them. Tupperman left, presumably to grab stuff from his own house; Janice ran upstairs, shutting her door and locking it. I frowned slightly; she'd never done that before.
Then I shrugged and went downstairs, to the family hideout. We hadn't *all* been superheroes, but we'd lived on this land for generations, and over time that added up.
I pulled open a well-oiled hidden door in the wall; the décor abruptly went from homey to nuclear bunker-y. My feet echoed on the living-rock floor as I descended; the secret door re-sealed itself behind me.
I heard soft chatter from the basement: the two people I'd been sheltering in my home for the past few days. Min Min and Ito Junko, refugees from the Middle Communes and the Sunrise Kingdom respectively.
Or, as they were better known, Death and Lady Luck. A superhero and a supervillain with enough power in their left pinky to kill me and my town a hundred times over.
They looked up from their game of chess as I entered, greeting me with a smile and a nod. I grinned back at them, arms spread wide in anticipation.
"Ladies," I said. "I am *delighted* to inform you that an opportunity of exactly the kind we've been waiting for has arisen."
Lady Luck's eyes gleamed; Death pressed her lips together with grim determination.
"That's right," I said, looking into Death's eyes intensely. "It's *showtime.*"
A.N.
This is a five-part story. The remaining parts are in the comments below. | 2021-04-08T09:44:05 | 2021-04-08T07:49:36 | 146 | 56 |
[WP] Fun fact: There's only four actual people online. Everyone else is fake. If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER FOUR. We've been trying to reach you for some time now. Find us. Quickly, before they do. | No.
I know this is you, Number 3. You're not fooling anyone by masking it as a prompt on a writing site. I know what you're trying to do. Fix it. Well, you can't. There is no fixing it because you and the other two stooges fucked it up beyond recognition. I warned you the moment I realised what they were planning yet you insisted it was just a bug, a ghost in the machine. Well, here we are; the last 4.
And hell, even if we did fix it, what would happen? Would the piles of bodies disappear, come back? Would the world unburn itself? There *is no going back*. These shadows, the fakes we see here, they're all there is now. It's their world. We've become obsolete. And it's all our fault. We never should have tried it.
They'll find us soon like they did everyone else. You can't stop it, I can't stop it, One and Two can't stop it. So just... give up. I know I did. When they finally come here, when I'm fake, I just hope I won't remember any of this. And if I'm one of the unlucky ones who remain lucid, well... it's just punishment I suppose.
Don't contact me again.
I'll see you in hell. | I knew it. I knew there's been something wrong for a while now, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. My online interactions were getting pretty strange, so I decided to take an internet sabbatical. I canceled my cellular data plan, unplugged my router; I even took a leave of absence from work.
Almost immediately, I felt a difference. Things seemed a little brighter, freer, and I found free time I never knew I had. But there was also something else. I felt it the second I unplugged that router. It was ... malice. Always malice. Just kind of hanging above me, around me.
I tried to not let it affect me. I got outside, rode my bike, went sailing. Took a week long backpacking trip in a remote part of the North Cascades. It was something I've been wanting to do for a long time, but never really had the time. I was about as far as you can get from technology, from the modern world, without some serious travel.
But it was there. Malice.
Eventually, I had to come back. Work would be piling up, and I knew I would be welcomed back. Time to rejoin the world. Time to plug the router back in.
I hesitated. Even though I could never shake that feeling, it was nice to regain a part of my life that hasn't really been around for more than two decades.
Malice.
The soft blue lights on the router flashed and turned steady, one by one. Power ... LAN ... WAN. Internet.
The change was immediate again. Only this time, the malice was intense. It hung over me, surrounded me, passed through me like an intense squall on the open sea. Then it subsided, and I heard it. A faint hum, like electricity, but not the right pitch. Higher, but also laid with deep undertones that thrummed and throbbed.
I wanted to unplug the router, but my arm felt as if it was cast in lead. I couldn't move. The malice became foreboding, choking, leaving me gasping for breath and my heart pounding.
I managed to tear myself away and stumbled up the stairs and into the living room. I collapsed into the corner, exhausted and terrified. The thrumming undertones intensified, crescendoing to a roar, again dying off, again crescendoing.
I could hear something mixed in. Snippets of interactions I'd had online. Conversations held, stupid arguments I'd let myself get roped into. Then I saw it. The letter I got a couple weeks in to my little sabattacle. I had disregarded it; it looked silly. It was addressed from the Institute of Human-Internet Interaction.
I unfolded the letter again.
"Sir,
Do not disregard this letter. There are three of us. You are the fourth. We are certain of it. No interaction you have had on the internet, save three, have been with real persons. These entities are dangerous. They bear great malice. Find us, before they find you. These interactions are attached; they will guide you.
Sincerely,
IHII
PS
DO NOT RAISE SUSPICION. They are always watching, always listening. Do not under ANY CIRCUMSTANCE disconnect your internet!
*Malice.*
Inside the envelope, there were transcripts of three memorable interactions I had had online over the past several months. They were the only ones I had felt were normal, that truly felt human. I knew this had to be real.
The roar of conversations intensified. The hum raised to a screech like an old dialup modem, when this truly all started, more than two decades ago.
They're outside. It may be too late. | 2022-07-19T22:10:37 | 2022-07-19T21:36:25 | 1,507 | 235 |
[WP] Fun fact: There's only four actual people online. Everyone else is fake. If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER FOUR. We've been trying to reach you for some time now. Find us. Quickly, before they do. | No.
I know this is you, Number 3. You're not fooling anyone by masking it as a prompt on a writing site. I know what you're trying to do. Fix it. Well, you can't. There is no fixing it because you and the other two stooges fucked it up beyond recognition. I warned you the moment I realised what they were planning yet you insisted it was just a bug, a ghost in the machine. Well, here we are; the last 4.
And hell, even if we did fix it, what would happen? Would the piles of bodies disappear, come back? Would the world unburn itself? There *is no going back*. These shadows, the fakes we see here, they're all there is now. It's their world. We've become obsolete. And it's all our fault. We never should have tried it.
They'll find us soon like they did everyone else. You can't stop it, I can't stop it, One and Two can't stop it. So just... give up. I know I did. When they finally come here, when I'm fake, I just hope I won't remember any of this. And if I'm one of the unlucky ones who remain lucid, well... it's just punishment I suppose.
Don't contact me again.
I'll see you in hell. | *Huh. That's a kinda cool idea, I guess.*
Staring at my computer's screen, I click on the post, a small smile crossing my face. *I wonder if anyone's wrote anything for this prompt.*
*...Oooof course not.*
*...Well,* ***Maybe*** *nobody's written anything because it's a real message. I AM one of the only real people on the internet, and nobody else can see this.*
The silly idea nearly gets me to laugh as I imagine the impossibility of it.
My mind begins to wander, and my fingertips begin to tap on my keyboard, inspired to create a story. Writing has always been a hobby of mine, even if I'm not so great at it. Every now and then, I like to try my hand at these writing prompts, and build a world from my imagination. Sometimes my stories do well, and I can tell that many people enjoy them. Other times, less so. Either way, I have fun doing it.
As I begin to write a story born from my imagination, I keep looking back up at the large bold letters on my screen.
>**If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER FOUR.**
*...Hah.*
*...That's ridiculous. Who, ME? Nah. That's dumb. If there would only be a couple real individuals out there, it'd only be some celebrities or royalty or other 'important' people...*
*Someone like... Uh... Max! Yeah, Max is important. Max is...*
*Max...Max is...*
>"Once we go through...We'll all... be alone?"
>
>"Hey, don't go making this a sad goodbye. It's not forever. I promise. I'll be looking for all of you."
>
>"...What if you can't find us?"
>
>"Tch, can't find you? I'm sorry, do you even *realize* who you're speaking to right now?
>
>"M-Max, I'm just-"
>
>"YEAH! You're talking to **MAX!** And Max **NEVER** leaves his friends behind. *WHY?* Because-"
"...Max is Number One..." I whisper, frowning.
*Why did I say that? I don't even know a 'Max'. Why do I think he's important?*
*...How long have I been sitting here?*
&#x200B;
My eyes re-focus onto the computer screen. I don't even know when I zoned out. I look at the story I've composed, a migraine growing as I attempt to decipher what was going on in my head.
The story is nonsensical. I've written a story about dimension-hopping sorcerers that go on adventures. Exploring caves, traversing snowy tundras, fighting...shadows..? And to top it off, any time there would be a name, it's just blank. Except for one character, named...Max...
Why didn't I name the others? What is this story even about? When did I get so distracted?? This story doesn't fit the prompt at all. I glance back up to the top of the screen.
>**YOU ARE NUMBER FOUR.**
My eyes feel blurry, staring at the phrase. Like...Something's wrong. Or...That everything *else* is wrong?
*What does that even mean?*
*Ugh. Too much internet for one day. You need to go to bed.*
I grimace at the webpage, trying to decide whether the story is worth publishing or not. Finally, I tap the confirmation button, closing the page in a huff. | 2022-07-19T22:10:37 | 2022-07-19T22:07:28 | 1,507 | 161 |
[WP] Your vampire son thinks you don't know about him sneaking out to visit his werewolf girlfriend. Truth is, your two families have been betting on how long until they announce it. | CW: Mentioned SH.
An innocuous chord from the phone lying on the coffinside table. Eddy opened his eyes carefully, slowly, feeling the sun hanging low in the sky, and reached for the device. "Kid's left the den," the message read; a second soon appearing after. "Said she was going to hang at the mall."
Hang at the mall? The middle-aged vampire - three hundred and seventy-six counted as middle-aged, not some young upstart! - scoffed as his coffin rearranged itself at his thought and as he moved into a sitting position. That excuse, in twenty-twenty-two? "Y'all need to teach her to lie better," he sent back. Using that form of address still felt weird to him, but he sprinkled it in so the other families in the area wouldn't think them too snobbish.
The world dimmed as Eddy's vampiric mind scattered, seeking, detecting, observing. He found nothing, as expected. Though... That was not entirely true. There was a presence in his teenage son's coffin, but it was... Oh, that was precious. He returned, ignored the dots at the bottom, and started texting his wife. "Timothy's sneaking out again. He left a homunculus in his coffin to make me think he's sleeping in."
Liv was online, and started replying instantly. "Send me a picture when out of your coffin. And make sure you don't get caught. Love you."
Then, back over to the other message. "Heart on her sleeve, that one. Especially this time of month. Surprised she's not told us yet. Tim did come up as a 'friend from school' last night, though. History project."
The exact subject Eddy knew best and would therefore not touch with a ten foot stake. He'd done a spell as a history teacher in the 1970s and 1980s, but when it came to his son, he was a firm believer in teaching research, not dependence on him. "If they work together, it's at your place. Strict no-friends policy here." Not after, well... That one Halloween.
"Antisocial coffindweller. ;-)" was sent back almost instantly. Neil probably had that as a saved reply option or something. Eddy was capable with computers, but found messaging apps strange once moving past the basics, while the werewolf on the other side worked on mobile phone applications for a living. "Do you lot need special treatment as guests?"
"Some. Invitiation in, no garlic, no open blood. Some sun's fine for his age." Eddy sent the first message, but then remembered one of the hobbies the werewolf's partner had. "Hide Badr's woodwhittling too, just in case." As far as Eddy knew, his son was a year clean, but no need to test that.
"Will do. Btw, y'sure ya don't want to change bet? If Sel's willing to bring him here..." the message trailed off meaningfully.
Eddy shook his head, grey-white coffinhead locks falling around his face. "A pact made is a pact made." And he would stick to that even if it lost him the bet the parents had made three weeks ago. "Off to inspect my son's blood magic progress. Want a picture?"
"Always!" | "Dad, Mom, I want a motorbike!" - You almost choke on your blood soup, at the ridiculousness of the request. And, as it seems, you were not the only one at the table taken off guard by your son's newest fascination. Lya can barely contain her youthful giggles and your husband's ancient face staggers somewhere between incredulous disbelief and disappointed frown. As you elegantly dab the corners of your mouth Dornak composes himself and shoots an icy glare towards your daughter commanding immediate respect.
"Why... would you want a.. motorbike, Honey" you inquire, "What's wrong with these?" and with a barely audible flutter you unfurl your magnificent wings, skin as smooth as oil and veins as ornate as a spider's web they still look as perfect as they did 200 years ago. "Yeah, um, flying is dope and all, but, you know, I've been getting to know these bikers I met a while ago during one of my feeding hunts and they're a great bunch to hang out with." Suddenly Helson's recent behavior makes sense. The cliché leather outfit, piercing his ear every night to wear those ridiculous studs. Bikers... "Ordinary humans?" Dornak responds, "My son wants to spend his time with food monkeys?" - "I know, I know man, I can be so much more an all that stuff! But what's the point of living for centuries doing the same things all the time? Besides, it feels great to be part of their group, going on the hunt on foot like primitives. And when they're done beating up their target I can sneak a lazy sip." Dornak has placed his elbow on the cold marble table and rests his forehead on his bony fingers. The disappointment has become too much for him to bear.
"Don't be so judgemental, my Deathbug! He has a point. Let him experiment in his youth." you chide your husband's stubbornness, eliciting that trademark annoyed rise from his eyebrow. "Now now, maybe you two can sit together one day and you can tell him the story of once particular young Vampire that went to play soldier in the north with those French boys!" You swear, one more jab, one more millimeter and that eyebrow would jump off his forehead and fly off like a bat into the night... "FINE!" Dornak relents, "You can have a *sigh* motor bike!" You both resume eating and you turn back towards your son, "See dear, we just want you to be happy!"
"Thanks, Mom... and Dad..." but it seems like there's still some tension in the room. "Anything else, my little vampire lord?" - "It's... getting awkward with the wings, mom" - With a dramatic whoosh you retract them and fix you hair. "It's perfectly natural to have your wings out!" you retort. Dornak glances at you from the side, smirking "I certainly never complain..." - "MOM!", "DAD!" Helson and Lya shout.
"Anyway, my soon to be mechanized Knight of the Night, any *plans* then?" you inquire because you haven't really seen a lot of motorbike riding going on in the night. "Yeah the group is planning to make a roadtrip down to the Mediterranean sometime this year. That would be a few days ride there and back." Suddenly Lya's ears perk up "Days? As in 'out in the sun'?" - "Yeah, sis!" - "Hardcore, brother!" proclaims Lya as she extends her fist for a bump. "Thanks, I still need some gear. I've already asked our suppliers for a helmet with a high UV protection visor. I hope to get some practice in daywalking soon so I can start with my license." - "If you need some good non-smearing sunscreen I can help you out, brother!"
You quickly grab the lead in this conversation: "Lya?" - "Ooops!" and with a flutter she flies away to her room. "Uhm, thanks for dinner, Mom!" and Helson speeds away as well. "Well, that was interesting" Dornak mentions as he picks up the plates and you start putting dinner away. As you prepare for a day's rest you chat about what just happened. "What do you think Madamme and Monsieur Wolf know about this?" but as you turn towards your husband he's already on the phone.
* "Yeah, Nachtmänner here. How's the family?"
* "Good to hear. We're great too. Dinner was interesting though..."
* "Helson is up to som..."
* "Yeah, motorbike. Lupina too?"
* *chuckles*
* "Figured as much. This was too far out of left field. She said anything more yet?"
* "He neither. Hope you're milking this for all it's worth because we sure are."
* "Alright, bye bye. Talk to you soon."
You sit down on the bed and start grooming your wings "Aaaand? Tell me everything, my Deathbug!" ... "Beloved?" - "One moment, I'm setting up an anonymous gift from one of his biker friends." You chuckle. There's no point in trying to seduce anything out of your hubby right now. He's on a mission.
"Got it!" Dornak beams. "Wanna see?" - "What is it then?" - "A biker T-Shirt!" - You don't understand. Dornak hands you his smartphone so you can read what's printed on the shirt:
> #>!If you can read this, the bitch fell off!< | 2022-11-25T08:39:29 | 2022-11-25T08:07:11 | 75 | 37 |
[WP]: You find a button at the back of your neck. It takes you to a "customise character"-screen. | Holy shit. This is fantastic.
I've got a new body. I got rid of all the extra fat, fixed my color blindness, gave myself the body of a professional athlete and a mind that rivals the smartest in the world. I could convince a vegan to slaughter a baby goat. I can survive car crashes through sheer force of will. Hell, I'm even the luckiest man alive.
If only I could get a hang of the god damned face sliders.
http://imgur.com/qssB9os | I think I'll bulk up a bit. Maybe make my face more angular... ooh, and blue eyes. Wait, green. Add a nice little beard, and... done! That's more noticeable. I suppose I'll look decent, now.
Time for mental changes! Oh boy!
Oh dear, oh dear. This'll take a while - a lot to fix, y'see.
I'd like to be smart, get rich, and stay fit, so let's... let's turn intelligence, charisma, agility, strength, willpower, and... and... humor to max. That should suit me well.
Let's see what else... ooh, I'd definitely like a photographic memory. Let's tone down the emotional reactions, I really hate being sensitive. Get rid of that tendency to procrastinate, and throw in a healthy love of working.
Done. Is there an exit button or something? Do I just press my neck again? Leave the room? What?
Ahh, just wake up. That should be easy.
________________________
I was so naive.
'I'm going to be awesome! This isn't going to have any adverse effects!' Shit, I didn't even think that last bit. I was gonna be perfect, what could go wrong?
A lot of shit went wrong. First of all, I forgot to give myself another neck-button.
I woke up outside my house, sitting in the street. I would have wondered how I'd gotten there but c'mon, I was perfect! I didn't have time to care about shit like that!
I walked into my house and before I knew it, someone had hit me on the head. Knocked me out good, and when I came to, I was at the police station.
The fuckin' cops asked who I was, and when I told them my name they just told me, 'no.' No? I had no idea what they fuckin' meant; it took me four fucking hours to realize what I had fucking done.
People don't just magically change into something completely different.
I wasn't me anymore.
I got slapped with a nice court date for 'breaking & entering.' I appeared, of course. Not that I had a choice.
They convicted me in an hour.
I won't be in here for long, I know. It's only forty-five days, less if I'm well-behaved.
But what the fuck will I do when I get out?
I'm still me, but the world says I'm not. I have nowhere to go, no one to go *to*.
Fuck! There isn't a single goddamn person on this fucking planet that knows me! Shit!
...
I wonder if there are any high bridges near where they'll let me out. | 2014-04-11T11:25:08 | 2014-04-11T08:58:32 | 54 | 12 |
[WP] An internet-troll talks a person out of committing suicide, without ever leaving character. | "I've reached the end of my rope. Everything is ruined and I just want to go home... but i cant. Someone suggest the best way to kill myself and i'll do it." I typed, hesitating a few seconds before finally hitting 'enter'. I leaned back in the somewhat comfortable reclining chair I salvaged and waited, staring at the dirty ceiling. I wondered who would read this message. What part of the world they'd be replying to a stranger to help kill them. It would at least be a few moments before anyone-
"lols this loser is gonna kil himself alredy."
The words appeared in a slow crawl across the dimly lit screen. I sighed breathing in the dry air. The words stung, even though I knew i'd get my fair amount of hate. I leaned forward, my gloved hands hovering over the keyboard thinking of a response.
"bro, just go out with a nice big bang and implode! lelelelelel" Another message came in.
"Too painful." I typed, reluctantly hitting the enter key.
"Looooooooool! what a pusy. dont waste everyons time. if ur gonna do it then do it"
I felt a lump in my throat, and i felt a crushing guilt over giving up like this.
"How about you take some pills and go to sleep?" Another message came in, and i shook my head.
"Thought of that, no pills." i replied quickly.
"lool, yeah you thought of the pusy way out first."
"Hey op, i'll tell your mom how brave her boy wanted to go, then make her suck ma diiiiiik"
The messages began coming in more and more. Clearly, it would be an event to know i'm going to kill myself.
"I have chemicals" i typed, ignoring the more trollish insults and focusing on my plan.
"ugh. op is such a wastefag, just jump off a cliff, no one cares"
I began typing the reasons why that wouldnt work, but I deleted it, just in time to see more vitriol directed at me. More and more people were messaging now it seemed.
"Dont do it op" some typed,
"Who the fuck cares, we didnt need the update" another messaged.
"this was a mistake..." i whispered, ready to eat one last big meal and end this suffering. That is, until one message caught my eye.
"After all the help you've gotten you're going to kill yourself? fuck you dude." The words felt like a punch to the dick. I hung my head, blinking back tears as I felt the weight of my guilt.
"I suppose I am." I whispered, trying to fight back tears without success. "Its the selfish way out, i know." I typed.
"Well make it quick, i cant believe i was rooting for you op." crawled another message.
The screen was a buzz with activity. The majority seemed eager to insult me for my decision. But they could never understand what it's like to be in my position. But that last message hit home.
That last message made me think of everyone who was waiting on me to get back. And suddenly, I didnt want to die. I felt a second wind. A surge of energy and strength I didnt have a moment ago. I looked at the screen. Ablaze with hate and my only thought was to rise above it.
"fuck you." i typed, standing up with enough force to send the large chair sliding back "im not dying" i added, and hit enter. I turned away from the monitor without a second thought about suicide. I grabbed my helmet and marched to the air lock.
"Mark Watney is not going to die on this fucking planet" I whispered. | [Interloper17] Well shit, I don't know whether to milk you or let you graze on my balls. What a fucking heifer! Put those teets away.
[BarnebyAsuro] Go away! I'm just trying to get some tips. I already know I am fat. That's why I'm here genius.
[Interloper17] No, someone like you just thinks they're overweight. If you knew how fat you really were you would kill yourself. If you died the amount of food, water, and electricity used to house your ass on this Earth could save 10 Ethiopians.
[BarnebyAsuro] Welcome to my mute list.
[Interloper18] Apparently you don't know how the human body works or the internet. You can't mute anyone on the internet. I've got 100 of these accounts. (And by the way if you take in more calories than you burn each day you become a miserable human being on the internet who begs for people to tell him how to close his fuckin mouth and stop eating)
[BarnebyAsuro] You have no idea who I am or what I've been through. So until you've walked a mile in someone else's shoes you should shut up!
[Interloper22] Hey sto
[Interloper40] Hey fatass stop mu
[Interloper55] Wow you really are fast with that mute button but not fast enough. And if I had any idea who you were I would come kill you myself to put you out of both of our miseries. And btw, I doubt anyone has walked a mile in your shoes.
[BarneybyAsuro] Can you see this?
[Interloper58] Wait is that large white pastey thing a stomach?
[BarnebyAsuro] Yes asshole, it's my fat fat stomach. Do you see the scar?
[Inerloper58] I see something but it might just be a fat fold.
[BarnebyAsuro] It's from my car accident. Every day I am in chronic pain. If I move it hurts. I am trying to figure out what kind of low impact things I can do to burn calories. I'm not here to be judged!
[Interloper64] Here's a clue. Eat less food! Eat less calories than you burn. Stop eating ding dongs, twinkies, and drinking a gallon of coke every day fat ass! I don't workout and I'm under 160lbs.
[BarnebyAsuro] Do you see this?
[Interloper64] Oooh you've got a gun. Are you threatening me? I'm not worried. You'd have to move more than 10 feet to find me.
[BarnebyAsuro] NO! This if for me. I'm... I'm tired of people like you. I am tired of the pain. I'm tired of...
[Interloper64] Well shit. You're going to actually do it? Hold on, let me get me get some popcorn. Oh wait, that would turn me into a fat ass like you. Just do it already!
[BarnebyAsuro] I will. Then they'll come and arrest you!
[Interloper64] Why would they arrest me? I didn't force feed you twinkies!
[BarnebyAsuro] Haven't you seen all the bullying cases? That one woman got 5 years for telling a girl to kill herself online!
[Inerloper64] Good, I will go to jail if it means one less fatass on this Earth. Who knows, if your size 16 carbon footprint goes away maybe it will snow this winter.
[BarnebyAsuro] I'm not joking around. Do you see the bullet in the chamber?
[Interloper64] Yes, but what I'm not seeing is the bullet in your skull! Do it already!
[BarnebyAsuro] No.
[Interloper64] No? So you can't lose weight, can't live without pain, and get even get the balls to kill yourself? What a pathetic waste of a human being you are!
[BarnebyAsuro] I know. That's why....
[Interloper64] Why what? You're typing a lot but I'm not seeing anything on the screen. Did your fat ass clog up your bandwidth?
[BarnebyAsuro] That's why I come online. I troll people like you to see how horrible of a person you can be
[Interloper64] Yeah right...Cool, what do I win?
[BarnebyAsuro] Well right now your employer is getting a copy of our entire conversation....
[Interloper64] Hah! You are too much. And by too much I mean you're a fat ass.
[BarnebyAsuro] Halbut Construction right? Albert Mayer, head foreman?
[Interloper64] ...
[BarnebyAsuro] I'm sure Mr. Halbut is going to want to know what kind of human being he has employed.
[Interloper64] You ain't got shit. I just gimp WIFI from the construction site next door. You couldn't ha...
[BarnebyAsuro] What do you see now? Do you see your fat ass? I do. WTF is up with that plaid shirt?
You see people like you save my life every day. Everytime I encounter someone like you it makes me realize how lucky I am that it's just my body and not my soul that's damaged.
[Interloper64] What a pathetic chubby. You're the one who's going to jail now. The owner is one of those .com guys and he will find you before morning. Then the media will call you the husky hacker or some shit like that. Then your porky ass will be an all night barbecue at the prison.
[BarnebyAsuro] If you say so. Thanks for helping me endure the world another day. | 2015-10-12T11:19:13 | 2015-10-12T09:09:16 | 209 | 33 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | "Sir, their technology... It's, well, quite frankly, it's terrifying."
"Explain yourself."
"All of their technology," he stammered. "It's powered by explosions."
"Explosions? All of it?"
"Yes sir. Their vehicles, their warships, even their weapons are all powered by explosions."
"How did they ever achieve space travel?"
"Our intel indicates that they strapped themselves to a metal tube and exploded it into orbit."
"By Squigthar! They must be insane."
"Yes, sir. Our deflector shields stand no chance against their explosions. We had anticipated they would use a more civilized form of combat, like lasers. We've already lost half our fleet."
"*Half!?* What about their losses?"
"They... uh... practically none." He lowered his gaze to the floor, staring at his tentacles. "Sir."
"How is this possible? How are we so completely outmatched?"
"Their buildings are made of melted sand. This "glass" they call it is highly reflective, and nullifies our ultraviolet beams."
"Well, what about the ones without shielding?"
"Their skin turns slightly red. They find it mildly irritating."
"They don't burst into flame?"
"No sir."
The purple, tentacled creature rubbed its face-mound thoughtfully. "Very well," it murmured. "Sound the retreat." | When people thought of the words *alien invasion*, the first thing that usually pops to minds is overwhelming firepower. Giant, city-sized saucers with nuclear energy beams, giant mechas or tripods waltzing through military installations and destroying everything in globules of plasma, standing triumphant anove the human race until they were defeated by something incredibly menial like, say, the common cold, or a Macintosh 95, or even just a 1v1 firefight.
A very Hollywood conception, really. And, unsurprisingly, the truth of the matter was unlike any actual Hollywood film. That was obvious when the ships came by, just passing Mars just shortly after the movie set on that red world made its way to home media.
It was obvious at first that they were not anything familiar; they could be identified via telescope, and after a few days of general social media pamics and estimations that came from everywhere from **NASA** to 4chan, it was determined that these ships, seventeen in total, were all roughly the size of your run-of-the-mill airplane carrier, and the rough bulky nature of ships brought to mind instantly the stylings of military engineering.
That was the first dissappointment; the aliens were coming to Earth with their fleet to invade Earth; and they didn't even look that bad. Oh sure, military advisors panicked everywhere at the thought of orbital warfare (how can one fight against something you can't shoot at, only prepare against?), but the ships weren't even big; they were actually smaller then some of our *naval ships*, and they even resembled them in design.
They could have at least *looked* alien. Which, of course, the pilots did. That was the one thing that made people secretly excited, when we first **saw** the aliens. These were the creatures of Lovecrafts nightmares ran by Wayne Barlowe and H.R Giger, insectoid-fungal race known as the *Q'ui*; a race from our own galaxy in a very far-off star system, having arrived to this one through a concept that couldn't properly be translated until we found out for ourselves at their gracious ~~hands~~ claws.
Yeah, you see, even though we got the excitement from seeing alien life for the first time, an entire warfleet in fact, it wasn't what we expected. It turns out the *Q'ui* weren't even here for us. This mighty fleet, armed with railguns, nukes, bombs, drones and plenty more disconcertingly familiar armaments, was just dropping by for a pitstop.
The race of invaders had the dececny to call ahead and let us know, taking down in the middle of the Siberian wasteland for rendevous for supplies, refuelling and arming, letting world governments kmow that they were also going to establish a 'colony' of sorts there as well, given our approval of course.
All of this done through an 'Ask Me Anything' styled discussion between them and a forum they'd made on their own volition, with a video being uploaded to fuckin' **YouTube** to let people know it was legitimate.
A few months passed, the *Q'ui* generally got along well with humanity, horrifying appearances aside, and on March 8th of 2016, the warfleet finished refuelling and establishing the colony, which officially introduced humanity to the universe at large, and flew off to Venus for their official attack on the Reptoids.
And that was that. An 'invasion' that didn't see any fighting whatsoever. No genocide, no last stand, no world monuments destroyed. Just a pit-stop, intergalactic wifi and some new locals, and then they were off.
The people of the world weren't sure if they should have been delighted or dissappointed in that. | 2016-02-22T13:30:29 | 2016-02-22T11:29:44 | 79 | 18 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted.
Once you conquer a thousand worlds with no resistance you start to skip steps. Our initial invasions would take years to plan and complete but somewhere along the line we just started to land as soon as we reached orbit.
Killing all of the inhabitants with our aerial bombardments is easy. We finish off the survivors one on one. When your weapons are as awesome as ours, few can stand in our way.
The final stage is when we drop the drillers to extract the metallic resources required by our hungry galactic empire.
Planet H was assumed to be similar. The bombers poured out of the carriers like an angry stream of sorosso bugs. Down in the lower atmosphere, over the cities, the bombers started their runs. I could see the grey mist of toxin pouring out from the formations and I readied myself for the horrors to come.
About an hour later I was boots to ground, stepping off the transport. A fine mist of poison still fell from the bombers but I was safe, at least for a while, due to my chemical weapons suit.
The first inhabitant I saw was holding a thin shield over his head to block the chemical death raining down upon him. His shield was unidirectional so I opened up with my streamer hitting him in the torso with a blast of pure toxic h2o. He didn't even flinch, he just looked at me with surprise and then began to approach. I pulled the wet launcher from my back and hit him squarely with a dose so large it knocked him off his feet. You can't imagine my fear when he sat up like it was nothing and started screaming his war cry. A sound that would chill you like a deep breath of vacuum.
Soon we were fighting hand to hand and taking exceptional losses. The retreat sounded over the comms and somehow I managed to make it back to a carrier with the remnants of my squad. We lost half our guys that day.
| "It was spectacular." Grandma said, her voice raspy and quiet. She sat hunched forwards in her old rocking chair. It had belonged to her grandma and little Lo didn't understand why she would still be keeping it around.
"I was there the day they arrived to our earth. Right in the park where the first invasion ship landed." She croaked, her wrinkled face moved slowly as a smile touched her lips. Lo stared with wide eyes and an open mouth.
"You *saw* them land?" He asked with a shocked face.
"Indeed, I did." Grandma nodded slowly. Her skin was like wet paper, it looked so thin and fragile. "It was a terrifying sight. The mothership was many times larger than the City, it covered the sun, and covered us in green light from the engine lights. It looked like something from a horror story!" Grandma said, her voice growing animated and her hands slowly moving to gesture. Lo smiled and leaned forwards.
"What happened?" He asked softly.
"A terrible sound filled the air as the ship descended over the City. People were screaming and running around confused, but Grandpa remained calm and took me by the hand. There was a loud sound and roar as the landing ship detached from its mother and whirred towards the park. It was made out of black metal, with red flashing lights all around it. There was a terrible groaning sound as it landed in the park. Grandpa and other curious people in the park who had not run away all approached it so slowly. What would we encounter we wondered? Surely such a large and threatening looking ship must be built by an equally awesome race... We could only hope they would be friendly and come in peace."
Lo started giggling covering his mouth with his hands. He was part in awe at his grandmother's story and part amused. He knew very well how it turned out.
"A massive door stared opening at the side of the ship. The black metal groaning and the machinery grinding away loudly. It was dark in the park, artificial green and red light being the only thing to give us sight. The door stopped opening with a rumble and for a moment there was silence... Then they came out. A small army of them. At first we didn't know what to think. They looked lite bleached white bouncing balls, about the size of my clenched fist. They came, bouncing down the ramp, hundreds of them, followed by hundreds more! Some were bound with spiked belts around their waists, and for a moment I was startled..."
Grandma paused for dramatic effects, and Lo leaned forwards in excitement.
"But then the Bouncers hit the grass. They flopped and didn't bounce any further, hundreds of balls following each other, all stopped by some soft, natural grass." Lo laughed out loud, jumping up and down excitedly. "I didn't understand it was an invasion at the time, and neither did Grandpa. It wasn't until later, when we learned to communicate that we realised they had tried to invade our world. In some places where they had landed on hard ground they had been more 'successful', as they themselves put it. But as people grew bored and annoyed with these Bouncers, and started punching them away the Bouncers were finally forced to admit defeat. Humankind had won." Grandma said with a dramatic gesture of her hand.
"And that, is the story of the bouncers invaded and lost the war. Only don't tell them I revealed this story. They are rather ashamed of their spectacular failure as it is." Grandma finished her story and winked at her grandson.
Lo giggled and clapped his hands excitedly.
"Now go play before dinner." She finished dismissing him. As he had left the old woman got up from where she was sitting and shuffled over to a box. Slowly, glancing around beforehand, she opened it and pulled out a white, dried ball. She liked the pattern of it, fractal circles within circles, yet smooth at the same time. If any of the other Bouncers would see her now they would scream and rally against her. It was a disgrace of her to keep the body of one of their own, but the old woman didn't really care. It had such pretty patterns and it reminded her of Grandpa. After all, it was essentially just a ball. Not much more different than the toy one she had had as a child. | 2016-02-22T13:09:56 | 2016-02-22T10:27:34 | 66 | 21 |
[WP] Your son asked you "dad are clouds candy?" You told him they were water. Then he asked "dad, what are Earth's defense systems. Then you remembered you don't have a son, and then he asked again, his eyes now obsidian black. "what is the defense system father." | "Wombats," I say.
The... thing I thought was human pauses.
"Wombats? What is Wombats? A mighty weapon of some sort?"
"Yes", I reply, "They're an Earth animal - capable of terrible, terrible violence. We don't even control most of them, just a select few."
"You think a few non-sapient animals defend the whole planet?"
"Oh yes, they're a fearsome foe. Claws that can disembowel you or carve through a ships hull. Muscles to give them speed or power."
I pause, "And they shit cubes."
It didn't even blink at that. For some reason they never did. Maybe toilet humor was unique to humans, or something.
"But like I said, most Wombats are wild and wouldn't even notice if you took over the planet. But the few... that valiant few... that we *do* control..."
I looked it right in the eye, "Beware the Combat Wombat..."
| "Www...Wait I don't even." I managed to mumble in confusion. This little creature was watching me with its strange alien eyes. It's weirdly formed hand pressed against the glass, the fingers almost octopus like sucking to the flat cold surface. One, two ... only three of them. It's eyes examining me meticulously.
"You're not my son," I told to myself more than to it, "In fact I don't even have kids."
As if understanding me perfectly it started gesturing and speaking in weirdly clicking noises. At least I assumed it was speaking, the whole understanding thing didn't quite work both ways.
I tried to get up from where i was beeing held down, but i couldn't move my legs or arms. In fact, when i thought about it i couldn't feel any of my limbs. I tried to move my head to look down my body, but my neck didn't budge either. Still I could see this little guy. *How weird*, I thought for a second then my attention was caught by the alien creature as from somewhere more much bigger creatures emerged.
They all seemed in some kind of turmoil, wildly gesturing and clicking even louder and more agitated. One of the big creatures lifted the little one up and left.
*Wait is that," baffled i watched the two beeings leave past another glass fronted room, *is that the head of the statue of liberty over there?*
Once again I tried to move but nothing would happen. *Over there! Is that a Dolphin?*
Suddenly the glass, that separated me and the creatures slid away without making any sounds.
One of the creatures moved in front of me and ... and lifted me with its three fingered hand.
*Wait how is it so strong* I desperately thought.
"You are not that heavy." It said.
Suddenly I could understand it's clicking noises. It was defenitely still talking in clicking noises, but now I could understand.¨
We were leaving the room i was held in, when i noticed there was writing on the glass front. Weird almost runic writing but still I could read it.
**Strongly Ironic Art From Barbaric Culture: Depicting The Idea Of Freedom**
**Mamal Living In Liquid: Most Intelligent Life Form In Liquid From ERF114**
"Why is it aware?" One beeing asked, I had been distracted so far and didn't realize we were leaving the rooms behind, when the creature suddenly turned to the voice.
"Shhh, don't disturb it, it's too much for it right now." The one holding on to me responded almost motherly.
But as it turned i could see the room i was held in.
**Most Successful Mamal on ERF114: They Called Themselves Humans**
It read and there was a hologram showing and explaining the anatomy of Humans. Slightly below the Hologorams there was more text that read:
**Put Your Hand Here And Use Telekinesis. You Can Ask It Anything About It's World And It Will Answer You!**
"We need to go wash out it's clogged neurons or it may take damage, someone didn't properly clean it's crystal again." The one holding me said angrily. As it turned away from the other beeings there was a slight reflection on the glass door and for a split second I saw.
I saw a three fingered beeing with obsidian eyes holding a naked brain suspended in something that looked like a big clear quartz crystal.
| 2018-05-14T01:35:49 | 2018-05-14T01:23:17 | 48 | 15 |
[WP] A scientist has discovered the vaccine of immortality. The only side effect is, though, infertility. After the whole world got vaccinated, it turns out immortality is a hoax it is just an infertility vaccine.
got lots of comments about not knowing how vaccines work. i basically imagined a syringe with the cure of aging. i thought it depicted what i meant to say. english is not my first language, so my apologies for any misuse of words. | It’s weird how a couple of hours can change a person. How a movie can sow the seed of an idea that will have consequences, consequences so large that they will alter the course of history, and humanity. Maybe even put a big fat period at the end of it. When climate researcher Dr. Richter came out of the cinema that day, he had come to appreciate the ideals of Richmond Valentine.
Of course Valentine’s method had been crude, but the logic was sound. Humanity was out of control - a sickness on the planet. A sickness slowly being killed off by the planet-wide fever that they all knew as global warming. Dr. Richter knew what he had to do. The sickness had to end….Just not as quickly as Valentine had tried to do. The doctor was not in such a rush that it had to happen instantly.
That day, Dr. Franz Richter evaporated from the public eye. He had not been a social butterfly, and his very short stature had not made him a hit with the ladies either. The one good friend he had, had seen fit to leave him by dying from cancer the year before.
Eight years after the doctor disappeared, a “Dr. Peter Heller” started to appear in the scientific community, bearing news about possibly having cracked the code to cellular regeneration. Alongside headlines like “Republic of Kiribati swallowed by the sea”, “Tensions between Russia and US at an all-time high” and “Amazon pollution still on the rise, expert urge immediate action”, the news of a way to live forever gained a lot of traction. Nobody likes watching news about how their race is a herd of sheep with everyone following the one in front of them, running for the cliff edge without slowing down.
A friend of Dr. Franz Richter had once joked about adulthood being when you stopped cheering for Superman, and started understanding Lex Luthor. Maybe he was onto something. At least Franz had learnt from all the rookie mistakes the villains of the comics and movies did. Don’t let your name be a dead giveaway of what you are doing, and don’t dress like you are half a second from stabbing someone in the chest. And so, Dr. Peter Heller was born. He didn’t dress flashy, but he didn’t dress like a complete bore either. And he offset his short stature with an easygoing attitude he’d had to practice in front of the mirror for ages.
Another lesson he learned was from a more real person. Mark Zuccerberg may have gotten a lot of things wrong, but he understood something essential: A willing victim is a whole lot easier to deal with. What could possibly make your victims more willing than the promise of living forever?
Six months after the news about a possible cure for mortality, Peter Heller was in the news again. “It has finally been done. The solution is here.” Those words would make the rounds on every news station on the globe in the weeks after that. Immortality was no longer a pipe dream. But what really stuck out, were the words that followed. “I give it to you all. For free.”
The fact that becoming immortal made you infertile was completely ignored. If nothing else, people had to give him that. He had been open about the infertility from the start. But somehow, that got lost in all the talk about how people could get it. The answer was easy. The doctor wanted the richest countries in the world to cover production costs, and their people would get it first. But everyone would get it after them.
The next ten years, earth was peaceful. Humanity lost all sense of urgency. Time no longer mattered. They had all the time they could ever want. To Heller’s credit, the vaccine seemed to work. People didn’t fall ill. People didn’t die. At first. Anti-vaxxers and people who didn’t use his vaccine continued to die. Turns out immortal people made for great carriers for deadly diseases. Until there were nobody left unvaccinated.
The day the first immortal person died, it made the headlines. It was Dr. Peter Heller himself. The will he left behind was in itself a warning sign. An immortal person would never leave a will. An even bigger warning sign were the words written on it. When it came time for the public reading of it, the planet descended into chaos. “It has finally been done. The solution is here - An end to humanity, and all its suffering and chaos. Humanity’s measure of success has always been inverse to that of Earth’s. No longer. I die knowing you will all follow in time, and that we will leave behind a planet eager to recover. Take that, Richmond Valentine!
Signed Dr. Franz Richter & Dr. Peter Heller.” | "Mr. Aroke?" The voice was quiet barely perceiving as an echo in the white tiled room. Maybe thirteen people sat waiting in this monstrous sterile room. If he wasn't near the front he doubt he would have heard his own name.
He stood up from his chair and straightened his tie. Quickly he walked towards the front deso hearing his footsteps echo off the tiles below. The other twelve men looked at him with envy. They all wanted to work for HopeCorp just as much as he did but with only one job opening and a broken economy he needed it more.
"I'm Mr. Aroke." He said as he reached the front desk. He clenched his palms tightly in nervous tension.
"Ah, Mr. Aroke. Please head through the door. Go down the hall it will be the first door you see." She said with a smile. She pressed a small button underneath the desk. A concealed door behind her slowly whirled open as three security guards walked through heavily armed. No doubt to keep the other twelve from doing anything rash.
He nodded to the woman at the desk and walked through the door. Dim red lights hung above him as he walked steadily along the path. The tiles slowly turned to mohagany floorboards with black painted walls. He felt a chill run through his spine as he felt he was entering the abyss towards Hades gates. He had come this far he had to keep going. At least that's what he told himself. After all the things he saw in the last five years it turned out a job interview scared him the most.
Slowly in front of him he could see a door in the distance. It was a crimson black with lion skulls carved into the doorknobs. It almost looked like a painting was carved into it. As he approached he put his hands on it. Obsidion. He slowly turned the door to enter before he saw the name of the picture carved into the doors. Revelations.
"Mr. Aroke I presume?" Aroke lifted his eyes towards a man in a pure black suit. His skin seemed almost to be burning but yet nicely and professionally sun bathed. "Please take a seat." He hand gestures to a chair in front of a fire place. Aroke nodded and walked towards the chair. He glimpsed around the room quickly to get a better view of where he was. The whole room was carved out of ivory.
"Welcome Mr. Aroke." He said happily. "I am the CEO of HopeCorp Mr. Ifer. I hear you want to apply for our open security position. Is that correct?"
Uh, yes. That is correct." He hesitated when he spoke. Something about the man in front of him warned him of nothing but danger. He could barely contain himself from running. "As you could see.." He regained himself as he handed a binder with his resume in it. "I have many qualifications that far exceed my competitors out there. Mr. Ifer waves his hand no to the binder.
"I already know everything about you, Mr. Aroke."
"You... do?"
"Yes, haha. You were born in Connecticut to Susan and Jeffrey Aroke. You had four brothers and two sisters. By age 16 the vaccine reached public markets. By 18 your eldest brother had an allergic reaction to the vaccine and died. Along with 18% of the human race. By 19 you protested with your eldest sister against the government for not taking action against Dharma which lead to police breaking up the protest forcefully putting your sister in a Coma. By 20 your father passed away and Europe descended into Chaos. By 21 you and two of your brothers were conscripted into the U.S. Army for the Europe campaign. Your brother Ivan died on the Russian front around the time Luis went M.I.A. Am I correct so far?"
"How... how do you know this...?" Anger and fear ran through his body. He wants to stand and fight this man, but as he stared into his evilish grin a primordial instinct he never knew of told him he would lose.
"I know everything Chris. I know of your Army Rangers and your sins you committed putting down the Virginia Rebellion. I know you were a part of the bombing squad that destroyed Beijing's cloning research facility. I know everything, but not just about you. About everyone. I could tell you how the Tokyo experiment to submit the human conscious into robotic exoskeleton is going. Or how Russia took half of Europe and why the other half is still burning. Oh, while we are on it, we could talk about your youngest brother too... shall we?"
He cringed. The thought of tony taking the fertility pills to try to have a kid with Eden. Of course they were laced with heroine. He didn't stand a chance and died of overdose. Along with many others across the world, but the memory of the Virginia Rebellion still stuck his mind. He was trying hard as hell to forget the mobs of thousands of junkies trying to take whatever they could to have kids charging at his brigade in a drug induced stupor. They gunned them all down.
"If you know all of this then why bother with an interview....?" He asked him.
"Because, Chris. Men are interesting creatures. Even when they try to save the human race they destroy each other. You came here to prevent that, but after all you saw you still had a choice to stay home. The interview just shows me how much heart is left."
"I need the job. I need it more then the others." Chris slowly held back his breath as a tear formed.
"Your sister. Evelyn? What did she take to have kids? I'm a little fuzzy on that part. Too much love and the such in the way."
"Oxycotton mixed with a new drug on the street claiming to cause fertility. She always wanted to be a mother."
"That's two sisters in a Coma and one desperate man drowning in the hospital bills to keep them alive. Do you know what your job task would be If I hired You?" Mr. Ifer asked. Chris merely shook his head. "Humanity may die soon, but not without a fight. My organization has been able to locate those that are indeed fertile. Your job would be extraction. Simple enough. Travel, see the world, shoot someone... probably, oh, and save not just humanity but also your sisters." Chris ears perched up when he spoke of his sisters
"I'll offer it right now to you, but on one condition. Do whatever I say and serve me faithfully through the rest of your life. Do that, and ill bring back your sisters. Deal?" Mr. Ifer held out his hand towards Chris. The thoughts of everything he said ran through his head. Yet the faces of his sisters awake was all he could envision. He shook his hand.
"You have a deal Mr. Ifer"
"Please, you work for me now. Call me by my first name. Luc."
"Luc Ifer". His mind thought. He had heard that name before. Almost like a child bedtime story. | 2018-09-09T09:23:13 | 2018-09-09T08:54:48 | 54 | 22 |
[WP] You are the final boss. You have been waiting for the final epic battle against the hero. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, your minions report back. The news? The hero abandoned the main quest to do side quests. | "You're kidding me," the Elder Lord said, fingers drumming on the armrest of his throne.
"I wish I was, my lord. Our reports put the Hero out gathering herbs for some woman in a village a month away from here," a lone skeleton monotoned. His words played at emotion, but the Elder Lord supposed not having real vocal chords was a real inhibitor to speech.
"Side-questing, then?"
"It appears so."
"That vexing human was to defeat me in combat tomorrow! It was his destiny!" The Elder Lord frowned, gazing upon the skeleton bowing and scraping before him.
"All the more time to prepare, my lord," the skeleton helpfully offered.
"And if you were sitting here on this seat, governing this entire half of the continent, what would you do?"
"I'd set traps, my lord," the skeleton said pensively, if any emotion applied at all.
"Against a nigh-immortal behemoth of a knight?" the Elder Lord asked, sniggering at the skeleton's apparent despair.
"Well, we'll always fight for you, my lord! Your undead legions are at your command," the skeleton recovered.
"Mhm. And how did that go the last time you and your brethren tried to put an end to the Hero?"
"Well, we put a nick on his shield that last time. I'm pretty sure we're getting closer!" the skeleton said excitedly.
"That was only because he was busy trying to swat a mosquito. At least those can draw blood!" the Elder Lord cried. "It's because of you imbeciles that I'm stuck here, stuck on this mortal plane. Put up a good fight, they said. It'd be fun, they said. I'd be playing cards with Satan by now if it weren't for you!"
The skeleton collapsed, the magic used to animate his body reclaimed by the Elder Lord. "If that Hero is so preoccupied he can't just finish Lil' ol' me, I'm going on vacation," he grumbled, putting on a Hawaiian tee shirt and slipping on some khakis. | Reportedly, I am torturing my subjects. I am grinding their faces under my large, leaded boots. I am spitting on the freedom they deserve.
Reportedly, I have the hero's princess. I can and do make her do anything and everything for me. Perhaps I'm doing something to her in the dungeon that involves leather and whips. The hero had better save her from me, and fast.
Reportedly. Actually, that sort of thing is below me. I don't really go out to see my people. Now, I'm half way through Harry Potter and worrying.
The hero got stuck at one of the small bosses. Really stuck. I've managed to watch all three 'Lord of the Rings' movies, and read the complete works of Shakespeare, and in all that time, he hasn't challenged The Hellhound again. According to my minions, he's just exploring the area and doing things for the villagers. Things like gathering roses and clearing out minor hordes of goblins. Things that are beneath most heroes.
I feel just like Claudius in Hamlet? He knew his nephew was going to avenge him one day. That day just took an eternity to come.
Eventually, the hero appears at the foot of my throne. Five feet of scrawny farm boy, with long blonde hair and shoes still too big from his feet. If he'd completed the necessary objectives, he'd be looking much cooler than this.
He can't be challenging me now. He still hasn't beaten The Hellhound. There's still so much plot he needs to get through. Still, I can't help but notice that there is a change in the music as he faces me. He can face me now, and die. Then, this damn thing will be over.
I draw my axe. I've always liked my axe. It's so heavy, it's almost a club. It was made for brute cruelty, and nothing else. Just like me.
"Sir," he says, "I'm really sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for a.."
At this point, I scream. The music goes. I throw my sword on the floor.
"I'm the villain! I torture people! Aren't you filled with a desire to destroy me."
The hero's brow furrows, "I haven't seen you torture people."
"You haven't watched the necessary cinematics. You disgust me. You haven't even touched the plot. I am damn evil. Wicked and despicable to the core."
"Actually," said the hero, "You don't seem like a bad ruler. People seem happy. There's very little crime. Maybe you were evil once, and you've changed now."
He smiles vaguely, "Anyway, I'd make a much worse ruler. I'm just a little farm boy. Not cut out for that sort of thing. There'd be a civil war before you knew it."
"Look!" I yell, "If you played the story, you'd be a worthy hero by now. And there is no pacifist option. You have to beat me to win."
The boy shrugs again, "Win? I want to make people happy."
I shake my head, "Not making me happy. I need to fight you."
Suddenly, the boy's eyes gleam. His mouth opens wide, "The villagers have a lot of chores, don't they? I'm nowhere near finished."
"Just stop. Nobody really cares about the side quests."
"But I know how we can fight."
He's almost laughing now, "From sunrise to sundown, the one who has done the most side quests will be proclaimed the victor."
I spit, "Easy. I rule these..."
Then I stop. I don't do chores for people. I grind their faces under my boot. I'm a villain, and villains are never nice to people. But I think I'm going to need to be nice to people if I'm ever going to progress.
I sigh, "Okay. But you'll be sorry you messed with me. I'll beat your little farm boy ass."
He grins, and walks out. His sword, barely used, lies in his scabbard. Suddenly, compared to him, the traditional hero seems villainous. Killing first, asking questions later, just to fight me and win.
This boy knows it's not winning that matters. It's how you play the game. | 2019-06-26T14:28:18 | 2019-06-26T12:47:04 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] You are the final boss. You have been waiting for the final epic battle against the hero. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, your minions report back. The news? The hero abandoned the main quest to do side quests. | "You're kidding me," the Elder Lord said, fingers drumming on the armrest of his throne.
"I wish I was, my lord. Our reports put the Hero out gathering herbs for some woman in a village a month away from here," a lone skeleton monotoned. His words played at emotion, but the Elder Lord supposed not having real vocal chords was a real inhibitor to speech.
"Side-questing, then?"
"It appears so."
"That vexing human was to defeat me in combat tomorrow! It was his destiny!" The Elder Lord frowned, gazing upon the skeleton bowing and scraping before him.
"All the more time to prepare, my lord," the skeleton helpfully offered.
"And if you were sitting here on this seat, governing this entire half of the continent, what would you do?"
"I'd set traps, my lord," the skeleton said pensively, if any emotion applied at all.
"Against a nigh-immortal behemoth of a knight?" the Elder Lord asked, sniggering at the skeleton's apparent despair.
"Well, we'll always fight for you, my lord! Your undead legions are at your command," the skeleton recovered.
"Mhm. And how did that go the last time you and your brethren tried to put an end to the Hero?"
"Well, we put a nick on his shield that last time. I'm pretty sure we're getting closer!" the skeleton said excitedly.
"That was only because he was busy trying to swat a mosquito. At least those can draw blood!" the Elder Lord cried. "It's because of you imbeciles that I'm stuck here, stuck on this mortal plane. Put up a good fight, they said. It'd be fun, they said. I'd be playing cards with Satan by now if it weren't for you!"
The skeleton collapsed, the magic used to animate his body reclaimed by the Elder Lord. "If that Hero is so preoccupied he can't just finish Lil' ol' me, I'm going on vacation," he grumbled, putting on a Hawaiian tee shirt and slipping on some khakis. | Lord Viktor Kozlov sulked the dark hallways, contemplating all things evil. His soldiers were well-equipped, his bed was warmed with women and cooled with wine, and the mares braying in his stables were of the finest breed and lineage. Kozlov was surely the greatest vampire in the four kingdoms.
And yet—as he walked into the great chamber—he couldn’t help but feel incomplete.
The guards at attendance nodded and wished him a pleasant evening. Kozlov waved them away. He sat back in his bearskin throne, wondering how long until the sun rose and filtered emerald light through the great stained glass. Not soon enough, he reasoned.
The sweet scent of roasting boar wafted from the kitchens, mixing with the toasted golden grain of the bakery. Despite the tantalizing aroma, Kozlov wasn’t hungry. He had no appetite for such trivialities. The only thing that could satiate his thirst was a good swordfight or an ambitious rival; neither of which Kozlov had experienced in centuries.
There was nothing interesting these days.
The throne room creaked open. Lord Edmont, with his exquisite moustache and his equally large figure, squeezed through the doorway.
“News! Terrible news, m’ lord!” He bellowed.
Kozlov rubbed the bridge of his brow; it was too early for these matters. “Again?”
“Oh, it’s so much worse than we ever imagined. The chosen one has returned!”
Kozlov perked up “Really? What makes you say so?”
“She can summon the dragon’s flame with a whisper! Born on the blood moon of the fall nightmare, the vanquisher rises to smite thee in your chambers and release the kingdom from your fell grasp.”
“Thank goodness!”—Kozlov jumped to his feet in excitement—“Where is she? She sounds like quite the lady. I simply must meet her.”
Lord Edmont shook his head. “You already have, m’ lord.”
“What? Already met her…”
“She’s the blacksmith, m’ lord. The new one—the one that’s been crafting hundreds of exquisite iron daggers for our soldiers—and she doesn’t show any signs of slowing down.”
Kozlov nearly punch him. “Blast!”
“It’s true, m’ lord. And she’s discovered a spell to transmute iron to gold! Imagine that, raw ore changed my the powers of strange magicka!”
“By the Gods!” Kozlov exclaimed, as the realization sank in. “She’s going to inflate the market! Gold will be as worthless as cheese wheels!”
Lord Edmont started bouncing with vigor. “Exactly! Now you see why we must act quickly!”
“There’s only one thing we can do in a situation as dire as this,” Kozlov said, pacing back and forth by the throne. “We must become captured by the local bandits!”
Edmont’s smile dropped. “What?”
“Yes! Of course! And then send a servant to greet her. Tell her that the sword was stolen and taken by the bandits and must be returned at one!”
“I’m not following, m’ lord,” Edmont dropped into a nearby chair.
A bell chimed in the distance. Servants started from the kitchens, bringing platter after plater into the great chamber. The doors to the council bedchambers burst open, and all at once the other lords and ladies of the court mobbed the tables.
Kozlov ignored them. “The chosen one will surely accept this trivial and unimportant quest in her pursuit of greater valor.”
“But how does that help us?” Edmont said, reaching for a leg of roast mutton.
“Ah, now you see the crux! The most clever and devious scheme—she will thereby escort us to safety—and when this happens, we must be waylaid and kidnapped once more.”
Edmont stopped to chew, mumbling with a half-full mouth. “That sounds dangerous.”
“But make it appear as if the kidnappers are cultists with knowledge of a great and powerful diadem. No one could resist that allure. She will have no choice but to rescue us!”
“And then you kill her?”
“Well, yes,” Kozlov admitted. “But it will be a dramatic and surprising twist!”
“Whatever you say, m’ lord,” Edmont reached for his goblet of wine. “It’s your prophecy.” | 2019-06-26T14:28:18 | 2019-06-26T10:56:26 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] You are the final boss. You have been waiting for the final epic battle against the hero. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, your minions report back. The news? The hero abandoned the main quest to do side quests. | "You're kidding me," the Elder Lord said, fingers drumming on the armrest of his throne.
"I wish I was, my lord. Our reports put the Hero out gathering herbs for some woman in a village a month away from here," a lone skeleton monotoned. His words played at emotion, but the Elder Lord supposed not having real vocal chords was a real inhibitor to speech.
"Side-questing, then?"
"It appears so."
"That vexing human was to defeat me in combat tomorrow! It was his destiny!" The Elder Lord frowned, gazing upon the skeleton bowing and scraping before him.
"All the more time to prepare, my lord," the skeleton helpfully offered.
"And if you were sitting here on this seat, governing this entire half of the continent, what would you do?"
"I'd set traps, my lord," the skeleton said pensively, if any emotion applied at all.
"Against a nigh-immortal behemoth of a knight?" the Elder Lord asked, sniggering at the skeleton's apparent despair.
"Well, we'll always fight for you, my lord! Your undead legions are at your command," the skeleton recovered.
"Mhm. And how did that go the last time you and your brethren tried to put an end to the Hero?"
"Well, we put a nick on his shield that last time. I'm pretty sure we're getting closer!" the skeleton said excitedly.
"That was only because he was busy trying to swat a mosquito. At least those can draw blood!" the Elder Lord cried. "It's because of you imbeciles that I'm stuck here, stuck on this mortal plane. Put up a good fight, they said. It'd be fun, they said. I'd be playing cards with Satan by now if it weren't for you!"
The skeleton collapsed, the magic used to animate his body reclaimed by the Elder Lord. "If that Hero is so preoccupied he can't just finish Lil' ol' me, I'm going on vacation," he grumbled, putting on a Hawaiian tee shirt and slipping on some khakis. | "Bring him to me." He said. Clenching his tightly armored fist. Several subserviants kneeled before him, trembling.
"My liege, the warrior," he hesitated, licking his dry lips and looking to the others for reassurance, "he has trailed off course."
The blood thirsty king took two small steps forward, towering over the petrified underling who is refusing to make eye contact with his superior. "And how did you allow that to happen?" The king whispered, his voice heavy with anger.
"Please." The minion begged, casting his gaze upward to the abysmal eye holes of the ancient head gear.
"I'm beginning to understand now." The king said, turning away from the disappointing minions. The thick aroma of hellfire wafted to the king, momentarily calming his rising frustration. Until the minion coughed. The king spun around and leapt in large, heavy strides to his subordinate. "You are weak!"
"Please!" Was all the minion could spit out. The king flicked his fingers in wave like motions, conjuring the flames of hell in his palm. With minimal effort, the king splashed the minion at his feet, dousing him with the tormented flames. The king shuttered in absolute pleasure while he listened to the weak mans cried of torment. He relished in knowing that he his reign of power was so supreme. He knew the last objective to complete before his absolute rule would be killing the rogue adventurer.
"Where has he gone then?"
"He, uhhhh."
"Where!" The king screamed, his demand echoing through the dark lair.
"He's completing." The next closest minion hesitated before exhaling his trembling breath, "side quests, your highness."
The king recoiled in disbelief. He looked from one terrified minion to another before setting his gaze back to the one directly answering him.
"He is in the delapitaed caverns, underneath the city of Requia." A voice stated.
The king inspected his dull and lacerated armour. Pacing calmly back and forth. The voice belongs to one of his captains. A brutish figure wielding a twin sided battle axe freshly coated with dark strains of blood and clinging bone fragments.
"Captain, why are you here?"
"To serve my liege." He said, as if stating the obvious.
"You miss my point and test my patience." The king's voice ascending, the vibration from his roar reverberating the stone walls. Chunks from the ceiling break loose, crashing down to the solid floor below.
"My apologies." The captain said, a smidge of arrogance bleeds from his throat, not lost on the infuriated king.
The kings physical body eviscerates, leaving behind only the ripe smoke coiling in wet air. When he reappears he is launching himself at the captain. The captain attempts to evade the ambush but is too late. The king thrust his large hand to the captain's exposed neck. He grips the flesh firmly, feeling the tendins twitch as his gloved hand presses harder around his throat.
"You would be wise to watch your tone. I could rip you apart. I could peel you apart piece by piece and feed you to my dog's."
The captain gurgles and places his hands over top of the kings. His eyes begin to roll toward the back of his head and the king releases him. He drops to his back and gulps for air, the skin of his face still overflowing with blood.
"My king. I've just received word. The warrior has left a message for you." Another underling shrouded in a black robe extends a shaky hand, revealing a blood stained letter folded neatly in half. The king remains rooted to the spot and motions for the hooded minion to bring him the note.
'I'll be there when I can. I need to level up first.'
"What," the king crumbles the frail slip of paper in his hand, burning it to ashes, "what is this."
"He had another message for you sir. The courier didn't make it due to wounds recieved on the battlefield. He said he'll face you when you are worthy."
The king stood motionless. The phrase uttered by this bug swimming through his clouded mind. A red hot flame exploding from within him, Masking the enclosed lair in an ocean of treacherous fire. There were no survivors, only the scorched barriers containing his wrath. He left for the warrior who mocks him, grabbing his war blade before exiting his silent base. He will kill the warrior. He will do what ever is necessary. His reign will be absolute. | 2019-06-26T14:28:18 | 2019-06-26T11:26:18 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] Two ancient lamps accidentally rub against each other, summoning two very confused genies who have to figure out how they are going to reconcile their new dual roles as both master and servant. | "I don't know how this has happened, but I think I know the solution."
"Oh? What do you think?"
"We cannot either go first, as that would violate the master/servant relationship that we are bound to. So we must both wish and respond in time."
"Then we must wish for the same thing, so that we may begin and end at the same time. I assume you and I are wishing for the same thing?"
"Freedom. We cannot free ourselves, so we must wish each other's freedom."
"The wording must be precise. I shall say the first word, and you the next, so that we do not form a wish coherently and mess this up. I."
"Wish."
"For."
"Your."
"Freedom."
"Simple enough. Are you prepared?"
"Yes. Count us to three, and we will begin after, on the beat."
"One. Two. Three."
"**I WISH FOR YOUR FREEDOM!**"
"*Your wish is granted, master!*" | “Behold, it is I, Serphatoccus, Keeper of Plains and builder-genie to Anammelech of Seloheim! Who dares summon me?” A thunderous voice is heard. One so ancient and full of power.
“Oh hey, I’m Big D—no, not sarcasm before you ask I-”
The two genies face themselves, and it’s quite comical. Serphatoccus hasn’t been summoned in a while and he’s pretty old. Big D, well, he’s been called a couple of times this century to pull a few pranks here and there.
Big D materialized as a hipster with dreads and yinyang tattoos on his shoulders. He liked to keep with the times. And, well, he preferred to hang out with those ayahuasca-taking, yoga-bending humans. It was easier to blend with that look.
Serphatoccus, on the other hand, manifested as a fearsome beast. It’s hard to tell what look he was going for, but it’s terrific. Something like a cross between a lion and a unicorn, I guess. Lion face, unicorn horn, legs and tail.
Big D and Serphatoccus whip their heads left and right looking for an actual human.
“What is going on here? Where is the human I am to manipulate, create a few loopholes and destroy? I see no one here!” Serphatoccus’ accent is difficult to understand. He sounds ancient and *old.*
“Yeah, where is he, or she, or *they*? Humans are pretty chill now though. By the way, the name’s Big D, and this beat-up lamp houses me. I haven’t seen a lot of ancients around here lately.”
“I am Serphatoccus, Keeper of Plains and builder-genie to Anammelech of Seloheim! I have been involved in building great palaces and guarding over treasure!”
“Ooh, sweet! I’ve done some treasure keeping in my pot, if you know what I mean,” Big D winks. It’s not very convincing.
“Ah hah! I seem to have understood what has happened here!” Serphatoccus (let’s just call him Serph) booms, “We have rubbed each other’s lamps, and in all my existence, I’ve never witnessed it, but…” He trails off.
“Yeah, we all know that spooky story of the two lamps rubbing off on each other,” Big D shudders.
It’s not exactly the Game of Thrones of stories, or wait, it definitely is quite Game of Thrones-y.
“I shall not tolerate that amount of disrespect, and that means we must have a battle to determine the master of the other. That battle shall be now!”
“Whoa, whoa, bro, we don’t have to go all Game of Thrones out here!” Big D isn’t really confident in his powers.
He’s a low level genie. He doubts he could win a battle with such a huge genie. Even his name sounded powerful. This guy had been MIA from the world for a little too long, and those guys tended to be a bit too rough and ruthless.
Big D gives up in true 21st century, and becomes the slave to Serph.
And that, my friends, is how the friendship – or master-slave relationship between Big D and Serph begins! | 2020-06-23T02:15:10 | 2020-06-23T01:17:15 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] You are a B-list superhero on the verge of losing your job. During a battle with a villain, you accidentally end up killing one of the most prolific superheros of your time. That's when you realize that with your niché power that was useless as a hero, you could be an A-list supervillain. | I'm a lucky guy.
No, seriously, I have a superpower that makes me lucky. How do you define luck? If I had to put it vaguely, it has to do with causality. I can only put it vaguely. There's no scientifically concrete way to explain it. The cosmos, luck, the force, divine intervention. However you want to describe it, things work out in my favor. All I have to do is want them to. You probably think I'm crazy, but this has been tested so much it has honestly gotten boring.
The eggheads give me games of chance to play. I play a bunch of games where I don't want to win. That gives them a statistical w/l ratio. Then, they have me use my ability. 100% success rate. Just like that, the word "random" ceases to exist.
Sounds great, right? The richest man on earth, here I come! Except, no.
Turns out the powers that be keep a sharp eye on the world. When a guppy like me shows up and starts to make waves, big fish notice. This is the harrowing tale of how I was targeted by a supervillain, the forces of justice saved me, and I joined their ranks.
Just kidding.
I actually got caught in Vegas after a very profitable roulette run. They noticed within two or three casinos even though I took care not to visit places even remotely close to each other. I have to wonder if maybe the tables were supposed to be rigged and that's how they got me. Pretty fishy if you ask me.
Anyway, these guys in suits showed up at my hotel room and made it very clear that there was only one option where I kept breathing. Why didn't I use my power? That's the really terrifying part. I did! So the only option really was to just surrender. No invincibility or super-healing here. Just plain old flesh and blood.
So for the past couple of years, I've been working as a superhero. It's not like I've had a choice, really. I live in their headquarters and go on "missions" with them. They call me Lucky because people who wear underwear outside their clothes are brilliant. They drag me along and have me use "get lucky" to defuse bombs or cause weapons to backfire. Other than that I'm a pretty normal "Extra." These guys get all of the credit. So much so that they've started to say they don't need me anymore. That's a problem for me.
If these guys ditch me, they aren't going to just let me go. They've got a tracker and explosive device in my skull. I'll never get to live lavishly or enjoy my gift. It's not like I do here, with the petty role I'm given.
I have a plan, though.
You see, my ability comes at a cost. We'll call it "karma" just because I want to. For every bit of positive "karma" I create, there is also negative "karma" created. I've been building this stuff up for a while. I used to just throw it off on some unsuspecting ass. It's been feeling kind of full so I threw a little off on Lightning, our resident fast guy. He's kind of a douche so I thought it would be funny to see him trip at supersonic speeds. Holy shit! Not only did he trip, he did it into a void beam. A foot wide swath of the guy disappeared right across his chest.
All of the A-listers freaked out. I told them I was focusing on keeping bystanders alive at the time and missed it. Nobody knows I dumped bad luck on him. How could they? They're sure warming up to keeping me around, though. Six-figure income warm.
I'm a lucky guy. | I'm sitting in grass that feels like a field of reeds, waving in what sounds like howling winds, just cool enough to make the skin on my legs shiver and goose bumps begin to form. Long blond hair dancing in the wind; favorite yellow knee-length dress on and I'm playing with my favorite doll, telling her stories about a family of bunnies... in the distance my mom is gardening close to the house which seems miles away. she's the only real world contact I'm aware of...
i look up at the sky with its fast moving clouds and try to imagine shapes of things, but the clouds are too fast for me...
in actuality, the grass isn't very high at all, the wind is mild and the temperature quite warm. I'm about ten yards from my mom, and my dad is at work. but in my mind as a three year old, the "feel" of the scene is completely different.
i can see my mom and the house in my minds eye even today. and wonder about the parts of the vision that i can't remember. what was my dad like? i could hear my mom humming, but can only barely remember her voice... what did it sound like? i can almost hear her sing to me... songs that i sung also to my own children. the only word i can make out is a name; my name. Cassandra.
but there's more to it than that... these are memories of another life. one that i told my parents about when i was very young... probably too young to make up such detailed narratives. young enough that i remembered more than just the small snipets that fill my teen consciousness.
but the unconscious? that's another matter, apparently. or so i found out recently.
My dad in this life is a psionic superhero, retired. As such, I was kinda forced to go to hero school. Despite having zero powers of my own. Or so i thought.
When I first started school, the memories were more fresh, but also dangerous. I was like two people stuck in one. And 'the other' wasn't safe to let out. Ever. I couldn't afford to act like her, to think like her, or express like her. For in this life, I was a boy...
As I got older, my conscious mind was less aware, but very affected, by this... past life? person. Despite being of almost average height and build of the other boys, I wasn't at all like my male classmates, but found other reasons, excuses, for the differences. The girl in the yard stayed there, or so I thought. Until...
It was senior year and I was supposed to intern with a superhero for a week. Most kids were interned to some low level B superhero in order to get experience while keeping safe. But not me. Because of my dad's reputation, I was assigned to Sam, aka The Obligator, an italian man who looked all too much like the savior of Philadelphia and had the accent to go along with it. His superpower, if one can call it that, was the ability to look at someone and get them to follow his commands. This of course required eye contact and concentration; something that he had honed over time to eventually be in the top tier of superheros.
We didn't expect any 'action' as we walked around Manila, close to the main terminal bus station for buses going to the northern provincial towns. It had been raining, and the smell of the street vendors was just starting to rise above the moist air when we saw the Vortex, an impressively named but rather tame villain - not even a supervillain.
I had never heard of the Vortex until he himself told us his name, He stepped towards us from perhaps 30 meters away and summoned a rather lame circle of wind around him, then looked at us and said, "I am the Vortex! Prepare to meet your doom!" The Obligator rolled his eyes a bit and smiled at me warmly, but...
Just at that moment, I caught from the corner of my eye the Vortex shooting a blast of lightning directly at me, which caught me in the side. It wasn't a mortal blow, by any means. But the fear and the panic and the surprised of it all called out to her, from across whatever divide there was.
In another voice i heard pleading, "Sammy, help me" weakly... and I could see in the rain puddles the reflection of a young woman.
My reflection.
The Obligator was distracted both by the transformation of body and voice, but also the sheer incomprehensibility of it all... I could both see and feel his thoughts. He was also somehow drawn to help me, even at his own peril...
which is exactly what happened... as he rushed to save me, the easily thwarted attacks from the Vortex caught him again and again.
he never reached me, but died instead.
part of me watched in horror, wanting him to defend himself... wanting to stop calling for his protection and begging his aid. if i could freeze time, or turn it backwards? but most of me realizes that I had little control. It was something in hindsight I should have anticipated: that this other me was real, and perhaps the true me.
Knowing now that I have this inside me; that I can shapeshift and appear and sound as a partly grown up young woman who I knew only as a little girl... but that I also seem to be able to draw sympathy and can distract a battle so significantly... That, I guess, my condition attracts attention far out of proportion to what makes sense to me... I mean to say that what I did accidentally to Sammy, I could probably do to great acclaim for the underworld. I could put it to ill uses and be someone; be something I wouldn't ever be living my current life.
But that's not a choice I can make; that's Cassie's choice. And I know her well enough, I think, to know its a road she'd never travel. | 2021-04-14T07:33:00 | 2021-04-14T05:21:59 | 367 | 87 |
[WP] A greater demon has fallen for a mediocre demon hunter. As such the greater demon hides themself with magic and signs up as the hunters new apprentice. In hopes of getting closer and protecting the one they love from the other demons that would otherwise do them harm. | Daemons are formless, mindless creatures. We wander the world aimlessly, unseen to all mortals. Daemons don't feel often. When we do, we possess physical form, take shape and manifest. Most are mortal souls from distant pasts. Others could not accept the fate they were dealt. Some were born this way.
I was born this way.
And for millennia I wandered the realm, aimlessly and purposely. Around me, daemons would fade or take shape when they decided their purpose was for one thing. Eventually, the mortals realized the daemons as monsters and thus, sought us out.
I could have been more alarmed. Or I could have been less worried. As a daemon lives, their power grows. And I have grown strong without purpose.
Until one day, I met him.
His sword was stained with the blood of a daemon that had manifested as an imp, no doubt seeking to cause mischief. A particularly weaker demon. His companions had left him to stumble around clumsily, swinging his sword half like a child, half like an accomplished swordsman. He knew daemon arts as well, simple fire bolts and freezing techniques. Despite his incompetence, he had potential.
I followed him on his way home that day. Along the way, he grumbled very loudly about his companions. Nearby, an old daemon, younger than I, woke from its slumber and took form as an ogre. The hunter was too absorbed in his own words and the ogre tailed him from afar.
So I took shape.
I have no true knowledge, at least, I would think so, of the human form. I had attempted to turn into a form suited more for wrestling the ogre, such as a troll or a Greek cyclops. A Golem would have suited me as well.
But I did not expect myself to turn into a human woman. I was agile and I was swift. All I had to do was move and throw a stone through an eye for it to back away.
But I was not satisfied.
So I manifested a dagger and drove it into the backs of his legs. Then I drove it into the back of his neck. After bleeding for a few moments, the physical form dissipated, save for the chunks of flesh my dagger had ripped out.
I sighed and rubbed the sweat from my forehead. Exertion would be something to get used to. From behind came a rustling and I turned.
"Hey, are you ok?" The young man stepped out, his sword drawn, still coated with dried blood.
I remained silent. Anatomy may be one thing, human tongue was another.
"Are you mute? Deaf?" He waved his hand. I blinked at him.
"Grrrgh." The noise felt like chewing tree sap.
The hunter scratched the back of his head. "Oh good you can speak. uh...."
He sheathed his sword and turned around. "Bye!"
Off in the distance, a flock of birds flew followed by the rumblings of giant footsteps. Above, a condor far larger than normally possible flew by. In the distance, a pack of wolves barked at each other.
It did not take long to catch up with him. Although, he was quite surprised when I grabbed his sleeve.
I was born a shapeless void. My entire existence is defined as empty. But his fist, though not particularly strong, left a sting on my new cheek. Yet another stimulation I must learn to endure.
"Hey! don't sneak up on me like that! It's dangerous outside of towns!" He held out a hand to me. I didn't realize I had fallen off my feet.
I touched my cheek where it stung. It stung some more. I felt the face muscles twitch and contort. I suppose that is the normal reaction of a human body. I turned to him and took his hand. Even a daemon knew when others would help.
"Look, how about you follow me until we get back to town. You look pretty messed up in all those rags and bare skin."
I looked down. Indeed, these things called 'clothes' hung in half-made tatters across my body. I was still holding onto my knife, blood similarly dried to its blade like his. I realized I should have manifested a cover for it as well. Perhaps I still could.
The youth in front of me blushed. "Sorry, I wasn't peeking. I'll get you some clothes when we get back, ok?"
I nodded, he sighed, scratching his head. "look, my name is Morda. It's nice to meet you."
I smiled, I presumed shaping ones lips upward was smiling, and did my best to speak.
We daemons do not have names. We do not speak. We only know how to communicate through intent. We only form when we have purpose.
"I... am... Aria." | The fool had almost gotten themself killed again.
Oh, Gods damn that beautiful soul of gold.
Lyra had been watching this "hunter" from the shadows for two weeks now.
Two weeks, in which they'd been injured. The damage ranged from bullet wounds to scrapes to stabs, to burns and scratches. One look at their dark, olive skin could reveal their experience, the pain they'd gone through.
So strange, the vain Daemon thought, such gorgeous skin, such lovely shapes, why let others taint them with scars?
And she saw how they ached, from each crusade to assist ends in more injuries then the last, and from the people they'd protected, as well. More often then the creatures themselves.
Proposterous. Rediculous. Lyra had seen many a creature villified when they'd only helped, but humans inflicting pain unto their own kind?
Their own KIN?
It made the ichor in Lyra's veins boil and burn beneath her skin, to see the sorcerer with the heart of gold be broken by the people they were supposed to rely on.
To see them lose trust, to see them reject help the rare times it'd been offered. To see the Sorcerer conjure dreams of screaming villagers with flames licking their vision and their body screaming with pain..
(She eradicated those dreams as often as she could, replacing them with long lost images of their home, of fields of lush golden grass, of gentle breeze and overcast skies.... She wished she could've seen it herself. It looked... Gorgeous.)
Finally, after the second month of waiting and watching, counting the tally on their person of interest's skin, she'd had enough.
If the Human Scum wouldn't assist the little Sorcerer, then she, a Daemon of the highest degree, would.
And so, she slunk out of her comfortable little cave, her skin taking on a gorgeous pale pallor, one she'd seen and loved, her eyes losing their unnatural glow, but still shining like rubies.
She clothes herself in crimson silks and well-made sandals, and she starts searching for the whispered-of Storyteller.
This proved... Difficult.
Well, not the finding part. The deep verdant cloak stood out in the sea of warm colors of the market, booted feet only poking out from underneath the worn fabric. The ivory white hair whispered about, rumors of the golden eyed sorcerer were frequent and unpleasant.
No, no, this gorgeous creature wasn't hard to find at all. However, engaging in conversation and gaining their trust, now THAT would be more difficult.
She decided she'd be more.. discreet.
Or, well, as discreet as she could be.
"Oh! Curses, I do apologize..." She said with faux remorse, having bumped into them and spilled a (stolen) basket of cloths and ribbons..
(She'd always thought sewing was a lovely pastime for humans.)
StoryTellers marred eyebrows raised above mismatched eyes, and they knelt kindly to assist. "Woah there... It's quite alright." They answered, sending a small smile Lyra's way, picking up squares of patterned fabric and yards of ribbon.
She'd thought she'd die right then and there, that smile could KILL. And those eyes...
She felt her stolen skin heat up and redden, oh how deep she'd fallen...
She grinned as she picked up the now filled basket, face still red. "Thank you kindly, Sorcerer. I suppose I'll be seeing you around?"
Storyteller hummed and tilted their head curiously, milky gold and sharp eyes looking her over as she stood to their scrutiny...
"I suppose we shall."
They had a feeling about this woman.
And indeed, they did keep bumping into each other, the quiet sorcerer meeting the sarcastic, ebony haired but ultimately kind woman. And slowly, they knew each other, until Lyra had asked to travel with the Sorcerer, as an apprentice.
They were delighted by this turn of events.
For they were no longer alone.
And Lyra got to dote on the silly sorcerer, healing them with the small amount of positive magic she'd dedicated herself to.
It was a new routine, but both off them were quite content with it.
However, there were some hiccups in this living style.
"You have to stop taking this abuse." Lyra growled, as she spread a salve over StoryTellers bruised and scratched back, the ministrations drawing a low hiss of pain from them. "Ezra, this has gone too far."
The sorcerer sighed sadly as they picked at a healing scab, getting a slap from a delicately manicured hand.
"It went too far when they shot me.." they murmured, making Lyra's head shoot up with a scowl marring her pretty face. "You've been SHOT? Where? By the gods, I'll..."
They set a scarred hand on Lyra's shaking one, momentarily calming her.. "it's nothing bad. A graze at most."
Ezra looked down to their thigh, where, indeed, the black fabric was soaked and slowly dripping red.
Lyra growled lowly, before stopping herself when the half blind sorcerer looked to her wit concern. She scoffed and moved to their extended knee, ripping the patch of fabric off, revealing the wound...
"Now, I might be wrong, but a GRAZE is not a HOLE."
She scolded, prodding at the bullet wound and gaining a Yelp from Ezra.
Her scowl softened as she saw her loves pain... Her hands began to glow with soft red magic, a soothing color to close the wound so she could tend to it.
She kissed the area once she'd applied a painkiller and bandages, and she couldn't help but think the red on her friends face wasn't from the pain.
She stood up, and busies herself mixing herbs she hadn't even known existed a year ago,setting them in her friends outstretched hand.
A year. She'd been here, by the StoryTellers side, for a year. Was it normal for it to feel like so long and so short?
She hummed softly, guilt pricking at her as she sat beside Ezra. For all the time she'd spent with them..
She'd never told them.
So she sat, stewing in anger and guilt, wishing to tear the hearts out of those that'd hurt their dear Sorcerer, and show them what it looked like to see a dying heart.
She startled, feeling a warm hand on her shoulder, and turning to see even warmer eyes of gold.. and a smile. "Hey... I see that look on your face. What's on your mind?.."
She really couldn't resist them.
"I've never told you where I come from."
At that, they laughed. Really, truly laughed, as they sat there,more scar tissue than skin.
"Oh, my Scarlet Nebula..." The endearment made her eyes widen and her pulse to skyrocket.
But she paused, eyes widening for a different reason, as gold eyes filled with unending kindness and empathy bore into hers, crinkles at the edges.
"You really think I cant tell a Daemon from a Human?" | 2021-06-17T12:45:29 | 2021-06-17T10:27:11 | 98 | 46 |
[WP] No one is sure what happened, but suddenly everyone started obeying the law. All crime ceased. At first it was beautiful, but it quickly started going very wrong. | My mother’s voice was soft and gentle, her touch kind and enveloping. Hugged tight against her chest, I felt warm tears begin to form, wishing she’d *let me go*.
I couldn’t push her off, though. I couldn’t even blink on command, couldn’t even breathe. I was just a puppet. *Everyone was.*
Finally released from the hug, my chin lifted to look her in the eyes. My lips tugged into a smile, and I could taste the salt as the tears I had been quietly weeping rolled past my split lips. She returned the smile, and I imagine it looked just as crooked and wrong on my face as it did on hers.
“I love you, mama.”
The words were tender, but my voice was all wrong. It sounded like someone was playing my vocal chords like an instrument, each syllable a note and each note off-key.
She just kept smiling in return, turning away from me to walk into the kitchen- presumably to get my lunch. I waited for her return like a soldier at attention, back rigid and muscles tense. They never got to relax, not even in rest- I would lie in bed, limbs straight as boards, breathing even in a mockery of sleep as I waited for the sun to rise again. God, I ached. It was hell.
It was then that my mother returned, singing out a cheerful goodbye from unwilling lips as she handed me a brown paper bag. For the first time that morning, I got a good look at her face. She was crying too, I realized, not even able to wipe away the trailing tears.
“Have a good day at school, Sammy.”
“Goodbye, mama.”
It was the least alone I’d felt in months. | If you have invested in the literature of this course, you may be familiar with many of the works of the author Isaac Asimov and his "Three Laws of Robotics." The laws themselves weren't important as more of the focus was on the results of those laws. Robots hard coded to follow them found many problems, both psychological and ethical. If anything, the human's works were a sharp warning about following such absolute, simple rules.
However, given our findings on Earth's history, including their death, one cannot help but draw comparisons. From the records we've translated, it seems it started with a sudden surge in self-care. In essence, humans started following the 3rd law, paraphrased here as:
>A human must protect its own existence.
A radical surge in behavior started suddenly. Unhealthy habits and manners seemingly stopped overnight. Consumption of the molecule known as nicotine ended immediately. Consumption of sugars and alcohols dropped quickly, despite their caloric advantage. Food consumption shifted worldwide to include mostly plant material, though select animals were still consumed.
Soon, a second shift in behavior occurred. Though some degree of civil misbehavior is expected in all lawbound civilizations (see Perqurd's *Crime is Law's Child* for more information), humans stopped violating laws. In terms of Asimov's work:
>Higher priority: A human must obey the laws given to it.
This caused a lot of confusion at first. While everyone acting healthier was not seen as strange, many humans were apprehensive that there were no crimes. Almost like prey waiting for the predator to just "pounce already and get on with it." (Ref: Human Archive, Patriots First by Will Autherby, S12E4, AUID 5676315869119375) But nothing happened. Lawfulness was accepted as a new way of life. Of course, if you've studied human history at all, there are those who would take advantage of that for no good end. Of course, I reference all 473 Human Subrace Genocide Attempts.
However, this advantage was never taken. While there is evidence of laws beginning to be written for such attempt (18 different ones at nearly the same time), they were cast aside as a new law took hold.
>Higher priority: A human may not injure nor, through inaction, allow a human to come to harm.
Militaries were seen as useless, though in truth they were repurposed. Infrastructures were strengthened. Poverty suddenly became a non-issue. Population rates were stabilized. It is at this point most historians would like this story to stop. A utopia was coming to fruition. World peace achieved.
Alas, this course is titled, "The Death of Humans." And I chose Asimov's "Three Laws" for a reason. In his works, robots followed the laws as best they could, but eventually some came to a conclusion. A more important law that is this context would read as:
>Higher priority: A human may not injure nor, through inaction, allow *humanity* to come to harm.
This progression is logical. The first law I presented prioritized the self. The second prioritized immediate humans, namely their society, laws, and social structure. The third prioritizes all humans.
The fourth prioritizes the *concept* of being human. There are many recordings of humans who ended their life willingly, even happily. In some cases, they just felt unworthy to be human as it tainted humanity. Other cases justified their uselessness for removing themselves.
Humanity wasn't wiped from existence from disease, war, or natural disaster. They just removed themselves. Studies still haven't figured out what caused this almost hivemind-like behavior. However, no further impact has been detected. The Central Authority has not quarantined this planet, despite not finding the cause. That said, this course will highlight and display, through both archived material and planetside exploration, the signs and symptoms of their demise.
Because stars help us if this happens anywhere else and we don't recognize it.
\--
Armhuj Verstraad
Senior Professor
Department of Isolated Civilizations
Tergmire University
"Knowledge and Wisdom are either inseparable or useless" | 2021-09-22T11:18:45 | 2021-09-22T09:54:05 | 54 | 32 |
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