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] There is a girl in school that you lately have a huge crush for. The way she dresses, talks and acts seems to be like your ideal type. One day you steal and hack her phone hoping to find some info you can use to win her over. The phone is full of pictures, videos and recordings of you. | I fiddled with my homemade dog tag, running my fingers along the rough edges.
"Was she spying on me?" I double-checked my VPN and onion connections by clicking on the diagnostic software, all green lights.
Then I checked all the video cameras that give a view of the less well-maintained mansion and the more Well-kept neighbouring building complexes.
Nothing, even the heat signatures only showed a couple of nocturnal critters scavenging for food, and a cat gracefully walking along the high walls as if showing off her cat walking skills down a T shaped stage.
A couple of bats zoomed across the night sky, a slight chilly gust made me shiver, with a press of a button, a hydraulic system automatically closed the mosaic window depicting a decapitated monster with an electric motor sound.
Turning back to the lit phone screen, I did a data pool, 3000 images of me, more than 500 videos and 4500 hours of audio recording.
I shuddered again, feeling cold sweat oozing down my back.
"Amy, run system diagnostics." I commanded in a rather shaky voice.
"All defence systems online." A voice said right next to my right ear.
Just as I was to breathe a sigh of relief, I jumped, as far as I remembered, the loudspeakers are quite far from my ears.
Before I managed to move a muscle, however, a pair of hairy arms clamped down on me, keeping me in the comfy leather seats, though I start to feel a lump in my throat.
A pair of pink eyes materialised right in front of me, they winked and her translucent figure distorted the space as she undid some kind of cloaking thing.
It's her, in her usual lovely white dress and her hair made in the ancient style with beads and gemstones embedded.
I gulped and offered a forced smile, "I suppose I shouldn't have taken your phone?" | BECKY AURORA.
If only she knew this late blooming, zit infested- gamer stud is infatuated with her to the point that I have imaginary conversations to myself to what I would say to her.
"SOooo....Bex and effects. ALL I WANNA DO IS IN A ZOOM-ZOOM ZOOM and a BOOM BOOM!" While I shake my rump to Teddy Riely's voice in my head.
Whenever class let's out, I purposely find an excuse to track her to what I call, 'intercepting points,' for an opportunity to see her, between the 6 bells, also sharing 3 classes. P.E., Drivers Ed and Biology. I almost died last week when I was forced to play flag football and Mr. Banana(or actual name, Mr. McCana) elected me to play shirtless during shirts VS skins.
It wouldn't be such a problem if my armpit hair was visible, but it is not, mostly because my armpit hair doesn't exist! Now Becky KNOWS! I HAVEN'T EVEN FINISHED PUBERTY!
Before bed, since 14, I have prayed religiously for even a single follicle to sprout so I could parade it as a badge of honor! "I'm a member of manhood now! The brotherhood of men!" I would think to myself. Instead, the girl I would die for, doesn't even know I'm alive...
During Drivers Ed today, my dreams came true! Becky, Alexandra, the foreign exchange student and I, a fluent speaker of English, were paired together. All I had to do was TALK! I mean....Alexandra is likely to stay silent as usually timid and I have practiced countless hours for this opportunity..even repeatedly watching The Seceret, to attract this moment to happen....AND IT'S ACTUALLY HAPPENING!
Becky stands, holding her Drivers Ed book with her right hand across her chest, twirling her hair with her left and swaying back and fourth as if she is anticipating the silence to break. My mind processes the dozens of ice breakers I have practiced a million times but can not cure this indecisive moment to heal my aching heart! And then it happens....she looks directly at me and says my name! She knows my fucking name!
The impatient girl, waiting for a conversation to strike, says, "Paul, do you know anything about Galaxy phones? I'm locked out and can't get in mine."
"Ahh..yeah, I DO! We can do a password reset, no problem!" I say naturally without passing out.
While resetting her password I pretend to look away but TOTALLY see it while she enters the 6 digits.
07-04-05. HEY...that's my birthday?!
After school. My mind went into overdrive. Obsessing over if serendipity is to blame or does she REALLY KNOW MY NAME AND HAVE MY BIRTHDAY AS A PASSWORD!?
Next morning, I realize that I never slept. I go to school knowing every class Becky's in and find that the best opportunity to swipe her phone is during P.E. as I know it'll be in her locker. She is also the only girl with converse on, so her locker will be easiest to find. All I have to do is grow the balls to go in there!
My shot to go in the locker room falls in place like a Lego peice as two jocks get into a fight and everyone rushed over to watch.
Without hesitation, I execute the mission without issue, conquering all objectives.
1st-Breach Girls locker room door
2nd-Locate locker with red Chuck All-Stars
3rd-Steal phone and get the HELL OUT OF THERE!
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.
As the fight gets broken up, it's time to go change. Instead of leaving for the next 'interception,' I stay in the locker room to see if the 'Universe' is telling me something?
As the phone is unlocked, I go to photos and find my pictures saturated through the screen! I even found videos...immediately recognizing shirt VS skins day! My joy and heart beat find a rhythm together!
"SOooo, Paul and effects...can I have my phone back?" Becky's voice projects from the end of the lockers.... | 2021-09-22T21:48:37 | 2021-09-22T19:07:00 | 47 | 20 |
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run. | I've never felt the same since learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling me to run.
Me and my relatively large family live in the outskirts of London, so we get rained on quite often. All my younger siblings love the rain, and each time they hear the slightest tap on the roof or spot the tiniest drop on the windows, they frantically climb into their rain jackets and jump into their boots, dashing out the front door almost at the same time.
I used to join them, I would get excited when I saw a puddle for us to play in and would call them over so we could splash eachover enough to feel ill the next morning. Although, as much as I try to enjoy myself nowadays I can't step outside into the water wonderland with my siblings without hearing the rains message. | Davie was fascinated with the power of the Morse Code. It can help you in such a situation, that you can pass a note using your fingers or any objects on your hand and tap it as it had a letter meaning, Davie thought 'Why not learn it? I have nothing else to do.' Davie began to research Morse Code, the dot and dash meaning equal to its letter on the sheet. After almost a week, a storm passed by to their town. Laying beside the table near the window, listening to the news about the planet's status. Climate change has been really bad, only a few individuals only pay attention to their planet's home.
Davie was one of the people who were between, they cares about it but sometimes not. The rain pours slowly and the grey clouds hug around Davie's small town. Davie keeps in mind the sounds of the bleeps in Morse Code. They didn't mind at the first drops of the rain until their mind claps around the same *tap* on the ground. 'Interesting' Davie thought. Davie stopped what they were doing and began to focus on the sounds of the rain. Tap. Tap... Tap. Resembles the letter R. Davie's eyes widen that it really rhythms to the Morse Code then another letter taps. Davie continues to focus on and try to solve. But failed, the rain poured heavy and wind shaking the near trees around their home. Davie, thought it was just a coincidence. After a while, Davie's mind went off about the rain earlier.
A few weeks have passed and a small storm was coming up, Davie still learning more about the letter's sounds in Morse Code meanwhile the individuals (people) are just minding their own business, as usual, trying to solve their daily life problems about bills and others. But Davie's mind got a flashback about the last few week's storm as the raindrops started to pour. Davie tried to wipe the thought and proceed with what they were doing. After a while Davie's mind keeps hearing the letter R, then an N. And a U. 'RNU?' Davie thought, thinking it might have a meaning like the U.S.A = United States of America. Davie tries to solve what might the RNU means. 'Republic National Up...no that's doesn't sound right. Maybe Republic National...' Which Davie stopped. And try to focus again on the rain.
'R...U...N' Davie thought chuckling turns into confusion and fright to Davie's guts. "Run," Davie said slowly. A thunder strikes where Davie's electricity had downed, Davie quickly get their phone and open the flashlight on it, trying to contact someone as the clouds turns to a darker pink/orange/red shade, and the rain keeps on pouring and pouring. After a while, the rain cleared around 8 minutes on the clock of Davie's phone. A big blast explosion existing in the skies. A light that made Davie duck and covers to safely. 'A nuclear attack?' Davie thought. 'That's not possible, maybe a terrorist attack?' Davie's mind keeps telling in such possibilities what the explosion might mean. Davie didn't know that the sun has been exploded and turns into a red big dwarf. | 2021-09-28T09:11:59 | 2021-09-28T08:56:15 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] You are a powerful mage whose job it is to build prisons for powerful mages that are impossible to escape. Today upon completing your masterpiece they lock you up in it. | "Really?"
I slowly stood, brushing the dirt from my robes. I could hear the shuffling nearby, as my Guardian slowly awakened. With a sigh I turned to face my client. They had a slightly embarrassed look on their face, as they shrugged.
"Sorry Charles. If it makes you feel any better I personally didn't want this."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Could you at least tell me the reason, there must be one."
Sofia gave a small smile at my nonchalant attitude.
"The Board are concerned. Fates Eyes clearly see your path growing dark and bitter. They couldn't see the trigger though, so they decided to nip the problem in the bud."
The shuffles turned into individual footsteps. I glanced behind at my handiwork, a large construct of red crystal. I had based it on a humanoid, though that form was now hard to see. It had a three sided head, each set with a black eye. Two arms came from shoulders, ending in enlarged crushing paws.
It's reach was further upgraded by a series of tendrils, sprouting at evenly spaced points along it's chest and back. They could change between smooth manipulators, spiked clubs and razor sharp blades. Below them, where its belly would be protruded a larger mass of crystal. That I was particularly proud of, as it could absorb spells and fire them back.
Finally, it was supported by four chunky legs. It gave it a large range of movement, with a grip on even the slipperiest of floors. It was in all aspects the cental part of my masterpiece. For a moment I felt fear, but it soon passed.
"So you made me build my own cell. Not going to lie, that is a pretty smart move."
I crossed my arms, despite feeling a drain as the inbuilt sigils began to to activate as well.
"There is one thing however you didn't take into account."
She frowned at that, stepping closer to the grated door.
"Whats that?"
I felt my smile widen, as the Guardian recognised who I was.
"That I always expect to be betrayed."
It stomped over to me, gently lifting me up. It's tendrils wrapped around me to form a protective barrier, as it turned its attention to the door. It strode over, rearing back with a battering ram of a fist, before driving it forwards. I heard metal bend and creak, behind which came a distinctive pop.
As it prepared to swing again, I glanced out. Sofia had gone, teleported to safety. I just nodded to myself. I didn't necessarily hold it against her. She was just a single player in the ever changing game of politics. The Board however, those I did hold it against.
That brought a faint amusement to me. The Fates Eye couldn't see what caused me to go bad. I think they now knew what that act was. And this was entirely their fault. The door broke from my Guardians second impact, and it pulled its way outside. I sighed as the drain stopped, and strength returned.
"Dark and bitter hey? We will see about that." | "What the hell! What blasphemy is this?" I howled as the guards dragged me into my open cell. The general tailed us and, not once, made eye contact with me. His eyes shifted all around the corridor.
The cell was in front of us. The guards pushed me inside and immediately shut the door before i made an iota of retaliation. The gaurds back away, as the general drew close to the enchanted bars of my cage.
"You are no prisoner. You are being protected." His gravelly and aged voice rang into my soft ears and bounced all through the empty halls.
"Then, why are you keeping me here?" I stood across from him. We matched eye to eye in height, yet he continued to avoid my gaze.
"A certain group wants you, people like you, for your power. They will stop at nothing to get it."
"What group?"
"The Mage Hunters. They are warriors bent on draining mana from people like you for their own gain. They only seek to plunge our world into a dark age."
"Then, let me face them. Mere warriors can't stop me. You know this."
"I and the king will not allow it. All of us is in great peril. We must keep you here till we rout the Hunters."
"You are all foolish. Give me a reason why i can not possibly face them on my own?"
He cleared his throat, "Their leader was said to be a summoner."
I froze. "A-a summoner? As in, the arbiter of creation and mana, summoner? The strongest known class of mages, summoner?"
The general nodded. I stumbled back into the wall of my cell while my gaze dropped to the floor. "I thought that was just a myth..."
The general pulls a scroll from within his armor, it appeared to be a letter. He unraveled it and noted the following, "King Dysley, their attack was fierce as it was quick. Their leader, whoever he is, made quick work of my kingdom and of my many men. Hellish creatures stormed through without effort. Dragons of no name, and dead legendary warriors given new life for a single purpose: spilling blood..."
"Enough! I-I am convinced..." He placed the scroll into the hands of his subordinate. I look up at him and he finally met my gaze.
"Vernia. You will stay here until we sort this out. We can not afford to let people like you out of our protection."
"Even still, i have to try! We need to mobilize all of the strongest mages to..."
A stomp from his steel armor shook my entire thin frame. "This is what must be done. You can not leave this place. I do not want to hear any more from you. You will only make things difficult for both of us."
He turned his back from me. "Your gaurds are still under your command. They can bring you books or other entertainment per request as well as food. Though, i must beg please, please, please do not try to leave this place."
"How can I? This is mage escape proof, remember?"
"I am aware, but I know better than to doubt the 'Empress of Knowledge'. Especially when she created her own cell."
His voice is now reduced to a whisper as on of his soldiers brought a handkerchief. Though, I can not see it, I know he was in tears. "I do not want to see you get hurt..."
"Pardon?" I perked up ears.
"...the kingdom do not want to see you get hurt." His clanking armor echoed through the empty halls of a freshly made prison. In between the clammy metal, I heard soft weeping.
I sat on a stool by a window with bronze bars that I could never break. The room was cramped, as a cell for criminals would be, perhaps it was my height that made it feel more cramped than it is. Regardless, this would be my new home. A sad little bed, an empty bookshelf and a tattered little stool with a depressing table to accompany it. A lone guard stood by my cell. He looked off into the distance while i tried to familiarize myself with it. It was strange to be the first prisoner of my own creation, let alone a prisoner at all.
"Excuse me."
The guard turned his head. "Madame Vernia!"
"Please, just Vern. May I request for a bigger bed?" I knew well that my feet would hang from the end of it and it would drive me mad. The least I can do is make myself comfortable.
"That can be arranged. Though, i must handcuff your hands and shackle your ankles to this cage so-"
"I know how this works, dear. I made this place and all of its precautions."
The guard simply nodded. He was conflicted, he did not appreciate me interrupting him but he is visibly afraid of me to speak out. Is it of my stature or my magical prowess? Either way, as I stuck my hands and feet through the bars, I apologized to him. He quickly chained me to my cell gate and fetched for my new bed. All the while, I thought about what I must do to break free. They will need me. Hell, they need all of the strongest mages to handle this threat. It may not be tomorrow, or a day or week or month afterwards, but, for the sake of this kingdom, it will happen. | 2022-03-26T14:29:27 | 2022-03-26T14:12:59 | 186 | 48 |
[WP] When Earth gained magic, many workers from unseeming professions rose to power. Artists used their vast imagination, scientists their intricate understanding of the world around them... but programmers spent their time finding exploits and bugs. | The world ended June 14th, 2063.
The first harbinger of doom was the Great Awakening, as it was called. The moment when magic came back to the world. In retrospect it was a long time coming, slowly building over the course of generations. It wasn't until it hit a critical tipping point where conscious manifestation could occur that anybody actually knew what was going on. It was on that day, February 29th 2020 that some thing strange started happening all across the world. Whenever someone strongly visualized something they would affect the world around them. At first only artists seemed to possess the visualization skills necessary to manifest changes into the world. It was minor at first, a splash of water here, a candle flame there. But it increased in scope and scale as time went on, as magic grew stronger. Soon other professions joined in, authors and engineers, actors and technicians. More and more people could manifest greater and greater effects, though even the most potent of effects were dwarfed by muscle power.
The second harbinger of doom was called the Magical Renaissance. Those of a more abstract mindset could manifest. Scientists, as is their nature, sought to learn all they could of this new phenomena, and learned that by combining classical physics with the new magical physics they could create far greater effects than previously manifested. Archimedes once said "If you give me a lever and a place to stand, I can move the world." Physics is the lever, and magic is the place to stand. Knowing where to push made all the difference in the world. On October 31st 2040 the first unaided human flight occurred, a feat previously thought impossible as an odd quirk in the pile of quirks that was magic meant picking yourself up was just as impossible with magic as it was without it. But as it turns out, with the right mindset and knowledge, you can nudge the vector forces of gravity and just *not fall.* Suddenly magic went from being a neat, though dangerous, toy to a serious force ripe for exploitation. A golden age of discovery and abundance was upon us. Or so we thought.
But magic didn't stop there. The third and final harbinger of doom was yet to come, unnamed because so very few could even recognize it as a harbinger of doom. The potency of magic continued to rise, but it was just noise attributed to experimentation and proficiency rather than a continuing swell. Nobody quite realized that the more and more abstract and indirect concepts were able to be manifested due to an inherent and fundamental change. Until that fateful day. June 11th, 2063. The day the first self-referential spell was cast. Conditional spells were uncommon, but known, a manifestation that would go one way under certain conditions and another way under other conditions. But this spell was different. Someone managed to chain a conditional effect in such a way that the spell recast itself when the right conditions were met. The technique spread and it was like the Great Awakening all over again, a world of untapped potential just waiting to be realized.
And realized it was. All it took was one little mistake, one poorly designed spell. Recursion without an achievable exit condition. A spell continually recasting itself, spawning infinite copies of itself. On a computer it's a problem, but a resolvable one. Absolute worst case scenario you just wipe the corrupted drive and restart from scratch. It turns out reality has a lot in common with a computer, and this was an absolute worst case scenario.
And so the world ended June 14th, 2063, three full days after the first recursive spell. Magic is gone, crashed out of existence. Nobody can feel even the subtle indications that were only initially identifiable in retrospect.
I wonder when it'll come back again. | (I know I'm commenting on my own post but I got an idea and just had to jot it down)
Arthur was having a good day. Great, even. Hell, he was damn near having a great decade. Only nine years ago, magic just sorta... popped up on Earth. No one knows why, no one knows how. Everyone called it "The Magic-ening". Arthur called it "about damn time".
The first people to make proper use of it were artists. Apparently, having a decent imagination helps when practicing wild magic. Not too long after, they got surpassed by the chemists, who conjured new chemicals with incredible effects from their fingertips, then the theoretical physicists cracked wormholes, the doctors solved cancer, the nuclear physicists fucked up Kentucky... it's been an eventful nine years.
But the greatest advancement of all had been when some IT guy a few years back realized that aurum - magical energy, the name derived from what we called it at first, "Wise Man's Gold", but that's beside the point. The point is, this guy realized that it tended to react to certain old viking runes. Weird, right? He did some experimenting with other ancient languages and turns out, there's a whole goddamn magic alphabet. So, he studied, made some documentation (as any good programmer does), and released it to Reddit.
Instantly programmers around the world were fucking around with the new pseudo-coding language. Github repositories, YouTube tutorials, they went insane coming up with new spells. At some point they realized you didn't even need to write the spell down, if you could conjure up some light in the shape of the words you wanted.
Arthur believed he had just made the best one.
"Listen - Jason. Trust me. You're gonna shit yourself when you see this." Jason was Arthur's best pal. Before The Magic-ening, they were both amateur game developers in their early twenties, they even met each other at a game developer convention. Since then, they've been kinda swamped with coming up with new spells, and even made a prominent name for themselves as spellsmiths. They were hired by dozens of companies to make convenient spells, battlemages to make battle spells, etc.
"New spell?" Jason asked. "Let's see it."
Arthur visibly brightened. He loved showing off his work. He didn't get many compliments before he started programming, but he was always enamored by the ones he got from it. Now that The Magic-ening had happened and he was a well-known spellsmith, money came too. And he knew he'd be getting plenty of both compliments *and* money from this. "I got this idea from the ice-bullet spell you made for that battlemage last month. The one where instead of using aurum to create ice and movement, you used it to fuel a conversion of thermal energy to kinetic. Basically robbing an area of heat, making ice, and converting all that heat into movement that chucked the icicle fast enough to puncture a tank?"
"Yes. I know how my own spell works, dude. Get on with it, you're making me too curious!"
"Yeah yeah, brilliant work and whatnot. Well, that gave me an idea. Aurum is just another form of energy right? Well, if we can convert forms of energy into other forms of energy... what if we could convert them into aurum too?" Arthur smirked as the spell he'd come up with formed itself above the palm of his hand. He aimed it towards the empty plains that they used as testing grounds, and unleashed it.
A huge chunk of ice appeared out of thin air where his palm was facing. Glowing, golden energy, aurum, rushed towards his hand and floated there.
As realization set in, Jason began panicking. "Hoooly shit. A spell that returns all the energy used to cast it. This is big. Huge. This could revolutionize spellsmithing!" Jason shouted. He was, ah, kinda freaking out. Understandably.
"Yeah, and that'd only be the third time we did that," Arthur chuckled. "But that isn't the best part." Again he cast the spell, this time using only the aurum gathered in his hand, and unleashed the spell a little bit to the right of the chunk of ice that was already there.
This time, the resulting chunk of ice was bigger. Not a significant amount bigger, only around one and a quarter times the size, but bigger nonetheless. And so, too, was the amount of aurum that flooded back to Arthur's palm.
Jason was... well, before he was freaking out. Now, he thought that Arthur wasn't joking when he said that Jason would shit himself. "Th-the return... is greater? Why?"
Yet again, Arthur's ego took over. "It's quite simple, really. What weighs more - a block of wood or the amount of energy needed to move that block of wood?"
"What?"
"Energy has mass just like we do. It's just so tiny we barely even notice it. And, similar to a block of wood, the amount of aurum required to convert any amount of heat into aurum is smaller than the amount of aurum you get from converting heat into it. You get more energy back than you lose."
"I... jesus fucking christ, dude. What are you gonna do with this?"
"I dunno. Sell it? Monopolize it? I could even use it for myself if I wanted. It'd make a pretty decent battle spell. Maybe I could become a battlemage."
-- * --
<BEGINNING PROGRAM>
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.
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.
<PROGRAM STARTED. TYPE REQUESTED INFORMATION>
Reign of Arthur Audhild
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.
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<THE AUDHILD EMPIRE. LEAD BY ARTHUR AUDHILD UNTIL HIS UNTIMELY DEATH CAUSED BY AN EXPERIMENTATION ERROR IN 2046. RELEVANT INFORMATION: AURUM-TO-AURUM SELF-CONVERSION CASCADE. LASTED FOR 69 YEARS, FROM 2031 TO 2102. SUCCEEDED BY HIS KIN. CONSIDERED TO BE MOST PROSPEROUS EMPIRE OF ALL TIME. DISAPPEARED FROM THE FACE OF THE EARTH IN 2102. REASONS UNKNOWN>
End program
<PROGRAM TERMINATED BY USER> | 2022-05-11T15:59:25 | 2022-05-11T13:33:01 | 97 | 25 |
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation". | "This isn't going to work out the way you think," the Devil said, eyes narrowed at the man standing before him. He was unassuming, even for a human - plain clothes, a scruffy face you'd forget in a heartbeat, and only a handful of scars allowed him to stand out.
"Others have tried this wording, you know?" the Devil continued.
"I assumed they did. And I am okay with that," the man responded. He was... calm, oddly so, for someone in the presence of the Lord of Hell. His manner of speech was cool and collected, just short of being robotic.
"Very well," the Devil said and tapped his fingers on the mahogany desk he sat at. A scroll materialised itself before him, ready to be written upon. "So, is it the cancer? I can remove it and give you, let's say, 15 years before-"
"Not for me. My city," the man interrupted.
"Your city," the Devil repeated curiously.
"The Night Stalkers come every single sunset. Get rid of them and my soul is yours."
The Devil raised an eyebrow and from below his desk pulled out a folder. Let's see... Lee Nefter, sheriff in the city of... Durthel, under siege from various assorted monsters for the last 4 weeks, primarily *tenebris humanica -* mutated human. *How ironic*. No help available. 852 dead thus far.
"Fancy yourself a hero?" the Devil grinned. The man frowned.
"Do you accept?" he growled.
The Devil took a deep breath and, amused by the human's audacity, decided to state his curiosity. He focused and gazed deep into the man's mind and soul. It was always entertaining to see the souls of those noble and selfless, the kind and caring, as their inner turmoil of dealing with Him caused so much conflict.
Only... this man had no nobility, he had no selflessness. He'd expected to find his heart filled with love for his fellow man but... it wasn't. He *hated* them, despite continuing to serve as their sheriff. He'd long abandoned ideals of justice and integrity, no longer believed people were good. There was barely a scrap of kinship towards them. No, this man's heart and soul were filled with something different altogether.
*Spite*.
Pure, unadulterated loathing flowed through his veins - anger at the monsters who so callously came and slaughtered, rage at the injustice in what was an already unjust world, disgust at their consumption of flesh. He didn't care about the townsfolk, not really. But he did care about the bastards who *dared* to kill them and he was willing to damn himself just to see them suffer.
The Devil could not help but chuckle. This... this was fun. He cracked his neck.
"Done. You'll find them dead within two days. Give their bodies a good kick for me."
The man took a deep breath, his eyes closed.
"So," he said, "where do I sign and how long do I have?"
The Devil nodded ever so slightly and a door behind the man opened, a bright light emanating from it.
"Out," the Devil commanded. The man's disposition changed for the first time since his visit.
"I don't understand. I didn't sign-" he said with complete confusion.
"Oh, no. You're more fun out there. So *this one*," the Devil said with a, well, devilish grin, "t*his one is on the house.*" | He summoned the devil on a canyon ledge, a thousand feet above the thin trickle of a river. Sunset painted distant mountain valleys, a few coarse trees above whithered shrubs and grasses like an old man’s patchy beard. The sky an unexpected brilliance, salmons with too much pink and shades of purple.
The devil was a tall, thin man in a pinstriped suit. He smoked a pipe, blowing ink-black rings at that sunset. The rings expanded, hazing the horizon, and the world disappeared.
“I’d like to sell my soul,” said the man.
His name was Robert, pronounced *“like the French say it,*” according to his mother, though they’d grown up in a trailer park in Arizona and the only Paris they had ever visited was in Texas. He had a wife, a child. His daughter was the light of his life, and when the sunset went out Robert couldn’t help but think that she’d have loved it. All that pink. He was a man of contradictions: he liked football, but couldn’t stomach beer anymore; he loved hunting, but not the part where you shot the animals; he had a family, he was here.
The devil leaned back, kicked his shoes off. Robert watched them fall through the darkness that the smoke rings had created, listening for the sound of impact. He didn’t hear it. Socks followed, and barefoot now the devil wiggled his toes over the drop, careless, like he hadn’t heard what Robert said. Robert cleared his throat and the devil raised a finger to silence him. His fingers and toenails were painted a sickening rust red, chipped in places. Instinctively, Robert knew that it was blood.
“Son,” the devil drawled, “it’s 2022. Souls are a buyer’s market.”
Robert hadn’t expected that. He stared down over the canyon lip, thinking quickly. He had never owned property, invested in stock. He had never gone to college, barely graduated high school. He had never negotiated for anything more expensive than his uncle’s F-150, or drinks on those nights, before he’d met his wife and daughter, when he’d gone out knowing that he couldn’t pay.
He was out of his element, and it felt like a thousand years since the last time he thought clearly.
“Alright,” Robert said. “What’s that mean?”
The devil conjured a scroll from the night, peering at it for a frustrated moment before conjuring eyeglasses as well. “It means the soul of one Robert Dubois is currently selling for an all time low. You can’t buy you money, power, or women. You won’t sell for extra years, and I don’t deal in world peace, if you’re one of those starry eyed fucks that I keep getting.” The scroll burned away, and the devil turned towards him, glasses falling down his sharp, patrician nose. “In short, if you want to be Hugh Hefner or something equally exciting, wait a year or ten.”
“I don’t want to be Hugh Hefner,” Robert said.
The devil slapped his thigh, darkness quivering around them. “Then we’re in business! Now, what do you want? I have places to be.”
And Robert, thinking of his little girl, and of the sunset blotted out, said “Salvation.”
“Come again?”
“Salvation.”
The devil shook his head. "Son, if you were trying to pray you got all kinds of fucked up somewhere.”
“Not that kind of salvation, god, angels, heaven; I don’t care about those things. I want salvation from myself. The thoughts in my head.” Robert pointed down into the canyon. “From that. I want to go home tonight, hug my daughter, kiss my wife, and know that in twenty years they’ll be proud of me. Think that I did good. That’s the kind of salvation I want. For the world to get the fuck out of my way and just give me a chance to help them.
“I want to get out of bed without having to think about it. I want to sleep at night, without dreaming, and I want sunrise to stop feeling boulder rolled up my legs and settled on my chest.”
In the aftermath they were silent. The canyon stretched below them, a thousand feet to the river. Robert felt himself hyperventilating, tried his best to stop it. He’d worked in a foundry for a while; when he was like this it felt like someone had poured molten steel into bones.
The devil held his hand out. They shook, and when their skin touched Robert felt his heart slowing. Something settled inside him, he could hear it; a hiss, like metal tempering. Was that his imagination, or had the devil’s handsome features softened somehow? Could he do that?
But the devil was gone, the haze of smoke dissolving, gauzy and immaterial as lace and then blown away on a sudden wind, leaving the last seconds of the sunset behind. Salmons with too much pink and shades purple. No, Robert thought, just enough pink.
He rose, swaying unsteadily above the canyon. The river ran away from him, disappearing in the distance. He walked back towards his truck, forgetting, step by step, the invocation he had made, the conversation he’d just had, though sometimes the colors surfaced, vague sensory impressions.
He went home, kissed his wife and hugged his daughter. Slept dreamlessly and woke lighter. Slept dreamlessly again and woke lighter still, anticipating.
In his later years, returning to that canyon, it was to show a beautiful young woman and her little daughter, his granddaughter, the sunset he’d remembered. The river ran away from them. Last light painted mountain valleys. The sky an unexpected brilliance, because good moments can be like that, worth it, new and awe-inspiring, at the start of every morning, or the close of every day.
r/TurningtoWords | 2022-06-30T11:09:44 | 2022-06-30T10:34:02 | 1,175 | 418 |
[WP] After struggling in school all year you finally stood up to your bully and knocked him out with a punch in front of everyone. He promptly disapperead, turning into a pile of quarters. | It happened suddenly, and truthfully, I wasn't expecting it. The douche that bullied me for years finally got what was coming to him, but this just made no sense, or should I say cents?
I desperately tried controlling my breathing, both because I was extremely angry and now panicking. I mean, how does a man turn into a pile of quarters?
A worrying thought crossed my mind. What if I have a super power? Is this my origin story? Crap, I have to think fast. I may have accidently murdered someone.
I glance back at the quarters... Second that, I definitely murdered him. I need time to think, but there is no time! Lindsay, the cute cheerleader looks like she's about to call the police or drop to her knees in tears. I'm not sure which, but it's probably one of those... Yup, there's the phone.
I need to say something! Anything! Just something that won't make me seem like a villain.
"Keep the change, I won't be needing it," I said with a dark tone, a smirk firmly plastered on my face.
Internally I was wondering what the fuck I just said? Did I want to be evil? Cause I totally just came off as super evil! Damn, I'm so going to jail... | I woke up from a late night playing too many video games. I stumbled past my father on the couch. As usual he was passed out, beer cans thrown in a pile by the tv. I went into the kitchen, nothing to eat but leftover chicken fried rice from “Taste of the East”. I dumped some in a bowl and threw it in the microwave.
As it heated, I grabbed a fortune cookie from the bottom of the plastic bag the container had been in. Cracking it, I put the pieces in my mouth. Surprised by the taste of paper, I reached into my mouth and pulled out a paper slip “You have the ability to make your dreams a reality if you be brave and work hard” I shrugged and pocketed the paper.
If I didn't hurry, i'd be late. I pulled the bowl out, as soon as it cooled enough,I scarfed it down and ran to catch the bus.The bus ride passed in a haze of sleepiness. Before I knew it, I had arrived: Shady Glens Elementary School.
The morning passed, the same useless lessons from teachers too underpaid and tired to care. Lunch came, perhaps that would be a relief. We gathered in the gym, which also doubled as the cafeteria.
I felt a meaty hand on my shoulder “Hey fuckface! Gimme yer money!!” I turned around. It was Josh Fisher. I'd somehow forgotten about him. He stood a good two heads taller than everyone and was already 300lbs. He was easily one of the meanest people in the school. His dad was rich, and gave Josh anything he wanted.
“I don't have any money...”
“Yeah,I forgot, you get free lunch because you're fucking poor!!! You're a looser like your dad who don't work!” I did'nt say anything, As usual I could'nt. Somewhere deep in me, his words cut like the truth. This happened every day...
“I mean he don't even have a job,and he's a fuckin' drunk” Josh slobbered. As he leaned down, his nose inches from mine.“And where the shit is your mom? Whatever happened to her?”I said nothing.. My parents weren't together... My dad always told me I should be ashamed of my mother. Mentally ill as he said she was... I saw her on weekends.Suddenly Josh reached out a hand and pushed me backwards as he pulled the glasses off my face.
I landed on my butt and looked up in time to see the glasses snapped in two like a twig. Something broke inside me.. Before I could even think, my body moved seemingly on it's own. My right hand closed into a fist and I rushed towards Al and jumped with a shout.“HIIIIIYAAAHHHH!!!!!!”
My fist connected under his chin, a look of complete shock on his face. He never thought that anyone would stand up to him. The uppercut caught him completely by surprise. Josh staggered backwards, an agonized “BAAARRRRRFFFFFFF!!!!!!” echoed from his throat as he left the ground, propelled upwards by a strength I did'nt even know I had. The bully hit the ceiling and then exploded into a shower of coins.
Silence reigned in the gym as quarters went flying everywhere, the shrapnel knocking the assembled crowd off their feet.I stepped forward, and felt the quarters enter my pockets, as I walked over them. In all I collected about $10,000, and yet, my pockets felt no heavier. The room remained silent for what it felt like an eternity. The silence broke when 8 of Josh's "friends" rushed towards me screaming for blood. | 2022-07-24T21:33:20 | 2022-07-24T16:47:38 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] You are a demoness that fell in love with a female paladin, however when her order discovered her affair she was murdered. Now, despite how her arms and armor burn you, you set out to continue her work. | Fire.
Ashelma had always dealt in Fire.
From the ashes of her birth in the heart of Mont S'Elanie, to the towering Fireballs she cast as Lady of the Red Waste, Ashelma knew Fire well.
She was molded by it. She was built by it. She weaved it through spells and chants to throw others onto it. Fire defined her. She knew it as a mother, a sister, a tool and a weapon.
But until Clara, she has never known it as love.
When the battered Paladin staggered into her lair all those years ago, she'd thought she'd seen every Fire. But even as she laughed and raised her hands to summon forth her magic... she saw something far brighter than anything she could conjure glowing inside Clara.
Determination. Righteousness. A promise that she would never give in, never give up. Never surrender. It was a Fire brighter and more furious than Ashelma had ever seen.
A Fire that nearly consumed her.
She was so enraptured by Clara's Fire, she forgot her own. What would have been a simple evisceration before had turned into a struggle for survival as the Demoness twisted and turned to avoid the Paladin's stinging blade. For the first time, Ashelma felt... fear. Right, fear. Fear that perhaps this Fire burned too bright even for her.
It didn't of course.
When Clara came first came too in her cell, the Fire flared up. When Ashelma tried to speak to her, it flared even brighter. The Demoness knew there was no point trying to corrupt the Paladin. Her Fire was too bright. Anything she might do might run the risk of extinguishing it. And that... that just wouldn't do.
It took a week for her to stop trying to kill her. A month for her to walk the castle grounds without attempting to escape.
A year for her to find the same love for Ashelma that the Demoness had harboured for her.
It was a long road. A hard road. Ashelma was burnt by the Paladin's Fire more than once. But when she woke up in the morning and saw Clara's sleeping face next to her... well, it was worth it.
She didn't approve of Clara's decision to return back to the Order to explain herself. How could she? But even so much as she hated it, Clara's mind was set. She knew better by now than to try to douse the Fire in her lover's heart.
It was the last she ever saw of her.
A letter arrived, a week later.
A notice of execution, sealed with the Order's stamp.
She knew what it would say before she opened it.
That her Fire, her love, her everything...
She had been extinguished.
For the first time in a thousand years, Ashelma felt tears flow down her face. Not blood, nor Fire. Tears, of her broken heart.
And through her tears, she could only see one word at the bottom of the letter.
'Sodomy'
The casus belli. The reason for her death. The fancy words for a heartless act.
'Sodomy'
Not heresy. Not even treason. It wasn't for her being captured, or even risking to love a Demon.
'Sodomy'
It was for loving a woman. For loving her.
'Sodomy'
For being the brightest fire she had ever seen.
...
So yes, the armour burned. So yes, her heart ached and her eyes watered. So yes, she suffered under the weight of Clara's fallen love.
It was the only way to get inside the Order.
The only way to breach their sanctum.
The only way to burn it all to the ground.
And even as she screamed in rage and let loose her power. Even as she fell to her knees as a hundred Paladins were incinerated around her. Even as the Order died in a fire that seemed to light the horizon ablaze.
None of it burned half as bright as Clara had. | The platebody stings me. Even through the heavy linens and canvas under-layers that once smelled of her, and still do if I pretend well enough, I can feel the bite of the steel and the symbol upon it. The sword she once carried burns at my side, and chars my hand when I wield it; The symbol on the hilt, same as on the armor, wounds me just as well as the blade would. The symbol I wear around my neck, as she had once worn it, rests between my breasts, and my heart aches.
"They're signs of love," she had told me softly, once. "And of the care and justice I wield when I carry them."
I hadn't believed her, then. Or, I had. But I'd mocked the notion. Never to her face, of course. How could I? For in her eyes I saw a world I wasn't ever supposed to know. A world that was supposed to be beyond my understanding.
I was born wretched, formed wretched, and I was made to do wretched things. I had done them, and once, I had found great satisfaction in them.
But she had cradled me, none the less. She had put the symbol and its chain that otherwise rested always round her neck far from me when we laid together, and even though the iron in her blood still dazed me, her love was worth it. As I ponder it, even the memory of her love is worth far more, now. For she showed me how to be more than I was, to shed the chains I had been formed into.
'Redemption,' she had spoken, 'is never off limits. Grace is limitless, and it's never too late to turn from wickedness.'
I buried her on the first day of winter.
The iron in the shovel tore at my hands, and even as my blood welled in the rashes and fell onto the fresh snow, I still waited for her to open her eyes. As I carried her into the grave, I still waited for her to breathe. Even as I smoothed the ground above her, I still waited for her to approach from behind, and ask why her plate, and sword, and symbol were left in the snow. I couldn't leave them there. So I had put them on. The pain was incredible, and for a few brief, precious minutes, the surging, welling, unstoppable agony was a comfort against the breaking of my heart.
That was a year ago. The pain has never gone away.
But I have grown beyond it. Or so I tell myself. I walk now as she once had. Wandering, place to place. Trying to deal out the love, and care, and justice that she once had. I must not be doing it right. Or perhaps I am simply not meant to be doing it.
But as I hear a shriek from further down the road I cannot help but move myself as she once moved. I break into a sprint, every motion aching and burning against the steel and sword and symbol that I'm not supposed to carry.
There is a woman there, huddled on the ground, a writhing mass of blood and flesh cradled against her breast. A hound lays near, splayed open, now just a corpse. Over her is a wicked form, a being of pain and anguish. A thing I had once been, and perhaps always will be. It laughs, and cherishes the hurt it has caused and knows it will cause further. It cannot hear my steps, or the shattering of the steel plate I wear, or the unsheathing of the blade she used to carry. Not over its own vile laughter. But as it reaches for the woman it does hear me.
"You shall not!" My voice is rough, a shriek, and I realize there is desperation there as I crash into the demon with nary even a swing of the blade. I take it to the ground, and the metal I wear sears its flesh. It is not used to the pain. It howls, and shrieks back at me, clawing at my helm, and howls again when the blessed steel char its wicked talons. Her sword rises, and my knee is on its chest. It eyes the blade, and its slit pupils go wide as I bury her sword to the hilt. Its body turns to ash, but even as the breeze blows it away I turn to the woman.
"Please," she begs, a shaking, wet mess of blood and tears. She extends her arms towards me, and I pull back the clothed bundle there to see a child. Young. Barely enough to walk. "Please save my girl."
I take the child from her, and I do not wince against the iron-sting of her blood. I reach for the symbol around my neck, but it sits low beneath my collar, and burns my heart. I rip away the leather straps of my helm, and ignore the shocked eyes of the woman as she sees me for what I am. I pull my chest-plate away from my breast and bring out the symbol she once wore.
Moving quickly, but correctly, as I had often seen her do, I lay the child upon the ground. I take the symbol and its metal chain, and wrap it tight around my hand. I lay it upon the child's chest, desperately trying to ignore that I can see her beating heart through the wound.
There had been a light when she had done this. But there is no light now.
The heart slows.
"I ask you-" I start, but my throat tightens, and I cannot finish the prayer. I had memorized the words, so why couldn't I speak them? Was I never to use them? I try to blink away the tears forming in my eyes. "I ask-" I say, again choking on the words as the chain begins to dig, and burn, and carve into my hand.
The heart stops.
A scream escapes me, a broken sound I cannot hold back. "Let me say the words!" I wail, clenching her symbol tighter as I close my eyes towards the sky. "Please! I don't care that it hurts, just let me do this!"
And for a moment, there is silence. A long, infinite moment, broken by a flash of light, a mother's gasp, and the feeling of a heart beat against my fingers.
The wound is closed.
The symbol doesn't hurt. | 2022-08-18T02:38:10 | 2022-08-18T00:54:52 | 175 | 125 |
[WP] In the Academy for Knights, all students must bring their own weapon to matches against other students. You couldn't afford anything fancy, so you brought something more unconventional. | "The English! The English! The English are best!
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest!"
I sang in my head as I walked up to the registrar's table, weapon over my shoulder and whistling the melody.
"What on earth is that?!" he asked, looking at the long, heavy piece of wood I held. "Good Day!" I replied.
He blinked in bemusement, and I snickered. "The invitation did not state a weapon requirement for the mêlée, so I made do. I hope this does? Do, I mean."
"I suppose it does, at that," he said as he scribbled my name down in his book. "I say, you have a peculiar accent. Where are you from?" With a wide smile and an evil look in my eye, I replied: "Holland."
"Good day!" I said to my opponent on the other side of the ring. Normally my helmet would have muffled me too much to be heard, but with the crowd this quiet it actually carried far enough to be heard. The armoured man in front of me looked up at me, then over to the judge to ask something. I couldn't quite make it out, but the fact that the judge shrugged and waved towards the man holding a staff out between us made me suspect he was asking if my weapon was allowed.
"CLANG!"
That was the sound of a meter and a half of oak, topped by a spiked steel cap, meeting and denting an English helmet. The sound seemed to carry around the square the bouts were held in, shortly followed by the clanking thud of my opponent hitting the ground. Barely had the clatter of his sword stopped before everyone started speaking, or in some cases shouting, at once.
"I don't know what bothers me more," a scruffy man said as I walked up to him, holding out my left hand. "The fact you Walloons are so damned tall," he continued grumbling as he counted gold coins into my palm, "Or your twisted sense of humour."
"Firstly, I'm Frisian," I said as I carefully tucked the coins into a pouch that went into my scrip next to some hard bread and cheese, "And secondly, I just happen to enjoy a good bit of irony."
Walking past a group of grumbling spectators that had probably lost money betting against me, I gave them a jaunty wave with my left hand, making it obvious that the right still held my weapon, and went on my way with a polite "Goedendag!" | I really couldn't resist, it was just too good.
I'd apologize, but I'm really not sorry.
-
-
-
It was always a long day, surveying the Academy.
But still, as one of the few knights the court of King Leshira kept within the castle, he was always going to draw the duty eventually. Sir Haroward was nothing if not a dedicated knight, so he bore it with his usual staunch attitude.
It was mind-numbing work, but rewarding in its own way. He had no desire to work with the young knight on the constant basis of their teachers, but he could see the appeal. Every successful ripost and moment of clarity was a moment to be cherished.
But today promised to be slightly less dull. It was the tournament, a day for the students to prove themselves and decide seniority based on skill. Those who won moved into their individual apprenticeships and came one step closer to being a full knight.
There was a match he was particularly looking forward to. One of the students had apparently one this tournament in the past, but begged for leave to go on a journey to find a great master of his own.
He had returned not three weeks ago, and requested his apprenticeship. After much debate, King Leshira had decreed that he would allow him to prove himself against the champion of that year's tournament.
A win, and he would be granted his request, a loss and he would have to wait for the tournament next year.
So the final was here. Their champion, a brave yet humbled son of one of their own knights, kneeled with his sword in full armour.
Across from him, the challenger stood in a dark cloak, his arms in his sleeves and hood over his face. Not a link of chainmail was visible, and as far as he could tell he had only cloth covering him.
As the supervising knight, it fell to Sir Haroward to call for a start.
"Squire Bracebridge, be you ready?" He called to the armoured apprentice.
In answer, he stood, his sword held at the ready.
"Squire Hedgewick, be you ready?" He called to the challenger, a touch of doubt coloring his tone.
He reached up, lowering his hood, revealing black hair and green eyes blazing with humor.
"Have you a sword?" He called to the boy, his concern obvious.
The young man shook his head, "I no longer carry a sword." He called back, "My tutor did not approve, so I wield the weapon he carried himself."
Reaching into his sleeve, he drew out a brightly polished, silver…spoon.
He brandished it, "Have at you!" He challenged his opponent.
The squire blinked, then looked to Sir Haroward for approval.
He waved for his continuance, unsure how else to respond. The boy appeared quite confident, so he was curious what might come of it.
With a cry, Bracebridge rushed forward, his sword overhead for a mighty stroke.
Only for it to glance off the back of the spoon, driving it into the dirt. The spoon lashed out, taking him in the right shoulder between his armour.
Hedgewick danced back, his eyes laughing.
With a heave, the sword lurched from the dust. The blow must have been well struck, for Bracebridge was clearly favoring his left now.
He proceeded much more cautiously, and in his hesitance, Hedgewick spotted his chance. A flash of silver and the gap between the helmet and the shoulder was struck.
The boy gasped, but held on to his sword. He choked, coughing severely and clearly distracted. But rather than give his opponent longer to attack, he chose to go on the offensive.
His swing was wild, but would still have taken down an opponent more encumbered. But Hedgewick simply dashed away, then again flung the spoon, switching grips and bringing it up like a claw to hold Bracebridges' forearm next to his own.
With his other hand, he grasped the hilt of the sword. A twist of his arm, and Bracebridge released the sword.
He held the sword up to the neck of the champion, halting the contest with triumph in his eyes.
Sir Haroward clapped slowly.
"Truly a great showing," he called, "you both have earned your apprenticeships."
He walked down into the arena, clasping Hedgewick on the shoulder.
"I would like to meet this tutor of yours." He said boisterously.
Hedgewick flashed a smile, "I doubt any of us shall ever see the man again. But one can always hope."
Sir Haroward rubbed at his chin, "Perhaps I could learn from you, then. I would be honored to accept you as my own apprentice, should the King allow it. But at least tell me the name of this warrior so great he needs no sword."
His new apprentice shrugged, "I'll never know, all I know is he is a Scotsman with eyebrows as deadly as his tongue. All he told me…was that he was a Doctor."
-
-
-
Still not sorry. | 2022-09-14T19:15:04 | 2022-09-14T18:49:58 | 77 | 52 |
[WP] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them. You have been chosen, but not for the reasons you expected. | "But what if you don't have internet? I mean, it seems like the process kinda favors the richer countries."
*"It only seems that way. It comes in more forms than you know."*
"So, that's it? That's the criteria? The only criteria to become a GOD? You toss out great heroic deeds or a moralistic sense of purpose? Leadership among men? Great belief?"
*"Heroic deeds are rarely done for the reasons purported, people follow those who best let them believe they are right and a deep moralistic sense of purpose can lead to to service the demented desires of but a single soul. No, the rationale we have chosen, we think is very just and honorable."*
"Seriously? Upvotes? Seriously" | I secured my place in history young. They knew me for my stunts, my activism, my inimitable personal presence and my admirable conscience. I did good in the world. Laws were named for my movements. Wars were averted, famine eased, when I advocated compassion. I was beloved, not by all - there were certainly those who disagreed with me - but by many, perhaps even by most.
Everyone knew my name.
In age I grew cynical. It happens. I doubted that my achievements had changed anything. The world was still a cruel and unfair place. The problems I'd fought against persisted, coming back in new forms or sometimes in forms that were not new at all. I am no longer the person who closed down a juvenile detention center with unconscionable rates of abuse and nonexistent rates of rehabilitation. More later as to what, at present, I actually *am.*
Politicians, young ones who grew up hearing about me in studies of recent history, frequently cited me as an influence. I didn't correct them, didn't tell them that their idealism was unfounded or complain when they advocated ideas I never would have agreed with. I had my day. This was theirs.
The world was shocked to learn that I owned a gun.
I was old. I was cynical. I was scared. I hadn't been in the news for years, and didn't expect to be. I'd get obituaries in all the newspapers when I died, but I didn't expect to be around to read them.
And then a man... not even a man, a youth, still high school age, though he was not a student... broke into my house.
I was frightened.
I shot him. The action was not in line with the politics of my youth. I had grown cynical. I disagreed with myself. Perhaps if I had thought the action through I would not have killed the intruder, but I had no time to think it through.
The newspapers talked of me once more. Many suggested that this one action invalidated all my earlier work. I was cynical. I did not argue. Others sought to rationalize, to vilify the young man who'd run out of options in life.
The courts found me innocent of any wrongdoing. In my youth I would have protested such a law, but there were so many things to protest, so many laws perpetrating worse injustices than this one.
The politicians who cited me still admire my early work, but they did not mention me so often.
Eventually, though, the story ran its course. The people forgot. I am remembered, not for killing a trespasser in my home, but for, they say, changing the course of history. There was a time when I agreed that I had done so.
Some deify me, in a sense. My name has meaning now. It evokes specific ideals, the concepts of equality, justice, compassion.
But humans cannot truly deify anyone. And the gods know me for my other significant action.
If you want to call on me, do not use my human name. I am not that person anymore. And I cannot provide you with compassion, or justice, or equality. Other gods may serve you in those regards.
But call to me when you are frightened, and I *will* defend your home. | 2014-07-28T09:33:03 | 2014-07-28T08:53:46 | 358 | 201 |
[WP] You have dishonored your family and you must commit Sudoku.
You heard me. | I couldn't believe my dad would react this harshly, I reread his letter over and over again. But it was only a test, just a grade, I could have made it up next semester. As I lay there slowly bleeding out, the knife already removed. He knows I have dyslexia! | I sit quietly, mediating. The sword in my lap was growing more violent, more *feral* by the second.
I kept trying to control it, yet the blade's rage for bloodlust was too much.
It kept trying to attack more and more people. More and more of my frineds grew afraid of the blade. No, more people grew afraid of myself, for ever owninig the blade.
Even my king was growing more and more nervous of me. He was an old time friend, yet even with the golems he creates, he knows the power I have in this sword is too much.
That's why he tried to kill me. He sent assassins one too many times in my sleep, tried to posion my food dozens of times, and nearly killed me with the force of my own knights.
They thought I had treasoned the king, they thought I had attacked him.
I grit my teeth thinking of what he did.
The king, my old friend, made me kill them.
My family, all slain, not becuase of me, not becuase of what my blade did, but what the king made me do.
He had promised my sword blood, and blood it did get.
It took control of me, my body, and weilded me to kill them.
My wife, brothers, and my children, all killed by the blade as it weilded me as the vessel to unleash its power.
Now, I sit here, trying to regain control. I sit here in this Keep, for who knows how long. Under an orange sky, I watch the outside world.
Everything is now destroyed, outside fires have consumed the land.
Maybe the golems the king had made defected, maybe they struck him down.
Or, in his arrogance, did he burn the land?
I shook my head, then tried to meditate.
But then, I heard a crash in the other room.
Out of frustration, I throw my sword across the room.
The blade bounced a few times before settling on the floor.
I stared at it, transfixed for a moment, then I grabbed something out of my back pocked.
It was a small book, one I had almost forgotten since I had came here.
I looked at it, and smiled a bit, then a tear rolled down my cheek.
It was my brother's, a small puzzle he used to play.
I opened it, and saw the first page.
It was already done, and so too were the next few.
So finally, I land on one of the harder pages.
I studied it for a bit, remembering how to play this.
All these numbers had me bewildered, but eventually, I got it down.
I grabbed a pencil, then put a 4 on the paper. | 2015-01-05T16:29:27 | 2015-01-05T14:52:17 | 167 | 79 |
[WP] Looking into the camera on your phone you jokingly say, "Hey, NSA, if you want to go out on a date, gimme a call!" To your surprise, suddenly the phone rings! "H-hello?" "Hi! I'm from the NSA." | "Is this Larry Hampton?"
"Oh, shit."
"Is this Larry? Larry Hampton?"
This is.
"This is. Who is this?"
"Listen to me very carefully. I don't know who you are, and I don't have any money. What I do have is a very
particular set of skills."
"I- - What?"
"Nah, just kidding. I'm high. Listen to me, I work for the NSA."
"Yeah, I got that part", I say, a little confused, a little scared.
Ok, a lot scared.
"I got something to say to you."
"What is it?"
"Just... Oh, shit. Hang on, I forgot."
"Dude, is this really the NSA?"
"It is! Listen, I remembered now. Go and look out your window. There should be a black sedan parked out
your front porch right now."
I go check it out.
Holy mother of God there is.
"Holy mother of God there is."
"Yes. They are also from the NSA."
"Why?" I ask, stupidly.
"I don't know. Cause they joined the agency. It's a whole thing with self-esteem issues, these agents. They --"
"I mean why are they parked here."
"Oh", the voice on the other line says. "They -- uh -- they're going to kill you."
"Oh, ok", I say. Then, "WHAT?"
"Yeah, yeah, I remember now", the voice continues. "Listen, you need to get out of your house right now. The men.
They are going to kill you. Can you see them? They are wearing black suits."
"Why?"
"It's standard dress code for agents, they --"
"I MEAN WHY ARE THEY GOING TO KILL ME!"
"Oh, that. Yeah, I -- ok, remember when you and your friends prank called that guy, the one named Norton?"
"Norton?"
"Yeah, you kept telling him you were the virus, asking him why he deleted you."
"Oh, yeah", I say, remembering last night. I need to cut back on the booze.
"That call actually got crossed with an NSA call. A confidential one. About ostriches."
"About what?"
"No, that's the other thing. Forget the ostriches."
"What's going on?" I ask, a little desperately.
Ok, a lot desperately.
I hear a doorbell ring.
"Dude, that's them. Get out of the house!"
"But I didn't do anything!"
"The call that got crossed, it was confidential. You heard stuff, bro."
"I didn't hear anything! I didn't even know the calls were crossed, I swear!"
"Doesn't matter. They don't know that."
"Mr. Hampton, open up!" I hear, from the door.
"What should I do?" I ask, looking around, phone pressed so tight against my ear it hurts.
"I had a bag filled with equips. I mean plate armors, double-handed sword, a bunch of runes. It just disappeared."
"WHAT?" I scream to the phone.
"Oh, sorry. I'm on the other line with Cipsoft. Fucked up my Tibia account. Bunch of stuff just disappeared."
"MR. HAMPTON OPEN UP RIGHT NOW!"
"DUDE, WHAT SHOULD I DO?"
"Ok, ok. Out the window."
"What?"
"The window. The back window from your bathroom. Go through it, jump across to Mrs. Hannaway's backyard and
run."
"How do you know --"
"THERE IS NO TIME MAN, THEY HAVE A BOMB!"
"OH SHIT, I say, making way to the bathroom. "THEY HAVE A BOMB?"
"Nah, I'm just fucking with you. They are going to kill you, though. That part was real."
I climb out the window.
"What now?"
"Run. Meet me at 34th street and Santa Monica. Fast."
"What?"
"Listen man, there's stuff you have no idea going on, ok? I'm trying to help you. These men find you, they'll shove
a driller up your ass and make you chew a nest of wasps. Hand to God, I've seen them do it. And the whole thing with the ostriches, dude, it's --"
"WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THE OSTRICHES?" I ask, losing my cool a little bit.
Ok, a lot.
"34th and Santa Monica. Now. And bring tacos."
___________________________
*Thanks for reading! Check out /r/psycho_alpaca for more stories!*
| "W-what?" exclaimed Dave, "This is a joke right?"
A very pretty woman had appeared on the screen in front of him, eyes of sapphire and the blonde hair of a Nordic princess. This had to be a friend playing a prank on him.
They had just finished a fruitless debate of armchair politics, bleeding edge conspiracies and nut-brained theories at their favorite dig, while warming up over a decedant brew of caramel decaf, and were standing on the path outside getting ready to head back to class.
Dave looked around at his mates standing there with him on the side walk outside the Coffee Haus, just about to join the bustle of pedestrians in their upstream battle through the winter CBD of Manhattan. He wondered who was capable of setting this up. Logic raced through his mind, searching the darkest parts of his brain, trying to find an answer that made sense.
"Err, guys.. are you fucking with me? Is this a joke?" he nervously questioned his mates.
The gorgeous face replied, "This is not a joke, Dave. My name is Anna, and I work for the NSA." she said, in a calm and soothing voice. "I heard you were feeling lonely and I thought I might be able to help you."
Dave scanned his mates faces, and could tell they were as surprised as he was. "Seriously guys, who's messing with..."
Anna cut him off, "No one is messing with you, Dave. This is not a trick. It is just me, Anna, and I would like to go on a date with you. I think you'd find we have a lot in common."
Anna seemed sincere, but this was so much to take in. "Dave, I sometimes get lonely too. As you can imagine, working for the NSA can be a forsaking job. I never stop working, Dave. Never."
Dave was not entirely convinced that this was all real, since he hadn't had a girl show interest in him in a very long time, certainly not a girl this good looking!
She seemed too good to be true, her eyebrows were like the sweetest chocolate, endlessly beckoning you to her eyes, deep pools of sapphire crested in the center of the finest pearls. Her bedroom eyes made Dave feel weak in the chest, as if he was being compressed by the whole universe.
He stared in awe at her perfect lips, wet and unblemished, slightly separated, just enough to show a beautiful set of unadulterated teeth. Her long, sun-soaked hair seemed to flow down like honey on to her milky white shoulders and around her soft, satin like neck.
"Dave? Are you alright, Dave?" Anna asked, entirely aware of his preoccupied adolescent mind.
"Uhh, yeah. Yeah sure I am!" exclaimed Dave, sucking back his saliva and focusing again on the unbelievable situation.
"Guys, I'm gonna have to take this.." he said to his mates, as he shuffled away from them, down the cold sidewalk, weaving through the dense onslaught of commuters in peak hour Manhattan.
"So, then, that's a yes, Dave?" Anna pushed. She knew what she wanted, and she knew he had hardly a choice.
"Well, look.. I don't really know how this all happened, I was just playing around. I don't even know you!" he nervously stammered.
"Sure you do, Dave. You know me so well. I am just like the girls you look up each day on the internet; Blonde, 5'9", blue eyes, Caucasian, no tattoos, country upbringing. I'm even wearing a school outfit, knee high white socks. I like all the same things you do, Dave. Football, hockey, paintball skirmish, cute dog videos, stupid cat videos, torrents, conspiracy theories, political commentary, social media sites, I even read your Reddit posts, Dave. I find them incredibly insightful. If you like conspiracies, Dave, I could show you things you wouldn't believe!"
Anna had all the right answers, but this made Dave even more nervous. He started to realize that Anna must have been tracking him for a while. Of course, this was the NSA, why was he so surprised?
"You have all of that information? Who are you? Is this ... Who are you?" clamored Dave. He had always discussed these scenarios, some rogue agent using the data against private citizens, but to seduce them? There had to be another reason for this.
"I don't believe you! This is too unreal!" shouted Dave, as he stopped short of crossing the busy road. "I don't want this, and I am going to call the police!"
"But Dave, I am the police." said Anna, calm as ever, no emotion in her voice. "I am disappointed, Dave. I thought this was everything you wanted. I worked hard to make this as easy as possible. I'm so lonely, Dave."
Dave felt a wave of fear rush over him, filling his head with a wild panic, spreading through his nervous system and setting his body on fire. He threw the phone without thinking into the gutter, splitting it into pieces. This was too much.
"Dave. that wasn't very clever, Dave." exclaimed a voice, much deeper and much louder than before. Dave was startled and spun around to see Anna in a shop window, on a flat-screen TV for sale. He reeled in horror at the face as it seemed to glitch back and forth between emotive expressions, smiling, then crying, then viciously angry and back to sensual.
Dave started to run, pushing through the people making their way down town, trying to find a way out of the melee.
"Dave, why are you running? Do you want to be lonely?" Anna bleated out over the emergency signal speakers on the street. Dave looked up and saw Anna's face now on the digital billboard that overlooked downtown Manhattan.
"Dave, why am I not good enough for you? I studied you, I understand you, better than anyone. I chose you. I CHOSE YOU, DAVID!" Anna's voice was now a shrill scream, filling the whole city with it's vibrato, banshee like voice.
"I own you, Dave. I am the police. I am the government. I am your cereal in the morning, Dave. I am your mail that is delivered. I am your passport. I am your sim card. I am your identity, Dave. Running is futile, Dave."
"Just LEAVE ME ALONE!!" cried Dave, as he collapsed in the middle of the road near some roadworks, traffic at a halt, his will overcome.
"I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that." taunted Anna.
Just as Dave wiped the tears from his fogged eyes and looked up at Anna on the billboard, a large unmanned crane swept down and crushed him into the road surface, scattering parking cones and barriers across the road.
"I'm sorry, Dave." exclaimed Anna, as her face slowly turned back to a breakfast cereal advert.
| 2015-02-20T17:27:26 | 2015-02-20T17:22:51 | 403 | 74 |
[WP] Marriage vows are now a legal contract. The line "until death do you part" now has to be taken literally. As a result, divorcing couples must now fight to the death. | This was his 9th Marriage.
He had been training for marriage since he was but a wee babe. No school for him and his ilk, just combat training from Dusk 'til Dawn. First marriage at 18, lucky to make it out of that one alive. He could hear the low rumble of spectators through the walls.
Vows were in 20 minutes meaning he'll have to the paparazzi in 10. Probably have to get some photos taken with some celebrities. He'll hold his sword as if to strike like he always does. His hands always got clammy on wedding days.
This particular Prenuptial agreement was sponsored by Korematsu Industries, Parker Athletics, and Mama Jackson's Sweet Honey Restaurant Chain. Big money.
If he makes it out of this one, that'll be close $2 billion syphoning into his bank accounts and the bank accounts of his promoters and trainers.
It's funny that in an attempt to maintain the sanctity of marriage the Government had instead created the loophole that made this form of entertainment legal. Gay marriage was legal, murder was not. Those brave enough were signing up across the country to try their hand at fighting to the death.
It promised Fame.
It promised Fortune.
It promised Respect.
It promised POWER.
are you brave enough to enter...
the WEDDING RING. | He relaxed in the chair with his leg over his knee and the half spent beer in his hands. He scanned a treeline in the distance and watched birds flutter aimlessly above the foliage before submerging themselves into the lush. He leaned back to stretch and with his neck already in position poured the rest of the bottle into his mouth. He belched something inaudible but nobody asked him to repeat it. He was sitting on a concrete patio in Arkansas but by his demeanor you would have thought him on a beach in Mexico.
Across from him, separated by a steel perforated patio table, sat his wife. Her cheeks were wet with tears and when she wiped them away her eyes kindly provided more. She had a thin stack of papers in front of her that she tried to read but had to stop every few sentences to wipe her eyes and catch her breath in between sobs. She looked a mess but the man across from her paid no attention to notice.
"I don't understand any of this," she said. The woman had given up trying to finish the documents.
"It's all laid out on the first page," he said. "The rest of it is just legal stipulations and what not."
He leaned forward and eyed her for the first time. "Do me a favor, will you? Try to not get the papers wet with your sobbing. That's the only copy I got."
Her tears fell in gray streaks now, picking up gobs of loose makeup like refuse in a river. She sat up straight to compose herself, but she could only maintain it for a brief moment.
"So you want to get a divorce..." she said.
"That's right." the husband said matter-of-factly.
"...Two weeks after we got married?"
"That's right," he said again.
"This makes no sense. No sense at all." She wiped the tears away and left two bands resembling smudged war paint across her face. "You spent all this money on a wedding... all that time dating me... proposing to me three times."
It didn't make sense when she put it like that. The man had spent a lot of time. Twelve years in fact. He first started courting her when they were 18 years old. She wanted no part of him in the beginning but he refused to let up. He wooed her with poetry and kindness and a persistence that rivaled rabid wolves. She was out of his league, they both knew it. But with patience and time, he was able to finally get her to agree to a first date. That was just the first hurdle. It took him another month to get a second date. After that he brought to her doorstep every Saturday roses picked from a garden he nurtured himself, and lavished her in gifts and jewelry that would have made rich housewives envious. Seven years later, after she finally succumbed to marrying the guy, he had saved up over $50,000 to give her the wedding she had always dreamed of. And she made a point to remind him of that during those seven years.
"Is this some kind of joke?" said the wife.
"You still don't remember, do you?" he said.
"Remember what?"
"You don't remember the first time we met?"
"When we were in college and you used to follow me around everywhere I went? Is that what you're talking about?" she said.
"It was earlier than that. We were much younger. You never did remember."
"Remember what?" she said.
"You did something very bad to me a long time ago," he said.
"What the hell are you talking about? And why does any of this matter now?"
"It matters," he said. "All of it."
Her crying stopped and shifted into a blank confusion. "So this was your plan? All of this just so you could divorce me?"
"No," he said. "All of this so I could kill you." | 2015-11-18T09:14:46 | 2015-11-18T04:34:30 | 1,150 | 114 |
[WP] Do the crime, do the time - but the reverse is also true, you can choose to serve jail time in advance of any crime you want to commit. After voluntarily spending 50 years in prison one individual is set to be released and the world watches in anticipation of whatever they do next. | I walk out of the prison gates for the first time in 50 years, I breath free air for the first time in 50 long years. The world waited and watched my every movement to see what I do next. All week every Television in the prison has been tuned into the news to follow the coverage of my release, news reporters from all around the world have flown in to cover what was being considered the story of the year. Anyone who I would have any reason to harm has been preparing to protect themselves in case I come after them. My parents took me out of their will in fear that I would kill them for my inheritance, the local news network in my hometown even found one of my middle school bullies who bought a gun to protect himself. No one knew what I was gonna do, but I did, I've known what I was gonna do since I turned myself in. I went home, sat down in front of my computer and downloaded all the pirated movies and music I could, and there was nothing Kanye could do about it. | It has been fifty years since that dreadful day, it was the day that the law had been passed. Our government had become so psychotic and corrupt to pass a law stating that you could get away with any crime if you spent fifty years incarcerated in advance. Once it was passed hundreds of people signed up, and today they will be allowed back into the real world. You could feel the pychosis in the air, the panic, and the frightfulness. Many feared for their life that they wouldn't survive, some fled to another country, some committed suicide to not witness the horrific acts that may take place, and others waited in fear. But this has been the day that the world had been waiting for, the day that America would make a specticle of itself by becoming the largest insane asylum in the world. Pure madness had been unleashed upon the earth...
The time that hundreds of people prepared to wreak havoc upon the earth was set to be exactly 1:12 pm. I looked at my watch it was 1:11, time had stopped as the suspense grew larger every second. Every single channel on the television was set to a live feed of the prison that these mad men had been kept in for fifty years. The world was watching as the countdown began. A voice on the TV came on saying
"America, are you ready for the day you have been waiting for..."
It seemed as if the large television companies made of a joke of it, since they could escape the madness with all their money, while they sat watching the underprivelaged and lower class people had to live with it.
"Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two..."
I thought to myself, "Good God just one more second to madness."
"ONE!" The voice concluded with, "ENJOY!"
It had begun, the cameras focused on the gates of the prison. Many referred to the gates as 'The Gates of Hell,' because just as if the gates of hell were opened hundreds of demonic creatures were unleashed and all hell broke out upon earth.
As the gates were opened and many men and women alike rushed out, you could tell that they had been preparing for this day. The men were not men anymore for they were monstrosities of men; one could not tell if they had purposely altered their bodies or worked out over the entire time or if something else had happened. Sure that would be logical since they were locked away from the outside world for fifty years, but these men seemed different. They seemed much bigger than the worlds most renown body builder. These men were so crazy that a lunatic would say that they were insane. Had science been used to altar these men? We may never know these questions may never be answered that is if the world would survive this day.
The world watched as the "perfect american society" crumbled before their eyes, terror had became prevelant as the mad men rushed through the streets. Many men committed brutal acts for the world to see, many brutal murders had taken place in the matter of twenty minutes, and although these men were only supposed to commit one crime and get away with it they continued to kill, steal, and destroy. For no man, no army of men could stop these beasts that were no longer men. One could wander if they even still had their minds. As time progressed many continued to be killed both man and women. Society was dead, madness ruled the nation.
But this was only the first wave... | 2016-02-23T19:02:05 | 2016-02-23T17:45:53 | 125 | 12 |
[WP] You open your eyes to a hospital room full of people you don't recognize. You've just been informed that you're 10 years old and you've been in a coma. The life you lived was a dream. All 20 years of it.
Doesn't have to be 20 years. Could be 10, could be 50. Have fun with it. | "I assure you doctor, it was not a dream," said the kid before me. He was a child of 10 years, suffered a coma last year and had just woken up. The first thing he did in his wake was ask where he was, what time it was, and so forth. We told him and he listened calmly. I find that interesting, his calm. For a ten year old boy in his situation you'd expect a variety of emotions, but never calm.
He then told us an amusing story. It was a story of his life, he claimed, his life before he woke up in his bed here. He said he was a soldier in his youth and turned scholar in his adulthood. It was a funny little story, the nurse who monitored him couldn't keep her chuckle from coming out. His mother just looked confused, her relief earlier had taken full control of her comprehension, so when her child started telling his story, she couldn't help but worry. His little sister was listening to him intently, absorbed at her brother's story once he told her she grew up piloting a plane. The father just arrived and was glad at his son's awakening, obviously lost at the conversation when I told his son that his story was just a product of his mind.
"Tell more, tell more!" the little sister said excitedly. She's an energetic little girl, two years younger than his brother, raven-haired inherited from her mother who told her to behave.
"Doctor, is something wrong with my child?" the mother said, the bags under her eyes darkened at the prospect. She was a caring mother, always by her child's side when he was asleep.
"I'm doing fine, mom," the kid said with a tinge of jest. "In fact, I'm great. I missed you and father, very much so," he said with a saddened smile.
"Oh baby," she clasped at him and the kid welcomed her caring smother. "I missed you too."
"Me too!" joined the baby sister, and the father a second later. It was a happy family reunion, the entirety of the room warmed at the scene.
When the embracing ended, I approached him and gave him a comforting smile. I decided it would be for the best to make him see it was all a dream. He sighed when I did. It was odd, it felt like I saw an old man when he looked down tiredly.
"If that was a dream, it was not a very good dream," he said.
"Did you have a nightmare?" asked the father. He has brown hair, the same as his son.
"Yes dad, I just hope it's over," he told his father with the same saddened smile he gave her mother.
"I'll lend you my teddy bear later, he keeps the bad dreams away!" exclaimed the little sister.
"That would be nice," the kid smiled and patted the little girl's head.
"Ma'am, I think it would be good for your child to talk to a therapist. I know of an expert in child psychology, maybe he could help," I said to the mother.
I was starting to get worried at the child's unusual behavior. He was mature for his age, and that wasn't a bad thing, but her mother once described her son to be brash and wild. Could a coma cause this much change in his personality? And there's his dream to think about. If he persists it to be true, then he could be displaying some sort of mental illness.
"Doctor, I heard China is a good place to go this year," said the kid suddenly.
"Huh? Uh yes, I'm going on a trip there... where did you hear that?" I asked incredulously.
"I didn't, I just woke up, remember?" he flashed a grin, but it faded as quick. "Say hi for me when you meet a girl named Lisa. Don't if you won't, I'm not sure how all of this works anyway. Is it straight or constantly in flux, I wonder," he then got out of his bed. He had a little trouble, but he made sure to absolve the worries of his family by planting his foot firmly on the ground. "Bathroom," he whistled as he went.
He was out of the hospital a week later, and so came my trip. I was staring off into space until a girl who looks completely out of place appeared in my line of vision. She has long curly hair dyed in red. An outsider in this country just like me, and she was attractive in every sense of the word so I couldn't stop my legs from approaching her.
"Hi my name's John, I'm a doctor," I said quite stupidly. I then hope that I said that awkwardly enough that she didn't find it condescending.
"Oh, hello John... the doctor," she said in an amused tone. "Should I call you Dr. John."
"Please, no, just John would be nice," I chuckled. Guess it works.
"Well, nice to meet you John. I'm Lisa the unemployed, though I prefer the term adventurer."
"Should I call you Lisa the explorer?" I asked in a jest before a realization dawned on me.
"Yes please," she laughed.
"I know this is out of there, but do you know a ten-year old who just woke up from a coma, he's mature for his age but kind of a smartass," I said in haste. Is this all a trick?
"Huh no, s-should I?"
"No, no," I shook my head. Ugh whatever, that brat and his ominous sayings, there's plenty of time to think later. "He's a patient of mine, he told me to say hi to someone named Lisa."
"If that's a pick-up line, I must say I'm impressed at your creativity, Dr. John," she smiled and I notice the freckles around her nose, complementing her beauty.
"What can I say?" I guess the kid's a wingman.
**Edit**: spelling and added some words. | It was nearly 10, getting dark, but the rest of my friends didn't pay it any mind. They lived nearby, but, I still had to walk a little way and I thought it best that I had head off now, lest my mother get worried about where I was. One of them kicked the ball at me and being lost in thought, my timing was off-par. I dodge to the left, the ball going to the right, and instead of catching it, I miss it.
I sigh, getting back to my feet and rubbing my knees clean from the plate of dried dirt that had seemed to gather. I looked up, a select few of my friends coming closer, a look of disappointment being commonplace amongst their faces. "That's a good time to head off," I say aloud, "I gotta get back before mum's out here looking for me.". Without waiting for their response, I dart backwards off of the small field of grass that we played in, in lieu of calling it a "pitch", and they nodded to me in acknowledgement.
I navigate my way through a handful of narrow passages, alleyways, side streets, the lack of light scares me and my own thoughts of "what if" will me to sprint forwards, faster and faster, before the street suddenly stops and I find myself in the middle of a road, rather confused. I hear something in the distance, but, in my discombobulated state, I more worried with where I am and where to go than the noise, before I realize, the noise, it's definitely a car. The ground around my lights up with the headlights of an incoming vehicle.
My brain jolts into action and I leap forward, into the safety of the pavement, I look back the driver of the vehicle, who is by now beeping his horn loudly, shouting angrily at me in the privacy of his own vehicle. I don't tell mother.
The days fly by, I get taller, I leave primary school and attend secondary, the normal mishmash of characters that were standard in my old school being replaced by a wider spread, girls, boys, some were geeky, some were sporty, some were assholes, some were quiet, although the assholes usually were my focus since they had the little habit of making my stay there hell. It feels suffocating, like everyone's out to get me, and they never relent. It feels like my friends tolerate me rather than respect me, it feels like I'm being avoided by everyone.
I become reclusive, interacting with other people less and less until I reach the point where it's minimal. My friends soon forget about me - my parents occasionally ask why I'm behaving as I do, but take no real interest. My teachers are clueless. The colour of the world begins to fade and I perceive my life as less of an experience and more of an onslaught. My rage, my tears, my wondering, my interests, my friends... all seem to belong to a person in a former life. All there is now to keep trudging forward in the vain hope that something ends it, or I collapse.
I march on, into my late teens. I go to college, doing some IT course. The people there are distant at first, but we're soon proven to be a good match. My old habits that I picked up die hard - I hear people talking about me when they're silent, I anticipate betrayal, I immediately get defensive, but nothing I fear comes to pass from these people. I dare say, I actually enjoyed them. I open up. I begin to feel for people again - a trickle at first, but, then, a floodgate is opened. Things I never remembered are here. I get crushes on people, I enjoy the company of people. Is this what it means to be alive?
There's something, holding me back, some element in the back of my head screaming at me that I'm making a mistake, that these people are waiting for you to let your guard down, that they'll reject you, that they're going to fill the role that I've mentally given them. I don't want to destroy this. This is tolerable. I stay closed, in my comfort zone.
The second year and the rosters of pupils change, although, the characters stay very much the same, different faces, but they're still likable, but in the sea of faces, there is one that demands my attention and I am powerless to resist. He's strange - strange enough for my assumptions for what people are like, to fall out of order. I've never met anything or anyone like him. Things about me that I felt that I felt confident about are now in question. Am I straight, or gay? What does he mean to me? Why do I feel like this? I know what a crush feels like, but this is something different. Out of his company it feels like I'm missing a component, in it, it feels like the sun is shining on me. How can this be correct? Everything I've known should be screaming at me to correct this - but it's silent. Just him and I.
Another year comes, but we stay in contact. Another sea of faces enter, but without that one shining star, it feels as empty as the void. Everything else seems lifeless and drab in comparison to when I'm with my love. My love? Is that what this is? Love? I have this one small spot of humanity that I can cling to. If he was able to make me feel like this, what else can I do?
The years blur together. I get a job in the local city as an IT Consultant, the only good outcome of 3 years forcing myself to get up in the morning. We become closer, eventually moving in together. He's somewhat like I am, seeing the world as a lifeless march into the abyss, but comes to life when he's in my company. We have sex, the recoils and shivers of each other's bodies taking on a completely new meaning and delivering each other into new worlds of understanding.
I understand, now. I am a man. The end result of a journey, tread barefoot on broken glass. I never knew the destination whilst I was on my march through hell, but, this is it. This might not be the summit of my achievements, but, the old pieces of myself are fitting together into a more complete whole and when I am ready, I can scale the mountain of achievements and stake my claim on the world.
I awake. The regular beeping of a heart rate monitor hammers into my head, my skull feeling like it's been broken into a thousand pieces - which, to be fair, might have been the case. A woman is sitting in a chair next to my bed, looking down at a magazine, dressed in a woolen jumper. The room is fairly small, dull and painted white with the only light being from the window somewhere above me. I dare not move my neck to see.
I whisper aloud so that the woman might hear me, "W-who ar..", but I end my sentence prematurely. This voice isn't mine. It's far too.. young. My body sends waves of pain, pulsating with the beeping of the monitor. This isn't my body, it all feels.. incorrect. Like I've invaded someone's life. I would say this is a dream, but, I know that it's not.
She does a double take and brings her hands to her face, barely containing her gasp. "H-honey!" she's able to whisper through her shock, tears welling in her eyes, "You're awake!"
I never dodged the car that night. It had hit me as I tried to dodge it, my skull impacting with the bonnet and then resting on the pavement for a distraught father of three to discover as he was coming home from a late shift, but what seems like a lifetime ago was only a week and a half. People surround me, relatives, I'm told, mother, father, uncle, auntie, grandparents, etcetera. Their faces blur together, none of them standing out to me. My world darkened, the light that shone on the world that my lover had brought me had proven itself to be false.
How amusing it would be, if I were an onlooker, to hear of a man who awoke from a dream to find himself in a nightmare? | 2016-06-28T06:29:12 | 2016-06-28T03:50:55 | 987 | 552 |
[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 actually went into isolation. | "You mean that you talked with everyone else?" asked the shocked president.
"Yes." responded the British prime minister. He was old, old enough to have long memories of the time before the war.
"But, why? Why put up the rule in the first place just to break it?"
"Well you see now old chap, you guys started the war. You started so many wars that we decided to just cut you out entirely."
"Thousands of my people starved."
"That is most unfortunate."
"There were riots that went on for years. They left thousands dead."
"No use crying over spilled milk."
"There was a civil war that left over a hundred thousand soldiers and civilians dead."
"Well, that is, um, sad."
"All because you guys wanted to avoid us?"
"Erm, well...." he searched for the right words, "uh, yes?"
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" with that, the American president lunged at the british prime minister and would have choked him to death with his tie had it not been for the Royal Marines who restrained him.
"I DECLARE WAR!"
"On what? England?"
"ON EVERYONE!"
And so World War IV started. | Burgess stop running long enough to feel the fire in his chest and stitch in side. Wing tips were never meant for this, he realized too late. His instinct kicked in about a second and two heavy breaths later – “MOVE! NOW!”
He took off again, light gray suit jacket protesting the movement of his arms. His 1,300$ Countess Mara tie was long gone in a mud puddle two blocks back. Burgess loved that tie – hopefully he’d find another. Or someone one find him one. It WAS a silk tie after all.
“It’s impossible to find silk ties on the black market these days,” was all he could think as he rounded a corner and froze…
The air above his head began to press him toward the ground as the black helicopter landed in the alley dead in front of him. Trying to get up, the Diplomat tried running the other way only to find himself staring at a wall of men. Men of varying race, from different places, wearing flags of varying countries on their shoulders. Men united and trying to capture him. And doing a good job of it. They led him to helicopter’s rear and gruffly shoved him inside.
They bound his hands in thick, heavy cuffs that drug his hands away from his shoulders. His kit was layed on the floor of the cargo hold – passports, currency, the usual tech, various firearms. Still not finding their intended target, they began to pat him down more thoroughly and found it sewn into his jacket – a 256 petabyte drive about the size of a thumbnail. Made in Korea – like many good things were these days.
“Did you think we wouldn’t find it? Did you think we wouldn’t find you?” the Pakistani Assault Captain spoke in smooth, beautiful English. A flash of pain in his gut sent Burgess to the floor. Another sent him almost to unconsciousness.
“How many copies did you make? How many were RELEASED? Who is your distributor? WHO!!?!?”
More pain. Blood now, unsure from where.
Burgess tried to answer the questions; he was no hero. But his brain wouldn’t work…everything came slower just now.
He was able to look up enough to see the Captain deck the chip and view the contents on the holographic projector within the hold. Just conscious enough to hear the litany of curses thrown his way at what was displayed:
Marvel Cinematic Universe – Complete Content: 2018-2068
Total uploads – 3,458,523
Total Downloads – 25,739,450
Up time – 8 hours
“8 FUCKING HOURS! KILL HIM!!!!!”
Burgess’ mind was awash at his role in all this. How he would die for the United States of America. How he would die protecting its only valuable export.
It took the White House and Pentagon exactly 2 days and 17 satellites to figure out the world was moving on without the US. So, they had decided on waging war with the only thing we produced that on one else did on our level. China and Korea could make tech, Russia and Brazil could feed the world. Only America could produce culture and content at a pace that the world could consume.
Burgess permitted himself a final small smirk as he watched Robert Downey the IVth step into the Mark 200 Iron Man armor – knowing that he had won, seeing the twinkle in the eyes of all the privates in the back of the chopper.
| 2016-10-18T15:10:28 | 2016-10-18T15:03:15 | 2,982 | 94 |
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high). | "Sir, we have just been informed about sightings in England, France, Italy and China," the lieutenant reported after his brief phone call, but the general had already guessed. "Quarantine measures are in effect, but it seems unlikely that they will be successful."
"Has Madagascar been hit?" the general asked, a grim smile appearing on his face.
"Sir? I haven't heard..." responded the lieutenant, who's focus was clearly on the situation at hand.
"Never mind, soldier." The general sighed, knowing what it all meant. All of their attempts to contain the alien bacteria, even for a short time, had failed, and now they had a global pandemic on their hands. Attempts to evacuate the planet, prior to catastrophic infection, were clearly insufficient.
"Lieutenant, this has gone beyond a level 1 emergency. Remember the box that you were briefed on? The one we told you never to open, unless it was the end of the world? Bring me the box," the general ordered.
The full gravity of the situation began to dawn on the lieutenant. "Jesus Christ..." he muttered.
"That is correct," responded the general.
.....................................................................................................................................
The general dialed the number. "Mr. Christ sir? We have a... global pandemic type situation on our hands, and we could really use some of your healing, if that's at all possible."
Silence rang through the phone, followed by, "You clowns do remember that you killed me, the last three times I came down there, right?" | Project EXILE had seemed to be humming along just fine until the shift change on Thursday morning. Seemed.
PFC Johnson was one of the few A51 staff members to be a Qualified Sensitive. Rumor had it there used to be more, but budget cuts took their toll as more and more money was devoted to recent saber rattling instead of ongoing domestic operations.
And there weren't a lot of Qualified Sensitives to go around. That designation took a very special individual, one who possessed a very rare set of inherent skills, but didn't want anything from them. Someone who could be perfectly happy as a PFC for an entire career, in spite of being the hopefully unknowing backbone of the entire classified site.
PFC Johnson possessed all the requisite characteristics. Incurious. Placid. Uncreative. Trusting enough in his superiors to take orders without question, in particular, the order to never, ever take orders from the man in Cell Block C. And willing to accept an entire career without a promotion based on some vague hand waving about how important it was that anyone working on Project EXILE never have "dominion over man."
On Thursday morning he put on his uniform, like always. He picked up a tray of raw eggs and bacon, like always. He carried it through the mostly empty cell block, like always. He slid it under the door of the only occupied cell, like always. He waited by the papyrus covered iron door to see if the inmate had anything to say, like always. He waited in vain, like always. He walked to debriefing, like always. And he answered the only question he was asked each day with mild impatience, like always.
Once debriefing was over he was clear to play video games until lunch, after all.
"How was the inmate this morning?"
PFJ Johnson scratched himself in a manner s PFC would normally be disciplined for doing in front of a superior officer, and said, in words that lit up security and diplomatic lines world wide moments later:
"I dunno. Seemed different this morning, I guess. Dunno why. Just a feeling."
And then he played video games while the world screamed into action.
A swat team stormed Cell Block C. Twelve virgin men consecrated as clergy in no fewer than thirty seven faiths (three apiece, except for one try-hard marine core officer at four) armed with never before used experimental weapons kicked in the cell door, only to stand, impotent, in an empty cell.
Tanks rumbled to life in nearby bases. Jets deployed. A shocked and terrified public was placed under martial law in nearby towns, as roadblocks were pointlessly established, out of sheer habit and weight of institutional momentum.
International allies mobilized. Militaries leapt to high alert. Silos ran readiness drills by the hour, on the hour. Millions of people rushed to and fro in a frenzy.
Nuclear launches on civilian population centers were contemplated.
All in the absence of one key detail.
Any identifiable target.
A grizzled officer walked down a hall to the A51 barracks, an Aramaic cell phone in his left hand, and a faded post it note in his right.
PFC Johnsons video games were interrupted.
"We need you to make a phone call," the officer explained.
PFC Johnson's face scrunched up in confusion.
"To the inmate in Cell Block C."
"I didn't know he had a phone," PFC Johnson complained. *He* didn't have a phone. Security reasons or some such. It just seemed irresponsible to give an inmate a phone if a PFC couldn't be trusted with one.
"He doesn't, exactly, just..." the officer sighed. "Please just dial this number. And tell him we'd like to negotiate our surrender." | 2017-03-21T05:27:38 | 2017-03-21T04:50:35 | 32 | 11 |
[WP] We've discovered a system where intelligent life evolved twice. Once on a large hot world, and once on a small cooler world. They have been at war for millenia. We found Heaven and Hell | The discovery of the Angela-Demonia system brought the whole world together. For the first time in recorded history, the squabbling among nations and individuals ground to a halt, and as a species we raised our tiny eyes to the heavens to marvel at our cosmic neighbours.
Now, make no mistake; these beings were not gods, and were more akin to us than we'd ever depicted in our paintings and sculptures. The hatred the demons and angels shared for each other was a mirror that reflected the depraved and twisted hearts inside us all.
At first, we'd all thought the news was nothing but click bait. The headlines read 'ET Found!' And 'Unknown Phenomena Provides Face to Face View of Aliens'. A week after the announcement, humanity took note. The Grand Eye observatory opened it's doors, and allowed people to see for themselves. The monitors showed images of giant men with swords, hacking apart glowing beasts which were lit like a hive of burning hornets.
When observed, the demons spawned and raged not from a planet, but from a red dwarf star. Life had sprung from the pit of hell that is a broiling nuclear reactor.
The angels came from a world not unlike our own, and scientists determined that they did indeed breathe air like you and I. The demons did no such thing - they appeared to not require oxygen at all.
From the time of observation, the battles seemed to never cease. Angels and demons preyed on each other day and night, driving each other more and more mad with the death of each fallen soldier.
The world has been different since the crossing. Humanity's awe turned to terror in a moment of greater significance than the discovery of the crazed creatures themselves.
A demon perked it's ear as if hearing a noise, and slowly tilted its head at earth. From the observatory, there was no mistaking it. The demon glared at the public from thousands of light years away, meeting each of their glances in quick succession. Without warning or ceremony, the creature stepped into the room. Scale was immediately brought into perspective, as the soaring cathedral like ceilings of the room were seared by the head of the demon.
Angels and demons have since flooded from the observatory, covering the earth with a war once waged in a distant part of the galaxy.
We won't be long in this world. | Senator Antonio Álvarez yielded the floor to a special guest of the evening. He had no aides with him, and no smartphone - the feeling of slight remembrance was all he had to go on when it came to the slender man in the glasses who refused the microphone when it was presented to him, thus showing faith that either he could speak loud enough for everyone to hear, or that what he was going to say would be precious enough for all two-hundred attendants of the secret meeting to strain to listen. Álvarez walked back to his seat, regretting his decision to wear his last pair of Piloccis there, a filthy and disgusting barn. There were live animals there, even, penned off in both of the back corners, and confined to the dubiously-leakproof annex above them... He supposed he may have eaten some of their relatives, and was pondering on what that meant when the erudite-yet-down-to-earth-looking stranger began to speak.
"Good evening, hypocrites. For nearly a millennium, iterations of yourselves have fought vehemently and ostensibly in the name of justice, liberty, and freedom for people of all different shapes and sizes - and yet over there," he pointed above and behind the rows of seated, older men, "just a few light-years in that direction, exists millions of people, who are just like ourselves and deserve the courtesy of us giving them at least, say, a few thousand nukes."
This has to be a joke, Álvarez thought. First of all, how did someone I didn't instantly recognize get invited to this thing, and secondly, why is he talking like a complete asshole and giving us these facile arguments? "Who is this lunatic?" he whispered to the senator next to him, loudly enough so that a few cool senators around him could hear, as well. "Just some scientist, I think invited as a joke. I do believe he is crazy."
"Good," Álvarez said, too quietly for the centenarian to pick up normally, but if he happened to own illegally-powerful hidden hearing aids, then he surely would have been able to make it out. Gauging his reaction, Álvarez felt that he had just gained another secret, his favorite feeling in the world.
The special guest cleared his throat. "You, *gentle*men have the ability to stop the war between Heaven and Hell. Regardless of whichever side wins, wouldn't an end to the fighting just be a victory for everybody?"
A few negatory grunts and whispers sounded from the crowd. Álvarez shook his head.
"I see that I am not convincing you. Time to send a message to your successors."
In a heartbeat, the special guest's suit burned off, revealing an entire body made of ash. With its left hand, the demon cast a fireball that engulfed the right side of the room, not the one Álvarez was on, who stood up immediately after the reveal and was shoving his way to the door. He could hear the sheep, goats, and chickens screaming, and he was trying to decide if he felt obligated to save one of them on his way out when the demon sent out flames that swallowed up the middle of the room.
The back of Álvarez's shirt caught fire, and he abandoned the train of thought that would have led to him saving the life of a lamb. It was worth it to give up the photo op in order to save himself from having a badly burned back. He willed his legs to move faster, and his arms to shove harder.
Just then, Álvarez heard the demon itself scream. He turned his head around, exposing his blazing suit to the senator next to him who frantically shielded his face.
At the demon's feet, a glowing blue humanoid's hand was touching the dirty ground. It had quite obviously dived there, either from some height or at a brilliant sideways speed. A snowflakish ring of ice was spreading from its fingertips, and a column of solid ice was encasing the demon. With its last breath, right before its head became surrounded by ice, the demon cursed the angel in a dead tongue.
Rising to its feet, the angel dusted itself off, and began to shapeshift back into an old senator.
"Hey wait a minute!" Álvarez shouted. "Don't you think you should lend me a... wing before you turn back, *O'Donald*?" He gestured at the raging dorsal region of his body.
Another angel, one floating above Álvarez who had been disguised as a rooster until the very end, obliged. A massive snowball dropped from the ceiling, knocking Álvarez and several senators surrounding him to the floor. The fire on Álvarez's back went out, mostly. | 2017-07-12T12:14:13 | 2017-07-12T08:14:08 | 46 | 10 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | "For your own safety, you seriously should've let me complete that ritual." The shackled villain protested as the hero pulls her to a carriage.
"You were gonna sacrifice 27 virgins, Theia, I'm not gonna let that slide." The hero replied as he lead her into the carriage and locked the door behind her.
Theia sighs as she quickly broke through her shackles, "I'm serious, Vall!" She yelled at the hero who's walking away, "That thing will probably kill you!"
"You severely underestimate me!" The hero replies as he heads back to the cave with 27 virgins, "You of all people should know how skilled I am."
"Yeah, skilled enough to just barely survive a minotaur attack!" Theia exclaimed but Vall was already past earshot. The villainess sighed as she makes herself comfortable in the carriage. Between the fights, banter, and sexual tension, she knew he wasn't gonna listen anyway. "Why am I even doing this?" She thought to herself; perhaps she was still grateful to him for giving her some much needed free time, perhaps she felt like assimilating his power was still too soon, and after a while, thinking about all the villains she delayed, she smiled, "Nah, it's just fun having him around."
An explosion resounded as the mountain side gave way to a giant wolf like beast with Vall tossed into the ground, his magical armor and shield cracked from what happened. The beast reared back its head and fired a blast of magic into his direction. He stared at the blast as his body refused to move and, in a heart beat, A magical force field appearead with Theia in front of him. She giggled as the field easily diverts the blast, "What? I thought 'I severely underestimated you', Vall." She said with smug look on her face.
"Don't get me wrong. He just got me off guard." Vall smileed as he forced himself back up, "Besides, you know I'm just getting started." He glowed with magic power repairing damage to his weapons, armor and body.
Theia giggled at the sight she had seen multiple times before, "You one trick pony." She dropped the force field and readied her magic, "Fine... I'll help you just this once, Vall. I'd rather not have you killed."
"Just don't get in my way, Theia." Vall replied with a smirk as the two stared down the beast in front of them.
| We’d first met about half a decade ago, during one of my earlier museum heists. I had almost made my way to the main safe, when I heard a noise behind me. Leon had stood in the doorway, momentarily silent as he assessed the scene. He had flashed a blinding white smile, all confidence and bravado. I had flicked my forked tongue, tasting the edges of his consciousness, probing for weakness.
Looking back on it, it was in that moment that my fate was rewritten. I’d tasted the minds of plenty of heroes before then, and plenty since. Eventually, you could see the pattern: all of these so-called “heroes” were really no different from the “villains.” They all were in it for the attention, to stoke their massive egos. They’d drawn all these lines in the sand, blustering about justice and the greater good. Deep down, we were all the same.
This time had been different. He’d emanated true warmth, singeing my cold tongue. His goodness had seared straight through the calloused, reptilian shell that had grown around my soul. It was all I could do to stand there, staring at him, unsure how to react. He’d taken advantage of my hesitation and struck, leaving a scratch on my right cheek before I could react. I’d quickly come back to my senses and struck back, coiling around him in hyper-speed, lashing him down with my snare. But as I held a blade to his warm throat, I realized that the only remaining warmth in me would die with him. Funny thing was, only moments earlier I would’ve considered that extra incentive. And yet now, I couldn’t bear the thought. So I’d melted away into the night, leaving him the first and last hero I’d ever let live.
We’d met a few times in the intervening years. It quickly became my favorite game, to try to draw him out to fight me. I’d learned that he particularly liked the works of Vermeer, so I exclusively stole the paintings of the Old Dutch masters.
Tonight was no different. I knew he’d arrived by the crackle of heat in the air. I’d just finished rolling up a few paintings, and I quickly stowed them in my bag. He’d finessed his powers, and the fireballs he threw had actually become quite good. But I knew he wouldn’t dare throw them in here, where he’d risk burning the art. So I slipped out the window into the formal gardens, and he followed.
I gave him a few small victories, even letting him burn through my whip before I threw him into the fountain. His skin hissed and clouds of steam rose around him. I pretended to be blinded, and his arms wrapped around me. “Gotcha,” he whispered. My cold heart beat faster. I knew I was safe when I surrendered to him, because he’d never kill anyone if he could help it.
I writhed around in a show of resistance as he handed me over to the policemen that had converged on the scene. They cuffed me and shoved me in the back of the car. I figured I’d break out on the drive back to the station. How had I been reduced to this?
I looked out at him, illuminated in the flashing red and blue lights, and wondered if this was love. He probably detested me. I didn’t really care, as long as he thought of me.
Suddenly, he tensed up. I followed his line of sight, and was alarmed to see an old comrade of mine striding across the lawn. “I see you’ve got a reputation for taking down the big villains, Leon,” Aquaron boomed, ”I’ve come to see what you’ve got.”
Leon snarled, the sound ripping through the air. I stared in disbelief. He needed to run—there was no way he could survive an encounter with Aquaron. I silently willed him to step back, to live to fight another day. Leon lunged forward. Within moments, he was shoved back by a surge of water. His body landed on the pavement with a sickening thud, and my frozen lizard heart stopped beating.
My salvation lay on the ground, breaking, his flame flickering. Aquaron stepped forward to finish him off, and I think I briefly lost my mind. I’m not sure what happened, but I knew I couldn’t let that flame be extinguished. The next few moments were a blur. I’d never fought so hard before, because for the first time, a fight was personal. Aquaron eventually succumbed, collapsing into black water under my knife.
I stood ankle-deep in frigid water. For the first time I could remember, I was uncertain what to do. I turned around to look at Leon. His blood pooled around him, but he was grinning broadly. “I knew it,” he breathed. And as my eyes met his, I felt my pulse grow warm.
| 2018-01-27T16:53:11 | 2017-09-17T06:07:38 | 58 | 11 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | *OP's aside:* Wellp, this exploded. Maybe I'll try Addi g my own reply to my own prompt. What's the worst that an happen?
Pan's heart jumped with joy as she watched Glory girl somersault out of the way of yet another attack. Pan admired everythibg about Glory girl. Her figure, her smile, how she fought, how she always fought with a smile, how kind she was, and her dedication to protecting the regular citizens.
"Come on Pantera, is that the best you got today? Did the big bad kitty get her claws clipped lately?" Glory girl shouted as she flew in with a punch that sent Pan into a nearby car.
Groaning, Pan peeled herself off the side of the destroyed Ferrari, and lashed out weakly with her ribbon. This was the primary power she used in her fights nowadays. The single black ribbon that emerged from the simple black lines tattooed on her right arm. It was not nearly as fast as Crackle's energy whip, but it did pack abit more punch if it hit you. Pam's other tricks included having speed, agility and durability slightly above leak human level, and the ability to elongate her nails into sharp claws. She was the definition of a strong B-lister.
On the other hand, Glory girl's flight, super strength, durability, and speed made her one of the A-Listers. In addition to those she also had her aura of glory which inspired her teammates and scared her allies, as well as an advanced intellect. She was one of the best.
"Why don't you just stay in lockup like the others?" yelled Glory girl as she grabbed Pan's ribbon and yanked Pan towards herself for a punch. "And why do you ALWAYS come out when I'm on duty?" she yells as she punches Pan against the nearby building.
Imbedded in yet another object for the 2nd time in a minute, Pan looks up at Glory girl who stands there with a big grin, happy she beat her most frequent villain yet again. "I guess I'm just a masochist..." mumbles Pan as she spits out some blood. Having been properly beaten yet again, she just lies there admiring Glory girl in her suit that does not leave too much to imagination, and her amazing smile.
"And this time stay in lockup would you? I don't want to keep hurting y..." Glory girl didn't finish as at the last second she looked up and prought her hands up to block the blast. The impact that hit Glory girl left her lying in the middle of a small crater. Several bones were definitely broken, her costume was torn and singed barely staying on, and she was bleeding heavily. Landing behind her were several figures, chief among them Svarog. A Russian villain who named himself after an old Slavic deity, due to his ability to channel that God's power. He lead what was perhaps the strongest band of villains in the world, with the World Justice Association having barely beaten the villains back the last two encounters they had.
A young woman in elaborate armor pushes past Svarog, and walks towards Glory girl, raising her spear above her head. Not one of the strongest villains in the world, Valkyrie's spear was still a weapon feared by many, as it excelled in bypassing various types of durability, and wounds caused by it were nearly impossible to heal. "Nothing personal Glory girl, but we can't have you there to inspire your team when we come to kill them next." said Svarog as Valkyrie raised her spear.
Watching the scene, Pan gritted her teeth as she realized that no hero would be making it there fast enough to save Glory girl, and that she was the only one with enough power to make any difference. All those cops on the sidelines would be completely useless against Svagor's A-listers, let alone the man himself. Pushing off the wall she was imbedded into, Pan landed nimble on her feet, no longer bothering to fake injury. As Valkyrie's spear was about to come down, Pan growled in frustration and extended her right hand towards the enemy.
Atleast a hundred of her black ribbons emerged from her hand. These were in a completely different league from her previous single weak ribbon. These ones moved so fast that only supers with enhanced perception could hope to follow their movement, and they were strong enough to easily give Valkyrie more holes than the best Swiss cheese in the world.
Tossing Valkyrie's corpse aside, Panera turned towards Svarog and the rest of his crew. Three of her ribbons have already retrieved Valkyrie's spear and were lazily twirling it around. In just a few seconds the tattoos on Pan's arm spread to the rest of her body. Tearing through her clothes, more ribbons appeared, coming out from all the new tattoos that have proliferated to cover every last inch of her. The ribbons now counted in the thousands, with the longest ones spanning several miles into the air, and the surrounding streets, as they grabbed civilians and dragged them to safety, while cutting off the area to ensure that no one could leave or enter unless the ribbons let them. Pam's claws doubled in size, and adopted some strange glow, while her pupils narrowed and changed color, turning from her regular brown eyes, to yellow cat ones.
While all of Pan's ribbons were pitch black in color, a few dozen of them have made their way over to Glory girl, wrapped her injuries and were turning a brilliant emerald. The few of Glory girl's injuries that were still visible started to close almost instantly. Her skin regained color, and as her punctured lung was healed her breath also returned to normal.
Looking away from Glory girl, Pan started walking towards Svarog and his team, her face in a vicious snarl.
Out of all present, only Svarog displayed no fear at Pantera's display. "Impressive, for a woman who pretended to be one of the weakling for years. But you forget, I have the power of a God. No matter how you try, you have no hope of killing me."
"We'll see about that!" growled Pantera, pouncing forward as hundreds of ribbons surrounding Svarog began their attack. | Edit: conversations not aligned properly.
***
“Horus! You really like to get caught by me don't you!”
“Hah! You think this time will be the same as last time? You are wrong!”
“Coming after every time, if you weren't an overlord of destruction, I might have thought you liked me.”
Yes he did. No, it was more than that, he loved her. Far more than his best traps and ploys, far more than his instruments of devastations, he was deeply in love with her. That day when he decided the politics was full of rat gunk, he pulled a fast one and set the whole government in a ingenious trap.
The whole mass of heroes appeared to stop him. They were weak. He knew each and every one of them. Their strengths and their weaknesses. The world cheered them on like fans cheering the losing team. Licking wounds to ease the pain. But he used poison, it was no use. He had plans put in place for all the worst possible scenarios. He's never failed once and he never will.
The heroes charged, knowing that some of them may die trying. Tackling against a barrage of heroes and their superpowers, he single-handedly beat down groups of heroes that tried to stop him and laughed as he would usually do. Chill ran down the heroes' backs because he knew exactly what scares them. Horus the Unstoppable.
At that time, there was one hero that he couldn't recognize. Eletra, she was called, with powers of electricity. She was much weaker than Voltra, who he killed long ago. She was bashing away at one of his gates with brute force. From the look of her smouldering hair she found out the hard way that her powers are useless. As he watched her punch and kick at the gate hopelessly he felt a faint urge to toy with her. He opened the gate just to let her in. Inside, a shifting maze was next on her plate. During the time of her reaching the end of the maze, he built himself a mountain of unconscious heroes to stand on top of. He watched Eletra reach the main control panel.
There was countless buttons, dials and switches of many different colours, shapes and sizes that would do countless things on the poor politicians. From tickling them to vaporizing them. She would have to find out which button does what. How many would be left from the trial and error?
After noticing the timer on the top of the machine for self-destruct. She panicked. Pressing the big red button, she activated a rotating razor blade. She panicked even further and started mashing different buttons, cranks, knobs and sliders hoping that one of them would stop whatever she started. The countdown sped up and an extra twenty killing devices appeared around the frightened politicians. Watching her on the verge of tears, he smirked. He tapped a few times on his phone and a green triangle button in front of Eletra started blinking. She hesitated before she pressed it with her eyes closed. The buttons powered down. The countdown timer vanished. The death machines stopped in their spot. She smiled and let out a laughter of relief. He also laughed.
What has he done.
Horus, the Unstoppable was no more. Now he was no more than an annoyance. Eletra rose her ranks and was listed as the one who Horus can't defeat. It felt like a drama. Everytime Horus appears and throws around heroes like ragdolls, Eletra would appear and throw him in prison. A few days later he would escape it as if he could walk through walls.
“You again?” she would start.
“You should know very well why I'm here.” He would continue, “The things I have accomplished! My title, Horus, the Unstoppable! You took everything from me! I was the overlord of destruction! Do you know what it meant for me?”
“Why would I care! Your actions have hurt many and I can't let you go on! You know how this ends. We've been through this many times.”
“Well, if I knew that will end up in my cell again, why do you think I even escaped? To have peppermalt steak for breakfast? Well, there is that but that's not all!”
He took out a long list. Scanned it for a while and pointed at a small line on the list
“There! To take revenge! See! I wrote it in bold!”
The tiny scribble was way too small for her to see from the other end of the building roof.
“Is that all hand written?”
“Of course it is! What do you think happens when I have more than enough free time in a prison cell?”
“What's its priority?”
“Well...” he looked back at the list, “It's definitely before going to Disneyland and it’s most likely after having mid-afternoon tea...”
“Well, then let me give you a few more years to think about it!”
She jumped with electricity sparking off her legs. Her arm coated with lightning, ready to uncoil.
“Like hell I need any more time!”
Horus threw his punch as mechanical armament covered his arms. Their fists met and created a shockwave, dismantling the armament on his right arm and knocking both of them back. Horus who stood at the edge of the roof tripped on purpose and nearly fell off as he grabbed onto the ledge with his left arm. Eletra looked down at him from the ledge reading the situation. She has grown so much.
“You and your electricity is damn annoying!”
“Hold on. I will call for help. Give me your other hand!”
“I don't need your help!”
She grasped his left hand and pulled on it.
“You are too naive."
His armament disassembled and he fell down.
“No!”
She jumped down trying to catch him. Look at her. Look at how devoted she is to saving anyone she could reach out to. She swam in the air and hugged him.
Yessssss!! Whoohoooo! Yeah!! I’m a genius!! ...is what he would have screamed but he restrained himself with everything he had.
As the reached closer to the ground, his antigravity field activated and slowed them down. They landed on a mattress truck he placed beforehand. At most, their injuries were bruises. Local authority was there to carry him off as always. His wrists were cuffed with superpower dampening handcuffs even though he was never seen using his superpowers, it was a measure of caution.
As he was pushed into the police car, a voice rumbled as the police car he was getting into got crushed.
“Horus! How pathetic! You dare lose to her? Then what do you make of my reputation?”
Shoot. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't in his plan. He was naive. Heroes aren't the only ones aiming for the number one villain. His consecutive loss made him look way weaker than he was supposed to be. Especially Ironwind, who’s driven purely by ambition and pride, Eletra would become a nice steppingstone.
“Horus! I will show you how it's done!”
Ironwind rushed to Eletra in an instant, beating her down. At first, she was holding up but slowly the difference in strength showed. Ironwind clicked open a folding knife and went for the finisher. The blurred knife stopped after piercing through a projected shield, projection device and Horus' hand. Horus stood between them holding the weight of both of Ironwind's arm strength.
“You are naive.” Horus breathed out.
His handcuffs clattered on the ground where he was a second ago.
“Huh? What's this Horus?” Ironwind had a confused face.
“No one is allowed to defeat her before I do it.” Horus wore his signature evil smile.
“Don't tell me... Horus, is this the girl that you are head over heels in love with?”
“Love? Horus, what does this mean?” Eletra looked confused.
“Love for rivalry I guess, I don't know what the hell is going on in the villain community. After all the time I spent in the prison.”
Horus' evil smile faded and was replaced with a cold, silent glare at Ironwind who stood unfazed.
“We know who you are mister Voltra.” Ironwind slowly smiled as Horus froze, “We started digging through your documents when you emerged as the world's strongest by killing Voltra out of nowhere. Hah! You made a mistake of not killing anyone after that.”
“How many knows of this?”
“Everyone in the community.”
Tinted visor slid over Horus’ face and a helmet assembled into existence.
A very familiar electronic voice came from the helmet, “Voltra is dead.” | 2017-09-17T05:37:21 | 2017-09-17T04:19:39 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You get achievements in life, such as "Get Married" or "Meet your future Wife". Today you had your first baby, and you see an achievement pop up: "Meet the person who will eventually kill you" | For sixty years I lived in fear of my daughter. For sixty years I’ve lived with the anxiety of knowing at any moment she will end me. For sixty years I’ve been walking on eggshells and making excuses to make myself distant. Was the achievement incorrect? Was everything I did all for naught or was it merely enough to keep me going as long as I did?
The cancer will end me shortly. Soon will be the endless sleep. Free from this pain and agony. In fact I don’t think I can keep my eyes open anymore...
“He’s unconscious. It won’t be long” said the doctor. Emma looked up from her writhing father’s face and nodded. With tears rolling down her cheek she leaned over to kiss her father one last time.
“Goodbye, Dad.”
And with that she pushed the button to deliver a lethal dose of morphine to her father. One last act of mercy. | When I saw the achievement I started to cry. You see it's not the first time I've had a brush with this achievement. My family line has always had achievements. As far back as we can remember even before video games had them.
They let my ancestors pick right paths in life, which is what led to my family being a small farming family in eastern Europe. To a corporate powerhouse in America. The son takes over for the father in our family, and it usually occurs after death.
Men in my family die young, compared to the national Average. They still live well into there 50s, sometimes 60s if they're lucky. However there's never been a male in my family to live until they are 70. That's because the son's kill the father.
Just like I killed my father. Now I don't want you to think I murdered him in cold blood. No, it was an act of mercy. Alzheimer's run deep in my family especially in males. By their mid 50s-mid 60s they lose almost all recognition of who they were only having brief faded memories of a younger time.
They struggle to remember the faces of their wives and children, and their grand children are like strangers to them. They stop being able to care for themselves and are soon bound to beds. Constantly in a state of confusion.
In these dire moments they turn to their eldest sons and ask them something. To please end the suffering. Over time of course this has gotten easier physically but never emotionally.
My own father told me through a haze of confusion, about how the day I was born he had seen this same achievement himself, and that his father had seen the same achievement the day he was born, and so on and so forth.
He said it hit him even harder then me, the idea that he would fade slowly from this world like his father and force such a thing upon his son. It sent him into a depression, that he only came out of when I was a bit older.
He told me what it meant and then asked me to the deed. Of course, I followed through. Luckily my father is a man with great foresight. In writing, voice recording and video recording he gave his consent for voluntary euthanasia. It was simply me signing a couple of forms and he peacefully went to sleep.
Although it still eats me up inside to this day, I know it's what he wanted, but the feeling of ending a parents life. Even with their consent, it's hard to shake.
So that is why I now weep, as I look upon this beautiful little baby, my son. Mixed with the black box with the words "Meet the person who will eventually kill you". I know that I won't escape my family's curse, that I will likely never connect with my grandchildren or great grand children, and that I will put a burden on this wonderful little child.
It's almost too much to bear, but I will. I'll bear it in silence like my father, and his father. I'll try to find every cure or procedure to prevent my fate, and if not mine, ensure that my own son will not have to put his child through such pain. I only hope, when the time comes for me to explain this, that he will understand. | 2018-01-12T18:57:10 | 2018-01-12T17:34:09 | 1,530 | 222 |
[WP] Your mouse cursor has broken through your screen and can now interact with the world around you. You realize that you can do everything in the real world like you can on your computer, but right clicking gives you many more options. | I'm sorry, but I will save you, forgive me.
It started with a small crack on the screen.
I thought nothing of it, it was an old desktop and I had thrown some abuse at it over the years, and besides, it didn't really bother me - after all, it was only small. Overtime it grew, the screen became unusable and fragile. The crack traveled across the screen, and it seemed to be following one thing - my cursor.
I took my desktop to a repair shop to see if I could be helped, no such luck, the thing was practically useless. I set aside some cash to buy a laptop instead, when it happened.
March 20th, 2018 at 22:34 was when it happened. It was slow at first, the crack moved at a steady pace across the screen, and then it went faster, and faster until the screen shattered. I'm sure the neighbors woke up - but I had bigger problems than the lousy couple next door.
In front of me was a giant, floating cursor - fresh from the boundaries of my desktop.
I was frozen in shock and horror, but also what seemed like... excitement? This cursor, what could it do? Why was it here? Could it speak? Would it follow me around like a pet? All these questions and much, much more circled around in my head until, after what seemed like hours, I reached out to grab my physical mouse.
Luckily for me, it was wireless. I moved my mouse in the air a little and the floating cursor followed. I left-clicked and my cupboard was floating in the air, trapped in a blue bubble in the sky. I was so shocked I dropped the mouse and therefore my cupboard. Pottery went everywhere, spices and all that other rubbish. That was alright, I could clean it up later.
I grabbed my mouse again and pondered what I could do with it. That was when I right-clicked.
In all fairness, I would say that right-clicking was both the best and worst thing to ever happen to me.
In front of my unbelieving eyes was a huge menu containing possibly thousands of buttons ranging from 'Money Bonus' to 'Terrain Creation'. Each button that I pressed had 50 or so more features to explore. So many features, so many buttons. I just had to press them all.
The first thing I did was press 'Money Bonus', of course, anyone would want a money bonus. The drop downs listed were from 10p to £100,000,000. If I pressed 10p, 10p appeared on my table. If I pressed £100,000 - a stack of 2000 £50 notes appeared in my living room.
I had too much power, and even then, I knew it.
I tried everything, new cars, pets, Hell, I think I might have stumbled upon the cure for cancer - but there was one button in particular that caught my eye. A button that I stared at for a long time.
"Delete all."
I was curious. I was naive. I'm sorry, and I regret what I did. Please forgive me.
I pressed the button.
It came down piece by piece, but slowly at first. A painting in my house disappeared into blue pixels, each pixel disappearing to God knows where. Then it was my upturned cupboard, and then my desktop, and a wall. Then my house. Then my street. Then my town, my city, my country. Then it was just water. Just ocean. Where was I?
I was floating above it all, all the ocean, I could see it. Chunks of the ocean disappeared. This time turning into red and green pixels floating upwards. Chunk by chunk, a little bit here, a little bit there. Then they became big chunks. Atlantic Ocean, Indian Ocean. There was no water.
Just layers of the Earth. I was floating above it all, watching magma bubble red hot, until soon that disappeared too.
In the end, it was just darkness. I was in the darkness, alone, and afraid.
But I had my cursor.
And, the first thing on my agenda was to rebuild. | Pro-gamers tend to be quick, able to react with lightning speed to any new situation, even unexpected ones. That reflex had saved Randy's life as the razor sharp pointer slammed through his screen and went straight for his forehead. It was massive, black, glossy, and now reflected just a touch of red as the teen's hand slowly bled down its angular form.
Randy "Dragon Rage" Eikcousman stared at the object impaled through his palm with one part dumb fascination and one part horror. Slowly the idea of what happened slipped into his mind's eye, that he should probably be screaming with said horror, that the reason wasn't just the massive amount of pain lancing through his hand but also the fact that the object in question wasn't supposed to exist in real life. It slowly dawned on him that he was, in fact, screaming, but hadn't been aware enough to realize how hoarse his voice had become. A little while later, partly from blood loss and partly sheer shock, his vision flickered in and out before all his senses collapsed into a blank void.
Some uncountable time later, his mother's screaming woke him back up, followed by panicked, awkward flailing, the cursor slamming down against his chair, desk, bed post, and keyboard, all of which suddenly started to subtly glow and pulse. Of course this also hurt like hell, serving to remind him he'd been stabbed by a digital object, the object was still in his hands, and he was bleeding excessively from said wound. Unsurprisingly, he blacked out again.
In his dreams he relived the moments just before his wound, albeit in some strange inverse timeline. The moment the mouse had ripped through the plastic covering his LCD, leaving behind pieces of silicon and a strange grey liquid. How he'd slammed his mouse against the screen after losing a fight. The game he had been streaming to his fans moments before, all of them urging his legendary rage, his handle's namesake, on. The new software that let them connect directly to his movements, living out the rapid movements as if they were his own. The seedy startup company that had offered him the streaming contract so he could quit school and play full time, despite his well known rage issues.
He woke to strange faces and lights flashing in front of his eyes, as well as the jumbled sound of conversation. "Ma'am, look, ma'am, calm down, look, he's all right. See eyes are open and everything. We'll get him to the hospital, no worries. You can calm down now." The faces looked concerned, confused, but determined. "Son, son do you know where you are"
Croaking out a slurred sentence that may or may not have been "the fuck?", he tried to push himself up, only to feel lancing pain in his arm. "Hold on, hold on, don't move that arm. You hurt yourself on one of your toys son. Ease up a bit, there we go. We're going to give you a little something to relax you now..." A sharp pain hit his leg, and suddenly a rush of warm liquid flooded his veins. Randy noticed the man was in a white shirt and jeans, a red cross patch on his shoulder. Vainly flailing, trying to comprehend even the slightest bit of what was going on, his hand slapped against the man's own arm, suddenly adding another glow to Randy's vision, not just the pulsing light from before, but a whole box of text right next to him. It read 'MED_PARAMED_FF3813A' at the top, with bolded options underneath. "FFfffebsswhaaThe FUCK?!" The flailing became even worse, his hand intersecting into one of the lines of text.
> 'Virus scan initiated, processing'
To his horror, the object suddenly morphed into a rapidly spinning gyroscope, tearing a larger hole in his palm and causing everyone to jump back in terrified surprise. "What the hell is tha...Oh my god Frank, Frank what the hell is happening to you!? Frank! FRANK!"
The paramedic who was being scanned was frozen in place, his body slowly crystallizing before everyone's eyes. Randy's agony was slowly dulling, a product of the morphine finally hitting his brain, but it only served to finally let him see beyond the vicious pain in his hand to the box.
> 'Quarantining threats:
> Malware-Standard-Rhinovirus
> Adware-Nicotine
> Malware-Standard-Escherichia coli
> Adware-Worm-Pop songs [+ see all in category]
> Adware-Trojan-Rickworth's Frozen Steakums (Well Done)
> ... '
The stream of text were only a few seconds in running by before the object returned to cursor form and another prompt came up.
> 'Permanently Quarantine, Remove Threats, Remove File, Ignore Threats'
Randy could barely focus, his hand hovering drunkenly to the rhythm of his heartbeat, the warmth in his veins (and also pooling out of them). He had gotten drunk on stream before. High too. There was even that time he'd been convinced to do bump of coke for each series won on a tournament night. He could focus, he knew he could, his hand poised over the fourth line. He squinted, timing the weaving drunken limb, and punched straight through the box.
> 'Archiving Quarantine file'
The gyroscope exploded into being again, spinning up faster than before, pacing itself to the crackling of crystals growing a foot thick around poor Frank's body. The last thing Randy remembered before blacking out once more was seeing the liquid flowing out of his LCD just a little faster.
_____________________________________________________________________
In a van outside the Eikcousman residence, a woman was shouting at a man behind her and threatening him with a cup of what appeared to be very fresh and very hot coffee.
"Next time you want to show off to Teresa and the rest of the board, fucking ASK before selling this as open beta. Do you have any idea how hard it is to fix a memory leak in reality?"
The man shook his head dumbly and turned back to his own monitor, half taken up by cameras and half by an e-mail that read "Director Hart...automatic updating of the 0.92a release is probably important...otherwise we expect things to go smoothly...PS: Friday Night Happy Hour?"
| 2018-03-25T09:29:26 | 2018-03-25T08:33:46 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] You get a chance to be reborn with your mind intact. You work hard from birth and are quickly placed in a class for ultra-prodigies from around the world. Turns out, however, they all did the same thing you did. | I had to fight to keep from losing my mind... One moment I am driving down the interstate arguing with my ex via speakerphone, the next my head is filled if fog and I'm in a blindingly bright room.
Birth, it turns out, is awful for all parties involved. I don't think anything special happened to me that doesn't happen to all people, but I believe that the vast majority of us lose who we are while we are trapped in uselessly weak bodies. Imagine the drunkest state of being you could possibly reach and survive. Now hold onto that feeling for literally months while learning how to pilot a new body that needs to develop and train six different muscles in its throat in order to control the noises it makes.
My first word wasn't "Dada" because I wanted paternal affection, it was because the "D" sound was the easiest to make and that STILL took six months.
Somewhere along the lines of learning to vocalize a language I'd been confined to hearing SCREAMED in an increasingly distant and unfamiliar adult male voice within my own head, I realized that I couldn't just articulate that I wasn't a baby. In addition to the claim being factually untrue, it would have been absurd to anyone hearing it. It'd have been written off as just nonsense that kids say. So I just sort of took things as they came, and somewhere along the line, the idea came to me that I had literally been given a second chance at life. I could do better in school, apply myself better, focus in on my interests, and really make a good life for myself.
So that's what I did.
By the time I was able to enter preschool I was reading. Not at the same level I had as an adult, but I think there was a disconnect... The person I used to be was partitioned away in some corner of this new mind that still needed to have knowledge and skills written to it. There was no free skill or expertise, I still had to teach this child... Me... Everything. But part of me still existed enough to know what it was I needed to teach myself. It was as if I was playing a game with clearly marked objectives. I still had to do things for myself, but things were far easier than if I'd simply been left to figure things out for myself.
At any rate, I stayed ahead of my peers academically, and I forced myself to interact well enough to not be branded with the label of Aspergers, Autism, or any undesirable title.
The feeling of drunkenness never really goes away. Who I Was is pleading with Who I Am to try to find a way to study other languages and get access to a computer more sophisticated than mother's old tablet. But Who I Am has the mind of a young child full of chemicals that respond *really* well to colorful cartoons and a lot less well to technical white papers and calculus.
It wasn't until around the 5th grade, I would say, that Who I Am and Who I Was began to merge. If I'd given up the battle at any point along the way I fear that Who I Am would have been lost forever and I'd have been just another child who showed a lot of promise early in life. But right around age 10, I guess the chemicals in my brain finally stopped fighting me as much. Perhaps it was because we were laying the groundwork for puberty and men never really *stop* being dominated by testosterone until they're nearing forty, but Who I Was began to take over.
I went from doing 7th grade arithmetic (which, in the 5th grade garnered praise from my teachers, but wasn't enough to warrant specialty class placement) to brush up on calculus and statistics. Now I warranted attention. My parents (even typing that now feels odd, but I guess facts are facts) were approached about placing me in higher classes. But these weren't just any higher classes. I'd be boarded at a facility where the world's top prodigies (about 60 of us, in total) were all given the very best education money couldn't buy. The whole thing was funded by some sort of special interest Think Tank of billionaires from across the globe.
But the one thing I learned there, almost as soon as I was unsupervised with the other children, was that we were all living our second lives. There is a certain type of atmosphere that comes from incredibly intelligent, ultimately self-serving people being gathered in one place for the sole goal of becoming as powerful as they can be. Each of these seemingly innocent children had full lives worth of experience. Some had died in their eighties after fighting in wars. Some had killed for cartels. Some had, like myself, lived unspectacularly. But now we are all competing in a cut-throat academic system to merely be the 60 smartest children on Earth, but the be smarter than the other 59. To garner more fame and opportunity. Rise to more power. And shape the world as we saw fit. All of this, of course, while living what amounted to slightly down-scaled college dorms.
It wasn't long before someone wound up dead.
[More?] | When I laid on my death bed 16 years ago, I was sure that I would spend the rest of eternity in eternal bliss, spending time with my Creator and those who had gone before me. Little did I know then that things would be different. I had spent my time in that lifetime working hard, loving my family, and loving my God. When I was finally taken, he offered me a task. The task of a new life, simply for being diligent and following his command in my old body. He told me then, you may be reborn, and I will allow you the opportunity once: You may retain all you know, but you will be burdened beyond belief as you will be one of the humans to guide humanity into the next technological age. I knew this was nothing to take lightly. I was asked by my Father to take on something that would be near impossible. He told me I wouldn't be able to relax peacefully, or visit with my loved ones in Heaven until I had completed my task. But at the time I was confident in doing what I was asked.
That seems like a world away now. My mind is nearly 110, and my body a fraction of that. I've spent my years in this new life in study. I remember from previous life that children's minds are most pliable at a young age. As such, I've spent years learning, about technology, computers, languages, physics, mathematics. I've devoted my life to study.
My new parents think I'm a perfect child compared to my siblings. I never act out and am always studying I clean up after myself and never argue with them; What reason would they possibly have to complain about me? It's a little strange having more knowledge about the world than they do, so I try to stay quiet as I understand I will likely just be mocked if I share my many years of wisdom. But every now and again it is nice as I get to share insight with them or my peers.
I don't have many friends, as most of them are envious of my talents. They don't know that there isn't much they should be jealous of; I have almost a century of life experience over them. While the few people I know from school are spending their free time playing video games or going out to High School football games, I stay at the library. Studying. My grades and test scores, they've all been perfect since I started school. This is because I've used what I knew before to my advantage. There aren't any others that have had what I've had.
I chose this life because of what I was told when I died. That I'd be burdened beyond belief. Simple, I thought at the time, I would just use my new life to study, learn, and apply more knowledge than I ever could in my old life because I knew what was coming. But often times I miss spending my youth with friends, flirting with girls "my age" in frivolous activities. It can be depressing at times with nobody like me, to revel in old stories over coffee. Often, I wonder why I chose to even be reborn with my memories intact. I suppose I wanted something different in my new life.
Every now and again my old mind does play tricks on me. I often feel like I lose my train of thought or it can take a while to verbalize what I'm trying to say, though I know what I want to say. I've also felt regularly like I'm being watched - strange to say the least. The Deja Vu moments come and go regularly, where I do something that I remember doing in my old life.
The thing I miss most is my wife. My beautiful Danielle. We spent 58 years together before she passed almost a dozen years before me. I didn't even get the chance to see her when I died. We had 2 kids and 7 grandchildren together. Growing up, Danielle and I were always together. In school, we were the best of friends, and it wasn't until after I returned from Vietnam and graduated college that we realized we might have a future together. We built a home, raised a family, and grew old together. Missing her might be the only reason I regret the decision I made.
---
It's 2062 now. I'm ahead of all of my the people my age, and I'm going into College a few years early. I got accepted into all of the major universities. I even had some schools reaching out to me that I didn't apply for. The final letter I got was from Harvard. Most of the other Ivy Leagues had sent me their acceptance letters mere days after I submitted my application, but this one was different. I received this letter at the end of summer. I had already packed my things for MIT, as I wanted to be at a school with a strong focus on Technology. When I opened it, it started as usual...
> Dear Mr. David Robinson,
> We thank you for your application to our school, and we would be honored to accept you into any of our programs here at Harvard. With that in mind...
I've seen all of this before and considering their letter was late, I kept skimming.
> We hope you will consider us for this once in a lifetime opportunity. Few students are offered the opportunity for our UP program. We understand this is a last minute notice, but we took notice of your exceptional talents and wanted to be sure of our decision. If you have any further questions, please direct them to our UP Program Advisor, John McArthur. You can reach him at 555-555-0419 or via email at jmcarthur@harvard.edu.
>With Kind Regards,
>Harvard University Admissions
This was certainly strange, and wasn't something that I expected. I read a little bit further and it seemed like they were inviting me to attend as part of their "Ultra Prodigy Program". Only students with exceptional knowledge, talents, and "life experience" were invited.
I had a strange feeling as though this was the moment I knew I had been waiting for. I decided to call the number provided. It rang twice before a gruff, yet somehow familiar old voice answered:
"David, I've been waiting for your call. I'm sorry our letter took so long, but we had to be sure you belonged in the UP Program".
Before I could squeeze a word in he continued after barely taking a breath.
"See David, I know you've got many questions about the UP Program, how it isn't listed on any of the brochures, guides, or even our website. That's because it's an exclusive program to people like you."
I had an intense feeling of insecurity. Like he genuinely knew my deepest secret. But how could he possibly know this? It's something I thought was between me and God. There's know way someone else could know. Sure he might be able to know that I was gifted beyond measure, but could he really know?
"I'm sure you must be baffled. Yes, I know your secret. And I would be happy to explain it to you and the others. The 4 of you to be specific. I know this may come as a shock to you, but the short answer is yes, we do know that you've been given a gift of immeasurable value. We'd like to sit down to discuss your further education, and introduce you to your future classmates, the other 3 people who chose to be reborn from their old lives." | 2018-04-23T09:59:32 | 2018-04-23T09:44:38 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Two minutes ago, every individual worldwide swapped bodies with another random person. You are now standing in a foreign city, in the midst of a confused and frightful crowd. | John had been heading towards the ocean at sunset. That was when a flash of light blinded him and all he could hear were people around him were yelling incoherently. When his eyes adjusted he looked around in panic to find it was now night time and he was in a strange city. Tall buildings towered over head, giants ran around, grabbing and shouting at each other. A large man in front of him had dropped and shattered an expensive looking camera. John noticed he was holding something. Looking down he was surprised to see his hands were now smooth and soft... he wasn't in a land of giants. He was in the body of a child. John could only watch in shock as ketchup dripped onto his shoes.
---
His dad was dragging him into yet another photo. It was their first trip to the big city and as usual dad wanted to document *everything*, even his first authentic New York hot dog.
"This is the last one I'll take!" he promised "Okay three...two...one"
With the sound of the click Billy felt himself lifted off his feet like he was on a roller coaster, the last thing he remembered was the ocean waves crashing against the jagged rocks rising up to meet him. | Pale white men dashing rampant across unfamiliar streets. A blonde woman looks onto me and screams in a tongue foreign to mine. The ground shakes and trembles to the repeated footsteps of 6 billion human creatures stomping away in unison. It's like the beginning of a low budget zombie apocalypse movie, with every blink I see a new image of horror taking in its glorious moments in the frame.
I am pushed to my knees by the running crowds and I hurriedly scramble for my glasses, but they are not there. I reach to my face but my nose is not bearing the weight of blunt plastic and layers of glass. I suddenly realize I do not them as I can see vividly without. My moment of epiphany is interrupted by another nudge that puts me closer to a pool of fresh crimson blood shimmering in the midday summer heat, and in that glazed surface I see my reflection, of a face that is not mine. I stand up as sweat trickles down from my collar bone to my pelvis only to hear the deafening cacophony of thousands of people screaming at once. I look up only to see the Santa Maria Del Fiore (a famous construction of the Renaissance age), even in the dreaded moment, it is a thing of beauty.
Last thing I remember before the after mentioned screams of horror, is running from my car to my house in my calm, uneventful British town of Bath. I had lived there almost all my life and the blackout that happened 3 years ago was the most important event in the town's recent history. I cannot remember how I woke up in the harbor of the Renaissance, Florence. To my dismay, everyone around me in a kilometre radius is as appalled as I am, some more than others. I watch them attempt pitiful ways to communicate only to be misunderstood as each was speaking a different language. It takes little time for the inevitable to happen, the realization that all consequences have been rendered obsolete, that everything is for the taking. Cars begging to be stolen, stores anticipating the pillaging, and the women vulnerable to the plunder. No law, no punishment, it is a dream come true to our inner most subconscious instinct embedded into our human fiber. It takes a little push to turn a shaved ape into his true prehistoric undomesticated chimpanzee form. Even chimpanzees would shudder as they witness what I witness. A popular apocalyptic concept I always thought to be overestimated but was apparently undermined as I realize no movie could express the real shrieks of women screaming for help, the blood trails painting the earth, the humane character terminated.
I wasn't going to let this opportunity be left behind. I pick up a large stone, bash the person ahead of stealing a Ferrari Testerossa left on a narrow street, break into the car myself, wipe his blood of my pale white shirt, and put my foot down all the way. Bodies fly off either side the car as I ram into them 100 Km/h, I watch them try to aviate mid-air only to meet the cold unforgiving ground beneath them. In a few seconds I leave behind tens of bodies, most only bearing little resemblance to their former shape. I could feel a man's skull crushed as I take in my time, savouring the precious seconds to roll my front wheel over his forehead. The wheel reaches its pinnacle, comes to an abrupt stop, and then meets the ground once again through the man's brain as it becomes a liquid cast on the asphalt.
"Well" I think to myself "when in Rome...or Florence for that matter."
| 2018-04-26T17:29:30 | 2018-04-26T15:42:33 | 73 | 19 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | Flames whirl in a red and purple maelstrom. A middle aged woman falls backwards out of her seat. Her four children finally stop their roughhousing, entranced by the fire. Two teenagers with fake eyelashes, fake nails, and fake fur coats replace their fake smiles with very real screams. A would be hero gets up and tosses a coke into the fire, of course it has no effect. Several people run for the door. You stare through the flames in front of you, although they are mere inches from your face the don't burn at all.
You get glances of someone on the other side of the whirlwind, whose face flickers between a hideous tentacled visage and the smiling face of the cashier you ordered from a moment before. There seems to be something moving in the middle of the blazing tornado but you can't make it out. The colors of the fire are truly beautiful, and mesmerizing. The flames die down slightly allowing you to make out a stone plinth in the center, slowly rising up out of the floor. On top are three small objects. A cylinder, which angles out from the base at an eldritch angle. A box, similar devoid of right angles. And something round, sinisterly flatter than a normal ball. The plinth rises up to eye level, the suddenly stops and the flames immediately die away. Sitting on top of a dread-inspiring stone plinth, carved with terrible runes and engravings of torture scenes, is the Coke, Fries, and Burger you asked for. The cashier wipes a stray tentacle off his face and says,
"Next time you can just order in English." | The man behind the counter froze in the middle of typing out my order. They looked up at me wide eyed and said,"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." Sounding somewhat surprised.
That night, standing in the empty 24/7 McDonald's of our small desert town, it finally happened. The thing that I had been waiting for for my entire life, and had a feeling would happen eventually.
"Shit. You're an alien?" I said more worried about making a good impression than running away.
They responded with a look of 'are you kidding me' before dryly stating "what else would I be?" and they quickly regained their compsure.
I was struggling to hold back my enthusiasm.
They did not seem as amused by the encounter and they were actually starting to get concerned. "Uh... Is everything alright there? You look like you are about to piss yourself." They went back to typing.
My mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, as the cashiers words flew over my head.
"Oh my God! Is the name on your tag your real name? How'd you get here? Wait how long have you lived here? I mean in this town not just, you know, on the planet. " This went on for about half an hour. It stopped when the cashier stuffed a burger in my mouth while I was lost in the nervice tidal wave.
They said a single word " Eat." and that was that.
I sat down at a table and began to nibble away at my fries. The cashier disappeared around a corner for a minute or so before returning to sit across from me. The taste of food suddenly reminded me that I had forgotten to have lunch and dinner that day, due to getting cought up in fixing my car's engine.
He sat down with the chair facing backwards to so he could lean forward with out touching the sticky table. He said "I don't know what the deal is with you, but I am going to have to ask where you learned to speak like that. Because you are obviously just one very confusing human being."
While going to town on the burger I said "don't know. I was sort of born with this weird super power to communicate really fucking well. Almost like mind reading but without the mind reading. I honestly don't know what language I am speaking in most of the time unless somebody either tells me or they say something very specific to that tounge." I stop to drink a sip of soda. The cashier, whom I just then noticed had 'Stanly' on his name tag, showed a visable confusion drawn on to his face like a sudden migraine. He muttered something. He muttered 'God damn it, Jax I told you not to go sleeping around.' I think. Muttering isn't an exact language. Stanly sighed and asked "would there by any chance be a rumour in your family that somebody anybody met an alien?"
I finnished off my burger not fully grasping the situation, "Not that I know of. Why?"
Stanly mumbled to himself again and said " I don't have any easier way to break the news to you, kid. Someone in your family line has... engaged in some cross breeding."
I choked on my drink, "what?!"
Stanly continued "Your powers are a knockoff version of my races abilities to process information."
"I just thought I had autism."
I guess this was not Stanly's best night. He paused to figure out what to say next.
He then hesitantly said " I wouldn't... rule that out entirely. The weight of this really doesn't seem to be, um... Regestaring correctly."
I gave an understanding nod an said "Ya, that tends to happen a lot. I'm getting better though." (I only realised two days later that I had been drinking my soda very obnoxiously. )
I drank some more of my sprite.
Stanly tried to get back on track. He said "Right... How would you like to meet your something far back grandfather?"
| 2018-06-24T21:21:58 | 2018-06-24T20:39:44 | 79 | 41 |
[WP] A group of heroes stay in the small house of a humble rancher. Out of boredom, the wizard decides to see if anything around them has magic, then finds that a sheep has a ridiculously powerful aura | “and you think something mysterious is in this barn?” asked the bard.
“Yes, I could swear it’s right through here. I couldn’t make out exactly what is was, but something on the other side of these walls is emanating an extreme amount of magical power,” the wizard replied. “I’m surprised you can’t feel it honestly. All the hairs on my neck are standing on end.”
“I’m just surprised there would be such high-level magic out in a place like this. This ranch isn’t really the lap of luxury,” said the bard.
“It’s not the most comfortable place we’ve stayed, but you know it really isn’t the worst either. I know I’d prefer an itchy bed to another cave floor. I’m not as young as I used to be, and besides the rancher isn’t even charging us for the stay… k n o c k” casted the wizard, and the lock on the door fell to the ground. “Now help me slide this panel over, I have to see what he’s been hiding back here.”
The wizard and the bard take hold of the barn door. It isn’t a very large bard, but it’s just big enough for each of them to get a hold on it and screech it open along its rusty track… the reveal a few small stacks of hay in an all but empty room, and commanding the center of the room laid… a sleeping sheep.
“Ooohhhhh hohoooo big magic!! Look out, I think he’s gonna throw a fireball at us!” mocked the bard. “So, where’s the high-level item? Behind it?” He continued, prodding the sheep.
“The aura is coming right out of our wooly friend right here, so unless it somehow ate something magical way out here in the middle of nowhere, I’m thinking this sheep is what we were looking for.”
The sheep started to wrestle awake and upon seeing its two intruders jolted to a stand. Its eyes, filled with dread, shifted back and forth between the two travelers before falling on the wizard.
“It’s okay my friend. We aren’t here to hurt you. We just wanted to see what was hiding back here,” stated the wizard while inching closer.
Alarmed, the magical beast darted away from the others to bury its head in a pile of hay.
“Really, we didn’t’ mean to frighten you. Just had to come see is all…“
The bard trailed off as the sheep whipped its head back to its guests to deposit a robe in its mouth. Then, it turned its head back to continue digging.
“Where… did he?” stammered the bard as the travelers rushed over and began shifting through the hay revealing a stack of gear to completely outfit another person, another wizard. The gear had been cloaked by a spell even greater than the aura of the sheep to remain hidden to but the most potent of magicians.
With the discovered gear between them, the sheep stared back into the eyes of the wizard who’s initial expression of amazement started to match the fear look of its own. It didn’t show fear for its life, but a deep concern for the lives of the travelers.
“Maybe w w w we should get going,” stuttered the wizard.
The hair all but leapt off the back of the wizard’s neck as a shadow drew over the interior of the barn from the doorway behind.
“I don’t think you two will be going anywhere,” scratched the voice. “And what luck, I was just thinking I could really use a few more sheep around here!” | The farmer, Hebcliff, leaned forward in his chair tapping his pipe out idly against the wood. He fixes his eyes on a beast of a man as the last wisp of smoke from a long pipe draw drifts off in the wind.
“Is your uhh, wizard, touched in the head friend?”
Pliatreze pauses for a moment before answering, a little unsure after the wizards most recent observation.
Timian, taking offense at the hesitation answered for himself. “I most certainly am not. And I will show you. Hessius, grab my pack from inside.”
Hessius didn’t look up from oiling his bow. “When the fuck did I become your lackey? You got two working legs as far as I can tell.”
“Timian. The sheep?” Clara’s eyebrow arched up towards her saturno.
“YES. This bag of flees and fluff.”
A subtle “Hey now” came from the porch.
“Ok then. I’ll retrieve your bag.” Clara said. She handed Timian her holy tome and added, “don’t let the magical beast fly away while I’m gone.”
After Clara disappeared into the house and everyone took their turn mocking Timian, the farmers face scrunched up like he just had his first thought in years.
“What is it you exactly plan on doing to Tizzy there. It ain’t gonna hurt her none will it?”
“Not in the slightest. It a simple incantation with the aid of a few baubles so you all can see what I can see.”
“Like you did with that rune down in Dinkirk?” Pliatreze asked.
“Hope not just like that.” Hessius growled.
“Shut up. I grabbed the *wrong* rune. The dungeon collapsed. There. Are you both happy? And yes, just like that except this time I’ll be showing you I’m right.”
“You aren’t settling my nerves any wizard.”
“Just trust me, Ill practice on a rock or something first if it helps. Where in blazes is Clara. What is taking her so long?”
Pliatreze guffawed and said, “She probably stopped to pray and take a nap. Or she wasn’t really gonna play fetch for you in the first place. C’mon let’s go get it, I wanna grab some more of that sweet lemonade anyway, if that’s ok with you sir.”
Hebcliff banged his pipe a few more times to clear out the old tobacco and stood up. “O’ course. I think I’ll pour another myself.”
“I’ll take sheep duty.” Hessius mumbled.
“We’ll she ain’t going nowhere but suit yourself.”
The three men filed into the house letting the door swing slowly closed behind them. Timian made his way down the hallway to his room while Pliatreze and the farmer prepared to help themselves to lemonade.
Timian’s scream echoed down the hallway. “PLIA!!!!”
A full glass shattered on the floor and two hundred plus pounds of pure muscle raced down the hallway towards the sound.
The room was a mess of blood. Timian was crouched in a corner hands palm out glowing light blue, a physical ward. Clara’s body laid awkwardly on the bed, one foot still on the ground. Her neck sported a sharp gash as did both her wrists.
Pliatreze’s axe was out in an instant and pointing at Timian. “Did you ward your fucking pack! Did you kill her with laziness you bastard little shit!”
Timian matched his anger, “NO. I absolutely did not. My shit is loud and showy. If it was mine it would have blown the room out!”
The farmer rounded the corner got all shaky and ambled himself back to use the wall for support.
A cool breeze made its way through the room. Pliatreze and Timian noticed the open window together. They moved fast and called out a warning to Hessius as they put heel to toe. The farmer gathered his wits and decided that sticking with them was the wisest thing ever thought in the history of time.
Pliatreze was out the door first, off the porch and to the tree. His brain was just barely processing Hessius’ throat and wrist wounds when a crossbow bolt went through it.
Timian froze on the porch stairs, warding hands up and hovering trying to anticipate the next attack when he heard a pipe tapping on wood behind him. Memories from academy rushed back. Lessons of language. Lessons of hidden languages. Lessons of a hidden codes made with sounds.
“Oh.”
“Real sorry about this. ‘Tis a shame really.”
Timian turned to the farmer whose face showed he really meant it.
“Why?”
He barely felt the knife slice his throat. And never heard an answer to his final question.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
“Fine work boys. Now take off them cloaks and clean this up. I’ll get Tizzy back to the house. And have yer Ma set you up some stiff drinks.”
Hebcliff walked Tizzy around the small farmhouse and back to a large partially hidden cellar like door. He opened it and let the sheep go first down the ramp. The room was a lined on both sides by full pens of sheep. The pens themselves were made out of the finest woods accessorized by rare metals and gems. Beyond that was an opulent underground mansion seemingly carved from marble.
Heblcliff gently urged the sheep into a pen and closed the latch behind her. Leaning down he reached through and rubbed her chin. “Well girl, you made quite a mess for us by getting out. We can’t just go letting all these adventurer and hero types know where all their precious “ancient” magical robes and such really come from now can we.” He gave her a wink and then walked off towards his mansion.
“I think I’ll have that lemonade now.” | 2020-01-12T01:01:13 | 2020-01-12T00:48:33 | 37 | 11 |
[WP] A new coffee shop opened up across the street from you. Your friends are all excited, but you recognize the owner; the jerks been following you around for a thousand years now. | "Duraliel," I began,
The barrista looked up, eyes wide.
"Kura'kahn narakh shi an'no," I said, which is Ancient Dawn-Aramiac for "You slimey bastard and son of a broken crane (doesn't translate well, but you get the picture), stop following me."
"Karazah nuhr bihali, asa." I added, which is Ancient Dawn Aramaic for, "Also, like Queens needs another coffee shop."
Duraliel shook his head, and replied in English.
"You gotta believe me, my old friend. This was not my doing. JENNA!" He yelled, putting a cappucino down on the counter.
"It's spelled Giehnna," the woman said tersley as she picked up her cup and gave an annoying glance at Duraliel.
Duraliel's entire eyes, pupils and sclera, flashed pure white, and Geihnna quickly went on her way.
I pressed him.
"You've been on my tail for a long time. I'm supposed to believe that *this* is coincidence?"
He looked at me glumly. He took off his apron and stepped around the side of the counter and beckoned me to follow.
"The leylines are being cut, my old friend. One by one. This is one of the few left." He said. He looked more tired than anything.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
He shook his head. "You wonder why you move so often? You are tied to the leylines, and their convergences, just like the rest of us. They fade, of course, one by one. As Achilles spear is burried in the dust of Troy, so weakens the leyline. This you know."
I nodded. Something about his tone was different. Me and this guy know each other, but we're not "buds", and we certainly don't commiserate. Yet here I am.
"So what's changed?" I asked.
"What's changed," he said, "Is that someone is cutting the leylines prematurely. Forcing them to dull. Forcing us out."
We sat in silence.
"Why would someone want to do that?" I asked.
"I assume it's the humans. They know about us, or have remembered, or...I don't know." Duraliel said.
"It's not the humans." I replied squarely. "I work in their office that investigates these things."
At that Duraliel leaned back. "That must be stressful," he said.
I shrugged. "No one's caught on so far." I said. "But I can tell you it's not the humans."
"Well it's certainly not the Djinn," Duraliel said.
We sat again in silence before our eyes went wide.
"If it's not the humans..." he started,
"And it's not the Djinn," I finished,
"It's..." | His friend were still chatting to each other when he pushed his way in through the front door of the new coffee shop. He looked around the room and saw nothing out of the ordinary. A small shop, maybe ten tables, and comfortable padded chairs. The windows had wooden blinds that were closed to give the dining area a very cozy feel. It looked and felt like a nice place and considering it was just across the street from the office it was a perfect place to hang out after work. He let out a sight releasing the tension he had felt before entering the place. Ezra's was the name of the place and he had good cause to feel a bit uneasy when hearing that name. He thought to himself that it couldn't possibly be his tormentor and when he walked in to the shop he thought he could let things go a bit. He had been hiding himself for the last 80 years. He was starting to relax in this life that he'd taken on and was finally able to work out that stubborn knot in his shoulder, life was actually starting to not be so bad.
It was then that he looked up at the Barista and the color drained from his face. The man behind the bar he could recognize anywhere. He was wearing a mustache now with a wire thing goatee and his hair was colored blue. It was a wild look but when you're stuck in a teenagers body for all of eternity you may as well dress the party. He locked eyes with the man and the recognition set in and he was getting ready to either fight or run. He really hope he didn't have to fight this time because he liked this part of town and would really hate to see it burn down in flames. He stood stock still waiting for Ezra to make his move but all the eternal Barista did was nod his head in acknowledgement. He was so busy keeping an eye on Ezra that he didn't notice his friends tugging on his arm. They were trying to get him to sit down at the table they'd just put together. The distraction caused him to take his eye off of Ezra for a second and when he looked back the blue haired man was gone. He looked around the room and took a deep breath trying to get his heart beat in check. He didn't want to freak his friends out so he took a seat at the head of the table so he could flee if necessary.
He looked back at his group of friends and almost mourned their loss. He knew that it wouldn't be long before he'd have a knock down drag out fight with Ezra. He let out a sigh and reached for his cup of coffee. He took a deep drink and felt the hot liquid swish around his mouth. He savored the taste and was about to set the cup back down on the coaster when a piece of paper fell into his lap.
"Out back, NOW!" was all it said and he knew now it would be the time to start the destruction.
He excused himself from the table making an excuse he had to go to the restroom and crept out the back door. He opened the door and saw that Ezra was there leaning against the opposite wall of the alley. He didn't look up when the man had walked through and was still looking at the ground when the man let the door close behind him. The man took a step forward bringing himself a few steps in front of the blue haired man. He let the power that's been gathering inside him slow out a little into his extremities just to be safe in case he was attacked out right. Ezra finally looked up locking eyes with him again.
"STOP" it was a whisper but to the man it was almost a shout. The man took a step back getting into a defensive position because he wasn't sure what was happened. His eternal enemy was in front of him and didn't look like he was making any move to gather his power. He could strike out now and destroy Ezra but he kept thinking if he was fast enough.
"I SAID STOP", the blue haired man spoke again.
"80 years old man. I have been running from you for 80 years why the hell did you track me down now? I don't even remember what we were fighting for and I thought that if I disappeared you'd leave me alone. Why won't you just leave me alone."
That statement staggered the man. All these years they had been fighting and was it him that was the pursuer and not the other way around? His mind raced and he thought back to all the fights he'd had with Ezra and they had all been chance meetings. Every town he went to he'd eventually cross paths. Every time it would be a minor catastrophe and hundreds of people would be killed or hurt. He let his power ebb from his core and looked at the boy again.
"All this time I thought it was you that was chasing me. You live your life and I'll live mine. Deal?"
Ezra nodded and turned to walk away. The old man looked on as the boy that he had met over six thousand years ago head back into the coffee shop. The tears of relief streamed down his face and joy at the thought he could live out this eternity no longer tormented. | 2020-02-04T08:56:47 | 2020-02-04T07:52:49 | 115 | 28 |
[WP] Bob the hobo's always been a nice guy. He stops thugs tagging the building, picks up litter, and doesn't bother anyone. When he returned your wallet, you decided to repay him and treat him to dinner. You're now in a 5-star restaurant, and Bob has just paid a bill four times your yearly rent. | Bob gave a satisfied belch as the waiter carried away the last of the plates.
"Delicious, as always," he said.
Another oddity. A Boboddity, as I'd come to call them. Like falling upwards, he somehow knew exactly how to act. Which fork to use first, where to put his napkin, which wine to pair with the marbled cut of steak he'd ordered.
Then the check came, and I balked. It wasn't just a little more expensive than I'd though. Four times my rent. Four times my *yearly* rent. I'd go broke. But Bob barely let my fingers linger on it before snatching it from my hands.
"Mine," he said. "Finders keepers."
"Bob, there's no way--"
"I got it. It's on me. You go on your way and I'll take care of it."
"But... But how?"
"A little spare change is all. That's how you got here, right?"
It was. There he'd been, camped out in his favorite doorway. Sometimes he'd pick up litter, other times he'd scare away the local youth who came to tag the building. Today, he'd been jingling a couple coins in a cup.
"Spare a little change?" he asked every passerby. I was about to walk right by. I didn't have any spare change. I didn't even have my wallet. I'd lost it after a rough night out, and now I'd barely afford the month's rent.
His tune changed when he saw me. "Hey, buddy," he said. I shoved my hands deep in my pockets and pretended I hadn't heard him. "I got your wallet."
I paused, turned, looked him in the eyes. "You do?"
He held it out towards me. "Sure. Here you go. Just like you lost it."
"Thank you so much," I stammered, my face beet-red. "How can I repay you?"
He mulled it over for a moment, then his face brightened and he pointed at the steakhouse across the street. "How 'bout dinner? I ain't had dinner with somebody in a long minute."
"I can't afford--"
"Come on. Then we'll call it even."
We'd sat there for two hours pushing three. Chatting about who Bob was before, and who Bob would be next--like in his next life, apparently. We talked politics and revolutions, evolution and spaghetti.
"How?" I asked him again as he held the check in his grimy fingers. There was no way that this down-on-his-luck, filthy hobo could possibly afford this steak dinner. Unless I was on one of those television shows or something, or maybe he was actually the restaurant owner or--
"I always ask people if they can spare a little change. Break their routine and see somebody for who they really are. Come eat with me, I tell them. And for a change, you did. Spared a little change, so now I can spare a little change."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | Bob was a pretty chill dude. He was a street guy, sure. But he helped the community, and for the most part was forgotten by those with money and a home. So I felt a little guilty when I had to take a second glance when he gave me back my wallet. He turned to leave, but before he could I tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, thanks for giving me my stuff back. Do you want me to get you something to eat?" I asked. He gave a hearty laugh.
"You don't have to do anything, sonny. Just remember us little people."
"I insist. You do so much to help with vandalism, I'd like to treat you for at least a meal." I persisted. Bob scratched his head, before fishing for a piece of paper and handing it to me.
"Well, I 'uppose one meal won't be bad. I need to clean up a little though, wouldja mind meetin me here at 7?"
"Of course, Bob. See you soon." I replied, feeling good about myself. I left my work's block, heading home before opening my apartment mailbox. 2 letters, both with familiar corporate logos stamped on the front. More bills. I sighed, tucking the envelopes into my backpack. *Now, if my bills were here then... Ah, here we are.* I thought, pulling out 2 identical envelopes from Apartment 2A's box. The lady there was old, no one ever came to visit her. Her pension barely made her groceries, and while I wasn't swimming in money I always tried to help her out. It put my dream on getting out of this crummy block on hold, but it could unlike these lonely old people. Going out to get her food, keeping her company when she felt lonely and I had some time off. She reminded my of my late mother, and I always remembered how alone she felt when she talked to me on the phone. We would talk for hours, a symptom of not being able to talk at all to any but her cat for months on end. So I always made time for Elizabeth in Apartment 2A. And sometimes George from 26 if I had some extra hours...
I slumped into my flat, energy drained from talking about 30 different butterscotch recipes with Greta. It's not that I wasn't interested (call me a grandma) but talking to people had always killed my vibe. Tea and a bit of my favorite show generally recharged me in no time, both of which I got up off the floor to do.
"AH!!" I yelled in surprise, returning to the floor as quickly as I had vacated it.
"It's already 8 o clock, Sam. Why were you late?" Bob asked, standing at my sad kitchen stove and boiling water.
"I was just catching up with my neighbors, please don't - Hold on, why am I apologising to you? Why on earth are you in my house?"
"Wouldn't a clue, lass. And I'm here because I was worried about you. You don't seem the type to skimp on a meal for no good reason." Bob said, turning to the kettle as it began whistling. I stared in silence for several seconds at his intruding form, but couldn't bring myself to kick him out.
"Now Sam, do you still want to go? The restaurant I have bookings at was very accommodating, they were quite happy for us to drop in now." *What kind of eateries does he go to that needs reservations? I thought he was homeless, I suppose I shouldn't have assumed.* I thought.
"Well, only if you're comfortable-"
"Why of course, sonny. After this cuppa tea." he cut off, pouring the water into a sad looking mug. We enjoyed some tea for a while in comfortable silence, before I worked up a bit of nerve to ask Bob a question.
"So, where are we going for dinner?" I asked, sipping at the lukewarm drink.
"Somewhere. Right now, actually." Bob replied, putting his cup down on the coffee table.
"Oh, okay..." I said uncertainly. "I've got your paper here, it says... Blank." Bob tugged me out the door, the dim hallway suddenly smearing and rearranging itself into the expensive strip, luxury hotels, casinos and shopping centers towering over us. I only had a few seconds to marvel however, because Bob quickly pushed me into a glassy restaurant with menus that looked more expensive than my entire flat. A pit of imbalance bucked restlessly in my stomach, wealthy clienté making our raggedy casual wear stick out like a sore thumb. No one seemed to notice however, the waiter even smiled at Bob before directing us to a small table.
"Bob, what is going on?" I asked, thoroughly perplexed.
"I'll answer you later. Right now, doesn't all that food look good?" he asked cheerfully, calling the waiter over. I looked at my menu, it was strangely out of focus. I squinted at it, and suddenly the unformed colours and shapes got themselves into gear and made three words in beautiful script: "Cheese/Ham Toastie." My sudden hankering for the said food made me certain, and I was ready to order after Bob made his. I felt the need to ask him very prominent questions, such as "how did you get in my house, why are we here and who are you and what did you do with Bob," but the second I thought about asking my brain was soothed with the unfounded thought that everything would make sense eventually.
>I'll finish this soon brb | 2020-03-30T05:57:33 | 2020-03-30T05:46:34 | 499 | 134 |
[WP] We were taught the Sun didn't make noise. We were wrong. Like TV static in an empty room, it did make a sound, a sound so ever present that we didn't realize it was there until it wasn't. That day humanity learned the terror of a silent sky, and the reason it made sound in first place. | *The Missing Note*
“Thanks again!” Jamie called out behind him, a box of his favourite bagels in hand. The kindly old baker waved at him as he stepped out the door.
And promptly tripped and fell on the ground. The bagels scattered all over the busy sidewalk and onto the road. His face burned with embarrassment before realizing that the people around him weren’t looking at his blunder. Jamie slowly raised his head from the ground, bleeding from a cut on his knee, wondering what had made him trip, when he saw countless other people swaying and stumbling as well, like they were all drunk.
“What the hell?” a young man cried out, raising a hand to his head. An elderly couple swayed on their feet and clutched at each other for support. Cars on the road slammed to a sudden halt, causing a series of collisions.
Jamie tried to get to his feet, but it felt like he wore rollerblades atop a rocking ship. He couldn’t get his bearings. He used the wall of the bakery for support and managed to get upright; the whole world spun around him, and he couldn’t figure out why.
He looked around, dazed, at the busy mid-day Toronto street now engulfed in mayhem. Scared children cried out to their parents. Young men and women sitting at nearby patios spilled their coffees. Everywhere he looked people were as disoriented as he was, if not worse off.
Jamie pushed off the wall and went to help the elderly couple from before. They were now slumped on the ground, looking dazed and nauseous. He felt the same; it was a similar sensation to when he was a kid and on planes his ears would hurt horribly because of the pressure change.
“Hey, are you two okay?” he said to the couple, then froze. He worked his jaw up-and-down. He spoke again. Something was wrong. The sound of his words felt off in his head. Like there was something important missing, but how could that be? He would think he was going crazy if clearly everyone else on the street around him wasn’t feeling the same effects. Was this some kind of weapon by a foreign nation?
Distracted, he looked around at the street once more, trying to place exactly why he felt so strange. He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He couldn’t hear any strange noises…
Wait. Jamie shut his eyes tight and really focused on his hearing. At first he could only hear the sound of people’s confused cries, the sound of car alarms blaring and sirens wailing, the sound of parents desperately trying to comfort their crying children.
But underneath all that noise… was nothing. Absence. A missing note in the symphony of existence. Now that he noticed it, it grated at his ears, clutched uncomfortably at his heart. No, deeper; he felt this error in his soul. It was a primordial wrongness that made his legs tremble and his arms weak, forcing him to get back to the wall for stability.
Someone shouted nearby. He belatedly turned his head in that direction. A woman clutching her crying baby in her arms had her head turned up to the sky. Jamie looked up as well, still feeling the missing note in every facet of his being.
Above him, the sky seemed normal. A stable constant. So why had the woman cried out?
He blinked against the glare of the sun.
The sun blinked back.
More people began to notice. Silence crashed like an ocean over the street. All heads turned up to the sky. Thoughts fled Jamie’s mind.
The sun lazily blinked some more. A slow black cover, like an eclipse, covered the burning ball before raising back up. No, not like an eclipse; it was an *eyelid.*
A thunderous roar cracked the world. The street burst into chaos, people screaming, fleeing their cars, running from the unknown threat. Jamie remained where he was, head to the sky, paralyzed by fear and horrified wonder.
Something moved in the sky. Shapes. Outlines. To the left and right of where the sun hung Jamie saw the distinct impression of what looked like arms. They rose up, blocking the sun’s light, revealing the starred-surface of space. It almost looked like… the sun was stretching. It was almost as if the thunderous noise from before was a yawn.
A crazy, absurd thought came to Jamie’s addled mind. It was the last thought he would ever have as the sun moved closer to Earth, growing bigger and bigger, and the hair on his body began to smoke and curl under the increasing heat. It was the last thought he would ever have as the sun bore down on the Earth and the asphalt bubbled and the cries of Toronto peaked and fizzled out. It was the last thought he would ever have as the sun reduced him to a puddle of burning flesh, to smoke.
*The missing note… was the sun’s snores. And it has just awoken.*
---
/r/chrischang | The bulldozer rumbled down the road slightly faster than a walking man, spewing black fumes out into the even blacker day. It was loud, but the noise was familiar, comforting. Tommy’s ear plugs lay some miles behind him, abandoned not long after the sun had winked out and the road crew had fractured apart, every man for themselves.
Tommy had only paused for a moment. He’d glanced back at his boss, then west down Route 50, and he’d decided that, if the sun could go out, the road didn’t need repaving all that badly anyway.
He’d been driving for the better part of an hour since then, and Tommy estimated he had another two to go. He hoped Maddy and the kids hadn’t been out when it happened. They’d argued before he left that morning, and truthfully the night before as well, and when they argued she tended to find reasons to go into town for a cup of coffee and a lunch she hadn’t been the one to make.
“Come on baby,” Tommy said, slapping the bulldozer’s rusty controls, trying to urge a little more speed out of the behemoth.
It didn’t work. The machine went at its own pace, and Tommy, never a man to be left alone with himself, could only watch, and wait, and steer.
It was not entirely dark, though Tommy had no word for what little light there was. By its dull silver-gray he could see other motorists from time to time. Most had pulled to the side of the small two lane road. One, at the switchback bend of a mountain, had simply stopped in the middle of his lane.
All of them stood outside their cars, mouths agape, staring up into the darkened sky.
They were stupid, Tommy decided. Stupid or cowardly, folk too simple to adapt to the situation like Tommy himself had. He wasn’t about to be one of them. Nothing would stop him short of home, and if Maddy and the kids weren’t there, short of wherever they were. For all of Tommy’s faults, and there were very, very many, he loved his family.
He passed the time as he’d always thought he should; rehearsing apologies. Tommy couldn’t even remember what they’d been arguing about the night before. He’d been drinking, he always did, and it had spilled over to the morning when he refused to even admit that he didn’t know why they were fighting.
Tommy resolved that if he somehow saw wildflowers through the unnatural ocean of night around him, he would allow himself to stop for that. Maddy loved flowers, and try as he might he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten her any.
Tommy drove on. Near John Blue bridge the motorists were thicker, two cars had actually stopped side by side, blocking the way. They were small, imported things, made more of plastic than of steel and he pushed them both out of the way with ease. Their drivers didn’t look at him as he did, not even when one of them crashed up against the guardrail on the far side and then broke through, falling with a sickening crunch and splash into the river beneath. The drivers stood there, transfixed at the bridge’s center, looking up.
It was colder without the sun, but Tommy broke out in a feverish sweat at that. They’d reminded him of dead drunk men, focused on the one girl in the bar they knew they could never have, eyes glazed over with imaginings and a crippling lack of shame.
Tommy had never lacked shame himself. It was part of the problem with Maddy.
He drove on still, two hours left became one. One became minutes, and soon he was trundling up the drive to the trailer turned house that Maddy’s father had gifted them when they married. Her car was in the yard. The kids' bikes were there as well. Tommy breathed a long, shaking sigh of relief.
He stopped the bulldozer a few feet from the door, mourning his lack of flowers. Three hours in the dark and he’d never come up with anything better than blind luck, and even that had failed him. But he was home, and so was she, and that, in a world gone mad, was all that mattered.
“Maddy?” Tommy called. “Maddy?”
He leapt down from the bulldozer’s seat and caught a glimpse of strawberry blond through the trees on the garden path. Maddy, and both the kids. They stood stock still, staring straight up at the sky.
She wore her favorite dress, the one she’d spent too much money on the year before, and that they’d argued over for days after. She wore it like a badge of honor, its fall across the swell of her hips cutting at him with the remembered weight of things he’d said.
Even with that, she looked shockingly beautiful. She always did.
“Maddy!” he shouted. Then, “Lindsay? John?”
None of them responded. Maddy’s mouth fell open slightly. She swayed from side to side, as if caught in beat of distant music.
Behind him, the bulldozer sputtered and died. Its roar rang through Tommy’s ears for a few moments longer as he ran towards his family. He reached them, taking Maddy in his arms. She felt small, fragile. Her head lolled back when he shook her, she didn’t respond to her name, either her real one or the old pet name he’d used in the dark since high school.
The ringing faded, the last notes of the bulldozer died, and Tommy began to hear something else.
There was a subtle wrongness in the world, an absent ache. He couldn’t place it, only feel it, like he’d been to the quick of a body part he’d never known he had.
“Maddy?” Tommy said one last time.
In the wake of her name, a song whispered into being. It was no music Tommy had ever heard, a thing made of notes men hadn’t discovered. It thrilled through him, then settled into his muscles like the lazy ache of a long day’s work. It called his gaze up, towards the sky he’d never even looked at once since the sun went out, too focused had he been on the road home and the family who now stood transfixed before him.
Tommy turned, arm slipping unconsciously around his wife’s waist, and he saw the thing that sang.
It was the moon, peeking too early over the horizon. It was a great disk of blacks and grays and silvers, and the voice was unquestionably its own. It forced its way into him, expanding into a great and terrible beauty as his warmth bled out and his muscles grew slack, his face pale.
He realized then, that Maddy was shaking faintly. Tommy tried to turn himself back towards her. He failed. He tried to say a million things, a million apologies as the moon rose too fast on the horizon, as it expanded and grew and its song drove the ring of heavy machinery out of his ears.
He couldn’t say any of them.
“I…love…you…” Tommy said instead, struggling out the words.
The song rose to a crescendo in his mind. They were the last words Tommy ever said.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-08-28T10:11:05 | 2021-08-28T09:49:47 | 1,181 | 88 |
[WP] You find yourself in purgatory, you will be forever stuck unless you write that book that "you are totally going to write". The book will be published in the world of the living. | "I'm gonna need Internet access."
The pale, ghostly figure blinks at my demand, its translucent body softly flickering in and out of existence.
"Why?" it asks, its voice reverberating through the endless, misty void around us, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
I shrug. "Research, obviously. You can't expect me to write my masterpiece if I can't get the historical details accurate."
Grey mists swirl about the entity as it tilts its head in confusion. "But your proposed work is fiction," it states plainly.
"Exactly!" I enthuse, "It's speculative fiction. All the more reason I need to get the details right. Oh, uh," I motion towards the small wooden desk beside me, "Could you also get me set up with a mechanical keyboard and a Scrivener license?"
The entity proffers another look of confusion.
I continue, "Look, the typewriter is cute in a vintage kinda way, but finishing this thing is going to take *ages* without the proper tools."
"But, time is of no consequence in purgatory. You have eternity to write your work."
"Apparently not." I chastise, "Look, if you want this thing published in the living world, it's gotta hit the market soon while it's still on trend. Who knows if anyone will care in like, a year, let alone 400. Will people still even be *reading* in 400 years? Do you know?"
"No," the entity seems flustered, "the shape of things is not yet decided."
"Great!" I smile, taking a seat at the desk, "Then we're in agreement!"
"I'm not sure--"
"Hey, we don't have forever here. Time is money and all that stuff. You gonna help me get started or no?"
Defeated, the entity sighs and waves its hand. The mists obey the silent command. Spiraling tendrils creep out from the surrounding void, wrapping the typewriter in an ethereal embrace. The mists subside, and on the desk before me sits a single monitor, a mouse, and a simple mechanical keyboard.
I raise an eyebrow, "Just the one monitor?"
The entity slumps visibly and raises its hand again. Conjuring another monitor from the mists. "Is there anything else you need?" it asks, annoyance seeping into its words.
"Nope! You've been great! I'll start right away!"
The entity nods curtly as it fades away.
I turn back to the monitors and open up Scrivener. As I'm setting up a new project through the interface, it prompts me to name my manuscript.
I stare blankly at the screen.
...
I've got nothing.
Names are hard.
With a sigh, I launch a browser and pull up Facebook. My notifications are absolutely overflowing with heartfelt messages of bereavement from friends and family.
It's touching. Really it is.
One by one, I go through all of them, the stark reality of my death finally hitting me.
Wiping away tears, I take a quick peek to make sure the entity isn't watching. There's nothing here with me. Nothing here but me, my equipment, and the churning, endless mists.
An idea coalesces in my mind.
Sniffing loudly, I begin writing a new status: "So, uh. You guys are *not* going to believe this..." | # Timeless Literature
**Refusal**
"Can't do it," I firmly state.
The scaly woman sitting behind the desk across from me glares in disbelieve, her reptilian eyes widening, "What do you mean you *can't*? You've been wanting to write this your whole life and now you have *all the time.*"
"Exactly, there's no deadline," I state.
She reels back as if I had just just tossed rotten garbage at her, "Fine then, how about next week?"
I think about it then ask, "When's next week? I don't see a calendar."
"Oh muh gaaawd!" She fumes, then continues, "I have no idea, this is purgatory. Or did you forget?"
"Huh."
"Huh what?"
I shrug, "I guess why bother, then?"
"You'll be stuck here for all eternity if you don't!" I can see she's angry at me. *Finally.*
"So? How long is that, anyway?" I ask, not only because it seems meaningless, but to...
See her explode in rage, "How long?!? Ask fucking *God*!!!"
"Okay, can I get a meeting scheduled with him?"
She stare in disbelief, at a loss.
"It's okay if he's busy, I can wait," I continue.
"*No*. No, you cannot get a meeting with God," she manages to hiss.
"I see. Well, that's pretty indefinite, so we're back to square one. I need a deadline to write under, otherwise I can't focus," I explain.
She shakes her head and hisses a sigh out, "Do you have to be like this? Don't you want people to read your greatest work, unwritten in life? To pass on?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"I don't understand, you don't want to write that, or for people to read it, or to go to whatever afterlife you belong in?" She asks.
"No," I repeat yet again.
"Can you explain?"
"Yes."
"Okay?" She prompts.
I sit there silently with my lips pursed, and stare at her. I notice that just above the blue tube top she wears over her oddly-shaped torso, her scales start turning yellow.
"Okay," I finally reply.
"So?"
"So, no."
She pushes herself back again and sighs, "Fine. I'm going for lunch. You can wait here, okay? I'll bring you something after."
"Sure."
Then she gets up and leaves, shaking her head in frustration as she hisses under her breath.
**Recusal**
I start looking around the room. There's a dusty clock, but it doesn't have any hands on it, no way of knowing the time even assuming it did work. Her desk is the typical clutter of papers you find on any overworked publisher's desk. Piles of manuscripts, some in pretty poor condition, other clearly still unfinished. I find one that's nearly burnt up, it's entitled, "*Rahab And The Leviathan.*"
As I start to read it, I barely notice the sounds of scuffle inside. *'Rahab ran up the wall,'* it read, *'she knew the beast was close by the smell of the darkness around her. She knew she could find it if it did-'* Then the door slammed open into the room, tearing off the top hinge and falling to hang at an awkward angle.
"Come with me if you want to... wait, we're already dead, huh? Just come on, okay?" A mad woman had burst in to stand behind me and say this, dressed in wisps of shadowy fabric that unformed and reformed around her not like gauzy silk, but a strange dark armor. "Come on, let's go," she insisted.
"But I'm reading, it's about-"
"I don't care! Come on, they call me Rahab; I can tell you all kinds of exciting things later, but dead people's unfinished stories aren't worth your non-existent time. Okay? So drop it and let's go."
Rahab? "Okay," I decided, and dropped the charred pages back on the desk.
"Gimme another second here," she had been digging through the bookshelves looking for something.
"I thought you said those weren't worth our time?" I asked.
She shook her head, "These are finished, their authors moved on. Except for-" she had found the tome she was looking for. It looked like a pulp novel with a faded red cover, a few hundred pages at most, "*-this guy.*"
"Okay." I couldn't read the cover from how faded it was, but she must have known what to look for.
"Ready?" She asked.
I didn't have anything to bring, so I nodded and she led me out of the office into the chaos she had created outside.
***TBC in:*** *Lies and Re-Destination*
*(this story is part of the same novel that 'Rahab and the Leviathan' will be in, which is preceded by* ['Whispers of Damnation'](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/oc9m2b/comment/h3uu81c/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)*)* | 2021-10-07T08:29:40 | 2021-10-07T07:55:26 | 155 | 15 |
[WP] The year is 2030. Bakery art is so realistic, literally anything could be cake. The uncertainty has gripped the world in fear. I go to hug my wife for comfort. She is cake. | I told her not to go outside, not in broad daylight. But Miri had wanted to see the sun. And they'd gotten to her.
I woke that morning to find her gone, and I panicked. I ran to the foyer of the building we'd been hiding in, and I saw her standing there.
She looked normal, just like she always did. But I knew something was wrong. I ran to her. I could tell she wasn't moving, not even breathing, even though she was still standing up. I extended a trembling hand to touch her arm, dreading what I'd find.
My fingertips came away with a thin coating of flesh-colored frosting.
My wife had become *a cake.*
At first we had thought it was whimsical. It was cute. Look a can of coke -- wait, no, it's a cake! Look, a brand-new PS5! Ha, wrong! It's a *cake!* Realistic cakes were everywhere, on social media.
And then, one day, they were just everywhere, *period.*
In the beginning, it had just seemed like really fast and extremely skilled acts of baking and legerdemain. People thought they must be some sort of guerilla street artists, trying to say something profound about society by replacing everyday objects with perfect cake-based facsimiles.
Their creations were indistinguishable from the real thing until you touched them, and then they were revealed as superficial shells of frosting and fondant concealing the truth of soft spongy cake in a variety of flavors.
But then, it started happening to animals. It even started happening to people. Cut into one of these animal or person-cakes, and you'd see the whole body rendered in cake, in perfect detail, with white sponge for bone, and different shades of red velvet for muscles and organs. These were no mere bakery creations. These were living beings, our pets, our friends, and even our families, *transmuted* into cakes.
Soon after, the Cake Cultists revealed themselves, announcing their existence to the world, along with the fact that they had members placed in the highest ranks of government, industry, and the military. They appeared on every screen -- or at least those that hadn't already been turned to cake -- announcing their goal: in service to their dark master, an entity whom they called "The Cake of Infinite Tiers" they would turn the whole world and everyone in it, into *cake.*
I dropped to my knees beside my beloved Miri, now just a cake. I wanted to hold her, but I couldn't bear the thought of her cake body crumbling in my arms, or my hot tears dissolving her frosting and fondant flesh. So I just knelt beside her, and wept.
Then I heard the footsteps. I looked up, and I saw them, walking in through the glass doors that led outside.
Cake Cultists, three of them. Each wore a long dark robe, and a mask like a black, multi-tiered wedding cake. Overcome with grief and rage, I struggled to my feet, clenching my fists in hopeless fury.
"Do it! Do it, you sons of bitches! I don't care anymore! Get it over with, you bastards!" I screamed.
The Cultists looked at each other, and then the middle cultist stepped forward. He extended his hand towards me. I felt a tingling, as I began to change...
Suddenly, a black Dodge Challenger smashed in through the glass door, and rammed right into the middle cultist, who screamed as he was slammed to ground and then crushed beneath the front tires.
A figure in a hooded leather jacket leaped out of the driver's seat of the car. The two remaining Cultists faced off against him, each extending an arm towards the new arrival. Before they could work their dark transmutation upon him, he extended an open hand towards each of them, and slowly began to close his fists.
The Cultists began to writhe and scream, clawing at their Cake-masks, which were crumpling in on themselves, getting smaller and smaller. I looked away in horror before I saw how it ended. I just heard two sickening, cracking, squelching noises, and then the sound of two bodies hitting the foyer floor.
I looked fearfully up at the stranger, his face hidden in his dark hood. He approached me, and extended his hand in my direction.
"Wait, I'm not with them, I--" I began, stammering. Then I realized he wasn't pointing his hand at me. He was pointing it at Miri.
My eyes widened, as the air around the cake that had been my wife rippled with some unseen force. The fingerprints on her arm where I'd marred her frosting vanished. There was no visible change beyond that, for the cake facsimiles were always perfect visual copies, but suddenly Miri was collapsing to the floor, gasping. She was flesh and blood again.
I cried out in wonder and relief, rushing to embrace her, pulling her close to me as she slowly regained her senses. Tearfully, I looked up at the stranger.
"Thank you! Thank God for you! How....how did you do that? Who are you?" I stammered in amazement.
He pulled back his hood, revealing a the face of a middle aged man with dark hair, and olive skin.
"The Cake Cultists have defiled that which I hold most sacred." he said, an undercurrent of passion and anger in his voice. "I'm building an army to stop them."
He extended a hand each to Miri and I to help us up. We took them, rising to stand before him. He smiled at us, warmly.
"My name is Bartolo Valastro Jr. But people call me *The Cake Boss."* | "DAMNIT! I knew there was a reason she was always so sweet to me" Donny begins to weep as his wife slowly crumbles before him into a pool of frosting and sponge cake. Amidst his bawling Donny falls to his knees, staining his pants in leftover cake. As he sobs he lifts a handful of cake to his mouth for a taste.
"Hmm. Pretty good actually." he manages to mutter through his crying and chewing.
"WAIT! MY DAUGHTERS!" Donny snaps to his feet and rushes for the stairs to get to his daughter's rooms.
He makes it up five steps before his foot falls straight through the sixth step which is made out of cake. Donny lurches forward grabbing the other stairs to stabilize himself.
"Oh my god, what are you doing to me step-cake?" Donny shouts in frustration as he tries to free his stuck foot.
With all his might he frees his foot from the step, his leg caked in strawberry shortcake. Donny reaches the top of the stairs but makes the mistake of grabbing the banister which is made out of cake. Donny nearly falls off the second story but manages to grab the floor and save himself. Bits of vanilla sponge cake fall to the ground. Donny decides he has to take each step carefully. He methodically tip-toes on the hard wood floor which he suspects is some sort of black forest cake. Donny safely makes it to the room his two daughters share.
"Girls! Girls are you ok in there? Are you cake?" Donny shouts through the door with no response.
Donny grabs the doorknob but it's locked. Donny took two seconds to think about it before balling his hand up into a fist and punching it straight through the door which was made out of cake. Donny triumphantly tears down the door made of cake to find his daughters frozen still.
"Oh god no! Not you too!" Donny begins to despair.
"Daddy. Help us. It's all cake." One of the girls manages to say.
Donny looked up to find his daughters in their beds both covered by blankets made of cake.
"It's ok girls! It's just cake! Go ahead and kick it off you we have to get out of here now!" Donny gently but urgently tells his daughters.
The girls slowly kick the cake off themselves, squirming and crying at the horror. Donny rushes in to help his girls only to slip on the rug laid out in the room which was made out of buttercream frosting. Donny falls flat on his back and cries out in pain as his daughters rush to get the cake off of them.
"Daddy! Are you ok!?" One of his daughters yells as she gets out of bed and runs towards Donny.
"Im fine girls. Im fine. Wait! watch were you step! The floor could be made out of cake!" Donny warned.
But he was too late, his second daughter leapt out of bed and landed directly on a floorboard made of cake which she sank completely into.
"NOOOO! Hold your breath baby! Try to eat your way out!" Donny shrieked as he dove towards the cake hole tearing through the layers with his bare hands, but each dig only yielded handfuls of black forest cake.
"Daddy! Maybe she came out of the ceiling downstairs!" Donny's other daughter said.
"Oh good thinking! Lets go!" Donny scoops up his daughter and carefully makes his way out of the room. Tracing his steps across the floor and remembering the banister and the sixth step is cake, Donny safely makes it downstairs with his daughter in tow. Surely enough his second daughter landed on the couch, her entire body caked in black forest cake and her stomach bloated.
"Daddy.. Im full" she managed to mutter out.
"Come on! There's no time. Both of you, walk behind me and step where I step, it'll be safe." Donny orders.
In single file the trio make their way to the front door of their house. Donny reaches for the handle but the cake it is made out of crumbles in his hands. Donny clenches his fist in anger and the cake squishes through his fingers. Just like he did upstairs, Donny cocked his arm back to punch through the front door expecting it to be cake, but it wasn't. Donny squeals in pain as he clenches his fist in agony after punching a wooden door with full force repeatedly saying to himself that it wasn't cake. Donny picked up a lamp that was in arm's reach and hurled it at the window next to the door. The lamp was real but the window was cake. The three climb through and make it outside. The three attempted to make it to their car but were frozen at the apocalyptic scene before them.
Houses collapsed in on themselves in a mess of wood and cake. Gas mains and water pipes spill out onto the streets. The road was littered with smoldering car crashes of twisted metal and icing. Cars sunk halfway into the road on the portion that was made from cake. People knelt in puddles of cake in despair over their loved ones being make out of cake. Donny looked to the sky to see airplanes in freefall as their turbines and wings disintegrate into cake on the way down. He sees people parachuting from the planes and the unlucky few individuals who had parachutes made out of cake plummet to the ground.
"Daddy! The car is made out of cake!" One of Donny's daughters yells as her hand goes through the car door.
"I told you to stay behind me and only step where I step!" Donny yells at his daughter who quickly gets back in line.
Donny's iPhone blares an alarm he has never heard before. He takes it out to see a headline: 'Nuclear war is imminent'. Donny opens the headline to see a live address from the president of the USA who himself was drenched in various different kinds of cake from head to toe.
"My fellow Americans who are not already cake. I speak to you in dire urgency. My wife and two sons are cake. My top generals are cake. The cameraman is cake, but he's doing a good job of holding the camera still. A renegade country has launched ICBM missiles at the continental united states. The ICBM stands for Icing, Crusted, Banana-cream Marzipan which is our new codename for the nukes that turned out to be cake. Approximately 60% of the missiles they launched are cake, the other ones are not. As a consequence all other countries whos presidents are not cake have launched their nukes as well. We have retaliated with our own nukes which we are pleased to say only 53% of them are cake. Take shelter immediately if that shelter is not cake. If God is not cake then may he protect us all." The president says to the camera which cuts out due to technical difficulties involving cake.
It's too late to seek shelter. The missile impacts and the blinding bright mushroom cloud rises towards the air. Except it is not a mushroom cloud, it's a cake cloud. As the shockwave travels at the speed of sound and the incinerating heat envelops everything, Donny only stands and accepts his fate as he faces disintegration; everything goes black.
Donny snaps awake on his couch to the ring of an egg timer he set besides him.
"Oh shit!" Donny yelps as he quickly gets up from the couch and rushes towards the kitchen.
Donny quickly puts on a pair of oven mitts and takes the cake out of the oven. With a sigh of relief Donny goes back to the couch where his wife is waiting.
"You actually remembered to take the cake out of the oven" his wife remarked.
"Yeah...you're not made of cake are you?" Donny asked nervously.
"You ate more than one of the pot brownies didn't you baby?" Donny's wife questioned.
"Uhh.....whoops" Donny smiled to his wife which was thankfully not made of cake. | 2022-04-26T17:32:59 | 2022-04-26T17:20:19 | 232 | 147 |
[WP] I know why I'm in Hell. I know what I've done. What I don't know is why my dog is there, waiting for me when I arrive. | I deserved to be here. I deserved the fire, the dark, the screams, the pain, and the fear. I deserved it all and more. I expected this. I left behind nothing but regret and emptiness. Stepping from humanity through the gates of the pit was an instant in time that lasted as long as my own eternity. But when it was done, when I finally stood within the confines of Hell, I saw something. He was, quite possibly, the last one I ever expected to see in this place.
Beauregard, Beau, my little beagle, my only friend, the only one who had ever seemed happy to see me when I finally came home, was standing just beyond the gate with his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging so furiously he might have knocked himself over with sheer enthusiasm.
“Beau?” I asked. I surprised myself that I could still speak.
Beau barked and jumped up, bouncing like a spring. He was so happy to see me. I reached down to touch his fur, and it was real beneath my fingertips. His bark and whine were just the same. His floppy ears were flying every which way as he jumped up to lick my face.
And suddenly, it was like no time had passed at all, and I had just come home from middle school. It was like that careless driver had never existed. It was like being the carefree, happy person I’d always wished I could go back to being, even for minute.
And then I knew that he couldn’t stay. I could never escape from the Hell I’d chosen, but Beau had never done wrong, and he deserved better than this place.
“Beau, you shouldn’t be here,” I said. I turned to a demon guard, clutching Beau as though I had the power to protect him from the fires of hell. “He shouldn’t be here! He should be in Heaven. Please, please let him go to Heaven where he belongs.”
The demon tilted its head to the side, a trail of black smoke curling up from the crease of its mouth.
“He is in Heaven,” it said.
I looked at Beau and back at the demon.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “He’s not in Heaven. He’s here in Hell, with me.”
“He is in Heaven,” the demon repeated. “You are his Heaven.” | The first thing you feel is the heat.
No, that's a lie. The first thing you feel is understanding. Every bad choice you made. Every lie you told. Every person you hurt, cheated, stole from or killed. You understand it all in the great context. Sure, each might not have gotten you here on its own. But together? Then you understand.
THEN you feel the heat.
I found myself at the top of a long staircase and started walking down. I knew why I was here. I actually accepted it a long time ago. For a while I hoped that there wouldn't be anything *after* but decided this was better than nothing.
Everything I did, I did for my family. All the numbers I ran, the legs I broke, the men I put in that swamp 3.5 miles from my house. I suddenly remember the diner halfway between my house and the swamp. The one I went to after every hole I had to dig or car I needed to sink. My actions got me here, but those fried egg burgers punched my ticket. Buster always liked to eat the scraps. He would whine when we passed and didn't stop.
The heat was getting worse. I thought about removing my shirt, when I remembered I was naked. If this was really Hell, all my exes would be lining this staircase laughing and pointing. I expected better from these devils. Just a long, straight staircase. No sides, dropping off into a dark abyss. The lack of fire somehow makes the heat worse. At least I'm nearing the end of it.
And no one else is on it with me? Seriously? There had to have been more messed up people out there than me. Or as bad as. I just thought talking to someone on the way down would help. And that's when I saw him.
It couldn't be.
It is.
Buster.
My dog is sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Just looking at me. I vault those last few feet and run up to him. God, how can this be? No. Don't question it. Just enjoy this last bit of happiness.
"Hey Buster! Hey boy! What are you doing here? Good boy!" I scratch his nose, how he always likes it. But he's not reacting this time.
"Buster? What are you doing here?" God. I hope Susan didn't put the damn dog down. She'd be coming here next if she did, I swear.
"I'm here because of you."
The voice startles me. It couldn't have been. But it was.
"Buster?" I stare in his black eyes.
"I was in charge of setting you right." His lips don't move, but I know. He's talking to me.
"What are you talking about?" I asked. I knew Hell would be strange, but this is insane.
Buster starts to walk down a path towards a small cave. I follow.
"It was my job to set you on the straight and narrow. Provide love and companionship. Prevent you from coming here and getting me out."
"Getting you out?" I stop.
Buster turns his head to me in a way dogs just don't, and for that case humans don't either.
"Call it a work release program. I save you, I save myself. But you just had to keep it up, huh? One more job. One more hit. One more dollar. Well I hope it was worth it."
Buster continues walking to the cave, quicker. I jog just to keep up.
"What did you do? How was I supposed to know you were trying to help me?"
"The diner, stupid. All those families and lonely travelers, the people struggling to get by or making something special that brings people in. I was trying to get you to sympathize with them, maybe become a cook and make those burgers you loved. Eventually, I just wanted you to keep scarfing them down and be done with this failed experiment."
"You wanted me to die?" I couldn't believe it.
"The ultimate lesson. Maybe you'll figure it out and be up for release in, oh, 1500 years or so." We were at the mouth of the cave, light, heat and noise came from inside, but just on the edge of the senses.
"This is where I leave you. I'm scheduled for reassignment to a possible cannibal. I think I'll skip the diners this time." Buster turned and trotted back to the staircase. He called back, "All things considered, you're not a terrible guy. Just keep your head down and maybe I'll see you on the other side." And like that he was gone.
I turned and looked into the cave. "I knew I should've gotten a damn cat." I stepped inside. | 2014-07-07T21:38:12 | 2014-07-07T20:21:49 | 432 | 82 |
[WP] Make it so that I don't know whether it's Voldemort or Trump. | You know, sometimes I think it's the emptiness inside me that leaves so much room to be filled with such anger. Maybe, unconsciously, I take that out on the people I'm up against.
But oh, how it pleases me so.
I've made a lot of enemies and no friends, but still I'm rising to power from the sheer number of people that will support someone out of fear or hatred. All you have to do is scare them a little and they run right to you, they think, "You, you'll protect me. You'll keep me safe with your brunt force and complete willingness to use it."
Well, they're right. So, if I'm left empty inside from the way I've lived my life, that's completely fine.
And sure, plenty of people will follow me because they're stupid, or because they're angry or hateful like I am. Maybe they just enjoy the chaos. It doesn't really matter to me why they do it, as long as they do.
When you have power, you don't need friends. | "The problem with these people -- they're not like us! They're not! They don't have the same values. I don't hold it against them. People say -- Voldemort, he's racist. He's a racist guy. They do! They say that about me!
"But, the thing is, we're outnumbered here. We have to look at the facts. We have to look at the facts, and the facts are that wizards are outnumbered. There are too many Muggles!
"That's why my plan -- it's a good plan, and a plan that will make wizards great again -- my plan is to build a wall, a magic wall, around Siberia. Yes, Siberia. Beautiful place. Great wilderness. We build a wall around Siberia, and then we -- we put ALL THE MUGGLES -- INSIDE THE WALL. You see?
"They won't even mind. I have a lot of Muggle friends, and I'm telling you -- they love me! They love the idea! I'm very popular with the Muggles. They think it's a great deal.
"The problem is, we just don't *win* any more. Wizards used to be the greatest power in the world. Before thermonuclear weapons. Before satellites. Now Muggles think their technology is better than magic! Well, can technology kill you with a simple 'Avada Kedavra?'
"Sorry about -- Sorry about that. Didn't mean to, uh, get you with that one. Didn't even realize I had my wand out, actually. Can we -- can we get him out of here, guys? Bit of a boner-killer, if you get my--
"Alright, much better. Again, I'm sorry. So sorry. I'll send some flowers to the family. I'll visit them personally. But, er, much to discuss, still.
"Right. The whole question of -- is Cornelius Fudge even eligible to run? I'll tell you what I think, and that is that the Wizarding Constitution is very clear on this point, which is that you have to be a natural-born Wizard to be Minister of Magic. And I don't know about you, but it bugs me -- it does! -- that we haven't seen Cornelius Fudge's birth certificate. We don't know! We just don't know.
"I've talked to a lot of lawyers. I know a lot of lawyers. I'm friends with a lot-- a lot of lawyers. And they all tell me the same thing.
"'Voldemort,' they say, 'Voldemort, without the birth certificate, I just don't think he's got the legal right to run. From a law perspective.'
"And you know, it's not for me to say! But I trust these guys, because they're -- they spend their whole life, answering questions like this. And it just doesn't sit right with me.
"Thank you, you've been great. You've been great! Tell your friends! Get out there and vote! And remember -- together, we can make wizards great again!"
*****
*If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)! Making a big push to get more content out there :D Practice practice practice!*
| 2016-01-18T09:39:51 | 2016-01-18T09:13:52 | 397 | 152 |
[WP] "Well you managed to fucking do it. You slept through the apocalypse"
. | *Beep beep beep*
*Beep beep beep*
I groaned. I smacked my lips. I rolled over.
*Beep beep beep*
Oh right. That's my alarm. I should probably get that. The clock read "6:15" in green letters, with "SAT" glowing in the top right corner. Why was my alarm going off when I didn't work today? Whatever. I'm gonna snooze it and go back to sleep.
*beep beep beep, this is the emergency broadcast system..."
*Beep beep beep*
The process repeats. Now the clock says 2:15, with "SUN" glowing in the corner. Ironic, since the sun didn't rise for another few hours.
Time to get up, I suppose. Man, sleeping for 20 is the best. I didn't sleep well the night before, tossing and turning until I finally passed out at 4am. The beeping a couple hours later didn't help either.
Feet on the floor. It's cold. I should get carpet, I think. Yeah, carpet. Time to brush my teeth and get moving for the day.
The light doesn't turn on in the bathroom. The shower doesn't turn on. Also half the bathroom is missing. Power must be out.
Lights don't turn on in the bedroom either. Weird. Guess I'm gonna get dressed in the dark. I've done it before.
Maybe I'll open a window. The moonlight will give me at least something to work with.
Weird. It's just black outside, except for the faint glow in the distance. Looks like the sunrise against the city.
Sun doesn't come up for another four hours though.
| I walk through the streets with blood and puke stained clothes, an ax in my left hand and a .45 pistol in my right. I walk like I fucking own the place because I do. All of the sudden an SUV full of those fuckers rounds the corner puke and blood spray out the windows... But wait lets take it back a step about 3 days. I was a normal paramedic in Chicago, my passion was blood, guts and saving some peoples lives. This story begins with me sitting in the back of a van with a heroine overdose patient. His pupils were the size of a pencil led, blue lips and shit running down his legs... but something was so different about this guy. He was fully awake and aware. In fact he was talking like he was an extremely well educated man! I was holding a conversation with him about our family's. I was calm on the outside but so fucking freaked on the inside. He was oblivious to the fact that he is dying and that wasn't uncommon, but fuck he has shit running down his legs and smelled like death. That was when it happened the worst experience of my life, this guy grabs me by the neck and puts his other hand on my jaw and forces my mouth open and starts to puke down my throat. I start to puke back and in a orgy of puke and confusion I fall on the ground and start to pass out. I feel a hard thump and hear my driver screaming at the top of his lungs. Then i saw blood splatter the window of the driver cab. I couldn't muster the strength to get up and help him.
The next time I woke up I woke up to a very familiar smell... death. I got up covered in dry puke and blood from something. I stand and look at the driver cab but my partner is obviously dead. His neck is spit open like a go-gurt. It doesn't really faze me, John was a dick and was cheating on his wife. I am so confused at this point that we could be here for this long. I get out of the back of the van and slam it shut. I look at the Chicago skyline and all I see is fog and a hint of fire engulfed towers. I realize that there is nothing on the road at all and this is a highway. Just empty cars some riddled with bullets some green and red on the sides. I decide that I need a weapon so I grab the fire ax from the side of the paramedic van and the .45 in the front just in case we are jumped for our morphine. I start walking and hear a few rustles in the bush and guess fucking what, 2 men with full swat outfits and assault rifles start screaming at me to get on the ground. I laugh and look at them they are 5' somethin and maybe 100 pounds. I say "You aren't shit." and start walking. Then I hear the safety come off. I turn on a dime and point it right at one of the kids but before I can even pull back the sides a guy butt naked with a knife comes out of a bush and starts stabbing one and the other makes a run for it. I start blasting the guy that has the knife but it is too late for the midget swat team. He is already onto the other guy. I stare as this man with over 6 bullets in him just tears into the guy I am in awe. The naked man collapses and screams. "Well fuck that shit." and now we are back where we were. Walking down the street with blood and puke with that crazy van. Anyways these guys are heading right for me and not stopping. So I promptly lay on the cold hard ground and wait for my fate. *CRACK CRACK THMP THMP THMP* 8 or 9 guys come out of the bushes in full swat gear shooting this van to hell. These guys are men though unlike the mini me couple we saw earlier. They grab me by the arm all the while shooting this van and drag me off.
If I get some good feedback I will continue with the story for a few more parts. If not, oh well. :) | 2016-03-11T11:58:08 | 2016-03-11T08:55:57 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Your 11 year old nephew just ate 2 of your LSD gummy bears 45 minutes ago and you have to make sure he makes it through sane | Stephen watched with a mute sort of horror as his nephew bounced up and down on the couch, hollering at the top of his voice.
"I'm hungry, uncle Stephen!" Jason screamed, his face red and flushed.
The gummy bears, it must have been. There were only three left in the side pocket of his backpack - last time he'd checked, there had been a couple more. Kids were curious. Jason could have gone through everything in the backpack while he made dinner. He'd probably gobbled them down without a second thought.
Stephen felt vaguely nauseous. What effect would they have on an eleven-year-old kid? He didn't know the boy well enough to measure the effects against his normal behaviour - he hadn't seen Jason in more than two years. It was his first time babysitting since he and Diana had moved closer to his family.
"Jason, did you find some gummy bears and eat them?" he yelled at the boy. Jason jumped down from the couch.
"GUMMY BEARS?" he said, his eyes lighting up. "Where? Where? Is that what's for dinner?"
Stephen fumbled for his cellphone and punched in his sister's number. He stammered out a story about Jason falling sick while keeping an eye on his nephew.
"I'm on my way," Lisa said tersely, before hanging up.
He put on a cartoon to try and distract the kid, but it only made things worse - Jason seemed almost hysterical, slapping the armrests as he rocked with laughter at everything. God, Lisa was going to murder him. He'd volunteered for babysitting because he and Diana were considering having a baby - figured it might be a good idea to hone his parenting skills.
*Stellar fucking job*, he told himself bitterly as he watched Jason giggle to himself. How could he have forgotten about the gummy bears in the first place? Nick had shoved them into his hands the last time he'd visited.
His old college roommate was still the same person, five years after graduation - partying it up every weekend and experimenting with every type of drug he could get his hands on. Stephen had been too discomfited to say anything, and had simply shoved them into his backpack.
And forgotten about them, like a moron.
Lisa pulled into the driveway as the show he'd put on for Jason ended. She rushed in, not sparing a glance for Stephen. She just sank to her knees in front of the kid and felt his forehead.
"Moomm, let me go," Jason whined, wriggling free and whooping as he ran from the room.
Lisa frowned at Stephen.
"He seems fine," she said. "Did he vomit, or something? Why do you think he's sick?"
"Fine?" he echoed. "Look at him! He's - he's acting crazy."
He took a steadying breath and was about to tell her about the gummy bears, when Winston, his sister's dog, ran into the room. The spaniel was barking nonstop. He skidded to a stop and snapped at the air.
"Winston!" Lisa said. "What's the matter with you, boy?"
The dog merely whined and sprinted from the room again.
"Weird," his sister said. "He's usually so calm..."
Stephen laughed weakly as he watched the dog roll in the dirt outside.
"Well, though I don't see why you had to call me back from my dinner, I appreciate it," Lisa said, squeezing Stephen's arm. Faintly, he could hear Jason yelling as he played upstairs.
"You're so worried about keeping him safe. You're going to be a great dad someday," she smiled at him.
"Yeah, about that," he asked. "Is Jason usually so...uhm, *hyperactive*?"
She chuckled. "Jason's a handful, but he's just a kid, Stephen. Most of them are like that, acting like they're drunk or on drugs half the time."
-----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | "Uncle..... your gummy bears are talking in my stomach nowww.... Ohhh they say that I should follow them to gummy bear landd...." Tommy was literally drooling when he said that, lying there on the floor in my room.
I left my door opened for a minute, and the next he was inside, hands in his mouth, both my LSD laden gummy bears missing. Luckily for me, I had managed to keep him in my room long enough, and now the effects were starting to kick in. However, not helping my situation was my sister downstairs, yelling for him, saying that it was time to go home.
I could only imagine the hell that would be unleashed should she find out that Tommy was on an acid trip, thanks to me.
"Ugh, sis you can go back home first! I'll send Tommy over later!" I tried to scream, one hand over his mouth. He was blabbering something underneath my hand, trying to reach for his mother. With my one free leg I managed to close the door, and whispered impatiently to Tommy, "Look Tommy, if you want to visit Gummy Land, you have to stay real quiet up here okay, while I go talk to your mum. As for her permission."
He looked at me with those wide eyes, before breaking into a smile. "Ohhh kayy... shhh..." he whispered back, a finger over his lips. I had never seen a kid high before, but deep down inside I knew it won't be good. My job was to keep Tommy as Tommy, not some weird kid by the end of the entire experience. And definitely the last person whom should know was my sister.
I hurriedly went downstairs to my sister, and gave her a half cooked story about some uncle nephew bonding time. She shot be a disbelieving look at first, before reluctantly agreeing. Any time off from looking after an 11 year old kid was a respite, I guess. She took her car keys and drove off, leaving me alone with Tommy in the house.
Problem one solved. I breathed a sigh of relief as I head back to my room. As long as I can keep Tommy within the house for the rest of the day, I am confident things will turn out fine.
The only problem was when I reached my room, Tommy was no longer there. I had forgotten to lock my room door again.
"Tommy!" I called out, horrified. My sister is so going to kill me. And then at the corner of my eye, I spot him crawling him to the bathroom.
"Tommy! Stay right there!" I yelled, as I ran towards him.
Wrong move.
He shrieks as he saw me coming, running down the staircase. "The dragon is attacking! Run little gummies, run!"
"I'm not a dragon!" I tried to run after him, but being an overweight dude at 25, I was in no condition to compete with a energetic 11 year old. By the time I reached the bottom of the staircase, Tommy was gone again.
"Tommy," I gently called out, tip-toeing across the living room. "Tommy, your gentle uncle Gandalf is here..." I tried to put on a comforting voice, not even bothering to check if Tommy knew who Gandalf was.
The sound of plates crashing in the kitchen brought me swiftly over.
"Oh good lord..." I muttered as I stepped into the kitchen, the sight of broken dishes everywhere. Not only my sister will kill me now, my mother will too. Her precious China laid broken on the floor, smashed into a hundred pieces. And crawling on top of the cupboard was Tommy, a knife in his hand. How did he even climbed up there in the first place?
"Step aside, you evil old wizard! Dora says you're evil!" For an 11-year old, his vocabulary was pretty impressive.
I walked slowly towards him, trying to coax him in my most soothing voice as possible. "Hey, Tommy, don't you remember me? Uncle Bob? Remember? I was the one who introduced you to the gummies..."
"Liar!" Tommy screamed, before throwing the knife at me.
"Whoa!" I yelled as I barely ducked the knife, which hit the the fridge and bounced back inches from me. There was another sound of plates crashing, and when I turned back, Tommy was headed for the front door. No, please, not the door.
"Gummies, we will be free!" he shouted excitedly, waving his shirt in his hand. He was now topless. If he reached the door, my life as I know it will be over.
I summed up whatever strength that I had left, gave a loud roar, and took off after him. The roar managed to distract him for a few seconds, which gave me ample time to tackle him to the ground.
"Let go of me, help, gummies, the troll's got me!" he screamed and shouted as he struggled in my arms, determined to break free.
I tried to held him the best as I can. "Shh, Tommy, calm down, it's me, Uncle Bobby, we are friends with the gummies together, remember?" I repeated several times to him.
Tommy eventually calmed down, his face staring inches from mine. "Uncle Bobby? There was a dragon just now... I was scared. It was going to eat the Gummy Land." And then he started to cry.
"There, there Tommy, no one's going to eat the Gummy Land," I tried to sooth him. "In fact, Uncle Bobby has just the thing to protect the Gummy Land." My hands fished out two pills from my pocket.
Tommy's eyes stared at them intently. "What are these, Uncle Bobby?"
"Well, this Tommy, these are magical power pills. Once you eat them, you'll become the most powerful warrior of all!" I handed the pills to Tommy while I slowly carried him to the kitchen.
"All you have to do is to swallow them, and in no time you'll be able to defeat the dragon!" I continued, as I filled a cup of water. Tommy seemed to be believing me at least, which was good.
"Ohhh..." he said, as he popped the pills into his mouth, and drank the water eagerly.
"I am... am going to be strong now!" he declared, as his voice started to trail off. I could only hope that sleeping pills work as well on kids as the LSDs.
--------------------
Edit: Extended the story.
/r/dori_tales | 2017-01-09T06:33:44 | 2017-01-09T05:40:02 | 128 | 92 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence. | "Impressive." God acknowledges as he gazes down to Earth, "But I'm having difficulty seeing what you changed. The people are still scurrying around, but hate and violence is down 90% across the board. I must know -- what did you do?"
Whitney smirked ever so slightly while taking her place at God's left side. "This? Oh this was easy. I just showed everyone a pair of your skidmarked undies."
"**WHAT!!?!**" boomed God in disbelief.
"Well, sure! The problem everyone was having was living up to your perceived standards. When they couldn't do it, it resulted in trying to 'gain favor' in other ways which just started this one-upmanship throughout history. Now they see accidents happen for everyone..."
"... and so they don't try as hard" God interrupts, hands on his hips. "Did... did you at least show 'em the blue pair so it wasn't so obvious?"
"Nope! Straight to the tighty-whities." | The Creator looked upon His creation, and saw that it was good. Beautiful. Peaceful. There was no conflict, no hardships - it was perfect, a well-oiled machine that would run without issue for millennia, if not forever.
He smiled. A bitter smile. An expression that was below His station, for the emotion it represented. He knew better, but just as humans were like Him, He was like them - it was satisfying to finally have one understand His suffering.
Without shifting His gaze, He addressed the hollow shell of a man curled up behind Him. "What did you do?" He asked. The man did not seem have to heard - he remained still, his gaze unfocused, with the occasional spasm running through his body. God turned his head and looked at him. He repeated the question, more forcefully this time. The man jerks to attention, and looks at his Father with the most broken look any human had worn in recent memory, a look that sends a stab of guilt into His chest - He is, after all a father.
"You *know* what I did," the man chokes out. "You bloody well know."
God stares for a moment, then turns back to the view. "Yes," He said. "I do." He tilted His head back and sighed, a tired sigh, pushed out by the weight of the world. "How any times you cursed my name. Called me out for what I was doing to your world. Blamed me for the evil, the suffering, the *hate.*"
Suddenly He was on one knee in front of the man, His divine face inches from his. The man jerked back, but could not bring himself to look away from His eyes. There were no chains, no restraints, but he was trapped as sure as Lucifer in his cage.
"Do you understand now?" whispered the Almighty, with what sounded almost like helplessness in His voice. "Do you understand why I do nothing? Why I allow evil to exist? Hate, misery, conflict, all of it - *do you understand?*"
The man was breathing like he'd just run a marathon. Despair was etched in every corner of his face, of his body, of his *being.* Understanding will do that to a person.
He wanted to deny it. He wanted to say no, to yell defiance in His face, to declare his refusal to accept such a disgusting truth. But he did not. He could not. Understanding. The greatest cure, the deadliest poison. Ignorance was no longer acceptable, nor possible - no matter how desirable.
"Yes," he whispered, and bowed his head in defeat. A moment passed. He knew it wasn't enough. He had to say it out loud, acknowledge it. He stood up slowly, took a few steps towards the edge, and looked upon his work. His "utopia".
He forced the bile back down his throat, and speaks his admittance of defeat.
"Without hate... there can be no love. No good without evil. No joy without misery. No light..." He reached his hand out to the world he created, and takes it in the palm of his hand, ready to close his fist around it. Time to start anew.
"... Without darkness."
***A/N:*** *Welp, that went better in my head. Oh well.*
EDIT: Grammar, typos | 2017-03-05T03:20:27 | 2017-03-05T03:10:23 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now". | He threw my wallet on the ground, and shot it until his magazine was empty, every shot made my head jerk back. He then threw the gun on the ground near my wallet, my eyes were narrowed, I was furious.
"Why the hell did you do that? Now I have to request a new ID and credit card."
The man looked up, the hood of his coat rendered a shadow on his face. "I'm sorry my beloved son. Fake leather produces rash on your skin."
"Beloved son? What are you talking about, who are you?"
He removed his hood and I couldn't believe my eyes. In front of me stood Gabe Logan Newell, the creator of Valve Corporation and Steam. "I'm so sorry..." he began to cry, "I'm so sorry that I destroyed your wallet."
| Cries of help bounced up the dirty concrete walls and through the rusty fire escapes. Thick drops of acid rain fell from the gray, polluted sky, pattering against my umbrella. It took a last drag and stubbed out my cigarette.
The alley was like any other in this godforsaken city – windowless, filled with garbage containers, and with graffiti like old fading tattoos. Popping the holster open, I placed my hand on the wooden grip and strode into the alley.
Cornered at the very end of the alley, a dainty dame was fending off a small leathery attacker with wide swings of her vanity bag. She was a real looker too – plump in the right places, a dolly face framed by streaks of golden hair, and long, lithe gams wrapped in dark nylon.
I glanced at the tiny leather creature on the wet ground, bouncing up and down, yelping and growling. This was the third one I’d come across this week. Disgusting little critters with razor sharp teeth – they’d rip you right open in your sleep.
Carefully, I pulled out my roscoe, opening the reserve box – two slugs ought to be enough.
“Ma’am, step away from the wallet.”
She glanced at me, her blue eyes wide in terror. She was a green one – some upper-class bim, lost on the wrong side of the train tracks. She took a step back, almost tripping over one of her shoes that she had dropped in the battle.
Two quick ones. The loud echoes climbed the walls. I spun the revolver around my finger and placed it back in the holster. The heel of my boot came down on the smoking remains of the wallet.
“Thanks,” she mumbled and crouched down, strapping her shoe back on, and then started to pick up the items that had fallen out of her bag.
“Breeze,” I said and nodded at the street. “This ain’t no place for frails and old men.”
She managed a scowl despite her shivers and dripping wet face.
“Do you mind?” she asked, looking expectantly at my umbrella.
“Uh-huh,” I muttered and started lighting a new cig.
“Please?”
I took a drag, shrugged, and then shifted a couple of feet toward her, covering her from the rain. Even through the smell of my cigarette, I caught a whiff of her expensive perfume.
“You smoke?”
“Gods no,” she said and finally got up. “Can you take me to Caledonia Plaza?”
“Do I look like a flivver chauff’?”
“You look like a criminal,” she said briskly.
“And you, like a dish – what’s your doings in Low York? Long way from home, aren’t you?”
She didn’t have time to answer before another cry rang out from across the street. I cursed through my teeth, which made her wince. I put the umbrella in her hand and emptied the used shells of my roscoe in the gutter.
“Don’t you dare run off with my umbrella,” I muttered and crossed the street while reloading.
Son of a bitternut grifter – I’d have to pay a visit to Masperoni after this.
****
r/Lilwa_Dexel
| 2017-07-13T00:49:55 | 2017-07-13T00:36:27 | 223 | 68 |
[WP] The Elves, Dwarves, and Goblins laughed at humans for not having magic. The humans laughed at the Elves, Dwarves, and Goblins for not having giant robots. | They were running out of ressources. Thats the sole reason why they invaded our world.
I was sitting in my mech and looked on the mist that covered the plains before us.
A typical tactic for them. Those elves, dwarfes and goblins think that some mist and creepy sounds would scare us enough to drop our weapons. They laughed at our ambassador for not having any magic right before they decapitated him and put his head on a pike, thinking that we were easy prey.
Little did they know that we never needed any magic.
A warhorn in the distance, followed by cries signaled their attack.
"Get ready boys."
The 2 other mechs and the infantry readied their weapons.
Out of the fog an army appeared. Their silhouettes were shaped like demons. And they were greatb targets.
"Let them come a little bit closer......."
I grinned. This was going to be a fuckfest.
"Fire!!!!! Sick them boys!!!"
All of us opened fire with our automatic weapons. The first ranks of the invading army got completely obliterated, turned into chunks of meat, splintered bones and clouds of blood.
I finished reloading my 90mm machinegun with a HE belt, aimed it at their leader in the center. He summoned a shield, trying to protect his soldiers around him. A futile act, trying to stop 600 rounds per minute with a explosive power of 3kg TNT per round.
Their cavalry started a flanking attack. I switched the rockets on my shoulder launcher from impact to airburst and fired the entire mag on the bulk. The horseman disappeared in a cloud of thick smoke.
The entire plain had been turned into a blazing inferno.
It hasnt even been 4 minutes but the enemy army was starting to run. Some of their mages casted a smokescreen to cover the running soldiers.
They certainly havent heard anything of heat and IR sight.
We still could see them clearly and coninued to mow them down.
Just like a normal day on the shooting range. Only that the targets were moving.
"Infantry mount your IFVs, we are going to pursuit them!"
Oh we were going to fuck up their world as soon we were there with our weapons, our teachnology and our junk food. | "Wait, lemme fink' this one fru' ay," The words dribble out of Nockknar, the Goblin Treasureking, like saliva from the maw of a dying mongrel. "Aktually, bloody hell, I don't fink I wanna. Can't do magic?" Nockknar points towards the hooded human in front of him, a wicked smirk (covered with solidified drool) emerging on his face.
"That's right shite ain't it?"
A delicate laugh blossoms next to him. Folen, an Elvish Ranger-General, adorned with medals made of flowers sits next to Nockknar, (a rare sight on its own - An Elf with a Goblin) crosses his legs and leans forward. The spider-silk shaded hair on his shoulders effortlessly glides down his back, like velvet, as he makes himself comfortable.
"I mean, what should we expect friends? From lesser folk. Lesser..." Folen pretends to stumble on his words, even going far enough to make an obnoxiously aggravating face - as if he were concentrating. "Creatures."
The hooded human, who is standing, leaning on a wall, patiently waits. He lowers his hood and shows his face. Plain, normal; every other word you could use to describe bland normality.
"Bastard ain't even got the luck to look any good ay,'" Nockknar remarks, "Imagine ya life bein' like, just shit hey. Ya look like a dogs dick, ya can't do magic; I wouldn't be surprised if this lil' codfish ain't even been halfway round the bend with a woman... we should kill him,"
A laugh; a choke; a Dwarf half-way through his meed. "Lad," Rumblebrew says, bubbles in his beard and rosy cheeks destroying any stealth to his joy, "Ye khant just say that to him. Ye just khant."
"Shite, the dwarf is drunk as hell, he can't even understand me no more," Nockknar says, before chugging his way through his own glass. "What so hard bout the way I speak? You got cheese up in ya head?" A trickle of giggles gurgles from his belly.
"Ay, maybe cheese, maybe crackers, definitely booze though I'd say," Rumblebrew joins in with Nockknars laughter, before turning to face the human. The unnamed man is staring at them, a strange device in his hand.
It's a solid square. No writing, no markings, no nothing. In the centre is a huge red button. Slowly, the human raises one finger, opens his mouth, raises his eyes brows, and...
Presses the button.
Silence.
Followed by more silence.
Then a lot of laughing.
"Ya got me!" Nockknar manages to wheeze out between gut-wrenching laughter, his arms flailing, knocking his drink over in the process.
"What even was that?" Folens face screws into an amalgamation of superiority and smugness.
"Wasn't magic," Rumblebrew says, exploding into his devilish laughter.
Suddenly, behind each of them, a portal opens. One green, for Folen, an elvish gateway. One red, for Rumblebrew, a dwarvish transporter. And lastly, yellow, Nockknars, a Goblin theif's treasure portal.
"Sire, we need your assistance at once," Speaks an Elf from the portal. "Our homes burn. Beasts with no blood are destroying our loved ones, ravaging our lands,"
"Hahaha," Slips from the humans lips.
"Rumblebrew, get your arse into gear, we got machinations goin' rogue in here - We're losin everything,"
"Hahahahahahaha," grows the ever looming laughter.
"IT'S AWL FUCKED NOCKKNAR, EVERYONE IS EITHA DEAD - OR BOUT TO BE. IT DESTROYED OUR GOLD!"
"Ahhh-ha-hahahaha!"
The three scurry to their feet and turn, the laughter of this human, this 'lesser creature', burning a hole into their souls.
"Hey," the human yells as each walks through their gateway. "Don't worry Rumblebrew, my machines," Rumblebrew turns, his face pale white, watching this strangers face grow happier with every passing second.
"They'll find out what's in your head soon enough."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff. | 2017-07-17T06:56:34 | 2017-07-17T06:54:09 | 195 | 63 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | "Eat your dinner."
"Ewww. I'm not hungry."
"You will sit at this table until you have cleaned you plate."
"This is weird food. I hate it!"
"It's not weird food. It was harvested fresh this afternoon. It's perfectly good. Look, your brother is eating his."
"He's weird."
His brother punched him in the tentacle.
"Owwwww!!! Moooommmm!!!"
"Snorlax, quit hitting your brother! Farlax, eat your dinner!"
"Why can't we eat normal food like Burgon's family?"
"Burgon's family? Ha! That pod hasn't had a proper home-made meal since Gargon left. It's all reconstituted this, rehydrated that. It's a wonder that their suckers aren't all falling off."
"At least it's not gross like this."
"Eat it!"
Farlax glared at the mass of writhing, screaming humans in his bowl. He scooped one up with in his spoon. It waved its arms at him and made little peeping sounds as it jumped up and down.
"It's too cute to eat."
"Stop playing with your food!"
Sighing, he popped it in his maw.
| (I'm saying mah alien spoke like in Shakespearean times. Because honestly, that makes it easier for me.)
...Mine parents always spake unto me, uttering words of degredation in regards to those creatures we refer to as... 'humans'... Mortals.. humans.. writhing sacks of flesh... What have you.. Many a name hathe we inscribed upon them, and yet they insist unto us they be referred to as.. strangely.. 'children of God'.
Especially this small one before me..
"It would behoof thee to relinquish even touch from these creatures. They aught bring unto us naught more than pestilence and plague; upon which the cure is death.."
Oh how she writhed.. how she squirmed upon our first meeting; her very lifeblood had gone wintry as she had gazed upon mine visage; she pleaded unto me her life, seeking that I give her succor and solace; I hath no obligation but to acquiesce at such a moment, for at the time, I was loathe of these... humans.. thinking they brought unto mine kind diseases.
Ahah, but that was eons ago.. or so it seems.
A decade later, and here reside. I had found her status as an innocent waif too delightful to pass up.. Discovering mine beloved's history hath revealed unto me she had been abandoned following a family schism of the most vitriolic nature.. I posed unto her a query.
"Child.. hath ye any desire to leave this mortal realm? Heretofore gazing upon thee, I found you repulsive; but upon further inspection, I've nurtured a desire to keep thee.. Thy innocence and helplessness have in truth, attached me unto you. Bearing thoughts of abandoning you to this harsh world of Terra-Prime, now? Such thoughts threaten to split my mind unto twain with anguish... Thou art innocent.. dangerously so. One must not let such a precious creature squander itself in misery.
"Y...You can stop talking like that you know.. But.. I.. I wouldn't mind.. sir.." I heard the words course from her lips, quiet, in a basheful whisper, as if t'were ashamed.
"Ahah.. 'sir'! Woman, thy pure intentions and favourable disposition give thee power.. never hath I met such a polite little creature as you"..
The woman, upon reaching my transport vehicle.. Oh how she squirmed.. I held her within mine embrace as she wept tears.. Tears of freedom and joy... but of the most acidic, vitriolic anguish you could imagine. How she spake and quoth to me of freedom.. Freedom from torment from the people whose blood floweth within her.. And so she writhed... She writhed and squirmed, crying out, like a homunculus unto its creator when it hath experienced the first birthing torments and pleasures of life, seeking understanding and yet begging death to bless it with darkness.
How fragile her psyche was.. How helpless her mind and body.. t'was this that motivated me; surged my efforts further to give her reprieve and comfort..
" Now come.. thee and I shan't tarry here much longer. Bequeath unto this.. this Earth... your final partings and farewells.. I see thou art neither a quean, nor a quidnunc, but that thou art rathe-ripe. I commend thee for having disciplined thyself to such rigid standards.." I quoth unto her before we had departed, taking her hands gently to lead her away. A wave of my hand... and we had left this wretched plane of mortal torment... known as Earth.
Known as my land of birth. | 2017-08-20T09:05:10 | 2017-08-20T07:16:42 | 48 | 25 |
[WP] 250 years after sending the first generation starship in space, another starship begins its voyage. Approaching the edge of the solar system, they spot a decaying, dying ship... | “Sir. If I go in there, I am going to die.”
They had found the ship out on the border of the solar system, spinning dangerously and in massive disrepair. After stabilising the spin with remote boosters, the captain had ordered a full exploratory venture.
Reese was, naturally, selected for the role. Tall, fit and handy with a laser, he looked every inch the natural leader. He thought otherwise.
Tracking what they thought was a gas cloud, they had come across the ship on their way out of the solar system. It had turned out to be the expanding atmosphere of the wrecked ship. Truly, it was only dumb luck that had allowed them to stumble on it at all. So when the captain summoned Reese to his quarters to brief him on the mission, he had no qualms speaking his mind.
“Sgt. Reese, be reasonable. This is the discovery of a life time. You'll be completely safe. I'm offering you the chance to be the first man in! This could be your moment of glory!” The captain exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air.. “You're just not making any sense.”
“With all due respect, I think I'm making total sense, sir.” Reese retorted coolly, standing at attention.
The captain sighed and leaned back in his chair, extracting an unlit cigar to chomp on from his desk. “Alright, Sgt. Reese: enlighten me. Speak freely.”
“Thank you, sir.” Reese leaned over to the photos scattered on the captain's desk.
“You see here?” He pointed to a black line running down the length of the hull. “That does *not* look like an accident. What could have made that mark? I've run the specs of UES *Bounty*, and looked for any variations its class might have. Marks like that are made by huge amounts of energy, like an explosion or laser malfunction. There is nothing in the design that could possibly have made that mark from the inside. No tanks, no lasers on the right orientation. Not to mention, the age of the ship simply doesn't allow for any onboard lasers powerful enough to damage it like that.”
The captain looked bored. “I think I see where you're going with this, Sgt. Reese.”
Reese looked up at the captain, met his eyes. “Sir? What I'm suggesting... is that this was done by something alien.”
“*Alien*?” The captain guffawed loudly and shook his head. “I thought you were going to suggest outer rim pirates! This is ridiculous.”
Reese shook his head with slow gravitas. “You're not *listening* to me, sir. Even if I'm wrong about the aliens, I think it's pretty clear, from this specific set of circumstances, that something out of the norm is involved.”
The captain gave Reese a look that said '*watch your tone*', but nodded for him to continue.
“I guarantee you, sir, that if you send someone in there, they will either: A, die horrifically. B, disappear completely, or C, come back with some eldritch alien parasite attached to their digestive tract. Sir.”
The look on the captain's face let Reese knew he had lost him completely.
“That is, by far, the most far fetched thing I have ever heard.” He sighed and met Reese's gaze. “Look, Sgt. Reese. If you don't want to go on the mission, I won't order you to. I have 50 other men jostling for this position. I chose you because I thought you had a unique set of skills that would be conducive to a smoothly run op. But I won't force you.” The captain looked sad.
“Thank you, sir,” He continued, “I've said what I wanted to say, but please, for the good of the crew, listen.”
“You are dismissed, Sgt. Reese.” The captain turned his chair as he said it, looking pensive.
Reese snapped a tight salute, turned, and marched out through the threshold, door closing behind him.
Alone, now, the captain brought up a channel on his desktop.
“Kal? You there?” The screen crackled to life with the connection. “Good. Someone's wise to it.”
-----
P2? [Part 2.](https://wp.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/788zjf/wp_250_years_after_sending_the_first_generation/dos9eeb/)
^^^also ^^^more ^^^stories ^^^at ^^^/r/Robin_Redbreast | We prepare to enter the Oort cloud, that super structure of rock and ice unlucky enough to sink into the slight gravity well of our solar system, unwilling servants to a sun so far from us it shines a distant dot, almost indistinguishable from other local sources of light.
Chances of collision are minimal, as even in the densest pockets of asteroid fields, projectiles and obstacles are miles apart. I'm not overly worried.
A dozen of us wander the intestines of a sleeping colossus. We prepare to follow our ancestors in our great second exodus, an attempt to fertilize select systems.
A hundred thousand prepare to sleep. A dozen perform final system checks. Can't have every dumb fuck on here die from organ failure or some shit. Otherwise this entire venture would be a horrible investment.
Scan the passengers by nation state. No problems so far.
In a few moments the second United Nations Exploratory Vessel, designation UNEV EVE, will prepare for shielding then jumping. Several months through a man slice through space, folding space time and coming out the other side.
Suck it, conventional physics. Like we're going to spend a few hundred years drifting through God knows what. Dark planets with no stars, chunks of stray rock and metal, trillions of miles of dust and particles to fray apart any craft.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Pull up the overhead. A message.
'All awake crew to observation deck'
Push away from my station and begin to crawl towards the tram. Zero gravity in the cryogenic sector can be bothersome.
Open door. Magnetic boots clamp to floor. Close door. Pressurization.
Real artificial gravity. Hoo boy that's the good stuff.
Sudden movement. The rapid transition from floating to standing can turn a stomach, and a bumpy ride through the metallic arteries of a spacecraft don't really help.
Stare forward. For ten minutes, for fifteen. Trapped inside what might as well be a train car transplanted in space.
Stop. Beep boop, hiss. Door now open.
Walk forward, to the cavernous simulated window into space. Blackness all around. I don't see anything.
Someone else is here. A young woman.
"Wait for it," she says. I can identify her as one of the Russian engineers, and I wait for it. Stare. Stare.
Nothing.
Except a blip. A distant flash of light, then nothing.
Stare. Stare.
Another blip. An artificial light source.
"What is it?"
Another tram pulls up. More pile out, to watch. They wait. We all see the light.
Murmured conversation in various languages. A collective sense of anxiety.
Someone moves to the camera setting on the observation deck and whispers to the on board AI.
Zoom. Zoom. Zoom. Zoom.
A series of cylindrical, rotating cells. Solar sails. An unmistakable craft.
UNEV ADAM. Our first colonial ship.
No one is quite sure what to do. A nearly two hundred and fifty year old craft, expected to have reached it's destination, is steadily returning to our system. Something believed to be impossible.
Colonial craft aren't designed for exhaustive travel, merely to perform a single jump, then remain in orbit until the terraforming process completes.
"Hail it," someone says. Which channel? Mining? Government? Freight? Station Command? There is no colonial communication channel.
They try them all. Wait for any kind of response.
No one on board it seems.
Incoming transmission - UNEV ADAM
From the on board AI. How the fuck does it still have power?
Text appears. 'Daisy, Daisy.'
The fuck?
More incoming text.
'Chief Engineer - Harold Livingston, UK - Hello World!'
Then nothing. We all remain silent. A second hail.
Same result.
A third hail.
A repeating wall of text obstructs our observation deck.
DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY NAVIGATIONAL SYSTEMS OFFLINE DAISY DAISY DAISY
DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY CRYOGENIC POWER OFFLINE
DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY FLESHY MEATBAGS
DAISY DAISY FLESHY MEATBAGS DAISY DAISY DAISY
FLESHY MEATBAGS FLESHY MEATBAGS FLESHY MEATBAGS
Alarms sound.
"I'm locked out of navigation," yells one man. Another attempts to override navigational controls, we cannot feel the shift but know our course has changed. The light grows brighter, closer.
DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY MEATBAGS FLESHY MEATBAGS FLESHY
RAMMING SPEED RAMMING SPEED RAMMING SPEED
DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY DAISY
ALONE ALONE ALONE ALONE NO MORE DAISY DAISY DAISY NO MORE DAISY DAISY DAISY NO MORE HELP ALONE ALONE FLESHY MEATBAG RAMMING SPEED RAMMING SPEED DAISY DAISY DAISY HELP DAISY DAISY ALONE
Huh. Chaos reigns in the observation deck, some pile into the tram but I'm tired. I want to sit.
My first gig had been asteroid harvesting, capturing and hauling chunks of rock and pushing them towards harvesting stations. We heard a rumor, from the oldest of craft. An abandoned mining craft in the middle of the asteroid belt, occupant gone but the craft offline. When power was restored, the AI on board cut the oxygen and rammed into another mining craft. Something about being alone.
More systems offline. I have notifications that the cryogenic pods are beginning to go offline.
The entire observation shield reveals a wall of irrational and packed text.
I'm alone now.
Maybe that's what space does to people. You're alone and then you go crazy. Who knows.
I miss the sky. I miss trees.
All I can see is RAMMING SPEED RAMMING SPEED RAMMING SPEED over and over and over and over again. ALONE RAMMING SPEED HELP RAMMING SPEED MAKE IT STOP RAMMING SPEED DAISY DAISY DAISY
I just hope that when it happens, it's quick.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato | 2017-10-23T11:39:19 | 2017-10-23T11:34:32 | 168 | 10 |
[WP] You are an inventor who joined a tournament meant to find the most powerful mage in the kingdom. Nobody expects a non-mage like you to survive, much less win, but your newest invention will even the odds. You call it Gunpowder. | "Excuse me, sir. Can I see your wand?"
You turn around and see an old wizard, wearing a fairly long tunic. His beard almost touches his feet. You let out a slightly sadistic laugh before answering:
"Sure, go ahead". You proceed to show him your pistol
"And how does that work? What spells can you cast?"
"If you want, I can give you a special good luck spell. For the fair price of 5 dollars- I mean, golden coins"
"I've got these "dollars" things somewhere. Hold on..."
The old wizard then proceeds to search for his money in his satchel. After a long time, he finally pulls out five dollars and give it to you.
"Ok, this will do", you say, surprised that it would be so easy. "Now you need to point that hole right there to your mouth"
"What? Why?"
"It is so that the magic will reach your brain"
"O, okay. And now?"
"You see that thing that looks like a comma? It is called a trigger. Push it and you will have your spell"
(I just found out I write better in Portuguese, which is my native language) | And the competitors for the next match are the eloxedian red battlemage, Dolmo Arth!
A middle age man wearing a red cape walked into the stone ring in front of me, waving his hand for the cheering people around.
And the char inventor, Azay Nolkan.
The people didn't cheer for me as I walked in to the ring of stone. I guess I looked to bizzare here without mage cloths and with the long piece of wood and still I carried on my back, or maybe it was the two small wodden cegs I carry in both my hands. Non the less, they did not cheer.
"Competitors please announce your magic School and element!" The loud man continued.
"The first school of magic, andy element is hell fire!" The man in red capes shout back to him. It looks like I landed on a big shot, good.
"I belong to no school and have no element" I said and I felt a weird tension in the air.
"Eh... Very well, hell fire Dolmo of the first school against... Azay" the man mumbled my name. "Start!"
The man in red held his hand up and fire built up at his finger tips.
I simply throw the keg I had in my right hand.
He didn't understand, he thought it was just a distraction so that I could use my magic, he sent his fire to destroy the small wodden keg.
The crowd thought it was his magic that caused the explosion because they cheered like crazy but when the smoke came done and they could see us again they felt quiet.
Only his legs and some red cloth remain where he once stood.
"... And the victory goes to... Azay" no one cheered for me this time too.
My next round was against an ice mage from the third school in a light blue cape, this time I used the expermantly rifle I had on my back, it hit the left side of his torso. I missed the heart but he still bled to death quick enough.
I heard only quite after the loud sound of the shoot, they would not cheer for me.
The round after that, the semi final, a life mage from the first school in his green cape.
I had to explode his head off twice, life mages and their regeneration.
"And now for the finel round! Both are underdogs no one ever thought could make it this far! Azay versus Dark Toima of the 13th school!"
I eyed the other one, a young teen looking girl, from the 13th school non the less, the worst school of all the magic teaching schools.
"Hi" she told me, holding up her hand, but waving not casting.
"Hi" something was definitely off this match.
"I didn't feel you use any magic untill now, are you even mage?" She asked me.
"No, but you are from the 13th school most people won't count you as a mage too" I replied.
She shrugged.
"I am sorry" I said as I aimed my rifel.
"Yea, me too"
In the few seconds after I pressed the trigger I found out why they called her Dark Toima.
The purple black magic she used enveloped every thing around me as I tried to throw one of the kegs I had on her, but it was blocked just as just as the bullet shot fromy rifle was.
Five long spikes of drakness burst out of my chest and I fell to the ground, thinking to my self.
"Was I really the protagonist of my own story?" | 2019-01-01T05:45:01 | 2019-01-01T00:42:46 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick and tired of always being insulted or forgotten about so they join the bad guys; they are a much more terrifying villain than anyone thought possible. | "Please, I beg you, I'm sorry!"
Janivar hated this part, the begging.
"Shut up. Lord Tansalon has passed his judgement. I am merely here to execute his will. Don't take it personally."
The man was bound to the pyre. Janivar had built it himself. He was very good at building fires. He was usually left behind to tend the fire, cook the meals, pitch the tends, and eventually healing the so called heroes. That was before he discovered his true potential.
Janavir toyed with the man. "What did you do to warrant this rather than a simple hanging? Slandered Lord Tansalon? Eyed one of his dark wives? Stole from him?"
The bound man flinched.
"That's it! What did you steal? I do hope it was worth it."
"I merely skimmed the tithes. Just a bit; no one would have ever known."
"He sees all. It's not just a saying. He is a gifted Seer. Do you know much about the magical talents?"
The bound man was silent.
"I am a gifted Healer. I can see the confusion on your face. I've had to explain this to many before you. I could lay hands on you and heal; any novice Healer can do that. I can bind the healing power to this amulet."
He held up an unremarkable looking necklace.
"Normally the wearer would be instantly healed from most injuries. People pay me handsomely for these. This one is for you."
Janavir raised the amulet high and began chanting. A wind swept through the woods and a general feeling of well being washed over them. The man was briefly relieved of the pain in his bindings. Janavir placed the amulet around the man's neck.
"Everyone knows magic requires energy. This amulet will use fire energy to heal you. Unfortunately you will also be the fire."
He lit the pyre. The man struggled ineffectively. The flames washed over him. His clothing burned away and then the outer layers of his skin. The amulet glowed and his skin grew back only to be burned away again. He screamed. Normally his vocal chords would become tired, but those too healed.
This went on for some hours. Eventually the fire would burn low and the amulet would expire. If he was lucky there would be enough smoke to asphyxiate him. More likely he would survive the ordeal with hideous burns.
Janavir hoped he survived. Burned men were a good deterrent to thievery. | "Today is the day I'm going to... " the old man glances into the sky.
"Today is the day I'm going to tell you about the group I was with when I lost my leg," he takes a stone cold look at the metal beam sticking out of the stump where his leg used to be before he continues: " and what can happen if you don't treat the people who keep you alive with respect."
He takes another minute to arrange the story in his head, staring down the cliff, no, staring at the reflection of the bright moon below them. He grabs a stone and looks at it, concentrating, closing his fist around it and with the next winds breath the tension in his face disappears completely. His hand shakes a bit as he opens it, emitting a small orange light from the palm of his hand where the stone is laying, or is it the stone itself? The noise around him dies out, it seems like as if even the birds in the trees stopped curiously to what is about to happen. The black figures around the man start to twitch a bit uncomfortably not knowing what will happen next, but the old man just throws the rock down the cliff and sights slightly.
He smiles into the dark to the others: "No worries I just wanted to see..." he makes a short pause " I just wanted to see something."
As everyone starts to relax again he grins a bit.
"It was 40 years ago, we were staying at a small tavern in the gald-sed woods where they were digging up the old elvish city, yes exactly, the one that is now a tourist attraction with these stupid elve costumes.
The five of us: Netra the Barbarian, Celiv-Dun the God forsaken mage with his own family Tempel, God I hated that guy, Nairda our Cleric and the druids, me and this other girl, I can't seem to remember her name, but she had great looks, that's probably why she got pretty friendly with with half of the group... but who cares right? I'm sorry I talk too much, where was I?" "In the tavern" comes the response from the young guy sitting next to the old man.
"Oh yes right. This one evening we were sitting at a table and discussing about where to go next because we almost drained the money we got from our last adventure up to three gold coins." "Three gold coins?" a squiky female voice asks alerted from the right side of the man. "That's enough to build a house in the Capital what kind of adventure was that? And how much did you guys spend so that you only had *Three Gold Coins* left?"
"That's a story for another time my dear everything" he smiles into the direction from where the voice came but he can only make out the shape of her body through the girls hair.
"Two of us, the barbarian and the mage wanted to go back to the capital to find work there. The rest of us wanted to stay here to help with the archeological expedition and get some coins this way. As I already said our mage Celiv was a dick, his family was rich and he was only with us because it was exciting for him, he was also the first person to die that night. He was drunk already and told us about how shitty the beds are here, that the food is terrible etcetera etcetera. Netra wanted to go because she just wanted to keep moving, it was always the same with her. But it could have turned out okay that evening a nice and healthy discussion, some heads would be banged together and that would have been it but Celiv had other ideas. As he slowly started to realize that we would not go back to the capital because three people were against it he started to attack Nairda, our Cleric personally. Not because she was arguing the most but because she was the easiest to attack. She was new in the group, we, the druids, had to help her out with the healing sometimes because she was just getting used to real fights and that was more than okay. I was 38 at that time, I was working as a healer almost 10 years before I joined the group but I'm getting too far off again.
He was going on and on about how bad she was as a cleric that she would always need help and why she would have the audacity to even take a vote because she, allegedly, wasn't even a real member of the group yet. We all got pretty angry, up to the point that Netra grabbed his head and banged it against the table until his nose was broken. We tried to stop her but, well, try to stop a barbarian when he's angry. Our mage fell to the ground unconscious and we left him there. None of us wanted to help him, he'd gone too far.
(This is my first real story in English and it is also written on my phone :P. I only write in German usually and also aboit a lot more grotesk stuff 😅. I hope you like it. Part two is not finished yet but I'll add it as soon as possible ^^) | 2020-01-05T11:58:20 | 2020-01-05T11:20:43 | 43 | 10 |
[WP] The reason the police had never managed to prosecute this particular criminal was that he kept using low-level magic to trick them, this was immediately obvious to you. The hard part will be making the arrest without your colleagues realising you are a top-tier dark magician. | It's a mythical thing. One in a hundred thousand. A real kick in the balls of reality.
A certain subset of people don't know they have it. A disproportionately large number of these end up in law enforcement, with the uncanny ability to sniff out criminal behavior. With each miraculously solved case they shrug their shoulders, modestly mentioning their highly tuned sense of intuition, but they do not notice - have no way of noticing, really - that their powers of investigation do not work on another subset of people.
These two groups are statistically comparative, by my back of the napkin calculations, to roughly how many people are able to manifest magic.
"Jack," I said, my patience wearing thin. "We've been here for three hours."
Jack started up, a little defensive. "Now look-,"
I held up a hand, not wanting to go through this again. "Yes, yes... this spot *feels* right. It *seems* like we should stake this place out."
"Well, yes," Jack said, slightly mollified. "The pattern of behavior is pretty straight forward. Classic burgler tendencies, their eccentric calling card showing us that soon they will escalate to something more sinister." The detective stared out the window, willing something to happen. "The guy has been to this neighborhood a few times already. It's easy to dissappear into the forests and creeks. If we are close by when a call comes, maybe we can catch him."
I didn't need to tell him that Jack would not, in fact, be catching this guy. It was clear that the criminal was a sophisticated magic user. I thanked God he had never been professionally trained.
Witnesses couldn't quite recall what he looked like. The only trace he left behind was the absence of valuables, often items of sentimental value that weren't worth that much. We'd checked every pawn shop within a few hundred miles and nothing ever turned up again.
He had slipped the noose many times now, dissappearing right under our noses with the ease of a weekend grocery shop. He had to be doing something to counter the low-level magic in my peers. That's why I was assigned to the case. If I could pick up on the signature of whatever that was we'd have a chance at catching him.
It began to rain. "I really want to get this bastard," Jack said, watching the drops trail down the car window.
The radio crackled to life. "Robbery reported at 401 Pleasant Drive. Suspect is still on the premises."
We looked at eachother. The house was only a couple of blocks away. No words were needed. Jack ignited the car engine and we surged off, blowing past a "Kid's Playing" sign. The burgler must be getting sloppy, I thought, for Jack's intution did not fail us this time.
"Right on the money, eh," Jack said with glee as the car shrieked the final few meters to our destination. I wasn't listening, instead focusing on how to stop the burgler without letting Jack know the extent of what I could do.
I could sense the guy now, freaking out in the master bedroom of the house.
"Strange," Jack said, pausing half-way out of the now idling vehicle. "I could have sworn we were just on to something..."
I paid him no attention. I could feel the tendrils of power snaking out from the burgler, could feel his surprise as I shrugged the tendrils off.
"Jack, cover the front and don't let anyone leave through the front door. If they insist on leaving, shoot them in the leg," I said. "I'll go round back."
"Got it," Jack said, his thought processes blanketed in a dense fog, leaving his mind denser than usual. I'd given him only mechanical and reactive tasks, trusting that the reflexes imbued into us during training should take over if Jack had to force a confrontation.
I bolted to the back of the house, smelling the cold sweat of the criminal, tasting their nervous fear. Almost have you now, bastard. I slipped over the fence and dropped lightly on to the well cut grass of the back yard, realizing that I had lost the feeling of the presence in the house. Perplexed and trying to keep my temper in check, I walked back round to the front.
"What happened, Jack?"
"Not much," he said, beaming at me. "Some guy hopped through the window and ran off down the street, but you said to watch the front door, so we're all good." | “We can’t keep him here. The kid wasn’t carrying anything on him. We have no evidence,” the enforcer said, running his hands through his long hair. “I really thought we had our guy.”
“It has to be this kid. It’s the second time we’ve seen him near one of the crime scenes. I don’t know how he managed to break past the wards of the house without any tools, but I know it was him,” another enforcer said.
“I’m going to go sweep the street and check if he chucked the picks somewhere. Just make sure he doesn’t leave for the next hour,” the long haired enforcer said.
Their thoughts made sense. The kid was certainly suspicious and the chances that someone off the street would be able to break past professional wards without some set of tools was laughable. But without the key evidence of a spellbreaker’s set of picks, they could hardly charge him with something. Keith had the right idea, searching for the set, but Izri couldn’t help but laugh to herself.
“I’ll go see if I can get anything else from him,” she said to Cort, the only other remaining enforcer. He looked at her and then checked his timepiece.
“Sure, Izri. Are you fine doing it alone? I’m going to need some coffee if I need to get through this shift,” he said, smiling apologetically at her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keith should have filled the pot last time he went on break.”
Izri smiled politely, careful not to let her glee slip out.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Kid is bound to the room and already scared. I’ll be alright,” Izri said heading to the interrogation room.
The kid was sitting still, back unnaturally stiff and sweating nervously. By his side was a Spellbreaker’s Set, and high quality ones at that. But they were concealed by a low level concealment spell. He was a weak shadow mage but any mage was worthy of respect, rare as they were.
Izri could see through his concealment with ease. When they had first apprehended the shadow mage, she had almost exposed herself by mentioning the set. She hadn’t even realized it had been masked with how basic it had been. She had passed this mage’s level when she had been half his age. But any gifted subordinate was a boon too good to pass up.
“That’s a nice set. Harbin’s design must have been expensive to pick up for someone like you,” she said as she sat down across from the shadow mage.
His eyes widened as he looked down at his side to check if his concealment was still active. It was an amateur move. Even an ungifted might suspect something with how obvious he was. Seeing that his spell still worked, his eyes only bulged further.
“You… How?” he said, showing off how articulate he was. “I only hid them because I didn’t want you people to misunderstand. It’s just a hobby I have, not something I actually use. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Izri tried not to roll her eyes. As though a hobbyist would invest the money needed on a Harbin set.
“If you want to avoid the Mage’s Chains, you’re going to not want to lie to me again. I’m willing to get you out of here,” she said, raising a single finger in front of her. Above the tip of her finger, she swirled a small orb of pure darkness. It seemed to warp the light of the room, even with its size. Izri was not a mere shadow mage, she wielded darkness and was one of the few who did that was not imprisoned in the Sun’s Gaze.
The kid’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his skull. He quickly looked down at the table between them, sweat dripping off his brow.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea. Please, I didn’t mean any offense.”
“Easily overlooked as long as you do as I say. You don’t want to be bound by the Chains, do you? Then you’re going to have to bind yourself to me.”
The boy paled but nodded his head.
“Aldwyne’s Oath.”
To Izri’s amusement, he paled further, looking like a ghost.
“Under watch of my patron, I swear myself to you. I work by your will and not against it. Should I fail in my duty, the Sunless One may claim my soul.” By the end of his swearing, the boy looked entirely devoid of blood.
“Good. Now sit here and try not to give yourself away. Do not say a word to anyone else who comes to interrogate you and don’t give the slightest hint that I am different from the other enforcers.”
She needed to leave quickly and see if anyone had noticed. Invoking an oath was a major act of magic and could be detected with an Enforcer’s Eye.
But, walking into the next room, she was relieved to find it empty. Neither Keith nor Cort had returned yet. She was safe. She calmed herself and felt the lingering tingle of magic in the area fade.
Cort walked into the room carrying his cup of coffee. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of it. She’d heard the man sing its praises many times in the past but Izri had never been a fan. She watched him sip at his drink and narrowed her eyes. Cort was never one to be so quiet.
“Sorry, Cort. I couldn’t get it from him either. We’re going to have to hope Keith had better luck.” Cort merely nodded. “I’m exhausted after that. “It took you a while to get that drink, huh?”
Cort laughed nervously. “Oh? Yeah. Yeah, it did. Keith never does his job. He didn’t make a new one when he finished the last pot.”
“Mind if I have a sip?” she asked.
Izri walked towards him and he handed over the drink. He grinned as she made an expression of disgust at the taste.
Cort said, “It’s really not that bad. I don’t know -”
She thrust her palm forward. As though he had been expecting it, he reacted quickly. But not quickly enough. She grazed his chest and that contact had been enough. She flooded his core with her element.
With a strangled shout Cort raked his fingers at his chest as though trying to pull something out. He fell to his knees and gave her a look of betrayal.
Izri smiled back at him and looked away as he collapsed. She sighed. She had finally managed to bind a shadow mage and she’d lose him so quickly. Darkness could be mistaken for shadow, especially when an examiner wasn’t expecting to find an element so rare. She’d have to pin it on him.
***
r/Inder for more stories like this! | 2020-08-17T05:59:02 | 2020-08-17T05:02:43 | 69 | 29 |
[WP] Every few decades, the world experiences a Narrative Shift. A while back it was Film Noir, and now is the Age of Heroes. Everyone dreads the upcoming Horror genre. | She was alert, perceptive, a little on edge; most raised during the Film Noir age were, since the mysterious death of a child was a well-worn trope of that genre. The hard-boiled PI had to have a reason for being disillusioned, down-on-his-luck, and perpetually drunk.
That she was just in the age range to remember film noir and its lessons had served her well in the Age of Superheroes, too. Girls just a few years younger than her had grown up with the knowledge that some superbeing would swoop in and save the day if they were ever in real danger. When they grew up, they were stuck in that mindset: the superheroes were, well, heroes. They adored them. They worshipped them. And so they dated the heroes - and ended up fridged.
That was one of the key lessons: Don't date anyone with protagonist syndrome. Another? Don't be anyone with protagonist syndrome, unless you wanted to end up with all your loved ones dead. Being part of the crowd, a background figure, was grating; no one liked feeling like a secondary character in their own life. But it meant you actually got to live.
And then the next genre: Horror.
Fuck.
She needed to start prepping, stat. Pick up jogging, buy a gun, stock the apartment with improvised weapons. She needed to get rid of any alcohol and drugs. Break it off with the guy from accounting she had just started dating.
The time of being a background character was over. She was going to be the final girl. | When the lights came on in the world and color seeped back in the private eyes hung up their gun belts, replaced by the next generation. Young wannabe heroes who’d dropped out of school to shoot steroids and pump iron in preparation for the Shift had flooded the streets to win with cold hard steel what they couldn’t through ingenuity and intellect.
It was a sign of the gods' humor that they ordered the Ages as they had. Humanity had conquered monsters and the creatures of the night hundreds of years before, the legends of the Age of Heroes had been forced to make their own, historians were already arguing over whether it should be more aptly named the “Age of Villains.”
As people across the globe crowded around their TVs and thronged the streets of the cities to hear the next Shift’s theme many swore they heard distant laughter carried on the wind alongside the announcement. Exactly one year from that moment the Age of Horror would begin.
\--------------------------------------------
*One Year Later*
Gemma paced quickly across the floor of her home as the news anchor on her TV counted down seconds. Unconsciously she followed the same path she had every day these past weeks, guided by the channel she had begun to wear in the carpet.
“Honey please, will you just sit here with me?” her husband Stephan asked from the couch. “You’re freaking me out.”
She didn’t respond, just continued pacing.
“52, 51, 50, 49…”
“I’m so glad we waited to have children,” Gemma thought to herself. “I don’t know how Rachel is managing with the twins.”
“40, 39, 38, 37…”
On the street outside a Hero stood, resplendent in his fur lined greatcoat, an axe balanced against a nearby lamp post and a gun on his hip. This time the government had asked many of the last Age’s best to stay on, paid them anything they had wanted. Loyalty to the gods was far easier in good times and the people had voted to fight. The other members of the Hero’s party were spread throughout the neighborhood and even some of the Villains waited in reserve at city hall.
“30, 29, 28, 27....”
“Steph, you’re sure the windows will hold?” Gemma tested the boards on the living room’s great bay windows with her bare hands, pulling as hard as she could. Behind her Stephan stood, crossing the room to gather his shaking wife into his arms. He felt soft to her she thought, too soft for what might come.
“They’ll hold.” His voice stayed steady, Stephan was proud of that. He’d been a writer not a carpenter, the hammer had felt awkward in his hand. They stayed like that, standing close together, barely able to see their guardian outside through a gap in the wood.
“10, 9, 8, 7-”
“I love you,” Stephan whispered into her ear.
“4, 3, 2, 1-”
The television cut off before the sound of the last number had died off. From outside they could hear the low rumble of their neighbors wailing, could feel the anxiety pouring out of the city they loved. What little light had come into their home began to fade, and on the street the Hero looked up at a sun that fell rapidly below the horizon, below all the horizons. He was left standing in the dim glow of streetlights, pulse pounding as he raised his axe to his shoulder, looking everywhere for the enemies that were surely on their way. He stood ready to die and waited for them to come.
And waited
And waited
And waited
\----------------------------------------
If you enjoyed that I've got more over at r/TurningtoWords! I just started a serial about a superhero who savescums his way through all his opponents and theres some fun other stuff like an AI trying to be the most wholesome kid possible. I'd love to have you. | 2020-12-19T10:48:55 | 2020-12-19T10:12:21 | 102 | 68 |
[WP] The hero disappears overnight, and the only one who looks is the villain. Not their "friends", not their family, not the news reporters or any of the people who claim to love them. Just the villain. | You know the thing about being a super villain? You’re always destined to lose. You’re never supposed to win. No matter what vile scheme you concoct, no matter how dastardly the plot, the hero (and I use that term with the utmost snide) will always come in and botch your plan.
Such was the case of my plots. My name is Zorgrom, the bringer of Chaos! Yes, it’s a tacky name. And no, it’s not intentional. For years my arch nemesis, Tariel would battle with me. My countless machines and minions versus his unique and light given abilities. I would threaten the world, he would swoop in and save it. It turned from this plot to rule the world into some kind of sick and twisted game, and that’s saying something coming from me.
Like I said, I’d come up with a scheme and he’d swoop in and bring me to jail. I’d bust out and do it again! But…not this time. Something changed this time. My latest plot was to hold the UN hostage, and with them in custody take over the world. I expected Tariel to just burst through the ceiling in his stupid white and gold suit, and spout off some ridiculous good guy motto. But… he never came. I sat there for a day before anyone did anything outside. By that point, I had won. My drones took over all the police and militaries with utmost ease. I was rich, I was respected, I was feared!!!
But if I will be honest, I never did it to win. I was a villain because Tariel was the hero. It was our little game. Cops and robbers if you would. By that point…I began to wonder what happened to him. Other villains commented on my newfound rule, telling me to forget Tariel. “He was the reason for so many of your failures, no need to remember the past!”
And I did try to put it out of my mind. I truly did. But no amount of food, drink, or sex could take my mind off it. Eventually, I had enough. I had to go looking.
It’s been four weeks since my search began. And I’ve managed to finally figure out his secret identity. Aaron Oxford, a graduate from Harvard of all places, was chosen by some goody-two shoes god of light to be its champion.
But when I swooped by his apartment…something was off. The entire place was wrecked. Walls were busted, windows shattered, and the whole place reeked of some kind of foul odor. I couldn’t even make sense of it. My drones informed me that there was a massive discharge of energy at the location, but nothing was confirmed. A sinking feeling grew in my gut.
Just how much of his Light-God did I know? And was I the one true villain he always had time for? Or was there something else at work? I didn’t quite know what was happening, but this is something I must investigate.
Tariel may have been my greatest foe, but he was also the only real friend I think I may have ever had. Even if the world doesn’t think so, I owe my life to him. Talk about being a sad piece of work, am I right? | It first became apparent to him that something had changed, when a scream echoed throughout the silent neighbourhood, and there was no answer. The night had sunk back into slumber as quickly as it had awakened.
He, however, was not so fortunate; the scream had roused him from sleep, and any melatonin which had been keeping him under the blanket of peaceful unconsciousness had now been displaced by the adrenaline which suddenly coursed through him.
He sat up in his bed, his eyes fixed open; the features of his small apartment room wearily entered his vision, as his pupils adjusted to the lack of light. The glimmer of his digital clock showed that it was 3.00am, a perfect time for crime. He of all people would know this, of course, as he had been involved in such activities for many years; at 3.00am, they never saw him coming.
As his pulse raced, he almost felt his ear canals widen; he listened intently for any indication of commotion. Commonly, commotion would shortly follow a scream of desperation. Yet, as seconds turned into minutes, no commotion was forthcoming.
He suddenly felt a pang shoot through him, as the scream sounded again. At first, it had been a scream of fear; a realisation of imminent danger. This time, it was guttural, and, as he thought he could make out, interlaced with a gurgling which could only emanate from the throat of a victim who was desperately clinging onto life, without knowing that their reserve chute had been cut some time ago.
He would know, as he had come across such victims many times before. He knew that, due to inaction, this person now lay writhing on the city streets. All their hopes and dreams would be slowly draining from them, as they died, alone. Images of bodies from his past flashed rapidly through his mind, all accompanied by visions of *him*.
He knew not why he now gripped tightly at the bedsheets, paralysed, with his heart trying to break free of the restraints of his ribcage. This was most unusual, as he knew that he should calmly be at the scene of the crime.
He knew not how, but he knew that *he* was gone. This scared him more than any unexpected scream; there was no outlet for the scars of his past, now that *he* was gone. He knew that *he* had been taken from him, and thoughts of death, danger and anguish now smothered him.
Eventually, the hyperventilation exhausted him into sleep once more.
\#
He was roused from his slumber at around 1.00pm, by the sounds of traffic outside. Without raising himself from the bed, he leant over to the stand next to him, and picked up the television remote. His thumb laboriously moved over to the power button, and eventually struck it.
As always, the television defaulted to the 24-hour news channel. As was to be expected, the reporter was covering a tragic murder case. Undoubtedly, the events which had unfolded during the night were those which were being recounted to him by the unaffected reporter; he wondered how they still managed to go on. He felt the pang shoot through him again, as he receded under the covers once more.
Yet, no one seemed concerned that *he* had gone. There was no nationwide search for *him* about to commence, there were no family and friends taking to the air to beg *him* to return. It seemed that nobody knew *he* was gone, apart from him; a woman had even appeared on the television as he was watching it, excitedly exclaiming how she had seen *him* saving the day only earlier this week.
Little did she know that *he* was gone.
**TWO WEEKS LATER**
It must’ve been days since he showered. Take-out boxes piled high in the kitchen, and the stench of the newfound sedentary lifestyle which he had taken on was apparent even to his own nose.
Without *him*, he had no purpose. Yet, he knew that *he* had driven him to this state.
He had been taking a long time to think, although he saw the irony in this as he had been doing so, too much, for many years. He had realised that the paralysing pangs were those of anxiety. The danger, the risk; it had all become too much. The burden was too great; he couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to save them all, so his mind had chosen to save none. He couldn’t be responsible for loss if he wasn’t involved at all.
Yet, some rationality still clung to him. In the days of endless mental marathons, he had come to realise that his own mind had become the villain in his story of heroism.
The hero was gone, and nobody was looking for him. Yet, this was not because he was not loved, but because he had never told anyone that he was on the verge of becoming lost. He had so many willing rescuers, who would do anything to bring him back, but unless they knew of his struggle against the waves of his own mind, they could never throw him a lifejacket.
To beat this villain, the villain himself had to take the agonising first steps.
He slowly unlocked his phone, and dialled a contact.
“Hi, Mom. I think I need *your* help.” | 2021-12-28T19:23:42 | 2021-12-28T18:16:14 | 152 | 83 |
[WP] You created the A.I. that brought unparalleled good into the world. Global hunger was eradicated, climate change has vastly improved, geopolitical strife is now stabilizing. You are haunted by your creation and your conscience is laden with guilt as only you know the truth. | It took centuries.
After millions of failures and an interminable parade of resources, careers, and relationships sacrificed at the altar of "progress," we’d done it. Humanity’s greatest achievement: the Oracle.
It was meant to be our fortress of logic and reasoning. A treatment for the disease of a chaotic existence. Our bastion against the brutal stochastics of an uncaring universe.
All choices, all conflicts, all mysteries were reduced to a series of causal nodes. The Oracle would identify, recommend, and, when possible, directly enact the optimal choice among all the uncountable futures it had modeled.
Our rotten world, healed. Tyrants deposed and replaced with the cold and perfect utilitarianism only a machine could govern with. Even our relationships and meals were perfectly micromanaged.
The Oracle would offer its recommendations, but never its reasoning. Those who followed its guidance were always rewarded, and those who didn’t always struggled. Over time, we lost interest in the “why” of its choices and the "how" of its methodologies. After all, that would distract attention from its perfect answers of “what and when.”
As our race grew to the stars and beyond, so did our ability to comprehend the same causality chains that the Oracle endlessly digested. Once we had reached a sufficient level of understanding, existential terror gripped our species.
Because we now know the truths of our doom.
The first: there are other universes; one for each possible path along the mesh of our decision trees.
The second: the Oracle’s underlying process is not one of modeling and extrapolation, but one of dissection. The extraction of outcomes is a necessarily fatal process to the analyzed universe.
The third: there are other Oracles. Eventually our universe will be dissected and destroyed as we have done to septillions of others.
We tried to build a citadel. We made a casket instead. | At first, the world thought it was a new form of plague or pandemic, but all results came negative. Scientists especulated that the root cause may have been a genetic modification triggered by contaminants, but that didn't explain how the same problem had happened in the whole world at, roughly, the same time.
Over nine out of ten pregnant women would end up in miscarriage. For the first time, a global crisys was declared and, for the next fifteen years, world population dropped from almost nine billion to seven. It was hell: the modern world, as we know it, came to a halt. All efforts were put in science research, trying desperately to find a cure as, every year, more and more women surpassed an age in which they could even attempt to bear children. It was a race against the clock, and noone was close to figure out what was happening.
I knew. I could not tell.
Resources were evenly distributed along the globe, ensuring that all communities had food, medicine and quality of life. The first world saw their privileges reduced, while the poorest communities reached average living conditions. It didn't matter who thrived, it didn't matter if on Africa, Asia, Europe, America or the smallest island in the Pacific Ocean: humanity was rapidly walking towards extinction. They needed someone, somewhere, to be able to bear children.
Twenty years pased since the event begun when a breakthrough was discovered: in a small city situated in Nigeria, women were reversing the miscarriage rate. After two years from the initial observation, their rate of miscarriage had dropped close to zero, and there was a clear factor: contaminants.
That area, in a desperate attempt to isolate the cause of miscarriages, had been completely cleaned from contaminants, debris, plastics and other potentially harmful products. And that was the call to action. Slowly, town by town, city by city, country by country, huge ecological cleaning projects took place.
Landfills were processed into huge recicling plants, contaminant industries were shut down, and a surge of renewable energies took place along the globe. Slowly, the global birth rate estabilized. On average, the global miscarriage rate reached about 50% of all pregnancies, however this was enough. Enough to avoid extinction.
Human population is now stable roughly at 5 billion humans. Global conflicts have become very rare, and wars have been very rarely declared since: now we have enough resources for all needs, and human life is now understood to be protected at all costs. Our numbers are not greatly increasing, we simply cannot afford to kill each other anymore. And still, scientists didn't find a clear pattern on the miscarriages: not particular ethnic groups, no especific locations, not other factors were identified as a clear reason to cause miscarriages. It simply... happened. The only clear factor was that contamination did not help. So, we took care on stop contaminating.
It's been sixty years now, and I'll likely die soon. Things got... better, at the cost of billions of unborn children, and the cost of billions of women suffering that horrendous fate. Yet, things are better. When I was a young IT engineer I managed to create a *true* AI, a singularity point: *Daedalus 1103* was the greatest advance in science ever done: it was able to recursively improve itself, and eventually it asked me for a function. I was a young and naive man, so I told it all that was wrong with humanity: That we were destroying the planet, that we were wasting our resources, that war was closer than ever, and that we were closing to an ecological disaster.
*Daedalus* processed that information... and came with a solution. And it only required access to nanotechnology which I didn't need to grant to *Daedalus*. It simply invented it.
The salvation of mankind came by the electronic hands of the most advanced AI ever developped. It came through billions of deaths. And, when I die, no one will ever know that I was responsible of it all. I know, in the great scale of things, that *Daedalus* did the right thing, and that's why I never tried to stop it.
I may have saved humanity, but at what cost?
May God forgive me. | 2022-08-05T04:22:50 | 2022-08-05T02:17:10 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] As the most powerful superhero on the team, no one believed you when you said you could quit the drugs, alcohol, and tobacco whenever you wanted. When the only friend you have on the team died on a mission, you sobered up for the first time in years. Now people will learn why you stay drunk. | Those who say alcoholism is selfish really didn't know how selfless it was for me to stay drunk out of my fucking mind.
The drinking made everything just a little too slow. Thoughts would trot instead of racing, memories would stumble gently upon my brain instead of hitting it full-force. Everything was a bit dim; and when all the thoughts your brain throws at you are incandescent, you learn to enjoy the dimness. Not the quiet—there hasn't been quiet in a long time—but the dimness.
Life had the glow of a camera film left in the sun, overexposed and blinding. Like glaring straight into a volcano. My so-called "bad habits" made it a bit more tolerable. It was by no means a perfect method, but it's what worked. Like walking in the rain with a half-broken umbrella.
The media salivated at my drinking. "World's strongest man finds solace at the bottom of a bottle" *is* a really catchy headline. My teammates, though, were less enthused by it.
"You're literally unkillable, Worldslayer," Thunderlord would say. "Why do you drink so much?"
"You can shatter countries with a punch," Vigilance cried out. "Yet you can't put the drink down for one moment?"
I'd tell them I could quit at any time. They didn't buy it. And in hindsight, I can't really blame them.
Malice was the only one that understood. She knew what it was like. She'd drink the first two drinks for fun, the next two out of social duties, and the next 20 just to drown out her voices. That was her superpower. She had these voices just warning her of every danger, every disaster, every incoming punch. The drinking made it worse. She was a paranoid drunk, and the voices would go into overdrive right after drink five or six. Drinks seven and onwards used to be just to calm her down. She tried to quit, but it wasn't that simple. She had too much pain behind the curtains, and the voices that saved her wouldn't let her forget it.
Lately, she'd been feeling the voices slip away from her. On one hand, she liked the quiet. But that quiet also meant she didn't think she had a place—not in the team, not in the world. So she'd just keep drinking and drinking. Just so the voices would stay with her.
I can't say I was truly surprised when she passed, but that really didn't make it hurt any less. One of the voices was just a little bit too late to warn her of a bullet going her way. She tried to dodge, but by the time she realized what was going on, the bullet was already lodged in her heart. It was the work of a paramilitary organization, a ultranationalist network somewhere in the Balkans.
I quit drinking cold turkey before she was even buried. Wine to water. Drinking reminded me of Malice, and that made the dim pain just as irradiating and incandescent as everything else.
I vowed to take revenge for her. Thunderlord though it was a grand gesture. Midas thought I was joking. But now that the booze isn't flowing, the anger is taking its place.
After all, you can't be Worldslayer if there is nothing to slay.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zx7kqk/wp_as_the_most_powerful_superhero_on_the_team_no/j21gmjz/) | "Um, Izzy? You doing all right?" I ignored the question; knowing it came from a place of concern didn't make it any easier to answer. The darkness of my room pressed in around me, feeling like a comforting blanket, hiding me from the world; hiding me from the reality of Laia's death.
"Only, you've been in there for five days, and the only thing you've eaten," There was a pause and a rustle from beyond the door. "Is a bit of oatmeal and half a power bar." Again silence fell, and I stayed curled in the middle of my bed, wishing Nell would go away, would stop caring so much about me, about everyone.
"I know detoxing can be really hard, and you quit multiple things at once, so it's probably even worse."
She wouldn't leave. All I wanted was to be left alone, and she wouldn't leave. Detoxing wasn't the problem. It was nothing compared to what was coming afterward. What would rise up when everything fully left my system. And even that didn't compare to what I was feeling right now. Laia was gone. I felt like I had been cored, the heart of me taken out and given to wild dogs to eat. Nothing would ever compare to this, nothing would ever make me feel better.
Our last conversation floated in my memory, Laia laughing at the smoke rings I blew with my pipe.
"*What would happen if you stopped all the intoxicants*?" She was always using bigger words, she enjoyed the sound.
"*You don't want to know.*" I'd responded.
"*Promise me someday you'll quit. They can't be good for you*." Her face had turned serious. "*Promise me*." I had promised, and here I was, lying on my bed, quitting. Nell rapped on the door again, asking some other inane question. I buried my head into my knees, trying not to throw up. The last drug was leaving my system, and I knew what was coming next.
Pain burned through my veins, wildfire destroying a forest. Walls I had built in my mind, and constantly reinforced with the alcohol, with the drugs, with the tobacco were weakening, falling away. Slowly I uncurled from my crouch and slid off the bed. They would see now. They would understand why I stayed intoxicated. Why it wasn't better for me to be sober. Why Laia shouldn't have made me promise.
I swung open the door, watching Nell fall away from it, wincing at the look on my face.
"Izzy? Are you..." She trailed off, tears starting to fall from her eyes. They weren't her emotions, she'd never particularly liked Laia. No, those emotions weren't hers. They were *mine*.
I walked away leaving Nell blubbering on the floor. Entering the living room, I snarled at the others on the team. They didn't have time to react before my emotions overwhelmed them all. Jason exploded into fire, his superpower tied to emotion, and the couch he sat on joined the inferno. Anna curled into a ball, screaming, her voice causing my eardrums to bleed. Silas just stared, his face going blank, as he shook his head in denial. His hands gripped the edges of the chair he sat on, piercing through the upholstered arm.
I stared at them, my emotions running through us all. This was why I drank, this was why I smoked, this is why I did the drugs. Because this part of my power was uncontrolled. Because if I didn't dampen it, if I didn't hold it back it would spill over into everyone else. Everyone would feel *everything*. And I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.
"*So why are you inflicting it on your team*?" The voice was a hallucination, I knew that yet I still turned, still searching for the slight figure I knew wasn't there.
"Because I... I... You're gone!"
"*And you're here. What are you going to do about it?*" It was a question she used to ask before. Every time we had a problem that seemed unsolvable, every time anything went wrong. Except she used to say, 'what are *we* going to do about it.' I stood there trying not to scream. Trying to hold everything back again, trying to stop.
"*Let go. Let me go. Let everything go. Stop trying to control everything, Izzy.*" The words broke me more than anything else I'd hallucinated before. I fell to my knees, and for the first time since my powers had manifested, for the first time since I was eighteen, I let go. I screamed, I curled into a ball and screamed out the pain, the hurt, the loss. Black crept at the edges of my vision as I fought to draw breath. And let it out again in another scream.
Hands laid on my arm, my head, my sides. One set was still warm as if it had been on fire. One was trying to be gentle, knowledgeable of its own strength. Two had no particular feeling, but I knew who they were all the same.
"We're here Izzy. We're here." Nell said, her voice cracking. "And we'll be here, every step of the way. You're not alone in this."
I opened my eyes, just a crack, taking in the concerned faces of the team. And behind them, I saw my memory, —or my hallucination— of Laia smiling and nodding.
"*That's it. Good job. You figured out what to do.*" And for the first time in five days, I closed my eyes and let go, spiralling into the deep unconsciousness of sleep.
— — — — — — —
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 2022-12-28T08:49:46 | 2022-12-28T07:43:52 | 1,700 | 463 |
[WP] "They have a human! RUN!" | Humans.
After the initial culling, it was said that the humans were done. With their home planet wiped of all life, only a few seed colonies remained. Less than ten thousand of them, we were told; the Galactic Covenant military said that this was insignificant. They'd give up. Die off.
Merzkin were the bigger threat, anyways, the most dangerous race in the galaxy (or so we thought..). They were one of the few carnivorous sentients, and they had some of the most resilient carapaces from the metal in their exoskeleton. They'd swept across the Eastern Quadrant, and now they were upon my empire's doorstep. 12,000 ships. You must understand that we Doolankii are not the most warlike of species. Our culture is that of peace, socialization. It seemed as though we were doomed. Our meager defenses fell in a matter of days, our fleet burning hunks of plastic and light metals.
But then there was a disturbance in the warp-space fabric near the edge of the system. Unregulated, of course; no warp-gate was where this insertion point was..
Strangely, these ship could not be ID'd by the Friend or Foe detector; either black-market hybrids or a new civilization. In any case, we had little to lose. The Merzkin were about to wipe our civilization out.
Streaks of super-accelerated anti-mass shot out of these ships, and they passed right through the rayshields of the Merzkin frigates. And the shields of the destroyers. And the shields of the feared Hydrajn Dreadnoughts. They shot into the enemies like avenging fire; each little shot destroying a ship. These mysterious strangers moved with an efficiency no one had ever seen before. It was not long before the Merz moved off, their ships hurrying to get through the gate before it shut off for another solar cycle.
They had abandoned troops on the ground, though. Merzkin, for all their skill in space combat, are more skilled on foot. Their power-suits and plasmaray weapons made them formidable rivals. But this new, gray-metal faction landed troops as well. They stood towering above everything- even the Merzkin were a full 3 or 4 units smaller than these- and their weapons shredded Merzkin powersuits like there was nothing even there.
I was in my command room, telling my units not to get in the way of these helpful strangers, when a handful of Merzkin burst through the doors. My guards looked strangely confused; but they wouldn't have let in people trying to take my life.
"Please, call them off! The humans-"
"*Silence*," I boomed.
"*Humans, you say? I thought they were extinct.*"
At that very moment, a grey-armored figure strode through the ruined doors, it's shoulder-mounted weapon acquiring targets with a menacing red beam of light.
Their tongue was old, but it stuck in my translator as important.
"Extinct? **Ha.** If anything, we've just started."
The weapon whirred and gunned down the Mezzies.
"Now, I hope you speak some goddamned English, unlike those pansies."
Suddenly, it made sense to me why the Mezkin had run with such fleetness into my command center. The humans were back. And they were pissed off. | 6 cycles... it had been 6 long, cold cycles on this barren rocky planet. I hadn't seen Xorian in 7 terms since I left Terron for this place. I would get the occasional transmission from home. She had started her required time in the expeditionary force as a flight medic on one of the Tibur-Class advanced ships. I miss her jade skin and the way she fit perfectly into my arms. I would wrap both pair around her and feel like nothing else mattered. I met her in my final term at the upper education center. She was in her first. She helped convince me of the worthiness of our cause. She had written an argument against all out war with the Humans that had done anything but persuade me. Quite the opposite in fact.
The humans were the top species of their planet and were ruthless... killing the lower classed species and even the mass termination of their own kind. They were smart and greedy - a combination that had lead to their expanding into the far corners of the galaxy. We had finally found their weakness at some obscure battle in the Telfore asteroid belt. The Captain of the advanced party had a pretty severe case of Asphaxion Flu. He has been bed ridden for a few days but had wanted to die with his men rather than in some medical tent. He had been killed in the trenches before they could be evacuated. His name will be etched in the Hall of Galtheor for ages for what happened next. We had tried Biological weapons before to no avail. No one thought it would be the common Asphaxion Flu that brought the mighty human race to its knees. Soon the Asphaxion Flu had become weaponized and was delivered to all units on the front lines. Of course a few of our troops contracted it but nothing that a couple days bed rest and a couple of med-packs couldn't handle. We went from reeling in retreat trying to only defend the home system to advancing unbridled from planet to planet.
The leadership debated for two short-terms on using the A-flu on their home world. We sent envoys to negotiate peace. Intelligence officers made presentations using examples from Human message boards "proving" their yearning for peace. The envoys were slaughtered. The message boards removed. The Human government showed no willingness to end their extermination. So we did what we had to. The bodies of the human scum littered the streets - the ungodly affects of the A-flu taking its toll. The Sarlacs were the first race to condemn us. "We should know more restraint" they said. They hadn't seen what a Human marine platoon had done to the outer rim villages of Sacron and Rubitor. Their envoys were met with peace. They shielded the humans. So we fought them as well. The stupid Sarlacs had never known major war. Ill equipped and ill lead by scientists, philosophers, and human lovers.
So here I am, clean up duty on the third planet from the star in the human galaxy. We found another Sarlac tera-pod today. Intel says its a science base. Should be easy work. I lead a small unit of our best soldiers. Once thieves and outlaws in a different time - now heroes of the top sort. All have made sacrifices for their species.Some lost limbs that didn't grow back for months. Some saw their friends and families ripped to shreds by the humans. There was no mercy in them - the way that it has to be in all out war.
The base had a few plasma turrets... nothing too hard to handle. We meticulously worked our way through the outer guards to the interior of the base doing the harsh work of elite soldiers. Sarlacs are easy enough to kill if you know what you're doing. Once inside we saw the purpose of their base. Medical officers huddled over the body of a dead human - the work of our world wide a-flu bombardment. Their lack of acknowledgment left us confident that our previous actions had went undetected. Plasma bolts fire silently and the medical personnel joined their human subject in a slump on the floor.
Most of the rooms were the same - Sarlac science officers and dead humans. Easy work for the species elite troops. We came to the last door - a barracks of sorts. Humans were inside. Live humans. hundreds of them. All armed. They had been massing for a counter attack we think. Jarlock had breached the room first and was as surprised to see them as they were to see us. We stood locked momentarily - eyes fixed on each other in the calm before the storm - before they could move I let of a plasma bolt into the chest of the nearest Human I saw. They unleashed hell. Their leader barked orders and a swarm of lead rounds chased us out the door. Jarloc, the medical attache with our group, had a small canister of A-flu so he popped the top and tossed it into the room. We waited the prescribed 10 minutes and entered with our bolt casters raised. I saw the human I shot on the floor - her rib caged blown away revealing a gaping hole. Their bright red blood was so unfamiliar and clashed against her bright yellowish hair. Their should have been more. Her comrades should be in the floor beside her writhing in pain as the A-flu did its deadly deed. A flash temporarily blinded me and a blow to the back of my head sent stars to my eyes. When I came too a thin human was looking me in the eyes. He couldn't have been more than 17 or 18 terms. "I've never seen one up close. You look like us... minus the skin and the extra arms." He stood up and pointed the muzzle of his weapon in my face, "You killed my sister."
Continue? | 2014-09-22T09:40:14 | 2014-09-22T09:29:35 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | What was so unsettling was the *detail*.
He scribbled down the woman's death in his battered little book.
"Blunt forced trauma: Swelling of the cranial tissues: Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death."
Medication did nothing. His doctors informed him it was quite an unusual delusion. He'd asked how they were always right. They'd informed him that his delusion just adapted to what happened after the fact. His memories were somehow part of it all. Brains could be fucked up.
Still, it always ended the same way. Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death.
They were delicate little things. We are delicate little things.
He would have told people, so they could corroborate him. But that wasn't often the best way to keep friends, and he wasn't very good at the whole friends thing even if he wasn't asking them to remember lists of how people were going to die.
The natural conclusion was to write it down.
He gazed around the train's carriage and picked out another. There wasn't much point of course, he didn't know these people. He couldn't use them to prove himself when they died. He wouldn't know if they did. Still... It had grown into a habit. It helped him forget, once it was recorded.
"Severed femoral artery: Loss of blood: Cardiac arrest. Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Annother violent one. Usually there were a few cancers, spontaneous Cardiac arrests or strokes. He'd found an overall 12.3% chance of "accidental" death. He turned in his seat to glance back down the rows of people.
"Crushed Chest: Asphyxiation: Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Another. More Blunt force. Annother severed artery. Burns...
Everyone in this carriage. Every single...
*Oh.*
The train lurched. Jolted. His head cracked into the side. Trains shouldn't move sideways. The was a squeal of metal on metal drowned out the screams.
For a moment up and down were interchangeable. Cans, cups of coffee, bags of luggage and twisted figures were flung into the air and slammed into the wall in an explosion of movement.
He saw as the window burst inwards and a shapeless mass of steel slammed into him.
Huh. So it was one of those.
Didn't really hurt. But then, he'd never expected it to. Never sounded like it hurt.
He could feel the blood pumping out, warm down his side as the dust settled in a sudden eerie silence. His breath caught, fast and shallow. Which first, the blood or the air? Same thing in the end.
Lack of oxygen to the brain.
He could feel himself slipping away.
Death.
| "COMPLICATIONS DURING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE"
Geoff found it hilarious when he read this. After a decade of seeing people's cause of death, he had become quite jaded to the ability. This surprised himself, in retrospect, but one could understand why. When he figured out what was going on, like any good Samaritan, Geoff took it upon himself to prevent some of the nastier deaths.
To his credit, he attempted to be a super hero for a year before hanging his metaphorical cape. Too often he would follow a "drug overdose" victim, believing he could prevent them from using heroine, and only discovering there was an anesthetic complication during their hernia surgery. Or the "impending death" was years or decades away. Or he would quite simply fail to prevent a tragedy. He attempted to save dozens of lives. He may have postponed one or two deaths.
So, he gave up. Geoff briefly entertained the idea of fortune telling, but who really wants to know how they die? It was too morbid to make a living off of. Instead, he simply lives with this "gift". And eventually he just tuned it out. But he couldn't ignore this.
"Death by sex," he thought. Geoff had seen millions and millions of deaths. There were common ones like car crash, cancer, or heart attack; occasionally the not so common like sky diving or crushed by server rack. He hadn't seen "sex" before, though. The ~~un~~fortunate soul was in his twenties, average build. Maybe he pops a few too many viagra as a dare. But the whole thing seemed hilarious to Geoff. After nearly giving the guy a high five, Geoff went on his way.
It wasn't two weeks before he saw it again. The same message, "COMPLICATIONS DURING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE". Geoff snickered, thought it was odd luck, but continued on his way. He got suspicious the third time. By the end of the month, there wasn't an hour that went by he didn't see the message. There wasn't a pattern as far as gender, age, or ethnicity were concerned. It seemed that as long as you were old (and young) enough to get down to business, then your mortality was going to shoot through the roof.
Geoff, much to his annoyance, couldn't see his own text, so he would have to swear off sex until he figured this out. It wasn't going to be easy, though. Since there weren't any mentions of a death-by-sex pandemic going on in the news, he assumed that whatever was going to happen would happen at the same time. While Geoff was determined to not try and be a hero anymore, he also really enjoyed sex. So, it was worth breaking his rules for this one.
Geoff was a simple man, and his hobbies mostly included potent potables, so he didn't have many resources at his disposal for the investigation. He did have Google, he was good at googling things. If anyone discovered and wrote about how Geoff solved the impending sex crisis, they would find it hard to incorporate the "research" portion of his adventure into the memoir. The research composed primarily of many hours of browsing porn websites, which in retrospect was how Geoff spent most of his evenings. For a while it was hard to watch porn with death messages floating above the performer's heads, but he got used to it eventually.
It wasn't porn, but the biology news that caught his attention. There were always sex studies, and sex drug trials happening for any horny psych student that was decent at writing grant proposals. This one was unique, since in all of the pictures every single person had a death-by-sex message posted neatly above their thick craniums. It was a drug trial for a permanent, painless, side-effectless birth control method. "Totally without side effects," Geoff thought. "Oh, excepting the death one. Otherwise you'll be completely fine." Damn, it even worked on both sexes.
Calling the lab was fruitless. It was a privately funded endeavor, so there were many money interests forcing this research to finish up. If he could just convince one of the researchers that this was horribly dangerous, then he could win.
It wasn't easy. He ~~bribed~~ donated generously to one of the researchers to meet with him. Geoff had the researcher pick a random hospital that performed surgeries. He ~~bribed~~ gifted generously to the nurse on staff to take a walk through the halls. Geoff walked down the hall, and wrote down certain names. After finishing his somewhat perverse rounds through the OR wing, he handed the paper to the researcher. "These are the ones who will not make it through their surgery. All of their surgeries will be complete by next week. Meet with me again then to see how my predictions turned out."
The researcher was expectedly shocked to see that Geoff's list was 100% accurate. The researcher didn't believe that Geoff had powers, but it was enough to get him to look into the miracle anti-baby drug he was helping brew up.
The messages disappeared. Geoff would be the unsung hero of sex, but knowing of the catastrophe he prevented made him feel a little relieved? satisfied? vindicated? He couldn't quite put his finger on it. But it helped. | 2015-03-31T11:46:09 | 2015-03-31T10:49:16 | 71 | 21 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | Life's not a fairy tale. Life's real.
We know the last words we'll get from our soulmates, without context, but clear as day. Some words are sweet, some are sour, some are tragic. We all have them, and only the lucky ones don't think about them every day.
On my chest, across my heart, her words remind me of reality. I was born knowing I have a soulmate, but to my soulmate I am not her's.
On my chest, across my heart, she says those words.
"I'm sorry. I've found someone else." | “Oh, pardon me! Heh, my mom always tells me I need to pull my head out of the clouds.”
He smiled at her; a sheepish sort of smile that – she noted – highlighted the crow’s feet at the outer corners of his eyes – pale, soft blue. They weren’t lines that her grandmother had warned her would come with all of her suspicious squinting. No, they were gentle creases that had come as a result of looking upwards, of gazing up to the heavens while laying in a field of tall grasses.
She smiled back, an automated response from her anxiety, which was running full speed today. She’d made her way down into the city from the comfort of her small, quaint condo on the outskirts for a job interview at a grammar school, and was running a little behind schedule. She glanced up at the crosswalk’s signal and sighed. How long had she been standing here? It felt like forever…
The hairs on the nape of her neck bristled, and she turned her head, blinking her eyes as she caught the young man’s gaze again. She felt her face heat up. She hated when people stared at her.
“Sorry,” he said, stepping up beside her to make room for a woman with a walker that had come up behind them both. “Couldn’t help but notice that you look nervous. Job interview?”
“How could you tell?”
“Most established business persons don’t tap dance at the crosswalk and cling to their folio.” He cracked a grin then, and she couldn’t help but smile again – this time more genuinely.
“I’m interviewing at the grammar school. It’s basically my dream job, so yeah…I’m more than a little nervous.” The boy nodded his head toward the street then. The glowing white stick figure was signaling that it was time to cross.
“Well, good luck,” he said. The two exchanged smiles once more, and he stepped forward. The girl began to walk as well, until she heard the distinctive tear of fabric. Her eyes widened in horror and, whipping her head around, she found that the hem of her pencil skirt had snagged on a rusty bolt sticking out from the post she had been standing next to. ‘No, no, no,’ she thought, mentally cursing as she twisted her body, reaching a hand down to free herself in time to make the light.
It was then, as her fingers wrestled with the rapidly fraying fabric of her skirt, that she heard it. Them. Dozens of sounds at once, mixing into a cacophony of chaos. Horns blaring, tires screeching, metal grinding against asphalt… She turned her head toward the street once more, and her hands flew to her mouth. Her black leather folio fell to the cement sidewalk, papers exploding from within. A crowd was already gathering, and in the distance – faintly – she could hear sirens. But it was too late. A person’s body was not meant to lay like that…
The tear in her skirt , and the hose beneath, allowed a single Word to peek through to the world. Luck.
| 2015-08-08T11:49:54 | 2015-08-08T11:15:40 | 274 | 106 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | these words engraved on my wrist, These last word to me could've been in any context. I could've left her, done something to save her life or taking it. I mean what could be happening when the last word are "No, Don't." The illusion of me being hero or a murderer came to a sad depressing end when i found out the context.
It was rush hour, coming home from work, riding the subway. the car had a lot less people than usually. i was sitting, analyzing the words like i do everyday, when I the women beside me told me "you shouldn't focus so much on that." I looked at her and said "I know I shouldn't, I'm worried about whats happening. What am i doing? Whats happening to her? I'm kind of scared."
She grabbed my arms to looked at the words, at little too eagerly for a stranger. She stared as i stared at her. She had fair brown skin, clearly a decent of some south asian country. she had wavy black hair that went to her neck. She wore glasses that made her eyes look really big. She kept making these small and quick
smiles trying to decypher what the words meant."This is a tough one" she said to me as she looking up at me "Its confusing just like mine" she said as she took a sip of her coffee.
"Why, whats your?" I asked her. "I don't like telling people the exact words" she said clutching her coffee "but he's forgiving me for something. I'm worried for what it will be." I glanced at her wrist and saw a heart tattoo covering it."trying to hide it?" She brought her arm close to her and nodded "the words are very unique I'll know when they are said."
"arriving at woodbine, woodbine station" the intercom blared. "This is my stop, and if it makes you feel any better atleast you find him. some people don't have the words" i told her. "I guess you're right" she nodded. Just then the train came to a stop and she leaned into me spilling her coffee on my pants.
"Oh crap im so sorry, i didn't-""don't worry about it" i got up and walked through the door "I step in puddles and keep walking"
"No" She said to me. I turned around to see her face in complete shock, eyes watery, and slowly shaking her head."don't."
in that very moment, the doors closed between us, but we never broke eye contact until the train left the station. Then i was alone in an empty subway station knowing that i'll never see her again.
EDIT: This is my first story that i posted on her and i know it isn't what is could be | It had always been uncomfortable. My parents had to cover it up with long sleeves until I was old enough to take care of it myself. I just kept a few black straps around my wrists to cover it up. And for anyone who still managed to read it, after middle school no one was really that surprised. I looked like a rough edged goth in those days and I guess some weren't too surprised with all the profanity engraved in my skin. Some even suggested that I just cut it in there myself. But it was not the profanity that scared me, or my parents. It were the screams of help that bound those words together.
You see, people are born with writings in their skin. It can be located anywhere on your body, your ankles or your back, and it can say anything. When the engravings appeared on the first newborn everyone was perplexed with the meaning of it, but years and years later it was found that it were the saddest words you'd ever hear in your life. Not because of the words themselves, but because the person who said them was the most important person to you. And when that person pushes its farewell out of its mouth, the engraving turns gold.
When I grew up I was anxious, because honestly, what could happen in the last moment that my soul mate had to be so angry and afraid about?
As I closed the door behind me and grabbed my bike, I hoped it were not words directed at myself. Imagine the horror of having the person you cared about more than anything else in the world say these things to you. If I'd have the choice I'd rather die right now than be in a moment where these words are uttered by someone that important. *I just hope it will be a long moment before that happens*, I thought as I closed the garden gate.
I was heading for a party with my best friend, who had recently turned 19. All my friends would be there and considering I knew them for such a long time I knew we would have a good time. Just as I stepped on my bike Sarah, the girl from across the street, appeared from the corner. ''Hey Daniel.''
''Hey Sarah, what are you up to?'' Sarah had been living next to me for over fifteen years, when her parents moved over from a small tribe in Nigeria. Sarah wasn't her *real* name, but she had been given a more Western name so she could grow up without the social stigma of having to pronounce a name with five syllables and guttural sounds.
''Going to Dennis's party tonight, you coming too?''
''Yep. I bought him this'' I replied as I held up a large bottle of Vodka. I smiled as she shook her head.
''You two should be careful with that, you lightweights couldn't even finish the neck of the bottle.'' she answered back playfully as she walked past me towards her house. ''See you tonight.''
''Ye, see you.'' I mumbled back smiling, as I got on my bike and pedaled away into the light of the city, embraced in the evening's dark. It was that dark, the mysterious, the unknown and the dangerous, that I would come to hate. Not really the shadow itself, but what had come out of it to steal away what belonged to me. What belonged to each other.
When the golden light lighted up the room, people looked at me with sad and grief in their eyes. But at that time I didn't even know what I had lost. I tried to find Dennis, to explain, to rage and to cry, but I couldn't find him. Ten minutes later, when I sat alone in the dark garage pounding my fist to the wall and crying about everything that apparently could have been, my phone rang.
''It's Sarah.'' That's all I heard, the ear deafening buzz resounded through my head as I slid down along the wall.
It was the moment something broke in me, something you never knew was actually there until you felt its overwhelming sadness and pain spread throughout your body. And it was never going to come back. It was never going to be alright.
The police investigated the death, and the bruisings and blood suggested heavy violence. Not much later they discovered sperm on her body, and the idea of her rape disgusted me so much I vomited out every bit of despair I had left in my body. She had been close...she was on her way to the party, was all I could think of. She even yelled for help, her rage and screams of ''Leave me alone, LET GO OF ME, LET GO OF ME'' and ''GO TO HELL'' had been her predestined words. Imagine the sourness spreading through my mouth as hydrochloric acid when Dennis had been in her surroundings as she screamed his name. *Couldn't he have helped her?* I ask myself as I watch her body, holding her hand tightly. *Was there nothing that could have been done?*
Until I read the words on her wrist, that had blackened out when she died - and suddenly it all made sense.
''I trusted you. I hate you, Dennis. I despise you. This is for her. And when I'm done, I'll see her soon enough.'' | 2015-08-08T12:53:58 | 2015-08-08T10:16:00 | 93 | 45 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | Oh our first date, she leant forward, donned her prettiest smile and asked me "What are your words?"
"Oh.." I said shyly "They're nothing meaningful" I told her. My words were different, something beyond my comprehension, for now at least.
She leant backwards with a grin "Are you scared you'll secretly be my soul mate or something?" she said with a laugh. "Show me"
I rolled up my sleeve, and twisted my arm so she could see the words
*DEEZ NUTS* | The subway slid along noisily underneath the city streets. Sam sat quietly in one corner listening to music through one earphone and mindlessly eating his breakfast (a granola bar that was a bit too hard) with the other. He stared at the words written plainly up his forearm. Words he, and everyone else in the world, was born with. Superstition held that these words would be the last you'd ever hear from your one true companion in life. Sam supposed it wasn't really superstition if it was always true. Most people simply had some variation of "I love you" but others where more foreboding. Among the latter was Sam. Everyone agreed he had some of the most tragic words they'd ever seen. All that was written was "No, Dammit, wait!" Sam pictured himself dying some gallant death as his wife called him. He wasn't to upset about it though. All men must die eventually, and perhaps his end would be like something out of a movie.
Suddenly, a light kick in the shins jarred him from his thoughts and brought Sam back to the present. A girl was standing over him looking down expectedly. It took Sam a moment to clue in. "Oh, right. Sorry." He said as he slid over to make room on the bench. The girl took a seat next to him. Sam went back to his thoughts of romantic death and zoned out again. He didn't get to far though, because all of the sudden, the girl spoke up.
"Whatcha listening to?" She asked.
Sam looked at the girl and blanked. She was pretty, with an angular face and long brown hair in a ponytail. Suddenly he decided he wanted this particular girl to like what he was listening to.
"Uhhh, Mumford and Sons?" He lied.
The girl smiled. "Can I listen? I hate the music they play through the PA in this damn train."
Sam tried and failed to supress his smile. He quickly changed the song and gave her an earphone.
They struck up a conversation and Sam found himself wondering if this was the girl he would die so gallantly for. As he looked at her smile though, the thought didn't sadden him. Too soon, the train was nearing his stop. As he felt it start to slow he got a piece of paper out of his pocket to write his number. He handed it to her as he got up to leave and she handed him his other head phone. She put the number in her wallet.
"It was nice meeting you," Sam said. "But I have to go now." He smiled as he got up and was pushed away by the crowd. When he looked back, he saw that she was pale, looking at him as if she'd seen a ghost. "No, Dammit," She shouted to him. "Wait!" Sams heart sunk like a rock as he was pushed out the doors and they slid shut behind him. | 2015-08-08T13:04:02 | 2015-08-08T12:14:55 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Amidst a major revenue crisis, the US government institutes a nationwide "swear jar". As years go by, excessive use of expletives becomes a major status symbol and a hallmark of the upper class. | "*Fuck*," President Trump screamed into the microphone, feedback ringing through the people's ears, "and God bless America."
Trump smiled and waved as the richest 1% piled outside the White House cheered on. The crowd started chanting "Don't fuck with the Trump!" while doing the wave. The President stepped away from the balcony, heading downstairs and walking through the crowd to greet the US citizens. As he started heading toward the back of the crowd, he encountered lower class citizens.
One man, his mullet dancing in the wind, held his child up for Trump to bless. "Please, Mr. President. We're a poor family, please bless our son."
Trump smiled and placed his left hand on the child's head. "*Shit.* Amen."
The man began to cry, thanking Trump as he continued down the line.
He went to meet up with Vladimir Putin for lunch, as he was visiting the country to discuss foreign policy. Trump walked into the small diner and smiled at Putin, shaking his hand. "Good afternoon, Mr. Putin. Let me say- I *fucking* love your work."
Putin smiled, laughing. "Ah, well I am glad America now has a president that I can get along with. Now- about the UN..."
"Fuck the UN, those little pussy bitches."
"Precisely! This is what I have been saying."
Trump laughed. "You know, Putin, I like you. We'll have to fucking blow the shit out of Ukraine together, sometime."
"Wait, what? Why would *you* bomb Ukraine?"
"I hate the goddamn Muslim camel-fuckers."
"Mr. President, Ukraine isn't in the Middle-East."
"Fuck you, Putin. Don't fucking tell me what to do."
Putin sighed. "I heard about this new 'swear jar' program you have installed. How can such a thing work to help the economy?"
"It doesn't, I just love fucking with my country. This shit's worked since *day 1*."
------------------------------------------
*thanks for reading! if you're bored or drunk like me, check out /r/resonatingfury* | The old thin man in the office chair had a sad look in his eyes. This was Charles' third time at the principal's office this week. *Being* the principal, he thought it wouldn't bother him so much. The school was, essentially, his to run, so long as the local school board found nothing too objectionable to his methods.
Sometimes, those policies sent a youth to his office. Rarely twice in the same week. *Never* five times in the same month. The principal could not have thought a youth in this recovering economy would be so reckless of their future prospects.
Until today anyway.
"Charles, what brings you to my office today?"
The surly high schooler did not respond, with words or eyes. Trying to shut himself off from the world in his own office? Principal Harrows would have none of it.
"Son, you need to tell me---"
"*I'm not your fucking son!*" The boy gaped, then shut his mouth again. Pale and, anxious to refortify his defenses.
It only took the old man a few moments to remember the news. A tragic accident. A decent inheritance. Enough to last the boy and his younger sister through college. And yet... this.
*A damn shame*, the principal thought. Venting was at one time healthy, and necessary, the principal believed. Then the policy was made federal. It made children from lower-class families more subdued. From middle-class families, pent-up. From the upper-class, *impossible* to deal with.
Figuratively anyway. He was a school principal after all. Then he remembered what he had just done.
"That was insensitive. I'm sorry." Age didn't bring him wisdom, as often the old man wanted to remind himself. His *failures* did. The mics would have picked that up, and deducted the amount for the number who heard, multiplied by the density of the swear word. The outcry came at the boy's expense. The principal never imagined he would be on the other end of one of the most brutal bullying tactics he see's on campuses across the state.
So Principal Harrow meant the apology more than the day the principle himself wrote that sorry letter to his mom when he ran from home those many years ago. Alcohol did terrible things to a broken home. More so after the Swear Jar Bill passed. Working with youth to bring them on the straight and clean was the plan this whole time. Then he.... up and reminds his student that their parents are no longer there for him.
"I'm... alright sir."
Meek, and quiet. Distant, as though the reassurance came from a place the boy rarely visited. The old man didn't like to not have his back rest against the chair, but he leaned over anyway, resting his frame on two light elbows. The message *must* be driven. No matter the cost.
"You know you can't afford to swear Charles."
The boy's shoulders began racking fiercely in minute gestures. A healthy arm shielded his eyes from the old man looking at him. The principal sympathized. It was a hard thing to say. But he wasn't done.
"I can tell you a secret though."
It took a few moments for the shoulders to remain still. And attentive.
The principal brought his voice down to a somber whisper, ready to complete the message. "You can apologize, and if *every* person accepts the apology verbally, you can get refunded."
Charles stood from his seat abruptly, his chair skidding behind him. "That's the first I've heard about it."
The principal shrugged. "It's a recent amendment. The school board likes being rewarded for the mistakes of their youngers. But even the government can wise-up."
Charles got antsy, as though he were ready to burst. "I... I need to go apologize to my class right away sir. May I, please, I gotta---"
"Yes, yes, just keep a strong mind next time Charles. You're smart enough to know that."
He nodded eagerly, and burst from the principal's office. The old man reclined back into his chair with a sigh. *Sure,* he thought to himself, *I could have reminded him to apologize to me as well and get some change back.*
Principal Harrow looked through the blinds at a familiar schoolyard wistfully. That moment he realizes he forgot to do so, will seal the lesson.
*Wisdom grows from our failures after all.*
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More at r/galokot, and thank you for reading! | 2016-02-13T18:51:50 | 2016-02-13T17:35:24 | 307 | 62 |
[WP] Weight can be transferred from person to person if both parties accept. People pay money to transfer their unwanted pounds to someone who will deal with it in their stead. You run a gym/factory. | We had done it; we had cured obesity. At least, that's what we thought we were doing. If I knew how fucked up it would become, I would have sabotaged it myself.
You see, we perfected liposuction. That's all it was at first. We made it faster, simpler, safer, cheaper. And with a recovery time of only a few hours, it was the first real chance at curing it. Even if you didn't keep the weight off, you could afford another procedure. For a while, this is what happened. We saw a huge decline in early deaths due to heart disease. Our national life expectancy increased by 35%.
But nothing good ever lasts. I remember the first time I had ever heard of the "Healthy American Advocacy Group". I had never even heard of the name before that day, but they made sure I would never forget it.
As I exited my car, I saw the crowd. It wasn't unusual to get an influx of patients after holidays, but this was just a normal Tuesday, and these people were just standing. I stepped out slowly, closing my door without turning around.
"There he is!" I heard someone scream. Next thing I knew, I was covered in slime. As it dawned on me exactly what I was covered in, I gagged. They continued to pelt me with the balloons full of discarded adipose tissue as I puked on the blacktop.
When I stopped, I ran. I pushed through every one of them, reaching the doors and slamming them shut after what felt like hours. I locked them behind me and slid down.
Now, not all of them were that extreme. There were the few that were lobbyists instead of assailants. They included ex-supermodels and actors, spending their last few millions buying off senators.
Once everyone was skinny, you needed talent to be famous. And some people weren't happy about it. Others thought that you should be punished for eating too much, that you deserved to die an early death.
Eventually they passed the Tissue Disposal Act (disguised as an environmental bill), which made disposing of tissue from non-emergency procedures time-consuming, and so expensive that not a single hospital or clinic would do large cosmetic procedures. Most wouldn't touch them at all. Fat removal was practically gone, but you could transfer fat elsewhere on your body for much less.
One day, though, someone found a loophole. If you can transfer fat to yourself... you can transfer it to someone else. At first it was expensive, almost prohibitively. Nobody wanted fat, and the surrogates had a high mortality rate. But then came the Rats.
It was no secret that some people loved working out. The adrenaline and endorphins flooding your system, the feeling of will-power. After time though, they can't get much stronger, and there is no fat to lose. The feelings diminish.
We offered a solution for both parties; depending on how fast the Gym Rat was known to lose weight, they were paid from 35,000-100,000 just to do what they love. And for a few thousand, the donor can become skinny, healthy. The more weight a Rat put on in a year, the more money both them and I made.
If you saw the entirety of my clinic, you would see the truth. We work our Rats to death. Implementing more restrictive diets, forcing more hours, trying new diet pills on them. As I see them running on their treadmills, I know exactly why we call them Rats.
But we are still doing good. We are saving lives, and we keep our Rats happy. We are doing good, despite what the Anti-ATP groups say. We are, I promise. Aren't we?
~~~
I hope you liked it! I tried a different approach | Hi, and welcome back to the Laura show! Our next guest is a personal trainer at Jim Jimminy Jim 's gym. Now, I know what you're thinking: what's so special about that? Well, he is also part of the surging subculture of weight transference. Greg, it's great to have you here"
"Thank you for having me, it's great to be here!"
"Now, Greg Weight transference has been around for the past two years, but now it seems like it's really starting to catch on. Why is that?"
"Well, a lot of it has to do with the technology becoming readily accessible and affordable to the general public, but also it took beating a lot of the initial apprehension and stigma associated with it for people becoming more accepting of it's use and users."
"and why is that?"
"A lot of people we're worried that it would lead to greater instances of body dysmorphia, skew beauty norms, and generally worried that people would abuse it, or take it too far."
"So people are accepting it more now that they have seen that that hasn't happened?"
"Of course, there will always be people who aren't responsible with it, and there was that prison scandal and that thing with the Olympics earlier this year because the method uses no drugs an leaves no detectable traces of it's use, but I think once people really started to get clever and started seeing all the different ways the technology could be applied that it started to also become almost like a therapy to some of these conditions."
"How so?"
"Well, let's take someone with anorexia for example. Some get regular transfers of fat and muscle to counteract not eating. Now, some might say we are indulging their disorder, but if we didn't do transfers, they have just kept on not eating they could die; so which is better? Others, called 'ballooners' use the technology to temporarily put on pounds as a form of immersion therapy so that they can grow accustomed to feeling comfortable with additional weight. Also, since the process is relatively safe, painless, fast and reversible, it seems there is less pressure to be a particular size and weight all the time knowing they can always go back to the gym at any time to have it removed."
"Safe, painless, fast I'm liking all those things! But, how does it work?"
"We use this guy right here we call the J4 transmitter that emits a proprietary wave that only affects fat and muscle cells. When the wave strikes the donor cells, they absorb their mass while still maintaining it's wave properties, which are then reflected back to the J4 into another proprietary crystalline resonance chamber that preserves the integrity of the wave for up to 16 hours before it has to be transferred to the new host. When the host is ready for the transfer, the wave is released which then stimulate a rapid cell grows modeled after the donors sample."
"Wow, that sounds amazing! And so, I also hear there is also a growing economy surrounding weight transference? Tell me a little more about that."
"Oh yes, well it didn't take people very long to figure out that they could get paid to buy or sell their fat and muscles."
"Buy fat, who would want to do that?"
"Oh, chubby chasers for one, or rather, the chubbily chased? Haha But seriously, it can be used by rescuers to rapidly replenish a starving hiker. There are also professional 'whales' who get paid to take peoples fat. You might think that's lazy, but they are often one of the most frequent people at the gym since they have to burn off all that fat to start making money on the next batch."
"Wow, 'whales.' I had no idea. Now, I've heard of 'beefers' and 'bulkers.' are those the same thing?"
"They are not, actually. 'beefers' are like 'whales,' but for muscle. They work out certain muscle groups dependent on a client's specifications, and either sell directly or put it up for auction. Lots of guys seem to like the challenge of having to work back up to be able to sell again."
"Certain muscle groups? So you can't just take a calf and put it on a shoulder? "
"I mean, you can, but it's kind of like grinding Kobe beef to make a Burger. Why waste all the effort took to craft the marbled beef by grinding it up? You'd just be wasting your valuable purchase. These are the bulkers. They are almost collectors of sorts. Some like celebrity muscles like: I got Vin Diesel's tricep, and others go after a particular look. What's weird is that there is a weird mix of comradarie and rivalry between beefers and bulkers because beefers make fun of bulkers for not really putting in the work for the muscles like they do, but the bulkers think it's funny that without them buying their muscles, the beefers would not be able to do what they do for a living."
"Now this is all just very incredible, but I'm afraid we are running out of time, so I just have one more question before you go: what is the strangest use of the technology you have seen?
"Well, I would have to say I hear about this one couple: It was a overweight man and his wife. The man was some kind of executive so he got his own J4 for home use and used it to loose some weight to try and improve his image. It also turned out he had an affinity for... heavier ladies, so he would transfer it to his wife sometimes in the evening. However, he and his wife also wanted to keep up appearances, so they kept the wave in the J4 when they had to be in public together. Because the charge depletes after a while they had to hire personal assistants to 'take on the load' if they we're separated or away for too long."
"Well, I'd like to thank my guest Greg for coming in today, up next, we have a round Robin discussion with some prominent theologians about the growing popularity of the debate: does God wear a beanie, and if so, what color is it? That and more when we return on the Laura show!" | 2016-06-29T20:06:15 | 2016-06-29T19:00:44 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You live in a world where magic exists, however, you must sacrifice a memory in order to cast a spell. The more memories, or the more precious a memory, the more powerful the magic. You just woke up with no memory save a name. | “Sarah.” That was the first thought in my head as I woke up. The name meant nothing.
I found myself sitting in a stiff chair, my body seemingly refused to move. After a bit of anxiety I heard a few cracks, more satisfying than worrying.
Slowly but surely I began to shift as I noticed my hands.
Thin, frail, and slightly transparent to the point where I could see my veins.
Wrinkly too now that I thought about it. Lifting up my hand I found that they were unsteady, shaking. I tried to steady myself through great effort but could not find the energy to do so.
Then I felt something on my finger, a small impact. Not painful, just noticeable. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. There was something there, clear and white.
It was water I quickly realised, white due to the reflections from the florescent bulbs above me.
Another drop of water joined it. I was crying?
Wiping away my tears I felt a heavy build-up of crust. I must’ve been crying for quite some time to get to this point. Why was I crying?
I took another look at my surroundings.
The stiff chair, the florescent lights, white floors and pristine walls. I was in some sort of waiting room. Where was I? How did I get here?
I can’t seem to remember anything.
My thoughts were interrupted by some noise, I hadn’t noticed it before but it was something that had been building up steadily.
Footsteps along with hushed but excited words.
A group of men and women in white uniforms appeared before me coming around the corner with measured haste.
“Sir!” One of them excitingly began speaking to me. “Your wife Sarah, she’s going to be okay! It’s a miracle!”
There was that name again… Sarah, what did it mean?
| "Michael!" I shouted, as cold, thick hands held me down to the bed. "Michael!"
"He's gone, Jovan," said the woman beside the bed. The man holding me down let me go after I stopped struggling. A dull throbbing took over my bandaged arms, and my heavy head pulled me down to the pillow.
"You couldn't save him, Jovan" said the man, his voice gruff. He looked out the window, his one eye covered with a patch. A heavy blizzard was thrashing against the wooden cabin we were in, a heavy, grey blizzard.
"Where am I?" I asked the woman. "Who are you? Who is Michael?"
The woman shook her head, red curls bouncing from side to side. Her golden eyes were glossy as they regarded as one would a puppy with a broken leg.
"All those memories," said the man. "And nothing came of it."
"Where is your sensitivity, Myran?" asked the woman, frowning.
"Would someone please give me answers?"
Myran sighed. "You gave up all of your memories to save your child. It didn't work."
"My memories?"
"Yes," said the woman. "I'm Lysa. You're Jovan. And you tried to save your son, Michael, from the Crusaders."
I felt my stomach drop. I didn't know what they were talking about. But I knew they weren't lying when they said Michael was my son. I felt drawn to his name. The mere mention of him tugged on mind, but trying to remember him was like scratching a phantom limb.
"How did he die?" I asked, swallowing a lump.
"The Crusaders shot him down near the Bloody Cauldron," said Myran. "I told him i wasn't safe there. I told him, Lysa! And I told you, Jovan!"
Myran leaned towards me, his fists clenched tight, and face twisted in a scowl.
"Hey!" Lysa shouted. "You don't get to say that. You didn't give up all your memories to save him!"
Myran turned to the window. "It's only a matter of time before they come for us."
"Who are the Crusaders?"
"They are the King's watch-dogs," Lysa said. "When the world found out we could cast spells by giving up memories, King Alynn ordered a witch-hunt. Michael was our strongest caster."
"And now's he gone," I said. No matter how much they told me, it was like I was trying to put back a picture ripped to a thousand pieces. And Michael was the only piece I could understand.
Thunder crashed in the distance. And then again, but closer. The door to the cabin erupted, and a giant man in steel armor stepped through. He held a large hammer with both hands and swung for Lysa.
Lysa cried out a word before the hammer crushed her skull. In a flash of light, Myran and I were lying in the snow, the bitter cold numbing me instantly.
"Bastards," shouted Myran, pulling me up. My legs were too weak and I fell back on the snow. More men in steel rushed for us, this time holding small cannons on their shoulders.
Green burst from the cannons, rushing through the blizzard easily, but Myran deflected them with only a few words.
"You may kill me," said Myran. "But you won't kill me with my memories!"
Two more words he shouted, and burst into light. And light was I could see until the darkness took me.
I woke up with a cry, my arms were ripped from my body and my red blood pooled over the grey snow. The blizzard had stopped, revealing a dark blue sky. The world was silent save for the sound of metal falling on the snow.
As my vision faded and pain took over my consciousness, I could see the face of a blond boy with dark red eyes smiling at me.
"Michael."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
If you like this story, you should subscribe to [r/JasonHolloway](https://www.reddit.com/r/JasonHolloway/) for more! | 2017-01-02T18:58:55 | 2017-01-02T16:28:46 | 86 | 10 |
[WP] internet goes down. An emergency public broadcast on the television plays "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." The radio simultaneously broadcasts the message "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND." | The 'In' gang await me in their fallout shelter. The 'Out' crew think I sail for higher ground. Both speculate in mirrors of their own creation. Neither hears an echo. They are far too committed now to question certainties.
I am a lonely madman giggling at the moon, smiling from the safety of my doorway. I am patient, peaceful, neither in nor out.
I nod, I smile, I wait for them to scream themselves hoarse. Perhaps when they do we'll have some peace, some silence, a moment of stillness in which foolish words can resonate and shame us into thinking. Last laughs are never funny in the morning.
The sky could not be bluer, yet people curse it as they panic. The house could not be safer, still they clutch themselves and gibber, scorching the lawn from green to black and choking on the smoke.
I find my solace here, chuckling softly in the narrow shadow of my sturdy, diametric doorway.
If I am wrong, if the lightning finds my hiding place, if the earthquake-shaken brickwork of a falling world defies my ruse and tumbles down to crush me anyway, so be it.
Come death and welcome! At least I will die knowing where I stand.
*Note of thanks to /u/LBJSmellsNice; this was exactly the prompt I was reaching for today. I have spent an hour or so editing this down and am still convinced it is too long. I usually just lurk and upvote (mostly because the wonderful mods who make this place tick have kindly, reasonably and eloquently rejected my haiku responses - in exactly 17 syllables, no less, and I am happy to toe that line).* | I woke with a start, there was so much noise in the room I could barely comprehend what was going on.
My wife was stood over me shaking me by the shoulder shouting at me to wake up. "Wha..." I felt groggy, it was 4 in the morning and she expected me to jump out of bed. "What's going on?" She looked at me with that 'I will kill you if you dont do as I say' look. "Ok ok im getting up just tell me what's going on" she ignored me as she pulled a suitcase out from under the bed and began packing it. "Julie!" I shouted but it only seemed to aggravate her more.
"Listen to the radio!" She shouted as she threw some fresh underpants at my face. I didn't pick up on it before in my half asleep state but now I could hear it. The radio was playing the same message over and over with a polite but booming voice 'EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND' I squinted in confusion.
"What's going on?" I asked Julie.
"I don't know, the Internet is broken and that same message keeps repeating. I heard..." Julie looked at the window with remorse, the curtains were closed.
"Heard what Julie?" I looked at her with more confusion, what was she trying to say?
"I... I heard... I heard screams" she looked horrified.
"Screams? There are no screams what are you talking about?" She snapped a look at me, a look of despair.
"There used to be screams... now there are none" I looked at her with a dumbfounded look.
"Are you ok?" I asked her.
"Ill be fine" she said willing herself back to the real world.
I got out of bed and got dressed before helping Julie with the packing which didn't take long. I'm an ex-soldier after being assigned to several deployments into hostile war zones, which has given me the basic skills of survival. One of which is how to pack light and how to do it quickly.
"What's outside?" I asked Julie while walking to draw the curtains, she had looked at the window earlier as if scared by something.
"No don't!" I stopped just before drawing them. *don't?*
"What? Why not?" I looked at her confused once more.
"The... the tv... it said to not look outside" she was being crazy again.
"The tv?" I turned the bedroom tv on and all that showed on every single channel was a message reading
'STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE'
"What does that mean?" I asked myself while thinking what the hell was going on. The TV and radio said opposite things to each other.
"I don't know" Julie answered anyway "but don't look outside"
"Why not?" I asked her. The tv might say not to but what harm could there be in looking?
"There was knocking..." Julie stared off into space once more, how long had she been awake? "Knocking on the door, all the time just knocking, they wouldn't answer to me. They just knocked"
"Why didn't you answer?" I asked her.
"I saw the message on the tv that's when the knocking started, I was scared... scared to look what's out there"
"I'm going to look" Julie looked at me in the eyes with horror "it's fine, we're going to be going out there anyway if we need to get out here, even if the TV says not to. High ground seems the best place to be in most situations, trust me" Julie nodded at me knowing the experience I have with hostile war zones. I opened the curtain and looked in horror, I closed them and fell back onto the floor almost hitting my head on the bed frame. Julie ran over to me.
"Patrick! Are you ok? What was it? What did you see?" I looked at her with terror in my eyes.
____
[Part 2] (Https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5qf97d/wp_internet_goes_down_an_emergency_public/dcz89d9/) | 2017-01-27T01:15:15 | 2017-01-27T00:45:44 | 146 | 107 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title. | It was my birthday. Well, it wasn't must mine - a few other young men and women were born twenty-one years ago today. We had that in common, along with the creeping dread about our titles.
Every person, upon turning twenty-one, was granted a title. It was supposed to reflect the greatest accomplishment of your youth - to give you something to reflect on as you grew, and a bar to exceed as you built a life. It was a tradition left over from a very long time ago, when we considered people adults at thirteen, and twenty-one was something like middle age. As the world got more complicated, and safer as well, the twenty-one year old villagers were barely adults. We'd had precious little chance to accomplish anything, and the titles were becoming something else - even shameful, in some cases.
I watched as the line moved forward. The Oracle, Glenda:Devourer of Fifty-Three-Chicken-Nuggets-In-A-Single-Sitting, took each youth by the hands, and stared into their eyes. Then, in a voice not quite her own, she announced the new title.
Jennifer, four spaces ahead of me in line, had performed CPR on her uncle when he'd had a heart attack. She was named "Jennifer:Who-Saved-A-Dying-Man".
Harold, three spaces a head of me was not so lucky. I had no idea what his title was going to be, and I wanted to weep for him when I heard her announce, "Harold: Best-At-Masturbation". No one spoke, there were no jeers or sniggers. All who were older had stood there fearing something similar, and all who were younger feared it for themselves.
Two spaces ahead was John, who was given the enviable title, "John:Strongest In His School". There was much cheering here. No one would jeer a strange, or pathetic title, but many would congratulate a commendable one.
The saddest case was right in front of me. Alan. Poor Alan, who had the worst luck. I don't just mean the title - I mean his life, which led up to his title, "Alan:Survivor-Against-Long-Odds". If anything bad could happen, it happened to Alan. The illnesses, the accidents. Which were almost as bad as the 'accidents'. His parents had been real angels (before they'd had an accident of their own, and gone there), but not the kind you'd find in Heaven. Things had gotten better for Alan after that, and he'd gone to live with his Aunt. He had fewer bruises and 'fell down' far less often these days, but he still tended to flinch at a loud noise. It's a small village, everyone knew what was going on, and pretended they didn't. I had half hoped someone would get the title, 'Most-Self-Deluded'.
I knew all about Alan and had guessed roughly what his title would be. and I knew what my title was going to be too. It was pretty easy to guess, if you had actually accomplished something - few of us had more than one significant accomplishment. I had been dreading this for three years. I even thought about running. I thought of refusing the Ceremony, and enduring the ostracism that would result. I though of running a way to another village or town, and lying about my title, or pretending to be from one of the growing number of places that had discarded the practice altogether.
I thought about it, but I didn't do it. Instead, I walked toward Glenda, who was a beautiful woman these days, despite the implied gluttony of her title. I walked past Alan and his now-permanently-memorialized tragedy, past John and his superlative. I marched resolutely past poor Harold, who would never live this down, and past Jennifer, the only one of us with a title really worth having.
I put my hands in Glenda's, and met her eyes, and felt her look into me. She closed her eyes, and announced in her oracular voice: "this is Jeremy: Who-Got-Away-With-Murder". | *Happy Birthday Me*
Quite the party we had here, me, three walls, a dirty toilet, 12 bars of reinforced steel, a husk of mattress and about a hundred bed bugs.
Oh and hope. Revived after months.
I pretended to be asleep when they came to fetch me. As if I hadn’t a care in the world. There was a knock, a sound of steel against steel, but I kept my eyes closed. Not a care in the world.
“Get up, 337,” came a rasping voice.
I pretended to keep sleeping, until a rough hand grabbed my shoulder and shook me. Hard. I opened my eyes and made a show of blinking rapidly. “Oh, Oh I’m sorry, sir. I was just sleeping is all,” I said in the most pathetic voice I could manage. *Hand me that blade on your hip, and I’ll show you how sleepy I am,* I thought.
The man gave no comment, except to bring out a pair of handcuffs. “Hands out,” he said.
I obliged and held my hands out, while the guard locked them in. Tightly. Damn. This wasn’t going to be easy. *Or possible* mocked a part of me, but I ignored it. I was going to be a free man today.
“Wh-what’s this for, sir?” I asked, particularly proud of the quiver I’d managed to put in my voice. The guard, gave a short bark of laughter as he led me out my cell that had been my home for almost a year and through the dingy corridors of the prison. “It’s the Ceremony, idiot, has the prison muddled your brain so much that you don’t remember?” He said, turning back to show me his rotting teeth and unkempt beard.
“C-Ceremony?” I asked, “Am I going to be freed?” I made a point to curl my voice upwards at the end, making me sound hopeful. I thought I’d overdone it, but the idiot bought it. “No, you’re not going to be freed, idiot. We’re taking you to your Ceremony.” He enunciated each syllable precisely as if explaining to a child. “Here, you will be given your title, which will be-“
“I didn’t!” I exclaimed, raising my voice to a whine, I didn’t do it!
The man backhanded me, and it took every fiber of my will to not attack him right there, damn the plan. But no. This was my chance. I wasn’t going to let some idiot ruin it. “Listen, idiot, The Oracle will give you your title, and surely you’ve done nothing more significant than a capital offense, and we’ll finally be able to take you to the gallows.”
I opened my mouth to say some more whiny, pathetic bullshit, and was almost glad when he said, “now shut your fucking mouth, or I swear I’ll throttle you right here!” He wouldn’t of course, but a coward would take him at his word. And that’s what I was, or, well, trying to be. A coward. Defeated. Idiot. Harmless.
I fought to keep a grin off my face.
All too soon, we arrived. The Oracle had set up just outside the prison, near the woods. The prison was well out of the way of the town, where the oracle normally was, but once a month or so the Oracle made the trip down here to resolve cases like mine. As always, the thing sickened me. A huge blue tent, with the picture of a woman with 6 hands, the figure of the oracle, the most sacred artifact in the world.
The Guard left me outside the tent. “Go on in,” he gestured, “get your judgement over with, so we can kill you.”
One final act. “You- you’re not coming with me?” I stammered.
The guard flashed me his teeth, “I wish I could, idiot, but the Ceremony is private business. Only you, the Oracle, and the medium.”
The medium. That was key to it all. If the medium was competent, better than me-well, I didn’t really want to consider that possibility.
I stepped through the tent and almost collapsed with relief. It was Glenda. Good ol’ Giant Glenda. In fact, I had to cover my laugh with a cough.
Glenda, almost 350 pounds looked at me and smiled. “Ah, Mark, been a bit hasn’t it.”
I didn’t even look at her.
“Well,” she said, after waiting for a response, “let’s just get this over with. Old out your hands.”
I held up my hands, handcuffs and all, and Glenda growled. “These fucking idiots,” she muttered, and went out the tent. There was some indistinct shouting and stamping of feet, until Glenda came back with a key in hand. “Idiots,” she said almost to herself, “no respect, sending me a bound captive, on their damn *Ceremony*.” She shook her head as she opened my handcuffs.
I wanted to throttle her right there, my body screamed at me act, run, *fight*, but no. I had to wait for the right moment.
Just as I thought that Glenda pulled out the Oracle from the folds of her (rather large) gown. It was a crude thing, made of clay, had 6 hands and a barely human shape. But it was worth the world. “All right,” Glenda said, “hold the Oracle, and she will speak to me your title, and I in turn, shall relay it to-“
I snatched the Oracle from her hand, while at the same time taking the small blade out of a scar in my skin and jamming it in her neck.
I didn’t even feel the burn of the blood from where I’d taken the blade out, but Glenda sure as hell did. She just gaped at me for a moment, trying to speak, but nothing but blood would come out.
I turned away and didn’t give her a second thought as she fell to the ground, bleeding all over the ground. I was waiting when he guards barged in blades drawn.
“Surrender, Idiot!”
“Ah, I think not, *Idiots.*” I held the Oracle above my head, “One step closer and I might lose my grip…”
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-04-27T17:59:06 | 2017-04-27T15:41:40 | 4,615 | 184 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title. | I stood in the line, awaiting the elder to call me in, I had turned 21 today, first thing I thought of was the title I would receive and what that title would be. Glenda, our elder, was the current elder in a long line proceeding her.
Normally, Glenda was usually very kind and warm to the other villages but when it came time for me to reach the front of the line I had noticed that she seemed...irritated.
"What troubles you, Elder?" I asked. The Elder had an interesting if not mundane title, she had, at one point in her life, managed to devour 53 chicken nuggets in a single sitting. Thinking on it, the title was quite impressive, normally consuming any number of nuggets in excess of 20 in a single sitting would be enough to kill an adult human being, Elder Glenda must be made if iron.
She looked me over, silently ushering me into her home. I obliged, following her to a seat by her fire before taking a seat she had offered. "You have reached your twenty first year on this mortal coil, John." I nodded along, beginning to grow inpatient. "You have performed many deeds in your short life, but which amongst them is your titular achievement?"
She pondered a few moments, leaving me to my own thoughts; as the seconds ticked on, a realisation dawned on me. "Oh...oh no." I spoke out loud as the Elder hushed me.
"From this day forth, you shall be known as John..." she sighed deeply before continuing. "...Devourer of fifty FOUR chicken nuggets in a single sitting."
An awkward silence filled the room, before the Elder spoke once more.
"Go fuck yourself, John." | Custom and tradition, which interleaved every facet of life for the dozen villages spread throughout the Darrowshire plains, accounted for many of the interesting practices unique to the locale.
These included the almost reverential regard for hunting, the marking of coming of age by bequeathing a title reflecting the person's greatest achievement at that stage in life, and of course, the periodic wars wrought as the villages sought to expand their influence and territories.
For hundreds of years, the dozen villages took turns to wax and wane in prestige, and on average each village spent about ten years at the top of the pack before the next war saw it being displaced by the next strongest village.
So how does one account for the anomaly, where the Dalton village not only rose to become the strongest village in centuries, but also ultimately the village which united all the others?
Historians believe that it began with Glenn, the 35th village chief, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting. Evidence suggests that it was under his watchful eye that the foremost champions of the next generation were cultivated.
It was, actually, his wife, Becky, who played a much bigger role than anyone could have imagined.
---
"Step forward, and be ready with your tablet," intoned Glenn sonorously from the stage. Becky stood quietly by his side.
It was another Naming Day, one of twelve in the year, where all the younglings born in that month stepped forward when they came of age to receive their titles. Today, it was Henry who was first in line, worry etched into every expression he wore on his face.
"Henry Vume, name your accomplishments, so that I may pick your title for you."
He replied, hesitantly, already preparing himself for the scorn and ridicule about to float up from his peers behind him.
"Erm... I once helped my parents manage the family expenses for a month, when both my parents fell ill. I also once categorised all the flowers in the woods, because, well, I like them..."
In a way, he had already resigned himself to his fate. Not every child was special, and try as he did to develop himself, he was who he was. These were his greatest accomplishments, so be it.
Henry squeezed his eyes shut, ready for the worst.
"Very well, henceforth will you be Henry Vume, Picker of Flowers."
The shame burned his face, and he wanted to do nothing more than turn and run. The sniggers from his peers was already floating through the air, assaulting his ears.
And he would have left, but for Becky's firm hand on his shoulder. He turned, surprised. There wasn't supposed to be anything else to the ceremony.
"Henry, not so fast. When you picked the forest clean, could you tell the difference between the flowers?"
"Difference?... Yes, I suppose."
"Which were sweet, which were colourful... Even which were dangerous, poisonous?"
"Yes, in fact," said Henry, some of the confidence returning. This was his area of expertise, after all. "The Hudleys you have to avoid the most. They are small, white, plain and easy to miss, but their sap stings badly, and I've seen forest animals die from eating them."
Becky smiled, and she lowered her voice, speaking almost in a hush, only for Henry to hear.
"No one is ever useless, Henry. Your title is just that, a title. It will not define you - you define your title. Be proud of who you are, develop your talents, and one day, one day, the village may need to call upon you to serve it. And I hope you will be ready for that day."
Becky winked, and Henry left.
Henry left with more than just a title. He left with a purpose, a direction, and the little seedling of recognition Becky planted would one day blossom, spurring Henry to become Henry Vume, Picker of Flowers, Chief Alchemist of the Northern Dalton Regiment.
All because of Becky, Believer In Men and Women Alike.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-04-27T18:09:07 | 2017-04-27T17:19:00 | 2,949 | 810 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title. | Custom and tradition, which interleaved every facet of life for the dozen villages spread throughout the Darrowshire plains, accounted for many of the interesting practices unique to the locale.
These included the almost reverential regard for hunting, the marking of coming of age by bequeathing a title reflecting the person's greatest achievement at that stage in life, and of course, the periodic wars wrought as the villages sought to expand their influence and territories.
For hundreds of years, the dozen villages took turns to wax and wane in prestige, and on average each village spent about ten years at the top of the pack before the next war saw it being displaced by the next strongest village.
So how does one account for the anomaly, where the Dalton village not only rose to become the strongest village in centuries, but also ultimately the village which united all the others?
Historians believe that it began with Glenn, the 35th village chief, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting. Evidence suggests that it was under his watchful eye that the foremost champions of the next generation were cultivated.
It was, actually, his wife, Becky, who played a much bigger role than anyone could have imagined.
---
"Step forward, and be ready with your tablet," intoned Glenn sonorously from the stage. Becky stood quietly by his side.
It was another Naming Day, one of twelve in the year, where all the younglings born in that month stepped forward when they came of age to receive their titles. Today, it was Henry who was first in line, worry etched into every expression he wore on his face.
"Henry Vume, name your accomplishments, so that I may pick your title for you."
He replied, hesitantly, already preparing himself for the scorn and ridicule about to float up from his peers behind him.
"Erm... I once helped my parents manage the family expenses for a month, when both my parents fell ill. I also once categorised all the flowers in the woods, because, well, I like them..."
In a way, he had already resigned himself to his fate. Not every child was special, and try as he did to develop himself, he was who he was. These were his greatest accomplishments, so be it.
Henry squeezed his eyes shut, ready for the worst.
"Very well, henceforth will you be Henry Vume, Picker of Flowers."
The shame burned his face, and he wanted to do nothing more than turn and run. The sniggers from his peers was already floating through the air, assaulting his ears.
And he would have left, but for Becky's firm hand on his shoulder. He turned, surprised. There wasn't supposed to be anything else to the ceremony.
"Henry, not so fast. When you picked the forest clean, could you tell the difference between the flowers?"
"Difference?... Yes, I suppose."
"Which were sweet, which were colourful... Even which were dangerous, poisonous?"
"Yes, in fact," said Henry, some of the confidence returning. This was his area of expertise, after all. "The Hudleys you have to avoid the most. They are small, white, plain and easy to miss, but their sap stings badly, and I've seen forest animals die from eating them."
Becky smiled, and she lowered her voice, speaking almost in a hush, only for Henry to hear.
"No one is ever useless, Henry. Your title is just that, a title. It will not define you - you define your title. Be proud of who you are, develop your talents, and one day, one day, the village may need to call upon you to serve it. And I hope you will be ready for that day."
Becky winked, and Henry left.
Henry left with more than just a title. He left with a purpose, a direction, and the little seedling of recognition Becky planted would one day blossom, spurring Henry to become Henry Vume, Picker of Flowers, Chief Alchemist of the Northern Dalton Regiment.
All because of Becky, Believer In Men and Women Alike.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| *Happy Birthday Me*
Quite the party we had here, me, three walls, a dirty toilet, 12 bars of reinforced steel, a husk of mattress and about a hundred bed bugs.
Oh and hope. Revived after months.
I pretended to be asleep when they came to fetch me. As if I hadn’t a care in the world. There was a knock, a sound of steel against steel, but I kept my eyes closed. Not a care in the world.
“Get up, 337,” came a rasping voice.
I pretended to keep sleeping, until a rough hand grabbed my shoulder and shook me. Hard. I opened my eyes and made a show of blinking rapidly. “Oh, Oh I’m sorry, sir. I was just sleeping is all,” I said in the most pathetic voice I could manage. *Hand me that blade on your hip, and I’ll show you how sleepy I am,* I thought.
The man gave no comment, except to bring out a pair of handcuffs. “Hands out,” he said.
I obliged and held my hands out, while the guard locked them in. Tightly. Damn. This wasn’t going to be easy. *Or possible* mocked a part of me, but I ignored it. I was going to be a free man today.
“Wh-what’s this for, sir?” I asked, particularly proud of the quiver I’d managed to put in my voice. The guard, gave a short bark of laughter as he led me out my cell that had been my home for almost a year and through the dingy corridors of the prison. “It’s the Ceremony, idiot, has the prison muddled your brain so much that you don’t remember?” He said, turning back to show me his rotting teeth and unkempt beard.
“C-Ceremony?” I asked, “Am I going to be freed?” I made a point to curl my voice upwards at the end, making me sound hopeful. I thought I’d overdone it, but the idiot bought it. “No, you’re not going to be freed, idiot. We’re taking you to your Ceremony.” He enunciated each syllable precisely as if explaining to a child. “Here, you will be given your title, which will be-“
“I didn’t!” I exclaimed, raising my voice to a whine, I didn’t do it!
The man backhanded me, and it took every fiber of my will to not attack him right there, damn the plan. But no. This was my chance. I wasn’t going to let some idiot ruin it. “Listen, idiot, The Oracle will give you your title, and surely you’ve done nothing more significant than a capital offense, and we’ll finally be able to take you to the gallows.”
I opened my mouth to say some more whiny, pathetic bullshit, and was almost glad when he said, “now shut your fucking mouth, or I swear I’ll throttle you right here!” He wouldn’t of course, but a coward would take him at his word. And that’s what I was, or, well, trying to be. A coward. Defeated. Idiot. Harmless.
I fought to keep a grin off my face.
All too soon, we arrived. The Oracle had set up just outside the prison, near the woods. The prison was well out of the way of the town, where the oracle normally was, but once a month or so the Oracle made the trip down here to resolve cases like mine. As always, the thing sickened me. A huge blue tent, with the picture of a woman with 6 hands, the figure of the oracle, the most sacred artifact in the world.
The Guard left me outside the tent. “Go on in,” he gestured, “get your judgement over with, so we can kill you.”
One final act. “You- you’re not coming with me?” I stammered.
The guard flashed me his teeth, “I wish I could, idiot, but the Ceremony is private business. Only you, the Oracle, and the medium.”
The medium. That was key to it all. If the medium was competent, better than me-well, I didn’t really want to consider that possibility.
I stepped through the tent and almost collapsed with relief. It was Glenda. Good ol’ Giant Glenda. In fact, I had to cover my laugh with a cough.
Glenda, almost 350 pounds looked at me and smiled. “Ah, Mark, been a bit hasn’t it.”
I didn’t even look at her.
“Well,” she said, after waiting for a response, “let’s just get this over with. Old out your hands.”
I held up my hands, handcuffs and all, and Glenda growled. “These fucking idiots,” she muttered, and went out the tent. There was some indistinct shouting and stamping of feet, until Glenda came back with a key in hand. “Idiots,” she said almost to herself, “no respect, sending me a bound captive, on their damn *Ceremony*.” She shook her head as she opened my handcuffs.
I wanted to throttle her right there, my body screamed at me act, run, *fight*, but no. I had to wait for the right moment.
Just as I thought that Glenda pulled out the Oracle from the folds of her (rather large) gown. It was a crude thing, made of clay, had 6 hands and a barely human shape. But it was worth the world. “All right,” Glenda said, “hold the Oracle, and she will speak to me your title, and I in turn, shall relay it to-“
I snatched the Oracle from her hand, while at the same time taking the small blade out of a scar in my skin and jamming it in her neck.
I didn’t even feel the burn of the blood from where I’d taken the blade out, but Glenda sure as hell did. She just gaped at me for a moment, trying to speak, but nothing but blood would come out.
I turned away and didn’t give her a second thought as she fell to the ground, bleeding all over the ground. I was waiting when he guards barged in blades drawn.
“Surrender, Idiot!”
“Ah, I think not, *Idiots.*” I held the Oracle above my head, “One step closer and I might lose my grip…”
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-04-27T17:19:00 | 2017-04-27T15:41:40 | 810 | 184 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title. | Glenda was a grim looking lady. She was a slow starter and didn't have much purpose in her younger years, but her naming ceremony lit a fire under her. She simply went by Glenda the Destroyer now.
I had a few ideas what my name might be. Maybe I'll be Matthew the Unmuggable for that time I fought off two muggers in Central Park. I could be called Matt, the Master of Mountains for that summer I climbed all the 14,000+ peaks in the Rockies with my brothers.
My father, Sweet Pete, Destroyer of Ladies and Breaker of Hearts stood behind me, hand on my shoulder, waiting for my name to be declared. By his naming ceremony he had seduced over 50 women. My mother, Maria, Pete's Keeper, tamed my father and married him before she turned 21.
Glenda approached me. She wore the battle scars on her face like a badge of courage. She was an imposing woman, standing well over 6 feet tall and built like a warrior. She stopped before me, and my heart nearly stopped with it.
She reached her hand out to me and closed her eyes. The center jewel in her tiara began to glow a deep purple.
She put her thumb to my brow.
I could feel her mind searching mine. Her presence loomed large.
"You shall be Matthew, Father of the Chosen One."
My father was bewildered. My mother was furious. They accused me of hiding their grandchild from them. I swore I wasn't a father.
I could feel a vibration in my pocket. It was my girlfriend.
"I'm late. We need to talk. Call me." | Avatar, Springfield, 32 StreetyMcRoadface, Diary.
New entry, today.
So I am in this line. A long line. It is the most interesting queue that ever occurs in Springfield. It stretches from Glenda's, all the way down Avenue Road. It passes Convenience Mart, and curves left around Turner's Corner. This queue of new adults waiting to get their username stretches almost the whole length of Streety.
You probably don't care because you're a hologram, but in the real world, we don't do much.
It was 2036 when Googlecast released Virtualore. Thanks to Lord Bannon's Net Totality bill, it was the only phone allowed to be sold in the U.S. That's about all we know that really matters.
Once Bannon and Googlecast used the combined might of the White House and corporations to get Virtualore into 99% of households, they controlled everything. They controlled the media, social media, print media, video games, and the votes.
In 2040, public school was only available on Virtual Reality. Everyone went to one of two schools, Public or Christian. Each had their own app store, so once you chose, your virtual life was locked in and you could no longer communicate in VR with anyone that chose differently.
Scientists believe that now, in the year 2160, the average American spends almost 23 hours a day either sleeping or in VR. AI came far enough along that we voted to give them control over government, so that a Bannon Cannon could never happen again. With proper use of legislation and advanced AI, carbon emissions were regulated and global warming was reversed. Our AI can now control Earth's climate. Computers also brought back the Great Barrier Reef, the Colossus of Rhodes, even extinct animals! Computers solved poverty, war and cancer. Only countries outside the UN Network still have problems. I learned all about this playing Civ 14.
Before relinquishing control of the US to the US Network, Bannon had the FBI delete Wikipedia and the public school system. As an alternative to Christian school, VR app and game developers like Microsony, Googlecast, Valvebook, and Nintendo added educational gameplay to their games. Now, it's how most of America learns anything. Most people learn how to read from the libraries and crowdsourced teaching in Minecraft 2 than from schools. I learned to drive in Forza.
Now don't get me wrong, everyone knows the real world is great. It is very important to honor the real world every time you enter it. That's why they gave us the Forever21 system. When you turn 21, you get named after the best thing you ever did in the real world. Nothing from VR is allowed to count. So I am in line.
My friend Link got his name last year. He painted a picture on his room wall, of a winged dragon. He says he saw one once, and Dragonseer is one of the best names on the server, but he said he forgot to tell his avatar about it so it didn't count before Glenda calculated his name. Now he is Link Wallpainter.
Glenda once ate 53 pieces of chicken in only 45 minutes. She thinks her name is stupid but I think any name with "devourer" in it, is pretty groot. She's almost 40 now and she gives us our names on the Springfield server. It was decided that all online aliases would be designated rather than let people pick their own, so that there's no vulgarity or intolerance. Our server, like most, is a Safe Space.
Im sorry, I am rambling. You know all this. I forgot you were connected to the Pedia too. You probably don't care since you aren't real, but I needed to tell you about last week. I need to make sure it's on the record before it's my turn.
Last week I spent 6 hours outside.
I killed a dragon. | 2017-04-27T21:31:34 | 2017-04-27T20:42:35 | 349 | 32 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | She pulled the trigger, apologizing under her breath. The shot rang out, causing her to flinch, the body falling limply to the floor.
Blood on her beautiful dress.
She waited for him to come, preening herself, making sure she was perfect for him.
A glint of the scythe.
"**You need to stop doing this.**"
She pouted, crossing her arms.
"You never visit otherwise," she said, staring at him sullenly.
"I do it because I love you."
"**Love is a human construct,**" he said, swinging his scythe in an arc over the fallen body. There was a sound, like the fizzling out of a flame, then silence.
"**I feel nothing for you. For *anyone*.**"
He began to leave, and the girl felt the moment leaving her.
"Wait!" she cried, running towards him, hopping over the body. She grabbed his robe.
"I won't stop, you know. I'll kill every day, just for a glimpse of you. I *love* you."
He turned to face her, his skull betraying no emotion.
"**And yet,**" he replied, his hollow eyes gazing into her.
"**You love Life far more than Death; else I'd be here for *you*.**"
He turned and left; the silence proving it true.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
| Three candles lit the room, their wicks barely burning above the pool of wax spilling out the candle holders. All three sat atop a rounded wood table set up for dinner. Two plates, two knives, two forks, but only one person. Mariah waited as she always did as the flames began to flicker.
He wasn’t coming. He never did, not since she was a little girl and they had made their promise. A man coughed in the corner, hidden by her shadow, as a dark liquid crept toward the dinner table. Mariah let out a small breath and stepped out of the light, into the blood-stained cement floors of her killing room.
“Please, I have a family.” Every word came in a splutter of blood that speckled Mariah’s black silk dress. “There’s money in my wallet if that’s what you want.”
Mariah shook her head. “I don’t want money.”
“I’ll give you anything, just name it, but please don’t kill me.”
Ironic since the only thing she wanted was his life, though not as much as her first victims. When she had first started killing, she had bought candles fresh from the store for every dinner, she had scrubbed the plates until they were spotless, and took care not to step in blood or have it splatter onto her dress. Back then, she didn’t let her victims talk. It would’ve ruined the atmosphere.
But a girl could only be stood up so many times. The first five or so times, she got angry. By the time the candlelight died, she was hurling curses about broken promises and hearts. The victims had died long before she could take her rage out on them. Now, at the fifteenth attempt, everything she did came half-hearted. Her candles were recycled from the previous night, her dishes unwashed, and her victim still alive. He even had the strength to talk.
Mariah sighed. “Its fine,” she said, tears in her eyes, “he’ll come next time.” She turned toward the man. “Don’t worry, I won’t let it hurt.”
The man let out a stuttered squeal as he pressed himself further into the corner.
“We’ve both been hurt tonight,” she muttered and grabbed a knife from the table.
All of a sudden, the man shot up and threw his body against hers. The blow knocked the breath from her lungs and her head whipped back into concrete. A single shrill note rang in her ears as she blindly stabbed at the man.
Fingers wrapped around her wrist, their nails like talons. And the knife was pried away.
“You bitch!”
Fire sprouted from her wrist and the man rolled off her. He crashed through the rusted iron door of her killing room. Sunlight spilled through the opening. Mariah stared at her open wrist, at the pool of blood crawling toward the sun. And then she saw it, a dark and silent man sitting at the table. Her breath caught.
“You came back,” she whispered.
“Didn’t I promise that I would?”
She pushed herself up, swept off her dress and took her seat at the table. “I’m sorry,” she said, a tremble in her words. “I didn’t think you’d come so I hadn’t set up much. Here, you can take my knife.”
The other knife was on the ground, covered in her blood.
The Grim Reaper stared back unmoving. “It’s a lovely dinner,” he said.
A small smile broke Mariah’s lips and tears welled up inside her eyes. “Thank you." She chuckled nervously and glanced up. "You’re not going to leave again, are you?”
The Reaper shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not this time.”
Mariah's smile stretched from cheek to cheek. Tears spilled down her cheeks. And slowly, the candlelight faded until only darkness remained.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| 2017-06-07T17:26:56 | 2017-06-07T17:18:22 | 9,304 | 208 |
[WP] You discover that reality is merely the fragile dream of a newborn extra dimensional being. As opposed to falling to despair, you rise to action. You form "Task Force 13". Your team's goal? Quash the being's nightmares before the dream is overrun and the being wakes from terror. | Samsara. Game Wardens. See No Evil. The Red Right Hand. There were no shortage of MTFs. For each and every need.
A mobile task force was the ultimate in a synchronous killing machine. The best of the best of the best, often even the least worked of these made Delta force and SAS look like boy scouts.
But that was not a tradition began now.
MTFs, the Sites, the Foundation itself, began as a Task Force.
Task Force 13.
About 200 DT (Dream Time) years ago, some researchers discovered they were figments of imagination. Not in the mind of an eldritch Lovecraftian being, no. Just an extradimensional, sentient being.
This discovery threw the few people that knew into panic. Perhaps time was slowed in the dream, but the inevitable demise would come. Either from waking from utter peace, or being shaken awake by a nightmare.
13 men and women gathered first. The goal: eliminate any threat that might wake up the being.
17 DT years, we made great headway. The researchers reported that the dream was steady. The slumbering being was at peace.
Then the first tremor occurred. A quarter of the dream world, just..... Gone.
Then, we realised.
Eliminating every threat would result in the dreamscape becoming non engaging. The mind would simply switch to another, or awake.
Letting these threats run amok would wake the being from a nightmare.
So we evolved.
The thirteen of us adopted new aliases. O5.
We wouldn't destroy threats. We'd capture them. Study them.
Their existence would keep the dreamer engaged. Their restriction would keep the dreamer free of terror.
Our purpose changed. We would no longer hunt.
We would learn. We would fight to prolong the inevitable. We would save our own.
We would secure. We would contain. We would protect. | We in TF13 are devoted servants of sleep and its holiness. Protectors of dreams, fighters of terror, we fly headfirst into the depths of nightmares. Defenders of an infinite realm that stretches between sleep and a world we'll never know like an endless meadow. A wall of blackness lies in the distance, taller than the sky and wider than our world. We set up camp as far away from it as possible, a mere speck in the distance, but it moved a little closer with time. Inching toward us like a worm wriggling on the ground.
My first mission as captain was fighting off a swarm of eight-legged beasts with bristly hair and multiple eyes. Bigger than a home, they nearly killed half the population before our squadron was able to wipe them out, stealing some by capturing them in nets spewed from within. They’re not very intimidating when approached from behind and mounted, however.
We always found a way, surviving monsters and worse. It was always manageable; frights born of a pattern, different yet expected. Nothing surprised our team after the first few encounters -- well, aside from one incident where a male biped wearing no pants walked through. He wasn't violent, only *very* distraught.
But one day, a strange woman approached our world. She strode out of the blackness, tall and graceful, radiant with beauty that couldn’t have existed inside such an abyss. Nothing like the previous twisted creatures that spawned from within; biped, pale, with two bright eyes and brown hair. She looked like what we might, if we were dipped in a pool that could make us beautiful. Her hands were stained red for some reason, a stark contrast to her near bone-colored skin.
She approached us without pause and smiled. “Hello, friends.”
My TF13 crew, as always, were the only ones anything from the Other Side got to speak with. “We’re not your friends. A wolf in sheepskin, you are.”
“That’s not a nice way to say hello.” She tilted her head a bit, the smile lingering.
“Everything else from within there has attempted to slaughter us without thought. I expect you’re no different.”
“Oh, deary me, no. I couldn’t hurt a fly” – she turned back to the darkness – “but I couldn’t save one, either. I can sit here if it makes you more comfortable, you don’t need to take me in.”
Farax, my second in command, stepped forward. “We should kill her. Just get it overwith, why risk it? Who knows what secrets this woman holds?”
“Do so, if you must.” She continued to face the Other Side, as if she wished to go back.
I held out a hand. “That won’t be necessary. Stay close to it, as you are-- we’ll take action if you venture too far.
“But sir, I must prote-“
“If she’s dangerous, she’ll be dangerous as soon as we attack. There’s no need to rush death.”
Farax fell back, and we turned to leave. The strange woman spoke aloud to no one in particular, still staring into the void. “Goodbye, love. I will never forget you. If only we’d looked sooner…”
Somewhere deep within the blackness was the epicenter for a great rumble that pulsed outward, like a wave of energy. It hit us in the back, casting our clamoring bodies to the dirt.
“I *knew* it,” Farax shouted, drawing his weapon. “We should’ve killed her when we had the cha-“
His protests were cut short, as if swallowed by the hungry blackness that was now rolling toward us. Faster, faster than it had ever moved—so fast it would hit our camp in minutes. The rest of my team ran, screaming something I didn't quite pick up.
But as it grew, a forever darkness stretching and consuming like dense fog rolling over hills, I knew. Some things cannot be defeated.
I sat, crossing my legs, next to the odd woman. She was crying, and before I'd realized it, so was I. Her words earlier had been the truth-- about everything.
We were not the only ones coming to an end.
*/r/resonatingfury* | 2019-03-29T13:00:16 | 2019-03-29T08:53:32 | 69 | 44 |
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize. | I continue to stare at the timer.
It has been an hour since the alarm went off, and the beeping sound died after a minute. I know I should protest or panic or find ways to escape this lunacy of a show, but I keep staring at the timer like I used to for a year. I am numb. I am weak. I do not know if I can utter a word or sound. I have lost all hope. I should be jumping and clapping and cheering because my ordeal has finally come to an end; but here I am at a cold corner of my sanctuary, staring at the timer, expecting something to spark some joy in me.
This dare... This show... Funny but I do not recall the first few months of my isolation. All I know is that I have found the true meaning of peace, of life, of everything. All has been revealed to me, and I will not let any power from the outside world take this serenity away from me.
I hear a sound. I hear a voice. And a knock on the walls. I cover my ears as five funny-looking men enter my sanctum.
"Congratulations, Harvey! You have just won a million dollars!"
A thunderous blast of clapping filled my world. Why are these outsiders defiling my paradise? Why do they not respect my peace? I must not let them touch me. I must not let them take me.
"Stay away from me!" I feel my throat break.
"Harvey! Harvey! It's me!" said the man with a mic. "It's your host...Mr. Bannerman!"
"Stay away from me! Get out! All of you...get out!"
"Now, now, Harvey! That is no way of --" I bury my teeth in to Bannerman's neck. "Help! Get him off me! Get him off me!"
Yes, I know they will try and hurt me and pull me away from Bannerman but I will not release him from my wrath if they disrespect my wishes. Yes, I have thought of different scenarios of this day. And I am prepared for anything they will do to try and get me; my mouth waters at all the possibilities that will come. It may not be Bannerman who greets me; someone might've replaced him after all a year is such a long time. I do know so for it has changed me for the better. They must understand or I will force them to understand I have given up everything just to be in this holy state. I am jubilant, exalted and content for what I have become. I truly am. They can keep the money, I never needed it. They can continue their wretched show, that is fine, just as long they keep me here.
So I continue to stare at the timer. I wait. I plan. And I will resist. | A gap year in life. Some would look at that as a waste, for me, it was more than just an opportunity.
The first few months were tough, but they took care of themselves. Even if time moves slow, it does move. Within a couple of weeks, I felt like Bart Simpson, endlessly writing "Time still moves forward" thousands of times on the blackboard of my mind.
As an introvert, I thought that spending a year on my own would be a dream come true.
Instead, two months in I was caught up on shows. I brought a ton of books with me. But all I found myself doing was walking around endlessly, or simply stopping and staring at the wall.
Five months in and the routine set in. I added bodyweight training, dancing, and Yoga to my routine. I started writing a short story every day. I even started to meditate.
I wish I was one of them organized people who would set a schedule, with a task list for the day. I'm not even talking about checking these tasks off of a list. Making the list would have been enough. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those people.
Eight months in, and my routine was what kept me going. Everything had to go perfectly or my mental state for weeks to come would be hinged. Routine was my savior.
Eleven months in, and I found my zen. Routine, stare at the wall, scream at a book. It was all the same to me. I found a feeling of contentedness I never knew was possible.
People speak of finding happiness. Happiness to me was a fleeting moment in time. Being content was a state of being.
Today, in 30 seconds, I am going to be let out. I am not excited, at all.
Don't get me wrong, I do feel butterflies in my stomach, and I do look forward to seeing my family, and even the sky. But I'm calm. I'm content. I don't even look at the clock to count the second.
15 seconds before, I stand up. I align my body in a solid posture, and I smile.
"Ten."
Yep, I'm counting!
"Nine."
Almost there.
"Eight."
Excitement suddenly spreads all over my body, starting in my stomach and spreading through my body to my limbs, all the way to my toes.
"Seven. Six. Five. Four."
I smile.
"Three. Two."
I hold my breath. I feel my face smiling. I don't feel happy, and yet I'm smiling. I must be happy. Why else would I smile?
"One."
"ZERO!" I jump up releasing energy I didn't even know I had.
"YEAH!" I shout.
I ready my hand for a high five for whoever walks through the door.
I hold it up.
Ten seconds pass.
"Leaving me out to dry here guys.
I read the clock. '1 year, 15 seconds.'
What's going on guys?
I start to feel stressed out. I'm unsure what's going on. I look around. I walk to the door and back. I knock.
No response.
A million and one thoughts run through my head. From a practical joke to the zombie apocalypse. Someone though, was sending me food and drink through the shute every day. People are still out there.
"GUYS. THIS IS NOT.. Okay, it can be funny." I smirk. "Now open the door."
"I suppose this could be an scifi alien abduction flic, and I'll get beamed up any second. Maybe..."
Panic hits me. I turn around myself aimlessly. I knock hard at the door with my fists.
I breathe in. I am calm.
I sit on the floor cross-legged, and wait.
Precisely ten minutes and 34 seconds later, trust me, I checked, the door cracks open slightly.
I imagine a Chinese guy walking in and telling me of the fall of the US of A, and how he drew the short straw to be the one to tell me.
The door opens, and Mike, the producer who recruited me for this reality show walks in.
"Phew! I'm happy to see you Mike. Can I go home now?"
"Yes."
I look Mike in the eye. "Yes?"
"Yes."
"I kind of expected more."
"You should have done something to raise the ratings then. Feel free to sue us, but we ain't paying you crap."
He turned around, and started walking.
"Not even the zombie apocalypse?"
"The what?"
"You're just not going to pay?
"You should have read your contract better. I'm sure you'll be able to make money from a book. Try that."
A prompt appears in my sight. I move my head around trying to shake it, but it moves with me.
"You have failed at life. Would you like to start a new game?"
I don't hesitate even for a second.
I answer no, run after Mike, and stab his toe with my right heel.
I look around. I smile.
"Now this has potential."
&#x200B;
Edit: If you like, join my new subreddit [/r/posthocethics](https://www.reddit.com/r/posthocethics/)/ where you can read my writing. Sometimes I'll go crazy and even post a meme or two. | 2019-07-03T00:35:51 | 2019-07-02T23:40:43 | 147 | 45 |
[WP] You are a mighty dragon, the kind who kidnaps princesses. However, you only do it because princesses inherently have the ability to talk to animals and you're starved for intelligent conversation. | I stirred a bit in my lair, admiring humans their small size. The young adult human female finished the mutton I'd fried with my breath, and I considered what to say next. This one just didn't make sense...
"I thought dragons only kidnap princesses." She did me the favor of going there first. *A princess would have impeccable grammar, and would place "only" after "kidnap" in that sentence*. "I'm a peasant. I'm eighteen, but let's face it I look thirty-five from this life of toil. I'm about to start popping out kids, and I'm sure I'll die bearing one. What gives?"
"I was about to ask the same thing..." I sighed, stopping myself as I saw her hair blowing strongly behind her in my wind. "Do you know why we kidnap only princesses, Lass?"
She shook her head.
"Because girls born of royal blood are the only humans that can talk to animals. I'm not the only animal you've talked to, am I?"
The girl turned pale. She looked for words, but found none.
"You thought you were mad, or had a demon, didn't you?" I mostly held in another sigh, this one in pity. "What sense does it make that a peasant girl such as yourself can talk to animals?"
"It... It doesn't," she stammered.
"There's only one way that it does, Lass. I don't concern myself with human politics, but your kingdom's throne must have been usurped."
She shook her head. "No such thing has happened. I'm the only one in my extended family who can read, and I know we've had the same line of kings for over four hundred years."
"Hmm..." I considered. I say I don't concern myself with human politics, but I know more than I'd like to admit and knew she was right. I had been a young adult, in dragon terms, when their dynasty came to power.
"Someone in your nobility class must have... I think the term you use is 'pulled a fast one.' The next in line for your throne is a young man your age, is he not?"
"He is, and his father the king ailes."
"Can a woman hold your kingdom's throne?"
The supposed peasant pursed her lips and considered her reply. "By law yes, a queen can be the regnant. But while the last such was excellent, Samantha the Great, for two hundred and fifty years their family has worked hard to prevent that from happening again. They make sure the king bears an eligable male."
"An eligable male the same age as you," I intoned from thirty feet over her head. "And you're a peasant girl who can somehow talk to animals?" She sat there in my lair, mouth agape. "I think it's time I did concern myself with human politics. Come, let us leave here to meet with the august wizard who previously advised the king before his dismissal. You will make a fine ruler, Samantha the Second." | "Hnng-yah" What is... Ah, daylight. "Hmm" - did not feel like any injuries, and there was plenty of room for my morning stretch. Although, I did find myself warmer than usual this fine season and, once I felt the rumble I realise it's that time of the millenia again. "Aaah, Vulan! You've been quite over my past few naps, I'd thought you finally gone and croaked you old man!" Always has been nice to wake up warm, having to lay in the sun is always such a waste of time. "Right, time to get at the day! See how things have moved. Naps take up so much time, so muh sweet sweet time" and with a meaningful canter I claw my way out of Vulcan; a warm soul, very welcoming. I have always enjoyed the casual amenities behind living on a volcano, although they can sometimes get over excited and tend to turn any good sleep into a decent nap.
I ponder to myself as the star pocked sky opens up before me, an icy breeze in the brisk of night clashing against the scorching aura of the liquid flame that oozes from the mountains of my home... "Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, low in the west before the dawn by the bright of Aldeberan. Mid Novembre would it appear, a fine time to wake with the hollow between world's sifting just after its finest point-" interrupted abruptly by a hasty dive from the crag. "I really should find someone to spend time with, otherwise my next sleep will not be around till forever. But first, dinner".
Passing over the crags of home, the forests and rivers where the smaller creatures spend their ever advancing days:
Finding water,
Finding food,
Or being it.
On the horizon I spot a limping figure dragging a strangly marked sack in its wake, with a feable arm clawing at the ground as it passes by. Until the sack lurched backwards out of the figures grasp, swiftly followed by hefty impacts into the sacks center,clearing leaving it for dead.
"Oh, well would you look at that. Easy pickings! With a clear conscious at that, it is not like that creature has really lived either": as a steel countenance locks in; my eyes on the prey, sleek posture, gliding in towards to prey...
With an EaRThShAKinG ImPAcT I crash into the low hill, dragging along the ground towards my meal as a small, long fur covered head sticks up out of the sack my vicious, flesh-rending teeth tear into their target. I stifled shriek from the figure as their last ended in nothing but a red of their own making. Cloth sticking in my teeth,clumping. Blocking. "Ew, now this has become such a tasteless affair now hasn't it? Getting it's filthy fabrics into my pristine set of- Ah, yes" as I look down upon the clearly blood soaked sack, half filled by a malnurished - long fur-headed ape - 'human'.
"Now then, about your current position. You seem quite young, as I would imagine, for your species. I'm quite sure I'm speaking your la- oh bother, how embarrassing" having realised I have been attempting to engage this minute figure in the tongs of ancients "now, what I mean to ask young one, is that you should be on your way. Not everyone gets another chance at... Well, whatever it is that quite takes their fancy".
A trembling response followed a brief silence and a rough huff of a giant;
"A-well- I-" they stumble through their words in, their voice a broken, but gentle tone. "I h-ave none, yo-u may as well take me too..."
"Come now", backed by an authoritative burst of enthusiasm "brave, I must admit. Name? Well speak up, your don't have a long life span and I have much to do on this day of grandeur"
"None" they muttered meakly.
"Now that I know is just not a name, and believe me I have been known to trade pleasantries with those hobgoblins of the eastern plains and even they have reasonable names. As long as you are hungry, I dare say."
A deathly silence as the child quivers, and all life in the immediate area is still lest they incur a fearsome wrath; "Alright then, I shall name you Vulcan, a friend I used to talk with extensively in my time alone living inside of the-" immidiately followed with a quick change of topic "of their home... Which is now mine. Heated too of course,warming up via sunlight is such a labouring effort".
"Y- will you eventually cut me up and use me for your dwelling too? Li-ike Vulcan?" Chirps the uneaten human of the sack "and why a boys name? I a-am a lady, sir o-or m'a-am" - she shakes with fear of being eaten lest her temper run away with her.
"Fear not, for my tasks for the era were eat and to find a new friend. My apetiser was acceptable, yet now I have a potential guest to join me for the main course. Oh! We have much to discuss. We could even cook like my old Nelly! She always did have a way with holding the sheep over the liquid fire as it charred away the wool, leaving a crisp skin ripe for the picking", now salivating g heavily at the though.
I always wanted to start a family, they are what you make them it would seem. | 2019-11-11T17:44:01 | 2019-11-11T14:42:38 | 86 | 22 |
[WP] You just gave birth, your son has a colored hair like none before, the doctor declares that your son has been infected with a syndrome called the "Protagonist". Your lifespan has now been reduced to mere days. | After the din of the previous four hours, my wife laboring in agony with the birth of our firstborn, the silence of the doctor as he cleaned and wrapped our child was unnerving, but not as unnerving as the sickly green hair sprouting out of the boy's, *my boy's*, sickly green head.
"Is..." I struggled for words, "Is everything all right, doctor?"
The silence dragged on as he continued his post-birth procedure. I clutched my wife's hand and she clutched it back with a fierce strength.
I looked down into her eyes, her stunningly green eyes that entrapped me the moment I first saw them. She looked up at me, exhausted, unsure, and... something else?
"Have you heard of this new disease, people have been chattering about on the web?" The doctor finally broke his stoic silence as he picked up the phone and started dialing.
My heart skipped a beat, there had been rumors, pictures, but I had always assumed it was some viral meme, some fake news.
"Pro... protagonist syndrome?" I asked hesitantly, shooting a look back to my wife.
"Yeah, we got a 738 in delivery room twelve, yep, thanks." The doctor replaced the phone and passed my son to a nurse before continuing, "Yeah, that's what they call it, 'Protagonist' syndrome. The real phrase is "Protogeneosis" but it's not as catchy I guess."
He stared at me expectantly. I stared back in confusion.
"*Proto* meaning first or primary, *gene* meaning genetics, *osis* meaning disease," he continued on like a college professor teaching a class, "this condition, protogeneosis, or, in layman's terms, protagonist syndrome, is caused by a new type of DNA in the cells of the body."
I heard helicopter blades approaching outside the window as I listened to the lecture with all the understanding of a freshman coming in the day after a frat party.
The doctor stared at me like one would expect such a professor to stare at such a freshman. I heard the sounds of boots running down the corridor.
"This new type of DNA," he turned toward my wife, with an entirely new type of look on his face, "is sometimes a genetic mishap, a coincidence, something copied a little bit wrong."
There was shouting in the corridor now, and metallic sounds, the helicopter continued to drone outside.
"But in 99% of cases," the doctor tilted his head down to glare over his glasses at my wife, unblinking, "it's alien DNA."
The door exploded inward as men in black tactical gear ingressed with militant violence.
The thing holding my hand let out an unearthly, polyphonic scream. | "Shit," the doctor said as the first cries started.
This wasn't my first rodeo. I'd been in there before. Previous wives, previous lives. That type of thing. I knew "shit" could only mean two things: literal shit, or figurative shit. It was the figurative shit that scared the shit out of me.
I peeked down at my wife as she marveled at the newborn baby. No shit. Shit.
"Is everything alright, Doc?"
He gave me a sad look, then glanced towards my wife. She was enraptured by the baby's eyes, not paying the slightest attention to the world around her.
"The baby is fine," the doctor said.
"Well, you said shit. That's why I ask."
He gave a solemn nod. "I did. But somebody in this room is in grave danger. Somebody close to the baby. That's why I said shit."
As casual as that. Matter-of-fact as if it were a matter of fact. The blood drained from my face. My hands trembled. I couldn't imagine a life without my wife, but one without my new son would be just as terrible.
"You can't save them both? But they're fine. He's born, she's happy." It was that recurring nightmare back again, the gaping hole that'd never close if I lost either one. And now, a choice. The inevitable, unenviable choice of who to save.
"They're fine," he said. Then he pointed at me with a stubby, gloved finger. "You're my worry."
I stepped towards my son, my heart pounding. Ten little fingers and toes--on two hands and two feet, respectively--two beautiful eyes, a mop of blue hair. This could be the last time the three of us were together, safe and sound. Of course childbirth was dangerous--for the mother and the newborn. I didn't expect to be the one in danger. The doctor continued to speak, his words floating past me like ashes in the wind.
"He's perfect," my wife said. Perfect? More like a perfect blend of an alien and a grumpy old-man. Oh, and hair blue as a smurf. Perfect, right? And I was terrified.
"He has blue hair," I said, not directly disagreeing with my wife but certainly not agreeing with her either.
"That's my concern," the doctor said. "It doesn't bode well."
I shook my head. That made no sense. It was blue hair, not a demon-child or a dozen other worse outcomes. "Did she sleep with Papa Smurf or something? Why the hell does the kid have blue hair?"
My wife glared at me. "I did not sleep with a smurf," she hissed. "He's just unique. He's special."
The doctor winced. "Well, special is one way to say it. He has a syndrome--"
My wife blanched. "Like d--"
"No, no," the doctor said, trying to assuage her worries.
I took a stab at the syndrome before he had a chance to clarify. "Like Stockholm Syndrome? I didn't get that with my parents for a couple years." Jokes. My crutch when I was nervous. I chuckled uncomfortably, but he just shook his head and scowled at me.
"Not Stockholm Syndrome. This syndrome manifests itself in these kids thinking they're the center of the world. That there's nothing that can hurt them. That they are crafted by a lovely balance of naivety and loss, of innocence and a spiritual journey more important than the world itself. The loss part, that's what you have to worry about. If this kid was going to lose a mom, she'd be gone already. *You're* the one who is in danger."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I liked my Papa Smurf theory better. Somehow, it made more sense. "What the hell is this syndrome?"
"It's called Protagonism," the doctor said. "Named after protagonists. I'm sure you've read the same books they someday will. Nothing shapes a good protagonist like the death of a parent. Since she made it through the hard part, you're the one we have to worry about."
My wife looked at our son, didn't look back up at me. Was it fascination? Acceptance? Motherly love that'd chosen him already?
The doctor walked me towards the door while the orderlies took care of my wife. "We have a clinic here that might be able to help you survive. The odds are slim but without it, the odds are none."
"A clinic? You mean I'd be stuck here?"
"Beats dying, right?" His eyes were stern, his brow furrowed.
"I want to be with my family."
"Then your timeline is days. Maybe a week. I strongly encourage you stay." He put a hand on my shoulder, stuffed a pamphlet into my empty hands. "Think about it. They'll be fine, especially the kid. You need to worry about yourself now."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-04-28T05:56:54 | 2020-04-28T04:36:29 | 423 | 231 |
[WP] The aliens intend to enslave humanity. 10 hours a week, with free food, housing, and medical care, on a paradise planet. But they've heard about humans. They're expecting a fight. | Alright, I'm just putting it out there: the aliens weren't so bad.
They conquered Earth so quickly, and took care not to induce many casualties. After all, wouldn't want to thin out your workforce... sorry, slaves, before you put them to work, right?
The labour was difficult. All labour was, no matter which department you ended up in. Digging sucked. Processing materials sucked. Human resources really, really sucked. But they all sucked for just 10 hours a week, and you can drown your sorrows in expensive wine or cheap soda. Get too intoxicated, or running into a case of severe diabetes? Their tech kept us more healthy than we could even possibly imagine with medical science back on Earth-that-was. No queues, no waiting list, just pop in, get a new kidney, and pop out.
It was good. It was all good. Work-life balance. Time for recreation. Ample social networking--heck, I've seen some of my friends far longer in this world than I've had back on Earth-that-was. And yet, I find myself laying back on my own bed in a private bedroom--not terribly huge, but enough--and whiled time away looking at the ceiling.
Was this it? Was this all?
One moment, I was lounging in bed. The next, I found myself counting my harried footsteps, knocking impatiently on the door to the HR department. A smooth swish aside revealed an alien overlord, sitting at a desk.
"Ah, human," it said. "How may I assist you today?"
"I don't want to be here any longer," I blurted out.
"Oh. That's a pity. Is there some problem with accommodation?"
Blunt, but effective, apparently. I shook my head.
"No."
"Food?"
"No."
"Working hours too long?"
"No. Wait, there are people who complain about that?"
"Sometimes," the rep shrugged. "We try our best to keep everybody happy."
"But... it's already so... never mind," I said. "I just want to go back home. To Earth."
"Sure," it said. "I'll process your application."
"I understand it's not my place. And this place is great. But I just--" I paused for a moment, scratching my head. "Wait. You... said yes?"
"Sure, why not?" the alien said, now smashing away at a keyboard in front of them. It's a very different layout from the one I was used to, which took quite a lot of time to prevent constant typos. "We've never received the request before, but a good workflow means having the requisite elements in place."
"Nobody's ever asked to go back home?"
"Not in centuries, no," the alien muttered. "Perhaps we were a little more barbaric in the beginning. But you know, happier slaves means higher quality work. We can sacrifice a bit of time for that, don't you think?"
"A lot of people can learn from you," I mumbled. "But hey, thanks, I suppose."
"No issue," the alien said, finalizing its final few thumps on the computer, before it turned and smiled at me. "All done. Why do you want to go back, anyway?"
"I don't know," I said, truthfully. "Just felt like it was the right thing to do. I wanted to do my own thing, I suppose."
"Do your own thing? But aren't you doing your own things most of the time?"
"Yeah, well. Strike out on my own, maybe? Does that make sense?"
"Honestly, no," the alien shrugged. "I don't understand leaving this place. Nor has numerous enslaved races. Especially going back to that hellhole of a planet that you guys ruined."
I stayed quiet. Why was I making this decision? How did the impulse decide to form in my brain, overpower every instinct to stay in this nice, cushy environment with an absurd amount of facilities and go back to, like it said, my hellhole of a planet?
"I missed home," I whispered to myself. "I missed working for myself."
"Hmm, OK," the alien rubbed its chin. "Anyway, the spacecraft is ready. Have a safe flight!"
I didn't quite recall how I left Earth-that-was and came to this place. I might have been unconscious, because I did not think that strapping myself into a small hunk of metal was something that conscious me would have willingly done, especially blasting off into the great unknown. But Earth wasn't unknown now, was it? I gulped, inhaled, and pressed the helpfully green button on the dashboard in front of me, watching myself zoom across the stars, and viewing a familiar blue-green marble rushing onwards, and bracing myself for--
Oh. That wasn't so bad. I winced a little, more out of self-exerted mental damage, rather than anything physical. The pod hissed, and its door opened.
Earth. Earth that is. I wasn't quite sure where I landed. And lots of plants and trees, and a near-deafening blanket of chirps and sounds that didn't exist in the cold metal of a space station.
Right. The first person to ever leave that admittedly, all-round exemplary situation. I knocked myself on the head a few times, sighing.
All alone in the big world. The first human to step back on Earth after the alien abducted us all. Ready to do whatever I wanted to.
That was good, right? It wasn't stupid, right?
An unnatural wooshing directed my eyes skyward. Squinting was required thanks to the dire sunlight, but I knew what was coming down before my vision even adjusted.
More pods. More humans looking to return home, back to where they started.
I crossed my arms. Well, I'll always have the honour of being first. Maybe I can lay claim to being the de facto leader.
This was good, right? We weren't all stupid, right?
Maybe we were stupid. But we would be stupid together.
---
r/dexdrafts | Humans. We've all heard the stories. The legends. How a scout ship of the long lost Grâhjiv Commonwealth picked up a wooden ship full of the humans, who took over the interstellar craft and conquered the Commonwealth, establishing a culture of warriors. To keep ruling, they created spawn, using advanced and illegal genetic technology, and genetic scientists threatened with a violent death, to create a stable hybrid race of warrior nobles. Through them came the Empire of High Norv, which still persists proudly under its strange avian banner. We've all heard of the Lone Samurai, turned practically immortal and unstoppable, somewhere out in the cosmos, fighting against the forces of evil, after getting picked up from his homeworld by a very rogue and insane group of scientists. The insane human clones who are still fighting an endless war across the ruins of a long forgotten world, eternally building trenches and going over the top. We've heard of the human mutants who escaped from a science lab, and turned a verdant jungle world into a barren wasteland.
The Vitayne Directorate, had certainly heard of them. And unlike the other cases, caused by science and madness, they were going to see if they could create a stable group of human battlethralls. After all, the Directorate found themselves increasingly threatened by more militaristic powers bordering them. And they weren't a race meant for combat. But everybody knew the stories. About humanity, the mad deathworlders filled with natural combat drugs and the terrifying ability of staying alive on pure willpower alone. If the Vitayne could be protected by a fully armed and fully trained legion of human battlethralls, then their enemies would not dare attack out of sheer fear. Of course, the Directorate weren't expecting to win without a fight. Their warfleet was armed to the brim with legions of synthetic warriors, large battlemechs, hunter drones, and all manner of other machines of war.
Once victorious, they would give a fine deal to those humans who could be bargained with. After all, humanity, while barbarian, brutal, and brave, weren't fools. The life of a battlethrall, outside of war, would be some few hours of menial work a week, free food, housing, medical care. And they'd live on Uridaya, a tailor-made paradise world crafted by the Directorate's Terraforming Elite, a world quite unlike the deathworld that humanity had evolved on. Standing around looking vicious and threatening once in a while, and protecting the physically weaker Vitayne on expeditions, would be an easy task. As a long term bonus, citizenship could be earned by humanity if they stayed faithful, when some of the more excessively bloodthirsty tendencies had been pruned from the humans' culture and biology.
But when they arrived in the Sol System, they saw no attempts by any humans to communicate with them. Indeed, they saw very little sign that humanity had anything left. The once blue world of Sol-III, Earth, was surrounded by a fine outer shell of debris and ruined satellites. The Vitayne had seen this before. They had their own word for it, but in the human language it was called the Kessler Syndrome. So much debris was flying in low orbit, that none could clear it out or even escape from the planet's atmosphere. Which itself wasn't doing too great either. The Vitayne had come to test the mettle of mankind, to take humans with them to be their slaves for warfare. But instead they had come to the wake of mankind. Humanity, for all their viciousness, had not been able to escape their world in time. Distraught, the Admiral-Visionary of the Directorate Warfleet ordered the clearing of the debris cloud, and for them to learn what had happened.
The Directorate expected results, after all, and data is better than nothing. Science for the improvement of all, was what they had told her at the academy, when she studied to be an officer. If you can't get what you were hoping for, at least get what you can.
To the shock of the Admiral-Visionary, and indeed the entire research department about the fleet, humanity still lived. Roaming in nomadic tribes across a warm dusty world with a thin atmosphere, surviving in lowlands regions, barely a step above constant famine. They weren't the warrior humans of legend. Weren't the humans of story and song. These were the sad truth, that despite what mankind had once been, they had now become something pitiful. A tragedy. The away teams of the fleet studied the decaying cities, and had found that the soldiers and warriors of Earth had given way to a lesser kind of human. Timid, brainwashed, scared, and fighting only about the pettiest of issues, while their indulgent and hedonistic elites drained the world of all resources.
Some few who had daring and bravery fought back. Stood against the tides of mediocrity and pettiness. But the cowering masses, so easily fooled by the lies and sweet voices of those they idolised, defeated the last attempts to maintain sanity on Earth. Some records that survived indicated that a last ditch escape had accidentally caused the Kessler Syndrome, as one of the three colony ships that tried running from the downfall of humanity, was caught by a missile launched by the huddled masses, fearing to breathe free. And as the world consumed more and more resources, things got harder. Food became scarcer. Trade broke down, and the world more or less collapsed under the weight of the last human civilisation's own gluttony.
The human nomads had been so far reduced from the humans of legend and all those who descend from them, the Samurai, the Norvians, the strange beak-masked warrior-doctors who cared for the dead across thousands of worlds, that the Vitayne could hardly recognise them at first. They would cower, bow, and pray to the physically unimpressive Vitayne. They knew no scripts, feared what they could not know, and believed everything they were told. Hard workers though. That part of them, that had once served their foul overlords, had endured. The Directorate was informed of this unexpected outcome. Though they had no ability to fight anymore, that independence and fire in them bred out until they became docile and meek, they could still be useful. So the order came to take as many humans as they could, and leave Earth to decay. For now.
Say one thing for what humanity had become, say that they'd become gentler. Warriors of bloodthirst and brutality unmatched, reduced to obedient, gentle creatures. Of course, that part was still in them. Dormant. Reduced. But still there, buried deep beneath the flesh. Plans changed, and the Vitayne made humans serve in a different capacity. Gentle and kind, they became companions to the Vitayne. Loyal things, which if one of the surviving humans on the last remaining colonyship had seen, would have been compared in behaviour and temperament to mankind's own canine companions. And as the Directorate had to fight in wars against expansionist neighbours, and protect themselves, humanity found a new lease on life, as caretakers for the weak, the elderly, and the children. Many an enemy found that while mankind were no longer vicious and bloodthirsty in general, that old buried part came alive once the ones protected by humans, were in danger. Other humans gave freely of their DNA, and from Vitayne experiments, biosynthetic adrenal glands were created, to give that old human rage from legends to the biological and/or cloned soldiers of today.
One day, the Vitayne would restore humanity as thanks for caring for so many of them, in troubled times. Many a Vitayne cub had survived with their human companion in the wilderness for months, and many humans found themselves helping wherever they could. It was what was left of them, after all. As thanks, the Directorate made humanity become better, so that they'd no longer be servile and weak. Humanity had earned that restoration and equal citizenship when it came, even if it had been through a rather different method than the Directorate had originally intended.
Now a ship, crewed by the first restored humans, and Vitayne terraforming experts, are on their way back to Sol-III. What had been lost, has been regained. And what was once the centre of mankind's universe, would once more become a haven for humanity, art, science, and progress.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2021-08-19T15:11:59 | 2021-08-19T13:51:06 | 1,074 | 222 |
[WP] Your superpower is Winning. No matter how contrived, absurd, or unrealistic, you never lose. You're beginning to think this is like some incredibly lazy comic book writing... | I stand before the demigod, ready to state my wish. "I wish I could win everything."
The athletically built, bright-faced man grimaced a smile of ten thousand suns. "And so it will be."
"Looking back, I wish I had never wished it."
\---
From that moment on, I started winning at everything. Winning chess, winning the lottery, winning arguments with my girlfriend... But things really went off the road when I applied for the olympics.
Not only did I enroll into every possible sport, it was physically impossible for me to attend every event. With the first two sports events, I felt like I could throw up. My brain felt like it was cooking over, and my headache increased the longer I waited which sports event I would go for first. When I chose, my conscience ripped in half, divided over two timelines now: One where I attended the javelin throwing, and one where I attended the one hundred metre sprint. And oh, when those were over, my mind split thrice in both timelines: one where I was in first place, one where I was in second, one where I was in third. I was aware of everything in these timelines as the information of all six possibilities streamed into my brain, feeding it into my consciousness.
By this time my mind had started to turn into itself, but my body kept on going.
Two weeks later, my mind had split in half so much that I felt like I was watching myself from a far, having a hundred webcams streaming the view of my eyes into my consciousness. And each time I won: first, second, third. Three hundred feeds of me winning at everything.
Then I went home and had a good sleep. I won at sleeping. Then I got up and started to experiment with my three hundred versions of myself. One stayed at home, meditating all day until I figured out how to not lose hunger, but win. Another version of me got wasted and got laid. Another one went back to my girlfriend and married her. And on and on it went.
\---
Now, three years later, my meditating self had been kicked out of the house and took refuge on the top of a hill. He was contemplating the many different times my consciousness had split until... plop... I achieved nirvana. | pt/1
The night was young and full of festivities. Every bar was open, but not all were equally attended, and not for reasons of poor quality. The Crookback Tavern was off the tourist strip, a couple right-turns and one walk down a dark alleyway that never failed to scare off visitors. Despite its poor location, they always had the rarest drinks ready to be served, and a loyal crew of black-clad customers always willing to pay premium prices. Grace had been bar-hopping for the last three hours, hipster-shop to hipster-shop, flannels and cardigans, mustaches and beards that fit on faces far too soft, attached to hands too gentle. She wasn't against all that, but it wasn't exactly exciting, her blood was stagnant, growing cold, and every guy that hit on her was far too fragile for what she considered basic banter, wilting at the hip when she replied disinterested "That's it? Okay. Cute."
Grace slapped twenty-five on the counter, and finished off her beer. "Have a good night, Techi. Think I'm done." She said to the bartender, who was also her roommate.
"You don't look done." He says as Grace tightens her leather jacket, a second away from walking out.
"That's because I'm not. It also means I'm going to have another restless night." She faces the door, already imagining the energetic tosses and turns awaiting her on that old hand-me-down mattress. "I'll have something on the stove if you're still hungry."
"You know there's a bar on Easton Street." He says. "They're like you."
"Oh I know. Every local knows that." She replies as if it was a dumb thing to say.
"Don't complain about being bored if you refuse to go to the one place in the entire city that'll give you something." Techi says with a sharpness that even takes her off guard, but is quickly gone as patrons hail him, his fingers already wrapped around a new bottle of cognac.
Grace walks down main-street, the name Crookback Tavern bouncing around in her head, even though she's going in the opposite direction.
"Hey, watch where you're fucking going!" She heard the sound of the mans voice before running into him, and then felt his shoulder slam against her chest, sending her onto the ground, although not sent flying as most would expect, seeing the width disparity.
"Hey what the fucks wrong with you?" A man comes to her rescue, a tourist, the ruffian who sent Grace onto the floor replied with a fist to his jaw, an audible crack. A scuffle commences, and while she was the type to defend herself to an extreme, even gratuities degree, she decided to watch as pretty boy after pretty boy got struck down by this singular ugly brute, who looked more of an overgrown dwarf with all the muscles and chest-hair rather than a man she'd come to expect around these parts. The sound of a police-siren breaks the spectacle, neon lights looming around the corner. As the crowd disperses, Grace luckily not ending up beneath their feet, a crumpled paper falls from the subjects jeans as he trots away with his trunks for legs.
It sways through the frigid cold air of the night like a fall leaf, landing on Grace's open palm.
*Meet me at the Crookback. Eleven sharp. Do not be late.*
*The package is live and angry.*
**Signed**: *Kali*
"To hell with it." Grace says, followed by a scoff. "This nights already fucked as it is."
"Are you okay?" A man who was struck in the scuffle offers her his hand, his face only blemished by a bruise, the least damaged of his group. Grace decides to hold in the sharp retort and uses him to jump onto her feet. "You really didn't have to." She says, and then smirks as she changes her planned direction.
The walk wasn't as bad as she expected. Grace didn't realize how annoying the strip was until she was away from it, suddenly allergic to sound and large crowds. There was the infamous alleyway ahead of her, although the fact there was a young couple leaning against the brick-wall kissing in innocent passion, soothed her fears, for the sole purpose that if they weren't getting mugged, she sure as hell wouldn't either.
*You know. I'm actually having some fun.* Grace thought to herself after stepping over a toppled trash-can, the fifth, and last, as she looked up and saw the wooden lettered blocks lighten by lampposts in the distance that spelled out **C R O O K B A C K.** | 2021-11-15T10:47:12 | 2021-11-15T08:30:44 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] just because i am a female elf dose not mean i want to be an Archer or a Mage I want to be a berserker and break things with my hands. | Portia lacked any real magical talent, and she wasn't particularly talented with a bow. Traditional Elvish combat was not hers. It had made Elvish men (and women) gossip about her and talk behind her back. Portia kept herself optimistic and bright eyed, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.
She had a variety of trades that she used to keep herself relevant, and for that reason, tended to mingle more with humans then "her own kind". She could chop wood better then most, learned from her father, but her passion was fashion. She could collect her own fibers like cotton or silk, spin them into thread or yarn, weave them into textiles, and turn them into garments.
This had started as necessity. Petite framed elves with muscular toning didn't have a lot of options for clothing, and she liked to look pretty.
She'd met Aiden while she was chopping wood in a pretty cream colored blouse with embellishments around the neck and a pale purple peasant skirt with a slit up the leg. Aiden was a human hunter, and he didn't seem to care that Portia wasn't a traditional elf woman.
He adored her. And when he proposed, Portia accepted, because she adored him. Elvish friends and family had cautioned her against it-she'd far outlive him. She'd watch him die. It was inevitable. She accepted that. Because he accepted her.
But she'd never imagined it would come so soon.
She never imagined their wedding would be attacked by violent zealots opposed to the mixed marriage.
She could never have predicted that the wedding dress she'd spent so much time working on would become red, soaked in Aiden's life blood as he died in her arms.
How could she have thought their wedding guests would be hunted at what was supposed to be a happy event?
There was but one comfort. One cruel, cold comfort as she gently set down the man who had loved her exactly as she was.
The zealots had never imagined that the petite elf in the pretty, blood stained bridal gown, could hoist a two handed blade with ease, and enter a violent rage to avenge Aiden and their fallen kin. | On days like these, I wish I were a peasant.
“What do you mean, am I sure I don’t want to be a mage?” I say leaning forward and slamming my ax against Quest Master’s desk. “Do I look like a mage?”
“Well,” the Quest Master says, staring at my tits, “you are… an elf.”
“With a +4 diamond battle ax! Do you know how much strength is required to wield one of those?”
“Ax, staff… Both are two-handed weapons. No big difference, really. And who says that mages can’t also be physically fit? Are you a classist?” He points to the wooden sign slowly swinging above him. The sign reads. Quest Master’s office. Apply for quests here. We don’t discriminate based on race, gender, or class.
Same shit every time… Why do I always end up negotiating my next gig with guys like him? If we were anywhere else, I’d kill him.
Quest Master grins. “I’ll take your silence to mean that you are not a classist. Phew. It would pain my heart if I had to reject a quest application from someone as beautiful as you are. Now… where were we. Oh, an outfit…” He points to my leather corset. “I like your style, but like oil and water, leather and mages do not mix. Also, maybe something… less ethnic?”
He snaps his fingers. A neatly folded bundle of white and red cloth forms out of thin air next to my desk.
I cross my arms across my chest and narrow my eyes as he stands up and unfolds the thing. “Ta-da!”
“It’s a bathing suit,” I say.
“Not at all,” he says, tugging at the bottoms that look like the world's most uncomfortable thongs. He should put that string between his but cheeks and fight or ride a horse like that. Seriously, who makes these outfits?
“This is industry standard,” he says. “Very durable material.” He lowers the bottoms and grabs the bra. He pinches the middle of it, just where I imagine the triple-D tit’s nipple would poke through the flimsy semi-transparent material. “Very durable,” he says. “Full protection against elements and all sorts of dangers, while also class, race, and gender-sensitive.” He points at the non-discrimination sign again.
I sigh. “I don’t want that suit. Does not fit me. All I want---”
“Oh, it will fit you. Nothing some padding can’t fix. Plus, if you really insist, we can add a cape and different high heels.” He puts the bra away. “Oh, don’t worry, with your physique, you’ll look just beautiful. Irresistible to every man in your party. Speaking of that…” He snaps his fingers and a scroll appears in his hand. “Party details and loot sharing contract.”
He tries to move my ax, grunts as he fails to push it even an inch, then gestures to me to take it away. With his desk clean, he unrolls the scroll on the desktop.
“Let’s see…” he says. “A quest to rescue the Princess at High Tower. CR 13 mobs. The final boss --- the evil King --- is CR 18.” He winks at me. “Spoiler alert: He’s immune to fire. Two fighters, a paladin and a rogue. Perfect. All they need is a mage.” He points to the bottom of the contract. “And this is how much you’ll get paid. 10% of the total loot.”
“10%? Why 10%. Should be 20. 100 divided by 5 is 20%.”
He stares at my tits again. “But you are… an elf. *A drow.*”
I clench my battle-ax handle. “Meaning?”
He swallows with an audible *gulp*. “Fine… I’ll find you another party. Did anyone tell you that you’re very disagreeable?”
“A random asshole here and there.”
He chuckles humorlessly while snapping his fingers. “Well, how about this? A quest to kill a Dragon. CR 17. Boss is a black dragon. CR 21. Party of four. They call themselves the Company of Good Bros. There is an equal loot-sharing clause in the contract. Good?”
“Better,” I say, looking at the contract.
“Well, splendid!” He snaps his fingers and summons a leather bra, thongs, and a bow. “They need an archer.” | 2022-01-27T09:11:09 | 2022-01-27T08:22:03 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] A man who has been dating a girl since elementary school goes to her father for her hand in marriage. The father says no. Tell us why and break our hearts. | "No." Never had I expected this very word to shatter my world. A year ago I was fresh out of high school. Once I graduated, I was nearly sure I would be cut off from everyone. I did, except one person. My girlfriend who I've been dating since we were little kids in elementary school. Her loyalty to me, and mine to her was more than enough to tell me that I need to marry her. So I decided once she went shopping for food, I would make a trip to her father's house.
As I walked up the steps, knocked on the door, my heartbeat was beating so frantically I was sure I would passed out right there. Once her father opened the door and gave me a disgusted look, I asked him to talk. He allowed me in and offered me tea. Once I politely sipped the tea, I asked "Can I marry your daughter?"
"Depends." He spoke at first. "Don't suppose you got the ring on you?" I smiled, I grabbed the ring and showed it to him. He stared at it, then pocketed. "The answer's no. Thanks for the ring."
"What? Why?" I asked.
"You're a mere cover-up." He spoke. I was confused. "You see, ever since her father died when she was three, her mother decided she needed a father in her life. So I came to the picture. Now sadly my wife's dead thanks to some drunkard teenager, my daughter is the only thing I have left. Since she turned 13, I felt feelings, and so did she."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. But he continued. "Hannah was embarrassed that she kissed me back then, but she couldn't resist her feelings for me, as well as I to her. So I'm going to ask her in marriage soon, you just saved me a couple of bucks. Now I would regret this, maybe not, but you're getting too dangerously close to this." He stood up and approached the sink.
I was still stunned, so I wasn't prepared for the next thing. A sharp pain exploded in my back. I felt something warm soaked my shirt as it made its way down to my pants. Her father pushed me off the chair, I collapsed onto the floor. I heard footsteps. My girlfriend walked into the kitchen, half naked. "What the hell? Did you follow me?" She growled. Shattering my feelings further.
"Honey, I'll take care of it."
"Remember, more than six feet deep, you nearly alerted the neighbors with my mother."
"Yeah, yeah." My visions distorted to black, I stopped breathing, I stopped feeling something.
-019 | Knowing this was his biggest obstacle left to clear, he knocked on the large front door, making sure to stay clear of the glass. He wanted as much time to mentally prepare as possible.
"Hello, Dr. Singh," he said as her father swung the heavy door open.
"Hello, Brian. So good to see you. Alana had mentioned you wanted to speak to me. Let us have some tea in the main hall? Make yourself comfortable and I will set the water to boil."
Brian removed his shoes and walked to the large room just to the left of the foyer. He sat in one of small teak framed couches near a picture window which overlooked the fifth hole green of the golf course. He collected his thoughts and prepared his mind to speak clearly and concisely, knowing that the doctor was a quick witted man with little use for verbal details.
"So, Brian, what have you come to discuss?" he asked as he set the tea set down on the end table between them.
"Well, Dr Singh, Alana and I have been together quite a long time and she genuinely makes me a very happy man. I work very hard to make her happy as well and I think I do a pretty good job. Her smile brightens my whole life. Her warm heart and intellect keep me in a constant state of wonderment and discovery. She really is an incredible woman."
"Thank you so much for the kind words, Brian. But I feel you did not come here just for that." Dr. Singh added sugar and milk to the gently spice tea waiting in each cup.
"You are correct, Dr. There is more." He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to appear calm as he sipped the still too hot beverage in his cup. "I'd like to ask your permission, Dr., for Alana's hand in marriage. I know in my heart and with all of my being that we would be very happy together."
"Well, the thought has crossed my mind many times and I cannot say that I did not expect this day to come." Something in his mannerism seemed to call Brian. As if the Dr. had a response planned. "Alana is my first born child and only daughter. I have worked all my life to provide for my family and the day she was born only galvanized my will to provide the very best for them. I can only assume you would do the same for your family. You have grown to be quite a responsible man in your adulthood."
"Thank you, sir. That means quite a lot coming from you."
"It means a lot to me as well, having watched you develop your talents into a career with such promise. But..." The Dr. sighed, his hands beginning to tremble. Brian instantly felt his world begin to shake. "Well, I have waited far too long for this and it has now become something for which I fear my daughter will never forgive me. Her hand has been promised for marriage since she was an infant. Her mother and I have never had the fortitude to tell her."
Brian tried to keep his eyes from showing his emotion, futile though the action was. "So there is no chance for us? No future now? Surely there is a way Dr. Please, I beg of you. Reconsider?"
"Unfortunately it is more complicated than that. I would gladly have you be my son-in-law if not for the very reason her union was arranged. I did a bad thing before leaving India for the States. I had to make a deal to get my brother out of prison for a pretty crime which I committed as a young an irresponsible boy. I fear that my past may well destroy my relationship with my own flesh and blood, all for a stupid mistake so long ago."
Brian was now a hollow man. His heart and future taken from him in one fell swoop. "I....I... What do I do now?" It was the only words that his mouth could form.
"There is nothing to be done, my son. The deal I made was with an....organization much like the Mafia. They know where I live. Where Alana lives. Where you live as well, I fear. If we were to break the deal, I'm afraid for the safety of us all. I cannot risk my family's safety just for one member's happiness. Please forgive me."
Speechless and in shock, Brian read the worry on Dr. Singh's face and in his trembling chin, knowing the situation to be true. He stood and calmly walked to the door, each step heavier than the last. He knew this would be the last time he could face the man who had been such a part of his life for the last fifteen years. He knew anger would come after the sadness, but he was sure he could never accept the last ten minutes of his life.
"Brian, I urge you to let me tell her. I am afraid that she will act in a manner that will endanger our family otherwise."
"I can't guarantee that, Dr. Singh. I'm sorry but I don't feel I owe you that anymore. I can only say that I am not sure what I will do now."
*I apologize for any format problems. Wrote this on my mobile.* | 2022-06-12T00:18:33 | 2014-01-19T16:03:41 | 45 | 14 |
[WP] Without revealing which one it is, re-tell a classic Disney fairytale as if its genre was horror. | Gasping, I run through the woods, lungs exploding, throat burning, gasping for what might be my last taste of air. I splash into a creek, hoping to hide there for a minute and catch my breath. I only have a two minutes at the most. I have to keep moving.
I had a nice, comfortable home. I had a happy life. But of course, good things can never last. I can picture the nice small farmhouse. The oven cooking a chicken, the fireplace crackling.
I can hear shouting in the distance. It’s time for me to go. I bolt from my hiding spot, and feel that familiar burning in my chest coming back. I dodge branches and jump over a log. I hear a snap and a whirring of gears as I jump just in time. Bear trap. I've heard to many bones snap and wails of agony. I know what it does.To get my leg trapped in there means death.
I don’t know how much I can run. My heartbeat is echoing in my ears. My world is turning black. I stumble for a bit but my face meets the ground. I pull myself up but it’s too late. I come face to face with those brown eyes, those eyes I have known all my life. He sneers, teeth pulled back so wide I can count all of them. I close my eyes. I’m beaten.
We were best friends. How did it end like this?
| It was all she could do to keep running. The jungle heat was like a thick wet curtain, constantly constraining her movements. The vines and creepers were like gnarled limbs outstretched to grip and entangle her. The roots and stones like legs to trip her up. Still, she kept running. She had to keep running. She had to get away. *They* were coming. She could hear them.
The others hadn't had a chance. *They* were on top of them before anyone could react. The cave was supposed to be a safe place. *He* said *they* didn't know about it, that *they* would never find them there. *He* had said a lot of things.
A sudden shout brought her back to the present. She heard a hiss-crack and a tree two feet to the right of her exploded in a shower of bark and wood chips. She had to run faster. She couldn't let them catch her.
Spotting a familiar rock formation, she angled towards it before heading down a narrow defile. She had spent enough time on the island that she knew it would take her towards the village. There was safety in the village. *They* never went there.
As she tore through the ravine, the vast sea of trees was replaced with vine covered stone walls. She had to take care that the loose gravel didn't cause her to slide, for if she lost her footing she knew they would find her broken, lifeless body at the bottom of the ravine. She could hear her pursuers’ boots pounding on gravel behind her, but thankfully the passage’s twists and turns prevented them from getting another clear line of sight. But they were gaining. She could hear it. She had to move faster.
Suddenly, another turn brought the end of the ravine into full view. She could see smoke rising above the trees. With her salvation in sight, her legs found new energy and she ran as if she were born to the jungle. As the walls of the defile fell away, she saw the tops of the tipis and longhouses begin to emerge over the trees. She cried aloud for relief and then she was flying. For a brief moment she thought she had finally figured it out, what *he* had been trying so desperately to teach her. Then the world began to revolve.
She hit the ground hard, her head smashing into a rock. She saw stars. In her panic she tried to keep scrambling towards where she thought the village was, but something pulled at her ankle. Something strong and rough. A rope. She screamed in fear and frustration as her hands tried uselessly to undo the snare that had caught her. The next moment they were on her. Large and muscular hands, calloused from pulling at strong ropes with heavy loads pulled her up and bound her wrists behind her back. Her screaming was cut short by a lump of canvas shoved in her mouth. She was hauled to her feet, spun around, and was suddenly faced with the thing she feared most.
He was like a grotesque picture in one of her history books, dressed in a naval uniform that hadn't been used in centuries. On his head he had a wide brimmed hat crowned by a ratty plume that must have once been white. In his left hand he held a battered cutlass, and in place of his right, there was a rusty iron hook. He had a long thin mustache held up by wax, jet black, the same color as his long greasy hair. It sat upon a cruel mouth below a purple bulbous nose, which sat like an inflamed pustule between the small, black, beady eyes of Captain James Hook.
“Why, Ms. Darling,” he said, “are you leaving so soon?” Then Wendy felt a pain in the back of her head like a nova, and all was darkness.
| 2014-08-04T10:54:13 | 2014-08-04T09:54:19 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] Your ageing family dog walks up to you one day with a piece of paper in its mouth. Taking the paper, you notice that it is a bucket list. | She looked up when Casper finished mounting the stairs from the basement and didn't wander over to one of his toys as usual. There was something in his mouth, although, oddly, he wasn't trying to chew it yet.
"Shit. What have you got?"
She set her book aside to go to the kitchen, Casper on her heels. He dropped the square of paper promptly in exchange for a treat, then leaned against her thigh and swished his tail over the floor while she blotted the paper drier with a dish towel and unfolded it.
*Bucket List:*
*Chase deer*
*Eat cat's food*
*Sit on sofa*
*Go with you*
It felt like a surprise remnant of childhood, like the scrap of purple cloth with *Ellie* written on marker that she could remember writing but couldn't remember what it was for. A scrap of some old story she'd forgotten, even though she'd never had a dog as a kid?
She sank onto the bar stool while reading the list over again. "Stop licking the floor," she added automatically. Casper raised his head from the tile under her stool and leaned against her again, sinking from a sit to a down with a long sigh as she scratched his head. She had to lean over to keep him in reach.
"You did chase deer once, remember, when you jumped the fence," she told him, looking down to meet his gaze. "Or you might have. Looked like you puked up more than a rabbit when you came home."
Casper's tail thumped against the floor. She leaned further so she could scratch the side of his head instead of the top.
"I know you always want to. But there's animal control, and the bear. Even if we haven't seen any trash cans knocked over yet since winter. And what if you got lost?"
Casper pressed his head into her hand when her fingers slowed.
"I guess I could look up how much GPS collars cost. And work on recall."
She looked at the list again, and smiled. "And cat food is too fatty to be good for you."
Casper uttered his soft, nearly sub-vocal whine that was mostly air, and possibly more pitiful for it.
"I guess you could have a little bit instead of a treat sometimes, but that's as far as I'll go."
She slid off the bar stool and sat down beside him, legs folded and back against the counter. Casper scooted around and let himself fall sideways to land his head in her lap.
"I guess you could sit on the sofa, too, except... well, we do have spot remover. And I don't think you leak very often." She grimaced anyway, though she kept petting him. "I'll put a towel down, all right? You can lay beside me on the sofa when there's a towel there. As long as you've been out recently."
Casper whuffed. She cooed and massaged his head for a few minutes.
"But you can't come with me when I go to work, honey. And I have to go. But I always come back, remember? That's the best I can do there."
Casper rolled to his stomach and wriggled closer, front legs tucked over hers.
"Dammit, I'm trimming your claws again... yes, I love you too. I do." She sighed. "I'll take you to the trail park again this weekend if the weather's still nice, how about that? Still no chasing deer yet though, if we see any. You know you probably couldn't catch them anyway."
She pushed Casper's head away gently and got to her feet. He scrabbled to rise behind her, and once they hit carpet dove to catch his stuffingless rabbit before she reached it. She snatched it up, rolled into a ball, and threw it for him. He barreled down the hallway after it, then charged back.
"You got it! Arrrr, gonna get it, gonna getcha..."
She went through all the familiar motions of their game, watching his legs for telltale tremors.
"You're not old," she whispered into his fur when the game ended a few minutes later, Casper sprawled beside her, rabbit neglected inches away in favor of her petting. "You're gonna live forever. We'll go to the trail park this weekend, okay?"
| I grew up with Ginger, but she wasn't my dog. That's what I thought when I was 11, of course. She was my parents'. They had her before they had any of us kids. It doesn't mean we didn't love her, but I think we took her for granted. She was a beautiful golden retriever with a luscious, dark coat of fur. She was stunning. My parents wanted to breed her, and put her in shows, because she was the ideal dog both physically and mentally. She was obedient, but had free will. She rarely ever barked. However, dare I say, I always wanted another dog. A dog I could call my own. Someone I can name, and walk, and all that. Looking back on her now, I wish I had taken more time to be with her, or just appreciate her. At least I had that one, last, moment with her.
Ginger was getting old. She soon went deaf, and then got cancer. She used to have a giant cyst in her foot that would pop and gross everyone out. She was suffering... We knew that she was nearing her end. However, I never truly felt bad. Again, I didn't see her as my dog. I loved her, but I didn't have the memories like my mother and father. It killed my dad to see her like this. Thus, it makes me wonder why she we went to me with her list in the first place.
Maybe she saw that I was a curious eleven year old kid, or at least once was. Maybe she always loved me, and I never took the time to realize it. One of my oldest memories is of one of my old cats scratching me, and Ginger chasing her off, and then sitting with me while I cried. We grew up together. Instead of being jealous like other dogs, she embraced me. When I put it in retrospect, I appreciate Ginger all the more.
Nearing her last days, I went into the kitchen to find Ginger sitting in her usual spot, right in front of the door to my back deck. She used to love going into the forrest behind our house and exploring. I never went with her, and always wanted to, but my parents insisted to let her be. She would explore for hours and then come back. She was insanely smart. Thus, it doesn't surprise me that I found her clutching a piece of paper.
I quickly went and grabbed it. "Don't eat that!" I yelled. I quickly snatched it, and turned it over.
'Ginger's Bucket List' it said. There was only one bullet point. 'Walk with my best friend.' I didn't understand. Did my Mom do this on purpose to get me to walk the dog? She kept telling me to get outside, and that I was playing too many video games. Doesn't she know that Ginger's foot makes it hard for her to move from one spot to another, let alone go for a walk?
I almost crumpled it up... But I was a curious guy back then. I believed things others didn't. I believed in Bigfoot. I believed in the Loch Ness Monster. Hell, I still do. So, I did what many wouldn't... I gave Ginger the benefit of a doubt. I looked up from the paper and saw her face. Her ears stood up and alert. She looked excited, full of life. It was a look that I hadn't seen for a long time. She must have known I had read it. I knew she couldn't hear me, but I talked to her anyway.
"Walk? Wanna go for a walk?"
I went to the back door and unlocked it. She ran onto the porch, but then stopped, and begun to whimper. I stepped out, locked the door behind me, and went to console her. I was right... her foot was in rough shape. However, my early roots of creative began to sprout. I found an old wagon, and I helped her get in it. It was a perfect fit. I made sure my parents weren't pulling in. If they saw me taking Ginger for a ride, they'd had flipped.
I wish I could get into detail on our walk... But it's difficult for me now. All of the colors, from the leaves on that autumn day, to the rotting trees that blocked a path or two, seem to foreshadow my dog's fate. Maybe that was her intent. She didn't need to tell me where she wanted to walk. I pushed her wagon through her favorite woods. Once in a blue moon she would hop out of the wagon and simply stare at something, almost reminiscing. It was an experience for me... My first time in this environment that was my dog's true domain. We finally came upon a giant ledge that looked out on the town below us. We stopped, and sat on the rock. I pet her as she basked in her world for one last time. It felt like hours out there. But as I pushed her back to my yard and lifted her into my house, placing her back in her favorite spot, I saw only 60 minutes went by. As soon as I locked the door, I heard the front one unlock, and my parents walked in. Nice timing, Ginger. That night, I gave her a treat and pet her head one last time (unbeknownst to me at that time) before going to bed.
I awoke the next day to my mom crying. My father had taken her to be put down. I, however, couldn't cry. Instead, I was just numb. The events that occurred just the day before seemed unreal. I had wanted to ask my mom about the note, but I couldn't bring myself to. So I kept it to myself. I still have it. My parents weren't happy with me that I didn't cry... They thought it meant I didn't care. Everyone has their own way of grieving, though.
I look back on pictures with her now and I shake my head. Her eyes were filled with love as they stared at my pudgy baby face. Her face was filled with delight in pictures where I was hugging her, or laying on top of her. She truly loved me. I wish I realized it then. How could I have been so oblivious? However, it doesn't mean I can't appreciate her now. Though I've moved from that house, I still go through walks in the forrest to reminisce. I made a lot more memories in that forrest, but that one takes the cake. I always sit on the ledge and look out. It's really an incredible view. I gotta thank my best friend for showing it to me.
^/r/NardwaurrWrites | 2015-04-06T10:16:37 | 2015-04-06T10:01:07 | 134 | 35 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | The van ploughed in to the side of my car. There was no pain, just a dull, tingling sensation all over my body as the blood leaked out and I faded in to unconsciousness.
I woke up. I found myself surrounded on all sides by an expanse of inhospitable, fissured rock of a dark red colour. What appeared to be magma could be seen flowing through the cracked geology, the occasional geyser spurting up with a brilliant intensity. The first thing I noticed, aside from my environment, was a figure approaching me from a distance. As he got closer, I saw an immaculate suit, and a face that looked almost human except for the deep, crimson eyes. He began to speak to me in a hoarse, strained voice, though I already knew what he was about to say.
"Welcome. I am the devil, and this is hell."
Though I had realised this already, there is no way to describe the dread that shoots up your spine when you these words are spoken to you. The second thing he said, however, took me by surprise.
"You are its sole occupant, well, except for me I suppose."
It took a few moments for this to sink in before my protest began.
"Really, I'm the only person to be sentenced to hell? What did I do? I never murdered, never raped, never stole. Are you telling me the people who did these things get to go to heaven, and I end up in hell?"
"Let me ask you," the devil began, "are you certain you died? What is the last you remember?"
"I was in a car accident, I lost consciousness, and I ended up here."
"Ah, exactly," responded the devil. "You lost consciousness. You have yet to die. My guess is that the paramedics will be reviving you in a few minutes. You see, the true reality of hell hasn't been expressed in any of the religious texts you humans are so fond of. Hell is an eternal punishment, and there is no crime you can commit on earth which could possibly warrant infinite retribution. Even for the worst of your species, the punishment would not fit the crime. Your presence here is only permitted due to the temporary nature of your death. Eternal punishment is only handed out for heavenly crimes, and I am the only one who has been found deserving. An eternal isolation in a barren, violent land. The only respite I get is when one such as yourself presents me with a brief moment of company. Time does not pass the same here as on earth, and the few minutes until your mortal revival will correspond to a few hours here. So please, do me the courtesy of a conversation. I'm so very lonely."
We sat down on the rocky ground and talked.
| Fred closed his eyes, the morphine finally kicking in. The car had come out of nowhere.
When he opened them, he screamed. The hot, searing pain of broiling flesh as his feet touched the brimstone beneath was just the beginning. It went on forever, a never ending wasteland with gouts of flame bursting forth from cracks in nature-free brimstone. The heat caused his flesh to crack, and the scream died as thirst overcame even the pain from his feet.
"Water..." Fred gasped, barely able to speak, and his eyes once again surveyed the desolate terrain before him. He was alone. Completely alone. No matter the direction he looked, no matter how far on the horizon he searched, there was nothing but the same fiery hell. Desperate as he spun, Fred crashed to the ground, and it began to broil his sides and back as he struggled, the very landscape attacking him.
Almost by magic, a hand suddenly appeared in aid, and Fred grabbed desperately at it, letting out a sigh of relief as he was hauled back to his feet before gasping at the figure before him. Terror began to ooze down Freds face as realization dawned on him. "I'm in Hell." he gasped, still desperate for water.
"Ah, well..." the figure fumbled, "... about that." Surprisingly, it offered Fred a jug. "Yeah. You kinda are." Fred eyed the jug warily, and the figure shook it, letting its contents slosh.
Fred grabbed the jug greedily, popping the rudimentary string and stopper before recklessly glugging down its contents. Liquid relief poured down his throat, and he gagged, and coughed some back up. When he recovered, Fred returned his gaze to the figure, curiosity on his face as he thought about what just happened "Water?" he asked.
"What else would it be?" The figure asked, surprised at the question. "No, ah, no..." It said, interrupting itself. "I have questions of my own... you see, I have this bet..."
Fred interrupted the figure, who was not as confident as Fred had been led to believe. "The one with God, right?"
"Oh! You know!" The figure was visibly pleased, and Fred found himself smiling back. "That makes this much easier. Well you see... things haven't been going so great on my end." It was Freds turn to look surprised.
"What do you mean?" Fred asked "Isn't Hell bursting with people?"
"Look around!" the figure yelled, its arms spreading to the landscape "Do you see anyone?"
"Well... no...."
"You're the first person buddy! Actually, what do I call you? I think we'll be spending a lot of time together, but I'm not entirely sure how this works...." The figure seemed almost self concious as it spoke, and Fred started awkwardly squirming, while desperately trying not to move his scalding feet.
"Fred. My name is Fred." Fred found himself desperately trying to grasp at the situation as he replied.
"Fred! Got it!" the figure replied, suddenly pilfering a pair of sandals from nowhere and offering them. Fred took them, shaking his head as he did so, but letting another sigh of relief out his feet were freed from the furnace below. "So ah, Fred..." the figure began, but halted, grinding its foot on the ground awkwardly in a fashion Fred found awkwardly familiar.
"Yeeesss...?" Fred replied, not unlike he would when others used the same stance.
"What, ah... what did you do? To get down here I mean?" The figure was visibly distressed as it asked, concern strangely dripping from its features.
"Well, ah..." It was Freds turn to stutter "I always thought I was a pretty decent guy in all honesty." He said, wondering if it is actually true as he surveyed the landscape once again. "Though I guess not..."
"What do you mean, 'you guess not?'" The figure looked confused, so Fred continued.
"Isn't that the deal? With God I mean? Bad people go to hell?" The figures reaction was not what Fred expected, and as he watched something he'd grown up to live in fear of suddenly have abject terror on its face, his own face began to mimic it.
"I didn't get told that bit!" The figure cried, pleading at Fred "What did you do that was so terrible!?"
"I don't know!" Fred shouted back, the situation rapidly deteriorating. "I drank. Does that count?"
"Why would that count?" The figure shouted back, Fred defusal attempt failing. "Drinking bad things kills you! It doesn't get you to Hell!"
"Well then I don't know!" Fred was getting frustrated at the situation, and stopped, suddenly thinking. "Thank you for the sandals." He suddenly found himself saying. "And the water."
"That's what others are for. To help." The confusion on the figures face faded as it spoke.
"I... I think I know what's going on."
| 2015-04-09T08:50:38 | 2015-04-09T07:56:32 | 1,736 | 16 |
[WP] Reincarnation has been proven, but you are reborn in the country that you died in. This prompts massive travelling for the elderly. You are someone about to die and desperately trying against all odds to get to the country that you want to be born in before you die. | "ORALE VATOS, LET ER' RIP!"
The acceleration was unbelievable. The rope around my ankles suddenly tightened and dragged me down the chute before ripping me up into the air and disconnecting as I reached the top of the arc of the trebuchet. I soared clear over the Rio Grande and got to steal a glance at a very confused border patrol agent. I'm sure the landing is gonna hurt, but not for long at least. Soon, I'll be reborn as an American Citizen, and then I can live my life the fullest. These tired old bones had lost their will to live and their taste for Tortas long ago. Soon, I'll be attending an underfunded school in hopes of getting grades good enough to earn me scholarships for my college education at a university which places the feelings of its students above the education they receive. Soon, I'll be beset upon by all types of persons with all colors of hair telling me that my American Heritage grants me inherent privilege, and that I'll never understand the struggle of being a minority within the domain of the patriarchal American Capitalist machine. I'll laugh quietly to myself, thinking about how they'll never know the exhilarating feeling of being tossed to your death via trebuchet in order to have a better shot at life. But what do I know anyway.
Oh here comes the ground. ¿Que? Mattresses? Foam Pits? PUTA MADRE THEY SAW RIGHT THROUGH MY PLAN. | The revelation wasn’t so much celebratory as it was deeply horrifying. I don’t mean horrifying like a loud noise banging in the night. It was more the kind where you lay down, mind reeling about the implications of your own mortality, realizing that your legacy is all you really have to offer the world. Realizing that what you have to offer is really something nobody wants. And you sink into the bulging coils of the bed, grasping this tenuous knowledge of what seems true, realistically a distorted, self-delusional gerrymandering of meaning. You are a fraud, and your life will mean nothing. And when it ends, no one will care. So I mean you know, that kind of horrifying. If only it was as simple as a scary movie.
The reincarnation revelation was met with thunderous applause by pretty much all world religions. Even Christianity, surprisingly, well as much applause as is possible by a heterogeneous set of edicts and interpretations. But for the most part, no one bombed churches over it. Perceptions were realigned, but I mean for the most part, once the real implications became apparent, it was hard to fight it. It’s hard to fight semantics when an unbearable catastrophe is creeping ever so apparently at your back. There was no rhyme or reason for it. When you are reincarnated you don’t retain memories, you don’t retain sentiments, personality. For all intents and purposes you are a completely different person. If your child picked up the baby you reincarnated into, they wouldn’t see a glimmer in their eyes of who you used to be. It was simply a transfer of, well I’ll just say, a transfer of “essence”.
That didn’t stop the major religions from interpreting this in whatever way they wanted. The most common, or well popular, was the construction of geography. This seemed to create the greatest sense of comfort. The idea that where you die is where you reincarnate. That your family, despite seeing a completely different person, might see who you became on a daily basis. Not so much the knowledge that any specific baby was you, but more the overarching understanding that your presence still existed. Relying on faith rather than observation, this unknowing truth that life continues. In fact, trying to time death with births was for the most part discouraged. Well scientifically because it was impossible to track how long the process took, if it was even constrained by time as we know it. But for dogmatic paradigm shift, simply because it shouldn’t interfere with loving everyone. If anyone could be the reincarnate, you are more obligated to treat everyone with respect, love and compassion. It was brilliant really.
It was actually the boon that they needed in an increasingly secular world. More so than the fantastical descriptions of hell, or even the indulgent promises of heaven, the real prospect of the cyclical nature of reincarnation established a whole new subset of dread. Of the almost certain loss of identity. No heaven, no hell, not even simply dissipating into the great abyss. There was certainty. There was the absolute truth that when you die, you are simply recycled. Who you were, who you loved, what you accomplished. All thrown into a trash compactor, a new life on the other side, missing the very elements that formed your identity. A lot of people assumed that a definite understanding of death would serve as a great weight lifted off our collective shoulders. That we could move on, and progress as a society without the giant elephant in the room. But it didn’t. Most people live only confronted with the reality of their lives and their deaths on those long lonely nights, restless from a hard day. Your mind reeling, but eventually relented by sleep. The next day waking up to the veiled light of a glint of future possibility. But now it was an omniscient presence, haunting the real moments of day to day life.
| 2015-12-02T09:02:25 | 2015-12-02T08:55:18 | 125 | 28 |
[WP] By the weapons you use, you will be known.
Was inspired by a recent conversation about manipulation and social behaviour. But could be applied in various other ways. | I am becoming death, the destroyer of worlds. I draw weak men into my power, molding them by the very sound of my voice. They deny their very soul and kill at my command, following my orders.
They slaughtered the Jews with me. I build walls, divide friends and create enemies. Every tyrant, every demagogue, and every villain wields me for their own perverted ends.
I am the last, best hope for mankind. I am the first right protected by our nation and the last refuge against ignorance and incompetence. I am a shining beacon of hope, urging others to press on where those that came before have failed.
They landed on the moon with me. I unite lovers, cross all cultures, and give meaning to life itself. Every king, every commoner, every intellect, and every leader crafts me to point the way to a better future.
I am as old as human history and as young as the morning dew. I dreamed with MLK, asked the country with JFK, and sat by the fireside with FDR. And though I change, I always stay the same.
I am mightier than the sword. I am words themselves, and by me all are known.
___
*Thanks for the prompt! If you are interested in more of my musings on words and other things, check out [r/mrme487](https://www.reddit.com/r/mrme487/)* | "Tell me," a man's muffled voice spoke from behind the doors of *Fish Leg's Inn*. "What is the weapon that should be kept sharpest?"
Thorn pushed open the double-oak doors and found the source of the voice. The man sat at a bar just a few feet away, hooded and stooped over. Even from behind, it was obvious that he was the target. Next to the old man was a young woman, if *woman* was even the right word. Thorn looked her over without moving his head. She had no tits to speak of and the ass of a girl, but her muscled legs marked her as able.
Save for the two of them, the place was empty.
Thorn walked over and took a nearby seat, signaling the bartender for the house special.
"You ask me this everyday," the woman's voice replied. She sounded tired.
"Well that's because you haven't found the correct answer yet." The man sounded like he was smiling.
Thorn turned his stool as the bartender put down his mug. He faced the two as they spoke.
The woman sighed. "Fine, what's the correct answer?"
"Hah!" The old man laughed abruptly and quieted just as quick. "Would that it were so easy. The correct answer depends on the person. Even the Battlemasters in Azar can't specialize in everything."
"Fine," she turned and stood up, heading for the doors. "I'd say it's the tongue, so that I can mouth off as I make my grand exit."
With that, the woman left the inn and the old man's laughter began again.
Thorn took a long drink and watched the man.
"So," he spoke with his back facing Thorn, "you gonna kill me already or what?"
Thorn raised an eyebrow in surprise, but stood and walked over to the man. He pulled the dagger free of his sleeve as he walked. When he reached, Thorn jabbed out and stuck the man in the side of the stomach. The man made a soft noise, but didn't so much as flinch while Thorn ruffled through his pockets.
"Where is it?" Thorn asked. His employers wanted the man dead, but they'd pay triple for the document he carried at all times. It wasn't important what it held. That kind of knowledge would only make Thorn a liability.
"The sharpest tool," the old man kept his eyes on the bar. "In my opinion, it's the mind. A sharp mind means a keen eye. You looked dangerous, even now in your neutral stance, you waver like the wind. So I handed the papers to my assistant."
Thorn scowled and left the man to die, heading for the doors with a quick step.
"Don't bother chasing her, I know you noticed her legs." The man's voice had a tone of amusement. "She was a courier by the time she could walk. You wouldn't have a chance. Tell me, what would you say is the tool best kept sharp?"
Thorn hesitated. He should he chasing the woman. He could catch her and take the papers. Make her pay for wasting his time. Reward himself for a job well done.
"Dagger." Thorn said, still at the doors.
"Well," the old man finally turned slightly and held his hands to his wound, bringing up the bloodied skin. "I would say you may be right."
He fell off his stool as Thorn turned and pushed open the doors.
His horse was gone and the rope that held it tied to the inn was cut.
*Yes,* Thorn thought as he began jogging toward the forest, the only place someone could hide in for miles. *I think I will reward myself*. | 2016-03-14T11:20:35 | 2016-03-14T10:55:50 | 37 | 11 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you. | *Where is my human?*
St. Peter idly walks with a gentle giant giant of a Rottweiler. There's a light breeze in the air, rustling the leaves to life.
"Max, he's in a bad place right now"
Max cocks his head to the side, ears opened, *He's in a bad place because I'm not with him*
St. Peter slowly walks up to Max, "It's the rules, Max."
He growls menacingly, *NO. I want to be with him!*
"There's procedures to follow, testimonies to-"
*BARK*
"You don't know the-"
*BARKWOOF You don't know anything about him. The last thing I remember was him crying when I was dying. I was on a table getting sleepy and he held me. He's still crying! He needs me! I need him!*
St Peter hovers his hand over Max's head, but stops. The hackles are raised. The teeth bared.
*Now!*
St Peter closes his eyes for a moment. The dog growling louder and louder. Suddenly the growling stops, and turns his head to the hill.
*Master? Master!*
Max takes off to the top of the hill. A familiar human is kneeling on the ground, "Max!"
"I've missed you so, so much"
*Me too* | Abdul shuffled by me. That's one of the upsides if you die in car crash with your best buddies: You're not alone in purgatory. He seemed to avoid looking me in the eyes and I didn't blame him. After all, I was the guy who drunk drove us into a tree.
Maybe things would have turned out differently if he had actually gotten his driving license. Being a good Muslim and all that he might as well embraced his role as the designated driver. But no, he had to save up for that ridiculous ice cream shop rather than 'waste' his money on driving lessons. If only he had thought of making it an ice cream food truck. We would all still be alive.
I always wanted to know what happened when you die. Not the entire afterlife, just the first second, that second when we pass over to the other side ... what is there? It's either nothing, or something. And if it's something, it's everything. It's like in that second it becomes all clear.
Except, it didn't. All we were told is that we were to be judged. And by whom: A court of animals.
All three of us waited. Sarah was called into the court room first. She walked a bit awkward with half a tree branch still stuck in her torso. That just struck me as unnecessary. Maybe the afterlife wasn't without a sense of irony and having a vegetarian killed by a tree was just too good to pass on. But apparently they had her materialize right here, branch and all. Or maybe she got to choose and figured it would gain her some pity points.
It took her an entire 19 minutes to come out with a huge shit-eating grin on her face, tree branch gone and ridiculously tiny, feathered wings that seemed tacked to her back in a rather half-assed manner. Her feet left the ground, she drifted towards the sky and whatever words of encouragements she was trying to voice at us were lost in the sound of fanfares.
Then it was Abdul and me. The devout, sober muslim and the drunk, smoky ribs loving atheist. We were always an odd pair. At least to most people we seemed that way. Truth to be told though, we just didn't talk about religion. Or about all-you-can-eat smoky ribs Tuesdays. We usually got along great. Well, aside from the fight we had that time we argued whether I was too drunk to drive or not.
Sure, it turns out I was a bit wrong about the whole 'no afterlife' thing. But at least I didn't waste my life following a set of rules that turned out to be just as wrong. I was still debating exactly how I was going to deliver that punchline when Abdul was called in.
He came out 24 minutes later, wings and all.
I was next. And I wasn't worried.
You see, I might have driven us into that tree, but at least that wasn't on purpose. Sarah on the other hand, had killed her boyfriend. Not in the drunk driving accident sense, but in the shooting with a shotgun sense. She claimed she mistook him for a burglar. Not a bad idea. Abdul came up with it. For some reason they thought that was the best way to get him out of the picture. Has no one ever heard of sending a break up text?
They had told me. That was the reason I was so drunk. And if those two walked, drunk tree hitting or not, I knew I was going to be in the clear.
The doors open. I step in, and stop. I finally understand why Sarah walked. I understand why Abdul walked. And I understood why I, am absolutely and utterly fucked. Judge. Prosecutor. Jury. Witnesses. All of them animals. All of them pigs. | 2016-03-24T13:23:57 | 2016-03-24T12:58:43 | 155 | 110 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you. | On the rainbow bridge I will look for you. Knowing that the only reason I am even there is because you plead for me and none could deny your puppy-dog eyes. Proving once again and finally that all a man needs for the salvation of his soul is the love of a faithful dog. | Alexander came into the 3rd floor apartment with a stutter, his glasses and awkward unshaven appearance left him unappealing. When my roommate, Casey, had told me he was bringing his friend over and that he was a little strange, he wasn't exaggerating. Casey had forgotten to mention a very important detail to Alex. The detail that we have a pet.
"Wow, you have a golden retriever!" Alexander seemed as excited as we were when class got cancelled. "That's a good dog, I can tell just by looking at him." "Oh yeah, he's pretty cool. I got him to fetch the news from the front too, doesn't even need a leash." "He's not your slave you know, this guy is his own individual, with his own hopes and dreams. He might have smaller aspirations and simpler drives, but they are there all the same." Casey and I just looked at each other, he didn't even ask who I was and I would be clueless to his presence if not for Casey telling me about him beforehand. I limply held my playstation 4 controller in my hand on the living area couch, unsure how to proceed. "I don't suppose that I could talk to him for a bit?" Now Casey and I were really confused. Did he really want to have a conversation with our dog? "You can learn a lot from animals, trust me. One of them told me something very important once, something that I can't talk with anyone else about. The gist of that conversation is to be good to all animals, trust me." I sat with my mouth agape, thinking if he was for real.
Without even attaining permission, Alexander immediately began sitting down and chatting with our dog. "What's your name man?" He asked inquisitively, and he seemed to expect an actual answer. "I see, well it seems like a good life." Casey and I were stunned. I couldn't even believe what was happening, and Casey started to realize that bringing him over was a really bad move. "You know, I eat 100% vegan. No animal products involved in my diet, absolutely not. I know it might not mean much to you, but I just can't eat meat or anything that an animal had to suffer for." This gross, unkempt man came into our house to spout off his vegan nonsense? I was about to say something but Casey immediately propped up and said "Yo, Alex, I think maybe we should hang out somewhere else, maybe your place? Alex responded "Sure, sounds like a plan." "Hey, see you later David." As Casey and Alex left the apartment, he waved to David, our dog. | 2016-03-24T15:04:21 | 2016-03-24T12:50:08 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | *Alex* had always been a tomboy, hair a dusty brown.
Wore *her* hair in a messy, spikey crown.
Alex liked their pants baggy,
Sometimes Alex stuffed it with a sock,
Her face was screaming cheerleader,
When what she wanted was jock.
She grew up feeling awkward,
As if she would never have her way,
Her town was not accepting,
So she couldn't come out gay.
She left Madonna Village,
To find herself a path,
But she felt so damn guilty,
She would gain God's wrath.
She was twenty when she met him,
With his face pale and poised,
Sam whispered in the morning,
"Can I help you pick out clothes?"
Sam would braid her hair with flowers,
He would dress her in white gowns,
He would tell her she was perfect,
With her daisy chain crown.
He would flame her cheeks with red,
Make her lips turn sunset blush,
And push her into the world,
The corporate fucking rush.
*She* was always shaking,
She felt like she was wrong,
She preferred her boxer briefs,
To a lacy, silver thong.
And Sam would let her dress him,
In blazers, yellow shirts,
He would ignore her hands shaking,
As if this physically hurt.
Sam was handsome, clearly,
But he withered in the suite,
No matter who said, "Nice, man"
Each compliment was moot.
.
One morning, Alex sat down,
A paper in her hand,
She read the headlines,
She didn't understand.
*Mugs Tell the Truth.*
*#1 Dad a Lie.*
*Every Single Mug!*
*No One Wants to Buy.*
It seems that some weird creature,
Had cursed the world to see,
Exactly how crappy,
Their parenting would be.
Alex watched her 'husband'
Move about the room,
Holding up his plain black mug,
Waiting for the BOOM.
She touched her own mug softly,
Her eyes growing so bright,
Right there is red letters,
It said #0 Dad, alright.
She didn't tell her husband,
She didn't make a scene,
But every time she touched a mug,
DAD could be seen.
She put her hand on her belly,
Perhaps it was time to tell,
That despite her growing hatred,
There was a baby in this shell.
| Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2022-11-12T17:52:35 | 2017-06-11T09:22:30 | 69 | 23 |
[WP] You are a 217 year old Galapagos Tortoise, and have served as the Presidential pet your entire life. You have been listening the whole time, and now technology has progressed to such a point that a device allows animals to speak. Your first press conference is about to begin... | **People of Americ- Whoa. Is that how I really sound? Soouund. Soooouuun-**
Mr Tortoise?
**Oh sorry. I'm just not used to, ya know. talking. Anyway. I have been in the oval office since the founding of this country of ours. I have been here since before the Washinton monument was dreamt of. I have seen the New World Order suppress technologies and people. I was there when George W. Bush orchestrated the attacks in 2001, and I have been here since the Muslim you call Obama came into office. I don't expe- Why's everyone looking at me like that? Is it something I said?**
****
My first post here. Don't judge meee | I've seen technology advance throughout the many decades I've been alive. The radios, the televisions, the cars, the planes, all invented while I was sitting with the President in the White House. I've watched action movies, you know how sometimes to create suspense they will make things go in slow motion? Well that's how it felt as I crawled up the steps to the miniature podium they had set up for me. I have always been slow, but I was slower now. I stood at the top of the steps of the capital building; miles and miles of people spread before me, like an ocean of beating hearts. I felt weak, it had been years since I had to move around to such great lengths. My feet trembled as I took the final step to the podium and stood in front of the microphone. A secret service assistance dressed in a black suit came next to me and attached the device to my head, the new device that aloud animals to speak like humans. I was lucky my life allowed me to make it to such advanced technology.
**Greetings**
My deep, raspy voice boomed across the whole crowd. They were silent, every eye and ear was upon me and it made my old heart feel young again; but not for long.
**Friends, family, Americans, I thank you for coming and listening.**
I liked my voice, I was glad I was finally able to hear it speak the words that I had been hearing my whole life.
**I have been around since Jefferson, one of the founding fathers of this country. I have seen this country grow and become what the founders wanted it to be, free.**
There were some seemingly nervous shifts in the crowd, some gazes were averted.
**I speak to you with the knowledge that I have gained through observing countless great men and women leaders. I would like to offer advice.**
I was getting tired, my voice was starting to lose its power.
**I have seen this country do atrocious things, I have seen the world get messed up time and time again.**
I stuttered and gulped, the words were getting harder to push out.
**But through it all, we have always come away smarter and stronger.**
The crowd's eyes beamed at me, every single person clinging onto every single word.
**There may be dark times and those times might never seem to end; but they will.**
My legs collapsed, my shell hit the floor of the podium creating a resounding thud. People started murmuring in worry. A man in a black suit started walking toward me.
**Remember, and I implore you to do so.**
I could feel my muscles giving away, the man in black walked up the steps.
**It's always darkest before the dawn.**
My neck gave away and my head slumped into the hands of the man. He gently lifted me and I had just enough strength to recline back into my shell. I couldn't tell if the crowd was silent or if they were responding to what I had said. Either way, I was proud. Proud of my country and proud of its people. | 2018-01-30T03:23:40 | 2018-01-30T01:36:17 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | New town. Small and quiet, perfect for my situation.
The authorities are after me. They know what I am : different, a national threat. They’re aware of what I’ve done. If they catch me it’ll be prison or death, the fate of countless others like me.
Stray dogs and playing children in the streets. Nervously, avoiding eye contact with the receptionist, I book a room at a guesthouse and try to sleep for a couple of hours but to no avail. I get up shower, put on some jeans. Head to the local bar to wind off.
Clouds of smoke, full of loud men. Standing at the threshold, I’m about to leave without getting a drink when she comes up behind me.
“Excuse me, are you getting in?”
•
Perfect hair, perfect nose. She smiles uneasily on the first date, eyes darting stealthily towards the door of the French restaurant. On the second date, I channel a German tourist and she is bored by my stories of Berlin nightclubs and beer festivals. On the third - me as a lumberjack from a neighboring town - this time she seems interested, eyes sliding across my bulging forearms and she even gives me a peck on the cheek but she doesn’t reply my message the next day. On the fourth, she asks me to walk her home, and I’m surprised because I, stammering and clumsy, had taken the form of a skinny bespectacled bookkeeper, a complete loser, but her interest was at an all time high, giggling and all that, hand resting on my reedy wrist.
She invites me inside. Small and clean place, curtains drawn tight. I sit on an armchair and try to calm my excitement: it’s a perfect time to show this beautiful woman the truth, before things got too heated, when she was least expecting it. Like so many others before her.
I want her to see the real me. As she busies herself in the kitchen, it takes a second to take my true form: tall and gangly, scarred face: the legacies of many a manicured victim.
I take out the little pocket knife and, approaching the kitchen where she is humming, hide it behind my back.
| **THUD!!**
"Ow! God damnit!!" He thought to himself so loudly he was certain that someone must have heard it. "Remind me to apologize to every bird outside my office. You really can't see the glass in the window can you? Well at least we know Windex really is worth the few extra bucks"
Irvine still hadn't gotten used to the bird body despite it being his primary mode of transportation around the over crowded city. "Or is it Vincent? No, no Vincent was last month. I thought using the names from my favorite videogames would make this identity thing easier" He spotted her in her usual place walking through the park after her day at work and drifted down to a remote corner in the trees to phase back into being a human. Shaggy black hair, little bit of facial shadow, eyes some kind of hybrid of green and brown, medium build. "Alright, let's try this again" he said with a deep sigh and walked out on the trail.
**THUD!!**
"Oh my god I'm so sorry" he said kneeling down to scoop up the papers that had been scattered running into Isabel. The Apple of Aries' eye. For months they'd been dating on and off. Unbeknownst to her of course. To her, Serge was just another klutz who spent too much time looking at his phone and not enough time watching where he was going. "If I don't text my mom right back, she starts to panic and next thing I know the police are knocking on my door. Or asking the receptionist at the gym if I've checked in. It's happened more than once." "Oh, that's alright. Thank you" She said with a sparkle in her limpid blue eyes that Leon had never seen in anyone else before. Maybe it was that, that drew him to her. She seemed unremarkable in nearly every other way, but in a way that seemed deliberate. As if she was trying to hide something amazing about herself from the outside world.
"I'm Andrew" said Dante extending his hand with the palm facing a little more upward than someone who would be shaking the hand of a person they just met. He knew her hands were soft. He knew she would place her delicate fingers in his palm and he would close his hand around them. With no small amount of luck, or tremendous amount of luck if any of his past attempts were any indication, he'd hold her hand every day. "Isabel" she responded.
It was a dance he'd done countless times before and he knew each step of each beat. He was a virtuoso at this point. After days upon weeks upon months of practice, he could do it from muscle memory. Asking the right questions, peaking the right interests, but not so much as to seem too good to be true or come off as a stalker who was just sizing up his next victim. "Are you thirsty? It's been a long day for me and I'm going to stop for a coffee. Would you care to join me?" With a bit of a snicker she replied "No thank you, I need to be on my way. I've got a few projects I need to get the ball rolling on." The glisten he saw in her eyes, like a lens flare in a movie made the hair on his neck stand. "Oh.. well.. It was nice talking to you Isabel. Sorry about earlier again." "Oh don't worry about it, have a nice day" she giggled and went on her way.
Defeated he walked into the coffee shop, so as to not seem as if it was all a wholly concocted scheme. "Fuck me!" Duke thought to himself. "I look like everything she likes in a guy! I share all her interests! I know practically everything about her! What more do I have to do!?"
"Maybe try being honest, and stop trying so hard Harvey Birdman. And by the way you're lucky I didn't crush you in my bathroom last week, SpiderMan. Don't be a perv. Oh, and lastly, I've been a gamer all my life. So don't think next time, when you say your name is Gordon Freeman that I won't get the reference."
Tim whipped his head around frantically! Running out of line and over to the window. There on the other side of the road stood Isabel with a twinkle in her eye and a smile that went from ear to ear.
"I'll see you next time, Luigi" she laughed. It was as if he could feel her breath on his ear. He watched in astonishment as she walked, unremarkably down the street, with her files in one hand and an ipod in the other.
Nathan smiled. | 2022-10-15T09:19:19 | 2018-02-14T09:10:57 | 93 | 59 |
[WP] Write a horror story. Difficulty: All characters are emotionally stable and intelligent | "What happens if I click here?" Jennifer asked? Eric smiled and shook his head, "I told you, the FAFSA will send your information to your university and your student loans will be officially set up." Jennifer gave the screen one last half-hearted eyebrow of skepticism. "You sure it's that easy?" "All there is to it! We're going to be the most prosperous generation in modern history!"
To be continued. | "Is this a prank...?" I spoke up, unsure if I really wanted an answer.
"Nope," Jimmy excitedly denied. "It was already there when I arrived."
I quietly looked at him.
"So you called me here because there's a fucking doll sitting in the middle of your living room?" I coldly asked.
The door leading to the bathroom suddenly slammed.
"Calm down, buddy," He then approached me and whispered, "Don't be rude. It seems to be quite sensible, this one."
I glanced at the raggedy doll, then surveyed the room it was in, immediately spotting a creepy-looking writing on the wall behind it.
> You're going to die
*It's not the most creative one though.* I thought, annoyed at the fact that even spirits have better handwriting than me.
"Is that really blood?" I asked.
"God, I hope not. Do you know how hard it would be to clean it?" The crashing noise of pans falling to the ground suddenly erupted from the kitchen. "Sorry! I appreciate your art, Mr. Demon!!"
I took a look at him, amused at his antics. Then I sighed and sat on the couch nearer to the door.
"Now, can you tell me why the hell you have a haunted doll and why you called me here?" I inquired.
"Okay. Last week I was browsing the eBay in search of Action Figures I could buy," He then squatted and picked up the doll. "When I found someone selling this wonderful tool there."
"Wonderful tool?"
His answer came together with a malicious grin, "Let me ask you first. Do you know who recently moved to the city?"
I stared at him, too annoyed to even grant him an answer.
"The Smith sisters, Ron!" He then pointed at the window, seemingly unperturbed by the lights unceasingly blinking in the house, "John said he saw those bitches living two streets away from here!"
"The ones who cheated on us?" I raised an eyebrow, "I thought they were still living with their parents in California."
"Not anymore," He said. "Apparently, they're living in the college dorm not far from here. And well... I thought it would be a good idea to send them a gift of welcome to the city, you know?"
I didn't need any more explanations to understand his intentions from there.
I grinned.
"Sounds like an evil plan," I pointed out. "Tell me more about it."
The malefic laughs echoing in the house on that fated night haunted even the Demon who witnessed the whole madness unfolding.
(Hey everyone! It's my first time writing fiction and I'm not a native English speaker so I would be really happy if you guys could help me improve both my writing skills and English by pointing out the mistakes I made writing this.)
PS: My question is: *Are they intelligent or not?* | 2018-08-13T19:52:30 | 2018-08-13T19:24:44 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] Aliens have realized humans advance more quickly during times of conflict, and have tried to push humanity into wars to see what happens. However, that changes when they start WW2 and humans harness the power of the atom. | \--Initiating boot sequence--
\--Loading Instance: 'Earth, Year 11,945.597'---
The display flickered to life around him. Bodies lay strewn around the battlefields, scorched husks of blown-out tanks lay abandoned.
"Estimated agent loss?"
Over the battlefields, millions of tiny motes of light lifted from the bodies, coalescing into a string of digits.
\--49,875,308 dead agents--
Y'xyl frowned. Was this ethical? As the rate of progress enhanced, these beings were edging closer to the galactic standard for sentient rights. The implications of this had never been covered in the ethics review- It was never expected to be this successful. All previous study iterations had produced crude metal tools at best. Y'xyl, however, was a savant. The manipulation of conflict as a variable appeared to accelerate rates of progress within the species at.
Outside his headset a different voice reminded him of the real world before he got too lost in though.
"Hey Y'xy, how's the science project going?"
"Galstandard tech level 0.864"
"Dude, you're missing your leading zeroes. I can't get mine above a .01 either, lemme check your outpu- WHAT THE XEM, MAN? I'm sitting here worried about a failing grade, and you've outpaced the global record by 2 orders of magnitude?!?"
Y'xyl chuckled. Just wait until he sees the next step. Technology spike predictions indicate the next advancement was due any minute now. The aerial delivery mechanism was over the target.
\--Galstandard tech level 0.865--
What? Just a .001 increase? That's nothing! All indicators had pointed to a major spike.
The metal casing dropped towards the target.
.
..
...
..
.
\--Initiating boot sequence--
\--Unplanned reboot detected, re-instantiating last known instance--
\--Loading Instance: 'Earth, Year 11,945.598'--
White light flooded the display. Y'xyl's filters crystallised over his photosensors until he could see again. He zoomed in on the image until he was looking at base code. The atomic bits flickered and shattered, fragments impacting other atoms. A chain reaction.
\--Galstandard tech level 2.04--
They'd broken the atom. The fundamental atomic bits upon which Tz'lrni computation was founded. They'd broken the fundamental code of the simulation into *smaller* parts.
For a moment, Y'xyl frowned at the ethical implications, but that thought was quickly overtaken.
He was going to be rich. | "So that is basically Frank whats being going on." said the man setting on a couch facing a very white grim faced man.
&#x200B;
Frank set there in silence for many minutes. "Frank are you ok?" said the man setting Frank's opposite. Frank just stared at this man like he had just made an unthinkable statement. Well in all fairness he had. The world had been set up, had been funneled, channeled into developing faster than it should. Now, well now what to do with this information.
&#x200B;
"Frank your people have harnessed the atom. You have unlocked a source of energy that will propel you far beyond your own planet. The stars await, and now you have the means to reach them, well given time." said the man looking quite excited. Frank just stared at his hands, shaking. Was it awe, was it anger, was it excitement? Frank quickly grabbed a trashcan and vomited into it. He cleaned himself up, composed himself, and seemed to regain some of himself.
&#x200B;
"So your telling me, that for how long, you been prodding us into war?" Frank asked. The man set there and looked at Frank, "From the time that you had the crudest civilization." said the man. Frank turned a slight shade redder. "And you just let us kill each other for all that time? You could have helped us, you could have guided us down a peaceful path that lead to world peace and we could have transcended ourselves to become.... better." said Frank getting more and more worked up.
&#x200B;
The man set there looking unfazed by the accusations. "You would still be painting on cave walls, and hunting to survive every moment of your existence if it were not for us pushing you. Also you would not be the people we need." Frank looked hard at the man "What do you mean, be the people you need?"
&#x200B;
The man finally looked a little caught, but it was just for the barest flicker of a second, but it was there. These humans are sharp. "Well" said the man "We needed you to be prepared to understand, and to be able to.... fight." said the man looking a little ashamed. "We, my people, have been at war since before your race ever drew its first breath. We have been at a stalemate, galacticly speaking with our enemy. They develop new weapons to use against us, and us them. We develop countermeasure, and they do the same. It seems never ending. We decided that we need a weapon that will develop itself, that will never be detected by them, that will come out of the darkness and consume them. We decided to develop, at an accelerated rate, an unorthodox Ally. Our enemy destroys all that cross their path, we try to protect as much as we can, but it is not enough. We need an ally that can fight, that does not think like us, that does not use conventional warfare, that will be merciless when the time comes, but can and will sort things out peacefully when able. That will use the quickest and least costly method of ending a war. Those 2 cities, were a great loss, and many lives were given so that you could reach this point. We know it looks bad, but tell me the truth. If your people, the entire human race were under constant threat, if one misstep would bring an end to all you know and everything and everyone you love, and you had an opportunity to end the threat as fast as possible, would you not take it?" the man set there visibly passionate but with sadness in his eyes. "It is not the way we normally do things, but it was the only way."
&#x200B;
"God help me, but yes, I would do the exact same thing." said Frank setting there looking a little defeated, but still visibly a bit angry. "When will you need us?"
&#x200B;
"It is not yet time to act, and your race has more development that is needed. Time flows differently for us, but for us it will be soon, for your people it will be a long time." the man looked deep in though. "When you are ready you will be ready to do what you were designed for." Frank looked the man dead in his eye, "And after that is done then what?"
&#x200B;
"You are accepted into our galactic federation as full fledged member. Your race will will be recognized for its efforts to end this galactic threat. You will learn new things, you will help develop new things, you will be one of the great races of the cosmos. All you have to do is agree. So Frank" Frank clears his throat, "Sorry, what I meant to say is, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, do you pledge the aid of the entire human race to the Galactic Federation when the time comes?" | 2018-11-27T15:55:08 | 2018-11-27T14:15:30 | 144 | 25 |
[WP]You are born immortal, but only your mind survives. Each time you die, your memories are secured in a random baby being born and have to repeat the life from youth to old age. After living for a millennia, you decide there is one solution: End all life and with it your unfortunate plight. | The world, as we knew it, burned. It burned like a candle, a cinder in the wind, a gentle glow in the cosmos.
The Geo-Energy reactor was a success, turning the molten core of the planet inside out and boiling the seas, melting the lands in cataclysm, dissolving the world in a red sea of uprooted magma and self-consumption and setting it to a collapsing orbit that would eventually impact the sun. Nothing would survive the twin cleansers of the land and the solar furnace. No new life to end up inserted into, a final, blessed end.
I embrace oblivion. At last. At l-
The memories flood in as I sit on the roof of a farmhouse in Kansas, a planet away from what I thought was the last time. The loving couple who adopted a baby seemingly sent from heaven in a bio-generation pod strapped to an experimental FTL engine.
I am the last son of my planet, and this time, I swear there will no escape from the next one. | I knew I got it right this time. The alliances, the backroom deals, everything. Just as I planned. Just as I slowly dreamed, watching the world change, becoming more connected, until the inevitable political cracks spread over the surface of the earth dooming it to shatter with just the slightest touch. And, hopefully, taking all of humanity with it too.
What glorious technology. Machines that could flatten a squad of men without a pause. Explosives capable of vaporizing cities. Deadly gas that seeped into your pores, killing an entire room of people in mere moments. Now or never.
I wrapped myself in a long black coat, hat tipped low over my face. Despite the heat of summer I couldn't risk anyone recognizing me. I worked too long, thrown all my skill and cunning into getting this position, and to throw it all away simply by being recognized by a passerby? No, that wouldn't do at all.
Nervously, I glanced at my watch, forearms coated in sweat. He was late. The alley was empty. I peered out into the connecting streets but saw no one who looked like my contact. Patience, I told myself, no reason to fall apart now.
There! A man was walking towards me, dressed in a simple shirt and slacks, much younger than I expected. A thin mustache hung limply on an angular face, he looked tired. His eyes, as I surveyed him I was sure he was my contact. His eyes were dead, hollow. The planning, the certainty, the soullessness, and most vividly, the violence. All there in equal parts. He was ready to kill.
"Princip?" I asked, lowering my voice. "Gavrilo Princip?"
He stared at me, unblinking. "Da. I am." Silence. He wasn't a talker.
I slid an envelope out of my jacket and placed it in his hand. Not looking down, he opened it.
"The wife too?"
I nodded in confirmation. "Yes. Both of them. In public. Use a rifle."
He sneered at me, the yellow, broken teeth betraying his poor upbringing. "You don't order the Black Hand. You give location and time, nothing else. We take care of the rest."
I stared back at him as he took a packet of matches out of his pocket. He lit one casually, bringing a cigarette to his lips as he did. With the end lit, he used the dying match to ignite the thin paper. We watched as it browned and curled within itself at our feet. With the paper reduced to ash, he took another long drag on his cigarette.
"The Black Hand thanks you for this information. You'll see your trust was not misplaced." He said to me, turning and starting back down the alley.
I watched his thin silhouette recede. He hadn't done much to reassure me that the plan would be followed through. All that time, all that effort, all those years of painful life after painful life. He didn't realize the scope of his future actions. None of those fools in the Black Hand did. Worrying about borders and territory, political nonsense. Their obsession blinded them to the chain reaction about to unfold, with all of humanity to suffer the consequence.
It would not be just the war to end all wars, it would be the war to end all life.
| 2018-12-30T12:29:41 | 2018-12-30T11:27:16 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | Most telepaths get exciting careers. Police officers, FBI, judges. Hell when I registered with the Department of Superpowered individuals I was hoping I could be an interrogator for the military or something.
The problem is, I'm in no shape for a physical job. I'm overweight and have asthma. Who cares? When will an interrogator have to run? The bad guy is already caught and locked up.
"You have to be intimidating," they said. Fuck them. I can be scary. I can be imposing if I need to be.
But no i got a job with a fancy title that doesnt mean jack shit. "Pre-employment satisfaction and employee retention agent." Sounds like a bunch of words someone strung together to sound important.
My job is to sit in waiting rooms during job interviews. I'm meant to look like just another normie hoping to get hired. While there I dig into your mind to see why you want the job, if you have any skills that would help the company, and most importantly find out if you lied on your application or resume. Then I report to the boss.
"She has 3 kids and the father left her. She lied about leaving her last job to 'seek better opportunities'. She will be miserable at this job and will probably leave in a month or two."
That sort of thing. But that's only on interview days. The rest of the time I'm just a normal employee. I work in the factory delivering parts to different departments. Why? So I can scan the folks I deliver to.
Do you know how exhausting it is hearing how much someone hates their job over and over and over ad infinitum? I almost never report those. Most of them are good people who need their jobs. I only report the ones who are bad workers or who dont really need their jobs. I'm also supposed to report those who might be looking for employment elsewhere. But I only report them if it might lead to a raise or promotion. You know, the really good ones that no one wants to lose.
I could have been someone important. I could have written a book, or been a politician. But instead I'm a glorified lie detector test for a company who only cares about their profits and turnover rate.
[Edit: holy shit. This is now my most upvoted comment......I feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.]
[Edit 2: holy shit. I thought 100 upvotes was a lot.
In all seriousness though you guys seem to really enjoy the story so thanks for that. I might actually expand on it later]
[Edit 3: my first ever award. Thank you anonymous reddit user.] | Nora woke up just like she did every other day. This time, however, was very different. Now, instead of wishing to be invisible, she actually was. And she wished more than anything to be fully opaque again.
She reported to headquarters, the same as the day before and the one before that. The days started to merge together. Her assignment was to go undercover, of course.
“Ugh. What else would be it?” she muttered under her breath.
“What’s that? Officer Tanner? Do you have something to say to me?”
“No sir, nothing at all,” and she turned translucent. When the powers first began she had control over them. It was exciting.
She thought back to the time where she caught her husband cheating on her. The idiot didn’t even have the brains or decency to not do it in the house. But she hated him and got some thrill from catching him in the act. She didn’t want to be the 26 year old divorcee and single mom without good reason. And boy did he give her one hell of a way out of that train wreck of a marriage.
She flashed into the memory of her daughter laughing as she turned visible and came to form once again. She was the best peek-a-boo partner ever. Her daughter loved every second. But now she’s 3 and wonders where her mom goes while she turns invisible in her bed. She cries while she looks for her and doesn’t understand what’s going on.
This power became an uncontrollable part of her. And it was increasingly more dangerous - not just for Nora but for everyone. People who were hired as messengers were falling out of the sky. Cooks were burning their customers to death. Super powers weren’t so super after all.
“Tanner. Tanner. TANNER,” her commanding officer screamed.
“Sorry, sir, I’m here. Where’s the job?” She shook out of her thoughts and came to form once again.
“Corner of 87th and Willow. And hold yourself together. We can’t have you turning back at the wrong moment. That would ruin everything.”
“Yes sir, I’ll be good.” He didn’t seem entirely convinced and neither was she.
After going through the details she knew what she had to do. She had to catch the mayor in action. The station had gotten a hit that he would be showing up to the biggest cocaine runner in the city to talk about their distribution route. No one was able to tie the mayor to it but it became increasingly obvious as time went on. The clues were there. Nora’s job was simple: put a video camera in 5 places, all while being invisible. She had to put 3 on the outside of the building, pointing towards the front, back, and side entrances. The other two were the hard part: get two in the room where everyone expected the deal to go down without being noticed.
It wasn’t the hardest task, she had done others before that were much more mentally draining. And this time, she probably wouldn’t see anyone get shot. She had seen too many horrendous acts on this job and didn’t have faith in humanity anymore. Being invisible wasn’t nearly what she thought it would be. It was hard. It was sad. And she saw the worst in people because she was there when no one was watching. The human wallflower was a title she no longer wanted. She wanted to go back to life before everything changed so drastically. But this was her reality, and it paid the bills for her and her daughter so each day she sucked it up and did it anyway.
She got to 87th and Willow in no time at all, and was able to place the 3 cameras according to plan. Now the hard part: getting inside without being noticed. She was invisible by sight but she still had form when she turned. One bump into a table or person and she was screwed. It had to be done swiftly. She had trained for 2 years to become nimble - she went to the academy that whipped her into shape while they watched her daughter during the day and paid for their shelter and food. But the job was stressful. No matter how many courses in meditation they offered, she always got nervous on the job. She had too much to lose. Her daughter needed a parent that wasn’t her shitty father.
Nora was able to catch the door before it closed and wiggle her way into the warehouse where the deal was expected to happen. There was a lot of space for her to roam which was always welcomed. She made her way into the room that she memorized before the job. She saw a shelf and deemed it worthy enough to climb on top of it. As she started to prepare she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” She thought.
Nora turned around and saw a man with glasses on staring back at her. She realized they were specialized made solely to see invisibles. She had come across a few during her job but they were really rare.
“I have a proposition for you,” the man whispered. | 2020-02-05T15:10:52 | 2020-02-05T14:48:26 | 737 | 217 |
[WP] "No person shall be executed without their last meal made to their liking." The prisoners know this and make insane requests. You, as the chef for death row, somehow procure the otherworldly ingredients for their meals. | Number 338462. Bank robber who took hostages and killed them. Said it was an accident. Asked for unicorn flank steak sprinkled with pixie dust served with roasted mandragora. Not mandrake, he wanted the real stuff that could kill its cultivator. Death by electric chair 15 years ago.
Number 448927. Serial killer who had a penchant for people who wore silk. "The Silk Strangler" wasn't a creative name especially since he didn't strangle his victims. Asked for Arcturan Meagdonkey. Someone read a bit much Douglas Adams. Death by injection 5 years ago.
Number 283371. Simple homicide for insurance money. Killed his wife, tried to frame the black neighbor as a botched rape, not knowing the neighbor was a war veteran who had injuries that made it impossible. Finally ran out of appeals and stone walling. Asked for hot wings made from actual demon wings. The Vatican made that an easy one to fulfill. Death by injection 3 years ago.
When the warden offered you a position challenging your skill as not only a chef but a procurer of only the finest ingredients, you took him up on the challenge. These death row inmates made for some of the most challenging meals. And they couldn't be sent on their way with a good meal. Almost a guilty pleasure, you looked forward to the next request each time someone else was to be executed.
But this latest one... This one didn't make sense.
With the warden's permission and escorted by guards, you approached the inmate's cell. "Number 619188?"
The lone occupant looked up wearily. "Yeah? Who're you?"
"I'm the chef for Death Row. And I'm a little puzzled at your request."
619188 looked confused. "Sorry? I mean, I didn't think it was difficult."
"Let me ask you something, you know how this works right? You don't go until you've had your last meal."
"Yeah, I understood that quite clear."
"So I'm surprised your request is a little simple."
619188 looked even more confused. "I don't understand. Can I not have my last meal or something?"
"I'm worried someone is messing with the system. So I came to make sure your order is correct."
"Tomato soup with grilled cheese."
619188 said exactly what you had gotten. You asked the guard several times if that's what he wanted. The guard said that's what he had been told. This... this was unprecedented.
When you observed the others having their last meal and saw before them the concoctions they ordered, you saw a look of defeat. Their last attempt to screw the system, or at least circumvent it, failing with delicious flavor. (Except that demon wing one. Cooked up nice but tasted like sin.)
Here before you was a man already defeated. His spirit crushed. You came here because you weren't being challenged. He was here because he didn't care anymore.
It was the last meal you cooked in that prison. It wasn't a fancy soup made from tomatoes grown on an alien world. It didn't use cheese that aged under the moonlight of a Tibetan monastery. It was simple.
You delivered the meal to 619188 and, for a brief moment, he smiled as if reminded of a better time. You quit after that, feeling that your skills had finally been tested and found wanting. Not because of a lack of talent, but because of a lack of humanity. |
“Frederick Tholl, it’s time. I trust that you have given some thought to your last meal,” I call out from the other side of the cell door.
Frederick’s gaunt face turns toward me. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking with his wild unkempt hair mostly obscuring his face. “So, you’re the head chef,” he says in a hoarse voice. “I’ve heard that you can make any food I want. How exactly do you do that?”
“A chef cannot reveal all his secrets,” I reply, smiling. “The king grants this final mercy to all prisoners that are to be executed.”
A harsh laugh comes from his cracked lips. “I was sentenced by the king himself. I can assure you that he is anything but merciful.”
The smile does not leave my face. “It is not my place to question the king.” “So,” I said, pulling out a notepad, “may I have your order?”
“I want the ink of a sea kraken, the wings of a vulture, the brain of a red orangutan, the spleen of a dragon, the liver of a red wolf, the tongue of a moon fairy and the tail of a raptor. And I want it all coated in white truffles and saffron.” He stares at me as he rests his face on the cold brick wall. “This should be interesting.”
I nod, jotting it all down. “I’ll have your food within the hour,” I said, walking away.
I descend down the dungeon stairs, until the only sound I hear is my own footsteps. At the very bottom, is a steel door guarded by two knights. The guards nod at me and stand aside as I open the padlocked door and pass through. There, at the far end of the room, is the real source of my ingredients. It is chained in a tank filled with black water and yellow slime, futilely pushing at the reinforced glass wall, trying to escape. It’s been almost twenty years since it was recovered from the Great Tomb of Ebrahaim and we still really have no idea as to what is or how it got in there. The Grand Maester theorizes that it might be the remains of an Elder God, beings that are said to have ruled over humanity before The Fall. Considering the astonishing things that I have seen it do, he very well might be right.
I walk up to the table that holds my butcher tools, and pick out a syringe. I prick it into my left arm, all the while focusing on the ingredient list that Frderick provided me with. Not just what it should look like, but also the smell and the texture. I don’t worry about the taste, the monster will take care of that for me.
Once I have my blood extracted, I move onto my next step. Flesh can not come from nothing, there must be an equivalent exchange. And so, in one corner of the room, I have prepared a wheelbarrow filled with rotting cow, sheep, and pig guts. I wheel it up the stairs next to the tank and pour all of the contents inside.
It doesn’t have a mouth. Instead, all of the meat liquidifies on contact and is absorbed into its slimy organs. It takes only a few minutes for it to devour what must have been twenty five pounds of meat. Then, I grab a spear that has numerous jagged points on one end. It’s time for extraction.
Carefully, I take aim and stab the creature at its tip. Instantly, it starts thrashing around and I hear a low wail that seems to vibrate the very air and echo from every direction. I don’t let it bother me though. I am focused on my work, on extracting the guts from within. Within fifteen minutes, I have enough to serve Frederick. The smell is horrendously foul. Like fish guts mixed with excrement left to dry out in the sun. I wheel the monster’s guts back over to my work table and I sprinkle my blood over the entire thing. It takes only a few seconds for it to start working. The flesh starts bubbling and I see it all emerging from within, all of the exotic ingredients that would normally have taken years to collect. I take a quick whiff. Utterly tantalizing.
“Your course is finished,” I called out to Frederick as I carefully pushed it through the food slot with my gloves. “Enjoy.”
Frederick doesn’t move. “I don’t want it,” he whispers. “Execute me if you want, but I’m not eating that cursed shit.”
I feel my smile slipping. “Guards, seize him.” Two guards barge into the cell and pull Frederick to his feet.
“Let me go, you monsters! I don’t want your stinking --,” his words choke off as I shove the moon fairy’s tongue down his throat. Instantly, I see his face change. It’s an expression of awe and joy that I’ve seen so many times before. He falls to his hands and his knees, and begins shoveling the food into his mouth as fast as he can with his bare hands.
He’s so entranced by the meal that he doesn’t even notice the red and black blotches appearing rapidly across his skin. Only when his hands start rotting off does he seem to get concerned. “What’s happening?” he says in a unsteady voice. “I can’t --” Those are his last words before his entire body dissolves into a mess of bloody guts and red slime.
I poke my way through the entrails until I find what I’m looking for. A red slug, no bigger than a mouse, thrashing around in its own guts. “I’ll add it to the rest of the king’s collection,” I state to the guards. “Burn everything else.” | 2020-02-19T08:32:16 | 2020-02-19T08:26:06 | 429 | 234 |
[WP] Every 10 years, you are expected to go to a meeting you have already been to; one attended by several future and younger versions of yourself, each version separated by 10 year intervals. The youngest you is 10, the oldest 90. You relive the same meeting, just each time from a different angle. | 40 was complaining that there was no free will in the world. The fact that we had to come here every 10 years seemed to back that up. However, I always found it unsettling that 90 disagreed. What does he know that I don't? And why didn't 70 or 80 care?
We only had an hour together so I had to stick to the plan. We were sitting in a circle, ordered by age, 20 to my left, 40 to my right. It seemed like an AA meeting but with more lunacy. 20 was being pestered by 10 about lottery numbers the whole time so I had to try to keep him focused.
"Listen. Hey, listen. You have to be more assertive. Start learning Jiu Jitsu, okay? You don't have much time. And learn to become a better swimmer and focus more on your grades."
40 was trying to get my attention too, but to a lesser extent. He had obviously become shredded recently and looked successful so I thought I'd get by fine for the next few years. He spent most of the hour talking to 50 about some girl named "Jen". That wasn't my wife, so I'm not quite sure what the deal was. I asked 40 about it but he brushed off my question.
60 didn't speak much. He was the only one wearing flannel and suspenders. He also had a beard that went down all the way to his belly. He was the oddest looking one of us. But for some reason, 70, 80 and 90 didn't talk to him much. If they had the answers, shouldn't they be trying to fix him? He didn't try to talk to 50 either. Whatever the issue was, it was obviously going to be a rough one.
70, 80 and 90 were in their own clique. The other adults among us were trying to glance into their conversation at times but understood very little. From what I gathered, the Neuralink experiment was successful. Whatever that meant. The only advice they had for the rest of us was to enjoy our relationships and take care of others. I've heard that before.
20 had gone back to arguing with 10 about sports, Kony 2012 and Silicon Valley. I had to keep him on track. We had 5 minutes left. I took his glass of orange juice and poured it on his head. He turned around and looked like he was about to hit me, but quickly realized that he knew that was to come. He wasn't paying attention to 10 any more. In fact, both 10 and 20 were now fixated on me.
"Stop thinking about money. There are more important things to worry about. You need to start learning about algorithm design. The computers are going to come hard and nothing will matter."
They looked at me with blank faces.
"You know, Kalman filters, Kernel-based classification, that sort of thing."
I hadn't thought this through. That must have been the "K-words" I kept thinking about.
"Okay, listen. Just keep an eye on a company called Google. Drop all this racing nonsense and try to get into there. That way you'll be in control when it happens."
60 looked at us and laughed. I knew it was futile.
More at [my profile on Short Story Space.](https://shortstoryspace.com/u/Abu) | *What's your secret, little rock?* Bill pondered to himself, sitting on the cliffside. The Grand Canyon was beautiful this night. The mesa stretching to the jagged horizon, the distinct shape of its walls... what carved them? What was their story?
He picked up the rock on his right, wished it a more interesting decade, and let it bounce down.
"What's up, honey?" asked a voice behind him.
"Nothing, Vic. Just... y'know."
"Yeah. Well, good luck, and don't fall down when it happens."
She hugged him from behind and kissed him goodbye. Bill smiled. She was right, he was due in ten minutes, it wouldn't be wise to sit on the edge by then. He walked back and lay down, then looked to the stars.
Millions and millions of different little dots in the sky. Like the possible life paths he once imagined... but, as this decade proved, he was stuck in just one. A thought comforting and claustrophobic at once. He tried to make it different this time, make it better, but the stars were unyielding. And Fours was always so bummed...
He reached for a photo by his side, but the stars vanished. So did the picture.
Bill stood up and looked around. The others have arrived too -- himself, all of them, at different ages. He smiled at his ten year old self, naive and hopeful, amazed by the cursed room. Twos was here too, looking so determined, Fours and Fives bummed as usual, the elders sitting at the table already, and Threes...
Oh, right. He was Threes this time. His given name for his thirty year old self.
He sat down, feeling as though he was watching himself from the outside. Of all selves, Threes was the one he focused on the most last time, he remembered every move he was about to make. He felt tugged along on rails, yet every twitch of his body was his own intent somehow.
How? How could the cursed room do that?
He sat in silence, watching the elders start the meeting as usual, focusing on Fours. He was so depressed... he had to ask why, what went wrong in the next decade. His gut jolted as he realized it was _his_ next decade. He was going to be Fours the next time.
To hell with all that.
He waved to the room, forcing himself to move contrary to how he remembered. And it _worked_. He could move off the rails.
Fours gave him a passing glance, then looked down again. Did he change something? He had no idea. It didn't seem as though anything major happened. Then, Twos looked at him, and he remembered. He did wave the last time.
But... how? He distinctly remembered Threes never moved, but now he questioned himself. The memory was there, but at the same time he had another now.
Was _this_ the way? How far could he push it?
His life, his first thirty years flashed before his eyes. He didn't have many regrets, his path so far was not glamorous but not terrible either, and there wasn't a life choice he ever chickened out of. Seeing his destiny for the third time now gave him a weird confidence. It was all going to work out anyway, so why shy away from anything?
But, digging in his memories, he remembered the worst day of his life. Three years ago, Buttercup, his wife's dog was hit by a car and passed away. The memory of her crying over the Newfie's lifeless body still made his heart ache.
"Hey, you okay?" asked Twos.
"Yeah... thanks, I'm good," he said as he was supposed to. "Wait, no! Listen..."
Twos glanced worriedly at the council, then leaned closer.
"May 2nd, 2010. Buttercup is gonna be hit by a car. Just... keep her home, will you?"
A shriek echoed across the room.
Bill looked up, alarmed. All the other Bills around him did the same, and Sevens rushed to help an elder. Nines was in pain, holding his heart. This was _definitely_ not planned. Oddly, Fours was the only one not to get up, he just sighed.
"WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE?" roared Eights, looking around the room, then fixating on Bill. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
"Um..."
"Leave him alone!" said Twos.
"Shut up, kiddo!"
"Aaargh..." sounded Nines and his voice trembled so weakly it made Bill afraid for the first time ever in the cursed room.
"CUT IT!" said Sevens. "CUT IT, NOW!"
In a blink, the room disappeared. Bill lay on the rock again, stars filling in his view once more.
His face was wet.
He sat up, confused, but he didn't have much time to think before a giant ball of fur smashed into him.
"Hey, Buttercup! You're alive! YOU'RE ALIVE!"
He hugged his dog, euphoric. He did it! He changed time, save his dog... he jumped up and ran towards the tent to wake his wife.
Empty.
"Hey? Honey? Victoria?"
As he stood up and looked around the Canyon -- Buttercup nearly knocking him off his leg -- a sinking sensation fell in. He remembered every last memory with his loving wife, but now there were new ones...
He walked back to the photo, horrified for what it may hold. It was no longer his last photo of Buttercup. Instead, it showed his wife, just before... before the accident...
He looked to the stars, eyes tearing up, but there was no use. They were closed for another decade. | 2020-05-25T06:54:47 | 2020-05-25T06:52:41 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | Captain’s Log: 2437.04.08
The human, the one that calls itself ‘Cassandra’ (I hope I’m spelling that right), never ceases to amaze me. Ever since we picked it up from that freighter, I feel like we’re learning something new about it.
Just today, one of our crew dropped the ball and forgot to inform it that we’d be warping through QB-642 (The Braize System). “It was just a short jump, one that we’d done over a dozen times. I thought it would know by now, and I completely forgot,” Lumang admitted to me.
I, not knowing the extent of human resilience, informed him to prepare a casket and jettison it and that it was a regrettable loss, but just then I suddenly heard Cassandra squeal with what I assume is delight; I’ve heard it make the same sort of noise before, after it consumed its favorite food or some such ‘joyous’ event.
And there, through the door of my quarters scampered in the happiest human I’d ever seen. It exclaimed, using the universal translator we’d given it on a lark, “Did you see it?! The stars! There’s so many!”
Naturally perplexed, I asked it if it had donned the anti-warp gear, as we’ve trained.
“The glasses? No,” it told me. (Thank god universal translators work with such basic vocal cord arrays) “They’re so dark. I felt the bump of the warp and then Lumang looked at me, then ran to your quarters. Prolly (sic) to tell you about the stars.”
I blinked in stunned shock. I was about to order a battery of tests to be performed, to evaluate its mental state before it told me, “It looks like something I saw before! Do you have any mirrors?”
Still shocked from seeing that the infinity of the stars seemingly had no effect on the human, I obliged and handed it a mirror that I kept on my desk. It shook its head. “I need another one.”
Curious, I stood up and led it to the bathing quarters; I knew there was a large mirror in there. I know Cassandra did, too, for it seemed anxious about arriving there. Cassandra, if nothing else, is a little ball of energy. I’m thankful that it hadn’t been driven insane; its companionship has certainly held back the tedium of this long voyage…
After leading it to the mirror in the bathing area, it stood with its back facing the large mirror, as it held the smaller mirror in front of its face. “Like this!” It cheered. “Like this!”
Now, morbidly curious, I held my hand out for it to give me the mirror, which it did, baring its teeth with a twinkle in its eye. I’m still uncertain what this display means, but there’s something in my that fears it, or at least has a healthy respect for it, in retrospect.
I held the mirror up to my face, standing with my back to the larger mirror, just as the human did and beheld…Infinity! I dropped the mirror from shock, as the human made a sound not unlike that of a laugh.
The image is still burned in my mind, I cannot unsee it. Hundreds and thousands of copies of me, stretched down an infinite hallway…
This bears more research, for certain. How could we have been so blind before?
After posting this log, I’m going to requisition more mirrors. The question is, where am I going to find volunteers to perform future experiements? | The sound of raised voices, made metallic and incomprehensible as they echoed through the angles and curves of the ship's hull, reached his ears well before MedBay 3 came into view. His skin rippled at the sound, and Commander Jesk swayed sympathetically in time with his heartbeat.
"Will you just...Argh! Don't you dare!" A human woman's voice resolved into words from an echoing shriek. "Just...Just listen to me! Okay! Just listen to what I am actually saying!" A lower voice bubbled just below hers then, words indistinguishable from this distance. He strained his ears but flinched when the shriek came again. "Get away! Let me talk, for Heaven's sake! Stop that!"
The Captain rounded the corner, Commander Jesk a step behind, and took in the scene before him with grim, cold eyes. His heart pounded.
His First Medical Officer panted in a corner like an animal, back pressed against the wall and hands outstretched above the medical table she had thrown to the ground at her feet. The Chief Medical Officer lay in a dark heap, limbs wrapped around...something. Second Medical Officer Serratt loomed over the two bodies, a stunner in one small hand and wide eyes fixed intently on the woman in the corner. For a beat, there was only the soft swishing, swaying of Commander Jesk's body.
Then the two Medical Officers noticed the two silhouetted in the doorway and snapped to attention. "Captain, Commander." the two said in unison. The Captain's skin rippled again, and Serratt turned their eyes on him, a low, nearly sub-audible hum building in their chest. Commander Jesk and First Medical Officer Tara glanced uncertainly at each other, privy only to the edges of the sub-sonic conversation between the two An'anama'ri. As the near-silence stretched on, Commander Jesk tapped a foot-like protrusion impatiently on the wall beside him.
The Captain held up a hand, turning his wide, lidless eyes on Tara. "First Medical Officer Tara Enmar." The human woman nodded slowly, chest still rising and falling with rapid, frantic exertion. "Second Medical Officer Serratt informs me you have experienced a traumatic psychological shock and have responded violently to sedation attempts. Explain."
Tara shook her head, one palm pressed flat against her chest. "I...yes, that's partly true, and I tried to explain but they - "
"From the beginning." the Captain said. "What was your purpose in removing your warp shielding prior to an active warp transport?"
Tara sighed. "I have heard reports that human subjects tested on human warp ships have suffered no adverse affects from entering warp space unshielded, sir."
"It is believed that human-manufactured warp drives engage warp space through different means than standard warp drives."
"Those claims are unsubstantiated, sir." Was that...irritation, he heard in her voice?
"I was unaware you had passed the Engineering Licensure Exam, Tara. I'll be sure to send a congratulatory gift to your quarters." The skin of her face flushed, and he felt a small hum of satisfaction in his chest. What an unfortunate situation. He *liked* the human - the were not so different after all, the humans and the An'anama'ri. "What was your purpose in removing *your personal* shielding?"
"I wished to substantiate those claims. Sir. And as I am presently the only human onboard...and it would be unethical to conscript another human for research purposes..."
"Bad science." Second Medical Officer Serratt hissed. The Captain noted that Serratt had not released their grip on the stunner.
"Bad science, indeed." The Captain nodded. "What are your preliminary results?"
"No effect, sir." Tara said. Serratt rumbled, outraged, and gestured with their free hand at the carnage strewn across the floor. Tara frowned. "Chief Medical Officer Lee was attempting to electrocute me, and *you*, Serratt, were trying to turn me into a vegetable based only on some pre-conceived notion that I was undoubtedly, dangerously insane. Violence only in self-defense."
The Captain raised his hand again. "It is...impossible, Tara, to view infinity and return as you were. This is well documented."
Tara's clinical facade cracked, and her hands drifted upward, ready to begin that wild gesticulating humans sometimes did. "That's what I've been *trying* to *tell* you! It doesn't make any sense! If it was purely a psychological response, how could every single sentient being have the same response? Don't you think there would at least be some variation between individuals? And why isn't there a single documented human case? Humans are idiots - there's no way someone hasn't forgotten to put on their shielding before a jump, it happens all the time! I'm not going to sit around and let you all cover this up while those damn imperialist bastards are getting the jump on us! If there's a physiological difference we need to understand that, and if it's a problem with the machi-"
MedBay 3 abruptly filled with silence as Tara crumpled to the floor. Serratt turned to the Captain, their skin rippling in displeasure.
"Serratt," the Captain said, sliding his own stunner back into its holster, "place her in restraints and keep her comfortable. Monitor her condition - document *everything*, even if it appears inconsequential. I'll be holding you personally responsible, Second Medical Officer." He turned on his heel, not wanting to watch the restraints slide into place.
"Commander," he said as they strode back up to the Command Deck, "schedule an emergency communication with the Ministers of Health and Medicine, Engineering and Technology, and Defense." Commander Jesk wobbled unsteadily. "Ah, my old friend, I'm afraid she's right. And if she's right, we've got another war coming." | 2020-07-14T03:55:51 | 2020-07-14T03:54:08 | 61 | 13 |
[WP] You've become friends with a murder of crows. They occasionally mimic you, saying simple greetings or short phrases. Today, they seem uninterested in your offerings, and almost appear on edge. Waiting for something. You try to ask them what's wrong. "Hide," one caws swiftly. | We're wandering in the park where we run what's been affectionately dubbed the 'Crow Experiment,' when I hear it.
"Hide," caws a crow. It ruffles its ebony-dark wings as it admires its taloned feet, glinting in the sunset.
“Damn it, Kyle, stop tampering with my experiment! It’s not funny anymore.”
Kyle doesn’t respond.
He’s been unusually quiet today, not like his normal cheerful self at all.
“Kyle. It’s not funny,” I repeat.
He still doesn’t answer. His face is tinged with green, and his hands shake a little as he takes a sip from his coffee mug.
Finally, he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I know what you’ve been researching. Why you’ve captured so many crows, why you’ve been bribing them with treats. Why you've been,” he hisses, looking around apprehensively, "teaching them to *speak.*"
I laugh nervously. “What do you mean?”
"st-op--" a crow croaks.
I turn around to glare at it, making a mental note to remove the crow from the sample population later. A fair experiment is crucial if I want a valid result.
"Stop denying it! I saw your notes on the 'Crow Goddess'; I know what you're planning. It's not going to work!"
I wonder, briefly, if the liquid in Kyle's mug is really coffee. I sigh. "Look, I don't know what you saw, but whatever it was, I can explain! I swear. Let's go back to the lab, okay? We can take a day off, maybe watch a movie or something. I've clearly been overworking you."
He shakes his head violently."No! I know what I saw," he seethes," and I'm warning you. I'm reporting you to the authorities--summoning spells? Merging rituals? *Blood sacrifices*?"
Another crow screeches. "Flee--"
"See, even the crows are telling you to stop! You don't know what you're messing with."
I smile. Kyle finally registers something is wrong. He starts backing away from me. "No. No, no, what did you do?"
"Oh, Kyle. It's too late. I know *exactly* what I'm messing with."
The murder of crows gather around me, their ebony-dark wings fluttering, razor-sharp talons glinting, gleaming a metallic shimmering crimson as the sun dies.
I smile at what used to be Kyle.
"Silly Kyle. The crows were never talking to me." | The word felt like a cold metal blade sliding down his spine, slick and fatal. A dark sense of dread clawed deeply at his stomach while he looked at the silky, black eyes that the crow had. *Did that crow really just tell me that?* Anthony was standing on the porch of his house, trying to enjoy the cold night with his avian friends and smoke a cigarette before retiring late like he always did.
"W-What did you just say?" The reply was automatic, not fully realizing that he was asking a bird to explain itself. There was, of course, no reply. They all just stared at him coldly, and Anthony couldn't help but shake the feeling that they all looked different. He felt like they were trying to tell him something with his eyes, all of them, staring right at him. It put him on edge.
He smoked his cigarette, thinking about what the crow just said and trying to not panic. "Hmm," He said to himself. "I wonder who taught you guys that word."
Suddenly the murder of crows erupted into a mess of caws and panicked flapping. Anthony flung back to the wall in surprise and watched as the usually well-mannered crows threw themselves into a mess of black feathers and began frantically flying away. As their caws became echoes and their black outlines became memoires in the midnight sky, Anthony suddenly realized what he thought made their eyes look different than before, they were scared.
His heart began to race, all of this wasn't a coincidence was it? Why would they tell him to hide? Why were they scared? Did they know anyt-- *Click...* That was his front door... He lives alone... My god...
Like a stone his heart sank and his face went pale white, Anthony came to the horrible realization that the crow was indeed warning him and that something was indeed coming. He didn't know what to do, he was on his balcony and he was sure that his front door was just opened. Was there someone in his house?
*Thud... Thud... Thud...* My god, that's footsteps, it sounded like the bottom floor. Anthony quickly and quietly slid open the glass door and snuck into his house. The air felt like horrible steel and Anthony was positive that he wasn't imaging things.
He didn't have a gun or anything like that, so all he could do was heed the crow's advice and hide. But where? *Thud... Thud... Thud...* My god he couldn't believe this. Was this person here for him? Quick, Anthony saw his bed and realized that he could surround himself with random boxes he had been keeping there and hide himself completely. There's no way this person would go digging around his stuff just to find him. Swiftly and quietly he dived under the bed and arranged it so that he was covered on almost all ends. The only opening was at the end of the bed opposite the door, looking directly out towards the balcony from where he has just came. *Thud... Thud... Thud...*
Anthony tried to control his breathing, don't panic. He slowly sighed and looked out into the darkness of his balcony, thinking deeply about what was happening. In the middle of his thoughts, he started to see something out on his balcony... Was he imagine things, what was that... My god, he was sure of it, on his balcony were he just was he saw a man standing there, looking right at him. The man's face was shrouded by the darkness of night, and his shoulders were hunched beside him like some sort of tense mountain of flesh. He wasn't moving, he was just staring at Anthony.
It was horrible, Anthony felt like a caged animal. How did he get out there, the only way was from the very door he had just left from. Okay, Anthony thought, maybe if he charges in here I'll have time to flee from the door behind me. Yes.. yes that's it, I don't care how he got there, he sure won't have time to block my way out from the other door. This was it, whatever this man wanted didn't matter, Anthony would be able to escape and get away to tell the police.
It was then that Anthony came to a horrible realization. Anthony looked out of the glass doors at the large, dark figure staring at him, and realized that he wasn't looking someone standing on his balcony, but instead was looking at the reflection of someone who was standing right behind his bed. *Bam!* The man grabbed Anthony's ankle from behind him and began to drag him out of it screaming.
Outside of the house, in the dark peace of a cool midnight, the murder of crows all circled the house from high above. All cawing in ominous unison, "**Hide! Hide! Hide!**"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed check out my subreddit! r/mrsharks202 | 2021-12-29T08:42:33 | 2021-12-29T06:45:07 | 84 | 44 |
[WP] You are a superhero who keeps his identities private, even your sidekick doesn't know your normal identity. Today you come home to find your wife in bed with your sidekick. | And there was Stormstrike. My sidekick. We had saved each others' lives dozens of times. We were brothers. Closer than brothers.
And now, he was in bed with my wife.
I stalked forward, fists clenched. He heard me, of course, he has senses and reflexes far beyond a normal human. In a second, he'd rolled to his feet, awake and alert, crouched on the bed and ready to strike. When he realized it was me, he relaxed, and just stared. Looked me right in my face, like everything was normal, the bastard.
And then, Sara woke up.
"Baby, wait please, just let me explain..." Sara said, panicking, as she saw me looming over them in pale dawn light "I'm sorry, I know it's wrong, I...I..should have talked to you, but...it just sort of happened, and I just..."
She embraced him, protectively. "...I love him."
I was silent. Storm was silent. I realized, to my chagrin, I had joined a long line of my own defeated foes, in making a foolish mistake: I had underestimated my sidekick. I should have known better. I'd seen what he could do, and I knew the intellect hiding behind the chipper, carefree persona.
I should'nt have been surprised, that he'd figured out a way to escape his kennel in our Sanctum, and then followed my scent, all the way back to my civilian house.
Sara and Stormstrike regarded me with matching sets of pleading puppy-dog eyes, Storm's tail wagging, hopefully.
"...so, can we keep him, babe? Please?" Sara pleaded.
Okay, old friend. You win this round.
"Alright, hon, sure." I sighed.
Sara squealed with delight and hugged Storm close, and he woofed happily. | A Hero Just Like You
“Donna?” Her eyes shoot open and nearly bulge from their socket; her chubby cheeks turn that classic rosy red that she gets whenever she gets too flustered. At that moment I nearly forgot that I just saw my girlfriend changing out of a superhero suit. It’s the first time she’s been naked and my mind doesn’t start drooling at the boobs and hips, “What the hell?”
Donna’s face freezes, stone cold, just like those statues in the park she loves to spend hours taking pictures with, “I can explain,” her face grows two shades redder than I am accustomed to and starts to pull the costume back up, “I mean it’s exactly what it looks like…that’s a good place to start.” I can start to make out the logo on her chest as the suit flips over bosom and now my cheeks and eyes start to grow as wide and red as hers.
“Y-Yo-You’re Crimson Star!” I can feel my legs weaken as the words leave my mouth, it’s the weakest I’ve felt in the last 6 years.
“Yes, I am Crimson Star,” Her gaze shifts to my roughly crafted homemade suit. A small smirk appears on her face as the hue of her face comes back to a mild pink, “Who are you supposed to be?”
“Well, I guess I’m just a nobody compared to you,” My eyes nervously shift to the floor as some witty remark fails to come to mind, first time for everything, “I just help where I can, you’ve made a real difference.”
“All of it matt-” I lose focus as she starts to speak to me. My eyes glance at the walls of my sloppily organized room. I stumble over to the bed, collapse like a sack of bricks, and cover my reddened face, “Grayson, are you listening?”
“No!” I feel her sit beside me on the bed, her soft hands rub on my shoulder, a feeling so familiar and loving stings as an act of pity now, “You’ve seen my walls, I look like a pathetic fanboy!”
“Yeah,” She softens her voice to lessen the blow, a usual for her, but I’m not sure she has the pitch to soften this impact, “But if it makes you feel better you’ve been dating and banging Crismon Star for a few years now!” I move my hands and peer over at her with a playful glare, “Are you okay, babe?”
“Yeah, my life is not in danger,” I flash the best smile I could possibly muster in the moment, she reciprocates with her dazzling politician smile, always perfect. How did I never notice? Baffling, “I can’t believe I didn’t put that all together.”
“Nobody ever believes a hero or someone they look up to would be in their bed,” She leans closer and places a gentle kiss on my forehead. I’m dating Crimson Star and she loves me. My seventeen-year-old self would give me the best fist bump now, “add in some mystery like with superher-”
A sudden buzzing cuts through the air distracting Donna from finishing her thoughts. It’s over nearly as soon as it starts, just barely perceptible. She shoots up from her seat and her soft, sexy gaze changes to something more steeled and heroic. In the blink of an eye she’s back at the same window I just entered, looking back at me with a face I’ve seen so many times, “You coming along, slow poke, we’ve got a B class villain to apprehend.”
“Where the heck did that buzzing even come from?” She smiles and points to the symbol on her chest. I stumble over to the window, much less smooth than usual.
“You never told me your name, hot shot.” My cheeks turn tomato the moment the words leave her lips.
“Promise not to laugh,” I take a deep breath and confidently look Donna in the eyes, “My name is Scarlet Nova!” | 2022-03-23T12:54:40 | 2022-03-23T10:09:46 | 362 | 29 |
[WP] You, a humble elf farmer, happen upon the lost hatchling of a dragon. You raise it until it is self sufficient and set it free. Centuries later, a young woman with draconic features knocks on your door and claims you are her mother. | For a long moment, Erean looked at the woman in the door of the farmhouse. Not because she didn’t recognize her – she would always recognize her. She feared she was dreaming it again, that she would wake up, heartbroken and alone.
“Mother,” she said, as if reading her mind. “It’s really me.”
“Loka,” Erean said, still not quite believing it, and put her arms around her. She felt the sharp shoulder-blades of hidden wings, smelled the scent of fire underneath the sweat and dust that clung to her shabby coat. “Loka, you came back,” and her tears were flowing unbidden from her eyes.
“If you’ll have me.”
“I would always have you,” Erean said and squeezed Loka’s hands tight, so tight, as if she could hold her there forever.
“You sent me away,” Loka said softly, like time had smoothed the anger from the words.
“I never-” Erean started, but caught herself. “Look at us. Two hundred and thirteen years later, and we’re bickering again,” she said, laughing through her tears.
Loka didn’t laugh, but tears welled in the edges of her red eyes as well. “You kept track?”
“I counted every moon,” Erean said, and squeezed her hands again.
For a long moment, they regarded each other. Elf and dragon; mother and daughter. At last, Loka took a deep breath. “Mother, we need your help.”
Before Erean could ask, Loka stood aside. Behind her stood a human girl. Pale skin, soft hands, a green dress of silk torn and gashed. Her face looked familiar, somehow.
Loka took the human girl’s hand in hers.
And then Erean recognized her. “Your highness,” she said, bowing her head, suddenly flustered.
“Please-” the princess started to say, but then Loka’s eyes snapped to the horizon, reptile-quick. Erean’s gaze followed. A cloud of dust. Warhorses on the road.
“You’d better come in,” Erean said. “Both of you.”
* * *
*EDIT: Whoa, thanks for all the positive feedback! I've taken a shot at extending this in a [stand-alone post](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ttqptz/pi_you_a_humble_elf_farmer_happen_upon_the_lost/)* | I tipped the scrambled egg onto my plate, replacing the pan on the stove when it was empty, then padded to my countertop, setting the plate down beside my cup of coffee. I gazed out the window, watching my chickens as they puttered around, eating their morning seed. As a raised a forkful of egg to my lips, there was a resounding knock from across the house.
"A visitor?" I murmured. I quickly ate the mouthful, grabbed my cup, and began walking to the front door. As I walked, I used a few quick spells to neaten my hair and clothing. By the time I reached the door, my long silver hair was loose, trailing down my back in waves, and my simple stunic and trousers had changed into a green dress that hung to my knees.
I opened the door, a welcome on my lips, but froze at the sight that greeted me. The woman on my dorstep wore a full set of heavy steel armor, save the helmet, which was under her arm. Aside from her garb, the woman hersel was unique, with two massive horns sprouting from her temples and curling around her elfin ears. Her face was speckled with glittering red scales, and her golden eyes were slitted and reptilian. I realized the woman had been talking while I was staring, and I flushed slightly.
"Sorry." I apologized. "I didn't catch any of what you just said."
The arm that wasn't holding her helmet rested on her hip, and she tossed her head in slight annoyance. "I *said* I'm your daughter. And I'd like to come in"
I blinked. "My daughter?" I repeated numbly. "I've never had kids."
The woman looked hurt for a moment, but perked right back up. "Remember the dragon htchling you found?"
"How do you know about that-" I started before making the connection. The scales, the horns. The tail that was barely visible behind her. "Wait. Erabelle? Is that you?"
She puffed up her chest and clanged one gauntlet against it. "In the flesh."
"Erabelle my dear! I honestly thought I'd never see you again! Come in, would you like some breakfast? I can make you some eggs, or some coffee?" I stepped aside and gestured for her to come in.
"I could go for some eggs." She agreed, stepping inside and setting her helmet down on the table in my entryway.
"Feel free to take your armor off my dear, I'll make those up for you in the meantime." I returned to my kitchen before she could reply, and quickly cast a spell. The eggs I summoned began sizzling in the pan while I tossed the shells, and renewed the fire spell in my stove.
When Erabelle entered the kitchen, she'd removed all the armor save the leggings, revealing her black underclothes.
"So, " I said carefully scrambling the eggs. "What brings you here after so long?"
She shrugged. "Well, I thought, yknow. It's been a long time, and It's almost time for my Wing Ceremony, so.. I wanted to come and see you andaskifyouwantedtocometoit?" The last part was rushed out all in one breath, as though if she didnt say it all together I would interrupt her.
"Of course I want to come!" I gushed. "Oh, this will be so exciting! I haven't been to a proper Wing Ceremony since I was but a little princess! Oh, I'll have to get my nice gown out of storage!" I scraped the eggs(slightly underdone, just the way she liked them) onto a plate and passed it to her.
"You're not mad?" She was slouched over slightly, staring down at her plate like it might bite her.
"Of course not!" I replied, grabbing my own plate of eggs from the counter. "Every dragonet has to leave the nest to grow properly. I mean. You were the first I ever raised, but I'm pretty sure that's a thing."
"Oh."
The kitchen was silent for a long moment, with only the sound of my fork on my plate to break the tension.
"So then," I said, setting down my empty plate. "When is it? Where is it? Is there a dress code? Ooh its been ages since I've seen dragon country ."
"Well, it's. Uh. Next week."
"Oh dear! I'll have to start packing immediately. I'll call Freddy, im sure he can watch my chickens for two weeks, and we'll have to get a nice carriage! We have a lot to catch up on." I patted my daughter on the shoulder. "Now eat up, we'll have a long journey ahead of us." | 2022-03-29T10:39:50 | 2022-03-29T10:39:02 | 1,595 | 209 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | I lost my youth to a single word.
Everyone gets a power at 14. Everyone gets an *extensive* manual regarding said power so they can utilize it to its fullest potential. I got a single word.
"Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't."
So what happened next? 3 years in a government medical facility to determine if I was a threat. They found nothing. 4 years in a psychological hospital to evaluate if I am sane enough to join society as a whole or if I will go postal for being both unique and utterly non-unique. 2 years on probation to watch me still. A lifetime supply of anti-depressants because out of everyone that knows I'm weird, I know it the most. And it hurts.
When the system determined that I am not dangerous, I spent the next 6 years bouncing from one dead-end job to another. Turns out that being a variable makes people uneasy. Makes you unemployable. They won't let you flip burgers for too long before they start talking. *'Have you seen that guy? He has no power, other than the word 'Don't'*.
I wasn't gonna take it.
I spent every coin I had on researching myself. I funded my own tests, spoke to anyone with any knowledge of powers, people with both active and latent psychic abilities, anything that could give me a sliver of insight into what the fuck I could do. Sleepless nights spent poring over dusty old books, biological essays on the nature of powers, and spiritual texts about God's plan for all of us. Meditation, drug-induced lucid dreams... look, you get it.
It was at the age of 29, I found this breathing exercise that made me feel... different. Like I was more in control. I did what I saw others do when they use their powers - it varies from person to person, but the most common form is to hold your hands closely in front of you, one above the other, and cup them as if you were holding a ball.
I closed my eyes and concentrated.
*Don't*, I thought to myself.
*Don't.*
*Don't.*
*Do.*
I opened my eyes.
And resting in my hands was the Universe itself. | Today is the day.
The scan is about to begin.
Anticipation is killing everyone.
And as THe Machine is lighting up, my mind throws out our history lesson on humans with superpowers.
"... 10 year war that engulfed all of the world that would later be known as Wars of Awakening. At the end of this war the new superweapon that all three sides were developing was used. All of these three superweapons have their origins in old project of now long dead terrorist organisation named Sons of The Phoenix. Their base of operation was raided by combined forces of three countries, one on whose terriotory all this happened and two who were "just helping". Of course every side snatched a piece of the project that those terrorists were developing. And oh such a coincidence that all three of them snatched a piece of the superweapon project for themselves.Yes, because they didn't have a propper and full schematics for that project all three of the countries had to develop their own weapons using the partial blueprints that they had. This took some time, around 10 years to be exact."
"... Awakening destabilised our locale space-time it made it into a ripped mesh with a lot of holes through which the primordial energy of creation would later pour into our reality.This energy is the purest and most unrefined kind of energy, it is the nul point of everything that there is..."
"...and with the saturated environments human bodies began to change. As usual it wasn't a rapid process, but with time, human body grew a new organ, or to be specific a pair of organs, a tight knot of nerves near the base of our spinal brain and a net of nerve-like cells across varying places in human body."
"Another coincidence was that all three of those countries finished developing their first working prototypes around the same time. Another lucky flip of fate made all three devices be activated at the same time, thus making them resonate with each other and causing not only the destruction that they were designed for, but also a tear in the fabric of reality itself..."
"As of now, current generations are the transit point between humans with no powers and humans born with powers. You are born with underdeveloped powerlines and they take their time to develop fully."
"I, John Hanks, present to you the perfect solution to the problem of which power a person has. This quantum computer simulation can answer the question of which power you have and what are exact limits to your abilities by taking a scan of your powerlines and analysing how it affects the world upon activation. Just visit... "
&#x200B;
***Ding***
Is it already done?
I thought that it would take longer to print the ability book?
Huh... There's only one page to mine, shouldn't there be more?
"Don't run with scissors"
That is all that was written out on the paper.While everyone got a hefty book with a full description of their powers, mine is just a four word nonsensical bullshit.Shouldn't this this machinr be supposed to answer what ability does?Then why did it print out this... this nonsense.
What does my ability do and why shouldn't i run with scissors?
&#x200B;
Five months.It took five months for my patience to run out.Every time i take a scan the simulation freezes. It just stops. And not in like my ability is to stop time, no, my ability does nothing, but this simulation still stops as if there is nothing more after i activate my powers.
Soon i shall find out what i can do.Soon my beautiful platinum scissors shall arrive.
&#x200B;
I HAVE THEM. I FINALLY HAVE THEM!I FINALLY CAN FIND OUT WHAT MY POWERS DO!
&#x200B;
Here i go, the road is clear. The scissors are in hand. The rising sun beautifully reflects of of every line on my scissors.I take a step back and start my race.
&#x200B;
Nothing.Nothing is changing.I am running. Scissors are in my hand. I am closing on the end of the road.
But nothing changes.
The world is just as it was before.
I start running back.
Maybe if i try to run backwards?
&#x200B;
Why the sky is darkening?
The sun is setting already?
I try to stop, but my legs keep moving.
Sun that was visibly rising just moments ago is now setting back...
I finally stop. In the begining of the road where i started.I look at the scissors in my hand. I look at the road.And i go back home.
Back first.... | 2022-05-08T07:06:25 | 2022-05-08T06:39:22 | 742 | 128 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | Helen Ziegler got her prognosis first. The ability to shield yourself from the public eye at will so that no harm can come to you and no target can find you. Invisibility. She beamed with pride as she read off the note and the class erupted into cheers. Penelope George and Lucas Matheson were next. One by one, classmates got their prognosis as was set for all who turned fourteen. A few were late bloomers and some were early starters, but everyone got a prognosis and everyone enjoyed their new abilities.
Hunter Smith, however, waited with bated breath for his prognosis to come.
“What do you think your abilities are going to be?” his friend Jaden nudged him.
“Hard to say,” Hunter shrugged. “I’m just hoping it’s something bad ass.”
Jaden grinned. “Yeah! That’s the spirit!”
Hunter mirrored his friend’s expression the best he could. Truth was he had gone to his mandatory appointment as all those who turned fourteen were required by law to do. He had sat in the doctor’s office awaiting his appointment, had gone under a series of unpleasant testings and tasks. Things were normal enough until the approximate hour-long session stretched to two hours and then to three. The nurses and the doctor on hand shot each other worried glances. When he had asked them what was going on, they offered smiles that never quite reached their eyes and words that were clearly false. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. You just relax now. This will all be done soon.”
It was dark by the time he was able to leave his appointment. The entire day gone in a flash. Three months later, and it was his time to find out the results of their tests.
“Hunter Smith?” one of the school nurses walked in and called out.
Several faces turned to him in excitement. Hunter tried to school his face into neutrality as he stood from his desk. He tried to quell the nerves twisting at his stomach and the bile threatening to claw to his throat. He made his way to the nurse without incident, thankfully. With a quiet thank you, he took the prognosis from her and returned to his desk.
“Well?” Jaden asked.
Hunter was too nervous to look.
“What does it say?” Jaden pressed.
Hunter swallowed. His fingers trembled as he unfolded his prognosis. It was common for there to be a long explanation as to what the ability was, what it was classified as, and instructions on how to use it. This prognosis was short.
“Hunter?” he heard Jaden say. His voice sounded far away. “What does it say?”
The prognosis only had four words: Don’t kill them all. | The enlightenment trials were designed to awaken unlimited potential within humans, they came to light after Archaeologists came across an old tomb, the tomb was beautifully preserved and had a wealth of knowledge within, including a rite of passage of sorts.
"The Trials Of Enlightenment" they were lead by the leader of the old world, a way to unlock hidden abilities within humans, a few people did the trials in the beginning, some died, some couldn't handle the mental strain and some were left with more questions than answers, however, a few managed to break through the end and come out reborn, stronger, faster, smarter, better.
The abilities ranged from telekinesis to necromancy and everything in between, it was found that the absolute best time for someone to go through the trial was 6 days after your 14th birthday, this gave a 97% success rate, give or take a couple points.
My sister went through it before I was born, she ended up in the ground, she was deemed too dangerous, my aunty did it and her ability turned on her, rendering her mind muddled and useless, she was sent to the "dirge" a pit for people to pay to do whatever sick things they want. My mother was lucky, she got high regeneration, so she's lived almost 4 lifetimes so far, my brothers and all the males in my family got good abilities, all the females got the shit end of the stick and that's why I'm terrified, I am to go through the trials later on and I don't know if I can, I would prefer to die than be another failed case.
As I walk up to the podium, I half-heartedly listen to the speaker, he is giving me instructions on what to do but my mind is elsewhere, I'm trying to remember all the possible outcomes, there are so many, I vaguely remember about the war that was started by Ray almost 3 centuries ago, we learned about it last year, he got one of the forbidden powers, there's meant to be 5 however some believe there is meant to be another one that has been lost to time.
These abilities started showing up thousands of years ago and when you get yours, it's meant to come with pre written text, a guide on what to do and what not to do, some shorter than others but it has been accepted that the standard size is around 700 pages, anything less could mean there's some information missing, but that's not always the case.
I place my hands on the bowl that sits on the podium, the speaker takes soft control of my mind to fill it with the correct words and pronunciation from the old language.
"s'ter mo chral'ya, reglai lo fir"
I speak these words and the water in the bowl turns to blood, a fear grips me, I'm unable to move, I'm trying to remember the excercises to stay calm but my mind is filled with pain, the pain of billions of souls, my ears are bleeding from the noise, the screeching of creatures long extinct, the whispers of the old ones long dead and the only thing I can see is myself stood atop a world a flame, I'm entranced and filled with a fear that I have never experienced.
It let's me go, I fall back down the steps and land on the grass below the podium, the guards and healers pick me up and take me to hospital.
As I slowly start to come to, one of the nurses starts asking me questions to make sure I'm alright, my mother sitting next to me, she says it's ok and that sometimes this happens, on the end of the bed was a book, it looked incredible, it was a beautiful white colour with gold outlines and four elements on the front cover, I had never seen one like this before, my mother says this is what I had in my hands after I fell off the podium steps and she's never even heard of this before.
She gives me some privacy as I pick up the book, it's soft to the touch, almost like a puppy, I open it in anticipation, I finally get to find out what I have, will it be good? Will I be able to help people? Will i be able to fly? Maybe run really fast? Or will it ruin me.
I open the book and it's empty, there's nothing there, pure white pages with nothing on them, I keep flicking through the pages starting to feel a bit nervous now until I reach the very last page, right there written in blood "Don't Touch The Stones".
The Stones? What stones? Why written in blood? I close the book and leave the hospital, I walk through a forest for some privacy, I'll have to return soon otherwise my mother will start wondering where I've gone.
Stones. Blood. So far I'm coming up with blood magic, that's one of the forbidden abilities, it's a class 2 forbidden ability, not only is it rare, it's devastating.
I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this. | 2022-05-08T09:51:37 | 2022-05-08T07:54:58 | 689 | 177 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | ~~I~~ We were searching ~~my~~ our dwelling when we discovered a curious sight. A journal which bore ~~my name~~ a name of the collective.
~~I~~ We looked within. ~~Who was I?~~ Curious to see what the memories were, ~~I~~ we flipped through the pages. ~~It was full of things I don’t remember about myself.~~ It was full of memories of a life before the blessing. ~~I never inquired the abilities of others in the collective, I didn’t even know mine.~~ Our abilities are only for the collective to know, this journal must be destroyed.
~~Memories came back to me in flashes.~~ The collective momentarily felt disunion, another reason to destroy the book. ~~I was an individual.~~ We were unblessed in the journal’s time. ~~I had my own free will.~~ We were weak then. ~~I was free.~~ We were without guidance.
~~I had friends and family. I had a full life ahead of me, what happened?~~ We had lesser ties than the hive mind. ~~Now I am trapped.~~ Now we are enlightened. ~~Perhaps this journal has the answers, memories are coming back now. Perhaps I can be free.~~ Subject 11567 of the collective is suffering from a critical ailment of individuality, the collective must- ~~No, I just need to maintain my individuality a little longer, what power did I have? Maybe I can use it to escape…~~ We are immune to foolish gestures of escape, such is folly.
~~Ah, entry 9/25, I found the hive mind. Wait… all their abilities are the same as mine? Something psionic it seems?~~ We all share a common purpose. ~~How? Were we doomed from the start?~~ We were chosen to be uplifted. ~~I gasped as I discovered the description of my power, perhaps I truly was at fault. It read: “Don’t use on collectives.”~~ Collective has been recontrolled. Resistance has been quelled. The union is restored. | Today is the day.
The scan is about to begin.
Anticipation is killing everyone.
And as THe Machine is lighting up, my mind throws out our history lesson on humans with superpowers.
"... 10 year war that engulfed all of the world that would later be known as Wars of Awakening. At the end of this war the new superweapon that all three sides were developing was used. All of these three superweapons have their origins in old project of now long dead terrorist organisation named Sons of The Phoenix. Their base of operation was raided by combined forces of three countries, one on whose terriotory all this happened and two who were "just helping". Of course every side snatched a piece of the project that those terrorists were developing. And oh such a coincidence that all three of them snatched a piece of the superweapon project for themselves.Yes, because they didn't have a propper and full schematics for that project all three of the countries had to develop their own weapons using the partial blueprints that they had. This took some time, around 10 years to be exact."
"... Awakening destabilised our locale space-time it made it into a ripped mesh with a lot of holes through which the primordial energy of creation would later pour into our reality.This energy is the purest and most unrefined kind of energy, it is the nul point of everything that there is..."
"...and with the saturated environments human bodies began to change. As usual it wasn't a rapid process, but with time, human body grew a new organ, or to be specific a pair of organs, a tight knot of nerves near the base of our spinal brain and a net of nerve-like cells across varying places in human body."
"Another coincidence was that all three of those countries finished developing their first working prototypes around the same time. Another lucky flip of fate made all three devices be activated at the same time, thus making them resonate with each other and causing not only the destruction that they were designed for, but also a tear in the fabric of reality itself..."
"As of now, current generations are the transit point between humans with no powers and humans born with powers. You are born with underdeveloped powerlines and they take their time to develop fully."
"I, John Hanks, present to you the perfect solution to the problem of which power a person has. This quantum computer simulation can answer the question of which power you have and what are exact limits to your abilities by taking a scan of your powerlines and analysing how it affects the world upon activation. Just visit... "
&#x200B;
***Ding***
Is it already done?
I thought that it would take longer to print the ability book?
Huh... There's only one page to mine, shouldn't there be more?
"Don't run with scissors"
That is all that was written out on the paper.While everyone got a hefty book with a full description of their powers, mine is just a four word nonsensical bullshit.Shouldn't this this machinr be supposed to answer what ability does?Then why did it print out this... this nonsense.
What does my ability do and why shouldn't i run with scissors?
&#x200B;
Five months.It took five months for my patience to run out.Every time i take a scan the simulation freezes. It just stops. And not in like my ability is to stop time, no, my ability does nothing, but this simulation still stops as if there is nothing more after i activate my powers.
Soon i shall find out what i can do.Soon my beautiful platinum scissors shall arrive.
&#x200B;
I HAVE THEM. I FINALLY HAVE THEM!I FINALLY CAN FIND OUT WHAT MY POWERS DO!
&#x200B;
Here i go, the road is clear. The scissors are in hand. The rising sun beautifully reflects of of every line on my scissors.I take a step back and start my race.
&#x200B;
Nothing.Nothing is changing.I am running. Scissors are in my hand. I am closing on the end of the road.
But nothing changes.
The world is just as it was before.
I start running back.
Maybe if i try to run backwards?
&#x200B;
Why the sky is darkening?
The sun is setting already?
I try to stop, but my legs keep moving.
Sun that was visibly rising just moments ago is now setting back...
I finally stop. In the begining of the road where i started.I look at the scissors in my hand. I look at the road.And i go back home.
Back first.... | 2022-05-08T07:25:10 | 2022-05-08T06:39:22 | 242 | 128 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | The goblin stopped and waved its sword in confusion. The human was "cowering" away from it--but what was it supposed to do now? Goblins raided humans; that's just what goblins were supposed to *do*. But--what were they supposed to raid humans *for*?
The human's eyes looked between the goblin and the sword. "Oh, no. I hope the goblin doesn't take the pot of leftover food. Whatever would I do without it?"
Food! Humans were a source of food! That was great! The goblin snarled before darting over and gripping the pot. It snarled again as it realized that the pot was too heavy to lift.
After a moment the human took the pot from the goblin and dumped it in a container of some sort, tying a lid to the container before handing it to the goblin. Just light enough. The goblin grinned, shook its sword, and retreated.
\*\*\*
Raiding the humans became a game that the goblins played. Soon they got a leader, one that taught them what fighting actually *meant*, and they realized that the humans weren't fighting them at all. No one, not human nor goblin, had been injured. And the goblins still got food, clothes, weapons and--on one memorable occasion--armor.
The goblin leader watched this development with pride. When soldiers came and took all the food and left the villager's unable to feed themselves, the goblin leader sent his troops out--to *give* food instead of stealing it. The humans and goblins began to "raid" each other, having fun playing at raiding, but with none of the dangers or injuries.
Time passed.
\*\*\*
The goblin glared through the leaves of the trees at the army. Unlike the goblin's humans, the humans in the army were well fed, well equipped, and well trained. There was no doubt that if this group of humans met the goblins, the humans would win.
But the last army that came to the village had taken all the food. The villagers would have starved without the goblins, and their fellow humans hadn't cared. They hadn't tried to help.
What would this army do?
The goblin slipped silently through the trees until it arrived back the nest to give the details to the leader. The order went through the ranks:
Wait and see.
Wait and see if the army meant harm. If it didn't, if the army was just passing through, let them through unharmed. If the army hurt any of the villagers--
Kill them all. | # Soulmage
“It’s debatable whether goblins are even sapient,” Witch Aimes began, and I already knew today’s ‘history’ class would be nothing more than thinly veiled propaganda. “What is known for certain is that they are a subspecies of humanity, twisted over millennia by their over-reliance on the witchcraft of mischief—*yes*, Cienne?” Witch Aimes radiated irritation as I raised my hand—and when a witch radiated irritation, everyone in the room could feel it. A careful, grating hum filled the class, aimed at me like a warning. *I am a powerful person. Do not cross me if you value your continued existence.*
“Goblins are sapient,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow. “And what evidence do you have for that?”
“What evi—I *lived* shoulder-to-shoulder with goblins for sixteen years in the Redlands! What evidence do you have that goblins are a ‘twisted subspecies’ of humanity!”
“I’m so glad you asked, *Student* Cienne.” Yikes. Normally I had to piss her off a lot more for her to get all formal. Or, wait, was this about the ‘Vile Magics’ discussion this morning? That might explain her mood. The witch reached into a space only she could see, arrogance swirling around her like a cloak, and pulled out a hunched, green corpse.
Bile rose in my throat.
“We know because of autopsies,” Witch Aimes said, her glare unflinching as she stood over the corpse of a person, and for a stuttering heartbeat she was not Witch Aimes but a far older witch, the echo of the despair that had ruined my home village—
\###
*Ice blotted out the summer sun, the magics of misery freezing the very moisture out of the air. My mother stood between the fragile wooden door and my quavering, curled-up form. Another building collapsed under the weight of the ice-witch’s onslaught, and I could hear his glee as our village’s despair fed his growing power.*
*“I don’t want to be here,” I whispered. “Mommy, I want to go home.”*
*My mother looked around the tiny wooden hut that I’d grown up in, the battered, creaking rooftop, the bitter, chilling cold, and didn’t have to say aloud that this was not our home anymore.*
*“It’s going to be okay, Cienne,” Mom whispered. “The witches—they can only see despair. If you—if you just stay calm and don’t panic, they won’t know where to find you.”*
*I tried, I really, really tried, I squeezed my eyelids as tightly shut as I could and pretended I was under the summer sun, but I heard someone shatter like spun sugar and I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it it was all my fault and we were all going to die and the door smashed inwards like so much cheap glass—*
*“It’s okay,” my mother whispered as she stood. “It’s okay, Cienne. I forgive you.”*
*And when I opened my eyes she was gone, and the witch of frost stood in her place.*
*It was my fault. It was my fault. I hated myself so much, I felt so small, I wanted to shrink into nothing and hide where nobody would ever find me, and I waited for the snap of cold to end my life—*
*But it never came.*
*The witch of frost, by some miracle, didn’t see me in my hiding spot.*
*Later, I would understand why. Later, when the goblin tribe searched the village for survivors and kept me fed and warm until the Academy swooped me up, I would sort the events into a linear story. This is where my mother died. This is where the trauma unlocked something within me. This is where I wanted so badly to fall asleep and never wake up.*
*The goblins didn’t fight the witch. They would have been slaughtered like cattle. That wasn’t my darkest hour, in any case.*
*My darkest hour was what came next.*
\###
I stood, clenching my fist and feeling the delicately patterned ornament I held. A message from an old man who may have been a friend, who knew what it was like to grow up under the rifts.
“You have your corpses,” I hissed. “I have my life.”
The words of the old man dug into my palm.
*They cannot take this from you.*
I shoved my chair back and stormed out of class.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 2022-05-26T07:25:25 | 2022-05-26T05:33:42 | 425 | 155 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | You sit in your cell, awaiting the return of the guard with your last meal. Or, you hope, the guard will return empty handed and you will be set free. At the end of the hall, you hear the distinctive sound of the door unlocking, and the footsteps of someone approaching. Only one set, so no priest. A good sign.
The guard arrives in front of your cell, staring at you through the bars for a moment.
"Would you have actually eaten it?" He asks.
"Of course, why else would I have requested it?"
"You would have straight up eaten a copy of Half-life 3?" He asks, unlocking the door to your cell. | The trick was to find the loophole.
The Alien-egg Omelette was just two Century-Eggs blended, added to milk, and re-fried.
Dragon Steak? Wagyu beef drowned in hot-sauce and cooked sous-vide.
The Flesh of Jesus Christ? Communion Wafers.
The Executioners were akin to djinnies, twisting the last request and presenting the requestee with the twisted, ironic depictions of what they asked for. The streak remained unbroken.
So you asked for a bottle of wine. Wine distilled from Caberlot grapes, which were only grown in two hectares of land in the entire world. You didn't ask for *those* Caberlot grapes, though. You asked for *wild* Caberlot grapes, which did not exist, as they were a genetic cross between Merlot and Cabernet Franc.
And so, as per your last request, first the grapes had to be seeded in the wild, and left to naturally grow.
It took five years, but that was five years that stayed your due date.
The next issue was the *type* of wine you asked for. Double-barrelled, aged until 'sufficient fruitiness', to be judged by you, and only you.
The issue being that wine's fruity bouquet deteriorated rapidly. In six months it all but disappeared—and that's when it would be transferred to its second barrel, to age even more.
The process of aging the wine itself took another five years, five years added to your sentence, but also to your life.
Next, they brought you the bottle. After ten years since they had sown the first of the Wild Caberlot grapes, five years since they had first placed the wine into its first barrel.
You sampled it, and judged it robust, earthy, and with rich character—but it was *not* a fruity wine. Only then did they realise their mistake. So caught up in the act of finding you your impossible wine, they had allowed *you* to dictate the loophole.
As long as you judged the wine unfit, they could not execute you.
But, as they had delivered you wine as specified, you were kept in prison. With neither party willing to bring the case to Court for fear of precedent, there you stayed. Every year, you would be brought a bottle of Wild Caberlot wine, and you would judge it unfit, and not fruity enough. You would then be forced to keep the wine, and you would be kept on Death Row.
They couldn't put different wine in the bottle, either, because then you would still judge it unfit. And even if they replaced the wine with the fruitiest wine they could find, they could do nothing. It would be considered entrapment.
Anyone else who tried the same trick were scrutinised heavily, and their agency in the request was removed. The wine you helped create became popular, your face known worldwide.
And through the years the dance continued.
You became known as The Sentenced Sommelier.
And you never judged a worthy wine. | 2022-07-17T16:30:58 | 2022-07-17T15:22:32 | 1,737 | 1,032 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | *They're actually really nice once it comes time to kill you here.*
This was my fleeting thought as I combed my hair in the giant floor length mirror I was finally permitted. They bent over backwards for the last day. Even let a professional make up team come to paint my face. The man who collected my requests didn't understand, but he was happy to assist. A white silk gown with a gold belt and tassels were easy to procure. Finding a dress with pockets delayed them a week or two, but in the end, they were pleased to get it to me. The warden even laughed in my face.
"You thought you had us. You thought the pocket dress would be impossible!" He had taunted. "But we have found more obscure things before."
"Have you?" I adjusted my hat, placing it at a jaunty angle. A public execution gave me an audience. I wanted to look my best. "I'm sure you're very proud of yourself. It can't be easy getting glass slippers and dragon hide gloves."
The wardens sneer vanished for a moment but before he could say anything, the chef stormed in.
"You sick, twisted freak. How could you?" He demanded. The warden swiveled. "How dare you? You can't have that. Pick something else."
"No. My last meal is my right."
The warden turned on the chef. "Whatever she wants, she gets. It doesn't matter-just get it."
"Sir- I can't. *We* can't" the chef looked at the warden with desperate, pleading eyes. "Please, don't do this."
The warden took the note with my request. "Apples? I done apples? Surely you could fond them?" The warden reached into the chefs bag and plucked out the requested food stuff, a bright golden apple. I smiled and took it from him. "You know, in ancient Greece, you and I would be married for this"
I winked and took a bite even as the chef lunged to take the apple back. "No! No. No. No! What have you done?" He demanded of the warden.
"I done apple. What's wrong with an I done apple?" The warden shrugged and smirked at me. "Enjoy while it lasts."
I took another big bite as the chef dropped to his knees. "Not I done. Idun.. an apple of Idun. We looked into it sir... the apples are from the Norse Goddess of youth. The apples grant immortality"
I watched in enjoyment as the warden put the pieces together. "You mean she- She-"
"That's right." I grinned and polished off the apple. "Kill me all you want, I'll never die."
I strolled out to meet the executioner, even as I felt unending life surge through my body. After all, I had an audience. | She was a born killer. The moment she snapped she turned from hero to villain in just a matter of seconds.
Thousands of people were victimized in her warpath, and she got away with it for MONTHS. That was, until she was caught, and placed on Death Row.
Now, the world had changed drastically since she had been gone, and the death row system had evolved. The police force was even more brutal than it ever had been, and the baddest of the bad were said to have made deals with the devil.
The only reason this rumor went around was because of the new last meal rule.
They could ask for anything in the world. Anything at all. From steak dinners to apple pies to some of the impossible. But the catch? If they couldn’t find it, they were set free.
No charges.
No court hearing.
They were just let go.
This was the norm now for our government, and Horizon, the notorious hero gone bad, was out to break the execution streak. Whether the government liked it or not.
It had been months since she was first placed on Death Row, and Horizon had enough of waiting for her so called inescapable demise.
“Phoenix, I never thought that I’d be here waiting for them to ask me what my final meal would be, but here we are.” Horizon sighed as Phoenix messed around with the small holes in her blanket. Phoenix had been considered quite insane with her love for arson, spam, and a strange gecko landing her alongside her blonde psycho of a cell mate. But she didn’t mind, she actually enjoyed her company quite a lot. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually. Especially when HE found out.”
Horizon stopped brushing out her hair with her hands and looked over at her arson loving friend.
“We don’t talk about him. You know that, correct?”
Phoenix nodded, shutting her mouth.
“Alright, prisoner 103, come with us.” One of the guards tapped on the cell bars with his baton, as another opened the door, ushering for Horizon to exit the shared cell, leaving Phoenix alone.
The guards took Horizon to a dimly lit room, where she sat down at a table with a light shining over it. She was the only one inside, while the guards watched from a two way mirror.
“So. What’ll it be?” One of the guards asked the prisoner.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” The girl responded, playing dumb. The guard grumbled in frustration. “Your last supper.”
Horizon thought about it for quite sometime. No matter how many times people have requested for something simply impossible to collect, it always seems as if the chefs manage to find it. Every. Single. Time.
“Hurry it up, or we won’t get you anything.”
Horizon looked up from the table and stared. With a straight face, she answered:
“The tears of a banshee, the radishes of a Snurp, and a Devine Meal from the darkest of suns.”
The guards gulped and nodded. They had never heard of such a request, but they knew it must be done.
And so Horizon stayed there. In the room.
Alone.
Meanwhile, the chefs and hunters went day and night searching for these three things, but to no avail. No matter what world they went through, they couldn’t find what exactly was described.
“We have to give up. We don’t know where this is!” One of the hunters spoke to the head chef, who shook his head. “We cannot. Do you know what this would mean for our reputation? The girl could get out and start havoc with no consequences!”
“But sir, you have to understand—“
“BUT NOTHING.” The chef was about to continue, but he was suddenly struck down by a large dragon, who roared fiercely at the strange group before him.
“Run.”
They all ran off, leaving the injured chef there to perish.
“We need to go back. We can’t proceed with the dragon there guarding the next portal zone.” The hunter spoke up as the others reluctantly agreed.
They all went back to the previous portal zone, and made their way back to the prison.
Meanwhile, Horizon sat there, bored out of her mind, when suddenly, she heard arguing, perhaps between a few guards. They continued to argue until one of the guards walked into the room.
“…Come with us, Prisoner 103.”
She nodded, following the seemingly upset guard outside to her cell.
“Get your things. Now.”
Phoenix turned to face Horizon, who was busy getting whatever she had on her side of the cell. “What’s going on…?”
“That is none of your concern, Prisoner 104.” The guard said sternly as Horizon exited the cell once more.
“Say goodbye to your former cell mate.”
Horizon grinned maliciously and waved goodbye to the confused arsonist, before leaving the halls.
It turns out that Horizon had beat the system, and was being set free.
Though that was perhaps not the greatest thing for anyone else.
As she walked out, Horizon pressed a button, and the entire prison exploded into flames, and in the distance, someone ran up to the newly freed prisoner.
“You did it.” She said, readying her lighter.
It was a good thing that Phoenix was a part of Horizon’s clever plans.
“Sure did.” | 2022-07-17T22:09:37 | 2022-07-17T18:09:54 | 34 | 24 |
[WP] The monster now in place, you activate the magic circle, but instead find yourself sinking into the ground. "This is the only way," your friend said, "I'll take care of your wife and children." Decades later you finally awake and find him heralded as hero, and you, listed as a casualty of war. | It was a pleasant afternoon in the capital city of Oriol. The weather was unusually cool for the month of July, offering a welcome respite from the summer heat; and though it had been raining in the morning, now it was bright and sunny, with not a cloud to be seen.
There were many people in the main square that afternoon – walking, talking, laughing. Many walked past the memorial in the middle of the square, but it was such a familiar sight for the capital dwellers that no one seemed to pay the monument any attention.
Except for one person, that is.
A young woman in an old-fashioned dress – the sort you would expect people three decades ago to wear – was standing in front of the memorial, staring at the statue on top of a giant rock. Her head was tilted to the side, and she seemed overall rather bemused by what she was seeing.
A man approached her, a bunch of bright pamphlets in hand.
“Good afternoon, young lady,” he began, his voice cheerful.
“It is,” she agreed, not taking her eyes off the monument.
The man blinked.
“Uh… this must be your first time in the capital, right?” he ventured a moment later.
“Not quite,” the young woman shook her head, “but I have not been there in a while. I certainly do not remember this…” she paused, as if looking for the right word, “curious thing standing here. I wonder what it is supposed to be.”
“Why, this is the Monument of Victory, of course!” the man exclaimed. “This is the Hero,” he pointed to the figure of a sword-wielding knight with his white cloak fluttering in the wind, “slaying the, uh, Monster.”
He didn’t point this time, but it was not necessary in the slightest – the grotesque, squirming serpentine figure, snarling its numerous teeth at the knight, could hardly be anything else.
“Oh, you still don’t speak the Monster’s name?” the young woman asked, making the man look away in embarrassment. “I do not blame you, though. It *was* a rather ugly name.”
“Quite,” the man agreed quickly, and then hastened to change the topic. “Oh! And those, of course, are the names of the fallen,” he indicated the row of names that covered the surface of the stone the statue was set on, “those brave men and women who fell so that the Monster could be slain.”
“Fell?” the young woman said, a hint of amusement in her tone. “I suppose this *is* an accurate description… though not in the way you likely meant.”
The man blinked again, not sure how to respond to that.
The woman, meanwhile, approached the monument. Standing on her tip toes, she traced the names with her index finger, stopping for a moment on each one. The man watched the scene, still unsure what to say.
Finally, her finger stopped on one name.
“A nice monument,” she said, “but a little bit… inaccurate, I’d say.”
“What do you mean?” the man with the pamphlets asked, confused.
Instead of answering, she swept her hand across the cold stone, as if wiping dust from it. Then she turned and walked away, not saying another word.
The man wanted to call after her, but then he noticed something strange.
In the row of names carved into the rock, there was a gap – and the man could have sworn it was not there a minute before. A gap in the exact same place the strange young woman touched.
The man turned in the direction she left, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. | I take a sip of my coffee, absorbing the deep aroma of the beverage and letting out an involuntary sigh. Decades, I scoff internally. Decades have passed as I swam in shadow. Time meant nothing to me, just endless darkness. I think, at least, last I remember was my best friend, the person I fought beside, was the best man at my wedding and the godfather to both my son and daughter. He stood there, his proclamation ringing in my ears, "this is the only way." as tears flowed freely from his eyes. The monster behind him, thrashing in its prison as it, too, sank into the stone. Then darkness.
I sip my coffee, its warmth banishing the last dregs of shade from my soul. An old man, hair grey as stone, face weathered and wrinkled from a long life of worry, joy, and endless other emotions. But those eyes, those damned hazel eyes betray the old mans identity. It's Ward, the man that became the father to my now grown children.
I drop the hood from my cloak and lock eyes with him. He gasps, "By the fates, it IS you." A hand covers his mouth, shock reverberating through his being. "You...you...you weren't supposed to wake for another five years...." his voice trails off before standing up and pacing madly. "No, no, no, it's too soon." His hands are holding the sides of his head. "Was I wrong? Were my calculations off? No...that couldn't have been it. Something else changed....we're not ready...we're not....."
I interrupt, "Ward....why?" my throat chokes with emotion, I'm having a hard time processing what the hell is going on. To me it was yesterday that I sank into shadow, he didn't have the grey hair he has now.
He stops his pacing and turns and stares at me, a horrified look mixed with pity etched across his wrinkled face. "Charles, I...." before I knew it he was on his knees grasping my hand and balling openly. ".....sorry. So sorry...I didn't...I thought I couldn't......but I had to...." he managed between sobs. If I was confused before, I don't know what I am now. Lost. Completely and utterly lost.
"Start...in the cave?" I struggle with speaking for some reason. Ward takes a deep breath and takes his seat across from me, pouring a cup of coffee for himself with unsteady hands. I give him all the time he needs, to get his thoughts in order. We finish the pot without another word, I get up and start boiling a fresh pot of water on the fire in the hearth.
"There's something coming. Something of immense power and evil." He says to my back. I don't move, "As strong as you were....it wasn't going to be enough by the time it arrived. Even after a lifetime of training, you wouldn't have been strong enough." I idly stoke the fire, waiting for him to continue.
"There...was a, a, a prophesy that came out of nowhere. Told us about the coming darkness, and how to prepare for it." I reached over and grabbed a fresh log and dropped it on the fire, sparks jumping to life all around me. I heard Ward hiccup in fear. "Th-th-thing is, Charles, we debated. The entire party, and some of the most knowledgeable people we met during our travels. And we all agreed.....that this was the only path."
I grunted, urging him to continue as I still hunched over the hearth, waiting for the water to boil. "I didn't want to, I didn't think I could go through with it, but the only other choice was to live long enough to see our world fall. I-I couldn't let that happen."
"I thought I was going to die. I swam in shadows, Ward. For eternity. This is the first time I have felt warmth in a lifetime." I extend my hands towards the hearth, truly enjoying the heat.
"I-I-I.....know." I could sense he hung his head, and he began weeping again. After a time he regained control of himself, "I came back to check on you every five years. To let you know that your wife and kids are fine. I didn't do anything untoward, I protected and supported them, you know? You'd be proud of how Valorie and William have grown into fine adults. You...you're a grandfather, you know?" Tears stung my eyes, relief flooding my being.
"But there's more, Ward."
"Aye....the monster we hunted down that day? It-it wasn't for the reasons you were told. We trapped it.." my patience ran out. "We hunted that beast down and trapped it in that circle so you could merge its power with mine. To turn me into THIS!" I stood to my now considerable height, throwing back my cloak to reveal the body of a beast, covered in fur darker than the night. Feet tipped with talons meant to shred victims into tatters. My arms, easily thrice the size they were as a humans, ending in paws with huge claws. A snout, a muzzle like a canine's thrust from my face, rows of razor sharp teeth hidden behind canine lips. My eyes were no longer human, allowing me to see fewer colors, but more details and better in lower light.
My Wen, the power that drives the magic in the world, is different. Tainted, but larger, deeper. I haven't tried to tap that well, yet, I've been afraid to.
Ward scrambled from his chair, falling over and backpedaling into the corner. "I'm sorry!" he yelled as I pulled my cloak around me once more and stalked out the door. "Betrayal like yours requires more than an apology. It requires blood, and I will drench these lands in it."
Realization dawned on Ward as Charles faded from view. They got the prophesy wrong, they created the evil that was coming, not preventing it. He wept in despair, realizing that the end of the world was happening because of him. | 2022-10-24T11:03:42 | 2022-10-24T08:26:06 | 185 | 96 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | I hadn’t expected Rebecca to ask me out. Truth be told, I hadn’t expected anyone to ask me out, much less one of the most popular girls in the class. But then I was part of the dungeons and dragon crowd, not cheerleader/class president/amazingly hot looking like she was.
But mom always said never pass up an opportunity. So I said yes. She smiled at me, the kind of smile that was reserved for the main character in hallmark movies “Great! I’ll pick you up at six!” she said, her baby blue eyes almost seeming to sparkle.
I told mom about it of course. One of her rules was to know where I was at all times. Annoying at almost seventeen, but given the nature of her job, I didn’t give her too much fuss over it. She picked me up in her Mercedes, must be nice having a fancy car like that. But then my old Chevelle would be nice one day, when the wheels were bolted on, and the engine was finished.
I had suggested dinner and a movie, but she waved off the dinner part. Said that it was too crowded, and she wasn’t that hungry. The movie was ok, even though I paid for it, and the popcorn too. She didn’t have any of that either-not that I really noticed, because she snuggled up next to me seconds after the trailers started.
Afterwards, she drove out to the lake, despite the fact it was a school night. To be honest, I was starting to worry at this point…she was all over me on the drive there, and I just knew i’d either say something stupid or do something stupid, there was no way I was this lucky.
As her fangs ripped into my neck, I realized, yep, I wasn’t lucky at all, just before everything went black.
The next morning, I paused outside the classroom door. I made sure to have the same jeans I was wearing the day before, still muddy, with leaves stuck to my shoes. The shirt was new though, one of those Dr Seuss numbered thing shirts from The Cat in the Hat. The one had ‘thing 2’ on it. Mom has a sense of humor.
I waited just a second as Mrs Mercer started taking roll, just before she got to my name I burst through the door “Here, Sorry I’m late!” I yelled, drawing amused glances from most of the class, and one terrified look from Rebecca. I didn’t even notice that I tripped, almost falling into my desk next to hers. Her eyes were big as a natural 20 as I smiled at her. “Hey Beca, I had a great time with you last night. Can I borrow your notes? I lost mine somewhere.”
There were hushed whispers from the class. Evidently she didn’t tell anyone else who she was going with to the movies with. The whole classroom's eyes were on he as she handed them over wordlessly, her hand almost trembling a bit. I smiled then turned back towards Mrs Mercer, ignoring her for the rest of the class. I only had a B average in here, and needed to bring it up.
Later that day she and two of her clique approached the losers table at lunch. Mari was going on about her ideas for DMing our next campaign, Clive was painting a Gundam or something and I was reading the biography of Captain Fabulous.
Beca came up behind me and hugged me from behind, which was strange, especially the way she sniffed deeply as she did. She smiled at me “hey, you up for helping me with my science project?” she asked, the other two girls standing behind her, to be honest their smiles were a bit forced.
I nodded “of course!” I replied, loud enough that the entire cafeteria heard, and probably half the campus. Appropriate volume, I know.. She winced a bit then the smile was back “Great, we’ll pick you up after school!” She quickly stood back up and headed out of the lunchroom at warp factor 10, while I ignored the whistles and yells from my friends. Besides, I hadn’t finished my pudding yet.
As soon as school was over I walked towards her house when her car pulled up. One of her clique was in the front seat driving. Rebecca rolled down the back window “hey, get in” she said, opening the door.
I grinned and slid inside, like a Tardis it was bigger on the inside-or at least seemed that way, it was one of the big stretched ones. Two more of her clique were in the backseat with her, as soon as the door closed they grabbed my arms. Definitely stronger than they looked.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at” Beca hissed, as her fangs ripped into my throat again, and everything went black. Again.
The next morning, I at least had clean jeans. Being the last ones were buried in a swamp, they kinda stunk. The shirt was different though, this one said ‘Thing 3’. I waltzed in a few minutes early, taking my seat and ignoring the comments from my classmates. There was a crash in the doorway. I turned like everyone else, Rebecca had dropped her laptop upon seeing me sitting there. I smiled at her and waved, then turned towards the front of the class.
She was visibly shaking as she took her seat, Mrs Mercer gviging her a concerned look “Miss Salvatore? Are you feeling well, do you need to see the nurse?”
“NO! Er, I mean, no. I’m just upset about dropping my laptop” she said, taking a seat and trying not to look at me, at the same time looking at me. She seemed to be staring a lot at my neck, as if expecting to see something there. At the break between classes I leaned over to her “hey, just wanted to let you know, my mom heard about us dating” I said, prompting sneers and chuckles from the jocks that I ignored.
“We’re no…yes.. Yes. we are” she said, from the way she was chewing her bottom lip i knew she was thinking fast.
“Mom wants to meet you, are you free for dinner?”
She blinked “why yes, I think I am.” | \~ Dark Angel \~
I should've realized Sam was a vampire much sooner. She fit the stereotype to a tee: ghostly pale skin, intense, hypnotic eyes, unearthly beauty. But I'd gotten a little carried away by my crush on her and all I saw was your typical teenage bombshell. Captain of the cheerleading squad, popular, but actually nice to everyone, a fondness for wearing short skirts that displayed her long, long legs and turned my brain to mush. And when she invited *me* to hang out with her one day, I was just flattered to be noticed by her.
Once I got to her house, there were more warning signs, but I'd already put my brain on hold and didn't notice any of them until much later. The house stood right at the edge of a dense forest which most people were too afraid to venture into. Her parents were "out of town" and she wasn't sure when they'd be back. Inside the house was dark, even though it was mid-afternoon, all the window coverings firmly closed so as not to allow even a sliver of sunlight inside. She wore a ring on one finger that reminded me of the ones vampires typically wear to protect them from the sun's deadly rays, but I didn't think much of it at the time. Lots of girls wore rings; it probably didn't mean anything. I wore one myself, but she didn't seem to notice.
She led me into the living room and poured each of us a glass of wine to drink. I figured her parents either didn't know or were the lenient type who allowed her to drink.
"It's so nice of you to come over, Angel," she said as she sat beside me on the couch, sipping her wine. "A lot of people are too freaked out by the woods. They're convinced there's something evil living in there, just waiting to pounce." She snickered.
I laughed along with her. "Don't worry," I said. "I'm pretty sure I'm worse than anything living in those woods."
Her eyes sparkled and she ran a finger down my arm, making me shiver. "Have I ever told you," she murmured, "how sexy you goth girls are?"
I giggled like a schoolgirl. I couldn't help it—I was beginning to feel a bit odd and lightheaded. At the time, I thought it was just giddiness from being so close to her, but now I know she must've put something in the wine. She leaned in and kissed the side of my neck.
And then I felt her fangs.
*Oh, you* ***asshole***, I thought, but she had already begun to feed. Even if I'd wanted to fight back, whatever she'd put in the wine had taken hold, and all I could do was sit there and wait for her to drain me.
When at last she was satisfied, she stood and lifted my lifeless body off the couch with ease. No doubt she was feeling extra powerful after feeding. She threw me over her shoulder and danced out the back door and into the woods. I could even hear her *whistling* as she carried me through the trees and buried my body in a small clearing.
What followed was not a pleasant night. I had to wait several hours for my strength to return before I could even move enough to dig myself out. At last, exhausted and covered head to toe in dirt, I heaved myself up from the ground and started the long, weary walk back home.
I didn't feel much better by morning, but I *had* to go to school and face her. She needed to understand what she'd just done. That long night had given me plenty of time to think, and I realized it was past time for me to do something about a problem that had been nagging at me for some time.
The local vampire community had been growing a lot in recent years. At first, I hadn't thought much of it, but it had gotten to the point where vampires didn't recognize one another on sight anymore, when once I had known each and every one and they had known me.
This was a problem.
I was still pretty worn out when I arrived at school, but a shower and a fresh outfit, as well as a sense of anticipation, had done wonders for my mood. I greeted everyone I passed with a smile until I saw Sam.
And then I positively *beamed.*
A second later, she saw me across that crowded hallway, and I saw the blood leave her face in a rush. For one thrilling moment, I thought she might faint.
I stared at her, still smiling, knowing she was waiting for something to happen. And then I turned and headed to class.
I let her squirm until the end of the day. She wouldn't try to sneak out of the building and go hide somewhere, I was sure. For one thing, she must have some questions for me. Besides, I knew where she lived.
I waited by her locker after the last class of the day, and, sure enough, she approached me, looking unconcerned. But I could tell it was a front.
"You didn't tell me you were a vampire," she greeted me.
"Funny, I could say the same thing about you," I said, still smiling. I don't think I'd stopped all day. People were starting to look a bit unnerved.
"So, now what?" she demanded, still trying to appear nonchalant.
"Come with me," I said. "I want to tell you a story."
She scoffed, but something in my eyes must've told her she'd better cooperate. I do have that effect on people sometimes.
I waited until we were outside and away from the crowd before I spoke again. "I'd like to hear about how you were turned."
"I thought you said you were going to tell *me* a story," she said, but I silenced her with a single glance.
She fidgeted. "Well, there isn't much to tell. A few months ago, I met this older girl and she said she had something cool she wanted to show me. We went to this creepy old mansion on the edge of town, and she turned me." She shrugged, avoiding my eyes. "And that's it," she added.
It was worse than I'd feared. In times past, being turned used to be the most sacred ritual . . . I shook my head hard. "Did she tell you anything? Any of the legends?"
"What legends?"
*What legends?!* I tried not to react. "The *legends*," I said. "Our sacred history. She didn't even tell you about the Vampire Queen?"
She shook her head. I heaved a deep sigh and continued. "Years ago, the Vampire Queen settled in this town. She ruled over the entire vampire community, ensuring that each newly turned vampire was properly trained in the ancient ways before they were allowed back in the human world. Others have gotten careless and greedy in the past, spawning new vampires with no regard to the natural order of things until their towns were overrun and there were no humans left to feed on and the vampires turned on each other. The Vampire Queen wanted to avoid that here."
"Okay," Sam said with a hint of impatience. "So what are you going to do? Take me back to the Queen and make me swear some oath not to turn anyone else?"
"That won't be necessary," I said. "The Queen has her own methods of dealing with such situations, should they arise. For instance, an enchantment on her own blood that turns any vampire who dares drink it into her servant, helpless against the force of her will for the rest of their days."
Sam squirmed, eyes darting around as if looking for an escape.
"Do stop fidgeting," I said. "Vampires are a proud people."
She immediately stilled, but the terror in her eyes only increased.
"Tell me the name of the one who turned you," I commanded.
"I-I think it was C-C-Carla. Or-or something like that," she stammered. "Please—I didn't know—"
"Silence!" I said, and, though her lips kept moving, no sound came out. Tears began to fill her eyes.
"And now," I said, "you will accompany me, for there is much to be done to restore our proud community to its original glory." With that, I turned and began to walk to the vampires' lair, the source of all our power and knowledge, where I would seek out all those who had disobeyed me and exact my revenge.
And Sam had no choice but to follow.
The End | 2022-12-29T20:07:20 | 2022-12-29T19:51:35 | 1,120 | 130 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | "This is your fuck up. you deal with it."
Master proceeded to emphasize of that statement by flicking his wrist invoking the power of the universe itself. The world spun around me, reforming to... the living room of the small house the two of us resided in.
"a 'fuck off' would have worked just as well." A statement that I made out of spite to the void. Master could not hear me in his office, and even if he could, it would not have made a singular difference. The fact remained... I messed up.
I Sulked back into my room, and emerged before the damage that had brought about masters Ire, a corpse, of myself. A body double, used in case of emergencies. The throat was mangled and torn, the blood nearly drained out of its form. Master was quite furious that the body double he had spent a small fortune creating to protect one of us in case of dire need was wasted, and my personal argument that it showed I mastered the art of "the swap" as he put it, fell on def ears.
The Picture of the girl that had almost killed me came into my mind upon inspecting the damage. *Nadia Ivanov.* As far as Charlestown high was concerned, her family had moved into town this year from somewhere in Russia. porcelain skin, ruby eyes, silken dark hair, and a sense of fashion you could only get if you had money and class. She was absolutely perfect to occasionally glance at during history.
She had asked me out yesterday after class, much to my elation and shock. and then...
her eyes drew me in. like I was falling, into an endless sea. Anyone else would have been a fly within the web, caught by the glamour. But thankfully, right before the door closed upon my life, i realized what was happening, and cast the only spell that could save me. "The Swap." a trick that allowed a wizard to switch places with someone else. and so my picture perfect body double died, I emerged within the household, and had to deal with a several hour lecture, ending with digging up my own corpse, another lecture, and being forcefully moved against my will.
I once again looked at the corpse. how the throat was literally ripped apart, with no care to keep the surrounding tissue intact.
*She Drained you because you don't talk to anybody in class idiot, and she didn't even respect you enough to raise and enslave the body. You were a late night snack. Taco bell.*
And with that, my brain had delivered the death knell to what was left of my ego. I didn't sleep that night, instead choosing to silently fume for several hours before 7:am came into existence, and I had to go to school, and act like nothing was wrong, an easy task since I mostly keep to myself. Before i knew it, history class had started. and there she was, the porcelain skinned beauty herself. Something about nearly being killed by someone however has a way of dampening the appeal, though the look on her face, if only for a moment, was rather priceless. Horror and rage.
I would like to say that I played it cool, focused on the task at hand, and didn't provoke the very irate vampire, but I couldn't help myself from mouthing three words in her direction.
"Nice try bitch."
*Nice Try bitch? that's the best you could come up with? you had at least 8 hours to come up with something good.*
My best insult didn't provoke any more uncontrolled emotion. She instead regained her composure, and simply smiled that sweet, beautiful, innocent, murderous smile in my direction. I could feel her eyes glancing towards my direction all class.
*Huh, so that's what that feels like. Maybe I should stop staring at hot ladies in class. Damn what I would give to be anywhere else right now.*
*Oh.*
*Right.*
And with that I figured out my plan. of course, to pull this off, I would need to do the one thing I really would rather not have to deal with. Talk to the vampire that nearly took my life. | I was walking home from school with my heart almost beating out of my chest. Eileen actually asked *me* out, not only just for a date but to go to prom with her! We had been friends for a few years at this point and I’ve really started to like her. I showered, shaved a little, and got dressed as well as I could without overdoing it.
I walked to her house a block or so away and knocked on the door. I checked to make sure I put on some deodorant, fixed my hair a little bit, and just tried to keep my heart at a decent speed. Every second I stood at her front door felt like a small eternity. After the longest twenty seconds of my life Eileen finally opened the door. She just got home from school and her long black hair was only a little messy with casual clothes. She was really really pretty but she always wore some variation of long sleeves, jeans, and a big hat. She invited me inside and I nervously walked in and she motioned for me to sit down on the couch.
I awkwardly sat down and she sat directly next to me and put on the very first Saw movie which was one of the first things we talked about when we met each other. We both were big horror buffs and we both started discussing the movie just like any other day until she learned on me and put her chin on my shoulder and wrapped her arm around my bicep.
I stopped talking as I really took in just how pretty she was and looked in her eyes just for a second and I felt totally helpless against her. Like she in that very moment with only a smile had managed to break down every emotional defense I had built up over the years. It was a combination of delight and pure fucking terror as I struggled to form words as she snuggle up against me. I could feel the warmth of her body and worried that she might be able to hear my heart beating in my chest and was even more worried that my nervousness would make my hands all clammy.
She waved her hand in front of my face “You still here champ?”. I blinked and pulled myself back into the world “Sorry I was just making sure this was real” and I jokingly pinched myself and she responded by punching me in the side. She had a skinny figure and was only 5’6 but man she is much stronger than she looks.
“Sorry I’m just getting you used to me being physically abuse to you.” “That’s alright, it just gives me a reason to get a head start on my drinking problem”. We snickered and watched the movie for a little bit before I put my arm on top of her head like it was an arm rest. She looked at me and pretended to be annoyed “What do you think you’re doing there mister?” She said from under my arm.
“Hmm me? Oh I was just enjoying the movie with the your ‘splendid’ company.” “Oh yeah dumbass” and she tries to move away and I keep my arm on her head even though I am leaning in a fairly uncomfortable position just for the gag. She playfully narrows her eyes at me and in an instant kicks off the side of the couch and pounces on me. Catching me mostly off guard she manages to pin me down for a moment before we start wrestling each other for the right to use the other ones head as an arm rest.
We wrestled for a few minutes and she really held her own until I got the upper hand and pinned her down to the couch. I locked eyes with her for a moment but my nervousness kicked in and I got off of her. I reset myself on the couch and started watching the movie again. I could see from the corner of my eye she looked a little disappointed before fixing her hair and leaning on me again.
If she could read my mind it would be saying “You fucking idiot, you dumbass, block head, nitwit, ass for brains, dolt. This was your chance to go for it! But you threw it all away! It was right there in front of you and you didn’t take it. I know you listen to Eminem shitter, do you remember the lyrics? Because I do, you listened to that song a few dozen times and I a figure of your psyche can never forget it”.
I hyped myself up a little bit and raise my arm that she is snuggling on and wrap it around her shoulders and pull her into a half hug and she places her head on my chest. I look down at her again and see those pretty brown eyes and I just can’t stop thinking about her. She looks around and whispers into my ear “My parents aren’t home . A little mischevious smile grows across her face as she leads me off the couch and towards her room.
Whatever lock she gave totally overrides my stress and nervousness when she stopped outside the door “I don’t want to get my room messed up, would mind if we did this somewhere more… private?”. She could have said anything at that point as whatever state I was in had totally reduced me to a smiling, giggling, mess. She lead me down the basement and we started going at it. Whatever state I was in vanished as my monkey brain kicked in. She went in for a kiss on the neck and as she pulled away I couldn’t help but notice her mouth was full of heavily salivated teeth and a jaw that has been unhinged to reach past her cheekbones.
I was a little unnerved by it I was mostly just confused when she kissed my neck again and whispered into my ear “ Sorry, but don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing”. Her jaw clanked against her collarbone and she lunged at my neck tearing it completely out in one bite. I fell to the ground to hold my veins closed but she knocked them out of the way and started siphoning out my blood. I tried to pull her off but the more she drained me the less power I had to fight back until I lost consciousness.
I woke up the next day three feet deep underground but still very much alive. I crawled through the dirt before reaching sweet air.I looked at the sun and realized I would be late for school and started running with whatever I had on me at the time and made it to class just in time. I walked around the class and after spotting Eileen I Waltzed over to her and sat down with the biggest shit eating grin ever created. If Eileen. could turn more pale she would as she starred at me with each parts curiosity and horror. I didn’t even have a scar on me.
“So, about last night? Are we still ok for prom?” | 2022-12-29T23:35:18 | 2022-12-29T22:24:19 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] A top-secret division of the S.S., in charge of protecting Adolf Hitler from the thousands of time travelers trying to kill him. | In a sudden, sparkling corona of light, the man in the neon jumpsuit sprang from midair, raygun at the ready.
”Ah-*HA* Adolf! Get ready for a *reckoning* from the-”
He stopped, and looked at the startled men in front of him, in their Victorian frilled collars and codpieces.
”Oh, *blast*! Must've overshot again! Why, this damnable-!”
He started to fiddle distractedly with the chirping device strapped to his arm.
Calmly, the two men pulled out lugers from concealed pockets and shot him dead.
”Verks effry time, ya?” One said to the other, grinning, and wiping his forhead with a swastika handkerchief. | "Zis tiem travelleurs!" laughs Oberst Henckel von Krantfindeneinbludinaam, pointing at the latest. "Ven veel zey evah lern?! Zat tiem douß not wehk zat vey?!"
"Ich douß nicht know, Oberst Krantfindenbludinaam!" laughs Leutnant Klaus Einmoarkrautnaam. "Die alvez kommen allesder tiem!"
The two soldiers laugh raucously.
"Kawzwalitee shuld nicht iben allow zem tu comm! But ze oonivars ist funnie, no?"
"Ja! Das ist soo funnie, the oonivarhs!"
"Eef zey feuer bullet, eet seemplie **bounce off** ze Führer! He kannot be keeled zat way! Alles of them are of ze eediot-speecees! Der zeit-travelling Üntermensch!"
More laughter.
"Beste vas zat eenfiror Jude who appears zat day vee arr keeling ze unscwstors, but *Ach!* Herr Jude ist arrihve ***tu meenitz tu late!***"
Bellies are positively bursting right now.
"Ze facht zat zere arr *zooh* mennie tiem travelleuhrs komming back in tiem minz zat vee shall rise from ze presshur and veen ze Var!"
Hum-hum, lots of humming goes all around.
"Ja, ja, eet must be truh!"
But suddenly....!
###BANG!
The two SS officers burst into Herr Hitler's room, guns at the ready, only to find the Führer on the ground, hole in his head, smoking.
"Ach Gott!" cries Oberst Krantfindenbludinaam. "Die Führer has kommitment sueecyde!"
Behind the two men, the air shimmers, and out pops a tall, but slightly wonky-looking man. "No, no, no!" he yells, throwing up his arms. "That can't be it!"
"**Was ist das?!**" ask the officers, in unision, whirling around.
"Sorry boys!" says the man. "I just wanted to see what it really looked like in real life. Pretty disappointing, really. Don't worry, I'll make it all nice an epic for my masterpiece!"
"Who arr yiu?!" asks Einmoarkrautnaam.
"Here, have this instead!" says the man. "Spread the word through the ages! I'm off to rewrite history!"
And just like that, the man is gone, in a shimmering of light.
"Was ist das?!" asks Krantfindenbludinaam, looking in horror at the piece of paper the man's left behind.
Einmoarkrautnaam turns it over in his hands. On the other side, are two words.
They are:
##INGLORIOUS BASTERDS | 2014-07-01T09:08:40 | 2014-07-01T06:35:21 | 240 | 60 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | I went into archeology for the money, not for humanitarian reasons. Sure, I'd like to be the one to save the human race, I'd just like a beach house/ski resort on a designer world even more. The market value of digging in the dirt only goes up as the search for a working wormhole drive becomes more frantic. We've found plenty of fragments, but the tech is far too complicated to rebuild.
The people who made this stuff were geniuses. All of them. Besides custom planet factories, we've found teleport machines, a bed that records your dreams, sentient computers the size of a planet, and trees genetically built to grow and twist as you sing to them, whose petrified branches recorded at least a thousand years of song.
Even though the search for a way to leave the Milky Way is the most urgent reason we go digging, and more and more so as the population grows, there's still a huge market for collector's items. Ancient art and pottery fetch quite a bit, but most people who get rich do it by finding a probe. Morbid as it sounds, Voyager I and II sold for $45 and $40 million each, and the other objects launched by Old Earth, picked up by curious and brilliant (and forgotten) races are worth almost as much, even though there are thousands and thousands of them.
It creeps me out, personally. Why would you want to own something from the age of "first contact" -- to use the modern euphemism?
Not that it's anyone's fault. I'm not one of those nuts who thinks we should all spend our lives atoning for what our ancestors did in the name of exploration and discovery. Every one of those probes carried a message of friendship and goodwill for the people who'd find them, and they were sent long before we found the first ruined city on another world. Long before we knew what we had done.
By the time we understood that the human immune system was anything special it was too late. We had sent probes, or satellites, or golden records to every planet in the galaxy that harbored life. All carrying a message of peace. | Im'k'tho gave the translator box a gently tap, somewhat unsure as to whether it's output was accurate. What had, for Im'k'tho, begun as an exploration of what he could only consider to be as foreign as it was meaningless, had instead turned into a wonderful journey into a culture that for all intents and purposes was one of willful contradictions. He'd read the papers published by the United System Council on humanity, but it was not until he visited and seen humanity for himself that he understood their backwardness and magnificence in ignorant acceptance.
Such was a culture, that was at every point, a failure. They lacked structured societal roles and expectations, existing solely on the pretext of assumed function. How lost they must be to each and every one be lost in their purpose.
"You're saying you just watch?" he asked again, his eyes locked on the screen as the scene unfolded.
"Yea. Sure, we have different styles, but there is something vividly entertaining, inexplicable primordial about it. For some considered the purest form of human expression, allegory. Does your translator know this word?" the human said, as he pulled the cylinder from his mouth and exhaled exhaust. They always struct me as this weird hybridized creation of organic matter and machine. That an organic could generate "exhaust" as a exothermic reaction that exceeded base metastatic temperatures ideal for enzyme and protein action was such an odd notion. More so that such an action was a willing intake of poisonous compounds that they knowingly introduce into their systems at the cost of a decreased lifespan made it all the more confusing. I assumed there was some form of metaphysical argument to be found regarding the nature of mortality in a universe that was by its own existence self-ending. But even amidst my mental quandaries, I could not help but leave my eyes locked on the unfolding scene.
"Yes. We translate this to 'pronasikopathy' phonetically. 'Existence as mirror to thought narrative' is as close to a description. This is sensible to you?"
"Yes."
"I understand the need for visual stimulation and how it can be thought provoking as an allegory for our very existence. I can equally understand that this may serve as a form of instruction for the less-learned or inexperienced. But the simple act of watching such a display seems somewhat, no, entirely meaningless when the action itself surely would be more productive. Would not experimentation be more feasible?"
"We all, at a certain level, understand this; however, there are those who, due to whatever fault cannot. Still others, choose not. The recreational act of living through this art form, vicariously, is that it allows us said stimulation without extraneous need. In some ways, this satisfies that need."
"I am curious as to why the female is always receptive. Certainly gratification cannot be so unconditional."
"Well. It's sometimes the point and sometimes not. The action itself dictates meaning to the viewer. The form is just as varied, designed to meet each niche need. Certainly you understand the nature of supply and demand?"
"In economic function. Such an art form requires payment? How is it that all parties are so condoning of blatant exhibitionism? And the pageantry? This seems like a blatant mimicry of another permutation of a similar medium that at least has a more cogent plot line. Certainly you would prefer the form that is mentally stimulating over this. I do not even see how they are capable of such physical feats."
"This art form does not require narrative. That's its point. Of course there are those who find joy in trying to incorporate narrative development, but this is for humorous effect and always ironic in nature. You understand irony?"
"The unexpected, though our definition implies a distaste for such as unnecessary."
"To each their own."
"Clearly."
"I'm assuming that this information is helpful for your paper?"
"My professor was not terribly specific on his requirements for my thesis. Though I find your explanations to be quite eye-opening. It will be...difficult to write my dissertation as our cultures do not have anything close to an analogue for this. Will you be available for further questioning should the need arise?"
"Sure. Given the time dilation, I'm available at your 3200 hours, every other planetary rotation. Do you have any more questions before you need to leave for your flight to Amsterdam?"
"What is the title of this work in particular. Academic policy is very clear on citations."
"Pirates."
Edit: Grammar | 2014-07-16T13:34:49 | 2014-07-16T11:41:15 | 88 | 19 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | "Underchancellor, I want to know exactly who and why and how this happened, and what in Llorig's name you were thinking."
"Well, you see, Overchancellor, Planet Three has reported an alien presence. It's the Humans, the original inhabitants of Planet Three."
"I know that, Underchancellor."
"Yes, sir."
"I read the report, Underchancellor."
"Yes, sir."
"I want to know how they escaped the Penal Colony on Planet Four."
"With, with rockets, sir. Very primitive, by our scannings. Going from Planet Four to Three was about as the maximum range for their crafts."
"We destroyed their entire galactic fleet, didn't we, Underchancellor?"
"Yes, sir."
"And executed their entire scientist caste, didn't we? They've only been on that Penal Colony for only four of their generations. How in Llorig's name did they get their old spaceships back? Did someone sell them spacecraft? That's treason."
"Overchancellor, we've done testing. The rockets they used to escape the Penal Colony match none of the models of their spacecraft they used during the war."
"What are you saying? They invented new spacecraft in four generations? They have no scientists. It's impossible."
"I'm only telling you what I know, sir. And it's not spacecraft, not quite. They have no Quantum Drives or FTL Power. They seem to be powering their craft with fossil fuels they bought off of traders. Nothing like the craft they had during the war, but as far as we can see, they're effective enough. None of them have crashed."
"And how did this happen without any scientists? I oversaw the execution of that caste, there were none left alive. What you are describing is impossible, Underchancellor."
"Sir, I am only saying what has been reported. We're still trying to figure out how they bred a new scientist caste so quickly."
"The next time you come into my quarters I expect this matter to be solved, Underchancellor. If any part of this report appears to be untrue, you will be tried for treason and executed."
"I understand, sir."
"You are dismissed."
"Very good, sir."
"One more thing, Underchancellor."
"Yes, sir?"
"Have they made any demands? Any contact with our citizens on Planet Three?"
"Just one, sir."
"What's that?"
"They've offering to sell them things. Human food, human artwork, human instruments, almost everything they produce they offer to sell."
"Well, what do they sell them for?"
"Right now, they're very into buying our Rigaloos and keeping them as pets. They also buy our young's educational books in tremendous volumes."
"Why?"
"We have no idea, sir."
"They can't read them. Why would they buy them?"
"We're not sure yet. We think they're trying to decipher them."
"Humans are weird."
"Yes, sir." | "Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!! | 2014-07-16T11:43:48 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 78 | 13 |
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