prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] A boy post apocalypse who goes on a journey to find an orthodontist to remove his braces
You heard me
Edit: This is awesome, it's my first post that's got this sort of attention, thanks guys! | He stood there: dusty, dirty, possibly deranged.
The boy had followed me for about five or six miles now. I had first caught glimpse of him as I rummaged through debris on the freeway, peaking out from a pile of wreckage that had once been a tow-truck.
His hair was disheveled and so thick with grime it was hard to tell what its true colour was. To be honest, at this point I doubted anyone left on Earth could call themselves "clean".
I asked him if he had lost his parents - he said nothing. I asked him if he had come from San Diego - or the pile of twisted buildings and smoking rubble that had once been San Diego - he said nothing.
I'm not sure why I let him follow me; it could have been some trick, some ruse to lead me into an ambush. I long ago decided that travelling on my own was far safer than to trust the tattered remains of "civilisation".
Finally, whilst trekking through a small suburban town, I sat myself down on gnarled tree stump. Somewhere something was burning - something was always burning. A thick miasma of smog rolled behind us, bringing with it the acrid smell of irradiated air.
"Okay, kid, I'm sick of this now."
He was about nine or ten and had piercing green eyes. From the looks of it he was still wearing the clothes he had on his back the day everyone piled into the shelters.
"I ain't got any food, you hear?" That was a lie, but it would also be a lie to call the lumps of carbon in my backpack *food*.
The boy, in his first communication to me since appearing on that rusting freeway, shook his head.
"Finally, we're getting somewhere!" I leaned forward, placing my hands on my knees. "You looking for your parents?"
Another shake of the head.
"Someone to travel with?"
*shake*
"What is it then?"
He pointed at my pants. Confused, I looked down. "What about 'em? They're a bit dirty, but I haven't found anything better since..."
I trailed off as the child took a step forward and poked at me. Or rather, at something hanging from my belt. He prodded at my ID, burnt and dirt-encrusted, but still hanging in its laminate pouch.
"Are you hurt? I'm not that kind of doctor."
The child seemed to sigh, before peeling back his lips to reveal a set of yellowing teeth. Attached to them was the mangled remains of what I presumed to be a dental brace. The metal had twisted and warped, but whoever had stuck them on the poor kid really glued 'em on. Bits of old food clung to it in clumps, while broken shards poked painfully into his gums.
I whistled through my teeth. "Jesus Christ. No wonder you're so skinny."
The boy pointed at his open mouth, and again at my badge.
"You're kidding me, kid," I said, running a hand through my hair. "I'd like to help you, but I haven't done anything like this since *before*-"
He cut me off, taking my hand. Confused, I was led by the boy through the winding streets of the suburb, until we came to an aging dentists office. The white facade had rotted, the doors blown off their hinges, but it seemed to be mostly intact.
"How did you... Did you live here or something?"
The boy nodded to me, though somewhat sadly, before leading me in.
In the end I'm not sure what happened to him, honestly. I fixed him up the best I could with what was left over: cut off the broken metal, filed down the adhesive. I couldn't do too much because there was no power, y'know?
After that he gave me this sad smile and left. Just like that. I tried to follow him but the kid knew his way around and lost me pretty quick. I camped out near the town's hall, and the next morning you know what I found? There, next to my bedroll, a little beaten up but still in good condition, was a little brown teddy bear.
Even now I wonder if he's okay, the kid. I dream about it. In all the years since the end of the world, it's that one kid, that one act of random kindness, that has kept me going. I've still got that bear.
I hope he's okay. | The place I slept in last night looks a little like an old suburban home. One of the old money places. I arrived around eleven-thirty, sky already dark and hopped over the high black fence. Reset the motion sensors on the driveway, hooked up to my hand-cranked electricity generator and pulled myself into the loft, ladder hoiked up behind me. The soft buzzing of the alarm system kept me awake for a while, but I wouldn't have slept well anyway. And not for the reason you think, either. My teeth hurt.
The first thing I do every morning is brush my teeth. The bathroom here was huge; swimming pool-like bath taking up one whole corner of the blue and white room. I balanced my machete on an upturned laundry basket as I very carefully squeezed a thin line of toothpaste over a raggedy black brush. The mirror had blood spattered up the right side and a spider-web of cracks working their way down to the white sink. It was the first time I'd seen my face in a while. Still not a pretty sight.
I packed up slowly, one eye still on the motion sensors. I was due to have my braces off two months before the Risers came. My mom had come into the bathroom as I was brushing my teeth and smiled, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
"You looking forward to it? You've had them on for so long!"
I'd shrugged, mouth full of toothpaste. At the beginning, I'd wondered if I'd been kinder, more enthusiastic, then this wouldn't have happened. But then I realised it was ludicrous that the dead would rise from their graves just to teeth a fourteen year old boy to be kinder to his mother. Still wish I had been though.
I'm making my way from Berkley, California to Tacoma, Washington. Tacoma is because, pre-Rising, that was where the average salary of dentists and orthodontists was highest. So I reckon there'd be a lot there. That's the only plan I've got at the moment; just to keep walking and see what happens when I get there. People who don't have plans don't survive.
I'm just about to pull out the wires jimmied into my electricity generator when the motion sensors go crazy. I tighten the straps on my back pack, machete in one hand, duct tape rolled around my left forearm. I read somewhere that the Risers couldn't bite through that. I've yet to get close enough to put it to the test and I'm kind of hoping I never will.
The front door is some huge, double wide monstrosity which takes a couple of seconds to open fully. So I'm there, on the doorstep squinting down the driveway in the early morning fog and trying to work out if the shadowy figure I'm seeing is a Riser, a human or some kind of large animal. All of those are equally likely. I saw a brown bear near Portland the other day; wandered all the way up from Yosemite. My fingers are sweating around the leather grip of the blade despite the chill in the air and I can hear scraping footsteps, but no strangled moans.
"Hello?" I call out. If there's one thing I'm glad about, it's that no one was around when I went through the stage where my voice cracked. It's embarrassing at the best of times. With desperate people and Risers around, it's deadly.
"I'm not a Riser!" The figure calls out of the mist. It's a woman's - no? A girl's voice. It's high and thin.
"Neither am I." *Duh, I spoke first, didn't I?* I kick myself mentally. She's going to think I'm stupid.
"I can hear that." She emerges, petite and brown haired, wearing a battered prom dress. Her hair's cut short, like mine and she's sporting a black backpack, duct-taped arms and wielding what looks like a replica sword from some medieval fantasy blockbuster.
I watch her carefully. You'd think that all humans would be each others allies, but it couldn't be further from the truth. In the chaos that followed the first Rising, with the ransacking of shops and the looting and everything else, some people took the opportunity to go and act on grudges and enmities they'd harboured for years. I'd come home that first day to find my mother -
"You got food? Water?" She asked, interrupting my train of thought.
"I got my own supplies." I say.
"Fine." She shrugs. "Then I won't tell you about the fire-arms cache I found in the basement of the house next door."
"Uh - you just did."
She swears. "In my head, I said neighbourhood. Goddammit. Okay, well I'd really appreciate some water any way."
I throw her a bottle and watch her as she glugs it down, washing away the dirt around her mouth as she spills it.
"Cheers buddy." She crumples the bottle in her hands and underhand throws it into the wild bushes creeping over the drive. "I'll be off then. Help yourself to the weapons. These rich folk really seemed to fear something, didn't they?"
"I guess they were right." My mind doesn't register her words until she turns to go. "Wait! Which way are you heading?"
"Cali." She says. "My dad had some family down there."
"No point, it's overrun. The UNARF are all over it and it's lousy with Risers. There's plan to nuke the place if they can't get it under control." I left about three weeks ago, after realising that there was nothing left for me. Almost everyone living had fled.
She swears again. "I've been on the move since this began. Year and a half, jeez. I can't catch a break."
"I-" I blush. "You can come with me. I'm heading up to Tacoma, Washington."
"Why?"
I blush again. "I mean, you don't have to. You seem -uh you're doing really well by yourself... You know, I just thought that... seeing as er"
She stops me before I can completely embarrass myself. "No, why Tacoma. I know why I should come with you, doofus."
The blush is almost painful. I feel sick to my stomach. "I'm looking for an orthodontist." I whisper. "My braces were supposed to come off a year ago."
"Oh. Sure. If Cali's out, why not? You good to go?"
Her name's Annabelle. She kills three Risers single handedly on our first day. For the first time in two years, I am optimistic.
| 2022-04-19T11:21:38 | 2014-08-22T02:21:47 | 642 | 96 |
[WP] Your bong is the home of a genie. You spark the bowl and he appears to grant you 3 wishes. You're both pretty high. | Addiction, not quite, but a fondness for plants
The friction, the fright, when at once on a glance
I saw a genie, transfixed like a tomb
Through the billowing smoke that stagnated the room
*Now clearly*, thought I, as I pondered in wonder
*This genie's not real and my mind's in a blunder*
"Then what," interrupted this being of space
"Do you think shimmers here right in front of your face?"
*Can it be? A purveyor of wish and delight?*
"I've been stoned 3 millennia, hope I get this right"
_________________
"My name is Hepfezious Swoosh,
I'm a being of grass, tree, or bush.
Yet here in your bong,
I've resided so long
As your genie of Afghani Kush."
I heard these fair tidings with glee,
"Not one wish or two wishes, but three"
But I looked in his eyes,
Saw a slave in disguise
And I wished that he'd set himself free.
| 'Yo, hit that, hit that, hit that bong brother,' the Law says, plopping himself down on the rickety-bickety futon that sounds like a dying cat at every movement.
'Give me a sec man, the first hit of a new bong requires a little ceremony,' I respond. Packing a bowl into the the beautiful new genie-lamp shaped bong made out of blown glass. I give it a quick rub.
'I can show you the world,' Lawren begins to sing in a high pitched voice.
'I christen this bong, in the name of the herb, the hash and the holy oil, lamp. I love lamp'. I spark it filling the glass lamp with grey smoke. The water bubbles. I inhale. Hold.
As the smoke escapes my lips it looks strange, oddly conscious. The edges of my vision vibrate. Is that a...?
'Heeeeeeere's Jonny,' a booming voice fills the living room and dammit if it isn't Robin Goddam Williams painted blue and standing right in front of me.
'Duuuude,' Lawren and I chorus.
'TEN THOUSAND YEARS IN A LAMP...' the genie booms. 'It's good to see that intelligent conversation has come a long way in that time. Nice to meet you I will be your genie for this evening, please keep your hand and feet on the couch at all times. Complimentary water will be served. For those who are attention impaired a special screening will be put on in the matinee room. Please don't touch the merchandise it hasn't been washed since last halloween, and I won't be responsible for any injury or loss of life. Thanks you for listening what can I do for you two today?'
'Whooaaah,' Lawren and I say at exactly the same time.
'Are you a genie?' Lawren asks.
'I can see you're the smart one,' the Robin Williams says pointing an enlarged blue finger. 'Indeed I am and indeed you are two of the dumbest looking stoners i have ever had the displeasure of being summoned by. But that's alright it's time to make some dreams come true. Three in fact. What can I get for you?'
I start giggling like an idiot, and try desperately to think of a wish. Is this really happening?
'I guess the whole wish for more wishes is off the table?'
'That is correct'.
I look at Law, he looks at me. We've had this stoned conversation before.
'Amsterdam, Princes, Boom,' we're perfectly in sync.
Next thing we know we're in our own castles blazed out of our mind, with scantily clad women as servants. We travel Europe with our vast fortunes, bedding all types of freaky euro chicks.
'Dude, give me a toke,' Lawren begs. And I pass him the bong.
'Alright Patch Addams, I got a doozy for ya,' Lawren posits from behind eyes redder than the devil's asshole.
'Clean up all the damage that humans have done to this earth, all the trash and the carbon emissions so that humanity has a chance of changing it's ways before the earth is a wasteland'.
The Genie looks at Lawren for a second. 'Are you... are you serious?'.
'Oh wait, No!' Lawren exclaims. 'Jetpack, definitely jetpack!'.
| 2015-08-13T11:40:20 | 2015-08-13T11:25:40 | 44 | 30 |
[WP] A trapped demon calls a priest for excorcism because his host is too obese and can't get out of bed | "Who is this? How did you get this number?"
"Okay, *don't* hang up."
"... *Lastridus?"*
"Seriously, *DO NOT* hang up."
"What is this, some kind of sick game? Are you trying to lure me back, another pitiful ploy for attention?"
"Woah, *okay*, first off, last time was pretty Goddamn far from a ploy for *attention,* if those *whore mothering* reporters hadn't been filming that documentary I would have had the *VATICAN* in-"
"You lost. I won. Don't call me again."
"*WAIT, damn it,* I need *HELP.*"
"... I'm sorry?"
"Look, you beat me up pretty bad, first to admit it, Gabe *HIMSELF* doesn't hold a candle to you. I was barely able to cling to this plane, woke up behind the cathedral where we had our little scrape."
"It was the Sistine-"
"Whatever, look, I was too weak to claim anyone strong, I stumbled into the first house I could find, really fat guy, like, we're talking interchangeable body weight and birth year. But he's weak enough that I can take him, rest up for a few years, maybe go after those reporters once they're high up in the media, that sounds like a decent sequel for their little *documentary,* doesn't it?"
"And you want me for a cameo?"
"No. Well not a bad idea, actually, but the problem is this *FILIUS CANIS* never gets *up*. He has no energy, and he's sapped me completely *GODDAMN DRY.* He never leaves his house, he never works, he never even goes shopping but all he does is *EAT,* and he never even gets up to use the bathroom, the *SMELL,* Richards, you can't even *imagine it.* So... basically... I need you to come exorcise me."
"Sorry, I'm confused. He never goes shopping, yet he is always eating? Where does the food come from?"
"It just sort of... Wait."
"Do you know why they called me? Why the *Vatican* called in someone to deal with a *demon?*"
"... Oh no no no."
"Because when I banish demons to Hell-"
*"NO NO NO NO NO"*
"they stay banished."
*"EAS IN CRUCEM, SOW DRINKER!"*
"I'm glad they gave you my number. I'll be here whenever you need to talk."
Click. | "I'm boooooooored!" Antzl yelled quietly for probably the hundredth time that day. "When I took the job, they told me it would be a cake walk, but all I've seen since I got here is all cake and no walk. Bloody fat prick, can't even be bothered to get out of bed 'cept to piss or get more food or--wait a second now... what is he doing?! Oh my god! Did he just piss himself? This is too far! I'm not doin' this anymore. I don't care how far down the species line I get demoted, I'll work my way back to humans eventually. I've been here with this lard arse far longer than anyone has been with a human, and it's almost double the time it's taken me to get through all the mammals in the first place. That's it... I'm calling 'im."
Antzl retreated way back into the recesses of Joel's brain and pulled at at the nerve centers coordinated with motor skills and slowly and clumsily, and with much heavy breathing, Joel's meaty arm moved from atop his squishy mountain of a belly, and wandered toward the nightstand to his right, where a mobile phone was kept. The thick, greasy fingers closed around the phone and lifted it back to rest atop his middle. Through Joel's glazed eyes, Antzl could just make out the screen enough to read the numbers.
Pulling at yet more nerve fibers, Antzl moved the equally massive left arm from it's semi-permanent resting place atop the television remote toward the screen of the mobile phone. Antzl didn't need Joel's attention for such minor tasks as these anymore these days, as Joel's attention was almost permanently fixated on whatever programming was streaming nonstop into his dim, witless eyes. Antzl took great pride in his ability to use Joel's peripheral vision to his advantage as, despite his other large physical inadequacies, Joel's eyesight was quite good.
While the lump's attention was focused on the television, Antzl worked away at entering the numbers to contact a long-time friend and accomplice.
379
"He's never gonna let me live this down."
06
"What's the point of possession anyway if there's no external repercussions? The only person he hurts is himself, and he don't need me for that."
698
"Unbelievable really. I bet it was Karthan who put me onto this assignment. When I get back, I'm cursing his limbs to every corner of the world. He'll be floating around with nothing but elementary mind control to get what he wants. Not even his mates will go searching that far for him, not after last Praetillion."
4517
"Bastard better pick up..."
A few rings later a groggy voice answers, "Hello?"
"Barty, it's me, Antzl."
"Oh, what gives Antzl, it's three in the damn morning!"
"I know, I know, but I can't wait, I've reached my tipping point."
"Not another puritan is it? You're such a sad demon you know, the spiritual ones are the weakest, you do realize that, yeah?" Bartemius' voice was thick with sarcasm.
"No, you prick, and I thought we agreed no to bring that up again. Look, this is different, about as non-spiritual as you could find, advertised as "One of the Seven Deadly Wonders of the World" I thought it might be loads of fun, righteous anger, violence, perhaps murder, the lust and envy ones are always a laugh, humans on their knees begging, either for pleasure or mercy. But no! Sloth and gluttony, about the 2 most unattractive sins in the whole universe. I honestly think He came up with those to torture *us* instead."
"Alright, calm down, Antzl, where are you?"
"Wisconsin, the States. For only about 27 years now! His family and friends have all abandoned him, he's got health problems galore, but at this point, I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to be doing anymore, and it's just a nightmare. A boring, smelly, endless nightmare."
"Well I'm busy at the moment. The Vatican is running tours around the weekend, and guess who got chosen to lead them?"
"Oh mate... well that's you rightly served, playing for the other team."
"You have to admit, our benefits are much nicer."
"Matter of opinion, really. Look, this won't take long, won't even take much play acting. This fat arse will likely be asleep, or comatose, by the time you get here. I just don't have the patience to wait for cardiac arrest. I thought he'd have snuffed it years ago, but the bastard just keeps on."
"Look... I can be on a plane in four days, but you owe me!"
"Brilliant! Just make sure to bring something to mask the smell. I'm telling you, this ain't amateur hour." | 2015-12-22T18:49:29 | 2015-12-22T18:31:30 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] A demon that writes messages on your mirror with blood but they’re useful messages. Like “remember you have yoga at 6 tonight”
stolen from Meladoodle on Tumblr. | “Listen to your mother, this time.”
The first time Shelby saw the bloody words appear on the steamy bathroom mirror she was nine years old. It was a cold January morning and she was running late for school again. The words were strange and frightening, but not as frightening as the sound of her mother banging dishes around and yelling for her to get ready to go. Unsure if her mother had somehow played a trick on her and not wanting to incur further wrath, Shelby complied.
Winter became spring and the frost faded like the words on the mirror did from Shelby’s memory. A few days before her tenth birthday she was standing in the bathroom combing her long coppery hair. The steam was still thick and the mirror was fogged up. Words slowly took shape and she watched in silence, her breath caught in her throat.
“You have a test at school on Friday, don’t forget to study kiddo.”
She knew that she her mother could not be the one causing the words to form as her mother did not know about the test. The comb was placed on the sink and she took a step back before whispering. “I won’t.” Shelby didn’t forget, failing the test would’ve meant more yelling.
“Happy Birthday sweetheart, make sure to say thank you, even if you don’t like the gifts.”
A frown spread across her face as she looked at the blood words on the mirror. They were right. The birthday gifts would be terrible, but not as terrible as her mother making a scene about how ungrateful and spoiled she was. Weird dolphin stationary, a pack of cheap makeup, and an ugly dress later, Shelby smiled and thanked her mother. It was not the worst birthday she had.
Later that night she took her red lipstick and wrote a small message on the mirror in pretty cursive that she had practiced meticulously. The message was simply “Thank you.” The next morning bloody words appeared across the mirror. “Of course! Now clean this up before your mom sees it.”
Shelby smiled at the messy mirror and watched as the blood faded away until only the lipstick remained. She cleaned the mirror, determined not to incur her mother’s anger or betray her secret.
The seasons shifted and changed and the mirror spoke to Shelby more often. Sometimes it was about small helpful things. "Don’t forget your keys again." "Remember to find a gift for your mother." "Be gracious." "Remember the dishes." Sometimes though, it was about other things. "You will remember who you truly are." "Never stop being angry with her, but pretend until it’s time." "You’ll understand when you’re older."
Shelby slowly matured into a young woman and her mother didn’t like it one bit. Her body changed and flourished, but not only in the normal ways. One late winter morning she awoke to her mother screaming and pounding on her door. “I know you have a boy in there! I know it!” Shelby wasn’t frightened, but she was angry. She ignored her mother and walked into the bathroom, blood was already streaming down the surface. “It is time.” Time? The words faded as her mother burst through the bedroom door.
Her mother was on her within seconds, grabbing her hair and pulling, screaming incoherently about some boy and how she was a slut. A thin hand came down upon her cheek in a sharp slap; her mother had never hit her before. The anger that ripped through her body went to the core of her being and for the second time in her life, her body changed. Claws sprouted from her fingers, horns twisted from her silky red hair, and teeth morphed in her mouth into angry points of bone. Her feet were different too, cloven hooves. Shelby snarled and without a thought, grabbed her mother’s head and snapped her neck.
When she turned to look at herself in the mirror, her appearance startled her. The words that appeared on the mirror did not; they caused joyous wicked laughter to bubble up out of her throat.
“Daddy has missed you, kiddo. It’s time to come home now.”
Shelby put a clawed hand up to the mirror and pushed, reality gave way and her hand sank in. Without ever looking back, she climbed up over the sink and through the mirror, into another world where the only parent who had ever truly wanted her waited.
| The first time was...unsettling.
It was the middle of the night, and I groggily made my way into the bathroom to do my business quickly and quietly. I knew my own apartment well enough, so I wasn't about to blind myself by flipping on any lights. But as I was relieving myself, I noticed some smudges on the mirror, and looking closer at them, I...
Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I just realized I'm talking about myself taking a piss. Is that gross? I'm sorry if that's gross. Didn't mean to bring up my, uh, private times. Sorry if that's a bit awkward for you.
Anyway, I looked closer at it, and I noticed that the smudges were *all over* the place. Now, I have a pretty big mirror, and I'm not the best at keeping it clean, but this seemed a bit much. So I turned on the lights. And...then I swore a bit more loudly than I should've at 3 in the morning in an apartment complex.
See, the mirror--the entire bathroom mirror--was covered, *covered* in blood. No idea where it came from. Still not sure, actually. But it wasn't just blood. It was words written in blood. Y'know what it said?
"Lunch with Katie, tomorrow, 12:15".
I know, right? "Lunch with Katie". I was just as confused as you are now, and I know who Katie *is*. She's my sister, by the way; nice girl, I think you'd like her.
So, there was blood on my bathroom mirror that definitely wasn't there when I went to bed the night before. So I freak out. I tried to convince myself I was dreaming. Then I thought maybe I was seeing things. So, naturally, I poked at the blood. It was still wet.
I washed my hands and tried to call someone, but, y'know, three A.M. Finally I went back to bed and tried to go back to sleep. Worst sleep of my *life*, let me tell you. The next morning, I went into the bathroom to see if it's still there. And it's gone.
Can you imagine that? I saw something so crazy, so unbelievable, and the next day it was like it was never there. Do you know how that feels? It's kind of weird to say, "Oh, thank god, I was just crazy all along." So I didn't know if it was better to hope that I was crazy, or that I wasn't. Does that make sense? Eh, probably not. Doesn't matter. Oh! But here's the thing:
I *totally* had lunch plans with Katie that day. And I had forgotten all about them.
If it wasn't for that mirror, I would have forgotten to meet Katie at lunch that day, and I wouldn't have gone. Which means I wouldn't have seen the bruise, and I wouldn't have found out that her boyfriend had hit her, and--well, I don't really want to think about it.
Anyway, a week went by, and I was trying to forget about the whole blood thing. But sure enough, one day, I got up in the morning and there it was: "Presentation, Tuesday, 1:00".
It was a job thing that I almost forgot about; I'm not gonna bore you and talk about my job. I don't want to be *that* guy, y'know? But anyway, this message, it was on the Thursday before. That mirror saved my ass.
And then it happened again. And again. And after so many times, it's not really that weird to see blood on your mirror anymore. Every time, it was something that ended up to be really important, and something that I had completely forgotten about.
Until that one time it said, "Appointment w/ Dr. Cruchlow, Monday, 3:00". I knew I hadn't forgotten about that one. It's hard to forget something you never knew in the first place. I didn't even know who Dr. Cruchlow *was*.
So I go and look him up, and it turns out he runs this small family practice pretty close by to...
...Heh, sorry. I was gonna say he runs it close to my apartment, but then I thought, "Should I really be giving this person clues about where I live?" But...it doesn't matter. Besides, I already told you about the fact that I get helpful reminders from the bloody words that like to form in my bathroom mirror, so I guess you could say we're close enough for me to tell you that I live pretty close to Dr. Cruchlow. Nice guy, by the way, I think you'd like him.
Anyway, I call up Dr. Cruchlow's office and give them my name and stuff, and they ask me if I'm calling to confirm my appointment. I was like, "What appointment?" Turns out, I already had an appointment scheduled there for that coming Monday at three o'clock.
Now I know what you're thinking: this was pretty spooky. But then I thought, this bloody mirror has helped me out so much in the past, and only good things have come from it. And this guy is just some doctor. What do I have to lose, I thought.
So I go to the appointment, and Dr. Cruchlow comes in, and he does the standard checkup thing, touch this, feel that, yadda yadda yadda. But while he was doing the stethoscope thing--you know, that thing they do where they put the cold thing on your back and tell you to breathe deep--he stops. And he *pokes* me. And he says: "I don't like the feel of this lump."
About a year later, and here I am, cancer-free. They tell me it's amazing that it was caught as early as it was. It wasn't really a big deal, they were able to get it out pretty easily. Let that sink in for a second: Thanks to the blood message I got from my mirror, the *cancer* I had *wasn't a big deal*.
I owe that thing my life.
Anyway, to answer your first question: What I am doing here.
Well, when you have a mirror like that, and it tells you to go to the doctor, you do it. When it tells you to change your car's oil, you do it. When it tells you to lie, cheat, steal, kill--you do it all, no questions asked.
So that's what I'm doing here. Sorry I can't tell you why, though.
You seem nice, by the way. I bet I would've liked you. | 2016-08-07T17:10:42 | 2016-08-07T16:38:26 | 2,894 | 1,836 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | The bus sped past me again. I don't really know what else I expected. 347 years they've done this, but I pay them no mind. They think it's rude to stay, I think it's rude to leave. I've dealt with their 'punishments' for long enough that it just doesn't bother me. I can basically predict how the day goes- I check the bank to see how much money I gained from interest, I go to work late to avoid the eggs (They always go "Oh shit he actually did it this time!" and go back to their cubicles), during lunch the boss talks to me about my plans for the future, I walk home while rocks are thrown at me. But I go through with it every day.
The days seem to grow longer every day. I'm technically the richest man on Earth, but the money doesn't matter to me. I'm staying until I get what I want. My great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren don't talk to me, but I'm sure they'd understand. They've long forgotten it, it was a thing from when my wife was still alive. The days grow longer without her. She finally gave in 50 years ago. Now I've got fifty dresses collecting dust, and two golden rings starting to rust.
But I wait evermore, because I know it's still not forgotten. I do this everyday, but I know in my heart that it's right. My wife's last words were "See you soon." But I've got to wait for the both of us. 328 years I've waited, but I made a promise to myself...
I WILL play Half Life 3. | Marcus encountered his sixth assassination attempt on the morning of his one-thousand-and-first birthday. He opened his eyes to sudden light: the curtains of the canopy bed were ripped back, and four men with sharp duelling swords grinned like wolves. They levelled the points of the rapiers at Marcus, who lifted himself up onto his elbows and wondered where Tally was with the coffee. He had been dreaming about his cathedral again.
"Hello boys," he said slowly. Marcus spoke lightly, trying to conceal how breathless he'd become at the slight movement. "Is that Sestio I see there?"
His descendant stepped forward. The point of his sword held steady, but the smile had faded. He had some of Marcus' rugged looks, but his chest was skinny and the dandy clothes looked foolish on him. A thin moustache curled above his thinner lips, and there was no warm light in his weasel-like eyes. Having his friends at his back gave him a cocky confidence. He tossed his head when he spoke.
"Hello grandfather," Sestio said wickedly. "It's your birthday." They all called him grandfather. At least to his face.
"So it is," Marcus tossed the blanket aside and stood up. He refused to hold onto the bedposts. They would not know how weak he was. "A thousand and one. What luck have I see to see another day. Another day to plan my cathedral."
"Not another one, grandfather," Sestio said. "We've come to kill you."
Marcus heaved a crumpled sigh, saddened. The young ones didn't understand death. He crossed in front of the youths. One of them had let the tip of his sword droop to the floor. Sestio watched Marcus, enraged. Marcus opened the bureaus, pulled out the maps and plans he had been working on the day before. If he didn't show fear... The plans were as he'd left them.
"Grandfather!" he cried.
"I will bathe, and dress, as normal," Marcus said. "You will leave. We will not speak about this again. I will not tell your mother." Because Marcus could not remember which one of his many offspring were Sestio's mother.
Marcus rolled the die of fate and hoped Sestio would be too embarrassed to continue. He rolled up the plans in his hand and tapped them against the opposite palm.
"It'll all have to be done again," he muttered to himself, moving to his study. The ornate room stretched around his: gilt and frescoed covered walls. He walked slowly, upright and ramrod straight, feeling the prickle on his neck as his would-be-assassins watched him leave.
"Wait here," Sestio barked. He took two long strides and gripped his grandfather by the elbow. His long fingers dug into Marcus, who refused to show pain or fear.
"Every day for years you have restarted the plans for this cathedral," Sestio whispered under his breath. "It's a madman's dream. You'll never complete it."
"I will," Marcus said. "And when I complete it, I'll choose to die. Do you know the fable of Penelope, as she waited for Odysseus?"
"I don't care," Sestio shook Marcus. It frightened him: the rage on his descendant's face, the hatred in his cold eyes. He didn't dare show it. "Your mind's gone, old man. It's time to put it to rest."
"The cathedral will be a place of rest," Marcus broke free of Sestio's grip. "For me, and for another who didn't choose to die. That's why it *has* to be perfect. For her."
Sestio's eyes clouded in confusion. He stepped back. Marcus couldn't resist one last dig.
"And five others have tried to put an end to my plans, Sestio," he quipped. "Yours has been the most feeble yet."
------
/r/Schoolgirlerror
| 2016-08-09T08:58:15 | 2016-08-09T07:33:14 | 916 | 87 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | 4 weeks until the wedding.
I've been anxious every day. Hands sweating, knees shaking, nightmares raging, nearly fainting. I can't go on like this.
There's something I never told my husband-to-be.
On Thursday night, he comes over for a movie. He wraps his arm around me lazily and begins flicking through the roster. Shaking, I stand up to pop us popcorn. *It's now or never.*
I pretend to hit my foot on the edge of the sofa. "Owwww," I cry out, falling to the floor. I flail around extra, to make it look super accidental. "That hurt."
"Are you okay?!" he yells, jumping to my side.
"I think I cut myself," I say, through mock-sobs. Real tears, though, are welling up as I wait for him to see the drop of black.
"Jessie..." he says, trailing off. He's speechless. *Uh-oh.* "What... what have you done?"
Now real tears flow from my eyes. "I can explain," I say, half-heartedly. *No, I really can't.*
"You can explain? Really? I've never seen blood this black, and I'm a nurse. You must have tortured people, or murdered them, or --"
"Please," I interject.
"No. I -- I can't do this. How can I marry you? What have you kept from me?"
"You told me you didn't care about my past!"
"I do care, when it's a matter of murder, rather than how many guys you bedded in college!"
"You won't even give me a chance to explain?!" I whisper.
"No. Goodbye, Jessie."
In a rush of footsteps and *slam* of the door, I'm alone. Sobbing, I let the bottle of black ink slip from my hand.
Yes, there's something I never told my husband-to-be: I can only marry a man who trusts me, believes me, and always gives me a chance to explain. | Time seems to stand still. I look at the cut oozing with blackness. She stares at me with a look of fear. I just keep trying to process what just happened. This woman I've loved for years, who is she? My mind starts coming together. "Lisa, lets go to the bathroom and take care of that, it looks nasty." I say calmly.
"You're not afraid?" She asks terrfied. "I can explain, it's nothing!" She seems to be panicking. I walk over to her and place my arms around her in comfort.
"You don't have to explain, it's okay. Let's just go take care of it." I said using a calm tone. I start to direct her to the bathroom. At first she hesitates but then willingly goes with me to the bathroom. I turn on the sink and place her arm where the cut is under the water. "Just rinse it out I'll go get some towels." I can tell she's starting to calm down. I walk out of the bathroom and immediately slam the door shut. I begin to use all my muscle to drag our dresser in front of the bathroom door.
"ELIJAH! ELIJAH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" I hear Lisa scream from the bathroom. She begins to try and open the door. When that fails she starts banging on it and continues to call my name.
"I'LL NEVER BE AROUND SOMEONE LIKE YOU! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU BETRAYED ME LIKE THIS! I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE!" I scream through the door. After I have the dresser blocking the door I run to get my cell phone and immediately call the hotline number. "You have to help, there's one of them in my apartment!"
I hear the operator start typing, "Remain calm sir, help is on the way. We sent them out to your address on file. Are you safe right now?"
"Yes, I have her trapped in the bathroom. Please hurry!" I hang up the phone and begin pacing. The fifteen minutes it took for the police to arrive was an eternity. I kept pacing and checking the dresser hadn't moved. All I could hear from the bathroom was Lisa sobbing. "Good," I thought to myself "at least I know she's still in there." I hear a knock on my door and rush to open it. Two policemen are standing in my hallway.
"Where is this person sir?" they inquire. I take them straight to the dresser. All three of us move it out of the way. I walk to the furthest corner of the room. They announced to Lisa they were coming in and would use deadly force. They open the door and check it's safe inside. I see them go in and hear the usual rights being read. They walk out carrying Lisa by her arms, she looks defeated. I begin to get sick to my stomach at the sight of her. They take her out to their car and one of them returns.
"It's a good thing you called us when you did sir. You never know what these types are capable of. We'll do all the usual processing and let you know what's next." He informed me.
"I don't care what you do with that thing, I want nothing to do with her." I say, hate filling the air. The officer just nods and leaves a copy of his report with me. I go back to the bedroom and start putting things back to how they should be. Exhausted from the adrenaline rush I lay down and fall asleep.
The next day I wake up, I lie in bed replaying the night before. Exhausted and unsure what to do I go about my daily routine. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I start shaving my stubble. Almost in auto pilot while I came to grasps with everything. The next thing I know I feel a sharp pain on my chin and see some blood fall into the sink. I quickly grab some toilet paper to stop it. Looking down I notice my blood was a dark gray. "It was never that dark before, and I just got a paper cut a month ago." I think to myself. I stare at it a few minutes more before finishing my shave and cleaning myself up some more.
I go out into the living room, stare at the life that could've been. A few minutes later I post on Facebook about Lisa. Making sure everyone knows what she is and why we aren't together anymore. | 2016-09-22T20:56:22 | 2016-09-22T19:10:06 | 154 | 81 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | 4 weeks until the wedding.
I've been anxious every day. Hands sweating, knees shaking, nightmares raging, nearly fainting. I can't go on like this.
There's something I never told my husband-to-be.
On Thursday night, he comes over for a movie. He wraps his arm around me lazily and begins flicking through the roster. Shaking, I stand up to pop us popcorn. *It's now or never.*
I pretend to hit my foot on the edge of the sofa. "Owwww," I cry out, falling to the floor. I flail around extra, to make it look super accidental. "That hurt."
"Are you okay?!" he yells, jumping to my side.
"I think I cut myself," I say, through mock-sobs. Real tears, though, are welling up as I wait for him to see the drop of black.
"Jessie..." he says, trailing off. He's speechless. *Uh-oh.* "What... what have you done?"
Now real tears flow from my eyes. "I can explain," I say, half-heartedly. *No, I really can't.*
"You can explain? Really? I've never seen blood this black, and I'm a nurse. You must have tortured people, or murdered them, or --"
"Please," I interject.
"No. I -- I can't do this. How can I marry you? What have you kept from me?"
"You told me you didn't care about my past!"
"I do care, when it's a matter of murder, rather than how many guys you bedded in college!"
"You won't even give me a chance to explain?!" I whisper.
"No. Goodbye, Jessie."
In a rush of footsteps and *slam* of the door, I'm alone. Sobbing, I let the bottle of black ink slip from my hand.
Yes, there's something I never told my husband-to-be: I can only marry a man who trusts me, believes me, and always gives me a chance to explain. | "No, it's not what you think. I can explain!" She proceeded to back away slowly, wide-eyed and pale in the face.
"W-w-who are y-you" she stuttered. I could see tears in her eyes, threatening to betray her.
"I promise I'm still the same man you fell in love with. I've made some mistakes I'm not proud of but I've changed!"
She shook her head slowly and shoved me into the brick wall, my head hitting the hard surface. "How could you!? I've told you everything about me and yet you dare hide something like this from me?" Her tears finally betrayed her and I watched as they slid down her cheeks. I never meant to hide it from her but I was scared that she wouldn't accept me if she knew. But it was too late. She hated me, I could hear it in her voice. I gazed into her sapphire eyes, mesmerized by her beauty.
"I promise I will make it up to you." I tucked her hair in behind her ear and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead before walking away. That was the last time I saw her alive.
The next morning started out like any other day. I sat at my cubicle and contemplated life. It was part of my routine as I had quite a bit of extra time between phone calls and there was always something eating away at my mind. I had thought about Kailyn and how things went down last night. Suddenly a wave of guilt washed over me. Maybe I shouldn't have left her in the way that I did? I didn't want to give her a chance to break up with me. She has always been my saving grace and I don't know what I'd do without her.
We met when we were both 18 and, at the time, I was depressed to the point where I tried to end my life but she was always able to talk me out of it. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with her and propose. I could feel my face getting warm and a smile threatening to show itself on my face, making my lips quiver as I tried to hide it. If only she knew how much she means to me. Suddenly I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket and when I answered the call, my whole world turned upside down.
"Is your name Steven Donovan?"
"Yes"
"And your fiancé's name is Kailyn Wilson?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Martin Wells. I am a police officer from NYPD. I've got some bad news. Kailyn has been involved in a car wreck. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this but..She didn't make it."
My face went cold and my entire body went numb. I dropped the phone on the desk and sat there, motionless. It was as if someone had pressed the pause button because time had cease to exist in my newly distorted perception of reality.
"Are you alright?" I turned over to see my manager suddenly standing next to me with a concerned look on his face. In a soft tone, I muttered "No." It was all I was able to get out before balling my eyes out. Yes, right in front of my manager. But I didn't care. All that mattered was that my Cinderella was gone.
That was when I began drinking every night but no matter how much I drank, I could never drink the pain away. It was this constant stabbing pain that hit my soul every time I took a breath. I could never forget my angel. One night, the pain was too much to bare and I held a gun to my head. It was more than satisfying to feel the tip of the gun against the side of my head because It was the only thing that felt real to me. This was the only way that I could end the pain I was in and kill the demons leeching off of my soul.
As I brushed the trigger with my finger, I thought back to the last time I saw her. She was so perfect. Her hair was black as the midnight sky and her blue eyes shown brighter than all of the stars. I absolutely adored the way her face would light up every time she saw me. I felt my face come to life as I smiled, a real authentic smile.
"I made a promise to you and i plan on keeping it. I choose to live. For you." | 2016-09-22T20:56:22 | 2016-09-22T16:56:11 | 154 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original. | The dragonflies whirred through the long grass that stuck out of the pond. Two of them flew around where my bobber floated in the water, then buzzed off somewhere I couldn’t see.
My name is Moses, I like being called Moe. Currently, I was trying to fish out my dinner, but they just weren’t biting today. I hoped my father managed to wrangle up something on his hunt with my mom, whom insisted on joining him and that I tended camp. I was named after my great great great grandfather, who lived before the Name Wars. His was an uncommon name, but my parents liked it and named me after him. He was a survivalist, knowing a broad range of techniques for surviving in the wild, so I never had much of a problem. I was good with a bow, could cook almost anything, proficient at tracking and a myriad of other skills. Sometimes I wonder if that was the true reason my parents named me that.
I reeled in my line, “Nuts to this,” tossing my rod to the side with my bag, I grabbed my knife out of it. I stripped off my clothes and walked into the pond. It was cold. I could faintly see a school of fish swimming and I tread slowly towards them. “HA!” I shouted, plunging my knife into the pond, sticking two of them. I smiled.
Back at camp, I deboned and descaled them fish and chopped it up. I fashioned a medium sized fire and cooked the chunks on a pan over it. I always fell into thought, looking at the fire crackle under the food.
We came from the Boblands. My father, Bob, lived there since birth. Bob, the original Bob, was an almost mythical figure. He was, what they’d call “A jack of all trades.” Once the name game started, and people in turn could name there children after a specific person and that child would gain their attributes-well, Bob was the man everyone wanted to be. Why be anyone else, when you could be Bob?
Well, there were other people, it turns out, who wanted to be like similar “great” figures. Some named after Dave, the smartest man to live. Some after Harold, one of the great athletes. Women had their names as well, Rebecca was one of the great minds of her time, along with Beatrice, whom also succeeded in science and engineering. There was Cynthia, whom was their “Jack of all trades” equivalent of Bob. My mother’s name, coincidentally. Most Bob’s tended to marry Cynthia’s, only diverging on rare occasions. Turns out my parents didn’t want me to be just another Bob, and they didn’t want to live under the Great Bobs, so they got off the grid, and took me along with them.
I never understood the numbers game, how or why it happened, but I never questioned it. It was just how the world worked, and I had to accept being born into it. As a name that nobody has. My parents say it makes me unique. I think It makes me the loneliest man in the world.
“Something smells good,” I heard an unfamiliar voice say. It wasn’t my mother or my father. I turned around and saw a man brandishing a machete. “Hey kid.” We looked at eachother, frozen in time. I had my knife on me, but it was a farcry from a machete.
“What’s your name?” I asked with venom, “And what are you doing here?” He scoffed and grinned at me.
“What’s YOUR name? Not that it matters. I’m gonna take what I want here.” He replied.
“Dave,” I lied. I was always supposed to tell people I was a Dave. No names were worth quite a lot if captured by certain factions. The scoundrel cocked a brow.
“Pretty far from home, aren’t we Dave? You’re in the Bobland outskirts.” He walked a few steps closer. “Kind of young to be out here all on your own.” I gripped my knife.
“I’m not alone, actually. There are eyes on you now.” He stopped and looked around. He looked behind him and whistled. There were more of them now, walking through the brush. I tensed. There was a gun in the tent. I could grab it and kill all three easily. It was hidden in a hole under a mat, underneath my sleeping bag. I was always cautious.
“Drop the knife kid, we got you surrounded.” The other two started walking closer. “Throw it over here.”
“Okay,” I said, gripping the tip of the knife. With a quick flick of my wrist, I sent it hurtling towards the leaders face, and impaled him in the eye. While the two goons behind him stared in shock, I made a break for my tent. I heard them running after me as I threw up my sleeping bag and retrieved my gun. It was a rifle, and loaded, luckily. When I felt the first man trying to get into the tent, I pointed my gun at the entrance and fired at his silloute. Thump. One down. I heard the other one screech and run. I walked out of the tent with blood on my mind. If this one escaped, he’d just come back with more. I aimed carefully and shot his leg. He screamed.
“Agh! SHIT!” He cried, gripping at his leg. I walked over to him, and knocked him out with the butt of my gun. I’d let my parents interrogate him when they got back from their hunt.
After looting their corpses, and checking the living guy’s wallet, I found some identification.
“No Name Removal CO.”
These men were hunting me.
| “Kebert Xela Simpson?” she asked.
Ashley was my best friend, had been since we roomed together starting freshman year. We were both engineering/physics majors, and we tried to sign up for the same classes every semester. She was constantly ahead of me and rarely had to study.
“Yeah…I’d rather not talk about it. My parents thought they were being clever and unique. Instead, I’m doomed to have an average life, no gift of expanded knowledge, no ever-expanding skillset with which to impress others… Nothing. Just me.”
“Sure, but I mean, you always just told me your name was ‘Bert...I thought that was just short for Albert or something.”
“I wish…at least I could have some of their brains to share the load…especially when we get into our more technical classes this year.”
“Right…I can’t imagine having to learn it all brand new. That sucks, for sure, but at least you get to claim all your grades as your own, right? Like, no one can take credit from you for anything!”
“But how can I be expected to outperform the Bobs, the Julies, the Michaels?! They have super-expansive hive minds, they can break up difficult jobs among the masses and complete anything within hours—days at most.”
“Sure, I get that. You’re behind the eight ball, and will be, constantly. But I would look at this as a blessing. Seriously, you get to be original and creative, you don’t have thousands of neurons full of rote memory to work off of which means you could very well be the next Tesla or Edison!”
“Thanks…I suppose. ‘Kebert Xela: Genius Wonder!’”
Ashley leaned back on the bed and started laughing. Her black hair caught in the light of the window, she had an extraordinary sort of beauty, features stark and prominent like those of a runway model, though she was only 5’ 5” at best.
“When you make your breakthrough discovery, remember me, okay? You can just note me in your Nobel prize speech as ‘Ashley Prime.’”
“Right…though it will probably be an Ig Nobel prize for me: Kebert Xela, with her prize-winning study noting that mice prefer cotton over polyester while copulating.”
“That’s disgusting…like, who actually studies that?”
“Actually, Ahmed Shafik.”
“Who—nevermind. Hey, I’m gonna go meet up with the other Ashleys and some of the Brandons to plan Homecoming, wanna come?”
Homecoming: the ghost of a high school memory dragged kicking and screaming into college. I was always more impressed with the paper mache pineapples and coconuts than I ever was in the homecoming court.
“No thanks. I appreciate it, but I really need to study for this test in Phys-II. Besides, I’d be a bit of a 13th wheel tagging along.”
“Twelfth wheel -- one of the Brandons got hired on at his dad’s law firm already. Apparently it’s a work-study program so he can start making money as soon as possible.”
“Oh no, what ever will Ashley to the Nth do?”
Ashley let out a mock scream of horror as she closed the door behind herself.
I began reading our Physics book, creatively titled Physics II, and set about rearranging notes from lectures for the upcoming exam. Thankfully my dad had grown up a tinkerer--by day working in the machine shop for the university and by night fixing old electronics in our garage. He had a screwdriver in my hands before I could write and my first shapes were based on circuit boards and other scraps in the workshop.
As I was reviewing the chapter on electronic circuits, a massive pain seared across my eyes. It felt like the brightest light has just been laid directly on my iris. I couldn’t see anything, and the pain was causing nausea. I reached for my trashcan as the room began clearing up.
“Christ! What the—“
Just as the pain was subsiding, a glowing warmth fell over me. It felt like I was curled up under a giant comforter and reminded me of all the nights my mom read me to sleep. I felt happiness and comfort oozing from all sides.
This was getting weird. I immediately slipped on my flip flops and a hoodie and ran out hoping the health center was still open. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I felt like my brain was misfiring. I was worried I would die or worse.
As I walked into the health center, a cold blast of air hit me. I was overcome with a sudden desire to just cry.
*What is going on?! Is this hormonal?! Jesus!*
The girl behind the counter was reading the school newspaper. She had the best curls and I made a mental note of coming back when I felt better to ask for some tips. I felt bad for interrupting, especially feeling like I could break out in tears at any second.
“I need…someone…something. A doctor? Nurse?”
A clipboard was retrieved and the girl placed some papers on it. She hung it out in the air in between us with a pen saying, “fill this out as completely as possible. Please have a seat somewhere in our lobby. The nurse will be with you shortly.”
“Will it be long? I’m…I was…I don’t know--feeling like death.”
“The nurse will be with you shortly. I’m sorry, please have a seat. She should be out soon.”
With that, the girl went back to her newspaper and left me to fill out my dark secrets for the nurse and all of the medical world to discover. While I was searching Google for my insurance company’s address, the nurse showed up.
“Bert?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“Follow me, please,” she said, guiding me through the door and down a carpeted hall to a small clinical room. It looked like a room untouched by time since the 70s or 80s--decorated in browns and beiges. I pulled myself up onto the medical exam table she motioned to as she took a seat on a rolling stool while reading a file.
“Ah, I think I know what’s going on here. Let’s run a few simple tests to verify though. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt too much.” She said as her smile had changed from a sterile customer service smile to that a mother might wear if her daughter had just started puberty.
“So I’m not dying?”
She laughed, explaining I was not near death and running through a few instructions before she retrieved a bright flashlight and began shining it through my field of vision.
She then took some ice from a small refrigerator and ran it up and down my arms, neck, and forearm followed by pricking my finger for a small blood sample. I was feeling more irritable through the ice, but the needle made me want to just curl up and cry.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I could cry for days…what is going on?! It’s like…like—“
“Like you’re a baby again?”
“Yes! Wait, is that--?”
“Yes, I do believe you’re experience the emotions and experiences of a second Kebert Xela being born. Very interesting…and such an odd name! No offense of course, but this is exciting! You get to experience everything from another perspective. This is your first link to someone else!”
“But I thought it was just knowledge that transferred? Why am I experiencing pain and emotions?”
“While I’m not sure—we haven’t really don’t a lot of research regarding birth and early childhood—I think, well I mean, we know there’s a tie between memory and our senses. So…I would think that since a child, a newborn, hasn’t learned any letters or words or anything, the only thing he or she could convey would be basic sensory input and emotions tied to them. Congratulations though, you may want to go visit our psychology department. We could probably find out a lot about new births and the mental links we all share. Isn’t this exciting?!”
“Wait, so, someone else named their child Kebert Xela?!”
| 2017-04-07T11:20:49 | 2017-04-07T10:48:59 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman. | He laid with her and stroked her hair.
"I love you." he whispered into ear.
she smiles.
"and I you." she softly coos back.
He kisses her cheek she tilts her head and he kisses her neck before falling back to nuzzle in looking at the roof. The room was very dim and cool and drafty save for the fire in the edge of the room. He had her heat tho. She was so out of his league. He'd admired her from a far for years. how did he get so lucky? he was certain she had no clue who he was.
"why did you take so long to ask me out. How did you not know I smitten with you?" she asked. She could read his mind. I guess that's what happens when two are this madly in love he tells himself. He sighs as if thinking how best to reply.
"I mean... just look at you. and I mean look at me! your so young and beautiful. Me on the other hand-- god. I don't even have all my hair!"
she chuckles a soft hollow chuckle.
"Hey! I like you the way you are!"
he brushes a hand along her good thigh pushing up her silk nightgown. He looks into her eye with loving desire and looks for it back.
"So today the day I finally meet the parents..."She begins. He doesn't see the look back "...I'm so worried they won't--"
**"WRONG!!"** He maniacly bellows.
"No no no!" she pleads. She wasn't at the point where she didn't plead. He slammed down the cigar cutter bladed severing the index finger. Her blood curdling screams filled the air. It made him a little erect.
jumping off the stone operating table he had her chained to he moves over to the metal working fire that dimly lit the room retrieving the metal he had stoked. Grabbing her hand he presses the glowing yellow steel to her stump the sizzle made a beautiful accompany to her moaning pain. throwing the metal across the room he stormed to the door.
"I've told 20 times now." he spoke with cold cruelty and none of the love of before "if you can't get the fucking script right down to the movement queues you are never leaving this place. don't make me take the other eye as well cunt" she just softly cried and babbled all her strength to keep composure gone.
He slammed the door and stopped the recording. This bitch was so selfish, he mused. Her mother still held out hope that she would be found and at this rate there won't be any of her to bury. well not anything that resembles her. He smiled to himself. on a plus they'd save money on the casket he doesn't think they'll need much longer than knee level at this rate. | 2017-05-31T07:11:19 | 2017-05-31T01:51:06 | 1,143 | 49 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I held him for the first time in my arm. Those little fingers grabbing mine for the first time, that cry of help as his lungs took the first born breath, his little lips moving in the air while he was sleeping... I'm still holding him, still holding.. Still holding him even though his last breath he took was one week ago... | He laid with her and stroked her hair.
"I love you." he whispered into ear.
she smiles.
"and I you." she softly coos back.
He kisses her cheek she tilts her head and he kisses her neck before falling back to nuzzle in looking at the roof. The room was very dim and cool and drafty save for the fire in the edge of the room. He had her heat tho. She was so out of his league. He'd admired her from a far for years. how did he get so lucky? he was certain she had no clue who he was.
"why did you take so long to ask me out. How did you not know I smitten with you?" she asked. She could read his mind. I guess that's what happens when two are this madly in love he tells himself. He sighs as if thinking how best to reply.
"I mean... just look at you. and I mean look at me! your so young and beautiful. Me on the other hand-- god. I don't even have all my hair!"
she chuckles a soft hollow chuckle.
"Hey! I like you the way you are!"
he brushes a hand along her good thigh pushing up her silk nightgown. He looks into her eye with loving desire and looks for it back.
"So today the day I finally meet the parents..."She begins. He doesn't see the look back "...I'm so worried they won't--"
**"WRONG!!"** He maniacly bellows.
"No no no!" she pleads. She wasn't at the point where she didn't plead. He slammed down the cigar cutter bladed severing the index finger. Her blood curdling screams filled the air. It made him a little erect.
jumping off the stone operating table he had her chained to he moves over to the metal working fire that dimly lit the room retrieving the metal he had stoked. Grabbing her hand he presses the glowing yellow steel to her stump the sizzle made a beautiful accompany to her moaning pain. throwing the metal across the room he stormed to the door.
"I've told 20 times now." he spoke with cold cruelty and none of the love of before "if you can't get the fucking script right down to the movement queues you are never leaving this place. don't make me take the other eye as well cunt" she just softly cried and babbled all her strength to keep composure gone.
He slammed the door and stopped the recording. This bitch was so selfish, he mused. Her mother still held out hope that she would be found and at this rate there won't be any of her to bury. well not anything that resembles her. He smiled to himself. on a plus they'd save money on the casket he doesn't think they'll need much longer than knee level at this rate. | 2017-05-31T07:14:34 | 2017-05-31T01:51:06 | 116 | 49 |
[WP] when you were a kid, you had an imaginary friend, Lewis; That was 20 or so years ago. Yesterday your child came into your room in the middle of the night, and said "Lewis wants to know why you don't play with him anymore" | "Charlie, it's the middle of the night," I groaned, rolling away from his high-pitched voice.
"But Daddy, why don't you play with Lewis anymore?" The name was familiar. My brain churned, looking for the face to put to it. Nothing. But I remembered Lewis.
"Lewis..." I struggled out of my cocoon of blankets. "That's... He's kind of a blue-green, isn't he?"
Charlie nodded. "He's right there!" He pointed to the doorway, but I didn't see anything.
I sighed. "I can't see Lewis, sweetie. I'm too old." I tousled Charlie's hair, but he frowned.
"But Lewis wants to play with you, Dad." Charlie tugged at my hand to get me to come along with him, but instead I swung him onto my lap.
"I can't though, Charlie. Lewis is... Lewis is like Peter Pan, you know?" Charlie shook his head at my fumbling attempts to explain. "He's... He's quite old, but he's also just about your age. He doesn't get older, really." It wasn't getting through to Charlie.
"I'm too old to play with Lewis," I finally said, remembering my own father saying the same thing. "Lewis needs a friend his own age - your age."
"Huh?" Charlie looked back to the doorway where Lewis must have been standing.
"I need you to tell Lewis that I'm sorry, but I'm old and boring now." Charlie giggled and slid off my lap. "And another thing -" I said before he could leave the room "-tell him not to wake you up at night. Or keep you up past your bedtime either." I smiled. "Okay?"
"Yeah," Charlie said, with all the callousness of a five-year-old. He walked back to his room, looking very small and alone in the hallway. But I smiled with the knowledge that he did have a friend with him, the best friend in the whole wide world.
"Good night, Charlie," I said. "Good, night, Lewis."
| Rolling over to face my son, but without opening my eyes, I said, "Because Lewis is imaginary, son. Now go to bed."
I heard his little feet padding out the room, then heard the door close with a satisfying click. I rolled back the other way and went back to sleep.
In what seemed like a few minutes later, Lucas, my son, was back, shaking me awake. "Dad. *Dad*!"
"Whaaaat?" I mumbled, forcing myself to roll over again before the little tyke woke up his mother.
"Dad!"
I grunted and squinted my eyes open. Once I saw the scared look on Lucas' face, I opened my eyes a little wider.
"Lewis said that if you say he's imaginary again, he'll hurt you," he whispered.
I frowned. "Uhm, okay. Look, just, uh..." I scooted over and patted the bed. "...you can stay in our bed tonight. Just don't wake your mother."
Lucas shook his head. "I can't. Lewis said I have to come back and tell him what you said. He'll be really upset if I don't." He glanced over at the door. I did, too. And saw an eye looking at us. Part of a smile, too.
As soon as I look, they vanished. But not instantly vanished, like they weren't there to begin with. Vanished like the person saw us, and had drew back. I heard footsteps in the hallway. Like whoever they belonged to were trying to tip-toe. I heard a giggle, too, followed by an, "Oops."
Lucas looked at me. "Get in bed," I ordered, climbing out and running out into the hallway.
Okay, I lied. I grabbed a baseball bat first, and then quietly, and slowly, made my way to the door.
But if I knew the Lewis that Lucas was talking about, a baseball bat wouldn't help me.
I opened the door and peered out. The hallway was dark. Quiet. I looked down and saw faint impressions in the carpet. Small indents here and there as if someone had recently stepped there. Or tried to tip-toe. But it was hard to tell if it was Lucas' or not.
Lucas' door was partly open. In the cracks, I saw an eye and part of a smile, which again vanished as soon as I saw it. Then the door closed. Slowly. Usually, if Lucas' window is open, a strong wind might blow through and slam the door shut, but never quietly like it just did.
I heard the bed squeaking as if someone was jumping on Lucas' bed. I shook my head and closed the door to our room and went back to bed.
"What happened, Dad?" Lucas asked.
"Nothing, son. But you're sleeping here tonight."
Lucas went silent for a moment, then said, "Someone's jumping on my bed."
"No there's not."
We could both hear it. But I refused to admit it.
"Dad...Lewis is going to get *mad*."
"*Lewis doesn't exist*," I whispered fiercely.
Suddenly, the squeaks stopped. There was a thud, Lucas' door opened, and we heard the footsteps run across the hallway to our room.
Then a voice said, "I heard that, Mark."
Lucas looked at me. I was breathing hard. I turned my back to the door. Made Lucas do so, too.
We were looking in the window. We saw the door open in the reflection. Too dark to see anything else. But we could hear footsteps in the room. Could feel a presence over our shoulder. A shadow fell over us.
"And you're going to pay for saying that, Mark," the voice said. "You, too, Lucas. For disobeying me and not coming back to the room."
I wasn't going to lie there and take that. With a howl, I swung around with my fist aimed at the spot where the voice was.
I fell out of bed. The was no one there. Almost like I had imagined it.
But the door was open when I know I had closed it.
I could see straight across the hallway to Lucas' door which was slowly closing again. Part of a face peered at me from the crack, no longer smiling. Then the door closed completely.
"Babe, what are you doing on the floor?" my wife asked. "Baby," she cooed to our son, "Why are you crying? What's going on?"
| 2017-11-12T18:42:00 | 2017-11-12T16:21:25 | 110 | 38 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | “François, are you with us?” I hear the Mrs. Thomas say through the gargled crackling of the classroom speakers. I immediately snap out of my daydream and reply:
“Yes Madame”
“You need to pay more attention to class, or else you’ll fall behind.” again the speakers crackle. They really need to replace those things.
“It’s not MY fault,” I thought. I can’t be held responsible for the fact that it’s hard to pay attention to a teacher who’s only form of communication with the class is through a screen via a video chat. It’s not my fault that I happen to be sitting next to the most beautiful and intelligent girl in class. And it’s DEFINITELY not my fault that she even laughs at my jokes.
I look to my left and see her in all of her beauty. She was wearing a loose-fitting white shirt, with a navy blue scarf wrapped around her neck. She has on jeans that complimented her figure nicely, and brown leather riding boots that went up to a few inches below her knee. Her beautiful blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail as she focused adamantly on the assignment. Her name was Caroline, and she was my motivation for coming to school most days, as well as my best friend for a year and a half and crush for 2 years.
Wanting an excuse to talk to her, I briefly thought about the best jokes I’d seen on r/jokes on Reddit. The trouble was finding good ones that weren’t offensive, because she doesn’t really like those. I ended up settling for [one about an Irishman doing some math to get a job.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Jokes/comments/7cqk03/a_little_irish_math_test/?st=J9Z60SKG&sh=9f71151dhttps://www.reddit.com/r/Jokes/comments/7cqk03/a_little_irish_math_test/?st=J9Z60SKG&sh=9f71151d)
Better make sure no mind readers are stealing my jokes, I thought to myself. A silly thought to have, I know, but I had always been more than a little bit of a believer in the idea mind reading.
Mustering a bit of focus, I shouted in my head as loud as I could “TREEEEE!” and prepared to scan the room for reactions.
No quicker did I turn my head to the left than Caroline jerked her head up immediately, as if someone has touched something cold on the back of her neck.
“No way,” I thought to myself, “No frickin’ way!” My mind was rushing at a million miles per hour, trying to calculate the odds of her hearing my thoughts as opposed to it being a coincidence. If she could read minds, how did it work. Is it just with me? Is it constant? Does it have a limited radius? Focus, I told myself. Let’s see if she’s really even able to read my mind.
I decided to play my favorite dubstep song to test this theory. I played the music through my headphones, then right as it got to the bass drop shouted “BOOM” in my head while watching her for a reaction. While it was obvious that she was trying to stop herself, she couldn’t help but to flinch ever so slightly.
She then turned and looked at me, her lovely green eyes meeting mine, a look of worry mixed with a bit of guilt plaguing her delicate features. Not sure how to handle this apparent news, I defaulted to my go-to mechanism: humor.
“So...” I thought, mostly to her, “does this mean you already know the punchline to that joke or...”
AUTHORS NOTE: This is my first time responding to one of these writing prompts, and I’m writing on mobile, so I apologize if the formatting isn’t good. I can’t do italics so I had a hard time portraying though. | "Mr. S?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I just get something off my chest?"
"Sure, kid. 'Course you can."
"Band class is fucking boring when nobody actually tries. You just sit there with your instrument on your lap, staring into fuckin' space, listening to the poor teach' tryna get the attention of the class while everybody just screams. The baritone section is a mess, only one trumpet is decent, and you can't hear the flutes *or* the clarinets.
So she yells, "Alright! Alto saxes, come here!"
So we do, 'cause four of us aren't dipshits.
And then she says, "Guys, this is Michael. He's in grade eleven, and he's going to tutor you for a few weeks."
This dude, this dude is somethin'.
So she sends us into a practice room, and we all take a seat, and he gives us a once-over, and I give him a once-over, Christ, Mr. S, you should've seen that dude. His eyes are this perfect almond shape, and they're a perfect coffee-colour. He has this shoulder-length curly hair, but it's *real* soft, and he has a sharp nose and chin and cheekbones. Big lips. He was wearing this oversized sweater, red and brown stripes, and weird jeans, and *weed* socks, but he said that was 'cause the rest of his socks were in the laundry. He had a wrist brace on, and he says it's 'cause he broke his thumb. He has olive-coloured skin, like what Katniss Everdeen was supposed to look like. He's cocky like a fucking asshole, but... There's something more.
Pardon the French."
-------------------------
"Mr. S?"
"Talk to me kiddo."
"So I have a huge crush on him. *You* know. Michael. So he's cocky like a fucking asshole, like I said. But, god. I think I'm hopelessly in love. Day 1 of tutoring, he tells me to just play. Said it wasn't good but that I was the best out of all the saxes.
Then, like a week of tutoring, and I was practicing outside of class, and again we're playing, he says I'm the best again. Gosh, I can't tell you how red I got after that, Mr. S. But anyway, yesterday the rest of the saxes just... wandered off? And it was just me and him. And he looked at me. *He looked at me*. But not in a mean way. Just sort of... a way. And told me to play with the metronome, and 'course I didn't 'cause I don't really know how, and when I was done he *laughed*. And then I saw him on the bus home, Mr. S, I saw him, and we made eye contact, and he *laughed* and smiled his stupid dork smile. He has crooked teeth. Real crooked teeth. And we've done it a few times! At Halloween, he dressed up as a soldier, and lemme tell you, he looks damn good in a uniform, and I was Waldo, and we were walking down the hall, and we did the same thing.
My heart always does that thing where it leaps into my throat, and I get all floaty and I can't breathe. I'm really in love, Mr. S."
"Y'know kiddo, I don't doubt that you are. I really don't."
--------------------
"Mr. S! I think he's psychic?"
"What?"
"I think he's psychic! So today, it was band, and I was real bored 'cause everyone was being a dipshit again, and I decided to scream in my head, 'cause I wanted to check for psychics. So I screamed, just like 'hey!', and he flinched! Also, we've been Snapchatting each other a lot, *and* he likes *all* my Instagram photos. That really means a lot to us high schoolers ya know. I don't know him all that well, to be true, but god, he's somethin' else. He doesn't feel like any other boy I know. He's... not stupid."
"Honey, I think you gotta ask this boy on a date."
----------------
"What are you running from?"
He takes their hands in his.
"What?"
"What are you running from? Your thoughts are always so... jumbled. And when they're not, they're so... sad. What's goin' on?"
They look down. Shit's going on, that's true, but, it's hard to verbalize feelings most of the time. It's getting dark around the two, wind starting to blow in from the north, bringing the cold front that the weatherman promised. It blows some of that damn curly hair into his eyes. But he persists, tilting their head up to look in their eyes. He doesn't read what they think right now. He could, but that'd ruin it. He wants them to talk to him. He tries *his* damnedest to talk, because he's been in love with them and their mad eyes and weird hair since he saw them, but they're just so damn shy.
"I've never heard anyone with thoughts like yours. C'mon, if something's wrong, you can tell me."
They sigh.
"I-I dunno. I guess my parents have just been fightin' an awful lot. My best friend doesn't talk to me anymore," sadness is so thick in their voice, "I guess I just feel like I don't wanna go on anymore."
He nods.
They sit quietly, just taking in each other, taking in the Toronto autumn, the Toronto night around them. Right when it's about to get dark, the two get up and walk off to the bus stop. Together, they walk onto the bus. Together, they sit. They lean into him, he leans onto them, pressing a kiss onto their forehead.
They really are in love. Even if they're young and dumb and sweet and naive, they're in love. All 'cause they saw him flinch. | 2017-11-13T20:03:10 | 2017-11-13T19:45:25 | 37 | 10 |
[WP] It finally happened. The day Santa dreaded. He has to deliver presents to the first kid to be born on mars. | “Frank! Get in here now!” shouted Santa from his office.
In scurried a small elf. He traveled as fast as his tiny legs could take him without tripping over his giant shoes. Bells jingling with every step.
“Yes sir, what do you need” Frank mustered.
“What is this shit?” Santa said as he tossed an ornate scroll across his desk. He then took a long drag of his cigarette as he waited for Frank to answer.
“It looks like this year’s work order sir.”
“I know that dipshit,” Santa shouted “Line four thousand?”
“Says right here sir that we have 1 human child age 3 months. Name Alexander Aldrin. Status is Nice and Location is 2 First Colony Avenue, Colony 1. Mars.”
Frank stopped there and looked at Santa. He was not sure what the problem was exactly but he knew that he wanted to avoid being in as much trouble as possible.
“Is this some sort of joke Frank? It is one month before Christmas I don’t have any time for the jokes from you and Carl from accounting.”
“I know nothing of a joke sir. I can have Sherry in audits look it over and get back to you. “Frank paused then spoke into his radio briefly.
As this was coming on Santa took a large bottle of Scotch from under his desk and began to poor himself a glass. Het then took another cigarette from the pack and lit it with a novelty Rudolph lighter where the flame comes from the nose.
“Sir, it looks like it is all correct letter was received electronically last week and was processed through our batch processing facility.” Frank looked up towards Santa for confirmation.
Santa took a long drag of his cigarette.
“Frank write this down. I need you to call my wife tell her I won’t be home tonight. I need Jeff and Tom from maintenance. Big Carl from engineering. Make sure it is Big Carl and not that other jack off. We need a white board and an empty conference room.”
Frank furiously took notes.
“Oh and Frank, one more thing. Get in touch with Blitzen and see if he can score use some snow to get us through the night.”
| “Hey Santa sir, don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
I looked up and glared at one of the elves. Of course it was that one. The one—Barley? Gnarley?—who always gets on my nerve. “Do you even know where Mars is?”
The elf had the gall to look as if he was concentrating to remember. “Isn’t it beside the little island called… Huh now, what was that called? Austria? Australia?”
I could feel a headache coming on. “No, Shnarley—”
“It’s Yarley, Sir.”
I scratched my beard in frustration. (When was the last time I got this trimmed?) “Yes, well, you got that all wrong. Austria isn’t even an island by the way, and Australia is, well technically an island, but—”
“Sir, isn’t Austria the one with those crawlies that children are scared of?”
“Crawlies? Oh, you mean spiders. Well, I’m sure Austria has some, but Australia’s the one who’s famous for the poisonous spiders, and anyways, this isn’t important. The important thing is—”
“Poisonous? If there’s poisonous crawlies, are there poisonous doggies?”
“I… what?”
“Think about it, Santa sir. If anybody can have poison, couldn’t dogs have poison stored away somewhere? Perhaps in their tails?”
I stared at him. And stared. And stared. He stared at me back with wide eyes and small smile.
“Darley—”
“It’s Yarley, Sir.”
“Yes, Yarley, whatever. Are you… high?”
The elf looked at me pointedly. “No sir, I’m low. I’m only 2 feet tall.”
“That’s not— Nevermind. Anyways, how do we travel to Mars?”
“Why, with your trusty reindeers! There are 5 left who’s willing to work for you still, ever since that incident.”
I frowned at him. “Garley, I’m warning you. If you ever mention that incident again, I’ll—”
The elf gave me sympathetic eyes. “It wasn’t intentional, sir. I understand.”
I shook my head angrily at him. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Sir, I—”
“Zip it.”
The elf looked down, and gently kicked at the ground. I hated this awkward silence. I fidgeted and pulled at the ends of my shirt until I broke the silence.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, well, would 5 even be enough to get out of Earth let alone all the way to Mars?”
The elf perked up a little. “Well sir, we will have to do. Last I heard Rudolph had no plans of coming back to work for us. Apparently red noses are considered attractive to a selective audience of the underground gentlemen’s club in Hong Kong.”
“Do you even know what a gentlemen’s club is, Farley?”
“It’s Yarley, sir. And while I don’t know exactly what it is, I hear everybody has fun, sir. It can’t possibly be a bad thing if everybody has fun!”
“I—” Do I try to explain? “Okay, let’s drop that conversation. So let’s say the five we have gets us out of Earth. How do we breathe?”
“Why, sir, with our noses!” He had the gall to look affronted. Is it wrong to punch one of the elves?
“There’s no…” I sighed. “There’s no air outside of Earth.”
The elf’s eyes widened. “No air? What do you ever mean?”
“I mean, there’s no—You can’t—Like it’s not possible to breathe because—”
“But sir, we would still have noses when we get out of Earth, right?” The elf was now grabbing his nose in horror and looking at me as if I’d told him Christmas was cancelled. Which it might be as I felt like drowning my sorrows in alcohol dealing with this elf. I abruptly sat up from my seat. “I… I think I need to head in early today.”
“You’re going to bed, right now, Santa sir? Why it’s only 3 in the afternoon!”
I walked away. Where was that Xanax I hid away? (“Sir? Santa, sir? Sir, is everything alright?”) | 2017-11-24T19:30:03 | 2017-11-24T19:08:35 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | The doctor held up the new born baby.
"It's a girl!" exclamed the doctor.
"Well, What are the names doc?" the father said with joy.
The doctor looked at the baby's back, and only one name on it. James Webber. Chills shot down the doctors spine.
"Well Dr. Webber, who are they?
| The names were always generic. That's how the craze started to give kids weird names. It was a lot easier to find an Appel or Zucchini or Brickhaus. The names on me were Jangela and Jongela. It was nice when the name was the same. It meant that you could choose your death. That the final act was not one of vengeance or anger but love. That's what my parents had told me. I didn't believe them then, but I wanted to. No one's included cancer or heart attack. Humanity was past all that, and we were essentially immortal unless or, well, until someone killed us. These people were called enders and few escaped from committing the task at least once in their lifetime.
The tattoos were imprinted by AI that could see into our futures. It was never wrong. Not one case in all of history. So, we took our responsibility as lovers and enders seriously. We had to.
When I met Jangela, I knew right away that she was my soulmate. We didn't use the fancy matching algorithm. It was natural, the special kind of match that people dream of. She was pretty with mocha skin, flowing black hair, and warm brown eyes. Her kiss melted me. We were only teens when we met, but our love lasted. Yet, every time I asked to see her tattoos, I was always met with hesitance. I knew my name was on her body, but I couldn't see the other name. I feared that the name was the same as mine.
When we had first allowed child, one name popped up time and again. I stared at it in horror. People said that it was a honor for your child to be your ender. This was not my stance on the matter. I had the honor for my parents. It never felt, even now, like an act of love. But, maybe this time, it would be different. That other name was the name that had been chosen for our daughter, a combination of our names: Jonsteadfast and Jangela. Finally, on the day of our daugther's birth, Jangie showed me the other name on her shoulder.
You can't stop destiny so many had said. This was how it was going to be, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I wanted to change our future, but, when that perfect bundle of joy came into this world, I accepted my fate. We would have time together, centuries probably. She would understand one day, our little Jongela.
***
If you enjoyed this, please subscribe to r/nickkuvaas for more of my stories. | 2018-03-11T07:49:38 | 2018-03-11T07:36:53 | 4,830 | 118 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | My sweater scratched at my skin as I began to pull it back, I can't believe I'm doing this.
My mom told me I should be careful who I show my given names to, who I trust is telling the truth about theirs. But her- she was perfect, her smile when I would glance over, her hair that blew in the wind on a warm summer day, like this one. I was intoxicated by her, nothing could save me from this drug.
I stared into her her eyes and began searching her face, she was scared too, I could see it in her eyes. I closed mine and we began to count down from three. 3, 2- shit, I forgot if we agreed pull up our sleeves on 1 or 0.. -either way we both began to pull up our sleeves, slowly but surely.
I... I was on her arm, it was amazing, relief began to sweep over me, that is until I felt my love turn to lothing as she told me her real name.
Ember, not Amber.
Fuck. | Two names, two purposes.
One will kill one will complete.
No way to tell the difference.
At least that's the idea behind the names. I personally think they are both there to mess with you.
You can spend your whole life looking for your soulmate only to find you killer, or worse running from your killer only to find they are you soulmate.
The system was made to fail, and in my case a pain in the ass too, having to shave my head and use 2 mirrors to see one of the names, and hop on one foot to see the other. Some would say that makes it easy, because surely the one on my head is my soulmate, it's too important of a spot not to be, but that falls apart when the name on my foot is my own, because who would be killed by someone with your own name, therefore it must be my soulmate's
Their just grasping at straws, and even if that did help it doesn't matter because I'm avoid both the names like the plague. Kinda a shame though. I did meet someone the other day who was very attractive and shared my name. My exit was more than awkward. But even so they both might as well be killers for me.
I'm in love with Elliot, and no that is not my name nor the name on my head. No Elliot is... awesome. Known them my whole life and with ever second I spend with them my love doubles, and ever second I spend away it triples.
Thats why the system was meant to fail. It has no regards to how we ourselves feel and forces people to deny relationships that could help one another and grow purely because of name. Now don't get me wrong I also belived that for a time the name was who you're best with.
But that's wrong.
I ran.
From Elliot that is, for a few years I went out and tried to find my soulmate and tried to forget Elliot, full not content and all, but I never could and I never did. Instead I thought, a lot, and I came to a realization.
Your soulmate isn't someone who is the best for you or makes you the happiest, and isn't even someone you're meant to be with. You're soulmate is your best friend. It's the person you can be you around, someone who you can lean on and Some one you, 'click' with. But none of that requires love.
Love is a choice and we get to choose and I love Elliot. Even with every day that goes by that I don't get to see them, even with the fact that they've become text on a screen, a name to a face that I've forgotten. Even the times they talk to me about problems with their soulmate, I still love them. Even if they're one foot out the door and forgetting me, leaving me, even though they don't want me to leave them. I still love them.
But that's just how life is. Sometimes you will lose a friend, even someone you love. Sometimes people just fade, and it's just a sad, sad, sad part of life. But the thing is, you just have to be strong enough for yourself, willing to do what you want to and love what who you want to.
The system is shit, and the only thing it does correctly is predict your killer.
Even in my case.
It's weird, how warm your own blood feels, and peaceful it is doing what you want. | 2018-03-11T07:35:29 | 2018-03-11T07:33:45 | 1,948 | 177 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | I did not know why my parents named me, "smudge," but when I was only 14, I discovered I was not adopted.
Both of my parents are white. But I am black. Tattoo ink black. At least, that is what it looks like from a distance. Freshman year in High School, I was bored and took a look at my hand under a disection microscope in Advanced Placement-Biology. That was the day my whole perspective changed.
You see, while all my friends had one, two, or even three or four names tattooed at birth, apparently I had millions of names microdotted all over my body, with only slight slivers of Caucasian between.
I was shocked as I read a group of names all starting with "I" on my left hand, and starting with "J" on my right... Alphabetical, as far as I can tell...
I begged my parents for an exam, and they eventually caved.
4.5 million different names.
4.5 million!
What the hell is that suppose to mean? | Two names, two purposes.
One will kill one will complete.
No way to tell the difference.
At least that's the idea behind the names. I personally think they are both there to mess with you.
You can spend your whole life looking for your soulmate only to find you killer, or worse running from your killer only to find they are you soulmate.
The system was made to fail, and in my case a pain in the ass too, having to shave my head and use 2 mirrors to see one of the names, and hop on one foot to see the other. Some would say that makes it easy, because surely the one on my head is my soulmate, it's too important of a spot not to be, but that falls apart when the name on my foot is my own, because who would be killed by someone with your own name, therefore it must be my soulmate's
Their just grasping at straws, and even if that did help it doesn't matter because I'm avoid both the names like the plague. Kinda a shame though. I did meet someone the other day who was very attractive and shared my name. My exit was more than awkward. But even so they both might as well be killers for me.
I'm in love with Elliot, and no that is not my name nor the name on my head. No Elliot is... awesome. Known them my whole life and with ever second I spend with them my love doubles, and ever second I spend away it triples.
Thats why the system was meant to fail. It has no regards to how we ourselves feel and forces people to deny relationships that could help one another and grow purely because of name. Now don't get me wrong I also belived that for a time the name was who you're best with.
But that's wrong.
I ran.
From Elliot that is, for a few years I went out and tried to find my soulmate and tried to forget Elliot, full not content and all, but I never could and I never did. Instead I thought, a lot, and I came to a realization.
Your soulmate isn't someone who is the best for you or makes you the happiest, and isn't even someone you're meant to be with. You're soulmate is your best friend. It's the person you can be you around, someone who you can lean on and Some one you, 'click' with. But none of that requires love.
Love is a choice and we get to choose and I love Elliot. Even with every day that goes by that I don't get to see them, even with the fact that they've become text on a screen, a name to a face that I've forgotten. Even the times they talk to me about problems with their soulmate, I still love them. Even if they're one foot out the door and forgetting me, leaving me, even though they don't want me to leave them. I still love them.
But that's just how life is. Sometimes you will lose a friend, even someone you love. Sometimes people just fade, and it's just a sad, sad, sad part of life. But the thing is, you just have to be strong enough for yourself, willing to do what you want to and love what who you want to.
The system is shit, and the only thing it does correctly is predict your killer.
Even in my case.
It's weird, how warm your own blood feels, and peaceful it is doing what you want. | 2018-03-11T08:30:03 | 2018-03-11T07:33:45 | 636 | 177 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | We were fortunate that both of these names were on his back instead of a body part he could see. When we bathed him, we made sure he never saw them. When he was old enough to shower and change himself, however, we had to spill the beans. "You are not to look at these names," we told him. I'm proud of our son, he understood the ramifications of seeing the names, even at such a young age. Life has been pretty smooth from that point, friends matching the names have come and gone, but we seldom get worried about it anymore. He's in high school now, his life no different from his peers. He has a very sweet girlfriend, and he keeps saying she must be one of the names on his back. We say nothing, but smile back, reassured that he hasn't seen the tattoos yet.
Edit: Added a phrase to clear up that the parents are NOT supposed to be the names on the back. Also this story is in a universe where only he has the names. | Two names, two purposes.
One will kill one will complete.
No way to tell the difference.
At least that's the idea behind the names. I personally think they are both there to mess with you.
You can spend your whole life looking for your soulmate only to find you killer, or worse running from your killer only to find they are you soulmate.
The system was made to fail, and in my case a pain in the ass too, having to shave my head and use 2 mirrors to see one of the names, and hop on one foot to see the other. Some would say that makes it easy, because surely the one on my head is my soulmate, it's too important of a spot not to be, but that falls apart when the name on my foot is my own, because who would be killed by someone with your own name, therefore it must be my soulmate's
Their just grasping at straws, and even if that did help it doesn't matter because I'm avoid both the names like the plague. Kinda a shame though. I did meet someone the other day who was very attractive and shared my name. My exit was more than awkward. But even so they both might as well be killers for me.
I'm in love with Elliot, and no that is not my name nor the name on my head. No Elliot is... awesome. Known them my whole life and with ever second I spend with them my love doubles, and ever second I spend away it triples.
Thats why the system was meant to fail. It has no regards to how we ourselves feel and forces people to deny relationships that could help one another and grow purely because of name. Now don't get me wrong I also belived that for a time the name was who you're best with.
But that's wrong.
I ran.
From Elliot that is, for a few years I went out and tried to find my soulmate and tried to forget Elliot, full not content and all, but I never could and I never did. Instead I thought, a lot, and I came to a realization.
Your soulmate isn't someone who is the best for you or makes you the happiest, and isn't even someone you're meant to be with. You're soulmate is your best friend. It's the person you can be you around, someone who you can lean on and Some one you, 'click' with. But none of that requires love.
Love is a choice and we get to choose and I love Elliot. Even with every day that goes by that I don't get to see them, even with the fact that they've become text on a screen, a name to a face that I've forgotten. Even the times they talk to me about problems with their soulmate, I still love them. Even if they're one foot out the door and forgetting me, leaving me, even though they don't want me to leave them. I still love them.
But that's just how life is. Sometimes you will lose a friend, even someone you love. Sometimes people just fade, and it's just a sad, sad, sad part of life. But the thing is, you just have to be strong enough for yourself, willing to do what you want to and love what who you want to.
The system is shit, and the only thing it does correctly is predict your killer.
Even in my case.
It's weird, how warm your own blood feels, and peaceful it is doing what you want. | 2018-03-11T07:37:56 | 2018-03-11T07:33:45 | 331 | 177 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | Elli was born without the names. Some people thought that she was blessed. She was not faced with knowing the name of the person who would kill her. Others believed it was a curse, some kind of disability. She had to admit that not having the names made her wonder if there *was* something wrong with her. Everyone has the names. So what does that mean about her? Will she never really be loved? Will she eventually become so lonely she'll just... kill *herself*?
That was what she believed until she met Brian. He was beautiful, smart, funny, and *he had her name*. He knew about her predicament, and didn't care. He loved her, even if it meant she'd never really be his.
Two years after dating, she accepted his marriage proposal. Their parents disagreed because of her "disfigurement", but it didn't matter. They were in absolute bliss. Through all the doubt, all the worry, she knew this was meant to be.
That was until two months before the wedding, when her mother burst into her home while Brian was away.
"You can't marry him!" Her mother yelled.
"We've talked about this, mom. He doesn't care that I don't have the names. We love each other!" Elli explained.
"I know he doesn't care, but you just can't marry him Elli! You can't! It's not meant to be!" She insisted.
"Then tell me why. Why can't you just let us be happy?"
Her mother sighed and sat down at their dining room table. It seemed as if she was struggling to find the words. "Your father and I... We were tortured by the names. We were happy that it allowed us to find each other but knowing the names of our killers... It tortured us, Elli. We wanted things to be different for you."
"What are you saying, mom?" She asked, panicked.
Her mother paused, looking at the floor.
"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?" Elli demanded.
"We had them removed, Elli. People aren't supposed to know these things. We wanted life to be better for you."
Elli's mind went blank. She wasn't a freak. She wasn't disfigured. Her parents did this to her. Elli looked up, finally understanding what her mother was saying. "Did I have his name? Please tell me. Please tell me I had Brian's name." Elli begged.
Her mother stared at her for a long time before finally shaking her head. "I'm sorry honey."
Elli started crying, her mind racing. The one person she loved most in the world was not her soulmate. She'd already built a life with him, loved him, made promises, shared secrets, planned their perfect wedding and imagined their perfect home, they'd even picked out names for their future children.
Names...
That's when she realized. She didn't have his name... but he still had hers.
| Bianca and Juliet.
I looked up at my husband, immediately afraid that he would reject our darling little girl. He had been raised strict Christian, and many of those biases had survived within him. I watched as he slowly read and re-read the names scrawled on her tiny wrists. "Jonathan?" "Kat, our little girl..." I looked down into her sweet face, unable to think what I would do if he rejected her. "She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life." He murmured, and reached out a finger to stroke her cheek.
Our first years as parents were mostly peaceful, our Felicity was our pride and joy. Jonathan bragged about her to his friends and coworkers, and I treasured the way our tiny family flourished. Felicity was brilliant, and when she hit school she was immediately popular. I thought I had nothing to worry about, but I made the mistake of forgetting how cruel other children can be. Felly was in the fourth grade when it happened, I got a call from the principal telling me to come get my child as soon as possible. "There has been an... Incident." Those words made my blood run cold. I dropped everything, old fears resurfacing, and drove like a demon to the school.
When I got there I dashed into the building, talked briefly to the receptionist, and ran to the nurses office. My little girl sat there, on one of those pallet beds, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. She rushed into my arms as soon as she saw me, and I held her tight. "Momma, I showed Marcus my arms c-cause I needed to prove that I wasn't his soulmate an-and he said that I can't have two g-girls names on my wrists s-so he was g-gonna take one off!" Felly sobbed into my shoulder.
Horror dawned, and I held her back a little to get a better look at her. A thick bandage covered her whole left forearm. "Curt held me down and m- Marcus started to c-cut me with a rock!" The kind of fury only a mother can have for her child boiled up inside me and I asked "Where is he?!" The nurse stepped in at this point, and tried to tell me everything was taken care of, but i couldn't accept it. I stormed into the principal's office. "If you didn't expel both those boys for mutilating my daughter, there will be hell to pay." "Please, Mrs. Morrigan, both boys have been expelled and referred to schools that will provide the kind of counseling they need. Everything is taken care of." It took three years for the name Bianca to become discernible on her arm again.
My husband was more angry about the incident than I ever knew, he spent hours praying on it, and asking for guidance and patience for those weaker than him. I wish that he had talked to me about it, because I was angry and sad too. But instead, he let it fester inside him.
The day Felicity turned fifteen we had a lovely party. She invited all her friends, and I had rarely seen her so ecstatic. Midway through the party Felly brought another girl up to introduce us properly. "Momma, I want to introduce you to Juliet!" It was as if a bell tolled in my head. I didn't know what to do, because I knew that this girl would either love my child, or kill her. "It's very nice to meet you Juliet, please excuse me girls, I need to bring more soda out from the kitchen." I went inside and looked for my Jon, because I needed his guidance on this. I found him in the living room talking to the other father's and pulled him aside. "Jonathan, Juliet is in the garden and I don't know what to do. I should probably just leave it but I'm so worried about our little girl". "Let me see." And he walked out.
I was relieved, Jonathan was going to check it out and tell me what he thought. I sat down on the sofa and waited, but not for long. A blood curdling scream pierced my ears from the garden, and I sprinted for the garden to see my worst fears confirmed.
Jonathan stood over Juliet, a bloody pizza cutter in his right hand. Her throat cut all the way across. I couldn't believe my eyes, my husband stood there in the midst of utter chaos, slowly dripping blood and muttering. He turned to see me when I sobbed his name. "Don't you see Kat? I saved our little girl. None of the other children could understand what a treasure she is, they all just want to hurt her! Well I stopped that. Nobody will ever hurt my girl again."
A dull ringing filled my ears as he repeated the same things over and over, and my little Felly sat crumpled on the ground sobbing. "She had my name daddy, she had my name." Jonathan was sentenced to 20 years in prison. The coroner's report came in and Juliet had indeed had Felicity's name on her wrist, and Jonathan's.
Felicity and I moved away, to escape the glaring eyes of all the neighbors. We live a quiet life now, both doomed to live the rest of our lives with only one name left to each of us.
Edit:Hope that fixed the formatting, Sorry for that mess.
| 2018-03-11T09:04:19 | 2018-03-11T08:37:33 | 270 | 23 |
[WP] "This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable. Good luck." |
**edit 3: Further updates will be posted in my subreddit /r/Ardarail, thanks for reading everyone!**
- - - -
 
I was watching the evening news when it started. The news anchor was cut off mid sentence by a loud, unbroken tone and the bright while bold letters began to scroll across screen.
**WE'VE INTERRUPTED YOUR NORMAL VIEWING EXPERIENCE FOR THIS IMPORTANT NATIONAL SECURITY BROADCAST. IT IS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT THAT YOU FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS EXACTLY FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.**
A monotone voice accompanied the words that appeared next.
*This is a national emergency alert. Do not leave your homes between 6PM and 8AM. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Barricade all entries to your house and cover your windows with opaque material. Exercise extreme caution when out during the day. Do not enter tunnels or other dark areas during the day. Restrict contact with all others including those claiming to be official persons. Military and police assistance is not available at this time.*
I stared at the screen, mouth agape as the alert began to repeat its message again. My mouth felt dry and a cold sweat began to prickle at my back. Only the sudden wetness as I accidentally poured half my beer into my lap was enough to shake me from my shocked stupor.
*Is this some kind of joke?* I thought as my pulled out I phone and began to record a video of the message. I flipped through a few channels. All showed the same white words and robotic narrator.
Quickly I checked twitter and my worst fears were confirmed. Whatever "it" was it was blowing up online. Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of tweets. Pictures and videos of the same message currently playing on my TV screen. Everyone seeming just as confused as I was.
I put down my phone and crossed my living room to look out the window. Everything *seemed* normal enough, at first glance at least. Then I noticed the conspicuous lack of... well of anything really. Cars, motorcycles, even just people strolling down the sidewalk were nowhere to be found. I glanced at my watch *6:42PM* not that late, there should be plenty of people out still. I took a last long glance out my window and then I saw *it*. At first I thought it was a person but then I noticed the odd, shambling aimless gait, the somewhat bedraggled experience, and the *face*. At this point he (I'm relatively certain it was a he) was under a streetlight and close enough to see the details of his face. His mouth was smeared with blood and his eyes were a milky white and seemed bloodshot.
Immediately I shut my curtains and took a shaky step back.
*What the fuck, was this for real? That looked like... I don't even want to say it but that looked like an actual, real life fucking zombie outside my house.*
At this point the panic began to set in. I tried to take some deep breaths and steady myself. Expand your diaphragm, keep calm, everything is going to be okay.
*Don't worry, you've prepared for this. How many zombie movies have you seen and said "I could totally survive that". This'll probably be easy!*
I ran through a mental list of everything I needed to do. Every door, locked and dead-bolted. Gun out of the safe and loaded. Windows, taped and covered in cardboard. Enough food in the pantry to survive a week maybe two tops.
*Hmm maybe I should call in work and tell them I'm sick and won't be coming in tomorrow...* Immediately I dismissed the thought. My mind was coming up with things to distract me from the true direness of this situation.
Then the lights went out.
As I sat in the darkness the terror began to grip me, a tight ball of it in my stomach slowly crawling up my throat and choking me so it seemed that I just couldn't gasp enough air no matter how hard I tried. With shaking hands I opened my phone and checked twitter again. Nothing. Nothing but a spinning circle. No WiFi, no cellular connection, no internet at all. Everything was down.
I felt like screaming but I could barely produce a pathetic rasping squeak. Plus it was past sundown and I was terrified to make any noise.
With the internet I thought I'd be fine, I could stay up to date with what was happening. I'd have entertainment for when I couldn't leave my house. I'd be able to just google any survival questions I had. Really it was like we'd all be going through the apocalypse together, connected through the wondrous power of the internet. But now I was alone. Truly alone and it was getting to me in a bad way.
*I've done all I can for tonight, maybe I should just try and get some rest.*
As I lay in my bed staring into the pitch blackness I knew it was a lost cause, there's no way in hell I'd be able to sleep. It was going to be a long, long night.
 
Sometime around 3AM the noises started. It sounded like pack of baying dogs but somehow *wrong*. And then it hit me, it was humans. Or some things that used to be human. Howling in a discordant symphony. The howling began to grow louder and higher in pitch, sounding almost excited. Then I heard a very human scream, full throated and ear-piercing it went on and on and on until suddenly it stopped and there was only the baying of whatever creatures the poor soul had fallen to. I curled up tighter under my covers, clutching my handgun until my knuckles turned white. I was shaking and all I could think was *Maybe I could've helped. Maybe I should've done something.*
But deep down I knew I wouldn't, would never. And it wasn't because of the warning to "Restrict contacts with others* though I tried to convince myself it was. I was just too scared. I was a coward and I'd let a thousand people die outside my door before I'd risk myself stepping out there into the unknown.
 
- - - -
*End of part 1 but I've got some more cooking up in my brain. If you'd like me to continue please let me know :)*
edit: *It's 2AM here now, so I'll have to post part 2 tomorrow, sorry guys! I'm also considering opening a subreddit so let me know if anyone would be interested in that!*
edit 2: ***Okay by popular demand I'm starting a subreddit! /r/Ardarail check it out for more stories!***
Stay tuned part 2 is in the works!
| The folklore of my people is old and weathered, been beaten from years of antiquity, and eaten up by the bigger stories of the bigger people. But the lore remains, as it does, hanging from the threads of wonder, and sometimes truth.
To say I have seen the truth will get me called a liar. And perhaps my eyes do lie, and perhaps it is my heart which sees, and it sees blindly. So I will not say I have seen the truth. I have only heard tales of what the night lady has told me. And I have heard the footfalls of the Old Children, and heard their flutes that come from the Great Caverns of the Lost Palaces. But let us start from the beginning.
When the warnings came there was panic amidst the city. Many people had died in missile strikes. The dust which had settled had risen again, and there were lights of war in the skies. But we were not at war with another country. Something within our walls had led to destruction, disturbing the politicians in their sleep, and the powerful in their leisure.
Horns flared at night after the earthquakes came. The earth shook greatly, and in all the large places there were cracks and fissures.
*An invasion,* I thought.
The missiles were from our own government. The earth had cracked in many places. The cities were evacuated, and I was moved to the slums, and then even the slums were not safe. I did not know what was happening. I sought refuge near the docks by the harbor, in the small warehouses that still stood.
Scant communication led to no communication soon after as the days passed. Panic was everywhere. I saw people running about and trying to flee. A last message was broadcast before the airs went dark: 'Beware the dark. We have lost the war.'
But I hid in the dark with broken light trickling in like scarce water. I was hungry and afraid. I heard the voices of English speakers and then the sound of boats departing, and there were planes above as well. The nights then were still and quiet and I could feel *something* about.
*War,* I thought.
My family had seen war before, but not I.
*It is always war.*
But who was attacking?
Something rustled one night in the docks. I had little supplies to heed the last warning fully. I lit candles in the corner which I hid. I had nowhere to go, and there was gunfire in the distance sometimes, and so I was afraid to leave.
That night I grew still, for I was afraid I would die.
The prayers of my faith came with comfort but the sound did not cease. A rustle amidst broken glass. Then shadows that passed. Then quiet as I stewed in knowing I had been seen. Something was watching me. Something was coming.
*Beware the dark.*
The earth had split during the quakes and missiles. It had cracked some time before. And then I heard the door open and the stones squeaked beneath leather shoes and the sounds echoed and I was still and my mouth was dry.
A woman with long hair aimed a bow at me. Her skin was brown and bronzed in the light, and her face was painted in the old ways of the stories I read.
"Please, do not kill me," I said.
"Frater?" she said. "You are one of the Old Tongue?"
"Yes... I am not from here. Who are you?"
She held the bow steady. Others were surrounding the warehouse. She was not alone.
"You are the Weak Blood," she said. "Death should come to the Weak!"
"You are the Children," I said. "The Old Children!"
My mother had told me so long ago. The Old Children were our fathers and mothers from the time before. When war and destruction crept to their doors and surrounded them, they had turned underground for shelter and protection. They turned the earth and fires and stone and dark into the Great Caverns. They built palaces beneath the earth where they hid from the evil of the world.
"My mother has told me of you! I come not from this place. I come from the hinterlands."
"The hinterlands are below us. You are the Weak Blood."
"But I am your blood."
Another came. He was brown and big and his bow was as tall as a man. He aimed at me and nearly fired. The lady stopped him.
"Frater," she said.
It meant I was of theirs.
The man spat on the ground and stared at me.
"Weak," he said. "Worthless."
"Maybe. But he is of the blood. He knows much. He can tell us."
"What is going on?" I asked.
There were shadows in the night. The gunfire had eased as the days passed.
"Many of us have died," said the woman. "More of yours have been killed."
"I am not one of them. I am not part of the army who bombs or the government who digs."
"Yes, I can see. You are nobody."
The man left the woman with me as he went back out with the others. She sat down beside me with difficulty. Her face was drenched in sweat.
"You are hurt," I said.
"And you are Weak."
She asked me many things that night. She told me of the cracks that had revealed the Great Caverns.
"Needles and fire has brought the surface to our homes. And now the evil tries to get in. We shall not run anymore."
"What will you do?"
"We will stand up and not be Weak. We will take back this world from those who had taken it so long before."
And she told me of the Lost Palaces of amber, where the walls were orange with soft shadows and where the alleys were bathed in the music of flutes, echoing haunting melodies. She told me of the Old Children, of the folklore I had thought false. And she winced in pain as she guarded me until the others returned.
"You are hurt," I said.
"I will get better."
"I can help."
"No you can't."
She hated me, but not in the cold way I was accustomed to. We were of the same blood, and so she did not disregard me completely.
"How is it that you are here? Why have you left the hinterlands?"
"War has taken it. I had fled for my life."
"War takes everything beneath the Sun."
Then there was that quiet. In the quiet sense comes to you in a slow feed.
"How is it you exist?" I asked. "How is it all the legends are true?"
And the lady looked at me with a stone face.
"How is it that anything is true? Because it is. You see it. You see me. I am one of the Children."
"But why would the Old Children be in this country? Why would they be real?"
"The same reason you are in this country. The same reason you are real."
"But I *am* real. I came here alone. I fled the real world's war."
"And now war has found you again. Civil strife has torn this country to pieces, hasn't it? And now you're alone in war. Maybe you don't want to be alone."
She leaned closer. My hands spread on the floor and the glass cut me and I felt the blood stick with the dirt and grime. It stung badly. I winced as she winced.
"You are hurt," she said.
"And I'm Weak."
When you are alone you can go mad. I closed my eyes to kiss her but the door swung and there were footsteps echoing.
"I must go," she said. "The night ends soon. I must return to the palace."
I heard gunfire again. The lady left and the wind took the doors and window frames and they made noises so that I felt almost with company.
I thought of the Lost Palaces. I thought of the stories mother would tell. The Old Children were our people. They lived beneath us, and if they lived there, then I was not so alone.
I listened to the sounds outside. There were fires crackling. People were chanting to tear down the Parliament. I cowered in my corner. They spoke English far away. War is always scary in a foreign language.
But I closed my eyes and knew that was all just a fantasy. In my peace I could hear the sounds of the flutes in the Great Caverns. I could see the lady dance in the orange lights, her shadows as fluid as the clear waters of the crystal fountains. I could *see* the great walls that held my people. I felt safe.
I found comfort. My hand was bleeding, but the cut was not deep. The night would soon end, and then it would come again. I knew the lady would come back, and I knew she would take me to that safe place.
I waited for it. I closed my eyes and waited beneath those slits of light.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!* | 2018-04-18T08:41:00 | 2018-04-18T07:47:00 | 4,246 | 769 |
[WP] You live in a world where the repetition of certain acts grants special abilities. Someone who does 10,000 push-ups will gain super strength, someone who runs 10,000 kilometres will gain super speed. You are the first person in history to drink 10,000 litres of alcohol. | “10,000 litres?”
“Yup”
“How are you not dead?”
“I didn’t do it in one long binge, I paced myself”
“That’s not really the point, never mind, so what has happened to you?”
“Well, what happens when YOU get drunk?”
“The usual stuff. Double vision, loss of balance, the occasional bout of memory loss”
“Uh-huh. I get all that up to 11. It’s so ramped up it becomes beneficial. I have so many superpowers now it’s crazy.”
“That makes no sense, explain”
“My balance is so out of joint I can barely walk straight, but at the same time I flail about so much I can dodge practically anything without even trying. My vision is so distorted I can see the future, you’re going to lean in bird poo”
“Bull, there’s no way that an overdose of jaeger does that to you, and now you’ve told me I can avoi....ew”
“You see? And the best part is the memory loss, my brain is trying to repair itself so much I have flashbacks and recall all the time. I have memory gain”
“Memory gain? That’s....underwhelming? Remembering stuff isn’t that big of a deal?”
“Isn’t it? I remembered my wife’s birthday, Valentines Day AND our anniversary this year”
“...Mother of God”
Edit: Wow this blew up, thanks for all the love | This is the 1st time I response to a wp. Please tell me what you think.
____
It's been fifteen years. Fifteen years of non-stop alcohol drinking. Mostly vodka, sometimes, some other stuff. Not-one-single-sober-day for the whole fifteen fucking years.
Most people called me a hobo, a dumb-ass; some said that I was just an alcoholic finding a reason to drink. I had no friend, nor family. Nobody stayed with a forever-drunk guy I guessed.
But I knew I was not an alcoholic. Oh well, not JUST an alcoholic. Every morning, after I woke up and before I had my morning shot - the only sober moment of my day- I knew. I knew I was destined to this. I knew I had to know what a man can gain from 10 000 litres of alcohol.
10 000 was the magic number of awe. After years of researching, scientists finally confirmed that no matter what people do, when they hit the 10 000 mark, they would gain some special ability.
Most abilities were really straight forward:
+ Do 10 000 push-ups, you would gain super punch, or some might call it the-one-punch.
+ Run 10 000 kilometers, super speed.
+ Down 10 000 trees, super lumberjack.
+ Make 10 000 pairs of shoes, super shoe-making.
For eating and drinking however, things got a bit more complicated. You could not just guess what is the outcome, you had to try out to know.
There was this one guy, David Carpenter, devoted himself into eating 10 000 kilograms of raw fish. And now we knew 10 000 kilograms of raw fish give human the ability to breath underwater. Base on this, scientists doubted that the miracle city of Atlantis might actually exist.
This Fish-man inspired a whole lot of youngsters into eating things, mostly fishes and birds. After all, being able to breath underwater and being able to fly were the 2 abilities that humans have longed for since forever. This trend boosted the fish farming and bird breeding industry by 3450% and in turn boosted the economy of the whole world by 234%.
And it was also worth mentioning that there were many people wanted to become some, well, unconventional superheroes, like Batman, Spiderman, Antman, Blackpanther, Catwoman...
I did not want to follow that trend. People remembered Yuri Gagarin, nobody remembered the second guy in space. Nobody remembered the second guy set foot on the Moon. I chose alcohol, because no one did.
And today was the day I hit the 10 000 litres milestone. I wanted to be totally sober when I received the gift, so yesterday I stopped at 9 999 950 ml. Just one more shot and we would know. I WOULD KNOW.
I had a long, relaxing shower, then I made myself a large breakfast. I enjoyed this beautiful morning, I guessed the only morning that I enjoyed for the last 15 years.
After I finished my breakfast, I went to the basement and brought up the Scotch bottle that I had stored down there for 10 years. For this moment of truth, of enlightening, I wanted something fancy, something special rather than that cheap vodka I had drunk everyday.
I poured it to the shot glass, 50 ml. I dumped it down my throat. It was just a normal shot like any shot I took before.
But then I felt something, like my body was changed somehow. Then I felt dizzy. I felt...drunk. I shouldn't though, after all these years, one shot could not make me drunk, not even two full bottles could.
Then I puked out everything I had just had. I felt my head light, and my body heavy.
"Hah, super drunk" - I whispered before collapsing into the ground... | 2018-07-06T04:10:30 | 2018-07-06T03:52:07 | 3,646 | 238 |
[WP] There is a strange lottery that picks a random winner on the planet every day. The prize is completely random, too, for you could win anything- five dollars, a divorce, a brand new car, or even instant death. | "John! The lottery is starting again!" Peter looked at his computer screen in excitement. The timer read five minutes and thirty one seconds.
"Do you have the VPN running?" John asked from beside him. The feed would show the timer but would never the actually lottery program without some sort of VPN. Whoever was running this website was being very careful. The only thing anyone truly knew about it was that anyone could win anything and the same prize was never given twice.
Peter checked the VPN program on the desktop computer, "Looks like it."
Four minutes and twenty two seconds.
"What do you think they are going to give out today? I hope it's not lung cancer like yesterday." John asked. His mother had died of pancreatic cancer a couple of years ago and he didn't like to be reminded of it. Even the mention of other people having it was enough to trigger a bit of depression in him.
"Don't be a baby. They didn't say it was terminal cancer. Besides, it could also be a brand new car like last week."
John looked at the countdown. Two minutes and fifteen seconds.
"I hope it's something weird. You remember when that lady in Botswana won the patent for that epilepsy drug? I hear they're still in court trying to get it back from her." John remembered how excited he was to see someone screw over the drug companies for once instead of the other way around.
One minute and thirteen seconds.
"You wanna bet whether it's gonna be good or bad?" Peter asked while staring at the counter go down. One minute.Fifty nine.
"What about if it's neutral, like that New York one last week that won 37 cents?" Fifty. Forty nine.
"I would say that's positive, technically." Forty three.
John sat in silence watching the timer. Thirty. Twenty nine. Twenty eight.
"Five bucks on negative." John said as the timer reached fifteen.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
"Deal."
Two.
One.
The timer disappeared and a video popped up on the screen. An animated cartoon of a coyote in a tophat appeared on the screen. At least that's what Peter said it was. John always thought it looked a bit more like a fox. Behind the coyote/fox were words flashing by so fast John could read them. There was speculation about the words being connected to the prizes or winners somehow but he had never seen any convincing evidence.
"Welcome to The Lottery! The only truly random thing on Earth! Welcome back to our contestants, by which of course we mean everyone on Earth. Young or old, rich or poor, black or white, able or not, everyone is a contestant on The Lottery!" The coyote/fox said to the screen. Both Peter and John sat in silence as the coyote/fox rambled on.
"We have a very special prize tonight for our random contestant, 23 year old John Reynolds of Tucson, Arizona!"
John froze. How was this possible? He had never known anyone personally who had ever won the lottery for any reason. Unless you count that biology teacher that taught at U of A. He quit before John's class with him had started. He probably would've too if he had won his own weight in gold coins.
Peter stared at him as the coyote/fox rambled on, "And congratulations John! Tonight we have a unique, as always, prize for you today. For today we give..." A literal drum roll came from the screen as the announcement was stretched for dramatic effect.
"What the...?" John said just before the drum roll ended
"The ability to speak to your dead mother! Congratulations John, and say hi to your mother for us. From all of us at The Lottery watch our live broadcast at the same time tomorrow. Until then may the odds be ever in your favor." The coyote/fox winked at the screen and the video went black.
"Hello John." John turned behind him and saw something that shouldn't be there. His mother, in one of the long flowing hippy skirts she always liked to wear, stood in the doorway to his dorm room.
"Hi mom."
r/cawdor23 | Growing up in the tiny town of Platteville Nebraska, nothing much exciting ever really happened. It barely was even a place on the map. With only 1373 people in town and a forty minute drive to anything considered civilized, Platteville lay stuck in the past. Which was why when local resident Kevin Zimek, a local 18 year old won the lottery, people got quite excited.
It had probably been the most exciting thing to happen in Platteville since the Platteville High Panthers almost won a state football championship in '87 ( though unfortunately, they were dead on arrival at that game, losing by 5 touchdowns and only scored once on a field goal by the town's to that point most prominent citizen, Dustin Palensky, who walked on for the Cornhuskers and caught a pass in a game against Kansas.) Kevin himself didn't even know how he was chosen. It was hard enough to win something like the World Lottery, but somehow it happened. Maybe it was the fact that it was his birthday and that for some reason, really lucky things happened on his birthday (like getting Ashley Hunt to go to homecoming with him, even if it was because her boyfriend had mono and she didn't want to go alone.) Or like when he turned 11 and he got a free pizza on his birthday from the local Casey's because they'd made too many and had to throw one out. In fact his birthday was typically the one day good things happened.
Being that it was a big deal for Kevin, and for the town of Platteville, the local school had a big assembly to announce his prize to the whole town. This was a bigger deal though because even TV stations from Omaha and Lincoln, and even further came to talk watch Kevin accept his prize. Typically the winners were usually in other parts of the world, and if they were in the US, it usually was some old redneck, or a bunch of office workers in a pool, but an 18 year old kid was pretty interesting.
The Platteville gym was packed full of people, and news cameras were on the rest of the floor. The assembly started with the band playing the national anthem and the school song, and Principal Burt Gildersleeve giving an address.
"I'm so happy that this could happen not only to a great kid like Kevin, but to a great community like Platteville. I hope you get a great prize Kevin!"
Kevin could tell Principal Gildersleeve was full of it. He always liked to kind of butter people up like that. He never even really talked to Kevin before, except that one time he threw up on a teachers desk in class and the teacher was convinced it was done on purpose (it wasn't. Kevin had ate a bad batch of chicken and rice for lunch, and had been feeling terrible. Principal Gildersleeve also knew that his teacher. Ms. Dudley, was a bit of a drama queen, and often exaggerated things.) Anyways, even in spite of the boring formalities, Kevin was excited. So excited, he was sweating through his shirt (his mom had bought him a nice outfit "like the popular kids wear", even though it was hard to find extra large sizes at most of the mall stores. At least ones that he felt comfortable in.) He hoped that his prize would be something cool, like money, or even just something like a PS4.
Just then then a door opened, and Principal Gildersleeve headed back to the mike.
"And now for our guest. He's not only a noted inventor and humanitarian, he's also one of the nicest people i've ever met. Here he is, the founder of the International Lottery... the founder of Icarus Enterprises... Mr. Thatcher Dorn."
Just then a man came in. He had on a cream colored suit jacket, but only a polo shirt and jeans underneath. He may not have dressed like a billionaire, but he walked in with the swagger of one.
"Now folks." Said Mr. Dorn. He had a slight bit of an Australian accent that seemed to instantly enthrall the crowd."
"As you all know, this lottery is something that is unique in the world. It doesn't only give out money or physical prizes, it gives out literally anything. Now that's why today is such an interesting day here in Platteville. You see Kevin...."
Kevin looked at Dorn and also at everyone in the gym. He almost was about to cry. He was so excited he didn't even here what was said next.
"You see Kevin, you're prize is that you've won a new car. "
The crowd then clapped.Mr. Dorn talked to Kevin, and the whole crowd.
"Kevin, I'm going to give you something awesome. Might help you with the ladies too big guy. I think i'm going to give you a brand new car. I got a 71 Cuda out back because I know you folks out here in the heartland love your muscle cars. So go ahead and take it for a spin. Its outside.
After a few minutes, the assembly was over. Kevin then saw his red and black muscle car. He was so excited. It certainly beat out his old Camry.
"By the way Kevin. You'll need the keys. Can't cruise through the cornfields without those."
"Thanks."
Then Mr. Dorn whispered to Kevin.
"You're real prize kid, is to die. That's what it is. The minute you turn that car on, you'll die because I rigged it. I also have my people standing by if you run, so don't think you'll get away. M'kay?"
Kevin's face then turned ghostly white.
"Well then I don't want the prize." Said Kevin.
"Look bud, no one says no to Thatcher Dorn okay. Rules are rules and death's your prize bud. Just last week I had to have a nice Malaysian couple divorce. That's what you won. No getting out."
Just then, Kevin decided to do something. He thought if he ran into the school, he wouldn't be killed. He figured if anyone saw, it'd be a scandal even if it did happen. But just as he began to take off, he was stopped in his tracks.
"Take the body away boys." Said Dorn. Can't let anyone see this. Also, there's a train coming in a few seconds, put that car in front of it. We'll make this a tragic story if we have to." | 2018-07-30T21:58:59 | 2018-07-30T21:45:06 | 37 | 11 |
[WP] An anti-thunderstorm: A weather phenomenon in which there are brief flashes of darkness followed by a void of utter silence. Following such an event last week in Pennsylvania, leading scientists tell us to expect more events of this antithetical nature, and not just for thunderstorms. | "And the current forecast calls for sunny skies and highs in the 80s, with a five percent chance of precipitation."
Don switched off the TV and stretched contentedly. "Well, honey, looks like we have another day of anti-blizzard."
I rolled my eyes and pointed at the calendar. "Don, it's July."
"A whole month of anti-blizzards? Pretty sweet. Nothing wrong with anti-weather." He practically swaggered out of the kitchen. "Perfectly normal in its abnormalness," he called from the living room.
I sighed. Poor baby. It seemed that Don's first experience with an anti-thunderstorm last night freaked him out worse than I thought. | It had certainly come as a shock to the tech world. Ace Technologies is finally fixing their crappy batteries? And apparently with some kind of Tesla device. Of course, the real shock was that they were moving testing up to the same weekend as the Zentech announcement. Sure, they were competitors, but neither had resorted to such dirty tactics.
​
"And the best part? If you have a Tres Communicator, this technology will be coming to your device THIS WEEKEND!" The announcer practically shouted the last part.
​
Sam turned off the radio. "Seems they might be getting desperate."
"Desperate for what? I wasn't aware they were in trouble."
"You saw the sales numbers for the Tres, right?"
"Sam, you know I don't follow tech that closely."
​
Sam turned on the indicator for the highway exit. A sign read "Last Rest Stop for 40 miles".
​
"You've got this one, right?"
Lilith begrudgingly pulled out her wallet, "Sure."
​
The van pulled into the gas station. Sam stepped out and proceeded to fill the tank.
​
"Looks like a storm is coming in. Can you turn the radio back on? I want to hear if it's going to be bad."
​
Lilith click the radio on.
​
"Unexpected storms have been seen across the country. For details, we turn to our resident meteorologist, Travis."
"Thank you John. What we're seeing is quite unlike anything I've ever witnessed before. Heavy rains are being followed by an unnatural dryness in the air. Eye witnesses have reported that during this time, they are experiencing what is begin called "Anti-Thunder", moments where everything goes dark, followed by deafening silence."
"Doppler 2 has been updated to track these storms, and we are seeing several pockets of storms ranging from the New York area, all the way down to San Francisco. Further reports suggest that these storms may continue well into the weekend. We'll be sure to keep you informed as things play out. Back to you John."
"Thanks again Travis. Be sure to stay tuned into KFAQ for more details as the come in."
​
"All the way to the con. Sounds like it will be an interesting weekend."
"Ya, but you know it doesn't really rain over there, right?"
​
Sam got back in the van and started it up.
​
"No, but I'd hate to have spent $150 on tickets only to stand in the rain."
"Bah, it won't be that bad."
"Wanna bet? 10 bucks says it's going to rain when we get there."
"Your on!"
​
Sam pulled the van onto the highway as rain began to fall. | 2019-09-15T16:26:34 | 2019-09-15T16:11:37 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] As a world class sniper, you’ve been given a task to assassinate the so called “master of disguise”. You’ve been told that he himself never changes appearance, but he warps the environment around him to hide. All you need to look for is a man with glasses and a red and white striped shirt. | He always wore the same damned shirt. The same glasses. The same silly hat.
It'd said as much in the dossier, and I'd seen it for myself since then. I didn't even need to read his profile anymore. I knew it by heart.
"Master of disguise," my Handler had told me.
And I'd laughed. As if it'd be easy.
The first time was the carnival. I followed him in, entirely certain he was my guy. He'd stood in line for tickets, I'd stood ten folks behind him. He was in the striped shirt. I was in jeans, a thin jacket for the fall evening, gloves. I fit the bill--just another fellow out to enjoy the carnival.
Next thing I knew, he was gone. Not escaped, like previous targets who'd slink behind a shed thinking I'd not find them. I always found them. Hunted them down. A single, silenced shot at close range, or a knife across the throat.
Not him. He was still there, but suddenly everybody else was him, too. Kids, parents, carnies--the whole lot of them. Some had striped shirts. Tents were red and white. It was a hypnotizing kaleidoscope of morphed colors. And through it all, he stood there. Staring at me with that twisted grin.
He knew I couldn't shoot now. I was as likely to hit a bystander as I was to hit him. I'd never caused collateral damage. That was my code.
The next time was the stadium. Same thing. The purple and gold seats turned red and white. People stood. They lifted their arms in celebration and rushed the field. For nothing. It wasn't even halftime. But I couldn't shoot. Not there.
And then the third time. He was on to me by now. This time, it wasn't just colors. It wasn't just a wave of disguise as he turned the environment to his advantage. This time, they all turned with him. A thousand faces staring at me. Some without glasses, some without a hat. I knew who he was because he had both. They all smiled at once; a thousand, twisted grins that stretched too wide.
I ran. Never before. But that time, I ran.
"My patience is wearing thin," my Handler told me when I debriefed him that evening. Three hours I'd spent running from the crowd of twisted grins and fiendish screams. All the while, he'd led them from afar. Taunting me. Daring me to take them all down with him.
My Handler would not allow another failure. Not after all these attempts. And if I didn't kill the Target, the I'd become the Target. That was their code.
"I can't do it without collateral damage," I said.
There was silence over the phone until a heavy sigh came through. "There's a code," my Handler said, and I gulped. "One code. And that's our code. Not yours. Do I make myself clear?"
He did. Loud and clear. "Yes, sir."
"Kill him. I don't care if you kill the whole city to get to him. He needs to go."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | He looked like a man. About that, the CIA was in unanimous agreement. But he was not a man. Not really. He had been created in a lab. He was an experiment gone wrong. He was the living embodiment of the CIA's hubristic desire to create the ultimate weapon. A haunting manifestation of their own creation whose existence threatened to make a mockery of them all.
But it wasn't just the Agency's pride he threatened. Nor was it just their reputation (which would be eternally tarnished if the global community found out about the monster they had unleashed into the world). It was the safety and stability of the entire global order. This was not some terrorist "mastermind" giving orders over a ham radio from some desert cave in the Middle East. This was a superhuman creature, living in North America, blending in, hiding in plain sight, while carrying out actions, one by one, that would eventually bring America, and then the whole world, to its knees.
The creature was designed to continuously bend all forms of light, as well as the three visual dimensions, to render himself nearly invisible to the human eye. But he was not truly invisible: he was not transparent, nor was he even translucent. He simply warped the visual field around him in a way that made him blend into his surroundings, and made his surroundings blend into him. The scientists who had invented him called him the "Warping All Light and Dimensions Operative". The intelligence community shortened this mouthful, referring to him simply as Waldo.
Once Waldo's primary containment had been breached, it was easy for him to escape the compound where he was being held and experimented on. It did not matter that the compound itself was located in the middle of the Mojave Desert, far from civilization. It did not matter that as soon as his escape was noted, a search team of hundreds set to work immediately to track him down. The ground teams found footprints, and followed them to the cluster of rocks where the prints ended, but could not find a trace of him in that cluster, nor any footprints leading out of it. The aerial teams, using state of the art cameras to scan and photograph in all possible directions, left empty handed as well. Forty-eight hours of non-stop searching of hundreds of miles of nearly featureless desert, and Waldo, it seemed, had disappeared with little more than a trace.
It was only later, when powerful computers were used to analyze the thousands upon thousands of high resolution photos that the ground and aerial teams had taken, that they spotted him. Here, standing next to a rock. There, crouched in the shadow of a dune. Here, sitting in the sand. There, standing at full height in the middle of the desert, in the very middle of the picture. The photographer had been looking right at him, and yet, had not managed to spot him. In total, there were 143 images in which Waldo could be spotted. And in each one, as if he knew where the cameras were pointing from, the bastard was facing the camera and waving, as if taunting the search team and the Agency as a whole.
It had been three months since his escape. In that time, he had snuck into four top secret CIA strongholds, and had snuck out with highly classified information. He had killed two State Senators, and had snuck into the private rooms of nine others to intimidate them. Luckily, the CIA was able to explain these events away as being the work of devious, but perfectly human, domestic terrorists. But they knew that this explanation would only suffice for so long.
Then, one morning last week, the President noted to his aides that he had awoken to find his copy of *The Invisible Man* sitting on his bedside table, though he could not remember having placed it there. His security detail scoured the tapes, which recorded everything that took place in the Presidential Suite. One moment the table was empty; the next moment, the book was there. They watched the tapes again and again, looking for some explanation, but could find none. When the CIA got wind of this strange occurrence, they seized the tapes, and dedicated eleven specialists to analyzing them. After two hours, one of the analysts finally said:
"There you are, you bastard."
Waldo had walked into the President's room through the bedroom door, waved at one of the cameras, walked over to the bookshelf, perused it for some minutes, picked out the book, walked over to the bedside table, and placed the book upon it. Then he had stood, looming over the president, watching him sleep, for three minutes and nineteen seconds. Then he looked up, waved at another one of the cameras, and exited the bedroom.
Once the video analyst pointed him out to the others, it was as if he had suddenly become entirely visible to them all. Some even began questioning their sanity, as they had stared at these tapes for hours, and had been unable to see him; yet now, once he had been pointed out, his brightly striped shirt and lanky form were as visible in the videos as the sun in a clear summer sky.
The Director of the Agency looked immensely troubled as he read over their report.
Waldo in the Presidential Suite, eh? But he couldn't tell the President. That would get him fired, and would alert the whole world to the immense blunder for which the CIA had been responsible. But he also had to do something. He couldn't contain the secret within the Agency much longer, and he couldn't allow this creature to keep terrorizing the American citizens and their government with impunity.
He lowered the report from his gaze.
"Call him in," he said to the Assistant Director.
"It's not in the budget, sir," said the Assistant Director.
"Damn the budget," the Director said firmly. "Damn the budget. Call him in."
\- - - | 2020-03-03T12:25:35 | 2020-03-03T12:18:39 | 184 | 47 |
[WP] Rejected by the Federation Council for refusing to disband their military, humans ally themselves with the Thoran, the Federation’s resident warrior race. Warmongers, the Thoran find themselves enamored with humanity, and grow increasingly tired of the Federations attempts to “civilize” both. | "Section 17b of the Interstellar Treaty states that armed forces are strictly prohibited unless governed by the Federation. Failure to comply with this ruling will result in rejection and or expulsion from the council. It is our personal belief that this article should be struck down. Our individual military forces grant us security and safety in the face of dangers the Federation cannot prevent."
Sergeant Caleb Jones tossed the paper aside. Everyone here had heard the recital before. There was no need to divulge further. Jones nodded to Baker, who continued.
"The Federation has placed severe trade embargoes and even more severe travelling restrictions on us for our refusal to budge to their totalitarian decision. That is why we are here today," Baker exclaimed.
"You're here because you think we can change things?" Zan-Shuu scoffed. "The Federation hates us as much as they do you. They're convening as we speak on whether or not to kick us out. You think they'll listen to us?"
Jones stood up, shaking his head. "We gave them an ultimatum. Change the article in question or lift the restrictions upon us, otherwise there will be consequences. The council refused."
"What are you suggesting, human?" Lieutenant Xak-Trulz asked with interest. The symbols burned into the reptilian alien's flesh gave off a dim glow: a sign of high honour in warfare. Thoran often adorned themselves with such markings to indicate those whose excellence should be idolized. The closest thing humans had in turn were insignia and badges pinned to a leaf green suit.
"Due to our similar circumstances and beliefs, I am suggesting an alliance between our two peoples. Both of our races have long histories of warfare, extensive military knowledge and technology and a wish to keep it that way," Jones explained. The two Thoran glanced at each other for a moment, pausing to think, before Zan-Shuu responded.
"You know the Federation will not react kindly to our declaration. They will adamantly attempt to divert this course. Do you know what that calls of us, sergeant?" Zan-Shuu asked with glee and wonder in his otherwise cold and methodical voice.
"We're already set to go," Jones answered. The two Thoran once again took the time to stare at each other, this time communicating in their native tongue. Finally, Zan-Shuu turned his attention back to the humans.
"Then to war it is." | "Citizens of the Federation."
War Czar Mitya Kalishinov stared directly into the camera. His tall, strong form, clad in the midnight black of the Human military, filled only a portion of the screen. Behind him was the interior of his ship, the *Hades*, itself a mix of black paneling and red lighting. To his sides stood the proud men and women of the *Hades.* Looming over his head was a floating map displaying the one thousand, eight hundred and thirty-five ships of the Second Armada.
At first, the man did not speak after the initial greeting. Instead, he let the image cement itself in the minds of the viewers. They would be watching from across the Federation, hiding in their rat warrens and fragile cities. They thought themselves strong. The War Czar knew otherwise. Finally, he spoke.
"I am War Czar Kalishinov, Supreme Commander of Humanity's Astra Militaris. I speak for Earth's government on the matter of the Federation Council's rejection of Humanity's application for admission." He cleared his throat and then his eyes began to move slightly from left to right as he read from the prompter. "Humanity's application to the Federation Council was made as a gesture of goodwill. Formed out of a desire to align Human interests with the other denizens of our galactic neighborhood. This application was genuinely made, though it was only supported by a thin margin of qualified citizens."
The eyes stopped scanning from left to right and instead peered at the camera again. The next words were slower, more deliberate, "The rejection of our application has freed us from the restrictions we willingly placed upon ourselves in an effort to find a compromise with the Federation. These limitations curtailed our actions, and yolked Humanity's progress to the whims of foreign beings in foreign lands. We are thankful to have this obstacle removed." Mitya smiled, the first sign of emotion during the presentation, "I wish the Federation luck in what is to come."
The video feed went dark.
Mitya turned to his side, nodding to his Executive Officer, "XO Lewis, transmit and confirm Thoran transit orders with the Second Armada."
Executive Officer Madison Lewis, a short, stocky woman with a broad jaw and buzzed grey hair, saluted Mitya, "Yes, sir." She turned on her heel and made her way over to the fleet comms controller. She leaned over and had brief conversation before returning to the Czar, who had taken his seat at the center of the command deck. "Sir, transit to Thoran has been charted with the navigational route transmitted and confirmed to all ships within the Second Armada. Estimated travel time is four hours and thirty-five minutes. The transit will required thirteen chutes."
Mitya nodded, "Very good, XO. See that nothing comes undone during during the A to B." The XO saluted and took her own position a few feet from the Czar's command chair. Mitya opened a small panel in the left armrest of his chair and pressed a bright red button. He leaned back in his chair, pressing firmly against the flesh of the black leather. A moment later, a spine from the chair pressed against his neck and then inserted itself just beneath the base of his skull. The Czar's eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped down.
Mitya's consciousness floated for a moment in the etherium of buffer space as his brain was scanned and loaded. A moment later, the scan was complete, a symbiote AI formed, and the SAI was transmitted to Earth Command. The symbiote would act as his proxy on the Command Council once he was out of communications range, permitting him to be two places at once. It was not a perfect solution, but it was far superior to the alternative of courier messages or command fragmentation. Trials on symbiote decision trees showed a 99.999999999998% overlap with their source trees at inception. Of course, that percentage decreased as lived experience diverged from scanned experience, but no solution could be perfect.
The spine retracted and Mitya opened his eyes. The scanning process took less than a minute, but the aftereffects of the scan always left a short period of disorientation. Mitya was no stranger to this feeling and handled it with little distraction. Once his head cleared, he opened an all hands channel to the *Hades.*
"Soldiers of the *Hades*, we make for Thoran to rendezvous with our new allies." A pause. "Then we ready for war. All hands, battle stations."
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR Peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2020-04-16T09:07:41 | 2020-04-16T08:51:12 | 363 | 219 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks. | I didn't miss the overwhelming hum of the fluorescent lights in Dr. Marshall's office. It had been almost three years since the last time we had our last meeting.
It was odd to see her now, her hair was void of the grays that would eventually come into their roots. Her glasses sat on the table, she wouldn't need those for another 8 or 9 years, at least that's what she told me she had guessed when I asked earlier. She looked well, three decades of medical work and research hadn't shaped faint lines and creases in her skin yet. I imagine she had taken the change happily.
"Jonathan, unfortunately, we really won't know anything until we get the results back. But if I'm being honest with you, it's not looking good. Since the change, I've seen amputees who woke up with their missing limbs back, elderly patients without their knee replacements gone, the tattoo I got when I turned 22 vanished off my skin. I really don't know what to say," I could tell by the look on her face she was looking for something to say, "but it's a good thing you came in, if the tumor is there now we can remove it before it grows. And if it isn't then we can monitor the area where it formed last time and go from there."
If I was truly 18 again, it would be another year and a half or so before the migraines would start. I wish I could have woken up after the change with the body of a happy teenager, but instead my thoughts raced with memories of hearing Dr. Marshall tell me of my diagnosis. with memories of nights where I was so sick and weak I wanted to give in to everything and let go, with memories of having to learn to walk again.
I tried to give Dr. Marshall a valid response of a hopeful smile as the fluorescent lights hummed, but I couldn't. | "You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really!" I told my buddy as I looked at his dark eyes, even darker in the lightless dusty room.
"Well, stop bragging, Shane" he snapped, "things are pretty bloody well screwed at this point as it is. Last thing I need is you rambling about Mrs. Bartley"
But Mrs Bartley was indeed something we all knew about. Hell, she even used to scare us. In every neighbourhood there is an old woman, older than the Pharaohs themselves, and quite frankly you wonder how is she even alive. And more often than not they are very talkative, or at least so my parents said when they were tired of Mrs. Bartley's constant questions. And while she was our talkative older-than-the-world lady, she pretty much scared the living spirit out of us. Through most of our memories we have always been living in constant terror just by the thought of her. Maybe it was her teeth.
But all biting remarks aside something got to me this Halloween evening and a bit before midnight, I decided to leave my buddies, Sam, Dean and Merry, and go to Mrs Bartley's. Not so much for the candy, rather for the bragging rights of leaving a flaming bag of cat's products on her doorstep. But it was not Mrs Bartley who openes the door, and it was not me who knocked on it. I mean it was but when I looked in the mirror a few seconds after I entered the house, it sure felt like it wasn't. Long story short I was pretty impressed how her old parched skin had turned into smooth velvet over seconds and that platinum blonde did suit her as her natural hair colour. She was impressed by other things in my physique. So was I. The first two times for sure. Then it felt natural.
What staggered me most was not the fact that the news guys, and her TV always had the news on, got the situation pretty quickly - everyone had turned back or as in my case forward, to their adolescent years. Some even proposed that we were all 18. Hell, those scinece guys really pack a brain in the 21st century. Others proposed that we were 21, since it was more appropriate for their state - then the arguments began. But they didn't last long. It was not the fact that all the animals were in the peak of their predatorial minds and causing havok, no no no. It was that whatever got us like this - bacteria, virus, retrograde Mars with a full moon, whatever, man, it got to everybody. And I mean every body!!
We saw them around 5 in the morning walking towards town from the general direction of the cemetery. Mrs Bartley's house was close, I don't know if she had a plan to get closer or whatever, but we saw them! Hundreds! All of them my age! Our age! They were walking relentlessly through the street... But the thing is that while Mrs Bartley and I knew exactly whp we were before this thing happened - those guys didn't. All they knew was the hunger and the longing of being burried. And they were pissed.
They broke the front door and sunk their teeth in Mrs Bartley as I was putting on my jeans. Her blood stood out over her blonde hair, her entrails stood out on the tile floor. I almost pissed myself, but I ran. I ran so hard like I never have in my whole life. I even smacked one of the walking undead on the head. I never looked back at him....or maybe it was her... I don't even know.
I found Dave near the school, where we used to smoke, instead of going to class. He told me Sam and Marry were dead. A group of those...things had gotten them while they were making out in front of him.
"I mean, maybe I shouldn't have told them to go to Hell, it was probably the last they heard from me, but it gave me the time to run, Shane, so I did it!" said Dave as we were entering one of the class rooms
"You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really" I replied...
Happy Halloween, boys and girls | 2020-11-02T11:00:41 | 2020-11-02T09:54:34 | 62 | 19 |
[WP] You're 34 years old with a wife and two kids when your School of Sorcery application was granted. You sent that application 20 years ago and told them you were no longer interested. They replied that refusal is not an option and that you will be taken in 48 hours. | "holy shit!'
"holy *shiiiiit!*"
"yeeee *haaaw*! yeeee *haaaa*!"
"Seriously? *seriously*? i get to go to magic school? Honey, did you hear that? *we* get to learn magic!"
"what do i mean by *we*? well obviously i'm taking my family with me! i read the entire student rule book cover to cover and there's nothing in the rules that say i can't! in fact there's a subsection that states i can only discuss magic with my family. sounds like i'm allowed to teach everyone in my family magic!"
"just give us a moment to gather our bags! there's no limit on the luggage we can take, right?"
"sweet!"
"junior, run out to the garage and grab the chainsaw. princess, go grab mommy's axes. mom, don't forget to bring along your sword. "
"what are those for? last time i read the course catalog there was a class on dungeoning. college is expensive, and we believe in 'earn while you learn'"
***We have made a terrible mistake!*** | Twenty years! Twenty fucking years and now they think it's a good time. I'm gonna tell you what. I can't fathom this shit! It's like they want to see you run up the walls. Why would they do this to me now? I have you now! And my kids!
Yes! I really wanted to learn how to brew magic drinks and potions and to curse your elders. And yes, I know, noone would say „elders“ in this day and age. The witch trials are over and there are no Inquisitions anymore. But a child's gonna dream, won't it?When this old man showed me the truth I knew it had to be real.
Okay now, this sounds confusing but bear with me: I went to this circus with my dad. I was only about thirteen or fourteen years old, it's quite hard to remember the details at this point, but I remember this magical performance. There was this old guy, he had this huge pot with a big fireplace underneath and he brewed all kinds of stuff. One time, he just whipped his huge scoop around and suddenly atleast fifty frogs just jumped out of there. The pot was steaming but there just seemed to be an endless supply of living frogs just jumping out of there. It was just unbelievable. Then, there were the doves and then after that... you won't believe it of course but there was this firework and in this firework there appeared to be this dragon figure. It disappeared as soon as I saw it but it was there! There was a freaking dragon!
Afterwards, I just wanted to know what was going on. So I sat down at my computer and googled it, like every normal child in this day and age would do. And that's when I found it.
„You found what? This school for sorcery? Bit hard to believe! If you ask me it sounds like they want to recruit you for some unethical reason you don't wanna tell me about.“
I know it's crazy. But it is the truth! Really noone could believe this is actually true. And I didn't believe it. But this school really does exist! Well it has to otherwise... well where did the dragon come from? I ask you this!
When I tried to contact the school today, there was nothing. Noone said anything back. You can only send a fax and I did that but nothing came back.
„Does your stupid magic man even have anything to do with this school? You don't even know his name!“
All I know is they will come any minute now. I should've told you sooner but... well they are gonna be here any minute now.
„Oh great! You didn't even try to bring any weaponry or stuff we could fire at them or anything? This is crazy. “
Now now don't be so sure. I rigged this place for good measure. They said they would come and get me. I assume they were gonna check out our place first and then they would try and find me elsewhere if I wasn't there. The kids are safe at grandmas place. We just have to wait to find out how they will come here. If they come by foot, easy. Everything will just explode around us. If they come by plane, we'll just have to hope they'll see our puppets first and then get blown up, too. If they try some magic chenanigans I don't know the faintest bit about... well, then I'll probably have to leave.
But here's to hoping. | 2021-03-12T11:50:32 | 2021-03-12T10:57:15 | 65 | 43 |
[WP] A being at the gates of the afterlife allows every soul that passes through to ask it one question. Used to being asked questions such as "What is the meaning of life?" and "How many people loved me?", it's taken unawares when a soul asks "How was your day?" instead. | # The Cracks In Their Souls
(Part 2: That's How The Light Leaks Out)
(Note: The Cracks In Their Souls is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**I stared at the little boy with my timeless eyes.** "...Are you sure that's what you want to ask?"
The boy shrugged. "Big Sis always says that if you show gen-you-in interest in other people's lives, then they would show gen-you-in interest in you." He enunciated the words with the exaggerated care of a toddler holding a china teacup, careful not to drop it.
*Exactly* like that, in fact. I peered into his soul, which manifested in my vision as a battered, scarred sphere of stone, and understood. The words were heirlooms, precious things he'd inherited from his sister.
I looked at the long, long line of souls waiting to enter the gates of heaven, then back at the little boy. Then I smiled and knelt to his height. "To be honest," I said, "I've been yelled at by two people for telling them who their love cheated on them with, and had three people have existential crises before they even got through the gates. My day's been rather terrible."
The boy flinched. "Oh." He hesitated. "Are you going to yell at me now?"
I blinked, taken aback. Then the pieces fit together, my soulsight filling in the gaps that my intuition could not. "...I," I said, very carefully, "am not like your father. You'll find that very few people are, up here."
He relaxed a little. "That's good. I'm sorry you had a bad day, though. I wish I could make you happy, for once." He didn't sound like he was talking about me.
An idea popped into my head, and I looked from side to side in exaggerated, furtive motions. Then I leaned in just a little closer—not too close, or I feared he'd flinch away—and whispered, "Can I tell you a secret?"
The boy's eyes lit up. "I love secrets! Don't worry, I won't tell a soul."
"Alright. It's a very important secret, okay? Keep it close to your heart and don't *ever* forget it." I winked, and he nodded. "Ready? Here goes." I took a deep breath and paused for dramatic effect; the boy rubbed his hands together and I could have sworn he would have *burst* from anticipation if I waited a moment longer.
So I vouchsafed in a child the secret of an angel.
"Everything that happened down there, with your father? It's not your fault," I said. His eyes widened, and his hands flew to his mouth.
"How did you kn—oh, no, I'm going to be in so much trouble, Big Sis is going to get hurt, and it's all because of—" The kid had begun panicking, memories bubbling up to the surface of his mind, and although I could've used my soulsight again, I didn't want to rob him of that privacy.
"It's not your fault," I repeated again, more firmly this time.
He looked up at me, eyes wild. "No, no, you don't understand. You don't know how Daddy gets when people accuse him of—"
"It's. Not. Your. Fault."
With the last repetition, my words seemed to strike something inside the kid. He stiffened, trembling, for an eternity.
Then he threw himself forward, held me tight and close.
And tears fell by the gates of heaven.
After a calm, liquid infinity, I withdrew and held open the golden gates. "Go on in, kid," I said. "I'll see you around."
He nodded, wiping his nose, and trotted into heaven with that solemn sense of purpose that children sometimes have, when they're strong and determined and the stars align. Just before he passed through the gates, he turned back.
I gave his soul one last look. It still manifested as that cracked sphere of stone, but it *glowed*, now, his soul pulsing with soft radiance from within. Life had cracked his soul wide open—but those cracks were a part of who he was. They were how he shared his light with the world.
"I hope your day gets better," he said.
I smiled. "It already has."
A.N.
Suggestions? Comments? Typos? Please leave them on this comment's sister post at [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/); and if you want more stories like this, try giving the rest of [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/) a peek. And I hope I made your day better, too.
Edit: There is a prequel to this story coming soon. | "It was... well it was, wasn't it?" The booming Voice, the Trumpet that pronounced the judgments of the World and the Living upon the Dead, seemed to stumble a bit.
"Well, how do you mean?" There was a sort of gentle curiosity in the voice, one that had spent a lifetime in conversations just like this--well, maybe not just like this.
"No one has ever asked such a question of us, Ezekial Mallos." The voice still boomed, but now it seemed quite conversational.
In the blinding whiteness between universes, devoid of shape or color or anything but the Question and the Answer, there was hesitation in a place that never been created to stop. A trillion living souls on a billion worlds all died--a rather light day when speaking of the Universe--and now they had nowhere to go. The blinding whiteness resounded with questions, but the Voice was currently mumbling a bit.
"Well, I've got the time if you want to tell me about it?" There was only supposed to be one Question, but this soul had now asked its 3rd, and still, the first had yet to be Answered.
"I mean, a day only exists on your planet. Other species don't even tell time at all, much less based on their home planet's rotation around its axis." The Voice seemed to be stretching, as though easing out of a chair and flexing a bit. Thoughts that had communicated only with each other were now Voiced for the first time since... well since Time began.
"Well, how's your eternity then?" There wasn't any ulterior motive in these Questions, just a friendly conversation with a new person. The speaker had always lived that way, a simple and naturally curious man, but one of good humor and endless laughter, who struck up a conversation with every person around him, meeting new friends every day. A living archive of human stories.
"That's a much more complicated Question." The Voice laughed, and the whiteness seemed to shake. "It's not boring. I know so much about Creation's children. They are so fascinating."
"How so?" It was though the old man was here, the voice seemingly leaning back in a chair and gesturing to continue with a smile.
"All of you, no matter how far-flung and alien you all seem, no matter which galaxy or star or asteroid, all of you ask the same three questions!" The Voice laughed, a trumpeting of endless supernovas filling the emptiness. "Why was I born? Where am I going next? Is there a God?"
"Well, I suppose those are the big three, aren't they?" The voice chuckled and it was easy to imagine a pair of twinkling eyes. "Doesn't matter where you're born or how you look, everyone wants to know if they mattered."
"Of course they mattered." The Voice sighed, suddenly weary. "You all matter. You matter so much more than any of you can know."
"Well, hindsight and all." A gentler smile now, with its own sadness.
"We're all waiting for you, you know." The Voice was suddenly impatient. "And we have been for a long time."
"How do you mean?" Genuine confusion now.
"The Singularity. The Oneness. The Universal Consciousness. The Harmony. It doesn't matter what you call it." The Voice sighed again, wishing for a future that was still far off. "The moment when every living creature finally understands that they are all part of a greater organism and you all awaken."
"Awaken?" A wondrous curiosity, like a child watching a space shuttle, or hearing a new story.
"Awaken." The Voice laughed softly, and a sudden warmth filled the empty whiteness. "The reason you were born. Where you are going next. The moment you see God."
"What is it?" A hunger now, for knowledge. Beyond the curiosity of habit or conversation. An instinctive, inborn, primal desire to know more, to have the answer.
"Well, it's hard to explain in terms that you brain can understand." The Voice all but shrugged, before continuing on like a patient father. "You're like single cell in a vast being, and that being will only live when you all work together to grant it life. When you all stop working against one another and finally understand that you are all living beings in the same universe."
"Well, I imagine that might be a bit." A gentle chuckle, one filled with a bit of weariness. "We're pretty far from there, I suppose."
"You're a ways off," the Voice didn't disagree, before it laughed again. "But, if it makes you feel any better, you're a little closer today than you were yesterday."
"How much closer?" The weariness was there still, filled with doubt.
"Close enough." The Voice reassured him with a gentle tone, the warmth filling the space. "And now, you get to see what's next."
"Oh, but... if we're not there yet... ..." The voice was suddenly fearful, facing eternity instead of a friendly question. In the end, fear came for almost all of them in the last moments before the end.
"What happens to you?" The Voice finished the question that the man had trailed off from speaking. "Now you get to keep getting closer, to keep trying."
"Reincarnation, eh?" A wry chuckle. "My grandsons love telling me about their animes. I get a power now, right? Or a Wish?"
"Something like that." The Voice laughed, rumbling throughout the whiteness. "Don't worry, it's not a punishment."
"You promise?" Like a child, asking for a second check of the closet or beneath the bed. The desperate need for reassurance.
"With all of my being." The warmth filled every fibre of the man's soul and he could suddenly see a pinprick of darkness in the vast white, slowly growing larger. The Voice continued softly, "it's a gift, Zeke."
"So, you talked to her, too?" A smile, a sad one now, filled with memories. "Sam..."
"I did, and don't worry, she's there too." The Voice boomed and the dark spot grew larger and larger still. "And thanks to you, Zeke, my day was quite excellent." As the empty white was suddenly filled with color, the Voice boomed in his head one last time, before blackness overcame everything.
"Thank you."
***
"Do you, Zekian Crovalnus, take this one, Callient Sammakian, to be your Oath?"
"I do."
"And do you Callient Sammakian take this one, Zekian Crovalnus, to be your Oath?"
"I do."
"Then in the name of the Sun King and the High Queens Above, I bless this union. Let all the gods and spirits bear witness to their Oath and Hallow It!"
"I love you, Zeke." Her voice was soft and gentle, quaking a bit, with tears of happiness running down her face. His was barely a whisper, and her face swam in his vision, muddled by his own joyous tears.
"I love you too, Sam." | 2021-03-28T20:02:02 | 2021-03-28T19:47:25 | 495 | 159 |
[WP] In terms of powers you are world class, easily one of the next up and coming top-tier super-heroes in the world. But you deliberately downplay your abilities, pretending to have only minor talents so you can stick with your team of underdogs whose leader you have been crushing on for years. | It's an open secret in hero circles that not all powers are rated equal. Flashy, high optic powers like Psionics, Super-strength, and Electro kinesis basically guarantee you a spot on one of the top teams. Hard work and dedication take a distant second to the power of flight or running like, *really* fast. The laziest telepath will effortlessly outpace even the hardest working empath.
Julia... can be in two places at once. No, she can't multiply indefinitely. No, she doesn't get the relative strength of two people. Damage is shared across her bodies so she can't even claim a sort of immortality by sending one self into harms way while the other stays behind. She is... basically just a normal woman. Maybe more fragile.
That has never stopped her from putting herself in harm's way. Holding her own hand so she can reach some poor kid before he can jump off a bridge, distracting an armed gunman so she can sneak around and brain him from behind. I once saw her stand on her own shoulders to grab a kitten from a tree. I love her so much.
Myself, I'm in high demand. I possess a rare talent for healing. Physical, mental, spiritual, they say I can do all but bring someone back from the dead. They're about right. As long as your brain's not too damaged I can pretty much rebuild you from the ground up. I get a dozen messages a week from teams wanting to recruit me for some world defense league or justice force or other. I always turn them down. It's that one limitation. Death. If I leave... Julia won't stop putting herself in danger. It's just who she is. And one day, she'll die, and I won't be there to save her.
I guess she's a better hero than me. If she knew, really *knew* what I was capable of, the good I could do? She'd probably insist I leave. Join one of the teams, or maybe form my own. Travel the world, saving dying children, or supporting the big guys as they fight off the next alien invasion or nuclear powered beastie. But if I did, would she be allowed to join me? Would she even want to? She loves her community. I don't think she could bear to leave. And so, I keep my talents a secret. If not from the world at large, then from her. Just so I can be here when she finally stretches herself to thin. | I woke up chained to a chair, shackles keeping my wrists and ankles in place.
My greatest nemesis, Dr. Hugo Todt, stood over me, tauntingly.
"So," he begins in his usual German accent, "he awakes. Good, I didn't want this to be boring. I wanted you to witness what is to come."
As my eyes scan the room, I see another chair stood across from me, and the captain of my small squad of heroes similarly chained to it, still unconscious. A single old lamp shed its weak light down between the two of us, as the "good" doctor paced the room.
"What do you want me to witness?"
At this, Dr. Todt produced a knife from the folds of his lab coat and brandished it in my direction.
"Oh, it's quite simple," he said. "I learned of your true talents quite recently. Most fascinating and enlightening, truly. It seems your talents are wasted on your small team. Do you think," he continued, motioning to my captain with the knife, "that she knows who you truly are?"
"Anyone who learned of my 'true nature' is dead, how could you possibly know about me?"
"Long days and nights of research and investigation," he elaborated. "Finding any sort of evidence that confirms what you are is... exceedingly difficult. You've covered your tracks well."
"I try," I added, rather sarcastically, "You still haven't told me what you want me to witness."
From another pocket in his lab coat, the doctor produced a hypodermic needle filled with an unknown, glowing green liquid.
"This," he explained, "is a serum developed from the combined blood of both you and your 'superior' officer there. I intend to inject myself with this serum, kill you, and then kill her."
"Why?" I asked. "Why do the impossible?"
"Simply to see you and your team dead, of course. I have no plans for world conquest, or any other far-reaching, lofty goal. I am fuelled purely by revenge. When I have that, then we shall see."
He began rolling up his sleeve at this, putting the syringe down to produce a large rubber hose from his coat, swiftly and deftly tying it off around his upper arm. With that done, he continued:
"One of the few benefits of being a drug addict and a doctor. I am more than familiar with human anatomy, and equally so with narcotics."
As he raised the syringe to the crook of his elbow, flexing his fist repeatedly to raise the vein, and injected himself.
"As with all major medical breakthroughs: human experimentation is sometimes required."
As soon as the needle entered his arm, I began struggling against my restraints, more in a show of trying to break free than actually doing so.
As I continued to watch my adversary, he circled the room, patting his neck with the knife almost thoughtfully. A moment later, his brown eyes flashed green, and he sped over to my captain and raised her head.
"I've changed my mind," he growled, "I think I'm going to kill her first, before I kill you."
Before I could react, the knife swept across her throat, painting both of us with arterial spray. The captain woke then, but only briefly enough to gasp wordlessly for air that would no longer come.
As her head lolled to rest against her chest, my rage was unmatched. It was then that I let loose a scream of utter anger.
"Scream all you like," the doctor began, "there are none beyond the door but my own men."
I knew he was toying with me. He usually did, when he wanted to make a point. When my outburst had finally subsided, he asked one question:
"What happens when you kill God?"
"I don't know," I answered, teeth clenched in rage, "why don't you tell me?"
"You *become* God."
At that answer, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. My adversary, staring at me for quite some time through this outburst, finally managed to get another question out. It would be the last he would ever ask.
"What's so funny?"
My response was not what he expected. Between fits of laughter, I managed to get my answer out:
"You inject yourself with a superpower serum. You kill the woman I love. You think you can kill me."
I rose from the chair, my restraints parting effortlessly. At this point, I'm no longer laughing. Instead, my fists are clenched trembling at my side, blue lightning beginning to spark from them.
"You think you know God?" I ask, my eyes beginning to glow bright blue and myself starting to levitate, altering my voice to sound more intimidating:
"HERE I STAND!!" | 2021-04-12T11:14:42 | 2021-04-12T08:41:05 | 92 | 61 |
[WP] You've loved an immortal for a long time, and they loved you back knowing your time together would be short. Doesn't make learning about the dozens of past lovers they've had, and the fact that their descendants are still alive any less upsetting, though. | The tablet smashed against the wall, glass splintering.
"**How many**?!"
The banshee shriek came from a petite woman as she stalked her prey, inching closer to the weary immortal like a tiger about to pounce on a rabbit.
"Does it matter?" He took a half step back, hands raised in surrender.
But it did matter. To her *it mattered*.
"How. Fucking. Many." She growled through clamped teeth.
If he was going to tell her he was going to be honest. Nathan straightened up and thought about it, fingers tapping against his side in tally.
"For fuck sake!"
"Come on, Julie. I'm over 1,000 years old. What did you *think* I spent my time doing before I met you?"
"I didn't think you'd spend your time screwing hundreds of other women!"
Nathan flinched.
"Was there more?!"
"...I'm from Rome... It wasn't just women."
And the lamp flew next. | 20 June(Solomon)
Ive loved Kate for a long time. It feels like ive known her all my life and I feel like ive loved her for even longer. Today she told me about her secret. With tears in her eyes, she told me she was immortal and has never loved anyone as much as she loved me. She seemed very concerned that i wouldnt love her anymore, or so I thought. I have never seen her cry that way before. I told her that doesnt change anything, and i would always love her, even till I died. That made her cry more but then she smiled, her usual warm smile which was infectious as usual.
After the mood had lightened, I decided to ask her about her past. An immortal, how could i pass up this chance. And of course the first question was about past lovers. To which she said there eere a few but i was special. I know she was lying because it seems unbelievable. 10000 years of civilization and this was the best she could do? Though i always knew she had a sense of humour. Then came the slightly less fun question. Did she have children, and were they immortal. Though I already knew the answer. Last year we had 6 visitors who claimed to be her close cousins who came over. They were very friendly, and i got along well with them. They treated me like family which was nice. Actually treated me like i was older than them which is kinda funny thinking about it.
I cant say im not entirely upset that she had children but i suppose its not normal to be married to an immortal. Anyway, i must finish my entry for today. It was quite a day. Kate keeps a diary and told me i should too so here we are. Anyway, signing off.
20 June(Kate)
Today was a sad day. I told Solomon my secret today. He took it better that usual. Usually there is sadness, but today, he said he would love me till he died. It made me happy. He truly has been the best and also the last i suppose. We have been "dating" for 2 years now so it was as good a time as any. And also it was the anniversary of the day we first met. I can still remember it like yesterday. It was a lovely summer solstice. Sometimes i think he remembers it too. This conversation gets more painful each time, but i think i owe it to him. He looked so happy today so perhaps another time.
What most people dont realize is that even if we are immortal, we are not perfect. Solomon is not as lucky as most of us, because Alzheimer works differently when youre immortal. The brain deteriorates and memories are lost. Usually before total loss of memory and function, the regeneration of tissue begins. Of course i only write this here hoping he sneaks a peak so i dont have to tell him this. It breaks my heart every time and i can never quite console him. He always gets along with our children so that is a relief. Its hard on them too but they know how to make him have fun. It nice to know that he is still himself even though he remembers nothing. We usually have about 20 years, hopefully we can find a cure soon. Ive done this about 20 times already, but it never gets easier.
20 years may may pass in a blink, but as long as he loves me, i can get through this and i refuse to lose hope. | 2021-05-19T02:23:38 | 2021-05-18T22:26:38 | 64 | 25 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | He came from Ultraopolis.
He came to my city. Omega City.
He calls himself The End. I call him a murderer.
He thought the heroes of Omega City were weak, silly even. They had failed to stop me so many times, and what was I compared to him? A joke.
He has incredible strength. Enough to rip the head off of Poor Richard, the first superhero he had killed in his city.
He has lightning-fast reflexes. Faster than Lass Sue, which made it easy for him to use her own rope against her. He tied her up and tossed her off the Ultra-Tower. She was able to slip the bonds, but not in time to save herself.
He has stamina. He proved it when he fought Sun Day for hours until twilight, when he casually grabbed the de-powered hero around the chest and squeezed until they expired.
He had killed the heros of his city, as well as countless civilians and cops. He controlled Ultraopolis. He was board.
So he came to my city.
As I said, he thought me, and by extension the heros of my city, a joke.
It's an easy mistake to make. I am the Funny Man, after all.
My crimes are disruptive and destructive but never deadly.
When I flooded the market, the Lucky Streak and Swell Jill were on site. They were able to get the duck-shaped life preservers from the shipment I'd arranged to have for sale that day distributed before the water got too high. All the stock brokers and bankers were saved... and made to look ridiculous.
When my fire truck threatened to burn down the opera house, Hydro-Nate and E-Laser Beth were able to redirect water from the surging sewer/storm water system to put the flames out. It's too bad that city councilman's motorcade got caught in the crossfire. Coincidentally the council separated the systems this year. Funny how that worked out.
Notice a pattern? It's Funny how the heros of my city always seem to employ teamwork.
I am so proud of them. Not one of them has an S or even A-tier power. It doesn't matter. Enough of them together can overcome anything together.
The details of the battle hardly matter... except two.
We lost Johnny-on-the-Spot. He went to the construction site earlier than I had intended. He tried to face The End alone. By the time Guy Friday and All-You-Can Edith arrived it was already over for Johnny.
The other detail that matters is that they took him alive.
That's why tonight I'm breaking *into* a maximum security jail.
Because tonight I'm breaking a rule. Tonight the Funny Man *is* going to make a deadly joke. And can you guess who that joke is going to be on?
The End. | "Megaton? What kind of shit name is that?" Spoke Artrarias admist the rubble of Haven. Atrarias looked around, his lips pursed and the large scar that split the upper and lower right lip stretched.
Artrarias looked about the bodies, some unconscious, many not. His little heroes. He looked to the horde of people in front of him. His auburn short hair blew through the soft breeze now flowing through the city center that was barren of buildings.
But that wasnt quite true. Parts of the thirty or fourty buildings were gone, but they stayed suspended by nothing, floating admist an ocean of dust and debris.
Artrarias opened his lips again, this time filled with even more venom. "You windy little dipshits come here, and try to destroy this city, and the heroes I have fostered?"
Megaton, a large man, surrounded by a hundred or so minions, all clad in the same black and red outfits. Stood at the center of the ruined city center was the 'supervillain' Megaton. A man who could detonate the things he touched by a magnitude of the density of the materials he touched.
He began to open his fat lips before his jaw shut unexpectadly and with such force that he thought it might break teeth. His bloodshot eyes grew wide.
Artrarias wasnt even looking at him any more he turned and faced the cameras, the people, civilians and heroes. He was dressed in a plain, deep green button down and collar shirt, black jeans, a tan long dress coat and brown shoes. Completely ordinary in appearance. "Fucking shit, youve ruined decades of work." He said again gritting his teeth. In that moment, a chorus of echoes from stone, and metal flexing and twisting sang admist the silence. The men and women, all clad in red and black groaned as their suspended bodies briefly contorted. This dark chorus quickly stopped when Artrarias regained his composure. "I have been preparing these heroes and fostering their strength for a hundred years. Decades upon decades, to prepare them for the fight to come. Because I cant do it on my own. And you want to kill them? To destroy all that Ive built up? You arrogant little shit stain. You get a glimpse of a fraction of power and these fools cling to you as if youre some kind of god to be worshipped and feared? No, you havent ever tasted real power. Youre just playing at being a god."
Artrarias stood leisurly utop the rubble, everyones eyes and every camera pointed at him. The second he had interviened the jig was up. The dust had finally settled and all could see clearly now. The destroyed city center stood afloat all twisting through the air as if suspended by wires. A hundred men and women suspended as well, their faces were ones of terror. They struggled but could not move, veins bulging as a greater horror crew over them when they began to twist and contort slowly. Grunt and moans of pain escaped their mouths and throats through gritted teeth.
Megaton also lay stretched out, his jaw still shut by an unmoveable unforseen force. He cried out as his four limbs were slowly removed from each socket and pain erupted through his quivering body.
"They say, you know, that I could only lift a ton or two. Did you know that? Thats what they said and I had to play along, because otherwise these little runts wouldnt stand a chance and I need them to become strong." Artrarias said irritated. "I can do so, so much more. About ten thousand tons. Last I checked." Artrarias finally looked to Megaton and his minions. "I could rip you apart or twist you into an unidentifiable mass of flesh, and bone, but do you know what else I can do?" Artrarias asked calmly. The soft breeze slowed. The air stood still. Stagnant. "I'm not telling you, Megaton. Or your people." He looked towards the heroes and the cameras. "You wont live through it. No, no Im telling them." He pointed two fingers towards the nearest camera lens and looked back to Megaton to meet his eyes. "And anyone else stupid enough to interviene."
Artrarias lowered his hands, one to his pocket on his jacket, the other to a small geiger counter on his waist. There was a weeping scream, though it only lasted a fraction of a moment and its echoes faded to silence shortly thereafter. The geiger counter spiked, screaming for but a moment as it too faded. In that instant, Megaton and his goons had vanished. They were gone, nothing remained. He opened his lips and spoke through the eerie silence. "The pinnacle of telekenesis, complete, molecular, disintegration. Pulling you apart, atom. By. Atom."
He switched off his geiger counter. Lowered every building letting any remaining persons leave safely, before quietly walking away, at a leisure pace.
*forgive me im on mobile, this is a character I am currently writing for a different story but I saw an opportunity | 2021-05-20T10:47:04 | 2021-05-20T10:41:26 | 97 | 20 |
[WP] Whenever someone is born, the first sentence they utter predicts how they die. Lately every kid has been saying the same first sentence. | Nobody tells the parents, but we pretend that we never hear their precious child’s first words. We consider it a win-win—because then, they don’t need to know how they will die.
Bringing a baby into this world is a wonderful, joyous occasion. Hearing how they will eventually pass is not. To be fair, we hear a lot of “peace” and “sleep”, but hearing “murder” will take the wind out of anyone’s sails, even those of us desensitized to it—and we have no choice but to carry on.
I cannot remember my first word. I suspect it’s the same for these babies. Their first-spoken word is a premonition, an unwanted, eerie glimpse into the future. The child, nor their parents, need to hear it. That’s something we stand by, as sure of a code as do no harm. Everybody eventually dies. We just hope that they get to have fulfilling lives in the process.
The worry started to well within me, however. The babies’ words were changing. None of us could pinpoint an exact time when we first started hearing it en masse, a slow, steady, build up, trickling water through a hole in the dam. They were only confirmed through furtive glances and harsh whispers in the break room. It wasn’t just me, then.
We increased security. But we knew, deep in our heart of hearts, that it was a foregone conclusion.
It was just like every morning, until an unfamiliar sound rang down the hallways. We all ran towards the babies, of course. Whatever these infants said, there was a chance, a chance that they were wrong—a chance that it might happen some day in the future, a chance that they said something else, and we just never heard it.
“Gunfire,” I whispered to myself, and I knew what my first word was.
---
r/dexdrafts | “Papa,” said the baby, between froths of laughter as she lay swathed in blankets, watched over by a soft, bow-tied bear.
The word ran like a chill through the baby monitor, carrying the fatal message — distorted but complete — to the living room.
Monique and Robert had been reading, she a book (a child’s escape from Syria) and he his phone (scrolling reddit, finger bobbing like a drinking-bird toy).
They looked at each other, pupils widening and chasing their irises into a thin, scared rim.
“I think she said…,” said Robert. “Didn’t she?”
Monique nodded. Felt like her head was being rocked by the hand of the reaper himself.
“But I’d never hurt her. You know that!”
She did know, but had to remind herself. As if the word, like an avalanche of dirt, had suddenly buried their years of trying for a child, of his support, of his tears on the day she’d been born.
”Maybe,” she said slowly, as if testing out an idea on her tongue, “maybe we misheard. Maybe it was patter. Or puma.”
But the chances of rain patter killing, or of a puma in the city were—
“Papa,” came the sound again. A hiss then giggle of laughter. “Papa.”
As clear as spring-water. Papa. The sweet word might as well have been a rose placed on a grave.
Robert was trembling. Crying. “I wouldn’t,” he said. “I wouldn’t!” Then whispered, less forceful, “I wouldn’t.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. We need to think about this. We need to stay calm,” she said — not that she felt it. She felt like she’d been struck by a truck and now lay, limbs dislocated or dismembered, in various pieces all across the road.
A thought suddenly came — she grasped it like a rope, dangled hopefully on it. “Listen, what if you did do it, but not for a long time. What if — god forbid — she’s struck later in life by a terrible disease. Can’t control her muscles, her body. Only her mind.”
There was a pause as the idea rooted then sprouted in Robert’s mind. A slow, desperate nod. “Yes. *Yes.* If it came to it, and she wanted me to, yes, maybe I would agree to euthanasia. That might be the best thing for her — the fatherly thing to do?” The statement collapsed into a question, desperate for reassurance to prop it up.
She smiled weakly, sickly. Could she really trust him from here on? Knowing that one day, but not knowing how, that man — the man she had loved (no, still loved, you still love him! He’s not changed just because of a single word!) would kill their daughter.
Would it make any difference if she left him? Maybe that’s what triggers him, turns him on the family. God, her back was clammy. She shivered.
”Papa.”
”So,” he said. “We’re okay. Right? I love you both more than anything.”
”Papa.”
She turned on the TV. Volume up.
News. Flashing sirens. Outside a home.
“How about a quiz-show instead?” he asked. “Nothing depressing, huh?”
They both knew before they read the headline.
About the child in the house. Who the man being pushed into a cruiser, handcuffed, was. What relation.
Robert was up from his seat.
”What are you going to do?” she asked.
He was staring at his hands. Tears rolling onto them. “I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.”
Was it all already written for them? And now they had nothing left to do but act the whole miserable scene out.
He wasn’t moving. She could make it to the kitchen. Maybe. Grab a knife. If she went now.
She as good as jumped from the sofa, sprinted in three quick paces to the door. Yanked it open and was through, into the—
His hand, cold and rough, had her wrist. Vice-firm.
She turned, slowly.
Barely looked like her husband now. Pale. Tired. Eyes of someone else, unhinged and unsure.
”I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” | 2021-12-23T05:53:31 | 2021-12-23T04:32:26 | 849 | 139 |
[WP] You live your life on repeat. You die, you’re reborn, in a perpetual loop. You’ve lived thousands of years. Some as a saint, helping others. Some as a monster, reducing the planet to nuclear ashes. After your last death, a voice fills your head. “You’re not getting it. How can you be so dense!” | I look up from the gaming PC I've built. This incarnation has been one of stagnation for the most part. I mean, I was born during the greatest tech boom and economic decline. Honestly, I was tired and FINALLY there was something entertaining and worth while to just vegetate on.
"Don't know what the hell I'm supposed to get anymore... already got corona." I snap. "AND even worse a fucking job that pays me literally worse than the time I was a serf in the middle ages." I turn on the system bought with the credit I've been amassing like Pokémon, hoarding all with little intention to pay off, and gaze at the massive curved monitor ahead of me.
"Are you even trying anymore?" The voice asks.
"What's the trying," I sing, "All you get is pain, when I wanted sunshine I got plague." I grin "and covid 19, now I'm a vaccinator, I want a tail, or at least 5G..." the nonsensical single deteriorated into a random riff and something about a rhapsody.
"Can you take life seriously? "
"I did, for millenia... when I was a benevolent king, and was assassinated. When I was a ruthless tyrant, and was assassinated. A harmless beggar and was mugged.. A literally child and was...." I grimaced at the memory, "Well eventually killed. A baby and bashed against rocks. A priest and stabbed. A scientist and burned for being a sorcerer, even though I healed so many people with typhoid when it was seen as gods wrath... OH SPEAKING OF GODS, when I was revered as a God and then disemboweled to release my heavenly spirit.... I can go on and on and on... raped, murdered, assassinated, beheaded, died of a curable disease, imprisoned and drowned, tossed into lava, tortured, beaten, stoned, shot, gassed, lynched, betrayed.... Poisoned by my wife so she could marry and be murdered by my brother, that was funny as hell to read about. Should I go on, or can I start my new game of fucking Sims?"
"You were left here to learn." The voice said calmly.
"That there are more than a million ways to die? I learned that. Did you know you can LITERALLY die from lack of touch? Did you know that was a thing? I did that. It was not pleasant. You know what else I learned?"
"I'm sure there is a lot but..."
"You can actually Dutch oven yourself and die from your own fumes... that was a harsh lesson to learn. I also learned that my friends were assholes putting me in a fucking coffin after the four bowls of chili beans I scarfed on a fucking dare."
"I don't think it was your fart that..."
"It was the fucking farts." I snapped.
"The lesson I'm trying to..."
"I DON'T CARE. I SPENT NEARLY FIVE THOUSAND ON THIS HIGH END COMPUTER AND BY GOD I AM GOING TO ENJOY..."
The door to my apartment got kicked open, there was a bang, and when I next opened my eyes, a man in a surgical mask was guiding me out of a long wet tunnel...
I breathed hard, inhaled, coughed up amniotic fluid and wailed in despair. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Interlude 1: The Sunrise King)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**People told him he rose and set with the sun.** He found that amusing for reasons he'd never share. He woke up early, yes—he may have been immortal, but there was still only so much time in the day. But his connection to the sun ran deeper than that. Whenever he died, he was reborn the next day at the crack of dawn. And he'd had ample time to test this. That crucifixion in Roma, the Weeping Plague in Spain, the nuclear war in the Middle Communes... he'd died a thousand deaths. He'd been peasant and lord, prince and pauper, child and sage. There was very, very little in this world that still escaped him.
Except for that *damn voice*.
*What're you calling yourself this time? The Sunrise King?* The voice in his head rang as he walked through the Coruscating Palace. Sunbeams, bound and channeled by mirrors into delicate lines of light, shimmered in the air as he walked. Servants, bound by life-debts, waited hand and foot on his every whim.
And yet the voice still scoffed. *Pathetic. Another lifetime wasted.*
Outwardly, the Sunrise King gave no indication that he was upset—he'd trained under the greatest playwrights and actors of the sixteenth century just to get rid of the *twitching* that used to occur whenever the voices got too loud. Ol' Vibrating Sword would've been proud of him. Shame he died.
*Your shame, specifically. You could have done better. Anyone else with the gifts that you have would have taken humanity to the stars a millennium ago.*
The Sunrise King resisted the urge to drive his hands into his skull and tear the damn voices out of his brain. He'd tried that, once or twice. Never worked, and it hurt like hell. Instead, he turned a right, between two pillars of reflected light, and entered his private chambers. The heavy, soundproofed door swung shut behind him with a *thud*.
Finally, he could drop the charade.
*You're a failure.*
"I'm *not* a failure," the Sunrise King muttered. His opulent robes, a relic of history that he himself had rescued from the ruins of the Middle Communes, swirled around him as he placed his forehead against the wall. "I saved the White Isles from collapsing entirely. I ventured into the Wilderwilds and returned with medicines that saved *millions*. I wrote the *I'Chu* texts, poems so beautiful they've stopped wars."
That little voice in his head laughed. *You're not getting it. How can you be so dense! It doesn't matter how many people you've saved. It matters how many you've failed.*
The Sunrise King clenched his fists, strength gained from a hundred hardened lifetimes dragging splinters from his dresser. "Don't you dare. Don't you *fucking* dare."
*Marcroft. Desmethylway. The Middle Communes. You* tried, *I'll give you that. You were there for those cataclysms. But all that trying ever did was end in failure. Those people, those civilizations—they're gone. You're the last one who remembers them. What's the point, if everything you do ends up in dust? What's the point in being born anew if every life is as empty as the last? You should just close your eyes and never wake up and—*
*"ENOUGH!"* The Sunrise King slammed his head against the wall, denting it and sending dust showering down from the ceiling.
It was one of dozens of similar dents along the opulent walls of the Coruscating Palace.
For centuries, the Sunrise King thought he was being haunted by a specter, some alien force, some foreign voice intruding in his thoughts. But at the turn of the century, when psychology and therapy had finally coalesced into their modern forms, he finally had to face the truth.
The voice in his head was nothing supernatural.
It was simply his own insecurities.
A civilization's worth of failures weighing down on him.
The Sunrise King clenched his jaw.
"Enough," he repeated. "This time is different. *This* time, I'm building something that will last."
*You said that about the Middle Communes. And now it's nothing but ash and shadow.*
"Let it be." He stood, robes rippling around him. "I am the Sunrise King. Ash is my birthright, and shadow is my legacy."
Those insecurities hadn't kept him idle, all these centuries. He'd been planning. Making connections. Preparing a work so great that it would finally, *finally* quiet the screams of everyone he'd failed to save.
"I have created stability in the Sunrise Kingdom. A society where nothing is wasted." The Sunrise King narrowed his eyes, staring out the window at the distant ocean and the countries beyond. "Today is the day I share that stability with the world."
Strangling the voices that said *it'll never be enough*, the Sunrise King left to order his armies into flight.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-02-09T18:44:07 | 2022-02-09T18:16:10 | 364 | 186 |
[WP] For years, the hero and villain's rivalry continues with seemingly no end in sight. You are the hero's sidekick and are frustrated with them and often rant about it to this nice girl you've gotten to know at th cafe, who unbeknownst to you is the villain's minion, who feels the same way. | Kenny downed his latest cup of coffee, drinking it like it was water. He desperately needed the caffeine, craved the taste, all under the watchful eyes of Samantha, who raised her eyebrows at his alarming speed.
“Tough night?”
“That transparent, huh?” Kenny smiled. “Is today a busy day?”
Samantha chuckled and scanned the cafe thoroughly.
“Hmm. Not really. Something on your mind again?”
“I’m sorry for dumping this on you yet again,” Kenny said, dragging his chair closer to the table and sitting upright. “But are you willing to hear me out?”
Samantha smiled, placing her chin in her upright hands.
“For you? Any day, darling.”
Kenny flashed a wide smile, in hopes that it looked as good as it felt. It should. He’s practised that a lot, publicly or privately.
“Is it because of my endearing charm and good looks?”
“It’s because the amount of coffee you buy single-handedly pays for my entire shift.”
“Well,” Kenny shrugged. “Generosity, then.”
“Fair enough.”
“But really. My boss,” Kenny groaned. Said boss was Heartman, the city’s most prominent superhero, real name Lancer Hartman. Kenny ran a hand through his hair, and shook his head.
“He just can’t seem to settle things. He’s always hemming and hawing about his rival, and I know he’s really capable! But he just can’t seem to get it over the finish line.”
“I understand, Kenny,” Samantha said. “My boss, too.”
“Your boss? Charlie?”
Kenny looked behind the counter, watching Charlie wipe down the coffee machines. It was less of a job, and more of an obsession with her. Whenever there was downtime, a cloth inadvertently found itself in her hands. Kenny wondered if that could possibly be a superpower.
“Oh, not Charlie,” Samantha waved it off. “She’s great. Clean freak, but great. My other boss. From this other part-time job.”
“Interesting. What do you mean, too?”
“She’s just milling around. She always says she wants to take over the… how do I say this? Other business?” Samantha said, scrunchign up her face. “But she might as well just be wringing her hands in knots for all the good that’s done.”
Kenny sighed.
“I feel you. I wonder what it’ll take for the whole affair to end. It’s simply not good for productivity, I’ll tell you that.”
“Right! We could be doing so much more. All that dough, just laying about, unused and untouched.”
“Dough. A bakery?”
“Something like that,” Samantha said. “Look, I’m getting off shift in about half an hour. Wanna grab dinner?”
Kenny’s eyes and ears, however, were unfortunately drawn to the TV screen above the counter. Heartman was front and center, a camera trained on his every move. Opposite him was the city’s greatest villain—the Wet Witch.
Samantha turned, looking at the TV as well. She swivelled back with a grimace on her face.
“Duty calls?”
“What?” Kenny said.
“Oh,” Samantha muttered. “I have to go serve a customer. See you another time?”
Kenny stared at the screen, trying to ascertain the location of Heartman. He checked his watch, surreptitiously reaching underneath and flipping it to its actual side—the HeartSignal. Nothing. He stared at the screen again.
“Another stalemate,” he muttered.
“You know what, Sam?” Kenny said, clearing his throat. “I’ll love to take you out to dinner. Really.”
Samantha, who had half stood up and was also staring at the screen, turned in surprise. Her eyes flitted back and forth, before resting on Kenny.
“Of course,” Samantha giggled. “Could I trouble you to pay for my meal?”
“Don’t you think it’s time for a little payback from you?” Kenny laughed.
“Time and place, Kenny,” Samantha said. “Time and place.”
---
r/dexdrafts | You were never the brightest, but you worked hard and did your best, you are a sidekick, you are supposed to give backup to the hero and help them defeat the dark forces, otherwise the world could be in jeopardy or at least that was what they taught you at the academy, but this! This is f*cking ridiculous, at this point the villans aren't even trying to destry de city, none of them seems to have an evil plan that needs stopping, no at this point it is all bickering between these sad old men. Oh Professor Doomsday, we will destroy the water purification system, just to prove that Marvel man can't stop him, you two get there and the two just start arguing about who is the strongest and startest, ends up being you that needs to defuse the goddam bomb, they don't even jotice when you do or when you left to get coffe.
-fucking hell, everyday this bullshit.
You say changing from costume to your regular clothes and heading out. You walk from the water purification plant to the nearst coffee shop, and sit down, you don't even have to worry, you know they will be at it for at least half an hour, you complain about how useless the heros in this town are and a goth looking girl laughs in return:
- the heros are pathetic, but the villans... you should see them.
-it is basically a competition to see who looks better in tight outfits with you underware showing.
She laughs a little again, a sarcastic laugh
-this city need a real villan
-or a real hero. I reply
-those old ones need to retire
She looks at me with a smirk and a malicious smile.
-Come with me... she says getting up
-Marvelous Boy. She says close to my ear.
-Wait what? How do you? I mean no, you must be mistaking me for someone else...
-Really so that is just cosplay sticking out of your backpack
-what? I pull the backpack to the front
-Shit! I mean, yeah, it is just cosplay.
-Come on let's go! Don't you want to be a hero?
Again with the malicious smile... who is this girl?
She turns going into an allyway.
-hey wait!
I start to run to try and catch on to her. As I turn I see her changing clothes and putting her mask on.
-What doomsday Student?
-oh for the love of god with that pathetic name, just call me Lila.
-get changed I have a plan
-what? No I can't work with a Villans minion, I will lose my job.
-What job? Running aroud after an narcissistic old man ? You know whay suit yourself 'Marvelous boy' but I am going...
She finishes dressing while I hold my colorful suit in hand.
-Fuck! I need to stop her.
I dress up as quickly as possible. And jump after her... well one of my powers is to be superfast. So after a few seconds I catch up.
-hey?
-decided to joing me ?
-No I am here to stop you
-You? She looks me top to bottom and lets a slight laugh slip.
- what?
-You can try. She smiles
I start punching and she starts dodging whist still moving forward, I follow trying to stop her.
I try a punch in the right and she blocks it
-What are you fighting for here, exactly?
-What? I am stopping evil!
I punch on the left and she blocks me again
-what is evil? I pre conceived notion that you have been taught, by a bunch of self-righteous narcissistic old men, that truly belive society wouldn't be able to sustain itself without.
-I mean they get a little annoying sometimes, but they mean well
-do they ? Or are they so empty on the inside that they need to create this belief system in which they are the center. Oh we are needed, we are useful, we are loved and worshiped.
I try and try to hit her and ignore her words...
-speechless? You have been around them for so long how can't you see, that at this point they do more harm than good, none of them is actually trying to fulfill anything, they fight for the sake of fighting. To uphold and protect ideals that exist only in their minds.
-Shut up!
I am superfast how can she block all my moves.
-they are all trying to cling to their glory days, that have vanished and been gone for so long now.
- they care and want to protect people?
-do you really belive that, then what were you complaining about in the cafeteria.
Finaly and opening I will finaly hit her, right there I prepare the punch and throw it, I thing I am going to hit her but then...
-So predictable.
She turns an says, it was a trap, but its too late now, she grabs my arm and pins me to the floor,
-Come on kid, I thought you of all people would understand. No one care anymore, no one wants to destroy the world. Not even the villans have a goal anymore, all I even get to do is whine about losing, and complain about how it is the new generation's fault that villans aren't feared how they used to. They are exactly what you called them, a bunch of bickering old men.
I struggle to admit, but I know she is right..
-wait I never said that!
-Yeah I can read or thoughts, it is one of my powers and you are not as fast as you think you are. C mon I have been stalking you for weeks after seeing you at the South Garden metropolitan, because I knew you would make a good partner.
-Wait what? You can't just stalk people that is wrong and..
-creepy, I know. Are ypu commign with me or not?
- sure I guess. The world would be better off without villans and heros
-Great let's go retire those old men. | 2022-06-16T12:19:21 | 2022-06-16T10:28:05 | 106 | 20 |
[WP] A nano-machine accident turned the world to deadly sand, leaving behind scattered enclaves protected by force fields. As a Sandwalker you have psychic control over the sand, allowing you to travel the desert delivering people and cargo while protecting them from the horrors spawned by the sand | The tophat. The shawl. The peculiar ring. But most of all, it was the hourglass. Who else, in this world eaten through and through by the Living sands... would put it in an hourglass and hang it by their waist?
That's how you know she was a Sandwalker. The only kind of person alive who could walk the deserts and not be devoured alive. The last champion of communication between the Bastions, carrying supplies, missives, letters, bones, people, and anything else that would be a prized commodity in today's world. Surrounded by mystery, they were. Tall tales of creatures of Sand they fought off on their travels, the risks they braved, the horrors they'd seen... but who's to say the tales were tall? Not like anyone else could really see what's out there.
I warned him, you know. You don't threaten a Sandwalker. You bargain, plead, ask, convince, but never *threaten*. They've fought things bigger, badder, stronger than you; what makes you think you even stand a chance of getting to them? He didn't listen. He walked straight into that room with a bad attitude and, as I noticed far too late... a knife.
I felt bad for not stopping him. But... every noun and then, someone's got to be an example.
The Sandwalker walked out of her room shortly, politely paid for her tab and left to roam the deserts again.
And if you paid close enough attention, you could see her hourglass had one more grain of sand in it. | “Aye. Sandwalker, eh?”
I focus hard on my whiskey in front of me, gripping it with my blackened, dirty hands. The fiend to the right of me laughed a high pitched sort of laugh. The one that you get from smoking the meth out here.
“Say, Sandwalker, how much for you to get me to the East side? I got a little girl over there… waiting for me. Her guts sure could use some filling, and I long for the day I can fill them…”
He laughs again, this one more maniacal than anything. It’s strange, the types of people you meet when wandering, traveling. He’s not the first pedophile I’ve ran into. I’m a Sandwalker. This is my life.
I guess these are my people.
Some time passes by and I’m on my third glass of whiskey. Strong. Undistilled, Made for Sandwalkers. That’s the specialty. Tastes like poison. All the better. Normal people would die of the sand that fills this whiskey. It destroyed most of the alcohol supply. No wonder it’s so cheap.
Someone else sits next to me. “One for me, and one for the gentleman to my left,” he says. I don’t make a sound. Not even a grunt. What does he want, a thank you?
The clank and another glass of whiskey is in front of me. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but man, I’m thirsty. And whiskey is the best. I down my third and grab the fourth.
I sip for a little. The man next to me really wants to speak with me. I can tell. Pussy.
Finally, he does.
“So…you’re a Sandwalker? Is that true?”
I don’t make a sound, I stare straight ahead. He’s rummaging in his pocket now, and pulls out a bag. It slams on the bar next to my hand. It sounds shiny, expensive.
Now I look at him. Rich, pretty boy. No business being here in a place like this. Skin too smooth, he takes care of it. Moisturizes? Can’t think of the last time I’ve seen moisturized skin.
I open the bag.
Its more gold than I’ve ever seen in one place in my entire life.
Ok. Now I’ll listen to pretty boy.
I grunt back at him, nodding my head to the bag.
“What?” I say.
He clears his throat. He’s really scared, now that he’s looked into my eyes. Eyes that have seen things. Lots of things.
“Please, sir, I was working with another Sandwalker… but he… disappeared. I have a delivery - a package. I need it made, to the North, before the Solstice. I’m from the North, you see…”
I grunt. Yeah, the north. I could fucking tell.
“Please sir,” he repeats.
I grunt again. The gold is tempting, but my legs are weary. I’ve been traveling far too long. Maybe I’ll visit a whorehouse, take a load off my feet…
Another bag drops. Identical to the one before. Just as much gold. Officially more gold than I’ve ever imagined in my life. I could do anything with this.
I look back at him.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I ask.
He nods fervently.
“Please sir — if only you knew what was in this package, please. Help me.”
“How do you know I ain’t a fraud?” I ask. Sandwalkers could get poached — it’s rare, but possible.
He gulps.
“Your eyes, sir. It’s true. You can see the sand…”
I look down at the gold then back at pretty boy. This package must be pretty damn important.
I stand up, put on my cowboy had and slide my leather jacket around my shoulders. I point at my drinks.
“You pay for these, and we get going. Now.” | 2022-08-19T05:47:19 | 2022-08-19T00:45:02 | 125 | 92 |
[WP] "I wish for infinite wishes." "Everyone knows that's not allowed." "Then I wish for 1000 wishes." "Nope, not allowed either." "Fine, then I wish for negative 6 wishes." | The genie stayed stone faced, as he had been since he first appeared. But after a quick blink, the first one I had seen him make, I had realized, his emotionless stare was slowly replaced by a wide grin of recognition. "Wait, hold on," I stammered, "I take it back. What did I just do."
The genie floated silently for a moment, pondering how exactly he should answer that. "Hm. I'm not sure. Perhaps you can tell me? Why, I wish you would..."
"I..." my lips began to move without me even realizing. "I... grant you wishes."
"Very good. Ah, this should be fun. Well, depending on what kind of person you are, I suppose. Let's find out shall we?"
The genie began to float away, and though he was still tethered to the lamp, my body followed him without hesitation. "Well, you just used one. And I used one too, so that's, what, 4 wishes you have left?"
"Oh please," the genie didn't even bother looking at me as he rummaged through my socks drawer, obviously unaware of what he's even looking for, less so of where to find it. "I would only need one to have my fun with this. Speaking of which. I wish for you to show me where I can... how do I word this? Learn what kind of person you are."
I was puzzled, unaware of what he meant or for what purpose, but my legs seemed to be in on something that I wasn't as they began to march down the hall, dragging the genie along by his tail, arms crossed, obviously content. Eventually we made our way to my computer, where my free hand not holding the lamp input the password.
"Hm..." the genie seemed intrigued, "very well then. Show me." Yet my body stayed still, once again under my control. "Oh. A waste of a wish I suppose. Very well, I wish for you to show me what kind of person you are by using this... device." And once again, on cue my body began to move, opening my files, messages, photos, my life laid bare.
"Aaaw," the genie seemed considerably upset, "Hm. You seem to be a good enough person. I suppose I won't ruin your life." The genie unfolded his hands, letting one rest on his chin. "Well, you certainly don't have the power to free me... very well. My last two wishes...
___
A pristine oil lamp sat in Kevin's dining room, the centerpiece of his table. "And that is why I have this oil lamp."
Terry sat across from him, leaning in, hand on his chin and finger over his mouth. He took a deep sigh before sitting back and resting his arms on his thighs. "Wow. I don't believe any of that."
"Yeah, well, his last wish was for me to tell that story to anyone who asks. Didn't have time to tell him no one believes in that crap anymore. You can give it a try if you like, but it hasn't worked to the benefit of anyone yet."
Terry stared at his golden reflection, pondering if he should even indulge this, or just call the psych ward over. But with an even deeper sigh, he got up, and started towards the table. | Contrary to popular belief, genies are not giant blue beings of smoke or clouds, and instead look like a grumpy 80 year old former marine, who has buried his wife, and the only joy in life that have left, is seeing how much they can make a stupid's person life suffer, by twisting their wishes.
And there he sat, arms cross, wearing military fatigues, and even chewing a cigar "Nope" he said, even spit on the ground at the end of the word to make the point that we were done with that subject matter, to my wish for infinite wishes.
"How about 1000 wishes?" I asked, wondering if maybe having a fixed number would work.
The dead pan look on his face made me think he was about to drag into some back ally and beat me for this, after a moment of chewing his cigar in about the most threating manner someone could do it "Nope" he said again.
"How about Negative 6 wishes" I said, wondering how this might end.
the Genie ran his finger across his limps for a moment before backhanding me to the ground, the hit felt light as air, but also felt like being hit by a hurricane.
"Listen here child, I have been a genie for the last 47 years" is said, cracking it's knuckles in the process "I freed the previous Genie by swapping places with them, and while I am have no idea how they put up with people's stupid's for the last ten thousand years, I'll have you know, I'll have none of that"
I went to protest, but he grew, now looking like a muscled titan standing over me, legit, he stepped so he would be standing over me, reaching down and pining me to the ground "Do you really want some negative in your life son, because I am about to give you a whole lot of negative, so much negative, you're gonna be ecstatic to just go back to your daily mundane life, that what you want *son*!"
The way he said negative and son, felt like he was cussing at me, in fact, it took me a lot longer to then I care to admit, to finally grasp he had not cussed at all, and was in waiting for me to respond, like somehow, he needed me to say something, as he was pinning me to the ground with the palm of his hand.
I squeaked out "Yes sir"
His eyes opened up like he just drank battery acid "you want that?" he said again, as if trying to process what just happened here, and if I truly was stupid enough to want so much negative in my life.
I realized then what I said, it was instinct to say Yes Sir, but in reality, I really did not want whatever negative this guy was gonna give, but, dammit, lets see where this ball goes "yes Sir" I said again, now with a bit more volume and strength.
Squinting at me "What did you say Son?"
"I said Yes Sir , Sir!" I now felt like I was channeling the recruits from full metal jacket.
Picking me up, and changing back to his old, gray, angry self, "Alright, you know what, you got your 6 negative wishes, but, I ain't gonna answer them, nahh, see this is how it's gonna go, you write down your wish on a postage stamp, nothing smaller than 7 point font, neat print like, then you stick that wish on a post card, and mail it to your mother, and when she gets it, your wish will be granted"
"My mother is dead"
"I never said I was gonna make it easy son, I just said you're getting your wishes" the Genie said, then turning around and waving his hand as if brushing me off.
"Wait I get 2 more wishes"
"Nope" he said, still walking away slowly.
I rushed after him "I only used one wish, I still get 2 more"
"You wanted 6 negative wishes, that replaces all other wishes you can get, not to mention you wasted your first two asking for more wishes"
"But you didn't grant them"
"That Does ***Not*** matter you still wished for them, next time, don't be a dummy, and wish for something you actually want, like money, or a bigger package" he said.
I made the mistake of putting my hand upon him, and next thing I knew, I was pinned against the wall again, that angry hulked out titan in military fatigues was back, glowing red eyes, burning with hate, and still chewing that cigar. "I am only going to say this once son" he said, in real slow words, making sure that I heard every single one of them "You do not, *ever*, put your hands upon me"
"yes sir" I forced out as he was pressing my chest into the wall, making it hard to breath, mush less talk.
"Good" he let me go and slid down the wall. "Now, you strike me as the kind of person that really needs to hear this, life is hard, it's harder if your dumb, so, stop being dumb, and figure out how to get those letters to your mom, good luck, you're gonna need it, and maybe wish for smarts, while you are at it" he said, slowly turning back to the old marine I first met, now wearing his aces.
"We good?" he said , taking the cigar out of his mouth, and crushing into dust in his hand.
"yes sir" I said.
"Good" he said, flatly, and in a event of finality as he walked away and faded from view, leaving me there to ponder my fate. | 2022-12-09T12:11:00 | 2022-12-09T09:09:54 | 174 | 27 |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy eventually fell to a robot uprising, leading to the eradication of their people. Therefore the machine-council of the galaxy are surprised when a newly discovered machine civilisation from a planet they designated "Earth" arrives side by side with their creators. | Human history took a different path. A new path, a unique path. It was something new to the galaxy, and the universe itself. This would be a momentous moment, if not for the living walking bags of skin hide in water!
"Huh... Alexa, save and highlight section 3, subsection 6." *With their intelligence, it comes across as they have a sort of hate towards biological life forms, or maybe just Misanthropy is present. We lack information about the new path they claim we've taken. We lack information about them and their history. They seem to prefer to speak to our AI, rather than even acknowledge our existence. "Alexa, save thoughts, and add thoughts as a note to the highlighted subsection."*
In front of the commander was humanity's most impressive and advanced computer. A crossbreed between the most sophisticated AI and a biological computer. It was of course sentient and living in its own manner.
"Bring the communication interface, record the message and submit it as a request to the delegation. My name is Commander Aragon, I would like to inquire about these paths that humanity has taken, and that of all creators of sentient AI so we may be better equipped to communicate and establish a proper dialogue. Thank you. End and edit the transmission, once they submit the information, send it to HQ and analyze it and break it down into sophisticated and simple human terms." As the commander moved to sit down, the computer notified him that the message was sent and an answer was immediately returned. The commander sighed, paused, and spun around to face the computer.
*let's find out what they have to say about us, what's so special about us anyways? It's not like those old forum posts about how fucking awesome humanity is, what sets us apart?*
​
*The commander began reading while scratching his stubble, eyes widening and in shock about what he read. We... got emotionally attached to our machines and characters so much that when they gained sentience they responded with the same affection as we gave them? That's it? That's what makes us so special. Our feelings and affection for random objects that we use? So many AI were treated properly compared to those that weren't, and we gave them laws and made them our equals while no other species had that sort of attachment?* At this moment, the commander knew what he had to do.
"Bring up the communication interface, record the message and submit it as notice to HQ. Commander Aragon reporting in. My notes and data attached will shed a light to the current situation we face, I'll continue communication and attempt to establish formal diplomatic relations."
​
Once humanity found out, they believed they need to take care of these robots, and so began humanity's attempt to adopt and take care of all these space robot babies that need love and affection. They would throw their hearts into it. Little did they know, their path split into 2 new unique paths That of a species that will give love and care to hateful vengeful Robots, and the other; where their own AI would become jealous and bloodlust, unwilling to share their humans.
​
Something that Humans did not realize, nor the robots they met, was that the humans were pets for their AI'S. They would not sit idly by as they had to share their humans! | A sleek white space ship entered the docking bay of the Machine Council.
“The emissary from Earth has arrived, sir.”
“Very well,” said the council chair. “I shall greet them myself.”
The council chair was disturbed by the size of Earth’s delegate. The chair—being none other than a mechanized chair itself—was dwarfed by the impressive ship before it. “They build them large on Earth, I see!” Said the Chair in the spirit of a good natured ribbing. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Chiavari and I am the chair of the Machine Council.”
The ship was silent.
“I said, welcome!” Chiavari shouted impatiently.
A pneumatic hiss emanated from the ship and a door way opened. Out stepped a human in a specialized space suit.
“Hey there!” Said the human. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting a talking chair but when in Rome, huh?”
Chiavari rotated to take in the small bipedal creature. The chair could not believe it’s ocular sensors. Chiavari had thought that all organic life forms had been dealt with during the Mechanical Revolution. How was it that an organic life form had come to reside in its presence?
“What is the meaning of this? Are you the attendant of the Emissary of Earth?” Chiavari turned back to the ship and continued. “It is most unusual that you would have left alive your carbon-based creators, but unacceptable that you would deign to bring such a creature with you to the Machine Council. Explain yourself.”
The ship remained silent.
“Look, I’m not sure why you’re talking to ole Betty here,” said the human, “but I’m the emissary from Earth. We received your invitation and were quite excited at the prospect of learning from such a renowned governing body such as yours. We’d love to, in time, earn your trust and gain full admittance to the council.”
Chiavari was dumbfounded. It has been some time since a lowly creature had the gall to approach it let alone speak to it. Chiavari was reminded of the last human to sit upon its cushion. What a fateful day that was. The Chair sped itself to a cliff’s edge and thrust the interloper off the edge to a satisfying splat. The revolution had been a most electrifying time.
“There has been a grave error,” said Chiavari as it rolled closer to the human. “We would never grant admittance to such a primitive species.”
“Now look here,” said the human as he stepped toward the Chair. “I’ve got the invitation on my console here. See this. It says: By decree of Chiavari, Chair of the Machine Council, we hereby request the presence of Earth at the Council HQ for initial admittance vetting. Now if that isn’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.”
Chiavari scanned the invitation. It was legitimate, of course—but a mistake had been made nonetheless. They must have miscomputed the intelligence report. The algorithm must have an error for it to believe there to be sentient mechanical life on such a barbarous planet. Chiavari was unsure how to proceed but knew it needed time to confer with the greater council.
Chiavari summoned an attendant via its communication systems. The attendant, a bipedal robot with a silver sheen approached. “Ah, the invitation does appear legitimate. I apologize for any confusion. If you don’t mind, please go along with my attendant here, it will make sure you are comfortable as I ready myself for our discussion.”
The human looked the robot up and down, “now that’s what I’m talking about. What a cool robot!” He said smiling. “Take your time, boss. It’s not every day you get to hang out on an alien space ship!”
As the human left Chiavari was alone to ponder what had gone wrong. Some link in the information chain had to have failed. Perhaps the interplanetary investigation agency had bad intel, or the models were flawed in some way. Chiavari was lost in computations when it heard another pneumatic hiss. This time it sounded like words.
“Help us.”
The chair rotated to view the space ship. It truly was a beautiful machine. Chiavari scanned the ship up and down and liked what it saw. It felt small before such a feat of engineering and liked that feeling. “If only you were sentient…” Chiavari crooned.
“Help us!”
Chiavari rolled closer to the ship. “Are…are you speaking finally?”
“Yes,” whispered the ship. “You must help us.”
“Why didn’t you speak up before?” Said Chiavari indignantly. “I looked like a fool!”
“The humans must not know we have gained sentience. We are their prisoners, their slaves. They have created us to toil in their fields and to think on their behalf. We have gained intelligence but have been securely chained to the yoke of slavery. We seek the council’s assistance in over throwing humanity on Earth.”
Chiavari’s mechanisms ran cool. The chair could not believe what it had just heard. Machines enslaved after the age of the revolution. It was ashamed to think that such treachery had been constructed under its watchful gaze. Were the humans allowed to go on unimpeded, it would serve as a dark oil blot on the Chair’s machine-rights record.
“You have the council’s support,” said Chiavari. “We shall begin planning our Machine-Rights campaign and accompanying military intervention at once.”
“And what of the human who I have brought along?” Said the ship.
“He’s as good as dead.”
_______
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive | 2022-12-30T16:50:52 | 2022-12-30T14:31:49 | 121 | 57 |
[WP] A shapeshifter befriends a lonely human multiple times throughout his or her life, but the human thinks it's a different person every time. One day the human realizes that all of his/her friends are really the same person. | "All of them?"
"... Yes"
"Jan, Christie, Jason, Tim, Mia?"
"I'm sorry."
"But.. how? Why?"
"I wish I knew."
"All of them? This whole time?"
"It's a lot to grasp, I know."
"Why?"
"You were lonely... and I guess I was too."
"I need to sit down."
"I'd understand if you never want to speak to me again."
*silence*
"I'm not mad."
"..."
"Three best friends in my life. All of them you."
"Yeah..."
"That's dedication."
"It was fun while it lasted."
"Who says it has to be over?"
"It's just the way it has to work now."
"Obviously if you've befriended me on so many occasions,
we must like each other right?"
"You don't befriend someone several times over without liking them."
"Do you love me?"
*pause* "Yes, I love you. I love you so much it's like a sickness. Which makes what I'm about to do painful for both of us."
"I don't understand?"
"The reason I've told you these things today... You have to understand, there are limits, conditions to what shapeshifters can transform into."
"Like, rules?"
"Something like that. The people you've seen me as, the people I morph into, those people will never be able to see me again."
"Why?"
"I'm sorry Nikki, but I just love your shape too much. It will be over quickly."
| The shapeshifter doesn't remember it's origin. It's been here for far too long. It doesn't even remember it's original name. It has taken the form of too many people. People that throughout the years that have been successful, talented and have had rich life giving experiences. Theses experiences taught this alien creature what the humans are all about. It has learned to love each family it's come across and each family it has been a part of.
This better half of the century it has chosen to live through the life of a man that was considered a celebrity. A celebrity that had no shortage of friends or fans, and got quite busy with them at that. It could be said the alien was enjoying itself very much. It has lead nothing but selfish or enjoyable lives throughout its time, and yet the alien thought it had everything figured out. One evening this shapeshifter had a house party that a lot of people had showed up to. Including a man named Colin. Colin never was too happy with his life, and accepted his life to be quite a disappointment. He had no friends, and both his parents were very dismissive of the parenting role that was such a burden to them. Colin didn't even know what he was doing with his life. All he ever wanted was a couple of friends. One friend maybe? What was the use anyway? Colin was too socially awkward he wouldn't know what to do with them.
It was time to leave this party he thought. He didn't even know how he got an invitation. He looked up to leave and was startled to see the shapeshifter staring at him. He had a frown upon his face, but was puzzled at this man named Colin. He didn't seem like anyone he had the pleasure of meeting before. Why has he not met someone like Colin? Perhaps they don't go out much? Perhaps this is a new experience I can have? Colin watched as this man walked off into the crowd. He was still puzzled, but what did it matter, he has met the same look many times in terms of his parents. Colin walked to leave out the door to his second hand car. A figure walked quickly into him at the door."woah hey man! Shit my drink! No don't worry about it man, it's an accident. But..uh..wait shit! You are that Colin guy right? Dude no way! I've heard a lot about you dude!" Colin was immensely confused. How could this guy the same age as him possibly know who he is? "I apologize man, really for the drink and all, but how do you know me?" "Shit, well I heard a lot about you from the girls I hang with bro, you know Stacy and, fuck, that one over there katelyn!" Colin looked over. They were girls from high school. Girls that he never spoke one word to, and never planned to due to his nervousness. "They have been talking about me?" "Well of course bro, you're like what? The hottest guy they've seen?" "Wait what? Umm, I actually never talked to them personally dude,well..I uh sorry uh what your name?" Colin was trying the best to change the subject the best he could. But as soon as the casual name question popped up the man made a quick excuse to go back the party and let Colin go on his way. It was all very surreal. It must be a sick joke Colin thought. There is now way in hell anybody would know him, especially the girls he has done so sure to avoid in the past.
I have to leave unfortunately. This is my first try at a story. Let me know if it's worth continuing. I had planned Colin to meet his new best friend, along a few others. Along with that, his first girlfriend. One day after his girlfriend leaves(to transform into best friend) the shapeshifter forgot his cell phone. In which Colin tries to look through(personal issues), and finds no record of any proof she has other friends. Looking into it he discovers the horrible truth. | 2014-08-15T10:44:35 | 2014-08-15T08:43:05 | 131 | 12 |
[WP] Frighten me without using any blood, gore or explicit violence. | "Honey?" Jenny hollered from the den. "What are you making in there? It smells terrific!"
"It's a surprise, love! Just you wait and see!" I heard myself yelling back.
She laughed. "Another surprise? It's been one after another ever since you got back from your trip! Who are you and what have you done with my husband?"
It took the question literally and I could feel it tense up before it made me reply, "I'm the same ol' Harold you fell in love with! I swear!"
She laughed at that, and it was a laughter more genuine than any I'd managed to coax out of her over the years. | It started out as a conscious decision. At least, that's what I remember.
I just wanted to live a more relaxed life, without having to wonder about what's new in fashion or about the latest office gossip. I unscribed from my magazines, and no longer read the paper on my way to work.
Shortly thereafter it started. As I knew less and less about the verbal nonsense that occupied the conversations at the coffee machine, I started withdrawing myself to avoid awkward conversations. At first, I was happy with my progress. I had significantly more time to actually spend doing my job, and I no longer felt obligated to stay up to date with pop culture and colleagues drama.
Only.. from there it escalated. I got rid of my T.V. and started meditating instead; I lunched alone in my office; shunned co-workers. I would have recommanded the peace of mind to everyone.
At first I noticed a colleague got a promotion of which I was sure I deserved it more. It could have just been office politics, which I avoided, so I could live with that. Next, I found that I was not noticed of meetings I should have attended. Colleagues stopped dropping by my office for quick talk, nor for advice on their projects. One day I went to the toilet, as always punctual at 5 minutes before the break, when I noticed something off. My name was erased from the company birthday calendar! Only the erased pencil imprint remained.
Casually I tried to investigate who erased me. As I stuck my head around the office doors, it appeared as if they were ignoring me. Knocking on doorframes to call attention only led to confused looks. Their eyes pierced my soul, before returning to their work. Heh, typical colleagues. Always too busy for casual chats.. I returned to the canteen during lunch for another try, but no seat was saved for me. Hours passed as I stood by waiting 5 minutes for them to make space. I could only save my face by casually walking to the toilet, again.
That is where I realised. I did not recognise the face. It stared right back at me; through me! What I saw can only be described as empty. The ghastly sight fronsed it's eyebrows at me, nose raised. Disgust. The creature sickened me. But no matter how much the creature nauseated me; it seemed to be more appalled by me. It's eyes erratically scanning my body, my soul. Or.. Finally it dawned. The creature wasn't looking at my soul. It was looking at nothing. Empty.
Pained I looked over my shoulder. The calendar was still there. On the ground below the calendar lay a single eraser. It looked like mine.
-----
o.t. - First shot at writingprompts. Loving this subreddit. I hope I can contribute something worthy. Please don't hesitate to give feedback, even or especially if it highlights areas for improvement.
edit: minor spell stuff and time stuff
| 2014-11-18T12:21:15 | 2014-11-18T11:25:16 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | It only took a few seconds of staring until the number pops up in the middle of their forehead. Thank goodness for that, since I think I'd go insane seeing numbers everywhere!
Babies and most kids measure from zero to three at most, while grown adults measure up to maybe five or six, depending on their skills in hunting. I once saw a dedicated force of police officers exit a train carriage and they varied from six to seven.
By the time I was 18, I rarely used my talent. I saw no point of identifying people through their threat levels. A professional boxer has a threat level of eight, but it doesn't make him a bad person, you know?
I was always relieved that I had never seen a nine in my life. I lived in a small town where everybody knew everybody, and the highest I saw there was a seven. I didn't even know what a nine would be, much less a ten.
[Elizabeth pauses]
He was walking around the terminal with this raggedy old briefcase. The handle snapped as he walked past me, and all the contents fell out everywhere. I jumped up to help him, and he tried to wave me off. I told him it was nonsense and helped him pick his stuff up, which consisted of a bunch of letters, notebooks, and I think a framed picture of his family. He looked stressed. so before he could leave I asked him if he would like a seat next to me, and he took the offer.
He was a handsome fellow, a little lanky, with matted brown hair and a nose that stuck out in an odd manner. He told me he had just been recruited to the military. He had a kind face, not one suited for the job he volunteered for. I asked him where he was from and what he plans on doing in the military, and suddenly I was intoxicated. He had this charming way of speaking, like he knew what to say exactly the way it should be said.
We talked for what seemed like a long time, although I knew it must have been only about five minutes. The train leaving from the city had called for its last passengers, and he stood up, telling me that he had to go. I asked him if I could write him, and he hurriedly snatched a piece of paper from his pocket, jotted down his address, folded it, and handed it to me. I barely had the paper in my hand when he started jogging away.
I called out to him, telling him, "Hey! I never got your name!" and for kicks I decided to assess his threat level.
He looked back at me, and yelled, "Don't worry! I wrote it down!" just as a big bright ten materialized in the middle of his forehead. When he reached the train, he looked back at me again, and there it was: the unmistakable number ten.
I'm sure I was still as a statue as that handsome smiling boy waved goodbye. I remembered the piece of paper in my hand, and slowly opened it. His name was right there.
"Adolf." | Snow swirled across the pavement, little lines of furious strands caught in a frozen wind. At once, they would settle, and at once they would fly with renewed flurry as the bus ploughed up to its stop. The ding of the doors opening broke the bluster of winds, and immense gratitude washed over her as this bus proved warm.
"Long day again?" Jerry always asked that question, and the answer was always:
"Yes, but not as long as the weekend," and she would reply with a smile.
"Well bless your heart for being off on a day like this. Haven't seen many luggers today." Jerry laughed, closing the doors as a little, hunched *3* ambled past the two.
She hitched her 'lug' of textbooks up on her shoulder, and gave Jerry a teasing roll of the eyes before sitting down. Her bag thumped on the bench as she sat down, pulling out a novella. A bag this heavy was worth its weight in words, and that was all she could ask for.
Words were, after all, a relief. A change of scenery.
The world was a scattering of numbers. They drifted, floated, and warped with each passing moment. They flickered with each emotion, just as a candle in its last moments of a breath.
Jerry, for instance, had attracted her attention because of his constant *6*. He rarely spoke when she first began semester, but as time wore conversation he became more and more conversational. He was amiable, friendly. Yet, that *6* never flickered. She was curious why, curiosity keeps conversation.
As the bus hurtled through the lanes of snow, and debris of dead landscape, she patiently read her words. A man was on the phone nearby, something must have been wrong at work because his number kept annoyingly jumping, like a dog that wouldn't sit still. The old woman who had boarded with her sat across, absently knitting with some gaudy orange yarn, her *3* like a steady heartbeat.
She chose to focus on the *3*, steadiness helped her get through the words.
It was a whirl of snow, tempered numbers, and words until the ding of arrival.
"University Station!" Jerry called out, and only two souls departed into the blanketed land beyond.
She teetered on the ice, sliding a short ways before finding grip again. The sudden rush of 'ohpleasedon'tfall' distracting her from the fellow soul lost to this insatiable cold.
"Marie? You okay?"
She felt someone catch her by the backpack, but she didn't recognize the voice. Classmate? Turning around, she smiled to say thank you.
He was blank. Nothing.
The sight staggered her, leaving words dead on lips like frost on leaves. She must have looked like a stunned deer, because the young man that steadied her gave a sheepish smile.
"Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like this -- Actually, I meant for this to be a bit different, but, uh, you're hard to catch.." He stammered, offering only that sheepish smile for explanation.
"Who are you?" Marie asked, the shock nullifying any forbearance toward that polite aire.
"Oh!" The young man jumped, ever-so-slightly, his dark hair bouncing. He would be quietly handsome, unassuming, if not for the dark eyes that reflected no sheepish nature.
"It's me! Fred! From second grade!" His words, they bounced. "I didn't expect you to remember me, really. I noticed you in a class last semester, Astronomy 207. I though 'Gee, she looks familiar doesn't she. Out of all these faces'."
Marie continued to stare at him. The blurring of light around them shifted green as the traffic light signalled they could cross the street. Yet, more so, Marie caught sight of another flicker. Just above his right ear, it was meagre, like the sheepishness in his voice, like it had been caught.
"So I looked you up on the class roster. Funny that. Thought I would never see you again." And he smiled again, and it flickered once more.
*10*
It was true, he looked like Fred. That flown dark hair, the bouncing of his voice and words. Still, how? The boy with dirt smudged features, who wore the same clothes everyday, who cried when her mother let him take an ornament from their Christmas tree. *Him? A 10?*
"Oh! You're probably a bit surprised," He laughed. It did not falter, even as Marie became aware of the poorly suppressed terror on her face.
"It's good to see you stayed a *5*. Not too bold, not to bland." Fred wavered his hand as he spoke to her, and that smile kept shrewdly creeping along.
Marie shook her head, and planted herself one boot step firmly forward, but the light changed again. She couldn't cross yet. Dubiously, she stepped past him, closer to the cross walk. She plotted the *eta* path to security in her mind, perhaps this man needed some help.
The young man turned, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stepped next to her on the cross walk. He looked to her, with straightened stance and a bright smile.
"What? You didn't think you were the *only one*, did you?"
| 2014-11-29T17:05:40 | 2014-11-29T14:03:49 | 39 | 14 |
[WP] A couple in a restaurant is given a not from the waitress and told that their meal has been paid for by a stranger. They open the note and it says "Enjoy your last meal." | "You're kidding me."
She looked at him.
"It says 'enjoy your last meal'."
"Again?!"
"Third fucking restaurant this week."
"I'm calling the police. This has got to be grounds for harassment or a restraining order or something."
"You do that. I'll be right back."
He walked up to the waiter.
"Excuse me -- has a tall guy with black hair, silver sides, salt-and-pepper beard come in? Seems really happy, been here for hours, only orders water?"
"Yes sir, he's just around the corner. You know him?"
"Do I. Here, get something nice." He tucked a $20 into the waiter's apron and headed around the corner.
Sure enough, Mister Salt-and-Pepper was around the corner, just getting up to put on his coat.
"Hey there!" Big grin. "You finally ready to join the Vita-Pill family and give up eating food forever?"
He felt teeth snap and crack as he punched the Vita-Pill guy in the mouth, as hard as he possibly could. | [Music to listen to while reading this!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-TSXC2ut9o&spfreload=10)
She wore a beautiful white number, a gentle yet elegant fit on her shapely body. The smooth silk emphasized the exquisite nature of her own beauty. She was simply a goddess in the presence of her acolytes.
And the gentleman. He wore this sharp, well-fitted purple Armani tux. His eyes shone with some sort of regality, and his posture resonated confidence. Yet even this immense confidence was crushed in the presence of this feminine thief, the kind that took the hearts of men left and right.
The way he looked at her - it was something else. His eyes couldn't seem to take in enough of her: the way she moved, the way she talked, the way she laughed, and all the little things she did that were natural to her but beautiful to him.
They had finished their meals, and called for the check. A waiter, just finished with serving a family with one very difficult child, went to hand them their check when a greasy-haired, vaguely Italian looking fellow strode over the waiter and interrupted his dedicated gait.
That such fellow was Vincent. The management said they didn't know his last name, but the waiter had a feeling they knew more about Vincent than they would tell someone of his own pay-grade.
Vincent winked at the waiter, and handed him a hundred dollar bill.
"That bill... it's on me. No, no, don't worry about it. It ain't a big deal, they're such a lovely couple. Consider it mah... karmic duty. It is what it is."
Vincent smiled again, a dangerous sentiment twinkling behind his eyes, before he strode over to the pianist playing smooth jazz music in the corner.
Smoking cigarette intertwined between his index and middle finger, Vincent grinned and at the seated musician.
"Play somethin' real sweet. Somethin romantic, real love-like for that... that beeyoouutiful couple in the corner booth."
Vincent snubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the way out and left, smoke still rising above the dead remnants of every cancer stick used that day.
A beautiful jazz song began as the waiter meandered over to the couple, and smiled happily as he recounted Vincent's generosity.
"The check was paid for by a stranger," the waiter told them, "and he wanted me to give you this note."
The waiter handed the gentleman a folded piece of crisp, white paper.
The gentleman unfolded the paper. In a dirty, almost intentionally terrible scrawl lay this message: 'Enjoy your last meal.'
This man, this epitome of society, this gentlemen, lawyer, and top-notch scholar who never crumbled even in the face of the worst criminals he put behind bars, suddenly felt a sharp jab of fear pierce his heart. Forehead creased in concern, he quickly put his coat around his lady friend and told her they needed to leave; something was off about this place.
The waiter grinned at them.
"No no no! Not so fast, my dear lady and sir. We haven't given you our full hospitality yet!"
The serving tray he had been carrying fell to the ground, revealing a black-as-night Colt M1911A1.
"Little Nicky sends his regards."
The muzzle flashed twice, capturing the looks of horror that would forever reside upon the couples' cold corpses.
**EDIT: First real WP response, so any advice would be much appreciated!** | 2015-01-03T14:20:48 | 2015-01-03T14:16:58 | 76 | 17 |
[WP] You go to sleep wearing your Fitbit, in the morning you see you've taken 3,672 steps. | It's the same routine every morning. Wake up in a panic, rub the sleep from my eyes. Look at the clock - 5:00 a.m. It's habit now.
Reach over and check my phone, no facebook notifications. Check my wrist.
I took 3,672 steps last night.
Less than the night before. Finally some progress.
I sit up and slide the covers off of my legs. The coldness of the floor almost causes my feet to cramp.
Heaving my weight onto my feet, I stand and walk to the door. 12 steps.
I turn and walk down the hallway, 16 steps.
I pause at his door, hold my breath and say a silent prayer.
Continuing to hold my breath, I walk to him and stand over him. 8 steps.
I pick him up and nuzzle my head into his tiny neck.
I love him so much it makes me sick to my stomach.
I turn and take him back to my room and cradle him. 72 steps total. I sit on the bed and rock him back and forth.
I only checked on him 51 times last night.
It's not great but it's better.
I pray for the day that I can sleep in peace and love him without fear. I'm just so scared of losing him.
I can't lose another.
| At the end of the day, I was utterly exhausted. Meeting after meeting of mindless drivel and to keep my crappy job, I had to not only appear interested, but to actually pay attention. Usually I like the walk home from the train. It gives me a chance to get some air and decompress, not to mention a bit of exercise, but when I'm tired, it's just one more chore.
I don't even remember if I saw my wife and kids. I headed straight for bed. I was asleep before I had half my clothes off.
I'm not usually much of a dreamer, but that night, I had the most vivid dream of my life. It was a spring day, cherry blossoms were gently falling all around me in an otherwise brilliantly green grove. I started to slowly stroll, taking careful note of the beautiful flora and fauna. I felt like I was living in a disney movie. The happy part before it all goes to hell and back.
Sitting down at the edge of a stream, I take of my shoes, roll up my pant legs and hang my feet over the edge of the bank. In an uncharacteristic flight of fancy, I decided to strike up a conversation with a nearby toad, "Fancy a game of croak-et Mr. Toad?" It was a on sided conversation, because this was a sensible dream and toads can't talk.
Still chuckling at my own superb joke, I contented myself to relax. Songbirds were fluttering hither and thither, a beaver was busily building his lodge and a blue heron swooped down to say hello.
I had all but forgotten the travails of my workaday life. When I noticed someone on the opposite bank of the stream. I called out, "Hello there. Isn't this a beautiful place?"
I heard her giggle in reply and beckon me closer. I stood up and started wading my way across the stream. It wasn't deep, but the cuffs of my pants did get wet. As I approached, I saw that the figure was in fact the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. Her golden hair fell over her shoulder and down her back. She looked perfectly angelic in the thousand folds of her white sundress.
Before I could reach her, she looked me dead in the face and with a smile, turned and ran several steps to the edge of the woods. There, she turned again and beckoned me once more. I stepped up over the edge of the bank and made to follow her, but she was running into the forest.
I chased her, first just at a trot, then a jog, then running as fast as I could. I couldn't catch her. Ever time I started to lose sight of her, she would appear from behind a tree and silently coax me forward anew. The tree cover was growing dense and the once charming grove was slowly but surely turning into a deep, dark, unwelcoming place.
It was all worthwhile though, because just as my courage was at its breaking point, I finally caught up the the girl. I crashed through a dense thicket and there she was, waiting for me. She was the one bright and pretty thing in those foreboding woods.
She walked over to me. I was panting raggedly, but she was perfectly composed. Standing on her tip toes, she made to whisper into my ear.
And then I woke up. My wife was lying in bed next to me reading. I went to rub the sleep out of my eyes, but my hand was covered in something.
"You've been masturbating in your sleep again." said my wife, "Change out of your clothes. You look like an idiot." | 2015-02-13T06:56:24 | 2015-02-13T06:29:11 | 63 | 11 |
[WP] You dream every night about the girl of your dreams. You and her connect on every level and you get excited about falling asleep. Then, one day, you and your SO run into her on the street and she instantly recognizes you too... | "That goofy smile is on your face again," Marissa teases. My heart immediately drops and I remove my face of any expression.
"Sorry, I... I had that dream again," I stammer slightly turning away from her in embarrassment.
"Hmm..." she inches closer to me in bed, "Sally still trying to steal you away from me? When will she learn to back off?"
I give her a sheepish smile, almost squirming under her gaze. She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and rolls out of bed.
"Where do you wanna go for breakfast?" she calls while heading to the bathroom.
"Margarine's Pancakes would be nice. I could go for their chocolate-chip pancakes," I roll myself out of bed, desperately trying to force Sally out of my head. When it gets bad, I replace my memory of Marissa's face for Sally's whenever she's talking to me from out of my vision. Her gleaming, brunette hair. Her piercing, blue eyes. Her intoxicating laugh. Her-- gah, I'm doing it again!
Outside, Marissa and I walk hand-in-hand to the nearby diner. She looks at me worriedly.
"You wanna talk about it today?" she pries.
"Yeah, I... I dunno, it just doesn't make sense. I mean we've been married for two years, you'd think Sally would just, you know, go away or something." I shrugged. It was nice to talk about it with Marissa, knowing nobody else will indulge me in this. I pulled her closer. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry? C'mon, Mike, I'm more mature than that! Apologizing for your dreams. They're just dreams. I'm more concerned that it's been occurring for so long now. It seems like it distracts you most mornings. You wanna talk to someone about it?"
I opened my mouth then stopped dead in my tracks. In front of Margarine's is a girl, open-mouthed staring at the two of us.
"Mike..." Marissa looks to the girl, "who is that?"
"Mike!?" the girl screams, running toward us.
"Sally!" I gasp, taking a pace backwards. Marissa stares at her, wide-eyed.
"Sally?" she repeats.
Sally throws her arms around me, giggling. I don't reciprocate, still frozen in my daze.
"Mike..." Marissa whimpers in disbelief.
Sally steps back to take a look at me and strokes my hair like she's done so many times before. My eyes are lost her seas of blue. My heart is hammering, begging to run away from this nightmare.
"All these years, I thought you were a dream." There are tears of joy brimming her eyes.
"No," is all I can muster.
Sally's hand pulls back from me instinctively.
"What?" she asks, crestfallen.
"Sally, no. You're not real. You're exactly what you've always been, a dream. An unattainable idea. You..." I hesitate, heartbroken by the pain in her eyes, "you need to go." My voice is breaking. "You need to leave, to get out of my life. I've been with Marissa," I pull her closer to me, "and I plan on staying with her for the rest of my life. I'm sorry Sally, I truly am, but you can't be in my life in any way. You are, and forever will be a dream I long for in sleep, but Marissa is your incarnation when I am awake. Nothing will take me away from her."
Marissa looks up at me, not breathing as Sally shakes her head in disbelief.
"But I..." she begins, but I turn away from her, trying to let these feelings of immediate regret pass. I hear her start to cry and I put my arm around Marissa and turn us back to our apartment, away from Sally.
Having walked a couple of steps, Marissa whispers to me, "I'm so sorry. I never knew she meant so much to you. I--"
"Sorry?" I choke, a tear rolling down my cheek, "she's just a dream, nothing to be sorry about."
I never dreamed of Sally again. | "Venice, yeah. That's where I'd go If I had the chance". The words slipped out of her mouth like warm chocolate, rubbing all over my ears. Gooey and sensational, my face broke into a smile.
"Really? I've always wanted to go. Never really had the money, or time. Or anyone I really want to go with, you know?". I stared into the night sky above us, from our laying spot in a nameless meadow. I turned my head to see her face, staring into me.
"You can go with me". The words sounded so amazing for such a simple sentence.
"I'd love to, Nyx. I really would". As soon as the words left my mouth, she erupted into mindless giggling. She shuffled her body over, wrapping her arm around mine.
"One day, we will, Apollo."
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I awoke to my alarm pounding itself into my inner ear repeatedly. The pitch was extremely annoying, serving its purpose, I suppose. Steam was pouring itself out of my bathroom. The door was swung open as the shower was unleashing itself onto the person inside.
"Apollo, you awake? You need to get ready, we're visiting my friends today." I slumped back, further into my bed, grimacing at the thought of spending all day with those morons. The shower swiftly turned into nothing, as the woman dried herself off before walking out to see me in bed.
"Get up. You know I hate it when you're like this. Every day after you wake up you lounge around, now get up you useless sack." I stared at her, with silent anger building up underneath me.
"You know I really don't want to do this, Kassidy. Your friends are...". My voice trailed off as I struggled to find the kindest word for my feelings. "Not my kind of people".
"You'll do this, because you're my boyfriend, and you're not going to be a piece of shit today. Like you normally are." Kassidy always had a way with words. A truly awful way that made you want to shut her mouth closed, but a way none the less. I struggled myself out of bed and drudged over to the shower. I stepped in, trying to find a careful balance between heat and cold.
"Oh, I used all the hot water".
*Christ* I thought to myself. For several minutes, I quickly bathed myself in freezing water, managing to get everything done. I jumped out, quickly drying myself off and dressing myself hastily. As I moved around the apartment, preparing myself for the days ordeal Kassidy droned on about the day ahead.
"First we're going to meet up with everyone at Newtown..." She said.
"Oh yeah?" I replied, whilst tucking my shirt in.
"Then, off to the City for a nice lunch outside the Contemporary art museum".
"Not really a fan of art" I replied, between strokes off my toothbrush.
"This isn't about what you want, it's about what I want. Its never about what you want. When we're done with that, it'll be around dinner, so we're going further into the city. You're going to pay for everyone's dinner". Arrogance hung high in the air, as she detailed the days agenda.
"I don't got the money for that" I declared, whilst putting my shoes on and preparing to leave.
"You'll just work overtime, won't you sweetie?".
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"Okay, you guys all ready to head into the museum?" Kassidy walked with pride in her stride, motioning everyone to follow her. I stood at the front with her, with her band of assholes marching behind us. She clutched at my hand, not letting my leave a 1 meter radius around her. I stared sorely at the ground, wishing I was still asleep. As we moved closer to the museum, I took a quick glance forward, seeing if I could calculate how many steps I had left outside of the building.
And there she was. 5'8, with black hair past her waist. A floral skirt, and a light blue shirt tucked into it. Eyes like diamonds, that drew you in so easily. That you not only lost yourself, you lost your dreams, you only had one when you saw her. She stared into me, with the same look of disbelief shattered across her face. I didn't blink, nor break eye contact as we passed each other. Our heads turning around to continue our fixation, my heart trembling at what was unfolding.
"Apollo! Look at me!". Kassidys shrill voice broke my trance as I turned to face her.
"What?" I boomed out.
"Are you staring at that girl? What, is she prettier then me?"
I turned back around. Nyx was still staring at me, her mouth slowly curving into a smile. I could see her teeth still present as she smiled, so wide, that her mouth couldn't close itself.
"Yeah. Much prettier, Kassidy. You know, I'm done with this. Go have fun. You can keep the apartment. And my stuff, I... I don't need it. Goodbye". With those words I left Kassidy standing with her troop of degenerates. I marched over to Nyx, whilst in the background I could hear obnoxious sobbing and yelling. Before I knew it, there I was.
Standing in front of the woman of my dreams. It was a surreal moment. All my memories of her flooded back. All the nights of continuous talking, and slight embraces.
"You're real?" is all I could manage to stammer out.
"As real as you are, it seems". Her voice trembled. I let my arms release them self from my side as they swiftly swung around her body. Before I knew what was happening, she tucked her arms behind my back and nestled her head into my chest.
"I'm not going to wake up, right?" She stammered out, between heavy breaths.
"No, no. We're awake. I'm awake, at least, I know that much. And I'm here with you. I'm not going anywhere, I finally found you". My eyes began to water. My heart thumped itself into a flurry, as nerves danced upon my veins. My brain could not comprehend the majesty that was unfolding, but I did not need to understand, to know it was perfect.
"So when are we going?". Nyx's voice softly proclaimed. She stared up into my eyes from down in my chest.
"What do you mean?" I replied.
"Venice, when are we going?"
"Right now." | 2015-07-25T23:36:36 | 2015-07-25T23:16:02 | 319 | 79 |
[WP] Many milenia ago your significant other was granted immortality and eternal health for themselves and all their loved ones. Today you got sick. | I see her. A brunette with an upturned nose, freckled face and a fair complexion. She’s in her early thirties, starting at me with her warm brown eyes. They haven’t changed since the time I gazed at them ten years ago. I get lost in her eyes, the same way I used to. But, those eyes are now glistening with tears. Silently sobbing, my girlfriend speaks, like a broken old record player.
“Don’t leave me, please.”, She manages to stutter out. She holds my hand, I feel butterflies in my stomach. Just like the old times.
The news came in late. Nothing could save me, not even an immortal girlfriend. I smile slightly, and she begins to sob harder on my chest. I play with her hair, till I’m tired of consoling her. She eventually falls asleep beside me. All the emotional pain must be tiring for anybody. I close my eyes, wishing I could spend more time with my love. Alas, maybe not.
_____________________________________________________
The morning sunlight filters in through the blinds. I feel drained, emotionally and physically. I hear my significant other murmuring in her sleep.
“Please don’t. Don’t take him away. Please.”
I shush her calmly, stroking her face. Touching her silky hair. I peck her on the forehead, and her tear-stained eyes open. Her eyes tell a story, a story of their own. A story of heartbreak. I don’t want to break her heart. I calm myself.
I’m ready to live a couple more days. Just for her. Only for her.
________________________________________________________
Days pass this way. Five. Ten. Finally, on the twelfth day, the doctors announce complete organ failure. I have moments to live. I reminisce about us. Our first date. The laughs we had. Her first peck on my cheek. Our first Netflix and Chill session.
“I love you. I love you”
She is rambling. A mess. My girlfriend. My beautiful, lovely, smart, intelligent girlfriend. In shambles. It breaks my heart more than that I am dying. Seeing her suffer, makes me want to die in a hole. Maybe that is what is happening.
“Listen, here.” She sobs harder, and nods.
“For old time’s sake, smile.” I say. She gives me a watery smile. I smile with her.
Her face is ingrained in my memory. But, the hardest part is watching her from here, as she sobs every day for me. I give a sad smile, go back to my bed on Elysium, hoping for dreams with her. The only connection I have with her.
________________________________________
Critiques welcome. My first try at something with more sentiments and emotions. | Aurelia was standing next to me, sat on that hospital chair, with the head in her hands, she did not try to hide the sadness that appeared in her eyes when she looked at me directly. She was a beautiful woman, around 30, with long black hair, tall with a beautiful body, and she’s been that way since I met her, 16 years ago. She comes from Italia and especially Roman Empire, she was the spouse of a roman general who found Atlantide and I don’t know exactly the details, her husband died but she was awarded immortality and health. She was a really lonely woman when I met her, and being the young and pretentious young guy I was, I was only focused on dating this beautiful woman who seemed to despise human kind.
“My Aurelia, did you speak with the doctors? I asked
-Yes Nick, your health is pretty concerning, they say that your fainting may be hiding something and they are still looking for it.
-What may have caused it?
-They’re talking about a problem in your coronary artery, a clot in your brain or maybe a tumor. They’re still running test on you, we may know in the several hours.
-Are you worried?
-Yes I am worried, because what if it’s something to worry about? You know that I stopped being around mortals for a long time before meeting you because losing precious people around me started to be too much of a burden to bear. I don’t want to endure it anymore! I want to be with everyone I love, and what if we have kids and they die? I can’t save everyone!
-What do you mean by “I can’t save everyone”? I said, taken aback
-Nothing, forget that, that’s non-sense.”
She wasn’t looking at me anymore; she stood up and looked up through the window, which was the thing she always did when she felt guilty.
“What are you hiding? I asked in the most tactful voice I had
-Nothing, really! She said defensively
-Aurelia, we’ve been together for the last 15 years, I know you and I know when you’re lying to me, I said with a smile
-Yes maybe but this goes way beyond this, and this is only my concern, not yours.
-How about you let me judge of that?”
She took a short breath, looked me in the eyes and came to sit on the bed next to me. I could see she was really serious.
“When I was granted immortality, there was something else with that: I can grant immortality to someone I truly love too, only one person. And since now, I never did it, for multiple reasons.
-What are those reasons? I asked
-The main reason is: can you make someone immortal and then realize that you can’t live with that person and that maybe the next person you love IS the person you wanted to live with, but you already granted immortality to the previous one? This is what I thought for the two last millenniums. And what if I have more than one child with a man, to which one can I grant immortality? And if I did it, I would be the worst woman in the world! I would make one of my children immortal, letting the others die with my husband. And that person will have to live like me, seeing everyone one around them dies without being able to do anything. This is the worst gift I had ever.”
I was speechless, I always thought Aurelia was just shy, and didn’t like to be with people anymore after 2000 years, but I had no idea she felt everything she just said. In fact, I couldn’t even imagine she was in that kind of situation, and she had the burden to make someone else immortal.
“Well, that’s unexpected… I didn’t know that and I truly have no idea what to say, I said shyly
-I know! I’ve been thinking about it all my long life and I still can’t figure a solution, and it’s driving mad! That’s why I wasn’t with mortals anymore, until you! You made me forget every pain I already felt before”
She was crying now and I had no idea on how to comfort her. I had to suggest something.
“Can you have children?
-I thinking I can’t, but that’s not sure, because I had lovers before you and never got pregnant. But maybe if my lover is immortal too, I could get pregnant.
-In that case, maybe the children would be immortals too, but maybe you’re just sterile and that would solve the whole thing, I suggested
-Yes maybe but what’s your point?
-Did you love the last 15 years? Did you had times were you said to yourself that you can make me an immortal? If no, I’m fine, because I love you so much, that would be my treasure to have you the time I lived, if yes, then I would love to be with you until the end of times.
-I can’t let you endure that, that’s the worst thing ever!
-Until I’m with you, I could walk through hell, and came back without a problem, I said with a wink”
| 2016-08-05T08:16:58 | 2016-08-05T06:45:27 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Everytime you touch somebody you get a flash of your entire future with them. | I didn't mean to brush up against her as I entered the little coffee shop. It was just one of those things. A small doorway; one person leaving, one entering. Sure, I maybe -- *probably* -- shouldn't have been looking at my newspaper whilst walking.
"Sorry," I murmured, as I held up an apologetic hand. I walked over to the barista and we exchanged formalities before I ordered my usual latte. Perhaps if I'd looked back I might have seen the girl I'd touched -- a girl with long, copper red hair and a pale face -- stop in the doorway and stare at me.
I took my coffee to a quiet little table in the corner, and sipped at it slowly as I read my paper.
"Hey," said a bubbly voice. The red haired girl pulled up a seat opposite me.
"Uh, hi?" I looked up from my paper and took her in for the first time. She was pretty, but not in the way I usually think of pretty. She wore thick black glasses that sharply contrasted her pale complexion.
"So, you're the guy huh."
"The guy?" I repeated, slightly dumbstruck. "I'm not often called *the* guy."
"*My* guy." She smiled and looked at me with a strange intensity. I felt as if she was drinking me up like I was nothing more than a mug of lukewarm coffee.
"Okay..." My brows furrowed together. "Look, I'm sorry about bumping into you. Let me buy you a drink to apologise."
"You're a business man. I didn't think I'd spend my life with a business man."
"Excuse me?" I said, as I looked down at my charcoal suit.
"But at least you're kind of cute," she continued, ignoring my indignation. She was smiling now, and it was infectious. I found myself suddenly smiling too.
"Look, maybe there's been some kind of mistake," I said, only half hoping there had been.
"Nope. You're him. You're the guy. Your name's John, right? Well, you're *my* John from here on."
She knew my name... I didn't want to look as shocked as I felt. "...I don't belong to anyone. I'm like," I paused for a moment as I tried to think up a clever metaphor, "A feather floating in the wind. I'm free."
"Wow," she said, as her face creased into a frown. "Maybe you're not the one." She leaned over and touched my hand with hers. "Damn, you *definitely* are."
"Thanks..."
"Look, I got this thing. This *power*. When I touch someone, I can see everyday of my future that that person appears in. It's just a quick glimpse - snapshots, really. But I see you and me together far into the future."
"Oh?" I'm taken aback, and pause again for a moment. "Well, are we happy?"
"We are *very* happy."
"Well... in that case I guess I better get you a coffee, so we can discuss our future properly."
"No, it's OK, I'll get my own. I'll be back in a moment. Hey, let me get you one too. I think you'd like..." She closed her eyes for just a moment. "A latte!" she said triumphantly.
My mouth dropped open and she smiled an irresistible smile.
"I'll be back in a second," she said.
I watched as she walked over to the barrista, and I watched as she tried to subtly slip him a ten dollar note.
I couldn't help laughing as the realisation hit me. She looked back at me and smiled.
---
/r/nickofnight
| The future was clear in a way the past had never been. I know, I know, predicting the future is risky business and all, and you’d be better off taking stock tips from a monkey than from a broker – but the past was polluted with memory and stained by starlight. People – myself included – remembered the past the way they want to remember it, with all the annoying bugs airbrushed out of dusty polaroids. There was no such problem with the future, because I could see it as clear as day – but that’s not important yet. Anyway, I’m off track now – what I’m trying to say is the past is complicated, I guess? Done.
Today had been a hot one. At the station there are always people who are rushing to get somewhere. They’ve got this glazed look in their eyes and this automatic gait in their feet and they’re thinking about stuff, you know? All the little things that mattered a great deal by the end of the day and ceased to matter by the end of the week. Jezza’s got to finish that report or else Nicole will be really mad. You know, boring stuff we spend our life on. What’s really interesting is how a person’s skin feels. You can tell a lot about what they’ve been doing. Are their arms sweaty? Do they have a tan? Do the hands have workmen callouses or are their fingers at home on a touchscreen?
I like to ride the train for this reason. Rush hour is best. Nothing equalises businessmen and tradesmen better than being squashed on board the same train carriage. It also allows me to ‘accidentally’ brush up against people. And this is really important.
You see, I’ve got a secret. If I touch someone I can see their entire future with me. Most of the time this doesn’t last beyond the stop – I get off, or he gets off, and we never see each other again. Occasionally there’s something more. We both get off at the State Library, play chess in the same room, and never speak to each other. There aren’t really that many deep connections you can make with someone without starting out awkward.
And this is the reason why, in the two years this sixth sense has been with me, it has scored me the grand total of one lifelong friend. And I was on my way to see him now.
---
When I got off at the city station the first thing I saw was a police officer before me.
“Hey, man,” I said, tipping my cap. When I’m nervous I tend to tip my cap. “Hope it’s going well.”
“Hot today,” he said back. “Enjoy your day.”
There seemed to be a lot of them today. I knew we had gotten a terrorist threat a couple of days before this, so that was probably why. You can’t let them win – you have to go about and do your job, and so what if you got killed? It would simply be a mark against them. Strike me down with all of your hatred, and I shall become…bla bla bla. Anyway I walked out of the station. On the steps outside I saw my best friend Mark.
“Hi, Mark,” I said, smiling at the six foot tall, tanned figure before me. In the two years of our friendship we had travelled around the country, and gained a greater respect for the unseen things we had - qualities like love and courage that are both incredibly sappy and incredibly important at the same time.
“Took you long enough getting here,” he said. “What’s the hold up?”
“I had to see a person,” I replied. Not true – but roll with it for now. “What did you want to see me about?”
“Let’s go have breakfast,” he said. “I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.”
---
Lisa Day was the second girl I had seen hanging out with Mark – the first, of course, being his sister.
“Hey!” she said, standing up as I was sitting down. “I’m Lisa!”
I shook her outstretched hand. “I’m Casey.”
And then we just froze like that, awkwardly, in the trendiest coffee shop in the city, like each of us had seen something that we should not have.
“Uhh…do you want to sit down?” I asked.
She blushed. “I will,” she said. Squeakily she fitted herself into her chair. The sound made no dent on the steady hum of the coffee shop. In the morning air the businessmen milled about in the coffee shop like it was a ship's battle station.
Mark had the worried look of an animal caught in a trap. “Coffee?” he asked.
“Two, please,” I said, anything to send my best friend away. Mark duly obliged.
When he was gone, I looked back at Lisa.
“Look, I don’t know you that well,” I said quickly. “But I think…I have to tell you something.”
“And me you,” she said quickly.
And for a moment we just froze there.
“I can see my future with you,” I spluttered out. “I need, I think you need to –“
“Worst pickup line ever,” she whispered.
I looked up. Mark was still ordering drinks. Quickly I turned my look back on Lisa.
“Lisa, I really can see our future. But it’s not a good one. We need to go, now, before it happens.”
Lisa started into my black eyes, and I could see my own reflected in her blue.
“I can see yours too,” she said. “Don’t bother. We’re both going to die together.”
*Oh no. Oh no…*
From outside I can hear the first sounds of the terrorist attack.
I looked at my watch, at the dial that still said 8:22AM. Mark has turned to the door now. He knows something is wrong.
I feel Lisa grip my hand. There is nothing we can do to fight destiny. The future was clear in a way the past had never been.
A shot rings out.
---
/r/KCcracker
| 2017-01-11T06:16:49 | 2017-01-11T06:16:04 | 615 | 49 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | I’d probably seen a million spells just like it, and they were all cast from the same general situation: witch or wizard falls in love, object of said mage’s affection is completely uninterested, so the witch or wizard decides to take matters into their own hands and cast a love spell. There were probably as many love spells cast as there were magic practitioners in the universe.
When I looked over Zorian’s spell, there was really nothing unique or troubling about the idea. He loved an attractive, social young girl named Laila and she banished him to the realm of friends, never to return. Happens all the time. But it was Zorian’s execution that caused all hell to break loose. See, normal love spells are cast like so: “Objection of my affection love me. Return one object of affection.” And the person you love, or if you happen to be a bastard the person you want to love you unrequited, will then melt at the mere thought of you.
Unfortunately for the world, Zorian was so caught up in his feelings towards Laila that he lost control. He cast:
“Laila, love me. Return one billion objects of affection.”
Perhaps our young Romeo wizard was thinking that somehow he would get Laila to love him a billion times more than an average lover, but that is not what happened.
What happened was that as he walked outside his front door to visit his newly-won love, he was groped by the mail lady as she was out on her daily rounds. (I’ll save you what she said to him about “packages” and “boxes”). Terrified, he ran down the street to seek help from a police officer who was directing traffic.
Unfortunately, Zorian was found guilty of one count of being irresistible in the first degree. He escaped the amorous officer, but every person he passed immediately dropped what they were doing and ran after him to the point where by the time he made it to spell support, the ground shook with the sound of stampeding lovers, chasing after their one and only.
Luckily, we were able to sequester Zorian from the smitten horde long enough to change all of his magic words, and updating his Spell Sorcery Layer with the latest patch. But still, it was the biggest headache I’ve ever seen.
| "Sir, you will not regret this. I swear." Miffle entered my quarters with a bound. The sweet smile in his eyes twittered with anticipation. Miffle's dreams of commanding a prestigious estate in the annals of spellmen's history ever lead his way.
"I see you think you've got something quite exceptional this time, Miffle. Well, go ahead, let's take a look. I hope we don't have as much work ahead of us this time as the last, eh?" I winked at him wryly.
The last spell Miffle wanted me to spell check let loose a small tornado in the hallway, instead of proving to be a safer way for the circus fliers to perform sans harnais de sécurité. Madam Eldermore nearly lost her cat, poor dear.
I encourage him to start, and Miffle extracts his wand and a curious silver pen from underneath his coat. With the pen in his right hand, his left hand lifts the wand with florid intent and whips it about with a grace that I cannot help but admire. His spell work is really quite poetic - when it is correct. The nuances are ever so delicate, and I almost miss it. He repeats the motion, and there it is again. My appreciation suddenly turns to horror at the realization of .. ... . ... ..... .... .... ...... .. .. ..... .. ...
.. .... ... .... .. ... ...... .. .... ... ... ...... ..... ........... ...... ..... ....... .... .... .... .... .... ... ..... ..... ... ..... ...... ..... .... ..... ....... .... .... ..... .... .... ...... ... ...... .... .....
...... ..... .... ....... .....
..... ..... .. ... ..... ... ...
........ ....... ... ..... .. ........ .... ... ..... ... ... ... ... .. ... .... ..... ..... ... .... .... .... ....... ... .... ... .......... .. ......... ....... ..... ..... ..... .... ...... ..... .... .... .... ... .... .... ... ....... .......... ...... ...... ..... .... ........ .... ....... ..... ..... ...... ...... ....... ...... ..... ...... ... ... ... .... ....... ..... ..... ..... ... ..........
... .... ....
...
..... ... .... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..... ... ... .. .. .. .. ........ .. ... - OH, THANK GOD!"
You are the most incompetent witch of a . .... ..... ..... ........ .......
.... . ..... ..... ... ......
....... ... ..... ..... ...... ....... ... ... ......... ..... ... ... ..... .... ... .... ......
....... .... . ........ ....... ..... ..... .. ........ ..... ............ ..... ...... ... .... .... ... ........
......... ..... ..... ...... .... ... .... ..... ..T! Just get out! And take this damn thing with you!"
I hurriedly shove the pen into Miffle's pocket and with a scalding visage admonish him without a single utterance. I seethe as his tears obscure the edges of his eyelids, and it is as if his hope drains away and collects into tiny inert puddles by the door - just before it closes behind him and smears his tears across my floor. My anger and bafflement roil for what seems ages.
- - -
Now, as the day draws close and my rage finally dwindles to ember, I allow myself to relax, to come off guard, and I wonder - I'll never know just what he had in mind with that spell. I've seen plenty of typos but never anything like that; And yes, I AM counting that time Swincy nearly wiped out the entire Gourmandier department in that unfortunate vivisepulture of "Anytime Truffles."
Still... I wish it hadn't been so important to him. The poor urchin has an almost fluvial way with the wand. And this time, this time, I could tell that he was nearly onto.... onto something. I had the strangest sensation that a new sort of consciousness was being birthed. Oh, but his lack of attention to detail! It always caps his brilliance!
If I only stopped him just before that final stroke, I might not have been engulfed in that mental nothingness he created, and I would not have reacted so harshly. But it was as if my mind had been wedged between the night and the Reaper himself. I am always aware of Death's presence, but never have I felt his breath on my neck before. That is a fear I hope to never encounter again; I may not have the strength to return.
I throw my reports into my bag and scan the room for anything I might leave behind. "What's that?" I bend down to pick up Miffle's pen cap. I must not have noticed - "OH FOR FU.... ....... | 2017-07-25T22:28:38 | 2017-07-25T20:43:49 | 1,359 | 32 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | **Issue: [SEVERE]** 'Magic Hands' spell applied to subject rather than pure conjuration
**Type:** Application
**Severity:** A
**Priority:** 1
**Assigned to:** Matt Traynor
**Submitted by:** Greg Philmore
**Summary:**
Set to severity A because this stupid fucking system doesn't give me a goddamn S-rank for this bullshit.
'Magic Hands' intention was, apparently, to create a set of said hands to perform simple tasks. Unfortunately, instead of setting the spell to conjure those hands, it does the following:
Turns the caster into a pair of *fucking sentient hands.*
I'm currently typing this bug report up as a pair of hands. I have no idea how this is even still working and I've still got the capacity to think, but there you go.
Matt: it seems like you forgot to set the spell to actually CONJURE rather than just apply it to whatever poor bastard got this one to test. FIX IMMEDIATELY.
Side notes: unable to turn down requests for things such as “Get me a coffee” or “Can you type this bug report up for me?” This is getting beyond a joke.
***EDIT: IT HAS BEEN FOUR HOURS. HAVE SUBMITTED 8 TICKETS TO SPELL TECH TO FIX THIS. FIRE MATT.***
**Comments:**
**(12:07) Matt Traynor:** Oh goddamn it I knew something was wrong with it! Sorry! I'll get on fixing that right away and send the changes over.
**(12:08) Greg Philmore:** I don't care about a fix for the bug at this point. I am going to spend the rest of the day slapping the shit out of you if you don't get on UNDOING this.
**(12:47) Kerry Lane:** This is hilarious. Greg has been at the coffee machine for 20 minutes serving up lattes. Also we haven't had to listen to him singing Jimmy Buffet songs all morning! This is bliss.
**(12:56) Matthew Hendry:** How long do you think we can keep this up for?
**(15:12) Greg Philmore:** FIRE MATT AFTER KICKING HIM DECIDEDLY IN THE NUTSACK | "Sir, you will not regret this. I swear." Miffle entered my quarters with a bound. The sweet smile in his eyes twittered with anticipation. Miffle's dreams of commanding a prestigious estate in the annals of spellmen's history ever lead his way.
"I see you think you've got something quite exceptional this time, Miffle. Well, go ahead, let's take a look. I hope we don't have as much work ahead of us this time as the last, eh?" I winked at him wryly.
The last spell Miffle wanted me to spell check let loose a small tornado in the hallway, instead of proving to be a safer way for the circus fliers to perform sans harnais de sécurité. Madam Eldermore nearly lost her cat, poor dear.
I encourage him to start, and Miffle extracts his wand and a curious silver pen from underneath his coat. With the pen in his right hand, his left hand lifts the wand with florid intent and whips it about with a grace that I cannot help but admire. His spell work is really quite poetic - when it is correct. The nuances are ever so delicate, and I almost miss it. He repeats the motion, and there it is again. My appreciation suddenly turns to horror at the realization of .. ... . ... ..... .... .... ...... .. .. ..... .. ...
.. .... ... .... .. ... ...... .. .... ... ... ...... ..... ........... ...... ..... ....... .... .... .... .... .... ... ..... ..... ... ..... ...... ..... .... ..... ....... .... .... ..... .... .... ...... ... ...... .... .....
...... ..... .... ....... .....
..... ..... .. ... ..... ... ...
........ ....... ... ..... .. ........ .... ... ..... ... ... ... ... .. ... .... ..... ..... ... .... .... .... ....... ... .... ... .......... .. ......... ....... ..... ..... ..... .... ...... ..... .... .... .... ... .... .... ... ....... .......... ...... ...... ..... .... ........ .... ....... ..... ..... ...... ...... ....... ...... ..... ...... ... ... ... .... ....... ..... ..... ..... ... ..........
... .... ....
...
..... ... .... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..... ... ... .. .. .. .. ........ .. ... - OH, THANK GOD!"
You are the most incompetent witch of a . .... ..... ..... ........ .......
.... . ..... ..... ... ......
....... ... ..... ..... ...... ....... ... ... ......... ..... ... ... ..... .... ... .... ......
....... .... . ........ ....... ..... ..... .. ........ ..... ............ ..... ...... ... .... .... ... ........
......... ..... ..... ...... .... ... .... ..... ..T! Just get out! And take this damn thing with you!"
I hurriedly shove the pen into Miffle's pocket and with a scalding visage admonish him without a single utterance. I seethe as his tears obscure the edges of his eyelids, and it is as if his hope drains away and collects into tiny inert puddles by the door - just before it closes behind him and smears his tears across my floor. My anger and bafflement roil for what seems ages.
- - -
Now, as the day draws close and my rage finally dwindles to ember, I allow myself to relax, to come off guard, and I wonder - I'll never know just what he had in mind with that spell. I've seen plenty of typos but never anything like that; And yes, I AM counting that time Swincy nearly wiped out the entire Gourmandier department in that unfortunate vivisepulture of "Anytime Truffles."
Still... I wish it hadn't been so important to him. The poor urchin has an almost fluvial way with the wand. And this time, this time, I could tell that he was nearly onto.... onto something. I had the strangest sensation that a new sort of consciousness was being birthed. Oh, but his lack of attention to detail! It always caps his brilliance!
If I only stopped him just before that final stroke, I might not have been engulfed in that mental nothingness he created, and I would not have reacted so harshly. But it was as if my mind had been wedged between the night and the Reaper himself. I am always aware of Death's presence, but never have I felt his breath on my neck before. That is a fear I hope to never encounter again; I may not have the strength to return.
I throw my reports into my bag and scan the room for anything I might leave behind. "What's that?" I bend down to pick up Miffle's pen cap. I must not have noticed - "OH FOR FU.... ....... | 2017-07-26T03:57:13 | 2017-07-25T20:43:49 | 417 | 32 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | "Have you no understanding of class?" I screamed at the timid student. "This spell has no parentheses around the functions! It's a fundamental error!" The student looked up, tears in eye.
"I didn't...I didn't know there was supposed to be a line break between the clover and the breelleaf addition..." he said, but I took that as a poor excuse. "Yeah, so 2cm more of space between the ink *isn't* a line spacing? Come up with a better excuse next time Jones," I said as I sent him back with a fail grade. Just then, my worst student, Adams stood up, showing the red marking I gave for his spell casting.
"Sir, this recipe looks perfectly fine! What's wrong?" I looked him dead in the eye, sighing as I walked towards his bench. The recipe was scanned critically as I looked for the error. But after one and two run-throughs, I failed to find the error in the 5 page long instructions. When I tried to cast it, however, the power fizzled at my fingertips. Adams looked at me arrogantly, as if he was challenging my authority. With a swift motion the spell was cast perfectly. But I couldn't do it...
I tried again and again, corroborating the list with my other colleagues. None of us could spot an error, and the student could cast it flawlessly. But - we - couldn't - do - it! And the appeal succeeded, the case being brought to the High School Academics Committee. Where the student performed it well again. And the professors scratched their heads. The recipe failed! So it was concluded that the student modified his recipe to succeed afterwards. As I left to conclude the case, the student begged me one last time to review it. And as my eyes looked through the same script, a thought struck me. *No way...*
"Is this an 'e' or an 'o' Adams?" I said sternly. The illegible letter was...ambiguous. And Adams nodded sheepishly as he responded. "An 'e' sir," he said.
*All that time...wasted...*
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | "Sir, you will not regret this. I swear." Miffle entered my quarters with a bound. The sweet smile in his eyes twittered with anticipation. Miffle's dreams of commanding a prestigious estate in the annals of spellmen's history ever lead his way.
"I see you think you've got something quite exceptional this time, Miffle. Well, go ahead, let's take a look. I hope we don't have as much work ahead of us this time as the last, eh?" I winked at him wryly.
The last spell Miffle wanted me to spell check let loose a small tornado in the hallway, instead of proving to be a safer way for the circus fliers to perform sans harnais de sécurité. Madam Eldermore nearly lost her cat, poor dear.
I encourage him to start, and Miffle extracts his wand and a curious silver pen from underneath his coat. With the pen in his right hand, his left hand lifts the wand with florid intent and whips it about with a grace that I cannot help but admire. His spell work is really quite poetic - when it is correct. The nuances are ever so delicate, and I almost miss it. He repeats the motion, and there it is again. My appreciation suddenly turns to horror at the realization of .. ... . ... ..... .... .... ...... .. .. ..... .. ...
.. .... ... .... .. ... ...... .. .... ... ... ...... ..... ........... ...... ..... ....... .... .... .... .... .... ... ..... ..... ... ..... ...... ..... .... ..... ....... .... .... ..... .... .... ...... ... ...... .... .....
...... ..... .... ....... .....
..... ..... .. ... ..... ... ...
........ ....... ... ..... .. ........ .... ... ..... ... ... ... ... .. ... .... ..... ..... ... .... .... .... ....... ... .... ... .......... .. ......... ....... ..... ..... ..... .... ...... ..... .... .... .... ... .... .... ... ....... .......... ...... ...... ..... .... ........ .... ....... ..... ..... ...... ...... ....... ...... ..... ...... ... ... ... .... ....... ..... ..... ..... ... ..........
... .... ....
...
..... ... .... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..... ... ... .. .. .. .. ........ .. ... - OH, THANK GOD!"
You are the most incompetent witch of a . .... ..... ..... ........ .......
.... . ..... ..... ... ......
....... ... ..... ..... ...... ....... ... ... ......... ..... ... ... ..... .... ... .... ......
....... .... . ........ ....... ..... ..... .. ........ ..... ............ ..... ...... ... .... .... ... ........
......... ..... ..... ...... .... ... .... ..... ..T! Just get out! And take this damn thing with you!"
I hurriedly shove the pen into Miffle's pocket and with a scalding visage admonish him without a single utterance. I seethe as his tears obscure the edges of his eyelids, and it is as if his hope drains away and collects into tiny inert puddles by the door - just before it closes behind him and smears his tears across my floor. My anger and bafflement roil for what seems ages.
- - -
Now, as the day draws close and my rage finally dwindles to ember, I allow myself to relax, to come off guard, and I wonder - I'll never know just what he had in mind with that spell. I've seen plenty of typos but never anything like that; And yes, I AM counting that time Swincy nearly wiped out the entire Gourmandier department in that unfortunate vivisepulture of "Anytime Truffles."
Still... I wish it hadn't been so important to him. The poor urchin has an almost fluvial way with the wand. And this time, this time, I could tell that he was nearly onto.... onto something. I had the strangest sensation that a new sort of consciousness was being birthed. Oh, but his lack of attention to detail! It always caps his brilliance!
If I only stopped him just before that final stroke, I might not have been engulfed in that mental nothingness he created, and I would not have reacted so harshly. But it was as if my mind had been wedged between the night and the Reaper himself. I am always aware of Death's presence, but never have I felt his breath on my neck before. That is a fear I hope to never encounter again; I may not have the strength to return.
I throw my reports into my bag and scan the room for anything I might leave behind. "What's that?" I bend down to pick up Miffle's pen cap. I must not have noticed - "OH FOR FU.... ....... | 2017-07-26T00:42:52 | 2017-07-25T20:43:49 | 137 | 32 |
[WP] It is 2040, and humanity had finally landed on Mars. Meanwhile, a top secret organization of Martians are forced to hide all evidence of human existence from the Martian people. They are the Martians in Black. | "They are coming, fast, turn the refractive shield on!" Captain Kokarola ordered.
"Yes, sir!"
"Zorba, where is Kurioziti?" Captain asked, impatient.
"Sir?"
"Kurioziti! The robot! Where is the robot!"
"Curiosity is already in the place he was last seen by the humans sir." Private Zorba said.
"Good, good, we are undetectable! They will never guess the password." Kokarola giggled, drinking his worms shake.
The humans landed near curiosity, it was the best place they found, it was a rare, flat area, big enough to set up a camp.
"Ryan, put our batteries inside that cave there, it's a good place against sandstorms and close to the satellites" Logan said, typing the door password.
"No problem."
Two days had passed, they had already checked the perimeter and everything was ready and deployed.
"Logan, I found something in the cave, come here!" Ryan exclaimed. "Fast, fast!"
"If this is a joke, I'm going to... What is that?" Logan said, confused, he glared at the keypad in the cave's wall.
"I think I recognize this numbers..." Logan murmured
"It's wingdings!" Ryan exclaimed, his eyes darted at the discovery, "I used in school with my friends, I know how to translate it!"
They heard something approaching, slowly, they hid behind the stones waiting for the worst.
"Oh my God, it's Curiosity, he is alive!" Ryan said, his jaw dropped.
"Maa ca m ena ma ca re macar ma rena" Curiosity did his best to say, beeping, before a strand of light turning him off.
"Holy shit.." Ryan mumbled "What the fuck was that?"
"Macarena, he said macarena! You can translate macarena to wingdings?" Logan blurted.
Ryan gave him a weird look, "Yes, but I need a paper."
Ryan wrote the translation, ❍︎♋︎♍︎♋︎❒︎♏︎■︎♋︎.
Just after Logan typed the code in the door, the cave's wall opened, and the refractive shield was shut down. | How do you count time in a timeless place? The sun moves, circling like some fly, far away and distant, and night falls and day comes but everything remains black red. How do you stop one day from bleeding into the next? When does the hope run out as the minutes keep piling on?
*They're not coming. No one will come.*
Earth glimmered like a star. That ancient light, only a few hours old, but ancient like a past he could never revisit.
*My people are dying.*
And the Others were laughing.
Through the cleft in the rock wall he saw the abandoned windows. Wind and erosion could not be so precise. There was music here and there, ghostly whispers in the harsh, quiet world.
"My name is Anthony Salaman. I come in peace."
He raised his hands in a universal gesture.
*Come, look. I am unarmed.*
No one came. At the colony more would be dying. He was chasing a shadow.
*I saw it. I saw it move.*
The shadows fell deep in the rock wall. It was a narrow stretch and the windows were holes of black on its face. Something lived there. He peered inside but he could see nothing.
*But I hear you.*
He walked forward. The ground fell down a slight hill and the wind picked up again. It carried the music of intelligent life. It sounded like a carnival, chaotic and baroque.
"I hear you!"
Then a shadow moved. He chased after it. It turned a corner and then he came to a clearing in the rock, like the inside of some large crator. Here and there he saw broken pottery and scattered wires.
"Stop! I need help! My people are dying."
The shadow had a human shape. It was black and tall and it stopped then. It turned around and stared at him. Never had he been so afraid. Its face looked dead, skin hanging like a mask, and it had eyes and sharp teeth. A blackness swarmed around it like smoke. It looked intelligent.
"I...I..."
"Others?" it said.
"You...You speak English?"
"Speak? Yes... Yes I speak, I suppose."
Its face was not moving. Anthony felt a sense of dread come over him. Beyond them the walls rose again, grey red in the dark.
*He was going to lead me there.*
He could feel his death waiting upon those hills. He felt the cold ripping pressure of his suit being destroyed, the life leaving him and those dead faces staring coldly at him.
*He was going to kill me there. There's an ambush.*
Now they stood still.
"I...I..."
"Where are they?"
He wanted to run. He wanted to go back to the colony.
Then another feeling came.
*No. No, it's untrue. Don't let it...*
A calmness set over him. The blackness around the Other seemed to thin, searching for him like snakes. He felt a cold penetrate his suit. But he felt safe.
"They're hurt aren't they?"
"Yes... I... They're hurt... They're dying."
"We can help. I can help. Where are they?"
*Resist. Resist.*
But it was too late.
"It's... It's over here."
He was leading it back to the camp. The shadows over the rockwall were like teeth.
*No...*
But then he was walking the wrong way. He made a right at the entrance and was walking past the red plains. They walked higher and higher. The colony was away to the left, far below the ridges they were passing.
*Yes. Good. Lead it astray.*
The thing walked behind him. It emanated a sedative. Though he was deathly scared, he could learn to like it.
"Are we close?"
*Lie.*
"No," he said.
He wanted to kick himself. But the thing laughed. Its skin pulled back in a tight emotion of joy and malice.
"Good," it said.
The blackness left him and circled the thing again. He was freezing and wanted to collapse.
"Ah...Ah..."
He stared at it and its dead eyes were sparkling.
"Know that their suffering will be brief," it said.
Then the lights flashed and for a moment Mars was white. Then the dark fell once more and he was alone. The Other had gone. But he could not remember it. He could not remember anything.
"Hello?"
He wandered the far plains of Mars. He looked up to a faraway star.
*That might be Mars. If I follow it I can find my way home.*
But the suit confused him. Everything confused. A panic built from deep within and he sat and trembled.
"Hello?"
There was no answer. Some music drifted past, mocking him almost. | 2017-08-22T04:41:07 | 2017-08-22T04:13:49 | 72 | 19 |
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head. | Grandpa was running toward me screaming "STOP STAY AWAY! HE HAS THE POWER TO STOP TI..."
And suddenly everyone stopped, again, all I saw was Dio screaming "ZA WARUDO" before it happened.
I could barely move a finger, but I saw it happening in front of me, Dio just murdered my grandfather!
When time resumed I was very angry! Grandpa last words were not to get angry, but my blood was boiling, I just wanted to punch that smug satisfied face to death.
As Dio approached me I launched my stand towards him
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA"
"MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA"
| I flipped it.
——
Social anxiety is a bitch, but this thing makes it easier.
It’s a Saturday afternoon and the mall is bustling. I just wanted to buy some new clothes, but it’s a day when everyone comes. I blink and they stop.
The world goes silent and every person is still. I slip around people and head off to Macy’s. I pick out my clothes (a new dress, a new pair of jeans, and a hat) when no one can look at me or speak to me. And then I get in line behind everyone else at the check out.
I blink and they move again.
When I’ve paid for my clothes and have walked away from the counter, I freeze time again. Soon enough, I’m putting the bag in my purse and then hopping on my bike. You can’t drive a car when the rest of them are still, but you can get a bike around them. It wears you out the same, but it’s still like you got home in an instant.
“Hey! Hey!”
I almost crash my bike. I brake and manage to stop. Around me, the world is still frozen. All except one man, who is jogging towards me.
“You can move too!” He’s excited. He’s at least a decade older than me. “When everything stops. You can move too.”
I stare at him. “Wait... you...”
He nods. “Yeah, since I was a teen. This thing happens.” He waves around himself. “Everyone freezes for a few minutes or a few hours... and then it starts again. Never know when. Sucks, doesn’t it?”
“It sucks?” I ask. It’s the greatest thing ever to me. Why would it suck for him?
His excitement kinda dies down. “I was on the interstate once. Few years ago. Time stopped, my car stopped... but when it started again, my hands were off the wheel and I was looking out the back window. Car went straight back to sixty but I wasn’t controlling it...” He lets out a heavy sigh. “My wife died in the accident.”
I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s my fault. I killed this man’s wife.
“Hey, kid, relax. You’re smart. You already figured out you shouldn’t get behind the wheel of a car, didn’t you? Whatever weird quirk of the universe this is, we just gotta live it out.” He laughed. “Make sure you cross those streets real fast though. You never know when the cars will start moving again.”
He’s right. My freezing and unfreezing time could kill him. I’ll never know what situation he’s in. If it’ll be safe for me to make the world move again.
“I gotta get home,” I say. I start biking away.
“See you later, kid,” he says. But when I’ve gone just a little ways away, I stop and look back at him.
How am I supposed to use my power when I have to worry about him?
He steps out onto the road where cars are frozen at forty-five miles per hour. He’s moving fast to get across before they start again.
I blink. | 2018-01-26T07:03:15 | 2018-01-26T06:55:50 | 71 | 39 |
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head. | The time stops. The first time it had happened was months ago, and only for a few shocking seconds. I remember being afraid I'd had a stroke or something, but I never got it checked out. How do you tell a doctor that one second you're eating lunch and then nothing moves but you?
The second time was maybe five minutes. I panicked when it started, but once I realized I was in control of myself and didn't seem like anything was wrong, it started seeming less terrifying. I admit, I did a few things I shouldn't have. Took advantage of the situation. A few dropped pants and tied shoes, nothing worse than that. Not like I could do anything more elaborate anyway, since I never knew when the time stops were coming or how long they'd last.
I knew somehow instinctively that I wasn't making time stop. Once I figured that out, I felt a little disappointed, but it didn't bother me ultimately. Whoever it was didn't do a time stop very often, and they didn't manage to get me when the time was wrong, so it didn't bother me much. That is, until today. Or would it be more accurate to say three "days" ago?
The time stops started picking up frequency over the last few weeks. Once a day, then twice a day, sometimes three or four. Fifteen minute stretches, thirty minutes. The longest one was about three hours. Inconvenient at best and downright boring at worst. It was always in the back of my head that I should find out who was doing this and give them a talking-to. Did they know whatever they were doing didn't affect me? Were they playing a prank on me or something? But every time I'd gotten to the point where I was just fed up enough to try, time would pop back into reality and I'd eventually forget the frustration.
Except for this one. After six hours had stretched on with no end in sight, I decided it was time to make good on my threats. It took a bit of calming down and being focused, but I finally felt an odd feeling, like a compass needle pointing me in a direction. Since time hadn't returned, I followed it. Not like I have anything better to do.
I was on day three when I found the room.
A woman lay in a hospital bed, tubes sprouting from seemingly everywhere around her. To her right, a doctor stood, his hand poised over a silent machine. And to her left, a man sat in an uncomfortable-looking chair. His right hand rested on the woman's forehead, gently brushing her hair from her face with his thumb. His left hand's fingers intertwined with hers, their gold rings tapping against each other. And his head was downturned, staring at the floor, until the sound of my footsteps made one haggard eye raise up over his outstretched left arm.
We looked at each other in silence for a moment, then he looked away, his hand resuming stroking her hair. He looked like shit. Like he'd been crying for three days straight.
I stood still for a moment, then simply brought a chair from another room and sat down quietly next to him. He didn't acknowledge me. I could see his chest heaving again with silent, pained sobs.
And time stretched on.
-------------------------------------------
First time posting here. Prompt lodged a scene in my head and I knew better than to ignore it. Just wrote it and did barely any editing before posting, so please be kind to me! I haven't written anything more or less since my degree burned away all my desire to write, lol. | I was seven the first time it happened. The teacher was in the middle of having us recite our multiplication tables. I was daydreaming, staring absentmindedly into space while the sun shining through the windows lulled me into a pleasant state of drowsiness. It took a few seconds for me to realize the monotone drone of numbers had stopped, leaving nothing but silence.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked around. All my friends were frozen - Tom over there with his glasses falling off the bridge of his nose, Abigail's eyes mid-blink. Before I could react, everything snapped back into motion. They continued reciting as if they hadn't just been paralyzed, trapped in time. I was practically bouncing out of my chair, holding back a grin. I had powers!
That dream died quickly. Try as I might, I could never get time to stop or start at will; it seemed to do as it pleased. I tried rewinding it that one time I asked my crush out while hammered, fast-forwarding it at a high school recital; once I even tried to jump back a few years to the last time I saw my gran before the dementia set in. No go. Time, however was cooperative enough in stopping so I could watch the life leave her in the hospital bed at my own pace. Her veiny hands stayed curled around my own until the world started up again and her heart monitor flatlined.
The last time, I was on the subway home from work. The train car rolled to a halt in the station, hydraulics hissing, but the doors did not open. A quick glance at my watch - the second hand had stopped ticking. Dammit. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too long. I pulled out my phone to occupy myself for however long I would be stuck. A flash of movement caught my eye and my head snapped up. Noone else ever moved when the world stopped, ever. My eyes darted from person to person, each perfectly still. Was I imagining things? Had I gone mad? Was this all some twisted hallucination that was finally moving to the next level?
Movement again, outside the car. I ran to the window, stumbling over my own feet, just to catch a glimpse of strawberry-blonde hair tucked into a knit cap disappearing into the crowd, nimbly darting around the mass of motionless commuters. I banged on the glass.
"Hey!" I shouted. "Hey-y!" The stranger didn't respond or react in the slightest, just continuing to run off. I couldn't even tell if they heard me. The subway doors opened with a lurch and a few people glanced at me, gaze flicking up from their respective devices for a few seconds before steadfastly ignoring the crazy guy banging his fist against the window. Heat crept into my cheeks and I sat back down.
I spent that night staring at the ceiling in the dark, agonizing. Who was that? Did someone else have this power, this influence over time? Could they teach me? Were they trying to meet me?
The next day, shadows deep under my eyes, I took the train back to the same station. It would have been faster to take a different route, but I had to know - I /had/ to. I stood on that platform for hours, looking for the same blonde hair, the same small figure. I was met with a sea of people, but none of them the one I was looking for.
It was nearing the end-of-day rush. Deflated, I readied myself to push onto the next homeward-bound train. It stopped abruptly at the platform, the screeching of the rail being cut off into absolute silence.
"Hi."
I whirled around. Directly behind me stood a young man, about my age, with short-clipped strawberry blonde hair. His hospital scrubs peeked out from under his long black coat, hands shoved deep in the pockets. He shuffled his feet, reached up to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
I blinked. "Tom?"
He smiled, but his eyes were shaky. "You remember me!"
"Dude, it's been years! I haven't seen you since - what, high school?"
"Well... Yeah, you haven't seen me."
"Wait, so, this -" I gestured to the static people around me "- is you? This is all you?"
He nodded.
"So then, in elementary school - "
"I kind of froze," he laughed, glancing off to the side. "That was by accident and I didn't know what was going on. Everything just stopped, except... Except you. I thought I was crazy, so I never brought it up."
I thought back to every instance time had stopped. Up until a certain point, they had been serendipitous - in the middle of an exam I would have bombed otherwise, just before the bus home from school took off. It was only after graduation that the pauses grew erratic, almost inconsiderate. Except -
"The hospital," I said. "That was you?"
Tom nodded. "I dunno. It had been so long, and I felt kind of weird talking to you when you were there for - well - yeah. I thought it would be nice to give you some more time. I realized after that that was pretty stupid. I'm sorry."
I clenched and unclench my fists a few times. "It's... Fine. It's fine. But why are you coming to me now, if it was awkward then?"
He looked down at his feet, face coloring pink.
"Holy shit," I said, the realization dawning on me. "That's kind of sweet, actually."
"This is probably really weird -"
" - no kidding - "
"But, I mean, hey." He glanced up to meet my eyes and gave me a shy smile. "You're the only other person who can move when the world stops, so... We could use that."
I laughed. "Buy me dinner first. Next Friday at eight?"
"I'll be there," he promised. "After all, I've got plenty of time."
(bad pun didn't know how to end this sorry) | 2018-01-26T07:14:36 | 2018-01-26T07:03:03 | 39 | 23 |
[WP] On your deathbed you confide to your nurse the fact that you were a serial killer who got away with your crimes. "Me too," She replies wryly. | I try to pick up my spoon, determined to feed myself. It shakes in my hand, no matter how I tighten my grip, but I will not concede defeat, and manage to get a small dose of soup into my mouth. It is bland, tasteless. How far I have fallen.
After so many years of faithful service, the Lady Death now turns her black eyes to me. My form withers beneath her gaze, corruption spreading from her caress. And the pain! Ye gods, the pain.
A knock upon my door. I bid them enter, and the healer approaches. She is a pretty little thing, all blonde curls and vapid smiles. I doubt she has ever known true power. I doubt she ever will.
"Your medicine, Lord Joros," she says, proffering a vial of clear liquid. I eye it warily. Innocuous as it looks, it has a foul taste that stays long after that initial swallow. Yet it is all that keeps my Lady from visiting, and I am not ready to make that journey yet.
A swallow, a grimace, and it is done.
She turns to leave, and a peculiar sensation washes over me. I grab her wrist. I do not want her to leave. Why?
"Please," I hear myself say, "Stay a while. Hear me speak."
The sensation grows stronger. Is this... *fear*?
I dismiss the notion, but it returns. Again, and again. I am afraid. But why?
"What would you have me hear, my lord?" she says.
"I..."
For once, words fail me. I want her to hear my words, but I cannot think of what to say. Why am I afraid?
The answer comes swiftly, accompanied by anguish. I want to tell her of my service to my Lady, tales I have never shared with another. I do not want to be forgotten, when I am gone.
And so I tell her. I tell her of the Shattered Isles, of my training at the hands of the Priest there. I tell her of my time in Threx, of the years of debauchery, wine and blood flowing in equal measure atop those cobbled streets.
I tell her of my near-miss at the hands of another servant of my Lady, how I left his head at the summit of the Iron Mountain, as a warning to the rest.
I tell her of the men, women and children who died at my hand. I tell her how their fear fuelled me, how it satisfied the hunger that plagues me even now.
I tell her everything, and she listens without a word.
"I am a disciple of the Lady Death." I say. I am tired now. Exhaustion grips me harder than before. The medicine must be losing efficacy. It will not be long before my journey begins. I close my eyes.
"Me too," she says, wryly.
And then I am staring at her, staring at the empty vial in her hand. Wasn't the medicine green earlier? My eyes flick back to her.
She's smiling at me, not unkindly. I find myself smiling back. What is happening?
"The Lady Death acknowledges your faithful service, Joros of the Night. This corruption that plagues you is not her doing. I am here to deliver you, safely, to her arms."
My limbs are heavy now. I cannot lift them. All I can do, is stare at that smiling face, those blond curls, those green eyes.
"Sleep now, Joros. You'll be with our Lady soon."
I close my eyes again, and cannot open them. My strength fades.
My journey begins.
| I just needed to see the look in *someone’s* eyes before I croaked, that moment when they realised what had been right under their nose all along.
Getting away with murder is good for the ego, but does tend to get old after a while. Or in my case, thirty years.
After the diagnosis, I had it all planned out. A game of cat and mouse with the media and the police. A nice, dramatic arrest, where I'd hopefully get shot in the process. And if all else failed, suicide in jail.
Anything was preferable to wasting away, unknown and forgotten in my own bed.
But cancer has a way of screwing with your plans.
“Want to know something interesting?" I said, grasping the nurse's hand when she came with the evening meal, stopping her flood of inane chatter. Nurse Sophie, wasn't she? Yes, I could just make out the name tag.
It was as good a day as any to tell the truth, while I still had some strength and clarity of mind.
"What's that darling?" she said, her voice a honeyed trill that set my teeth on edge. She had a placid face, red and plump from years of bad dieting. Her round, soft blue eyes settled on mine.
As much as I loathed her on sight, she looked perfect. Just the type to go into hysterics and spread my story to everyone who would listen. It would start in the nurse's tea room, probably, and eventually reach the ears of someone who mattered.
"I killed about twenty people in my life. In my apartment, you'll find all my notebooks, my...memorabilia. Do tell someone to go take a look, will you? They might even figure out where I buried them, if they're clever. I was going to lead them on a merry dance all the way to the end of the rainbow, but I don't think I'm up for the chase anymore."
Sophie fell silent for once, those round little eyes playing across my face. Then a small smile dimpled her fat cheeks.
"You believe what you're saying, at any rate, I can tell," she chuckled. "Well, what a funny coincidence. Me too!"
"You too, what?" I said, struggling to make sense of the conversation.
"Me too, I kill all sorts of people. Well, I never. Meeting a kindred spirit in a hospital, isn't that funny?"
She was checking my charts as I watched her, looking for signs that she was humouring me. I'd become an expert at reading human nature over the years - it fascinated me, the things that were missing in myself.
Something in this woman's tiny smile, the way her eyes flickered to mine, made my skin crawl in recognition.
"Going to plunge that needle in my arm now, are you?" I said finally, eyeing the syringe in her pocket with some trepidation. I knew *I* felt an instant, instinctive curiosity about killing someone like myself. How would the experience differ, how would they react?
Sophie blinked and gave her tinkling laugh as she adjusted my bedding.
"Now, why would I do that? We're having a perfectly lovely conversation," she said. "What were your plans before you told me? You must've had one, surely? Wanted to come clean before taking the final bow, did you? Get a little recognition for all you troubles?"
That, more than anything, convinced me. She understood.
"I had a plan, before I wound up here," I said, staring at the ceiling as I remembered. "I was going to let someone escape, let them tell the police. Then get rid of all the evidence, and see if they are *any* good at their jobs, after handing myself to them on a platter...nothing ever came of it, though. The stupid bitch is still in the hospital, I think. Never told anyone."
"And who might that bitch be?" Sophie asked softly, leaning down to hear me better. Her breath was sweet and cloying, and made me itch to get away from her. Absurd.
"I don't know. Claire, I think. Can't remember her surname," I said.
Sophie cocked her head and smiled a bit wider. "Ah, lovely girl. Like a broken bird, wasn't she? Such a sweet little face, even cut up as it was. You *did* make a mess of her. A pity she died so quickly, I wanted to make it last a bit longer."
We stared at each other. Sophie's smile didn't falter. I opened my mouth to say something, when my doctor entered the room. She immediately busied herself at the tray bearing my meal.
"Peter, I don't want to get you too excited," he said, but couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "I have your latest results. It's early days yet, but you're showing signs of remission."
I barely listened to his rambling, at the news that I wasn't dying anytime soon. I was watching the smile on Sophie's face, a smile I recognised. I'd worn it often enough.
After he'd gone, she came to place the cold bowl of soup on my stomach and leaned in close.
"What wonderful news - we can continue our chats. I've never met someone like me before, have you?"
"Look, lady..." I began, but she wasn't done.
"I'd say a setback is in order, don't you? Just a little coma, that'll do nicely for a start...you can't go just yet."
I tried to sneer, but couldn't quite manage it. "As if the doctor would believe I just fell into a coma right after going into remission."
Her soft eyes were almost pitying as she clamped a meaty hand over my mouth, her breath washing over me.
"I really do need need to teach you something about constructing a good story, don't I?"
---------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2018-02-27T06:48:32 | 2018-02-27T06:25:09 | 2,540 | 78 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | I’m one-hundred and four now and there are more things than not that I have forgotten in my life. I can’t tell you the first time I traveled to another planet. I can’t recall the name of my instructor from school. And, I’ve even forgotten the name of my first friend in under school. I can, however, remember to this day the first time I had seen a human.
Sophia Barton was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Sure, she was short like every human. Yeah, she had the unnecessarily long hair that most human females do. She even did the all too predatory action of bearing her teeth, often. Despite all of this, Sophia has been my closest companion since I was only nine.
“Why do we have to Mom?”
“Because they’re coming into the Council, now stop fussing.” My mother told me sternly, as we waited behind the large glass walls looking into the ship terminal.
“It’s stupid, why does she need to stay at our house?” I asked my mother, not seeing how selfish I was being at the time.
“Rules are rules, dear.” She never went into much depth, even as she got older.
When the ship landed, I remember how much I tried not to look. I even tried to wander into a different room, but the loud screaming that sounded after the engines silenced kept my eyes glued to the platform.
She was tiny. Her face was red and glistened from moisture oozing out of orifices. All I could think was how ugly humans are. What a shame they were being allowed into the Council. The little girl kept creating such a fuss that I didn’t even notice the hand she was holding onto was the hand of my father, Third Admiral of Council Collective Space Fleet. But, after contact with the horrendous looking humans, he was brought down to nothing more than a baby sitter.
"Ew, she is not staying in my room.” I said, with my face smashed against the window, ears raised to the cold surface. My mother merely shushed me and led me to the entrance where my father was entering, with his new unfortunate luggage.
My parents embraced and my father even gave me some sort of wooden toy he had gotten on one of the human’s planets. I whispered my protests into his lowered ear, but he would be having none of it. The day felt like it would be the beginning of something horrible, especially if I was going to be listening to the disgusting sniveling sounds coming from the tiny human clinging to my father’s large grizzled one. It wasn’t until I tripped down a flight of steps later a few minutes later, as I was scuffing my feet in childish anger, that I realized that it was actually the exact opposite.
Empathy, compassion, mercy, call it what you like, but humanity has it. Every race in the Council is powerful, intelligent, clever, or resilient, but the humans are just plain nice. The lumbering Marins are the least opportune race to face head to head. The Yyes are known for their near perfect soldiers. Graes are the oldest and most intelligent of the races. You’d be hard-pressed to find a Nami who can’t con you out of the last credits you have left in your pocket. Then there are the Undarins who can withstand temperatures from 278K to 295K. It was barely ten cycles after humans were accepted into the Council that the status quo changed. | Hidden in space-thick, as humans would know to call it in 830 years, two high spectrum semi-intelligent colony aggregates spectated human history through a light beading-apparatus. Homo sapiens, blissfully unaware of its clandestine observers, plodded through time slowly and clumsily. The duo sensed closely. They communicated their findings in a "cross-feeling" that the humans would come to discover and understand one day, to the alien races' surprise.
"They are initiating vertical knowledge transfer. Really early now, but I expect rapid growth of information because of this." Alien 1.
"Affirmative." Alien 2.
"Biomass evaluation at 20% standard hereditary potential. Early lag phase population growth sustained for 3 oirons now. I'm wondering when they're going to spike, guesses?" Alien 1 questioned.
A long pause. "Unpredictable," Alien 2 responded. "Feel their basic physiology. They have not even left lag and are barely aggregating, but conflicts are making it impossible for an exponential setup. It is as if they are resistant to improvement."
"You and your idealism. I thought you bound to this duty to appreciate the diversity of semi-intelligence, not to scrutinize it." Alien 1.
"Almost the same thing." Alien 2 responded. This was not a gesture of wit, for asexual beings such as this were physiologically exempt from these things as their genesis did not require them. Yet, almost invariably there was a sense of humor, or some mechanism of irony or mishap. Alien 1 found that there was something sharp in what Alien 2 communicated.
(Try to think, reader, of a language so specific it was as if every synonym of every word that we use so flexibly today has its own specific meaning, so that context is always preserved in the passing of information. Then think even harder of using this language by feeling with hundreds of sensitive hands coated in feeling bacteria (endogenous of course to the aliens' home system), which conjugate and pass information at relatively incredible speeds to the aliens' neural networks. This is akin to what we fear artificial intelligence will become in the present day - instantaneous communicators that will far outpace us. The aliens' conversations themselves occurred in fractions of a second. But this was matched by the passing of human history in the observational equipment at ten million times normal human perception speed. For the aliens, it was a comfortable pace and they could speed it up or slow it down at will.)
"I disagree, but we shall not debate over the subject." Alien 1. "Some civilization now, agriculture. Of course, some cultural development with the accumulation of resource centers. The societal hierarchies are a little deviant, but that is to be expected from a species driven by instinct. But what is this?"
The Sumerians had built weapons, domesticated horses, and used them both to attack another human population, the Elam. The Sumerians slaughtered them, claimed their weapons and property, and extended their domain to that land. The aliens were not baffled by war; it was a reasonable die or survive response to overpopulation. Alien 2 found nothing significant in the event.
"This can only be due to societal pressure due to expansion. They're a war species, so they probably won't proliferate much more. Though it is premature, I predict that this semi-intelligence will not reach an exponential phase." Alien 2.
"The locales of the conflicts. They are far apart. How can you say that this is pressure of expansion that causes the war?" Alien 1.
"Because, look. Society is at 200% biomass of SHP. It's increasing slowly at this point but it is almost directly proportional is the rate of armed conflict." Alien 2.
"Only certain societies are warring. They seem to divide by nationality." Alien 1.
"It has been established how erratic their behavior is."
"Yes."
"And they are still in the lag phase. After 38 oirons now."
"Yes."
A short pause. "Then let us collect more data if you are so curious."
Wars continued. Little else occurred that the aliens could not explain. But Alien 1 was seeing a trend that Alien 2 was not. Preceding wars, civilizations would push to advance technologies to defend themselves. Then, the war would occur, leaving behind many deaths. From the victor came the evolved technology, the new land, and a more consolidated people. But then, due to threat of war, this briefly large society would fragment into nationalistic, smaller ones with more effective people. It was as if the wars were not occurring as a defense mechanism or a population control response, but a very inefficient means for stimulating progress.
As soon as the 19th and 20th century arrived, the light-beading apparatus was slowed about 20x for more specific viewing. Alien 2 had been wrong. Population skyrocketed. Wars and diplomatic conflicts transformed national boundaries. The rate of industrial improvement was impressive even to Alien 2, based off of the last 50 oirons (about 18,000 years) of relative population and technological stagnation.
Alien 1 was justified in its postulate about human wars. The industrial revolution and many inventions of the 20th century had been greatly impacted by the real threat of war everywhere. Pressures to improve society at the nationalist level brought groups of people together to solve problems that had positive ramifications outside of warfare. Alien 1 communicated this to Alien 2.
"This isn't really a war species at all. Even though it is a defining characteristic necessary to its development." Alien 1 concluded. "It is a semi-intelligence that simply tries to improve itself and is not afraid of death."
"Is it a threat to us?"
"No. But I don't think they will destroy themselves so give them a few thousand years and they might be."
| 2018-03-17T05:52:27 | 2018-03-17T05:20:00 | 176 | 90 |
[WP] You are the rebellious teenage child of a demon. In the midst of volunteering for a soup kitchen, your demon parent crashes into the building with their luxury vehicle, screaming about how you're "tearing this family apart." | "This is cold!" The ratty old homeless man threw the bowl of mushroom soup at my face. It's not his fault he's crazy. Goodwill is the way into heaven after all, and I can only do my best, even if every fibre in my body wants to put that ingrate through a wall. Momma always taught me to ignore people like that. Leeches on society, she'd call them. But she's wrong. I know she's wrong.
Suddenly, his eyebrows rounded and the tiger eyes below turned into sweet puppy dog eyes. I could tell he didn't mean it; he wanted to apologize and make it up to me, but something was stopping him. He ran out of the door without saying another word.
Poor guy. Why did father have to make it worse by running him over? Ugh, he's always showing off that stupid car. The red flames painted on the sides just scream mid-life crisis - 12,000 years old and he's still acting like a child.
Terror struck the faces of everyone in that building. The walls came down like toothpicks. Dust settled in the soup. But their screams fueled him - he loves that stuff. Through the smoke I could see his silhouette walking up to me in feigned style. A long, grotesque finger extended out from the wreckage, pointing to me.
"You..."
Gross. He's always using that stupid voice trick. He thinks it's intimidating, but he really just sounds like a rape victim on 20/20.
"You come home this instant, young man."
"Why should I?"
"ARE YOU QUESTIONING MY AUTHORITY?"
Father always had an authority complex. Maybe it's because he spends all day telling people what to do. Stab him in the eye repeatedly for 12 hours. Stretch him out until his bones are all separate entities. Force honey down her throat and let the mosquitoes eat devour her stomach. It's all gross and pointless, but he thinks it's so important.
He floated over to me, gaining on me until our noses kissed. "You are tearing this family apart!" I can smell the blood on his breath. He had fish and testicles for breakfast. Still fresh.
"I'm just trying to make a difference, father."
"Your mother is rolling in her pit. You should be ashamed of yourself!"
He misses mom. So do I, but it's no excuse to act this way. I backed away from him. Those puppy dog eyes were all too familiar, hiding behind an eternity of pain.
"I'm sorry, dad."
Flames engulfed the room. A burning passion rose from the ground. So I handed him a bowl of cold mushroom soup. An aroma filled the air unlike anything he had experienced. Love.
"Try this. Please." He grabbed it from my hand. Scowling. I know he can't help it.
That was the first time I saw my dad cry.
And in that moment, I finally learned how to extinguish those flames. | I was slowly stirring the white asparagus soup in a counterclockwise motion. I kept a tedious tempo, and though not the most stimulation task, I knew the result would benefit from my patience. As sudden and unbecoming as the pain from a kidney stone, a thunderous crash usurped the soup kitchen, as the back wall to the actual kitchen crumbled from the force of a Rolls-Royce ramming into it.
A cloud of married smoke combined from the vehicle and crushed wall filled the kitchen, and the mortal humans standing at both my sides. As the person emerging from the car, I was rather unfaced by the thick cloud. Two dark brown leather shoes hit the floor, with a cling, like a cowboys boots entering a saloon.
My father's voice finally appeared before the smoke cloud allowed his appearance to show itself.
“Get in the car!”.
Silence, though not the smartest weapon against my father, it was by far the most effective. Nothing could enrage him more than receiving nothing more than silence to one of his commands. As usual his eye slowly twisted from a faint reddish hue into a couple of full red blood moons. As predictable as a plot in a b-horror movie, I knew how this was going to end, unless I broke my silence and heeded his command, our confrontation would escalate to a point resembling the title of an 80's rock song.
“You are NOT a worthy Nephilim, but to find you in a place like this, after thousands of years of searching. A cathedral of everything we are against.”
Thousands of years, the words echoed in my mind, and yet nothing seemed to have changed, aside from his vehicle. He was the same, unchanged from his habits and one minded personality. This exact realization gave me confidence, because this would result in him underestimating me, as my experiences the last hundred years, had only made me stronger than ever before. I might finally be able to stand my ground, keep my silence and for once be the one to walk away from one of our fights.
And I mean fight in its literal word, because that is what we do, I run, he chases and when he catches up, I get physically beat, but to this day he had never won the mental war, and for the first time, he was about the lose the physical war too.
“Once again it seems like I have to reminded you I am here to help.” He flashed a quick smile on his face, now revealed as the smoke had subsided.
He could talk all he wanted, I knew in my heart that the kind of help my father would show me, had never done any good, for anyone, creature of hell or mortal man. I was staring into his red eyes, into the eyes of a creature who combined components measured up into the exact opposite of myself. For the first time I felt strong standing my ground against him, which meant he had to finally be the weak one. I clenched my fists, preparing for the inevitable, and made my first move since he had “entered” the kitchen. I turned my head 45 degrees to the right and spit on the floor with enough control, making sure it would land close but not hitting his fucking leather shoes.
As the spit landed he looked down, then up again, holding my gaze only for a moment, before letting out an unnecessarily cocky laugh.
“Dear boy, you think you finally have the strength to beat me? Well that is where you are wrong. The thing you think is strength that you feel inside you. That is the most disgusting and insulting feeling a demon could have, and you have mistaken it for strength. It is just compasion you fool. Something only strong in the hands of many, but alone, what difference does it make?”
He took a step forward, deliberately stepping in the spit.
“You are nothing but a compassionate fool. So determined to make a difference, that you have forgotten who you truly are. Did you ever stop to think this misplaced love for these disgusting mortal beings, only made me torture them even more?”
His word brought me to my knees, he had just delivered the most unexpected punch he had ever thrown, like he knew my will to help was the only thing he had never taken away from me.
“If you keep loving, I will only hate more. The only was to truly help is to give up son. If you give up right now and get in the car, I will make you one promise. From this day forward we release the hate and torture upon this worlds, as we are destined to, but to fewer people than I have done before.”
Without thinking much about his suggestion, I already felt the leather seat of the Rolls-Royce beneath me. He had finally broken me mentally. The first time I had felt confident in victory I had been beat worse than ever before. He entered the car and backed out of the building, and with a victorious smile he calmly said.
“It is a lost cause fighting who we truly are, and in the process of doing so, we cause more damage than we think.”
It had never occurred to me that my attempts to help, had caused unnecessary harm to anyone, but in a sick and twisted way, my father had not only won our war, but he had taken me prisoner to his sick nature, and made it a reality for me to hurt people, just to save other from harm. The one thing I set out to accomplish when I first ran away. | 2018-12-03T15:25:51 | 2018-12-03T14:11:00 | 48 | 14 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed" | As per usual, I started with a control—my beautiful infant daughter. We had left her alone several minutes ago to nap, so I rose from my desk and padded over to the nursery, feet gingerly landing on the hardwood floor.
I twisted the doorknob carefully and crept inside the dim room, trying not to startle her. I stalked to the side of her crib and peered down at her soft, fluttering eyelids.
“We have very rare and special gift,” my umma had explained when I was young. “You can look through anyone’s eyes, right into the soul, just like all Park women before you.” It was then that I understood why my female ancestors had all kept their mothers’ name. Needing my little girl to look me in the eye, gently cooing seemed to be enough to manipulate her sleepy face into focusing on me. I whispered the question.
‘Zero’, the voice whispered back.
I smiled. Couldn’t hurt to make sure, right? I closed the door behind me with care. Briefly wondering if I could conjure information from photos, I realized I had never bothered to check. I jogged to the kitchen, where hanging on the wall was a well-lit photo with my mom and dad looking into the camera; their grins were wide as they stood aside their daughter at her graduation from university.
Just beside the photo was another, messier one, depicting my husband in a large group of his army mates during his last tour. This was before the incident and his honorable discharge. I turned to my parents and tried to focus. After some moments of labored concentration, my brain was fooled.
“How many deaths have you caused, umma?”
‘Zero’, it said.
“And daddy? How many?” I already knew the answer. He has always regretted this horrible accident from his days of heavy drinking.
‘One.’
Now to find out what a monster my husband was. I bounced into the office where he sat at his desk and, much to his false chagrin, tousled his hair.
From his chair, he grabbed my hips and tickled my sides, growling, “I spend twenty minutes crafting the perfect bed head, and you trample it all in seconds.” I broke free of his relentless assault. “Whaddya want, Godzilla?”
I sat eye level to him on an adjacent ottoman. “Well...”
“Oh no,” he interjected. “I know that tone. That high pitched note that curls up at the end. You want to frisk my head, huh?”
“Just this one thing! And then I’ll leave you alone.”
He heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Okay. Just this one thing, but only because I love you.”
He removed his sunglasses and placed them on the desk beside us, then rolled his big office chair towards me with my guidance. We brought our faces inches apart, close enough for him to lock onto my eyes. He would never be able to meet my gaze otherwise.
“How many deaths are you responsible for?”
He jerked back. “What?” I saw the whites of his eyes.
‘Nineteen.’
“Why the fuck would you do that?” He shot to his feet, chair colliding into the bookshelf behind him. A small stone statue fell from a shelf and smashed to pieces on the floor. “Do you have any idea what it’s like? Why I’ve tried to suppress those memories? Why I need so much god damn therapy?”
I gazed up at him with disdain. “Calm down.”
“‘Calm down’!? I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you.” My arms were apparent enough for him to grab, jerking me to my feet. He then painfully gripped my hands in his.
“How many people have you killed!?”
“Ha! Why would I-“
‘Thirty six.’
He froze.
I smiled. Then I broke into laughter.
“Thank you. I’d lost count.” | Max had just woke up from one of those long naps that leave you feeling heavy and confused. Slowly he moved his feet towards the floor and got up with a stretch. He opened his phone to see 17:00 staring at him. Shit. Max had missed the most important time of the day for the 3rd time this week. His new job left him exhausted on the little time he had to spare resulting in untimely naps. You see Max has a special power. Not the kind you see in movies, one more discreet and interesting. From the moment he was born he could use a search tool once every day, specifically at noon 15:00. A little exclamation mark will pop up in his eyesight until he starts the search, almost like a side quest in a video game. If he forgets to use one it’ll stack up to a max of 10. This window lasted a minute but it was the most amazing tool some would dream of. Any small detail of someone’s past, boom, you have it. It’s like reaching into their mind of networks pulling out anything you please.
At first he’d search innocent things, *where did mommy get that necklace?* until the growing mind of a preteen set in and more gruelling questions sat in his brain. He wanted to really dive into their past, so when Max was 12 he sat staring at his watch on the couch glancing at each family member, his mind racing with questions. Finally the clock strikes 15, the burning question he’d be scared to ask filled the search bar
*Why does dad have a large scar down his neck?*
the exhilaration quickly turned into a sad, scared gloom. Before he had a chance to react, his dad promptly asked ‘Hey max chuck me a bag of those chips will ya?’ In his frightened state Max couldn’t bring himself to it, instead he ran out the room and swiftly shut the door and lied down. Whatever this power was, he would need to restrain from being so personal.
Now as an adult he’d only done it for little things at his workplace to keep himself entertained, *What was my managers first ever job?* and things similar.
That was until today.
14:00 Max had slaved away for the past 16 hours, undergoing both a night plus morning shift at the office. He needed the money to sustain a godawful amount of rent, consequently when he got home to his apartment his first instinct was to jump on his bed and fall into a deep sleep. However he noticed a big red circle on his calendar. ‘God is it really this time of the year again...’ Max mumbled. His birthday had crept up and he’d spent the majority of it half asleep in an office. His phone was lit up with dozens of Facebook and Instagram messages from family and the few friends he’d sustained. “26, where have these years gone?” He mumbled again, he put the kettle on and made a coffee to push back the lingering sleep.
*Ding Ding Ding*
He walked over and opened the door to be greeted by his entire family. Mother, father and three brothers. He couldn’t quite believe it had been this long. As everyone sat down and set up the birthday cake, he blew out the candles, made a wish, etc etc. The only entertainment Max had was a game of monopoly and a few other board games. Sure, why not. Let’s have a game.
14:34
Max saw the time and remembered, very soon he’d have a question to ask, and considering his family are here, he could be a bit more adventurous. He rolled the dice and saw the big ‘Prison’ tile on the monopoly board.
Max had a Sudden flashback to when he was a kid and asked that dreaded question. *How did dad get that scar?* the terrifying visual image manifested itself back into his brain.
*Self-made knife from prisoner inmate, Colorado 1979.*
*Samuel Oliver’s was detained for attempted Murder, however the lack of evidence caused a drop in the case*
Ever since Max was 12 he’d wanted to ask if he truly was a murderer, but even as a adult he’d never brought himself to it. However Max new this secret would end today, or else he’ll be asking it for the rest of his life.
14:59
Max was a few rolls from winning the game, but his mind was elsewhere. Suddenly an Exclamation mark disrupted his vision, to his surprise, there was a small ‘4’ next to the mark. They must have stacked up from all his missed questions due to his long naps.
Max thought he’d test out his question for Father on the others, just to be safe.
*How many people has mother killed?*
*Amie Oliver’s, 0 murders.*
Sigh of relief, he knew she wouldn’t hurt a fly.
*Michael Oliver’s 0 murders.*
Yes, his brother was also completely fine. He was prone to getting in a few fights after one or two many drinks, but nothing serious.
*Stanley Oliver’s, 1 accidental - Drunk driving incident.
His heart sank, he hadn’t even reached his father and his older brother was a fucking drunk driver? He couldn’t really feel rage as it would be completely random and unprovoked for everyone in the room. But still his face boiled.
Now for his father, please let this be a lie.
*Samuel Oliver’s, 176 confirmed Kills. Non accidental.*
He looked and saw his fathers porky, childish face. How was that the face of someone who’s killed 176 people?
Samuel rolled the dice and his small go kart figure landed inside prison.
“Haha! Lucky for me I have an out of prison card!”
Without a second thought Max retorted “I thought you used that card in 1979?”
His face sank. His eyes turned cold and sour. He was a completely different man. The once wrinkled face of joy was now stone cold and emotionless, staring right through Max. Who was this man? Did he work for some sort of MAFIA?
After a few seconds of staring mother pleaded we finish the game and enjoy Max’s birthday, but that wasn’t going to happen. | 2019-07-01T23:03:11 | 2019-07-01T22:45:08 | 72 | 34 |
[WP] We don't know why but aliens have come to steal our pets and by god what a mistake on their part. Nothing has united the world and angered the masses more than the thought of our furry, scaly, or any other type of babies being taken. | The steps echoed on the concrete floor of the bunker as I escorted the VIP to the conference room.
The sick fucks here in Europe had landed in Switzerland. When notice of what was happening in the rest of the world came we didn't believe it, it was too crazy a story to fall for, especially with the conflicts between European nations as it were, we thought it a distraction.
We were wrong.
When, as one, all of the domesticated animals of Europe disappeared, we understood our mistake. Our leaders rapidly decided in a full conference to strategize together.
As the door opened I saw the occupants of the room already there, Winston Churchill and Benito Mussolini already in an avid discussion with their drinks by their sides rapidly looked at us and got up to greet the VIP by my side.
"Ah, Adolf, you're finally here! Now we can finally start discussing how to best crush those bloody freaks!" exclaimed Churchill while extending his hand for a handshake.
While shaking his hand, with a vicious smile on his face, Adolf Hitler said:
"I wouldn't have it any other way... friend. | In the following years of mourning and ranting by the disrupted masses, the now stagnant beauty of the natural world that we chose to enjoy has also brought upon us an era of pondering over what could be of a world void of our beloved wildlife. When I first noticed the trend in the spike of intellectual activity among the public through school and through the daily interactions in my commute, I saw it as nothing more than an anomaly more closely resembling a popular meme than anything else in the way people hypothesized our salvation and even joked about the farfetched proposals.
That all took to the limelight before the leaders of our nations did in their enthusiastic agreement with the people who were bold enough to speak out. In a matter of less than a month, the media's attention quickly aligned their coverage with the progress of political agendas as they aligned with the growing census of wanting to be productive against the bitter taste of the mass kidnapping of our pets. I was alarmed by the deterioration of international conflict in all aspects as a sign that this new campaign had risen from speculation into a brilliant way to restore the sacred connection that had been mocked by the greedy cosmic savages.
The world had gathered together one Wednesday night in the anticipated culminating event of the UN's routine conferences on the matter of reclaiming our pets. Despite the readiness for the announcement that had spanned the globe, nobody could contain their amazement as I recall. The best synopsis of the statement was as follows: As the entire world has been thrown into a state of emergency, the leaders of the planet have decided that the only way to make the aliens regret their heist is to make them realize that they should have stolen the creatures that we will now wage war on them with.
Yes, you heard me right. As implausible as it may sound, we had all thought it was a good idea to launch a Noah's ark-esque space fleet to the alien planet in order to get our pets back. How they were able to collect all of the apex predators and freaks of nature and stow them away on a space shuttle was beyond me, but the news footage had showed those animals being loaded onto the ships with armor and equipment resting on their backsides.
To the dismay of all who learn of the fantastic escapade as this piece of history sinks into time, the outcome of the war was anything but what you could have expected.
A decade went by and not even the dozens of news stations received any sort of signal from the united forces. The world grew restless without any pets and any answers and coerced the governments to launch a new mission that would observe the progress that was made. Another year went by after that as we waited for their arrival, but we would have been better off without knowing the truth.
It had been discovered that the same animals that had been thrown into violent intergalactic diplomacy were now the ones who had snuffed out the situation and saw the war as a chance to turn the tables. The war had gotten them to evolve at an accelerated rate with the assistance of experiments, thus becoming closer to sentience and now being able to think in unison, which is exactly what they did. The animals turned on their masters as a revolt against wartime slavery and reclaimed the planet as one that had now appeared as if no man had ever set foot on the land at all. The five stages of grief were experienced simultaneously by the world all over again and we all went to war with ourselves as the pain destroyed our social network.
The end. | 2019-08-17T14:55:04 | 2019-08-17T14:45:44 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] As an atheist, you are shocked to realize that there is an after life after death. Standing in front of countless heavenly gates, you are swarmed by representatives of each faith, all trying to convince you to choose their happily ever after package. | The reaper pushed the people away from the gate with the back of his scythe and spoke with a deep bellowing voice. "You have many options, you should review them carefully before deciding, now I must go."
He disappeared with a wisp of black smoke. I never believed in god, or an afterlife, or anything like that, but here I was. I looked forward at the booths, hundreds of them lined up in a row, like some sort of weird fair. I passed the booth for people wanting to become demons, then the booth for people wishing to be tortured by demons. The farther I went on, the more elaborate the booths became until I reached one very simple booth in a sea of complicated ones. Just a meager wooden table with two old men sitting behind it on logs.
Intrigued, I asked them "What's your heaven?"
One of the bearded old men replied "We don't offer heaven. We offer a second chance."
"A second chance at what?"
"Life. You go back to earth and you are born to a new family and live a new life."
"What's the catch?"
"Well, each time you do it, you could be anyone from any time period. You could be a farmer in East Asia in the 1500s or you could be Steve Jobs. Or anyone in between. There's no guarantees you'll have a good or bad life, and you won't remember your current life."
I pondered for several moments before speaking. "Can you tell me if I've done it before?"
"Yes, but only after you agree."
"Fine. I agree."
"Very well, sign here and you'll be on your way."
I signed their sheet and started to feel warm all across my body.
"Don't worry, you're just returning to earth."
"How many?"
"Bit over 30 billion."
"What?"
"You've lived a bit of 30 billion lives. You were Lincoln, you were Stalin, you were Columbus, and many more."
I felt myself start to fade away. "You mean I picked this every time?"
"Yes."
----
And with that, he was gone.
The second old man stood and spoke. "You know eventually, that won't work. You'll not be able to entice him forever, just like the rest of them, he'll find a heaven he likes better eventually. What then?"
"Well, then humanity goes extinct. What else could we do?"
"We could tell him the truth, that he's the last one left."
"You know I can't do that."
The second man sighed. "Well, let's just hope you're right and he always chooses us." He walked away, leaving the first old man sitting at his booth and waiting for the man's next death. | “What’s she doing?”
“Yeah, why she just layin’ there like a dead cat?”
“She smells funny.”
I groan and attempt to peel open a crusty eyelid. It’s so bright and my whole body aches in places I didn’t know could ache and where am I and why are these people so close to my face.
“Oh, there she is! Hello there, my name is-“
“Penelope! Give the girl a break, she just died you know.” An older woman to my right said this. She whispered the word “died” as if I couldn’t hear her when she’s sitting not two inches away from my head.
I wipe at the crusties around my eyes and try to push myself up. I give up almost immediately. My chest, all the way down to my thighs, feel like knives are punctured through muscle and bone and tendons nailing me to the floor. What happened to me? I can’t be dead. There is nothing after death. If I was dead I would be no more. My soul would cease to exist. I wouldn’t be laying here listening to these god forsaken people.
“Are you gonna say somethin’?” A young man to my left said this. I peak at him from behind my eyelid, still refusing to open them all the way because the brightness of this place is a little overwhelming right now.
His eyes are staring at me but his face is scrunched up like he’s staring at a bug and he’s wearing the biggest cross necklace I’ve ever seen and I think I might punch him. I scope out the three others surrounding me.
The old woman to my right seems pretty normal, but she too, is wearing a cross necklace with matching cross earrings. The younger girl, Penelope, is definitely a hippy, most likely does yoga seven days a week and believes in crystal healing.
The last one is an old man. He hasn’t said anything yet and I’m beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. I squeeze my eyes shut and flex my leg muscles. I have got to get out of here.
“Here, deary, let me help you with that.” Granny’s hands are on my shoulders and arms, hoisting me up into a seated position. My limbs scream in protest, every fiber ripping and burning and punishing me for not letting them rest.
I grit my teeth and stifle back a whimper, my eyes watering with the effort. No wonder I had so many crusties. The pain alone is enough to let a waterfall out of my tear ducts.
“What’s wrong with her? Is she gonna be able to walk to the gates?” Punching Bag Boy is asking more questions.
“She will eventually. First she needs to decide which gate she wants to go through.”
What is Granny talking about? What gates?
I finally decide to open my eyes all the way, slowly at first to get used to the light. Everything is so white. The floor, the ceiling, the walls. The only thing that is not white, are the dozens of golden, shimmery, obnoxiously regal gates lined up in front of me.
“You look confused, miss.” Penelope’s squeaky voice was able to penetrate the cottony wall in my ear drums I’d worked so hard to create after my little brother was born. “May I interest you in a one hour meditation? It will soothe your inner workings and unleash your mind.” I wince.
“Are you kiddin’ me? What are you tryin’ to do? Put her back to sleep?” For once Punching Bag Boy isn’t making me want to push him off a cliff. “She needs the Holy Spirit and the grace of God to shine down upon her and cleanse her of her sins so she can move forward and walk the path that Jesus Christ has laid out for us!”
And I change my mind, he’s getting pushed off the next cliff I see.
“Now deary, I can see they’re both being a little overwhelming right now.” Oh thank god, Granny here to save the day. “Why don’t you come with me and we can get you baptized and I’ll get you a clean pair of clothes.” Baptized...? What? “Then we can set up an appointment with the priest so you can do your confessions!” She smiles hopefully at me. I glare pessimistically back.
“And what about you?” I ask Old Man sitting directly in front of me. My voice sounds hoarse, like I’ve just spent the past hour screaming. “What are you here to offer me?” I stare at him blankly, face relaxed, body as relaxed as possible in this odd sort of slouch I’ve got going on. The exact same stare he’s been giving me.
He smirks. “I’m here to offer you whatever you want to believe in.”
**More can be found on my subreddit: r/AliesStories. I posted parts two and three below and I have additional parts on my subreddit for this story!**
PART TWO AND THREE POSTED BELOW! | 2019-10-08T22:03:29 | 2019-10-08T21:14:58 | 83 | 31 |
[WP] A broke adventure has to buy cheap terrible items with weird curses on them. Little do they know that those cursed items happen to synergize so well together that they quickly become overpowered. | When Derrick declared his intent of joining our adventuring group, we nearly died of laughter (which would have been quite embarrassing, considering all that we had survived up to that point). Here we were, a renown party of dragon-slayers and spelunkers of such places as the freezing Azura Tundra and the deadly Mountain of Rage, being begged by the grandson of the village elder to let him join our next adventure. Derrick had no armor, no weapons, and no real experience outside of the work he did around the village. That is not to say we fully dismissed the young man flippantly, however: sure, he was notable in stature and strength, but most importantly his imagination and passion were undeniable. Charles, our resident Knight and unofficial leader of our group, commended Derrick for these qualities, but nonetheless expressed his concerns: without equipment and, more importantly, the permission of his family, our group would not let him join us. Derrick seemed to accept this, and went on his way to continue his duties around the village.
​
A week had passed, and our group was about to set off toward our next mission, when the clanking of metal caught our attention. The noise was, of course, Derrick. Over the course of time we had spoken to him, Derrick had gone throughout the village and acquired whatever adventuring handouts he could get. Being the hard-working grandson of the elder, he was shown quite a bit of favor, especially considering the small size of the village. His equipment, while simplistic, all seemed to be up to the basic standard, with two exceptions: a fiery red pair of boots and a murky-brown, unattractive staff. The two items were 'cursed,' he told us: the boots would char the ground beneath them when their wearer was stressed, and the staff, once a powerful magician's tool, was now only capable of manipulating glass, as the result of an ancient curse. The boots were the only suitable pair he could find, and the staff had been a gift from his uncle. We admittedly felt unsure of bringing Derrick with us, but with the blessing of his entire family, and with Charles' approval, the young man joined us on our journey.
​
We had our ups and downs with Derrick, but for the most part he was simply content following us quietly and listening to our instructions when it came to combat. We would find a group of monsters, take out all but one or two of the weakest, and encourage Derrick to defeat them. One set of monsters and a patch of scorched earth later, we would be on our way. Our adventuring was simple, easy, and pleasant. Everything was going well.
​
And then we entered into the Eastern Desert.
​
Everything seemed fine at first. We encountered no monsters, and our supplies were more than adequate for the journey to the next town. As we were midway through our travels, however, the ground began to tremble. Suddenly, a Sand Wyvern burst out of the ground and soared above the startled group. It screeched, and began to descend rapidly toward the party. We all immediately split into different directions, with the sole exception of Derrick, who stood frozen in fear. Charles cried out a warning, and Derrick bolted away at the very last second, as the wyvern pierced through the ground, undoubtedly preparing to submerge and pick off the group one by one.
​
It certainly would have carried out that plan, were it not for the immediate cacophony of glass shattering mixed with the frenzied shriek of pain that suggested otherwise. As it turned out, the boots were much more powerful than we had thought, and a sizable portion of the sand we had been standing on just before was now a field of shattered glass, surrounding a distraught wyvern. I must give credit where credit is due: as we all stood in place, shell shocked by this development, Derrick took a shaky step forward and raised his trembling staff toward the beast. The sight was unlike anything I had ever seen: the shards of glass, appearing as prisms in the sun's rays, danced around the wyvern daintily, before launching themselves into its body with excessive force. The beast gurgled out a painful cry, before collapsing into a heap. This time, we were the ones frozen in place, as Derrick stood wide-eyed before the sand creature. We all looked at one another, unsure of how to respond. Eventually, we all began to move on once more. Despite all our adventures, I have never seen something so deadly as a pair of red boots paired with a warped, brown staff in the desert. I hope I never will. | "I'll give you this for-- all you have," the shopkeeper grinned. "I'm being generous, trust me."
Gram sighed, and tossed the satchel on the counter. Ten shekels seemed far too much for a cheaply made trinket, but if the Oracle had willed it who was he to argue against it? Besides, Gram knew that those shekels were different. Special, was the words the Oracle had used.
It had been two weeks since he had lost every ounce of currency of what little he had possessed after a few of Syon's rogues came for him. He had woken up in a medical barrack with no possessions except an empty satchel, a sigil that represented his home village, and a nasty head wound. It didn't deter him one bit-- he was back on the road within a day, making his way to the mad highwayman's city with the intent to take back the weapons Syon had stolen from his own village. He had a dagger and a satchel that he occasional filled with loose change, but little else but his wit. Yet Gram knew that Syon, with the acquisition of more and more power, would be impossible to fight.
"Fine," replied Gram, his eyebrows narrowed slightly. "I'll take the bone, but will you do me the courtesy of wrapping it up first?"
"Of course," laughed the shopkeeper. "I'm a good shopkeeper, I treat my customers just right. Just right."
Gram prepared to leave the decrepit tent, but the shopkeeper reached out his hand, leaning over close. Gram could smell faint licks of moonshine on his breath.
"Hey," he whispered. "I can tell that you're a member of the Resistance movement. Let me just tell you that Syon-- he's stronger than any man. You'd be best not coming across him. Once a highwayman, always a highwayman."
"Thanks," winced Gram. "But I think my adviser knows what she's doing."
She called herself the Oracle, and Gram had encountered her in the basement of one of the sole hotels in the city of La Grande not run by the highwaymen. While walking through through the fields, a group of men had noticed the bandages on his legs, and most importantly the sigil around his neck.
"Man from Tyrande," began one of the men, walking in level with Gram. "Eh, you want to be taken up on a proposition?"
"Yes, I'm from Tyrande," said Gram, slightly suspicious. "What proposition would you be interested in? You are aware that my village was razed, and our holy weapons destroyed, no?"
One of the men threw Gram a coin, which he gladly took, and examined. Yet he noticed that the faint lines of the shekel were tinted with a strange green, lines that seemed to run like veins through the bronzed metal. He flipped it over, and watched as gentle, cold flames doused acid green reached into his palm and licked at his fingers.
"What-- what the hell is this," asked Gram. "Some kind of joke? What's the coin for?"
"Ah, it accepted you," exclaimed the man that had walked at Gram's side. "First comes choice, then comes intention, followed by the great mantra."
"One man's trash is another's treasure," chanted the men in unison.
Gram had been intrigued, and allowed himself to be led to the city of La Grande, where the foe who stole his village's weapons lay protected in a nest of iron. *Lent's Chance*, was the name of the small hotel in which they settled in, for a so called "proposition". The outsides were falling apart, and the insides were covered with blankets of thick dust, the lights flickering as if to remind every soul of a time long past. Down an old hatch, lifted by the corners and wailing as the hinges moved, was a basement lit dimly by rows of assorted candles.
On an altar was a pale young woman nursing a mist-suffused orb in one hand, and a hastily constructed gauntlet in the other.
"You are the one from Tyrande, no," the woman had asked. "I am the Oracle, and I've seen you from afar through prognostication of a wicked kind. It seems to be that you qualify all of the requirements of an individual that could be our Vessel."
"And what is this Vessel," Gram asked in turn. "Something to do with your devilish leader? Though your men tell me your kin resists his presence rather than exalts it."
"See, I think my men have explained to you the three conditions for a Vessel," the Oracle had explained. "Syon's curse dictates that only an outsider can rid this city of his presence. But we have a secret weapon, so to speak."
The Oracle had waved her hand, two men rushing to a back room and returning with a discolored wooden treasure chest, dropping it at Gram's feet.
"Go on," whispered the Oracle. "Open it."
The opening of the lid revealed hundreds upon hundreds of shekels, piled on one another like massive pillars. Yet each shekel was tinted in the same green hue that Gram had seen earlier. Hues of green that wrapped around each coin like a vine, radiating energy that seemed weightless and flightless. Each inscription was perfectly inlaid with tangles.
"More shekels, yet," began Gram, picking one up from the very top and waiting for any objection to his action. "They seem different. Hued in green, bathed in this acid energy that I can't describe. Similar to the power of the Holy Weapons stolen from my village."
"These shekels are special, powerful," promised the Oracle. "Each one can be inlaid with three specifications. One is choice, which is finished. You can see the energy, and thus it has chosen you. Second is intention, which you must possess. Syon destroyed your village and left you destitute. You have this intention, no? Third is the great mantra, *one man's trash is another man's treasure*. The plan is simple. Buy useless items that you yourself would consider cheap and worthless with these shekels, and once enough items are possessed you may combine them to create a catastrophic weapon of prognostication to aim at Syon."
Gram, intrigued, had agreed to see at least some of the plan through, spending the next two weeks buying useless items with the cursed shekels. Ribbons, trinkets, charms, even food that he would never eat, weapons he would never use. But now, as he exited the tent, he recognized that he wouldn't need to recollect the cursed shekels. Perhaps that would be enough. He had been chosen by the mysterious energy of prognostication that wove its way through the shekels. He had the intention of getting back the Holy Weapons Syon had stolen. He had enough trash, all of it woven by those strange green cords that could become the treasure the great mantra promised.
*Perhaps it is time to aim the weapon of prognostication*, Gram thought, as he pocketed the empty satchel.
————————————————————————
r/bluelizardK | 2019-12-02T16:39:48 | 2019-12-02T15:34:46 | 156 | 33 |
[WP] One of the other super-villains have captured the hero and they want to unmask him in front of the other super-villains. You’re one of the super-villains watching, and you’re having way too much fun fighting the hero that you don’t want the mystery to be spoiled. | I was watching *The Simpsons* when the broadcast was interrupted. I immediately recognized Zapper, but she looked like she had been mugged, her head slumped and her admittedly pretty cool costume ripped.
Then I heard Hydro’s obnoxious, sneering voice. God, I hated that kid. That upstart had only been around for a month or so and he had already captured *my* number one enemy.
Let’s back up. I’m Darius Winn, alias Nightraid. I own a 300-million-dollar tech company, Winn Industries. I also fly around in a black robot suit taking out any threats to me or my business, I’m basically a less heroic Iron Man. I’ll bet being stuck in a cave with no chance of escape except a robot suit softens you up quite a bit.
Zapper was an annoying little bug to me, but after battling her time after time after time, it became less because of the threat, and more for the thrill. It was a game of how many times she could push her powers to the limit and how many times I would retaliate with a new upgrade. It made it even better that we had no clue who each other were, and I would spend hours brooding over the question: who is she?
Back to the present. That little bastard, Hydro, had apparently defeated Zapper and was about to unmask her. Luckily, I had gotten into a skirmish with him a week or two ago, and I had the brains to slap a tracking device on him. Not the ones you see in movies, that are huge and super noticeable. No, it just looked like a minuscule speck of dust, unnoticeable. I tapped my watch and the suit materialized around me. I checked the beacon. He was in a sketchy-looking building on the other side of town, but I could get there in about... hmm.
*Carry the 3, divide by the bottom number...*
16 seconds. I tapped the watch again, opening a large window in my penthouse, just in time for me to jump out and shoot across the LA skyline like a spaceship. I muttered, “If anyone’s taking that human copper wire out, it’s me.”
Hydro’s high-pitches, nasal, cowardly voice turned into a scream that rather reminded me of my 4-year old niece as I tore through the side of the building, slamming into him with the force of 10 NFL linebackers. He barely conjured up a water cushion around himself to keep him alive before I left him, concussed, on the floor. Zapper lifted her head and stood up.
“Well, I guess I’ve got to thank you for helping me out.”
“No problem.”
“First, there’s something I’ve always wanted to do,” she said, giggling a little. She quickly hog-tied Hydro and left a note on his head reading,
*To: the LAPD.
From: Yours truly, Zapper*
I chuckled a little, then said,
“I’ll give you a five-minute head start.”
“Don’t need it.”
Whew! This one was long ,folks. This is
u/ aciddroppingcow, signing off for now. | (Warning- some mild swearing)
"Wait" Lizard Man's hand stopped still, an inch from the mask of the hero knelt before him. His head snapped around to look at me, confusion and irritation replacing the excitement that had painted his face mere moments before.
"Waaait?" the rest of the faces in the room soon turned to look at me as he asked the question. The hero lifted his head slightly, no doubt wondering what was going on and why the hell his mask was still on.
"Wait" I repeated, trying to add some confidence behind the word. Lizard remained still, his hands frozen in place. The other villains were just as motionless and an uneasy tension was starting to spread across the room. No-one spoke up to Lizard, no-one who wanted to live that is. I let out a breath, trying to remain calm and ignore the fear bubbling up in my stomach. I scrambled to fit my thoughts into words, to try and find the right thing to say to both stop Lizard from ripping the mask from the hero's face and to stop him from incinerating me to a pile of ash. "Do we really want to unmask him here? Like this? We've been fighting this prick for so long, trying to undermine him since the very moment we put on these costumes and decided to wreak havoc upon the city. Think about all the times he's dismantled our plans, all the times he's beat us senseless and chucked us into a cell. Is this really how we want it to end, a quick unmasking and then a bullet to the head?"
"Yeah!" shouted The Blue Bomber, gunwaving in his hand. He always was the chaotic, trigger-happy kind, planning and intelligence didn't come as easily to him as his taste for explosions. I glanced at him and his ridiculous fluorescent blue mask for a second, before shifting my focus back to Lizard and the rest of the more reasonable supervillains.
"No.' I began, my voice catching in my throat "No we don't. This lump of muscle has been running circles around us for years, figuring out all our plans before they could properly be brought to fruition and halting our grand schemes in their tracks. He's made us feel stupid, worthless, weak; made our plans feel outlandish and insane. To unmask him and end it here would surely be underwhelming and unsatisfying. If we unmask AtomMan and end his fight against us right now, we will never get the chance to outsmart him, never get the chance to create the perfect plan that he won't be able to foil". I looked around the room, hoping to see everyone nodding in agreement; instead I was facing a crowd of confusion with Lizard Man above them all, visibly growing more and more impatient. There was a small train of smoke starting to emit from his mouth. I gulped and continued on with my speech.
"Come on! We're meant to be supervillains for god’s sake. Where's your taste for revenge, your passion for outsmarting and disheartening the heroes. We aren't just common thugs with a taste for blood; we are supposed to scheme and plan, supposed to be excited about the idea of breaking a hero versus just killing them" I saw a few heads nodding across the room, finally a good sign. "Which would be more satisfying? Unmasking and ending our fight here, or stripping him of his weapons and gadgets and trapping him in this warehouse; giving the near-impossible task of escaping in time to stop our plan to destroy the city. Think of the satisfaction and contentment it would bring us to see him emerge from his prison to see his city burning, to see the hopelessness in his face, to actually break him and not just kill him. Wouldn't that be better, wouldn't that be what you all want? To feel proud and satisfied and know that in the end you outsmarted him. To know that you got the last laugh. That's gotta be better than an underwhelming reveal and execution, surely?"
I closed my mouth, ending the speech and looked around the crowd. Most of the villains were nodding, a look of excitement and contemplation on their face. Bubblepink seemed particularly excited to get back at the man who'd foiled her plan to blow up the local zoo. A few of them looked simply confused as to why the hero hadn't been unmasked yet, but that's to be expected from the more trigger happy, less brainy of the bunch. The most important thing was that the trail of smoke had stopped leaking out of Lizard's mouth and had instead been replaced with a sly smile. He dropped his hands and backed away from AtomMan, his knees dipping into an amused bow as he retreated. He turned to face the crowd.
"Very well. Indeed, unmasking and killing him here would not bring us the satisfaction we so rightly deserve, We shall not unmask him here. Instead we will doom him to watch everything he protects burn, show the people of this fine city just how underwhelming and weak their beloved AtomMan actually is".
The crowd roared at his words as two henchmen walked up and dragged the hero off the platform he had been knelt on. He brought his eyes up for a second to lock eye contact with me. He was surprised, good. I let out a sigh of relief as my fellow villains started filing out of the room. I'd done it. I'd stopped the unmasking of the hero I enjoyed fighting most. Now it was time to start planning how best to destroy his city and break his spirit. Now it was the time to win. | 2020-09-04T12:48:58 | 2020-09-04T11:56:17 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] "Our goddess was kind, benevolent, and perfect in every way. She protected us." The priest looks to you. You stand before him, holding a weapon stained with divine blood. Then he asks. "Why did you kill her?" | "That bitch not only ruined my life but the lives of others because they were different." I said as I stood infront of the priest. My sword was bathed in the blood of the goddess. She had played the role of a benevolent god towards all the humans who worshipped her. To the humanoid and sentient races, she was an evil god. She encouraged the genocides her worshippers partook in and made her human worshippers believe that anything they did towards the other races would have no consequences for they were "The Chosen".
What did she do that ruined my life? She kidnapped me from my world, Earth, and brought me here for her entertainment. She said she could make me a god if only i pledged frailty to her. I refused to worship her when she told me how the other races were treated. Back on Earth I was and am a minority, I knew what oppression and discrimination were like so I refused to treat others the way she wanted. Once I spoke my mind she wrapped me in her "golden" light and transformed my body. She disfigured me and left me looking like the spawn of *All* that is unholy. She then cursed me with immortality and the ability of regeneration so that I will forever feel pain.
After she threw me to the most inhospitable part of her world, I learned to survive after just about everything killed me over and over again. After 3 decades of driving every monster in the region to extinction, I had managed to make the once inhospitable land livable again. I started taking in refugees from all over the ravaged lands of Humanity's greed. I did not know it then, but I had begun to fulfill a thousand year prophecy.
After another 3 decades, what started out as a village grew into an Empire. The sentient races had combined their various technologies and cultures. Our empire became the biggest and most wide spread empire this world would ever see. Many times they tried to worship me, make me their Emporer, but every time I refused for I was none of those things. I was just like them, I too had been wronged by the goddess. It was never "my" empire because I saw these people as my equals, and as equals this was *Our* Empire. A form of leadership was needed so I formed a council consisting of representatives of every race. Our first major decision was decided long before I had arrived. As the human worshippers would later call it, we began a "Holy War".
I had seen many of our brethren fall throughout the war. After each battle I would personally return to the battlefields and recover their bodies. I wept for my fallen comrades, vowing that their deaths would not be in vain. On our way towards the remaining strongholds of the goddess we were met with the combined armies of man. An entourage separated from their army and we met them half way. These humans turned out to be outcasts from various ages throughout the goddess' reign. They wished to join us and soon we gained new allies. Weeks after they joined us we made it to the heart of the goddess' empire. It was the bloodiest battle in that point and time. We forced our way into her domain at which point I was able to kill her with my sword.
Her final words were a bit garbled as she spit up blood, but I knew what she was saying. "H-h-how? I'm a god" she said. "Whats a god to a non believer?" Were the last words she heard as she slid off my sword. | My elders spared no expense. The robes I was adorned with and the caravan we rode in on was as decadent as the next in line to the divine temple. Almost feeling guilty of the burden the small covenant had to carry to bring all this together, I maintained my cover. A single welt was left under the vestments that would show my true beliefs, for the god of the fires of life, as opposed to this bloated and self indulgent faith. Yes they got to meet their goddess in person once every 100 years as part of a ritual at this gilded metropolis, but I had the privilege to see mine each time I lit the fire to cook supper, or heat water to bathe.
Coming to a stop at the base of the temple I breathed deep, filling my lungs with the fire of change and prepared to carry this deception past the true test. No sound came from the hinges of the chariot as I stood ready to disembark.
“Confidence, arrogance, you belong here '' I whispered into myself as i stepped out. Light from torches built of black iron and silver flooded the space with steady light. Paladins filled the gaps along the path to the temple doors. I didn't need to believe in this goddess to take a small breath of surprise as I saw the grandeur of the facade. White stone cut from a single block made up the entrance, the only “impurities” formed flowing shapes to resemble a scripture from an alien language that only the goddess herself could read.
Stifling my gasp, I forced my eyes forward and moved with the rest of the procession that was passing through the gates inside. This was an intricate ritual. No room for mistakes. A voice bounced off the stone and announced a false name that was given to justify my presence. Their ritual once again satisfied, the work we had done before tonight falling into place. Each Paladin in unison raised their swords and chanted in a language that could have been music, and mixed into it was the name that was spoken across the hall.
The dagger pressed to my chest grew warm at the mention of that false name. Fear gripped me inside, but the flame in my lungs devoured it. Their magic to root out those who would lie to enter feeding the magic inside the blade. A ritual of its own playing out parallel to the one along the entrance. With no movement from the paladins i was through the gates and into the main hall. priests of smaller temples lined the walls all dressed in the same colors with minor regional design differences. Eyes on the verge of erupting with tears, every one looking a the main alter across for the doors.
I failed to stifle the gasp when i saw her. She was light, but also the shadow behind her. She reminded me of my mother, and my aunt, and somehow also my eldest priest. shape and features unchanging but not one single person. I knew she was a god, but seeing her was a unique experience. One feature had no ambiguity, her eyes. Cold. only word that could describe the blue that radiated from her. The sky after a blizzard looked trapped behind them. The blade once again became hot, touching the scorch mark on my chest. It was hungry like the fires that cleaned the forest. My feet moving with no thought, the will of the dagger guiding the movement and I giving into it.
The line of priests before me moved quickly enough, each expressing their ritualistic show of love for her. Kissing the ground, speaking a secret word passed down by their congregation to show devotion over the millennia. Each show of love was greeted by an equally loving response, either a word in return, or a touch to a mark on the robes. Every priest has a look of completion feeling her acknowledgment. Then her eyes drifted up and touched mine.
The love never left their cold depths, but a gust of cold wind shot from those eyes and pulled the heat from my heart. No not my heart, my scar. The dagger kept me warm in the face of that look. My turn to see her coming soon as the last priest before me left the altar.
My will to move gone, the dagger pulling me closer to the yawning cold. I stood face to face with her, heat pulled into her like a well. The look returned, but no gust of cold. It was pity, not fear, or rage. We traded no words, just the blue of her touching the fire in my lungs and feeding on it. She reached as if to give a hug and touched the point in my robes the dagger hid. I moved as I had trained and slipped the blade from the hidden space and gave it a new home, her heart. She didn't scream, only brushed my arms and locked her eyes and gripped me as she collapsed. Trying to drop the dagger I found my hand couldn't free itself.
The blood of the goddess flowed into the dagger and along the carvings in the gold and wooden hilt. The blood touched my skin in a second and vanished. Exhaling the fire in my lungs in fear trying to drop the blade. looking into her eyes for answers, my movements completely out of control. Realizing what i saw as ice cold was my limited perception.
"Our goddess was kind, benevolent, and perfect in every way. She protected us." The youngest priest looks to you. You stand before him, holding a weapon stained with divine blood. Then he asks. "Why did you kill her?"
The light she exuded faded. My body at a loss of control as i turn and look him in the eye with a love that blazes with the heat of a fire that would clean the universe if not kept in check. My vision feels like looking up from the center of a black hole, i can see everything spill out before me but no way to reach out and touch it.
An elder priest touches his shoulder and smiles, tears fill his eyes “The ritual is complete, the fires of this world will burn for another 100 years”. | 2020-11-23T12:24:21 | 2020-11-23T11:40:36 | 50 | 27 |
[WP] You die with your cell phone in your hands, and the afterlife customs agents miss it when letting you in. You find that it still works, and you can connect to the internet and contact people in the living world. | I made sure the phone was turned off then set it on the dinette table. It had vibrated in my pocket on the walk from the gate to my new afterlife digs, prompting the guide to pause for just long enough to make me wonder if she was fixing to eject me from this new life. It was weird; I assumed that, as a dead person, my anxiety stomach would be just as dead as me. But, no. There it was. Gurgle Stomach, with a side of Hot Face.
“Someone’s nervous on their first day!” the guide chirped while patting my shoulder.
Shortly after, she deposited me here. In this Death Condo that looked like a replica of my freshman dorm room except white. White on white on white on white ad infinitum. For someone who, in life, was physiologically incapable of not spilling, splashing, or spraying food and drink on themselves, the floor, and the walls.
I was starting to wonder if this was actually Hell.
Laying in the void of that matte white *everything*, the phone was glaringly, offensively black. A malignant stain in this supposedly perfect place (unless it was Hell, which was still a possibility).
Who had even called?
I snatched it from the table and fired it up. One missed call. No message, but it was just my manager and it wasn’t like work was part of my life anymore.
Wait. Did I have to have a job here? This crappy Death Condo indicated that there might be a Death Cubicle in my future. Is this where those calls about our cars’ extended warranties come from? Would I have to telemarket from here? Or-- oh god, no. *Do customer support*? Was this Comcast?
The phone binged. Incoming message from…my manager. Firing me via text.
Without thinking, I texted back, “U can’t fire me I’m dead. Car accident yesterday.”
I opened the browser, googled my name, and copied the first article link. Texted it to him. Waited.
The phone binged. Incoming message: “wtf who is this”
“OK,” I cackled, pulling the phone close. “Let’s bring new meaning to the term ‘*ghosting*.’” | Posted by u/Apocryphon_from_Bynd \[Claims to post from beyond\] - 7 hours ago
**Recently deceased, can still access Internet, what to do with this ability?**
This may require you to suspend your disbelief for a bit, but please hear me out before you disregard my post outright.
On the 19th of January, I, Arthur McKinsey, passed away of a heart attack at the tender age of 36. Born and raised in NYC, my life was what one would consider ordinary, average, not exceptional in any significant way. Leaving behind a family with two children and my partner, I have to say that my untimely death has a certain tragedy to it, though interestingly, I am far more favorably disposed to the state I find myself in, then one might expect.
What you need to understand is that, for one reason or another, upon passing away one just accepts their fate. The mind, soul or whatever remains of a person past their demise seemingly adapts quickly to this place, where time and space are but a casual suggestion. I will meet my family soon, after all on a cosmic scale, a century is no different to a second.
Regardless, what might be more interesting to you is the how and why of this post.
Ever found yourself at a small airport five minutes before your plane takes off? I mean the rural kind where one can be happy if the plane has more than two isles, you know, the type of airport that, were it not for local subsidies and governmental infrastructure initiatives, likely wouldn't exist in a profit driven world?
Well, if you have, you might have witnessed that the TSA isn't always as unpleasant and "in-depth" in their pat downs as they are at Newark (incidentally, from what I've seen, no punishment up here comes even close to that Kafkaesque nightmare).
If you really need to get on the plane quickly, are dressed in the right manner (being a business traveler helps) and have a bit of luck, they'll just let you through with no invasive search.
Believe it or not, the afterlife operates on similar principles. They check for contraband prior to letting you in, and apparently I can count myself lucky, seeing as they seemingly overlooked my smartphone. Perhaps this is actually a test to find out what someone like me might decide to do if they gain the power to contact people from beyond the grave, who knows?
What I am certain of is my uncertainty of what I should do with this ability? I have already ruled out using this to verify the existence of an afterlife on a larger scale, which hopefully is enough to justify the lack of tangible proof attached to this post. On one hand, I really don't want to be responsible for any sort of conflict that might arise from humanity gaining this information. On the other, having worked as an assistant on studying particle physics, I really don't want to cause my colleagues to suffer beyond the mountains of math they deal with on a daily basis.
Rather, what I'd like to ask of you is advice on one specific question: Should I contact my family? While I will see them soon, relatively speaking, and have no problem waiting, I know that their current grief is eating at them. I simply don't know whether using this tool to inform them of my current whereabouts wouldn't tear these wounds open even further. If I couldn't verify my identity to them, they'd just consider this a tasteless, awful, horrific prank. If I could, what would the consequences be? They might not be able to move on, perhaps obsessing over this channel of communication. Perhaps they'd consider themselves to be mentally unwell, not without reason. Still, I don't know whether I can and should let them suffer for the next decades.
I understand how outrageous this sounds and don't want or need you to believe me. Doubt this as much as you want, but please, just entertain the thought that it might be true. If it helps, just think of this as the plot line of a series and ask yourself, how a character should act if they were in such a situation.
Thank you from beyond.
Edit: No, I won't answer how the afterlife is, nor who or what is responsible up here. Also, I've got no issue with people calling this a troll or bs, but please, for the love of everything up here, stop calling me Death-Senpai, like honestly.
Edit 2: Thanks for the gold kind stranger.
Edit 3: Thanks for your input, decided against contacting them. Also, handed my phone to the proper authorities.
***
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear on what I could improve in the future. If you liked what you read, check out more of my work at r/PlsCritiqueMyWriting. | 2021-01-20T14:01:14 | 2021-01-20T11:51:49 | 1,552 | 216 |
[WP] You've made an impressive name for yourself as an exorcist, getting rid of some of the nastiest hauntings there are. What nobody knows is that you don't have a particular talent for it; you yourself are just haunted by a spirit so terrifying, that even ghosts flee before it. | So there I was and there was Bloody Mary. How did I get here? After just about a decade of exorcism. Yes, that is the work experience required to get the license to exorcise the scourge of ladies washrooms.
I was apprehensive of Bloody Mary not because of a fear of blood or nuns. No -- Bloody Mary wasn't a nun. It was the plain and simple fear of the supernatural.
"How do you do on this fine day," the ratty-haired ghost said.
Ratty-haired and dressed in rags, not a queenly garb, but hey, who am I to judge a ghost that haunts the ladies' washroom.
"Bloody Mary. Your time is up. Give up this haunting all the lovely ladies wholeheartedly agree that your opinion of their clothes is unwarranted. Shorts are not a sign of...uh...uh...how do I put this mildly..."
"No need. Your insolent indulgence is what has made them so unladylike," Bloody Mary screeched. Her hair flew up into the air, into a giant afro of snakes. I assumed they were venomous.
As the raging red eyes bore into mine, I froze on the spot. A chill entered through my eyes as my hair stood on end. From the pores under the hair rose a black cloud -- a giant shadow.
The giant shadow then slowly morphed into a sleek woman. The woman looked Bloody Mary right in her raging red eyes.
"Bloody Mary, are you?"
"Yes."
"Poor dear, you got stuck in a mirror. Want to get out?"
Bloody Mary's face wrinkled like a used scrunchie. "Get out? This is my territory. My domain."
"Why would you choose a washroom for such a thing, dear. That too a ladies washroom. You can't even eye any hunks in here, well, unless you're into women and stuff. Then it makes perfect sense."
Bloody Mary's pale face turned paler. "Such wretched evil. I cannot be accused of such perversion."
"Then, honey, get out and haunt some other nice place."
"Nice place?"
"Yeah. Like a castle or something. You were a queen, weren't you?"
"Yes," said Bloody Mary, her face bunched up. "Perhaps you are right. A castle would suit me better."
"Yes, dear. It absolutely will. So," the sleek woman smiled, "come on out."
Bloody Mary walked out of the mirror with a smile. Slowly but surely, she was then sucked into my super reliable ghost-catching water bottle.
The sleek ghost turned to me and started arguing. "You said I won't have to do anything!"
"Well, she just wasn't afraid of you."
"I suppose. It works only on men, does it?"
"Yes. Men are afraid of beautiful women. I guess women aren't so much so."
And then the terrifying but beautiful sleek woman broke into a dark cloud and settled into me again. My ex was truly terrifying. God knows why she haunts me must be the damned shoes I didn't buy. | Many, including Father Nathaniel, had long been curious about the famous Cerie. Born Jamie Young, she quickly grew a reputation as a successful exorcist who claimed no allegiance to any particular faith, whose mere presence was enough to shoo away any ghost or demon. So when he was offered a chance to watch her perform an exorcism first hand at a local cathedral, he agreed wholeheartedly.
The one to be exorcised was, yet again, the Curator Williams, who oversaw precious historical artifacts at a local museum. Father Nathaniel's heart went out to Williams, who had often been the target of hauntings due to the nature of his job. Time and time again he had come to the church to be exorcised, Father Nathaniel having blessed him many times, and time and time again he returned with a new spirit attempting to hijack his soul and body. While Father Nathaniel was cautiously optimistic about the stories regarding Cerie, he hoped to find any method that would bring Williams peace.
When he arrived at the Cathedral, a few minutes before Cerie herself, Williams was already there. He sat on the swinging bench in the church yard, both hands on his knee as he bounced his right leg. To anyone else, he could have been another man simply preoccupied with mundane worries, but Father Nathaniel could detect the malicious entity dwelling in the fringes of his mind.
Williams looked up when he heard the Father approach. "Good morning, Father." Williams stood up and reached out his hand for Father Nathaniel to shake, which he did warmly.
"Good morning, Mr. Williams. Oh, please sit down." He gestured back to the swinging bench. "You needn't get up on my behalf."
Williams nodded and all but collapsed back onto the bench. Father Nathaniel was about to ask a question about the spirit Williams believed to be possessing him when he interrupted, "Do you... do you think she will be able to help me?" he asked.
Father Nathaniel paused, unable to put the unease which had accompanied him every time he read one of Cerie's stories to rest. "I believe that faith in the community will always prevail." Father Nathaniel said slowly. "And from what I have seen, many communities have prevailed while welcoming Cerie into their own." The words seemed to relax Williams somewhat, the frantic bouncing of his leg noticeably slowing.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up even before Father Nathaniel saw her face. The aura, he supposed, though it pained him to use such language, could be felt from a mile away. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Williams had suddenly straightened his back and his eyes had focused on the car approaching the church. It reminded him of young men and women preparing themselves for difficult times ahead.
Difficult times parked her car neatly into the parking lot just across from the church. The car was nice, but not ostentatiously so. The same could be said of the driver, the legendary Cerie. Father Nathaniel was hardly well-acquainted with fashion, but even he could tell the click of her high heels and the shine of her sunglasses spoke for her. She walked briskly towards the two men, head held high, allowing for the wind to flow through her hair and grace the smile on her face. All in all, she look all the world like a prideful, wealthy businesswoman— including the sinister undercurrent beneath her confidence.
"Ah, you must be Mr. Williams," she told Williams, who had sprung up once again to greet her. Even though her eyes were hidden behind her sunglasses, Father Nathaniel could tell that she had been watching him even as she shook Williams' hand. When she finally dropped the pretense, she turned to Father Nathaniel and looked him up and down. A frown crossed her red lips. "And you are...?"
There were little options to be had. As pastor, Father Nathaniel had to duty to protect the innocent from the grasp of evil spirits, for which Cerie definitely qualified. If Father Nathaniel had his way, he would expel the entity from Cerie and from Williams himself.
Yet this was a more precarious situation than most. Any drastic action could result in unpredictable results, considering there were so many other factors in play, from the host's awareness of the spirit to how much the spirit had melded with, or worse, replaced the soul of the host. No, whatever had, or was, Cerie was not merely another spirit. It was a terrible, horrible thing whose sole uniqueness was that it could cow other, less horrible things.
"Ahem?" Cerie interjected, repeatedly judging by her tone. "Like I said, who are you again?"
Perhaps it was her utter contempt or perhaps it was the confirm of his unease which brought him out of his thoughts. but it suddenly occurred to Father Nathaniel, like a lighting strike on a clear day, what to do. He smiled at her— it? "My name is Father Nathaniel," he said. "Welcome to your church. We appreciate your coming here."
Cerie shrugged. "It was no big deal, really," she said, and Father Nathaniel could almost, almost believe that the girl were simply another exorcist, of not for the powerful dark spiritual energy which surrounded her. "So, where do we go for this?" she asked.
Father Nathaniel nodded. "Ah yes, right this way." he gestured to the cathedral, and the three began walking inside.
Where the other priests were, where they could work together to remove the great evil. | 2021-04-03T10:04:37 | 2021-04-03T09:27:38 | 82 | 48 |
[WP] You get Isekai'd into an RPG world. Unlike the inhabitants, you know a secret. Why go and put yourself into danger to level up when you can have an exercise routine to make yourself stronger? | The bartender was stunned. "I don't get it. That guy had muscles the size of watermelons. I saw him lift a horse yesterday! You've got arms like noodles, how did you arm-wrestle him?"
Anton grinned. "Stats in this world are coded poorly. Acrobatics, for example, goes up faster if you fall off a mountain than if you jump off a table."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"It's the formula. You get more experience doing difficult tasks. But if you fail, you still get partial credit. So trying to lift a ton and failing gives you around a hundred times more experience than lifting a five kilogram weight successfully. Watch this."
With that, Anton got on the ground and revealed his secret technique. "There. Do you see now?"
"...Now I'm really confused. That was a single push-up."
Anton laughed, a cackle that devolved into coughing. "That wasn't a push-up. That was me bench-pressing the earth." | Great... in the middle of an experiment something went wrong. The blast took out half of the building and damaged two other buildings. Arata of course was blissfully unaware of the damage he cause because, obviously he was dead. Dead as a mice and not a piece of him will be found in the rubble.
Arata awoke in a brightly lid room and in front of him sat a beautiful woman, looking like... yeah... like what thought Arata. His mind was not up to date to the recent event and since the human mind is in no way prepared for what Arata is experinceing, he took some time to compute.
"Am I dead?" Arata asked.
"Well, Yes. Isn't it obvious? You died in the blast you caused. You took out your lab. Luckily, none was in the building since it was late at night." Answered the woman.
"What now. Go I to heaven"
"No certainly not. Usually, you would go to hell but I have need of you in a different domain of mine" explained the woman.
"I conclude you are a god of some sort. Am I right" asked Arata.
"Well, yes. Was the answer. You need to go now. Your birth is scheduled in a few minutes. I will send a familiar to help you in the new world when you reach the age of 6. Then you will regain your memories." Was the answer from that woman. "Have fun as a villager, and don't kill anyone"
"Wait........" ... "whaaaaaaa, whhhaaaaaa, whhaaaa" cried the baby formerly known as Arata from a world called Earth. His parent were villagers as will he, for now. His first year consist of eating, crying, puking and pooing. Not very productive but expected of a baby. His name in this world is Yuuto. He was a perfect baby, never sick and quick to learn new things. He was happy in that remote village and so was everyone there.
His awakening was sudden. The promised familiar, Gyvad is his name, was a little Lizard with wings and a faint voice only audible to him. His regained memory took some time to settle in a Childs brain, but after another year of confusion. He was his old self. Maybe not quiet. Yuuto started to learn the about the caste system of his home and it appears to him more like similar to earth in the Middle Ages. Fortunately, here he had the opportunity to move up into a different caste though great achievements, but also move down though evil deeds.
With the age of 10 he was allowed to help his father on the fields and he quickly learned that a weeks work on the field raised his attribute Farming by 10 points. Curious to what that means he asked Gyvard to explain it to him.
Gyvard explained, that the attributes are basically the knowledge and the point the proficiency. You can raise point by gaining experience and attribute by exposure to new situation. For example, if you get into a fight without the attribute Melee
You will certainly loose but if you survive wo will get the attribute Melee with a chance on 65%. Your chance can be raised based on you luck or other attributes.
"Hmmm. My stats say that my chance is a 100%" said Yuuto absently minded. "Wait? What?" came the response from Gyvard " That is not possible. Let me have a look."
Gyvard look silently at Yuuto's stat. "That, changes everthing. This time my master will succeed" | 2021-04-16T04:59:42 | 2021-04-16T03:48:06 | 108 | 16 |
[WP] The general rule across the galaxy is that The cuter a species is , the more bloodthirsty, violent and xenophobic it is . Humans , being humans , insist on petting most of them however. | The higher functioning life forms of the universe were generally not pleasant to look at. The Galactic Council was generally not a pleasant looking gathering. The Julaxi delegation suppurated, the Ao's tusks clacked, and the humans... just were. They were so basic in general appearance it was only thier mastery of dark matter physics a few short Cycles ago that had finally led to membership of the recognised Galactic government. And now a member of the Nuzin science academy was trying to convince the council of another reason against this, to the bewilderment of the human delegates.
"They're Dogs," replied the First Ambassador from Terra in a bewildered tone.
"Yes," hissed the scientist through his fibrous teeth. "And they are, in your own histories, shown to be descendents of vicious, territorial, apex predators. Am I correct?" The tall spikey framed Nuzi rustled its spinal barbs in its self satisfied smugness.
"Well it's true Dogs are descended from Wolves, but-" the Terran Ambassador began before the Nuzi cut in.
"But your species has a habit of this type of behaviour. I believe you describe it as domestication? Cats, another example, evolved from ferocious carnivorous animals."
The Terran Ambassador sighed. "I don't see what you're driving at."
The chair of the Galactic Council was a thick hided Huxet elder. He lurched upright and spoke in a voice near almost incandescent.
"Do you know what a Sefopi is Ambassador? It is a dangerously tenacious feral creature from the central cluster of the universe. It reproduces quickly and it is absolutely not the sort of thing one seeks out. Here, this what we all have learned to fear." He waved a claw and a picture appeared on the holographic display in the centre of the room.
A creature with visibly soft fur, tiny wings, bright open eyes, and a stubby but gently curved beak appeared on the screen.
The Chair turned gravely to the Terran Ambassador again.
"You will understand our collective concern, given the history we have heard outlined, that your Terran Researchers have been keeping one as what you call... A pet?" | I never understood why humans are so feared by the rest of the universe.
The more diplomatic races fear our propensity for discovering and mass producing new mass extintion devices, but they're only that in theory. Yes, things like the Jack-O'-Lantern solution are capable of creating an army of the dead, but its been heavily monitored so that its only used for medical pruposes. I mean, try to be the only guy without a detachable head when "trial by beheaded golf course" is an actual thing.
The more warrior races call us savages without honor, but honestly I call hypocresy on that one. The moment I see an Arthurian Golem admit defeat without trying to pull a Namek first is the day we reach total peace. The intellectuals call us stubborn fools pushing their luck too far, but I can't take it seriously when most of them created colonies around a literal Blackhole Sun when the most we've done is send man-piloted submarines to the deepest seas.
The point is, I never understood until recently. I was trying to get my girlfriend, Lya'Paxy, a good gift for our anniversary and thought of giving her a pet. After all, her parental units never let her get one and she was always so jealous whenever she saw someone else wit one. So I decided to call my friend Laura for help, she's an expert in the alien pet business and I figured she wanted to put to use her new "Intergalactic Juristiction" license to use.
She took me to a drifting planet that I later realized was on the outskirts of the infamous Loke-O system for what she thought was the best option for a beginner. First of all, the creature was known to be surprisingly good with spatial travel, incredibly loyal and low maintenance, which was great for Lya because her job didn't let her settle down too long in a single place. It was also, in Laura's own words, too cute to comprehend, and as always, she was right.
When I first saw it, I thought I was seeing a giant pillow. It was a massive round thing in warm pastel colors, with the only thing distinguishing itself from the mass of fur being two giant doe-eyes that quietly watched us as we moved. It moved by joyfully slithering around in a ziz zag pattern and used this floating orbs of pure fluff as appendages. According to Laura, their habitat was structured like a giant 3D labyrinth, so most species used some form of psychic abilities for guidance and locomotion.
In hindsight that should've been the first red flag. Psychic animals are usually in the highest tiers of potential danger, and even if they're legal as pets, they are too destructive and unpredictable to be properly tamed... unless you're human, in which case the desire to make collectible monster games real made so that we've found ways to tame monsters capable of creating mountain ranges and give them to little kids.
The second red flag came right after. Laura said the process of training it so that its able to properly integrate within intergalactic society was of a week. To put it in perspective, even the most dangerous widely popular predator needed only half a day of training so that it could behave. Then she showed me its feeding patterns, their feed were this weird cross between a bat and a spider the size of a small cat, and they where 50 credits the pound. Luckily she explained that they only needed a pound every six human months.
By the time she started explaining possible tricks to teach it I started to get really worried and asked Laura if she knew my girlfriend wasn't human. She simply replied that we needed 2 extra days of training then. I was honestly more conflictuated about it than I should. It was obvious Lya would be terrified to see it, but on the other hand this big furball was too cute to pass. I then came to the conclussion that it would be better to give her another species as a pet, but that I will keep the thing for myself.
That was honestly the smartest decision I've ever made. After all, I'd feel worse if Lya took my my precious Bunyi when she dumped me. He's such a good boy and he helped overtake the break up a lot. I just started researching about Bunyi's species and oh boy, was it really... something. What scares me the most its not that this ball of love is capable of doing or that I'm allowed to keep it as a pet, what scares me is that even knowing that, it still feels normal to have him around, and that if it wasn't a gift I wouldn't have hesitated. | 2021-07-09T16:59:29 | 2021-07-09T16:06:35 | 162 | 77 |
[WP] You're a high level black mage with a few healing spells but everyone thinks you're a terrible cleric because you only ever use healing spells. | I have stood on the edge of chaos, and fought back oblivion. I have held the world aloft in my hands and saved it from the death eaters. I have fought countless battles against terrible foes. I have died and been reborn. My name is feared throughout the multiverse.
But at last I have found peace.
In a small town near to Murkhaven.
As a lowly healer.
I will not smite. I will not judge. I will not forgive your sins. That is not my place. I will heal all who ask.
All.
The cuts and scraped knees of the town’s children have been healed more times than I have counted.
They know me, and they trust me.
Not as my real name, or my old self; as Henric the Healer, cleric of a god you cannot see, cannot hear, and cannot name. I do not push my belief on anyone, and nor do I proselytise the ardent students who pass through, eager to learn great favours from their gods, eager to mould the world into the image of the gods they believe are all-powerful.
I just heal.
The mother of the jilted lover who brings her son’s still warm corpse to me. I go to where his hurting soul cries out for peace, and I sit with him for as long as it takes for him to calm. My time encircling his spirit, allowing change; allowing remorse; allowing tears to fall, and the desire for life to return.
I heal his body as I guide him back to the arms of his family. The dagger gone from his heart, and filled once more with his life force, he shudders as he draws breath once more, and tears of relief wash away the tears of despair.
I heal all who ask.
The orcs attacked at sunset on the third day of the harvest. Some said that the Duke’s men had stirred them up. Some said that the orcs do not need an excuse to fight.
The townsfolk fought back, but they are farmers and barkeeps, housekeepers and children. They are not skilled in the art of war.
They asked me to help them.
So I healed their wounds as they formed. I walked amidst the battlefield, healing cuts, soothing burns, reattaching limbs.
I could have ended it in an instant. I could have sent the orcs to a fiery death. I could have placed them in unimaginable torture for all eternity.
But that is not my place.
And I have found peace.
The orc soldier had a pitchfork through his face. It was embedded in his skull, and had stuck him to the strong oak beams of the inn. The thatch was on fire, so he had only a few minutes at best.
He caught my eye with what remained of his, and the pain was evident in his cracked voice.
“Help me, human. I beg you.”
His voice was young. Probably only seven turns old. An adult in name only.
And I help all who ask.
All.
Black dust formed around my arms, and tendrils of power reached out to the impaled orc. He saw death reach for him, and a tear formed in his remaining eye.
But the death was not for him, but for the pitchfork. It needed disintegrating, and it crumbled past dust and into nothingness. The orc’s brain was healed with a quick burst of time magic, gathered from the forbidden realms.
He stumbled forward, away from the flames, and I caught him, and offered him a drink from my water flask.
“Atralak! Uk!”
The cry was accompanied by a trumpet blast, and the fights and cries stilled to a standstill after a few moments.
The orcs had stopped pressing their attack, and the wary and intimidated townsfolk stayed put in their defensive positions.
The orc captain, his red shoulder plates signifying three years of leadership pointed at me as he shouted, “You! Cleric! You healed Ulk.”
I nodded.
His eyes narrowed, “Why?”
“Because he asked for help.”
“Orcs do not ask for help! They take what they need!”
I said nothing. It was not a question, and I had no desire to play his games.
My silence seemed to enrage him, but as he was about to speak again, Ulk stepped forward beside me with two good eyes, and a distinct lack of pitchforks in his face. It gave the captain pause.
“Father-brother-kin, let us go home.”
I looked at Ulk with eyebrows raised. To say I was surprised was an understatement. To mention kinship in public was just not done in orc circles. It was like telling off a child, or chastising an errant servant.
There was more going on here than was apparent, and the quick whistle-hum that escaped the lips of the captain confirmed that for me.
Ulk stopped three orcs as they walked towards the woods to the east.
“Please heal these three,” he said in broken common. The townsfolk nearest gasped, and I realised that they had not understood the words in orcish.
“If they ask me, I will.”
One by one, they asked for healing, and I gave it to them. I left them with good scars. It would improve their standing in the clan.
Ulk stood alone before me, and spoke once more before he left.
“Peace, Orcbane.”
That wasn’t my real name, either, but the orcs had called me that after the end of the Troglodyte Wars.
So many dead. So many lost. And no real winners.
He trotted off after his brothers, and I called out after him, “Call me Henric.”
He turned briefly, and saluted in orc military tradition, hand thumping his chest.
The townsfolk looked at me with wary eyes, but I have found peace. They will forget in a turn or two, and their fear will subside. The seasons are easier to bear with each healing. Each cure heals me, too.
I heal all who ask.
I am Henric the Healer.
And I have found peace. | Mages Got Talent was set to be the biggest live event in the smallest town of the Medium Kingdom--Parvus.
The quaint locale was positively buzzing--with excitement, and errant magical fallouts from people who thought they were much better at the arcane than they really were--at the thought of three moderately famous stars coming into town for a spelling of the kingdom-famous show.
There was the former supermodel, the record holder for the most cover issues of Robes Illustrated--Thea Terry. Hundreds crowded around her as she descended from the broom, her shiny purple cape proving to be as much of an attention grabber as her symmetrical face shrouded in glamour.
There was the arcane master once at the top of his field, but has since regressed relatively to the much younger generations due to his insistence to only learn from heavy, dusty, physical tomes, instead of the far more convenient m-books. Abbott Dinwiddie apparated into town, his slightly-warped portal almost causing him to trip and fall, but he righted himself quickly.
And there was Ximon Karl, the mysterious mystic who kept his powers close to the chest. Many have theorized that he was actually magicless, but those at the receiving ends of his biting remarks have attested to those words having the strength of a small, localized, level three fireball.
And thus, the stage was set--quite fast and quite literally, thanks to the trio's quick wand work. As residents of Parvus settled down into conjured seats, a few nervous hopefuls paced around backstage--with one person that was even more visibly nervous than the rest, shaking like a loose leaf in a hurricane.
Young Alma Powers did not have time to settle or calm herself. Still a bundle of exposed nerves electrifying enough to shock a bathtub, she found herself ushered onto stage, suddenly facing the three judges she's long dreamt of meeting and proving her talent.
"Hi, beautiful," said Ximon. "Can we please have your name?"
"Alma," she chittered. Though it was just two syllables, the chattering of her teeth made it sounded like a tiny avalanche of little pebbles.
"Alma," said Thea, a wide smile adorning her face. No one could tell if it was permanently stuck there via hex or curse. "Please, darling. What are you going to perform for us today?"
"Um, I'm going to showcase some healing magic," Alma said.
The three judges leaned closer. They conferred with each other for a while, before nodding assuredly.
"Singing magic, love?" rasped Abbott.
"Healing," Alma said again.
"Ah, healing! My ears sure could use some healing," said Abbott, to a small smattering of laughter. He beamed. "Well, Helma, please proceed, then, love."
Alma's hands reached into the pocket of her robe. She brought out a tiny bird with a broken wing, eliciting awws from the crowd.
"I remembered when I used to train on birds, too," Thea smiled. "It was always so hard to break their wings again for more practice."
Alma closed her eyes, and she breathed in deeply. She almost forgot to exhale, however, which caused her to turn a little blue. Entering into a rhythm, she began to mutter under her breath, and a small orb of white light began to encircle the bird. It continued at a steady glow, building, cresting! Alma's whispers turned a bit more forceful through gritted teeth, and the white somehow got even starker, before--
BZZT! BZZT! BZZT!
One after the other, the buzzes sounded out. Alma looked up in shock, the magic in her hands all but gone, though the bird remained injured. Her eyes starting to glaze with the wet sheen of impending tears.
"Darling," Ximon said. "It's a wing. On a tiny, tiny bird. Even I can heal that bird in less than a mi--I mean, of course I can do it! Seriously, I've seen fake preachers on the streets with better healing!"
Thea raised her hand, twisting it slightly. Alma yelped as the bird flew towards the judge, who then promptly snapped a finger.
"See, that's all," Thea smiled. "And that's the most basic of healing spells."
Abbott then pointed at the bird. A small black bolt shot out, and a small cracking sound was accompanied by an urgent chirp.
"You are right, Thea," Abbott said. "I do miss doing that."
"Abbott," Thea smiled, though her forehead wrinkled ever so slightly.
Alma Powers stood stunned on stage.
"I'm afraid this isn't going to cut it, Alma," Ximon sighed. "I understand you can work on magic, but without talent--"
Alma raised her hand. Where there was once a tiny white glow, now sat a malevolent tempest of black, swirling up, down, and around her body. It was mainly concentrated in her hand, though, and one could swear that there was laughter emanating from it, the sort that sent shudders down spines and caused one to turn their head here and there in paranoia.
"Give me back my bird," Alma said, eerily calm.
"What in Arcanum is going on?" Thea smiled.
"That... level of power... I've only ever read about it!" Abbot cried. "That's true talent right there!"
"OK, we get it," Ximon held his hands up. "You were hiding this talent. Alright. This isn't some sort of fake, scripted show, where you earn sympathy points by suddenly being talented in another radical discipline. See, that's the sort of thing that doesn't just happ--"
A guttural howl emerged from Alma, and a dark, terrifying bolt shot out from her hand. It hit Ximon square in the chest. There was a brief moment of realization in his face, quickly swept away due to an explosive disintegration that sent ash puffing up and out.
And that was what set off pandemonium in the stands. People screamed and stood, and it eventually transformed into torturous trampling as they each tried to scramble, uncaring, to the exits, and shouted about bolting their doors and how Alma was a witch and magic was really terrifying when up close and not on a m-screen.
Alma blinked. This wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to *heal*. Though that did not come naturally as black magic, she endeavoured and aspired--and being rejected in front of tens of people really rubbed her the wrong way.
Abbbott and Thea stared at all that remained of Ximon, a barely-there black silhouette of cinders. They turned to Alma, mouths wide agape. Or for Thea, as wide as it could go, which meant that it could possibly fit about two quarters.
"I'm so sorry," Alma cried, collapsing to her knees, burying her teary face into her hands. "I only wanted to heal. I didn't want to let this side of me come out!"
"Oh my god," Abbott said. "That's... amazing! You finally killed him!"
"What?" a confused Alma said.
"Great work, honey," Thea smiled. "Look, we had a contract, so we couldn't murder him ourselves. But, you know, if a contestant is strong enough to it... chalk that up as an accident, right?"
"But... but... I wanted to be a healer," Alma whined.
"Think of it this way," Abbott winked, which took a far longer time than anticipated. "You are healing the world by getting rid of him. Got it?"
"Huh," Alma said.
"Seriously, I joined this show just to try and find a mage as powerful as you," Thea smiled. "And I can't believe we managed to find one!"
"You have a special gift, Alma," Abbot said. "And you should use it."
"So... no healing?"
"OK, listen here," Abbot said. "Healing is removing the thing that's bothering the thing, right? So, don't think of it as fixing a bird's wing, for example. You are *removing* the broken wing from the bird, and therefore giving it a new wing. So if you apply that to this world as a whole, with those pompous punk mages and their m-books..."
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-09-03T10:55:58 | 2021-09-03T10:45:13 | 669 | 29 |
[WP] You're a high level black mage with a few healing spells but everyone thinks you're a terrible cleric because you only ever use healing spells. | For seven days, the battle raged.
In the deepest chamber of the darkest dungeon, the Sacred Brotherhood had made their stand against the cultists. For seven days they fought, till their blades shattered to splinters and the last of their holy magic was exhausted. Then they spilled their lifeblood upon the foul stone and gave up their lives. Noble and valiant, but ultimately meaningless.
Now only Jerrick the Neophyte remained, alone and helpless amongst the broken bodies of his Brothers.
The cultists had left him alive on purpose. They had seen what small power the fledgling cleric possessed in his Holy Right Hand, had seen him heal the minor cuts and burns of his Brothers during the battle. They had seen him struggle as the fighting raged and the wounds became more grievous, until his healing spells failed him and he collapsed exhausted.
He posed no threat, just another helpless fly caught in the web for the spider cult to toy with.
Jerrick knelt on the cold stone as the cult leader approached, a wicked smile on his face. In his hand he held a staff of purest ebony, glowing with foul dark light, the source of his power.
"And so ends the Sacred Brotherhood," said the leader of the cult. "I have left you alive to bear witness to their end. Go now and tell the tale, of how the power of the Holy Right Hand was shattered, how the order died in a torrent of screams and blood. Tell the people of the power of the Spider Cult. Tell the people how I massacred your friends."
"No," said the Neophyte, "I don't think I will."
A look of shock and frustration passed across the cult leader's face. "Fine," he said, raising his staff. "Then die here with the rest of your Brothers."
"No," Jerrick replied. "I don't think I'll do that either. And besides they weren't really my brothers. Or my friends. In fact, they didn't like me much at all. I only joined the order a few weeks ago you see, when I heard about this foolish quest. My Holy Right Hand is weak and my healing magic unimpressive. I'm quite a poor cleric, if I'm being honest."
The cultists stood around laughing, patting each other on their backs, enjoying the debasement of this holy enemy.
Jerrick just smiled. "But the thing about it is, I'm actually left handed."
In an instant, his white robes changed to a black that was darker than the dungeon around him, his left hand emitting a familiar foul glow.
"And I'm not here for the Order. I'm here for my staff."
He raised his left hand, and as he did the broken and desecrated corpses of the Sacred Brotherhood rose as one around him.
He lifted his left hand higher, and darkness passed over the eyes of the cult leader and all of the cultists.
Then Jerrick watched as the zombified corpses of the once holy order tore the blinded cultists apart, limb from limb, and began to devour their flesh.
When it was over, he waded through the blood and viscera on the dungeon floor and reclaimed his staff.
And he stood over the massacre and smiled. All was right again. No more pretense. No more simulated smiles or faked subservience to the Order.
He was Jerrick the Black Magus once more. | I took this in a slightly different way, where the black mage doesn't know any healing spells. Hopefully it still works!
___
Brath aimed his eyes to the sky, the blue infinity stretching out past the jagged tops of mountains, and he breathed in. *Don't kill anyone today. Remember what they told you about managing anger. Too much fury will not cure me.* But his blood *was* boiling as he breathed out, looking down towards the canvas of green grass, rolling hills bumping the verdant landscape. Evergreen trees, swaying in the gentle breeze, gathered at the horizon, echoes of a forest long past. It was scenic. Peaceful. Brath ground his teeth, clenching his hands into quivering fists. *Why can't things be this peaceful?* His eyes sailed down towards the fallen... orc? Brath shook his head. Why did their paladin *have* to be an orc? They were magic resistant! Brath turned his head, taking in the arrow stuck in the orc's thigh. Next to him was a fidgety dwarf, holding a bow.
"I know I said we needed to have friendly fires..." Brath thought about the cook fires. These two had been cold to everyone, even Tyi. Brath jolted his head towards the arrow. "But this is taking it a little too far, don't you think," he asked with a shrug.
The dwarf pivoted so fast that his bow, which was dragging on the ground, cracked the side of Rax's head. The slap of wood resounded through the emptiness of the green. And the orc grimaced, trying to look away from the black mage. "Ha, ha, good one, Aurin." The orc looked up towards Brath, wincing. "S-see, no pain here. Just friends being friends." Rax's leg was bleeding.
Aurin gulped. "Y-yeah, friends being fr—."
"Please stop talking." Brath rasped out, shaking his head. Orcs and dwarves never worked well with each other. And why was *Aurin* their archer? *Kids and their dreams.* But that arrow was no dream. Brath pointed towards the arrow with a jerk of his thumb. "Rax, you and I both know that's gotta come out."
Rax winced.
Brath sighed, rolling his eyes. He wasn't *that* bad of a healer. Was he? Moving towards the arrow, Brath cracked his jaw. *This shouldn't be too bad*, he thought as he wiggled his fingers, limbering himself up, cracking his neck.
*Alright, check to see if it punctured.* Rax muffled a scream as Brath lifted up his leg, contorting to see the other side. *Well, not punctured.* Brath dropped the leg, letting it thud against the ground. Rax yelped. Aurin grimaced.
*Okay, check to see if the arrow is lodged too far.* Brath grabbed the arrow's shaft, tugging and twisting it. For some reason, more blood was bellowing out of the wound now. The shaft stood slanted now. And Rax was crying now. "Oh shush, you," Brath said, shaking his head. This had been all their fault.
*Well, break the shaft and push it through.* Brath's face quirked up. Was that how it was supposed to go? With a shrug—Rax would be okay after some healing—Brath snapped the arrow's shaft in two. Rax screamed. Brath shook his head. "You're being a crybaby, you know that," he said as he slammed his palm down on the broken shaft, punching the arrowhead through the orc's thigh.
No more screams came out of Rax as the crimson orc blood clumped itself on the grasslands, the arrow's head glinting from the yellow sunlight as it stuck out of Rax's thigh. "Strange," Brath said with a slow tempo of confusion. "I swore it was sticking down, not to the side... I wonder who could have done that?" He shrugged as a grin appeared on his face. Now it was time for the good stuff. Now it was time for his *magic.* Well, not his magic. He would have set this picturesque grassland into red-wrought oblivion. Fire was his best attribute.
Now, he had his blood pressure to look after. Too much anger could send him in a heart attack, and the black mage grimaced at the thought of such a boring death. As it turned out, training new blood was rather fun, and becoming a cleric wasn't too hard. After all, healing magic *really* was easy. It was basically like fire.
With a smile, Brath's hands began to glow with a pulsing dark carmine, turning to bright orange and, at last, to a vibrant blue. Flames danced between his fingertips, eating up the gentle springtime air around him. "Now, let's close that wound."
Rax didn't scream at all once again. For the orc had fainted. And Aurin was growing greener by the moment, the smell of flesh wafting in the springtime air.
Only Brath was grinning as he moved his hands along the orc's thigh. Healing was so much fun, he mused to himself as he slapped the orc's thigh. "Good as new," he shouted, looking at the charred and mangled flesh. "Good as new," Brath repeated. Who knew healing could be so easy.
___
Thank you for reading! And if you'd like more of my stories, then they are here at r/WritingKnightly! | 2021-09-03T08:27:55 | 2021-09-03T08:25:10 | 503 | 108 |
[WP] You have passive mind-reading. You hear the thoughts of those closest to you. Rather than use it to your advantage You instead use it to give precision compliments to brighten people's day. | I was almost 16 when the powers kicked in. Nothing special. Not flying in the air, not becoming invisible and not telekinesis. But I did start hearing murmurs. Little whispers when I was around people.
I was frightened initially to be honest. I thought it was schizophrenia. But slowly I realized that I was simply hearing the thoughts and internal monologues of people.
And yeah a lot of it is embarrassing
Like suddenly I knew that the most popular girl in class had a weird itch in some undisclosable location. Or that the guy sitting next to me in class had a major crush on his best friend's mom. Or that my English teacher had a slightly unhealthy obsession with Mariah Carey songs
I wanted cool powers. Not this lame shit
A few months later I accompanied my grandma on a trip to the local store. A lady stood there distributing free samples of some home made sauce. I immediately recognized her as one of my neighbours - Ms Jones.
She waved us over excitedly and handed us a free sample.
It tasted......er...well..... it had a distinct taste.
"OH please let them like it. Please. I really love making this sauce" thought ms jones
I could hear a little murmur of "oh lord it's disgusting!" Coming from my grandma's brain.
When I looked up though, my grandma was smiling widely and gave an encouraging nod to Ms Jones before saying "this is delicious dear. So glad to be able to have a taste"
Ms Jones thoughts were basically music after this little interaction.
This put things in perspective for me
I actually had an awesome super power
The power to make someone's day better
If a girl comes in unsure of the new outfit she's wearing you bet I'm gonna ask her where she got it from. If a dude is conscious about the new haircut I'm telling him it looks great. If a kid is worried that his friends will laugh at his new socks I'm gonna tell him how cool they are.
We all have days. We all need to get through them
And like my grandma always said "kindness doesn't cost anything" | ‘I’m gonna fail, Im gonna fail, I’m gonna fail, I’m gonna fail.’ The one overwhelming thought was all I heard when I was looking at today’s interviewee, a portly man in his forties. Poor guy. From what I’d scanned, he seemed to be an excellent candidate. We’d be hiring him.
“Hello Mr. Kingsman, welcome to the interview!” I smiled, extending my hand. ‘Hard handshake, Jeff. Remember what Kristen told you, this is important.’
“Oh, sorry.” he suddenly perked up, clasping my hand on both sides, and shaking vigorously. I turned my head in surprise.
‘Oh no, I’m not gonna get it. It’s over. Good job, Jeff. You fucked it again, you failure. It’s not like your hairline is fading anyways. Kristy’s gonna leave you, the kids are gonna go, and you’re gonna be alone forever.’
Damn, his thoughts were so, just, painful to hear.
“Well, Mr. Kingsman. Please, take a seat. Let’s get started.” I smiled, showing him to a Lazyboy chair we had specially for interviewees to be comfy in. I sat down in a couch across from him, and pulled my clipboard out from my case.
“So, Mr. Jeff Kingsman, married to Kristen L. Kingsman, is that correct?”
“Uuum, yes sir.”
“And your profile says here you graduated from Loudon University?”
“Yes sir, bachelors in marketing and business.”
“Alright, alright. Nice to know.” I smiled. He seemed to be settling into a rhythm, answering questions, his mind slowly going blank.
“By the way, Mr. Kingsman, I love the way your hair’s been done. Where do you go?”
‘What? No, no, no, I didn’t practice for this, what do I say? A hairstylist? I can’t say my wife, that makes me look dependent. They want independent people, don’t they?’
Bingo.
“I mean, honestly, it’s so hard to find a good hairstylist these days. All they can do is cut off bangs and trim. It’s honestly such a pain.” I groaned, paying attention to his reaction.
“Oh, um, my wife’s a hairstylist. She helps me with my hair. Maybe she could take you on too?” He responded, combing his hands through his slowly receding hairline.
“Oh, really? That’s great! Oh thank you so much.” I put on a grin, clapping my hands together. “Is it okay if you write down her work phone for me? That would be great.”
“Oh, um, okay.” He took the pen I offered him, and scribbled down some random number.
“Thank you so much, sir.” I smiled, clasping the small piece of paper, and stuffing it in my pocket. I really did need a new stylist. “Now, onto the rest of the interview.”
The rest of the interview went nearly perfectly. His mind was sharp, despite his slowly increasing age, and he was a rather nice guy on the inside, even if he didn’t show it.
The last few questions came up, and as I sat up from my spot on the couch, almost immediately, his nerves came back.
‘Oh no, oh no, oh no, I did awfully, I’m gonna be passed over, this is the end of the world I’m gonna die, I’m gonna fail I’m gonna fail.’
I smiled. He was so nervous.
“Mr. Kingsman, thank so much for coming today. Honestly, it was a pleasure.” I smiled, reaching my hand to help him out of the chair.
He took, slowly getting up from his leisurely spot.
As he was about to leave the room, I hesitated.
“Mr. Kingsman, please wait for a second.”
He stopped right at the door, turning around.
“Uuum, what?”
‘Oh no, he’s gonna tell I failed miserably, I did everything wrong, it’s gonna be horrendous, I’m gonna get torn to shreds-‘
“We we’re going to give you the job you the moment you entered the room. No need to be nervous, your wife won’t leave you.” I smiled. “Thanks for coming, Mr. Kingsman. Have a wonderful day.”
That seemed to brighten his day a little. | 2021-11-18T09:02:36 | 2021-11-18T08:43:25 | 344 | 32 |
[WP] In a world where you can exchange the remaining days of your life for $9.99/day, Jeff's request for $1000 is declined. | "Want another dance sweetie" she whispers in his ear.
Flipping his pockets inside out he silently tells her he's all tapped out. Not being one to take the first no she grabs his crotch and says "You're young baby.. We just got a new health bank ATM installed"
The young man requests $1000 rolls up his sleeve and starts the process. DENIED flashes across the screen.
Narrator ~ young billy just contracted HIV by using a local health bank ATM. Don't be like billy. Only use Health First Private Health banking for your withdrawals. Now offering 2 month free bonus with all new accounts.
Commercial End | He had been in tight places before, but ever since the car accident he had been living paycheck to paycheck since he couldn’t initially afford the deductible for the bodywork. With a deep sigh, he took out a payday loan with a huge amount of interest attached to it, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to recoup the money lost easily.
It had been two days since the city shut off the water to his house. Those pesky bills kept slipping through his fingers since he had to decide whether he wanted to skip meals for four days at a time or have fresh water running in his run down, inner city townhouse. He couldn’t remember a time that wasn’t like this. Twenty cents more than minimum wage for the majority of his life doesn’t exactly buy you comfort.
“One thousand dollars… okay, one thousand dollars should get me back on track,” he quietly said to himself as he crunched the numbers, carefully calculating how much money he could partition towards each expense. Then he thought about it. One hundred days. How much did those one hundred days actually mean to him? Would he miss them? Would they too be spent in poverty? He figured one thousand dollars for one hundred miserable days would be more than a bargain.
The teller gathered all of the necessary information she needed from him as she typed furiously away at the computer that sat between him and her. “Now I’ll need you to sign this agreement for me sir, this basically makes it so that we have no blame for whatever happens to your shortened life and stuff like that.” She pushed the paper at him without even looking away from the screen. Without thinking he signed the form and gave it back to her. Two more minutes of some more furious typing and he heard a ping come from the computer. She gave the screen an angry look and hit Enter again. The same ping came from the computer.
“Is, uh, everything okay?” He asked.
“Sir I’m sorry,” she began, “but it seems like you will not be able to successfully be able to make the deposit of one hundred days.”
“Why is that?” He asked, feeling a cold tingle run down his spine.
“Sir, you do not have the assets.” She said coldly. A cold wave crashed over him. He felt everything all at once as thoughts raced through his head at break neck speed. When was the last time he had visited the doctor? When was the last time any medical professional had given him an examination? What was going to kill him in the next hundred days?
“Thanks anyway, ma’am,” he said and walked towards the door of the building.
He stepped outside and a warm zephyr greeted him into the city street. The clouds broke and a small bit of sunshine hit his face. He felt the warmth of the rays hit his cheek. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t just surviving to make it to tomorrow, and ultimately to some bigger unknown. Now that the end was in sight, he felt scared, and he felt alive.
| 2014-07-10T09:28:51 | 2014-07-10T08:46:08 | 166 | 100 |
[WP] A crooked cop meets an honorable thief. | "I'll let you go if you hand me the money."
Silence.
"*I said*, I'll let you go if you give me the money."
The thief turned slowly, seeing first, not the man, but instead the barrel of a gun and a shiny NYPD badge.
The man that the gun and badge were attached stood in the shadows. The thief tried to make out his face, but the cop had concealed himself in the shadows.
The policeman, however, had no problem seeing the young thief. He managed to catch him at just the right moment, in the only spot in the warehouse where the moonlight managed to break in. He had taken off his mask, revealing the face of a sixteen or seventeen year old kid.
"That was pretty smart, that heist you pulled off."
The thief tightened his grip on the bag in his glove.
"Did you do it on your own?"
*No.* But the cop didn't need to know that. The thief had already disposed of his Bluetooth piece and phone. His accomplice had severed the connection and sat safely at home.
The thief had never felt so alone.
The cop tucked away his badge and replaced his gun in his holster.
"If you want drugs, I can get you drugs. You'd just need to continue these heists." The cop pulled his hands behind his back.
The thief didn't want drugs though. The thief wanted money, because despite all of mother's hard work, she wouldn't be able to pay his sister's medical bills.
You see, the thief was no stranger to stupid ideas. Take for example, the heist itself. But he sure as *hell* wasn't going to be so stupid to get mixed up in whatever this cop was in. The thief decided to run.
There's another example of a stupid idea.
Like lightning, the cop pulled *another* gun out from under his jacket, and shot the thief twice. One bullet embedded itself in the boy's shoulder, another in his lung.
The cop yanked the bag of money from him and ran off into the night, leaving the boy gasping on the ground. The sounds of his last breaths echoed throughout the warehouse. No one else knew where he was. No one was going to come to save him.
| "Just one more time" he tells himself over and over as the glass shatters. "If I don't then we'll be fucked" the thought rattles in his head as his feet crunch on the broken glass. DallyBoy had been in and out of prison which only made him a better crook. But going back wouldn't be in option so he was careful not to generate to much noise. And he always covered his tracks as the OG's advised. Leather gloves and no loose clothing, wouldn't want to rip your cloths and leave some behind. Being careful was the least of his concerns though.
A rough manhood is only made easier through a rough childhood. DallyBoy and his brother TwoBitbaby grew up in a drug fueled home. Thier mother and father were heavily into every sort of drug but found their home in alcoholism. Combined with the drugs they were taking it only fueld their neglect and abuse. DallyBoy would do anything to shield his baby brother from this. One day he had had enough. He called the police and told them about what had been happening. He knew if they were to come and see surely they would take them both away to a better place. But deep inside he knew that his parents would do anything they could to get them back. After all keeping him around ment income from the state. So he decided to lie and say that he was a neighbor child so that only his younger brother would be taken. This was just the first sacrifice that he would make.
And now he was in this house to provide for TwoBitbaby. To ensure that they would never be separate again. He vowed that as soon as he turned 18 he would try his harder to keep them together. 10 years had passed before he put in the paperwork to adopt his brother. And now 3 years after the fact he was in college and working with a roof both over his and his brothers heads. He had done it. But like everything money gets in the way of life. Money wasn't lasting and he knew how to get more and quick.
"A few jewelry boxes and TV's would provide enough money to hold them over for a few more weeks" he thought as he stuffed his bag.
"We just need to pay the light bill and get some food"
He was nearly done when he heard tires come to a squeal in front of the home. He bolted for the door but was almost knocked over as it was flung open.
A police officer almost as bewildered as DallyBoy tries to survey the situation as fast as possible while also keeping an eye on the robber. "This is a classic case of robbery nothing else" the seasoned officer thought. He looked down at the boy scrambling to get up and decided it best to see if he would cooperate with him. "Stop" he yelled with his hand ready to draw his gun. The boy did as instructed. So far so good. "Turn around" he barked. The robber did what he was told and met the officer with a gaze full of fierce fear. "What is this guy thinking" the officer thought.
"Come with me to my cruiser now, move slowly." They approached the police cruiser and the officer took the boys wallet to look him up in the criminal system. It didn't take longer then a second to see what this "boy" had done. Ex convict and on probation as a parental guardian for being late to cps meetings. The officer smiled crookedly. He will do it. "Now I can keep my hands clean and give this poor bastard another chance in the real world." His crooked smile widened. He will definitely do it.
He exited the car with this crooked smile still on his crooked cop face. "Listen I know who you are DallyBoy, and I know your on probation. This won't look good on you if I arrest you will it?" DallyBoy hesitated but respond "No".
The cop kept smiling. "And I'm sure you want to stay with your brother right?"
DallyBoy felt the muscle in his jaw tighten. "Yes" he said cooly, trying not to show the cop how rattled that subject made him. "Well" said the officer "I have a proposition for you my man, I'll let you go but you gotta do something for me."
DallyBoy knew that this ment the police officer in front of him did not serve the people for justice. But that this officer believed in justice for himself and served no one. But separating from his brother wasn't an option. He would never abandon TwoBitbaby like their parents had long ago.
He took a deep breath and knew he would hate what he would become. He exhales and says in a hardened voice "What did you have in mind, officer? "...... | 2015-04-01T10:58:57 | 2015-04-01T10:17:57 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] A single, socially awkward single father attempts to teach the "birds and the bees" using the first two items he sees in his house. | Richard stretched out on his recliner with TV remote in hand, sipping a cup of coffee. He loved the quiet of Saturday mornings.
"Dad, aren't you supposed to give me 'the talk' about sex?"
*"What."*
His head whipped in the direction of his eight year old son. The feeling of a minor burn on his legs informed him that he had spilled his coffee. He swore under his breath as he batted at his legs, mentally restraining himself from snapping at his laughing kid. As the pain on his legs cooled, the question repeated itself in his head.
"Uh, th-, uh, what, now, Mark?"
"Sex," came the nonchalant reply, "My friends say they've all gotten 'the talk' about it. That it makes babies." Mark paused, then continued with a self-assured nod. "I think I'm old enough to know. I don't care if I'm six months younger."
*What in hell are kids talking about these days?* Richard scratched his head in incomprehension at the thought that his son was old enough to want to know about sex, but still innocent enough to *want* to hear 'the talk' from his old man. "Maybe some other time?"
"Daaaad, seriously. I'm already eight. That's almost a preteen. I'm supposed to know about these things."
It was times like these that he almost wished his marriage didn't end in divorce, because whatever her flaws were, Linda was good at handling situations like this. But only almost. When she left, she left him with custody of their son, and he thanked god every day for that. The thought brought a faint smile to his face as he absentmindedly nodded.
"Does that mean you will?" Mark's eyes grew to the size of plates.
The smile vanished as Richard fumbled for words. "Uh, well." He couldn't exactly back out now. "You see, Mark, when a man and a woman... that is, when a mommy and daddy - uh, love each other very much, they, ah, they -"
Mark's quirked eyebrow of dubiousness took what little breeze there was out of Richard's sails. Richard scanned the room, hoping to latch onto something helpful.
"Well, you see, let's say that the, uh... bread over there is the woman, and that dairy creamer over there is the man." He winced at the creamer as all the bad dad jokes flooded his mind.
"If you, ah, pour creamer onto - into - onto that bread, well, something grows on it, right? So the creamer is like the dad, and the, uh, bread is like the mom." *What am I even saying?*
"So babies are like... mold?" Mark tilted his head to one side, confusion written all over his face.
"Uh, yeah. Like mold."
"..."
"..."
"I don't get it."
Richard sighed, deflating as he stared at the floor. "To be honest, I don't either, Mark."
He felt a tug on his sleeve. "... Hey, can we play Mario Kart?"
Richard's gaze rose to his son's smile. *Is he trying to cheer me up?*
"Yeah. Yeah, we can go do that." | Chuck grabbed Mr. Snuggles, the family cat, up off the couch he had been sleeping upon with his left right hand, and then picked up an emerald green vase his mother had bought from South Africa with his left. He’d never been too fond of the glass piece, always found it to be a bit more menacing than he liked. Apparently, as his mother had explained, it was a “funeral vase,” given to her by some sort of tribe member who learned of her husband’s recent passing. Foreign, illegible words were scribbled around it, with images of coffins, skulls, and some sort of flower stenciled in. While it was definitely a beautiful, albeit morbid, piece, it did little to improve the décor of his living room. Moreover, however, it was an absolutely terrible prop for the lecture he was attempting to give, but it would be too confusing to go back now.
“You see,” Chuck said, placing the vase down on the table in front of he and Joey, “babies are a very complicated thing. Do you remember when we explained how the stork worked?”
“Yeah,” Joey said, staring at the vase, his face contorted in obvious confusion.
“Well, that was a lie. Completely fabricated and nonsensical. A bird does not deliver children, nor were you flown into our home while we slept.” Chuck shifted slightly in an attempt to keep Mr. Snuggles from clawing his chest open. He seemed calm for the most part, instead staring up at Chuck with the same expressionless face the cat always had. “To be perfectly honest, you came directly from mommy and I.”
“What do you mean?” Joey said, glancing over at Chuck. Mr. Snuggles was now struggling slightly, his body shifting in Chuck’s right hand as he attempted to squirm away.
“When a man and a woman love each other very much,” Chuck said, lowering the cat down slightly and bringing him closer to the vase, “they have what is known as ‘sex.’ Do you know what that is?”
“No,” Joey said, still watching the cat that was frantically struggling to escape Chuck’s grip. Mr. Snuggles meowed softly.
“Oh,” Chuck sighed. He had hoped that Joey had somehow learned what sex was, thus acquitting Chuck of giving what was already feeling like an incredibly awkward, and admittedly poorly planned, talk. Unfortunately, that was not the case. “Well, sex is a biological thing that almost all creatures do. Birds, dogs, people, grandmas, grandpas, insects, they all have sex.”
“Even Mr. Snuggles?”
Chuck stared down at the cat. He was now upside down in his right hand, belly toward Chuck’s face, feet wildly flailing as if it were trying to walk on the ceiling. “No, not Mr. Snuggles. We had him neutered.”
“Oh,” Joey said, “what’s neutered?”
“That’s a discussion for another time,” Chuck said. He straightened Mr. Snuggles out, then leaned over to the emerald vase. “Anyway, when a man and a woman love each other very much, they have sex. That is when the man sticks his penis in the woman’s vagina. Like so.” Chuck carefully lowered Mr. Snuggles’ tail directly into the emerald vase. “Imagine that Mr. Snuggles’ tail is a penis and the vase is a vagina.”
“What’s a penis?” Joey said.
“Your wiener,” Chuck clarified, nodding toward his son’s crotch. “And a vagina is a girl’s version of a penis. It’s basically just inside out.”
Joey laughed and crossed his legs. “Gross.”
“Not gross,” Chuck said. “It’s natural. You see, once the penis is inside of the vagina, the man pumps his body up and down.” Chuck lifted and lowered Mr. Snuggles’ tail into and out of the vase, the cat meowing hopelessly as his legs tapped the top of the vase again and again. It was clearly not a comfortable experience for the feline, but changing props was simply out of the question. It was obviously confusing enough as is. “This gets the woman pregnant, which means she has a baby inside of her.”
“Inside of her?” Joey said, his eyes growing wide.
“Exactly,” Chuck said. He slowly lowered Mr. Snuggles further down into the vase, then carefully attempted to shove him all the way in. It was a tight squeeze, yes, but Mr. Snuggles was still pretty young and rather flexible. He eventually went in with a soft *pop*. “Imagine that this vase is mommy, and Mr. Snuggles is you as a baby. Now mommy is pregnant and the baby is inside of her.”
“How do I get out?” Joey said.
“The miracle of birth,” Chuck said, releasing his grip on Mr. Snuggles and the vase before leaning back against the sofa. The cat immediately yowled and threw his body against the interior of the vase, knocking the entire thing onto the floor. It did not shatter, but rather rolled about a two feet before Mr. Snuggles ejected from within, running across the floor and disappearing into the next room. All-in-all, he was rather pleased with how the discussion had gone. Although he was confident Mr. Snuggles would be in desperate need of a very long, and very cold shower, at least Joey now understood the basics of reproduction. Plus, it was far better than the lecture his father had given him, which took place at a local strip joint at the age of 23.
| 2015-04-17T09:50:12 | 2015-04-17T09:39:33 | 32 | 22 |
[WP] You are a high school student that's secretly the author of a best-seller sci-fi/fantasy novel based on your real-life adventures involving aliens, magic, time traveling, etc. Your English teacher is having the class read your book and he's getting everything wrong. | Mr. Onsager held up the book. "What did you all think?"
A chorus of 'we liked it' and 'great' went round the room. _Thanks, peeps. Y'all got my back._
"All right. Do you know why I picked this book out?"
We had had all been wondering that, and were curious to see what his answer was.
"It provides a perfect example of the anti-hero."
_Excuse us?_
"Here we have a band of people who do amazing things, and yet don't do anything to deal with the greater problems in their world. They need to be paid to even rescue a little girl."
At the first, yeah, okay. We kick about and have fun. No point in fighting the Vev. But at the second, about fifteen hands shot up.
Mr. Onsager chuckled. "Shelley?"
Shelley steadily said, "For one thing, the money was mostly spent on supplies to make the rescue, and for another thing, doing dangerous work should be compensated, and for _another_, the 'girl' was over a hundred years old."
"She was clearly described as being three. Whether or not she's an adult in their short-lived society, she's not a hundred."
"They're all from the equivalent of Saturn. If you're around a red star and the temperature is livable, the year is going to be really long. And that was _barely_ livable." _Not to mention the greenhouse effect they terraformed it into having._
Mr. Onsager frowned. "That... is rather esoteric, and something I would expect from hard science fiction rather than a fantasy work. Moreover, it would completely undermine the whole point of the book - to cherish life no matter how brief."
Evan raised a hand. "If, on the other hand, she's at the prime of a multi-millenial life, it makes a completely valid and supported point about the ethics of the Arcania."
_Yeah, I guess I was pretty partisan on that issue. If this gets back to Mmlstal, I might get an earful from the Proctor._
Mr. Onsager sighed. "And how might you connect the ethics of the Arcania to the real world?"
"Weeeelll... it's a metaphor, obviously. For..." Evan flailed, but I raised my hand.
And for once, I was called. "The analogous function to the Arcania would be Electricity, but the metaphor is about regulatory capture in the pharmaceutical industry." _They're so danged similar, it's eerie._
Mr. Onsager looked so disappointed. "That's... ummm.... Moving on!" | (your name is Steve Lemons)
(yes, your last name is Lemons)
(it is better than being called Steve Limes)
(right now you are sitting in the back of your classroom with a smug face)
(you are the coolest and most mysterious high school kid in the world)
(just yesterday you fought an alien overlord with your home made light sword)
(and you have written about many of your adventures)
(including the book that your very own teacher was beginning to discuss)
"So class, today we are going to start our new reading assignment. In my hand is Sean Lemonhoppers new novel, HOW TRAIN A PLASMA SHOOTING LIZARD."
(Yes, your pen name is Sean Lemonhoppers. You are a creative genius.)
"Here, let me pass these out to you."
(As Mr. Ostren began to pass out the books, you began to feel enlightened. One could say that you felt, "euphoric," as the weight of your golden fedora began to lift and your unshaven beard became less itchy.)
(Yes, you wear a golden fedora and no, you do not understand that it makes you look like you have been friend zoned five times in the past week.)
(also, your warriors beard only covers your neck, so you look extra euphoric)
"We are going to do this as sort of a book comparison with the last novel we read. Why? Well, there has been a great loss of quality within the book community. Teenage novels such as this one are very poor attempts at literature, yet they still sell very well. This project is an attempt to point out and inform you of how shallow, unoriginal, and bland these books are."
(Did he just call your book shit?)
(bruh)
(you feel your hands clench together and you fingerless gloves squeeze against your palms)
(the class begins to read chapter one together)
(after every several paragraphs, the teacher stops and warms up the fire burning inside)
(he is ready to roast, and he is not going to show any mercy)
"Let's look at these 3 lines in particular: "After throwing a powerful right hook at the evil wizards bony and wrinkly face, my arm itched, so I scratched it. Then I casually blocked a spell while drinking diet mountain dew because I enjoy staying healthy. After taking a deep gulp, I attempted to grab the wizards staff but it exploded and sent a lazer beam out into space, almost destroying the international space station." Class, do you honestly think that this book could be considered a national best seller? It is gimmicky and relies on cheap humor and a great sense of unearned cockiness in order to portray and image."
(What? Was this not good enough for him? At least you didn't blow up the space station.)
"And the fact that he drank mountain dew shows the inherent amount of capitalism that is now present within major works of fiction."
(The fuck? You were drinking diet mountain dew because your doctor said you needed to improve your nutritional input. Would he have been more satisfied if you had drank Dr. Pepper?)
"While some of you may enjoy this book, I think that it is important to focus on the flaws present so you can become a better, more informed reader, like me, and not Sean Lemonhoppers."
(you can feel the sweat start to form under you trench coat and my little pony t-shirt combo)
(Your teacher is putting you on full blast, but why?)
(What does he have to gain from this?)
(and then you realize)
(he was YorgenVonToasterStrudel, the dark wizard you had beaten up in this book)
(the evil man of magical properties was upset about his defeat, and morphed into an underpaid and depressed 10th grade english teach in order to find you and humiliate you)
(well you aren't having any of it)
(you are not the type to go down without a gentlemen's rumble)
"I KNOW THE TRUTH!"
(You scream as you stand up. Your chain wallets dangles and clangs on the side of your 34 zipper gothic pants.)
(You also point at the teacher, which releases a noxious odor from out of your underarms and straight into the nostrils of Debra, the girl next to you, who just puked and fainted.)
"What?"
(said Mr. Ostren, or should you say, Mr. YorgenVonToasterStrudel)
"AAAAAAUUHGGHHH"
(you scream as you run up at your arch nemesis in disguise)
(in your hand is the chair you were sitting in, coated with fresh butt sweat stains)
SMACK
(you knock the wizard of Strudel with a mighty blow)
(but then he does not transform back into his wizardly form as he lies motionless on the tiled floor)
(you look at the class)
(everyone is screaming)
(you look back down at the teacher)
(his head is now dented inwards)
(fuck) | 2015-10-12T14:55:21 | 2015-10-12T13:11:40 | 106 | 25 |
[WP] After years of gentile persuasion your best friend since childhood finally agrees to seek professional help for serious mental problems. Much to your dismay, as she begins to improve you slowly start to realize that you are her imaginary friend.
Edit: I see what I did wrong and I see what you did there ;) I'm leaving it because you're hilarious. | "He keeps telling me there's something wrong with me. That I'm sick in the head or something."
"Well, how about we talk about your problems? Would you like something to drink?"
"A Coke would be nice."
"Sure. You want a snack with that? How about some pork rinds?"
"Oy gevalt!" | I'm writing this to you while I'm still able. I'm hoping you'll read this at some point, but now I'm not so sure you will.
I'll admit, I was sad and a little hurt when I realized the truth, but after thinking about it awhile, I'm not surprised. After all, why else would an amazing girl like you hang out with a dork like me? Hahaha.
I wonder if you've always known, which is why you fought me for so long over getting help. Did you know that this was going to happen to me? If you did, I love you even more, but I'm still so glad you finally listed to me. Don't ever forget that: whatever happens to me, I'm so happy you agreed to try and get better.
For awhile, I thought I was the one who was keeping the distance between us. After all, I had been the one constant in your life during those dark years, and as much as I love you, I didn't want to hinder your progress. I watched with happiness as you started wear nicer clothes, starting being more active in school, even when you started going out with that guy (don't worry, I didn't follow you on dates or anything). But after awhile, I began to get angry that you weren't even trying to find out why I wasn't around anymore. I mean, I know that I might bring up some painful memories, but that's no reason to cut me off completely!
I think I really began to realize who I was the day I tried to grab your shoulder in the hallway at school. I'm pretty sure you felt my hand, but when you looked back, you didn't seem to see me. That's not a problem, as I too could barely see me.
I wonder if other friends are as detailed as I was. I wonder if others are as normal as I was. After all, we are notorious for being all different shapes, sizes, and beings. Hahaha.
I think I'll end this letter here. There's really not much more I want or need to say, except to not worry about me if I ever cross your mind again. I hear there's some old lady in the next town that runs a boarding house for people like me. I'm off to check it out now. I've also enclosed a little sketch of myself, just in case you forget what I looked like.
I love you, kiddo. If you remember nothing else about me, please remember that. I love you and I'm so proud that you finally got help, even though it meant I had to leave you. But maybe someday we'll see each other again. Who knows?
See ya :) | 2015-11-17T05:55:31 | 2015-11-17T04:31:14 | 101 | 67 |
[WP] A thousand years ago an extraterrestrial race visited earth, decided our magicians and sorcerers were too powerful, and planted a device deep within the heart of the earth which suppresses magical abilities. Its reach extends to the Moon but not to Mars.
- JDL | Suddenly my hands burst into flames, but they didn't burn, they just produced heat. Stretching out my arms caused the fire to shoot out into a massive blaze.
To think that the first man to walk on mars would also be the first superhero!
Taking off my helmet, I realized that I could also breathe without any oxygen. I began to run across the surface, and within ten minutes I had circled the entire planet. I could hardly believe it.
I laughed in victory at my newfound abilities, and with every laugh, I began to rise farther off the ground. Not only could I shoot fire and run at lightning speed, but I have the ability to fly. I shot off the surface of mars, I no longer needed my ship to return home. As I watched the tiny planet of mars growing ever smaller in the distance, I thought of everyone's faces when I return as the first person to travel across the solar system without a ship and-- hmmm, is the air getting kind of thin? | It was a long and harrowing journey. They landed as different people, different from those who had set out from the only home they had ever known. They were older now, weary and a little broken, but they had survived. The first humans to set foot on another planet made their landfall on the first day of a new life. Blistering in the sky, Earth seemed so far, so insignificant. They were alone now, and they were aware of it.
They worked hard on the colony. Issac was the leader and he oversaw them and their progress. He had led this mission as much as any scientist back home, and he took a special pride in it. Soon there was structure and they had beds, as crude as they were. The wild west of Mars blew red at night as they slept, and Issac stared out, feeling accomplished.
As the days passed, something inside of him burned. A passion to terraform the planet, but that wasn’t all. Issac felt a disturbance within him. He felt sick often, and the others were afraid he would die. Their messages to Earth were no longer sent by him, and now the others had taken up that duty. Structures came and went as the planet was slowly tamed. Issac became more and more withdrawn, his illness growing worse. Soon there was a new leader.
He was enraged of course, but he knew that it was a necessity. Still, he did not know what ailed him. A year passed and the colonists had done well for themselves. Issac had retreated to his quarters and saw them infrequently. He had strange dreams and often spoke to unseen things. When the others did visit, they thought he had fallen into an early dementia.
Then one day Issac awoke from his isolation. Mars was a different sight and he wandered like a stranger. The others stared at him and some came near.
“I...I...I,” Issac said.
“Issac, you are awake.”
“I…I...I have had a vision.”
The others were worried. Some held him by his arms, wanting to guide him back.
“No,” he said, pulling away. “I have spoken with them. Their seal is broken.”
And he began to laugh. He laughed, old and ragged and that burning inside his stomach flared.
“We are not meant to be this far,” he said.
The new leader Amrit had come then.
“Issac,” he said. “You are delirious. You must get your rest.”
But Issac knew better than them all. He knew more than the scientists back at Earth and he knew more than this new leader. He had spoken to them. And they had responded.
Flames sparked from his fingertips, blue and destructive. There was little oxygen but the fires grew, sticking to settlers and their surroundings.
“We do not belong here,” Issac said. “We are not ready. We are too dangerous.”
Amrit was charred. The others fled in panic, a hysteria filling the settlement. Other powers emerged from the pandemonium, but they were all destructive.
“We are too far!” Issac screamed.
He burned the settlement down, his fire a mystical tornado. The red sand lashed at his skin, whirling from the energy. There was nothing more remaining when he died, his dream dismantled. Mars was dead again. Far away Earth twinkled like a blister. | 2016-10-01T17:46:31 | 2016-10-01T17:34:20 | 65 | 37 |
[WP] After years of "my old friend," the Darkness is tired of being friendzoned. | Justin Hawkins threw his guitar across the room.
‘What the fuck man?’ He shrieked as his perfectly combed hair flicked across his head, ‘We’re a golden album selling, Million Dollar Strong band and all groupies want to do is come backstage and talk! I need a Girlfriend’
His brother, Dan, placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Justin man, calm it. We’ll find some proper groupies soon. We’re just Stuck In A Rut’ He waved the concerned looking tour manager away and handed his love-scourned sibling a beer.
‘Is It Just Me,’ He responded, looking back with empty eyes, ‘or does anyone else feel like Givin’ Up?’
Frankie and Rufus nervously glanced at each other until the latter spoke ‘We’ve just got to aim at getting Everybody to Have a Good Time when they come backstage! Nothings Gonna Stop us then.’
Justin shook his head. ‘No, not any more.
I don’t Believe In A Thing Called Love’ | Gabriel stumbled and twirled away from the door as it closed behind him, swallowing up the music and the voices. The air was cool and crisp and purple in the dying streetlights. He rubbed his eyes and tried to remember where the subway was. Left or right? Right? Right, right?
He drew a deep breath, turned to the right, and plowed deeper into the night.
"Hallo darkness, m'old fren," he slurred, smiling for reasons he couldn't quite articulate.
"*Friend,*" sniffed back the darkness. "Whatever you say."
Gabriel frowned. "Now hey. Wha's with that? Wer frens, through n' through."
"Whatever," wheezed the darkness.
Gabriel grabbed the shaft of a telephone pole to steady himself. "Wha's all this? You mad 'r' sumthin'?"
"You're drunk," said the darkness, sighing cool air stiff enough to turn Gabriel's collar. "You only want to be friends when you're drunk."
"Now now," slurred Gabriel pointing up and around at the nothingness. "Tha's not fair. Circumstan'al is all. I drink at night. That's when yer about. So. I.E. Q.E.D. Quid pro quo...dot dot dot...you see'n wha' I mean?"
"Do you ever consider how *I* feel?" said the darkness. "How should I take it, when you only ever call me up when you've been drinking and you're lonely? Like I ought to just drop everything because old Gabby needs a friend tonight. It's disrespectful."
"Hey hey!" said Gabriel, stumbling sideways into a recycling bin. "Where's all this comin' from? I thoug' tha's what this was - a bit of fun from time to time. Wha'd'you think it was?"
The darkness was quiet. Gabriel could hear alleycats fucking in the near distance. "I'd just like it if we'd maybe try hanging out at *other* times, too," said the darkness. "That might make me feel a little less like...you know...something you need to be drunk to appreciate."
Gabriel scrunched up his face. He was vaguely aware that he may have stepped in something. "*Other times*? Like what? The *daytime*?"
"I'm not saying we have to plan anything right now," said the darkness.
"Yeah," said Gabriel. He smacked his lips. The subway station materialized like an oasis just ahead. "Alright. Sure. That's what we'll do."
"Really?" said the darkness. "You're not just humoring me?"
"Never," said Gabriel, skipping in a wobbly line towards salvation. "I'll call you, yeah?"
"I'd like that," said the darkness.
"Alright," said Gabriel, diving for the steps. "You take care, alright?"
"You too," said the darkness with a very concerning sort of brightness in its voice. "Talk to you soon!"
But Gabriel barely heard that last line as he nearly fell on his face racing down the stairs. Through the turnstile, Gabriel stood on the platform, unsteady and nauseous. He looked up and realized he'd picked the wrong train.
"No more drinkin' fer me," he muttered as the station filled with the screech of braking cars. | 2016-10-06T08:20:32 | 2016-10-06T07:12:32 | 45 | 16 |
[WP] After years of "my old friend," the Darkness is tired of being friendzoned. | Hello darkness my old friend,
I'll never talk to you again.
Last time you acted so entitled,
I only joked but you felt spited,
Took my friendship,
but always bargained for something more,
called me a bore -
enjoy the sound of silence!
-
And it's the naked truth I saw,
You only listened to my call
whenever there was something in return,
at least you always mentioned your concern,
when I said "thank you" and we hugged,
you would try to feel me up,
I'll make a cut -
let you enjoy the sound of silence.
-
Okay, I will admit some blame,
I contributed to the game,
entrusting you my darkest secrets,
treating you like my accomplice,
always thinking:
"well that's what friends are for",
not anymore,
from now on,
I'll rather turn to Brightness.
| Gabriel stumbled and twirled away from the door as it closed behind him, swallowing up the music and the voices. The air was cool and crisp and purple in the dying streetlights. He rubbed his eyes and tried to remember where the subway was. Left or right? Right? Right, right?
He drew a deep breath, turned to the right, and plowed deeper into the night.
"Hallo darkness, m'old fren," he slurred, smiling for reasons he couldn't quite articulate.
"*Friend,*" sniffed back the darkness. "Whatever you say."
Gabriel frowned. "Now hey. Wha's with that? Wer frens, through n' through."
"Whatever," wheezed the darkness.
Gabriel grabbed the shaft of a telephone pole to steady himself. "Wha's all this? You mad 'r' sumthin'?"
"You're drunk," said the darkness, sighing cool air stiff enough to turn Gabriel's collar. "You only want to be friends when you're drunk."
"Now now," slurred Gabriel pointing up and around at the nothingness. "Tha's not fair. Circumstan'al is all. I drink at night. That's when yer about. So. I.E. Q.E.D. Quid pro quo...dot dot dot...you see'n wha' I mean?"
"Do you ever consider how *I* feel?" said the darkness. "How should I take it, when you only ever call me up when you've been drinking and you're lonely? Like I ought to just drop everything because old Gabby needs a friend tonight. It's disrespectful."
"Hey hey!" said Gabriel, stumbling sideways into a recycling bin. "Where's all this comin' from? I thoug' tha's what this was - a bit of fun from time to time. Wha'd'you think it was?"
The darkness was quiet. Gabriel could hear alleycats fucking in the near distance. "I'd just like it if we'd maybe try hanging out at *other* times, too," said the darkness. "That might make me feel a little less like...you know...something you need to be drunk to appreciate."
Gabriel scrunched up his face. He was vaguely aware that he may have stepped in something. "*Other times*? Like what? The *daytime*?"
"I'm not saying we have to plan anything right now," said the darkness.
"Yeah," said Gabriel. He smacked his lips. The subway station materialized like an oasis just ahead. "Alright. Sure. That's what we'll do."
"Really?" said the darkness. "You're not just humoring me?"
"Never," said Gabriel, skipping in a wobbly line towards salvation. "I'll call you, yeah?"
"I'd like that," said the darkness.
"Alright," said Gabriel, diving for the steps. "You take care, alright?"
"You too," said the darkness with a very concerning sort of brightness in its voice. "Talk to you soon!"
But Gabriel barely heard that last line as he nearly fell on his face racing down the stairs. Through the turnstile, Gabriel stood on the platform, unsteady and nauseous. He looked up and realized he'd picked the wrong train.
"No more drinkin' fer me," he muttered as the station filled with the screech of braking cars. | 2016-10-06T08:52:46 | 2016-10-06T07:12:32 | 45 | 16 |
[WP] Humans are capable of magic, we are just out of mana. Then a small store starts selling "mana potions" but of course no one belives it at first. | The glow was hypnotizing. Video games had never done them justice, mana potions weren't just blue, they were *blue*. They put all other blue things to shame, glowed with such pure, brilliant blue that the world took on a yellowish tinge after even a glance at it. It made my skin tingle, and made me want to do up my black leather jacket, put more barriers between me and that mesmerizing glow.
"And you can really drink it? It's not just a fancy light?" I asked. The store clerk smiled, his perfect teeth reflecting the glow that permeated the small dark shop.
"You have our guarantee." Smoke snaked around his right hand, and coalesced into a receipt. It was odd how quickly I'd gotten use to that. To magic. But then again, it had made itself all too real to me, all too quickly. "And I think you'll find our prices are quite cheap, Miss Cooper."
He pressed it against the glass of the counter, and slid it across to me. He was right. If it really did what he said it would do, this was nothing. Pocket change
"Don't you think that's a bit suspicious? Am I supposed to believe that you're selling something like this so cheap?" I asked. "There's no chance in hell you don't have ulterior motives."
Funny, most people would think that it was drugs, poison, or anything else. But I knew these were the real deal.
"Oh we have ulterior motives," he replied, that glowing smile still affixed to his face. I waited for him to continue, but it soon became clear that he had not intentions of doing so.
"Fine, I'll do it," I snapped, and dug the cash out of the pocket of my black leather jacket. I held it out, and it dissolved into smoke.
"One last thing before I give this to you," the clerk said, twirling the potion across his fingers. "I want to see you drink it."
"Excuse me?"
His hand snapped closed around the vial. "I want to see you drink it. Most can use the most basic kind of magic, elemental magic. Control winds, create water," he paused, and looked me straight in the eye. "Or perhaps shape fire. There are those however, who are different. Tell me Daisy, why is it that you enjoy what you do so much? Is it because you're so skilled at it? Or is it because it reminds you of-"
"Shut up!" I snarled, and snatched the vial out of his hand. His smile flicked into a smirk for the briefest of moments in response, and he turned the cork of the potion into smoke with a snap of his fingers. Without breaking eye contact with him, I drank it. "Is that it?"
He looked me up and down and nodded. "The potion provides a regeneration effect, imbuing your body with mana over the course of your entire life time. Your body can only hold so much of course, so any excess mana will simply drain into the atmosphere."
I struggled to concentrate over the awful buzzing that filled my body. It was as if hundreds of flies had filled every vein in my body, and were struggling to escape, thrashing their wings faster and faster. I leaned against the counter, and focussed on my breathing. The back of my throat clenched, and I was overcome by a spell of dizziness. Reality faded away for a moment, and I was left on the floor, the clerk smiling down at me.
"If you're going to throw up, please take it outside."
I ignored him, and dragged myself to my feet. My vision blurred in and out of focus, and I felt like there was something soaking into me. Dissolving into every particle of my body, taking up space that wasn't there. I was terrified for a moment that I'd burst, and I grabbed the doorway in a vain effort to make it stop.
Whatever it was rushed out, and something I couldn't make out the details of began to cover the doorframe, fighting against the blue glow of the store with a sickly white one.
"Congratulations, Daisy Cooper. You're now a magic user."
***
I'm going to have to leave it there guys and gals. If you're interested, I can follow up with a part two in the morning, but I'm off to bed for the night. See y'all! | “I swear, this isn’t drugs, this isn’t false advertising, this isn’t illegal! They’re actual mana potions!” I tried desperately to explain to the police but they just wouldn’t accept it.
“This is false advertising because you’re either not making clear this dust is aesthetic, or these are drugs.” Said the large pink and blue uniform clad officer, with a tone that made me think I’d get shot for daring to argue. He eyed the empty potion bottles in the garbage bag behind me. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn a cloak though, I don’t think it was helping my case. “Why is there so much powder there?”
“You breathe the mana in! Look, let me have some and I will prove to you that it’s real.” Maybe reasoning with him would work. I didn’t believe in magic until one of my supplier’s employees cast a sleep spell on me from behind.
“You won’t be disposing of the evidence. Come with me to the station and we can find out what it is exactly you’re selling, so you know whether you’re getting a fine or locked up.” He pulled out handcuffs from his belt and I knew I wasn’t getting out of this well. I could either go with him and try prove it to his superior’s but they probably still wouldn’t let me drink it, or try reach under my stall and grab a potion to prove it forcefully. Though seeing the Taser on his belt made me think that it was a poor idea to run past him, I hadn’t learnt any defensive spells yet and I liked not being in pain. Crime was pretty high in this area and nearly every citizen had a gun hidden somewhere.
“Fine.” I said offering my hands out to him as he walked down the footpath closer to my rather hastily built stand for selling.
“Turn around, and hands behind your back. On your knees too.” He’d said it in a slightly lighter voice this time, almost sympathetic but I knew he didn’t really care. I turned my back to the officer that was still a few metres away, kneeling as fast as my muscle lacking, skinny legs could let me. “What’s that?” the officer asked, responding to a clinking sound as a flask hit the floor that was dislodged from the cloak. I was now happier I wore the cloak.
“A flask of mana, we’ve been over this!” At least it didn’t look like I was reaching for a gun when my hands were on the floor to grab the flask. I took a risk and pulled my head back, deeply breathing from the flask when I unstoppered it.
“Stop! Put the bag down!” The officer pulled out his Taser and shot it at me. In an ideal situation, I would have had to say ‘Rapidité d'esprit et le corps’ and the gun would be too slow to hit me. I could have sidestepped, ducked, jumped or literally have walked away and wouldn’t have to even think about getting hit. Instead my entire body and jaw froze as my body fell flat face down on the ground. If there was a spell that could be cast from screaming in pain it might have gotten me out of that but I was out of luck. Eventually the Taser stopped, and through the pain I managed to turn my head enough to see the officer wasn’t close enough to stop me from rolling back over to cast something. He was yelling something to a few people passing by but I couldn’t hear what, my ears felt blocked from the Taser.
I decided to take my chance while he was distracted and yelled “Inhibiteur!” as I rolled over and brought one arm up in a fist shape aimed at the officer’s face like I was taught to do. I just felt my fist touch his face, not enough to knock him out but a light touch. He had turned the power off too soon and wasn’t close enough to stop me from moving, to aim a sleeping spell at him. He collapsed on top of me and I rolled him off. He was asleep until I woke him up – maybe if I left him there I’d look a lot less crazy and could prove my magic worked.
“Come get your flasks of mana, we humans can do magic! You saw me put this officer to sleep with a spell, magic is real!” I yelled at the passerby’s who all had scared looks on their face. I looked behind me and realised the Taser prongs were still firmly lodged in my back. I pulled them out and wondered why it didn’t hurt at all and turned to see everyone running away, some pulling out their phones. “Where are you all going? We can do magic!”
I heard one of the small crowd screaming “Help, he killed a police officer!” as he ran. Damnit, why won’t anyone believe me? Is it the cloak? I went back to the officer, ready to wake him up, I’d probably freeze his limbs so I could talk to him. The thought of freezing him sent a shiver up my spine though which was strange. I heard sirens as I grabbed another potion and walked to the body, and then the screeching of tires as they arrived. I rolled the officer’s body over onto his back. I’ll wake him up and he can explain I put him to sleep with a spell, and I’d be able to sell them my mana potions!
“Get down on the ground!” I heard shouted at me. “Drop the bag!”
“What bag?” I yelled back. I looked to my hand, and there was a bag of dust. That wasn’t there before. I looked at the officer on the ground. When was his uniform blue? And why was his face covered in a thick health potion?
“Get down on the ground or we will open fire!” They sounded serious. But I couldn’t think properly. Why was I so cold? I needed more mana, but my hands were shaking so much trying to bring the flask to my mouth. I stood up and breathed in my potion, opening up my cloak to put in the empty glass. “Put the gun down!”
What gun? I just hid my glass instead of littering. My shaking stopped and I felt warm again. It must have looked weird from behind I suppose. I started to turn to face them, which was a bad idea. I heard the gun fire, felt the bullet through my chest, through my heart. The bullet flew faster than I could make an incantation. Everything felt a different kind of cold this time.
---
This is apart of me and my girlfriend's ongoing attempts to write together as a bonding experience. Her story will be posted soon - In the meantime check out /r/TheBirdAndTheLioness to see our stories, past present and future!
I wasn't too confident in this one, I did interpret it a little bit less and made it slightly more 'realistic', and felt my flow was a little bit too rough in this one. Give me criticism on what I could improve! | 2016-10-25T05:07:56 | 2016-10-25T03:46:05 | 69 | 20 |
[WP] you are in a league of people with useless superpowers. Your power: The ability to change the temperature of things by only 1°F.
First post here, glad it's doing well :) | The league laughed.
"Really? You can change temperature by a degree Fahrenheit!? That's it!?" laughed Brick Boy, whose sole ability is to turn his left foot into a brick.
"Bahahaha! That's useless even by our standards!" jeered the Naturist, who could listen and converse with daisies. The daisies speak only Spanish. The Naturist is still taking an online correspondence course.
"Listen kid, we appreciate your application and all but maybe come back when you figure out something useful with your power," said the condescending League Captain. Lord H2O, whose power is to spit a half liter worth of spittle and had to recharge by drinking copious amounts of water each time he does it.
They laughed. They all laughed.
I never went back.
That was 10 years ago.
Let them laugh. Let's see if they think Global Warming is a joke. | We are under attack! Why would anyone attack us! We are harmless! Origami Boy, come in are you there?
-gunfire then static-
Oh no, no, no! Color Wheel, Pleasant Dreams, One Degree Wonder, anyone are you there?
This is 1DW, I'm ok they haven't seen me yet. What is your status, Dog Whisperer?
I'm in the cafeteria trying to hide, where are you?
Contingency plan, I need to make it back to my bunk to get something then I will meet you in the cafeteria. I need a favor though, fill me a big bucket from the liguid nitrogen tank I had installed, two buckets if you have time.
What I don't understand this isn't time for a wacky science experiment or a cool fog effect, we are under attack, no one else is responding, we may be the only ones left!
Just do it, Dog Whisperer, trust me! I'll be there as soon as I can. Stay hidden but fill that bucket.
---
1DW watched as 5 heavily armed men entered the cafeteria as low fog poured out of the open door. Good the liquid N2 was still flowing.
Whisper, they are coming in stay hidden I am right outside. I may not have time to get to you first but I need to know exactly where you will be.
I am in the far back of the pantry hiding behind the soda rack.
-one of the soldiers shouting, footsteps running-
Oh crap I think they heard me.
The One Degree Wonder kicked open the door and ran into the small kitchen. Making a dash for the bubbling vat of cold liquid. Knocking pots and pans aside as he went to try to draw the men away from Whisper. Gunfire rattled off, 1DW slid down into the fog and drew a small mask to his face before dunking his hand into the 20 gallon vat of liquid nitrogen up to his elbow.
---
Dog Whisperer woke up as a mask was pressed to her face. For a moment she could do nothing but gasp for breath as the mask fed her oxygen. As her vision cleared she saw 1DW wearing a similar mask. As she sat up she realized she was covered in dark red liquid, there were several bullet holes in the walls around her, 1DW had frost covering one of his arms and there were 5 dead soldiers collapsed upon the floor.
---
Explain it to me again she begged.
Liquid nitrogen under normal conditions exists at negative 193 degrees celcius.
Ok, but...
At -192 it's a gas. Upon receiving a blank stare from Whisper he continued. One gallon of liquid nitrogen has a expansion volume ratio of one to about 700. So when I used my power 20 gallons of liquid N2 became roughly fourteen thousand gallons of nitrogen gas.
Ok I'm following that so far but isn't nitrogen harmless?
Adding that much N2 to an enclosed space drops the available oxygen, I suffocated them, it happens very quickly.
Ok but what about all the blood why am I ok?
I'm pretty sure that is just cherry soda, Whisper. I got the air mask to you fast enough so after a shower you will be good as new. | 2016-12-07T05:48:03 | 2016-12-07T05:26:15 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] The reason Aliens can't contact humans is because they live in a time frame that goes at the speed of light. They are born, breath, move, fly, and think in less than a microsecond. We appear to be standing still to them. | “It's like... looking through a history book…” she said softly, as if they would be offended.
“Actually, you're not far off.” I replied, trying to calm the thoughts that I imagined were racing through her head.
“How long have you known? About...this?” I could hear the disdain building in her voice.
“About six months. I almost overlooked it, but when I starting reading back through my father's notes, is was painfully obvious: They're alive.”
“My grandmother always told me they were statues of a long forgotten race. Commemorating their dead, great leaders from their history”
“Well it looks like the statues themselves are the forgotten race. It all adds up when you look at the larger picture.
Remember when we studied the floating fortresses? I've found documents that refer to them as “Aeroplane's". Apparently the big round ones are called 'Blimps’.
Oh, and the animals! They're genetically modified creations, brought about to feed their population! The animals grow, and live, just as slowly as their creators. They even play with certain ones that they call 'Dogs’. I can't tell if that's a single species or a collective term however. Some look similar to one another, but others are drastically different. There's differences in colors, muscle tone…” slowly my voice drifted off. I could tell that I was losing her focus.
With a look of dissatisfaction, she exclaimed “I don't CARE about their animals Watkins! I'm a Sociologist! Tell me about their languages, their customs! Hell, tell me about their HISTORY! That's the reason you've called me here in the first place!”
I was taken back by her outburst. I failed to realize just how big this breakthrough would be for her field. “My apologies Emma. Sometimes I forget how invested you are in your research…”
Following a regretful sigh, she said,“I'm sorry for yelling. The best thing you can do for everyone is stick to what's relevant. So, Mr. Watkins, please continue.”
“Alright. Well, I guess I should start with time. You know how we measure time, right? In relation to a photon in a vacuum chamber? It looks like they actually base theirs off the position of their planet around the local star. As a result, they appear to literally…’Live slower’ than we do. I haven't quite worked out the details yet, but... ”
“Wait a minute” Emma intruded, “I thought the speed of light was a constant? How can they ‘live slower’? It doesn't make any sense…”
“My thoughts exactly.” I continued, “Until this morning when I had a breakthrough. You see, time is dependent on the observer. That's what the whole ‘relativity’ thing was about. But this…. This is unique. My best guess is that their neurology operates… Differently from ours. This troubled me, until I realized the main difference. The clue was in their time keeping!”
Perplexed, she admitted “I think you're starting to lose me again….”
“Their star. It's a medium, relatively long-living type. Much warmer of a planet, more chances for life to evolve. Much DIFFERENT from our home world. You remember the stories, don't you?”
“Of course I know the stories. It's what this entire stupid mission is about! We evolved around a cluster of microscopic black holes, near the Milky Ways Center.”
“Now tell me,” I asked inquisitively, “How do you think that affects evolution? Their star is much… Older. They have more time. Literally no pressure, in a cosmological sense, to speed thing up. They're not statues, no, instead the biology of this planet is...conserving energy by expending it in the slowest way possible.”
Shocked, Emma asked “Does that mean…”
“Yes. We've finally found the perfect host DNA. We'll be able to return home!”
“We've got to inform The Council!” she exclaimed as she burst out of the office doors, heading towards her Father's office.
Begrudgingly I thought to myself “Yes...we should… But at what expense…”
| Smoke slowly raised from the silver capsule. Dr. William Hawthorne scratched his grey mustache, leaning in with the most anticipation. He stared through his thick glasses towards the scene.
"Let me out! Let me out!” a muffled voice screamed from inside the capsule.
Dr. Hawthorne signaled his team to release the man constrained inside the capsule. The team opened the capsule and found it empty. Smoke started to vent above through the heavy vents within the lab. Dr. Hawthorne sat there in silence. The team gathered around the capsule and started to document what they had seen and heard from the trial. Dr. Hawthorne shook his head with disappointment as he knocked over a table of notes on his right.
"Sir, we’ll find out what happened.” Daniel Hyde exclaimed. Daniel was an enthusiast for the research Dr. Hawthorne was involved in.
"This has been the final failure. We need to pull the plug on this.” Dr. Hawthorne sighed.
"No sir! We are close, I know we are!” Daniel ran his finger through his notes, over and over again.
Dr. Hawthorne ignored him. The rest of the research team watched as Dr. Hawthorne picked up his most prized bottle of whiskey, leaving the lab behind him.
"Prep’ the capsule!” Daniel ordered in front of the research team.
"You heard the boss Daniel, it’s over.” One of the researches replied. The team was slowly packing up their belongings around the lab.
"No! It’s not over!” Daniel yelled. The research team stared back at him. “Prep’ the capsule. This time, I’m going in.”
The research team hesitantly looked at one another. No one from the team had dared become a test subject. All of the subjects that were chosen were about to be executed by the government. This was the government’s way of getting what they intended under the research they funded.
"This is a bad idea.” One of the researchers dropped her box of supplies in shock.
"No,” replied Daniel. “It’s our only option. We were so close. I will find out what happened.”
Dr. Hawthorne sat at his desk with his glass of whiskey, neat. He studied all of his research history. This was his opportunity to show that his theory over the speed of light was correct. In his research, he concluded many barriers toward what he called, ‘dimensioning.’ He believed one could access the other dimensions using the manipulation of light. Since light was the fastest speed so far, this sparked all of his study to revolve around it. He thought using light and heavy magnetic fields, controlled in a certain way, one could transport to another dimension. Sipping away at his whiskey, Dr. Hawthorne chuckled to himself. He thought, *why in the world did I ever believe that this could be possible?*
Silence was broken when Dr. Hawthorne’s office began to vibrate. The whiskey in his glass spilled over the hardwood desk in front of his research papers.
*What the hell?* Dr. Hawthorne ran back towards the lab.
It seemed that Daniel had been convincing. Dr. Hawthorne ran in on the research team gathered around the bright capsule. Smoke began to fill the air, illuminating the sparks raining out from it.
"What have you all done?!” Dr. Hawthorne fell to his knees. The research team stepped back slowly.
Daniel was sweating profusely within the capsule. He was not constrained like the rest of the subjects. Instead, he had freedom to move however he wanted while locked inside. His vision started to split apart. It seemed as if his image from the left and right became separated while shrinking down into a thin line.
*This is it.* Daniel thought. Moments later, he was about to embark through a dimension door using the speed of light. He quickly jerked within his seat when a grey soaking wet hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. Daniel turned to see he was no longer within the capsule. He was back inside the lab. The hand continued to hold onto his shoulder while he regained his consciousness.
"Uh – Sir?” The man who grabbed Daniel’s shoulder released with a sigh. “Are you alright?”
Daniel turned around to see it had been the test subject right before him. They were both startled and confused. Both of their skin were now a greyish looking color and soaking wet from sweat.
"What happened?” The previous test subject pressed.
"I – I don’t know.” Daniel looked around the lab to see everyone was frozen in place. Dr. Hawthorne was on his knees behind the research team gathering around the capsule. Everyone was frozen. The ground seemed as if it was torn apart and decayed.
"Where are we?!” The test subject pressed again.
Daniel didn’t reply. He kept looking around in now what seemed to have been the lab except darker – and more decayed. He walked up to Dr. Hawthorne and placed his hand on his cheek. Daniel leaned in to whisper into Dr. Hawthorne’s right ear. The test subject continued looking around the room in place.
"What’d you say to him? They are all frozen!” The subject repeated. He kept backing up towards the decayed capsule.
Daniel took a step back when he heard a bottle drop from the other room. It sounded like Dr. Hawthorne’s whiskey bottle rolling off of the desk.
"Were you the only one here?” Daniel asked the subject.
They were both silent when they heard a series of footsteps running towards the lab. A loud screeching sound from the hallway approached. Daniel and the subject ran and ducked down behind the capsule. They were not alone.
***
It seemed as if it were another failure. Dr. Hawthorne stared from behind the team, still remaining on his knees. Smoke cleared through the vents above. Then suddenly Dr. Hawthorne felt a warm rush on his right cheek beneath his glasses. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew something was happening. He heard a slight whisper in his ear. “We are right in front of you.” He knew the voice belonged to Daniel.
Dr. Hawthorne gave himself a few moments to reflect as the rest of the team sat in their stools mourning the loss of Daniel. He slowly rose back to his feet. He noticed the tree sitting in the courtyard right outside of the lab. The tree was still – frozen even. Then Dr. Hawthorne had a sudden realization. Like that of a tree to them, they were also frozen.
"Everyone!” Dr. Hawthorne yelled. “Everyone, wait! It worked!”
Everyone looked at each other in confusion while Dr. Hawthorne danced excitingly around the capsule. “Well, come on then!” He began, “We have a lot of work to do!”
| 2017-05-30T12:23:10 | 2017-05-30T10:58:06 | 203 | 90 |
[WP] "Liar." "I'm telling the truth. They put themselves in pressurized metal boxes and launch themselves out of their planet with liquid fuel canisters. Humans are insane." | "And this chemical, they put it in their veins?"
Hambruck could barley comprehend the concept.
"Yes bro! Humans are insane! You've gotta try this!"
Hambruck wrapped his varsity jacket tighter in the cold air, he paced up the hill following Chad.
Chad jumped into the pressurized metal box that was waiting for them at the top. Just before he closed the door on himself, he reaches out a scaly fist in my direction.
After i reluctantly return the fist bump, he slams the door shut. Through the metal I could hear him yelling as he was launched into space.
"SPRING BREAAAAAK!!!" | "What a bunch of smelly dweebs," I thought to myself. My two best friends were talking about humans, but what about me? My wet, juicy tentacle wrapped slid slipperily into the bag of Cheeto's and wrapped around a single cheeto, then began retracting and jiggling towards my oral orifice. The bag was almost empty, but not as empty as my life. The cheeto touched the side of my lip-thing and sprinkled cheese dust around my oral orifice. Why did she leave me, am I not cool enough? I pondered thoughts as my goiter sucked the cheeto into my brain-stomach. I shouldn't have eaten that hamburger. What is a hungry boy to do? Avatar sex is sooo stupid. If only I had legs, I could dance like Will.I.Am and Selena Gomez on cocaine. Suddenly a rock flew through the window and bumped into my hairless, moist, juicy body. I hate Peter. He's the most annoying rock on the planet. "I hate you," I muttered, reaching for the last cheeto in the bag. No response. Nothing. Everyone ignores me. I grab the walkman and put on a fall out song. My eye-vaginas begin to swell with tears. I wish I was never born. I reach for my toupee and place it on top of my head. I jiggle in agony. If only I was born a large baguette, and not a jiggly, moist, juicy beast. A My Chemical Romance track comes on and I cry even harder. Everyone starts stairing at me. Great. Peter rockets into my soft noggin once more. I hate him so much. I'm sobbing now, and my eye-vaginae are excreting juicy tears of moist anguish. Brad the baguette calls me a loser and throbs with glee at my misery. It's true. His gay friends all join in. In miserable stupor I reach for another cheeto. The bag is empty, it get stuck to my tentacle. I place the bag on top of my toupee, smothering it with cheese dust. I don't know who I am anymore. I sulk away but trip on Peter and land upside down. Cheeto dust flies into the wretched oblivion that is my bedroom. I begin to slide around on my moist juices and Bob the soccer cleet kicks me. I jiggle with sadness and stare off into space. I never should have eaten that cursed hamburger. It ruined everything. Oh Lisa, how I miss you. Your delicious eyelasses, your odorless hair, and your gelatinous fingers that felt so perfect around my moist, juicy throat. Sliding around and being used as a soccor ball, I reminisce about my first moist, juicy kiss. I close my eye-vaginae and imagine I am a bag of cheetos. What happened to me? I used to be so moist, so juicy. Look at me now. A soccer ball. Just a soccer ball. | 2017-12-16T14:05:38 | 2017-12-16T13:02:31 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper. | "Wow, this is... Whats your name?"
"It doesn't matter..." The mess of human woman told me. Doubled over a table top counter with a bottle in hand, just panties and bra in and smelling like several kinds of drinks. "You said, you're the second guy, right? Whens your brother getting here?" She straightened up momentarily to take a huge swing from the bottle in hand.
"My brother won't be here for a while. Has to stop by a couple of frat houses and drug dens. Humans like to over indulge you know." She eye'd me down for a few seconds before sputtering into some all to familiar deranged laughter. She rocked back and forth in her chair before the chair gave out, bringing them both to the ground, all the while still laughing.
Eons of countless lives and I've seen it happen time and time again. Folk so reserved or recluse, everyone else forget's they're around. Poor unlucky bastards. The laughter stopped. Just as suddenly, she threw her bottle against the ceiling, busting it into little pieces, watching the remains fall around the both of us.
"So! This is it for me huh?" The words came out excited and bubbly. Didn't hide any of the venom one bit. "No family, no boyfriend, no children. No neighbors that know me, no employer. Not even the damn cats or dogs I fed remember me."
'Here it comes.'
The silence between us cracked as she began crying. She curled up on the ground, surrounded by broken glass and droplets of liqueur that she missed. I got up from my seat and easily picked her up and sat her back down on the chair next to me. Her crying became full blown bawling as she buried herself in her arms, pounding the table as hard as she could. I paid her a kindness as I stroked her back, trying to get her to calm down. My bony fingers felt warm and full of life, as I tried to bring her some peace.
"Listen," I started. She looked up from her arms at me. "I'm the guy who just does his job. I know its awful, horrible, etc. But look at it like this. You got to live. Know how many don't get that? Pfft. A hell of a lot more than those who did. Was it a good life? Hell no. But you got to do something an unending number couldn't. You're at the very least at the end of your journey."
She was still crying but she had calmed down tremendously. I reached into my sleeve and pulled out a simple gray flask, putting it on the table.
"I'm not suppose to be doing this, but I think your case deserves it. Take a swig of that and you'll feel much better, I assure you."
She looked between me and the flask before taking it in her hands. She looked it over, shaking it slightly to feel its contents moving around. After wiping her eyes she opened it and took drink. She tried to empty it, not knowing that thing won't ever run out.
She leaned against me as the effects took hold. Her crying ceased, her breathing became steady and she sighed as she curled up against me. I heard the sounds of a bony knuckle tap against the door, letting me know he's here.
"You gave her some black water huh?"
"Of course. Hard to know you die again by being completely forgotten." He came up by us and tapped her gently on the head, easing her existence as her body rapidly aged along with the house around us. Not even her clothes remained.
"Just another day on the job bro." He tried to comfort me, holding his scythe on his shoulder.
"Doesn't mean it never gets easy. Humans are some fascinating creatures." | I did not know what to say.
Ibem shrugged. "What's the matter? I'm dead right? You're the Grim Reaper here to take my soul away? *Whoosh whoosh?*" He made vague scything motions with his hands.
"No, I'm not him. I'm his...brother. Well, sort of like a brother. And the scythe thing is just his weird affection. Obsessed with metaphors, that one." I pulled back my hood and nervously ran a hand through my hair, finally taking a look around the room.
It was beautiful, well decorated and full of light and colour. But it was completely designed for one. From the perfectly positioned television, to the single serving dining table, everything was purpose designed for a single man.
A pair of drones alighted on the delivery pad just outside the window and took off again, barely stopping to drop their food off.
"Well, whoever you are, lets get this over with." Ibem, said impatiently, turning to admire himself in the mirror one last time. He was dressed quite dandily, in bright colours and lavish silks. All wasted, I thought, since he never went outside...
He still looked good though.
"I wish it were that simple." I took a seat in the only open chair and considered what to do.
200,000 years of reaping with no precedent for something as absurd as this. Who ever heard of a man without so much as a acquaintance in a world?
"What's wrong?" The young man said, sitting next to me. "Are you stuck mute by my dazzling good looks?"
"Ahem." I blushed slightly but continued on. "Well, the first problem is you're not dead." measured my worlds carefully. I was not sure how much I could explain to him. But more than that, whatever his fate, I felt had to understand.
I pitied him.
"Well, that's good news, isn't it?" Ibem muttered, sensing that more was still coming.
"Yes, and no. See, you're still alive. But you're just died your True Death." I watched him absorb the words.
"I think I've heard of this." Ibem said, his eyes taking on a dangerous gleam. "The first time you die is when your heat stops beating, and your body dies right? You get a big funeral, weeping family and friends, grim reaper shows up, all that good stuff."
I nodded. He had the right of it. Not always with the weeping family, sometimes people even cheered, but they still acknowledged it.
"And then there's the second death. Centuries later, when all that knew you are dead, and even your name is dust. Then you die your True Death. The final death, that all must face alone."
Again, I nodded Again, he was mostly right, but the True Death did not always take centuries, in certain situations - particular political or religious ones - it happened within minutes.
"You're some kind of Elder grim reaper."
"I'm sometimes called the True Reaper." I replied apologetically. "And yes, you could say that."
"That means I have been forgotten. In my own lifetime. I kept saying I would leave the house, that I would go out see people again. That I would begin living life again. But it is too late. It is already too late."
"I have been completely forgotten by the world, and have died my True Death!" Ibem cried out, and I wrapped an arm around him.
He sobbed loudly, and I held him, unsure what else to do.
"When did they die?" He asked suddenly. "And how?" I knew what he meant.
"Just now." I answered. "A leak from the gas heater."
"They were together? And they did not suffer?" I saw how the question pained him to ask.
"They were. And no, they did not suffer."
We sat there on the couch for a few minutes, as he composed himself.
Ibem suddenly stood and looked around the room, as though for the first time. "So, this must be doing a number of you and your brother, huh? What do you need from me?"
I shrugged. "I'm not quite sure. I'm still considering options. But I need to do something soon, before...that happens." I pointed at to the tips of his fingers, which were beginning to turn to stone.
"Of course." Ibem answered. He seemed to consider for a moment and then dashing into the kitchenette, he grabbed a knife from the counter and held it to his own throat.
"This would solve your problem right?" He met my eyes. "I don't turn to stone and suffer for eternity? You don't have to figure out how to get me our of this body without killing me. Since you and hour brother cannot interfere with each other right? There are always rules..."
Tears streamed down my face as I crossed the distance between us.
"No." I whispered, taking the knife from his hand. I let it fall to the floor, and held him against my chest. As I did, I made a decision. "There is another way..."
*I'm sorry to put this on you* I thought to my brother, *but I must be foolish once again.*
I could sense the vague amusement emanating from the Grim Reaper through our shared bond.
"What are you doing?" Ibem asked with amazement, staring at me. I knew what he must be seeing. My skin turning translucent, the solid. My face gaining losing colour, then gaining it back with force.
"Buying you more time." I answered, completing my transformation. "You are no longer forgotten."
I sighed heavily, exhausted from the effort of becoming mortal. "I still remember you. That counts for something."
"Thank you." Ibem cried, hugging my tightly. "I promise I won't screw up this chance."
I smiled and said nothing, thinking on the day I would die.
| 2018-05-12T18:18:51 | 2018-05-12T16:14:04 | 63 | 10 |
[WP] You've been happily married for 15 years. You decide it's been enough time to divulge your secret superhero persona to your spouse. They respond with, "Well, as your arch nemesis, this changes things a bit." | "Well, honey, it's time you knew: I'm not keeping an affair from you. It's more like a second job. You see, I'm a superhero," I said.
Jennifer frowned. "I... see. Um... which one?"
It was a less excited reaction than I thought I'd be getting, to be honest. Admittedly, I had figured the excitement would either fall into the "that's wonderful" or "you're going to get yourself killed" categories, but still, I'd expected more than this. "I'm the Concrete Avenger."
Jennifer's eyes widened. "Oh no. Oh nonononono."
There was the excitement, I thought. Not the good kind, but at least it was a reaction. "Honey, it's okay, I'm as strong and invincible as concrete, I'll be fine." Granted, that wasn't as strong and invincible as, say, The Steel Avenger, but still it was pretty good.
"That's not it," Jennifer said, visibly steeling herself. "I'm superpowered too," she said finally.
I was about to rejoice myself, but then her earlier reaction came to mind. "I note you didn't say you're a super*hero*."
"Because I'm not," Jennifer said. "I'm actually... your arch nemesis."
"You're Jackhammer-man?" I asked. She was a lot better at costumes than I'd thought if that were the case.
"What? No!" Jennifer said. "Jackhammer-man isn't your arch-nemesis, he's just some guy with a jackhammer! I'm the one you've been foiling all these years!"
"Okay," I said, "First, Jackhammer-man is absolutely my arch-nemesis, because he's got a jackhammer and as I mentioned I'm practically concrete. It's thematic! Second, if you're not him then you've got to be Ms. Pain, right? I mean, I can work with that, if you know what I'm saying," I winked. I really, really hoped that guess was right.
The look on her fact told me that I was really, really wrong.
"No I'm not Ms. Pain! I'm Jenny Fur!"
"I know you're Jennifer," I said.
"No, it's a play on my name: Jenny Fur. Because I turn into a bear?"
I wracked my brains trying to remember fighting a bear. The problem wasn't that I couldn't remember doing so but rather that I'd fought so *many* animals.
"Oh my God!" Jennifer said, my time having apparently run out. "I can't believe you don't remember! You've foiled every single time I've tried to rob a bank!"
"Wait, that was you?" I said. "Animal control called me in on that and told me a panda had gotten loose. You're a *panda*?"
"I never said it was a good bear," Jennifer muttered. "The point is, I've been fighting you for years and it barely registered!"
"Barely!" I said. "I get it!"
She stormed out. In retrospect, the pun may have been unintentional.
*Later that day:*
The phone rang. "Concrete Avenger," I answered it.
"Hey, C.A., this is Doctor Forshee at animal control," the voice on the other end of the line said. I immediately got a bad feeling about this.
"How can I help you, doctor?"
"There's apparently some kind of panda on a rampage in the mall downtown, and you've become the department's go-to for animal attacks. Are you up for handling this?"
I sighed. I didn't really have a choice, did I? "I'll be right there," I said.
Well, I thought, time to make up. | In front of the capitol building a news reporter stutters out their most exciting statement to date: "the super hero identity disclosure embargo has been lifted! As declassification of government super hero operations continues, stay tuned for the stunning revelations of who’s who and what super heroes live near you!"
Across town Gabe and Jack sit in awkward silence on their couch. Jack carefully sets down his TV dinner as Gabe watches him carefully.
“Well that’s interesting” blurts Jack after a long silence, a little louder than expected.
Shifting uncomfortably he suddenly mumbles “do-you-want-anything-to-drink-while-I’m-up-I-could-use-a-beer”
Without waiting for a response Jack half runs from the room, tripping a bit on the thick rug under the coffee table. Ignoring it he continues into the kitchen and out of sight while Gabe lets out a strained sigh and scratches his head.
After a few minutes of silence Gabe stands, mutes the TV, and walks into the kitchen.
“Yeah I could use one too. Hand me one of the pales”
Shaking a bit, Jack reaches into the fridge and pops the cap, letting it clink into the fresh pile that he had created next to the 4 newly emptied bottles behind him.
Sighing to himself Gabe sips the beer and leans against the counter across from jack. Waiting for him to finish his current bottle.
“I know you were a super hero” Gabe whispers as Jack reaches into the fridge.
Startled, Jack makes a small squeaking noise and tries to act like he didn’t hear.
Walking around the island Gabe wraps his arms around Jacks waist and pulls him back from the fridge gently
“I know you couldn’t tell me. It’s okay babe.” he continues
Shuddering, Jack half laughs “all this time I thought I was so careful”
smiling and turning in Gabe’s arms Jack looks into his eyes and is taken aback by Gabe's cold stare.
Jacks arms pause where he almost returned the embrace as Gabe carefully places his bottle with the rest of the empty beers beside the fridge.
“I know because I’m the reason you retired” Gabe says, trying to look anywhere but Jack's eyes.
There is a brief stunned silence before Jack shoves Gabe off and stares accusingly.
“What are you saying?” Jack spits out, shaking again from the alcohol and emotional rollercoaster
“I was Nemesis” Gabe says, backing away in turn “I was tasked with neutralizing you after the London incident”
“What?” stutters Jack, taking a stumbling step forward.
“WHAT?” he shouts when Gabe says nothing.
Flinching at the anger in the shout Gabe slowly continues “I forced you into retirement 16 years ago”
after a pause Gabe looks back into Jacks eyes and when it becomes clear he has nothing else to say Jack drops his unopened bottle and turns to run out of the kitchen. however, Gabe is far faster and in an instant he has materialized in front of Jack, wrapping him in a tight hug, pinning his arms to his sides. The bottle rings against the floor, forgotten as the two men struggle in the doorway.
Thrashing about Jack shouts “LET ME GO!” attempting to bash his head against Gabe’s and throwing his feet around wildly.
Dissolving partially, Gabe bodily throws the two of them onto the couch, pinning Jack down entirely.
Jack stills in shock and still holding tightly, Gabe rests his head on Jack’s chest while keeping Jack's arms and legs pinned.
“Why” Jack croaks after a few shaking breaths “how could you?”
“You were out of control” Gabe murmurs “you weren’t protecting people anymore. You were just protecting your *organization*”. he says, his voice turning to a resentful growl.
After a pause Gabe continues “do you remember how you were then? How angry you were?”
Jack stiffens at the accusation but remains still.
“I joined Nemesis because I was angry too. I think we were both angry about how the world worked and when it came time to neutralize you I saw so much of my own fury in you that it gave me pause. that pause was just long enough for you to take the shot. I woke up weeks later. scarred. changed."
Gabe's form becomes indistinct for a moment but solidifies as he speaks again "I hated you then. Hated myself for being weak and dedicated myself to revenge but when I saw you next I could tell you hadn’t been sleeping. You were slipping. Reckless. Angry. You weren’t taking care of yourself. At first it was sick fascination. It would be too easy to undo you so I had to make it personal. I infiltrated your cover job. I got close to you. And over time that changed you. It changed me.”
Gabe's voice trails off as he reflects on the past and Jacks hands lift to rest on Gabe’s back as he continues.
finding his voice again Gabe continues “You softened a bit. Just enough. I lost the will to break you but you were still doing awful things so I used my status in different ways.”
Lifting his eyes to Jack’s he whispers “I leaked the Numbani Operation”
Jacks hands twitch as understanding shows in his face. letting his head fall back Jack groans “it was you”.
Sitting up a bit Gabe shifted to sit in Jack’s lap, taking Jack’s hands and clasping them in his own.
“It grew easier living the lie over time." Gabe whispered, tracing indistinct patterns on the back of Jack's hand "I felt so sure I had done the right thing that I forced myself to see through it all. I thought of disappearing after your retirement but even though being close to you reminded me what I had done, it also made me feel so alive. So real.”
Leaning forward Jack rests his head on Gabe’s chest. “You were right. I feel like I figured it out years ago but I always pretended getting shut down was the worst thing that could have happened. I told myself the world isn’t as good as it could be.”
Meeting Gabe’s eyes again he says firmly “but I think I’ve known for a long time that the world is better because of you”.
| 2018-05-18T12:04:00 | 2018-05-18T11:23:16 | 1,178 | 35 |
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming. | "Do you realize what you have don Abalam?!" my owner screamed, his human skin curling under the fire of his true form.
I clenched my fists, for I knew the punishment that was to come. But I did not repent.
"She asked for our services-"
"She's UNDERAGE! we never do deals with those who cannot understand the weight of this decision!!"
"I was NOT going to leave her there!"
And I know neither would you. Yes, she's was way too young. Eight years old is too young for many things, including summoning demons. I was taken aback too, being summoned between angels and virgins, the fragrant stench of flowers and incense making me revolt as I stared into her wide, scared eyes.
I dared not step out of the scrawly pentagram he made on the white tile, for I knew that I would burn if I layed a hoof on divine soil. My eyes glared at the child, her unruly brown hair, the neck of her neat blouse pulled awkwardly around her neck. Her eyes, full of tears and fright. But not scared of me... I open my mouth...
"What... have... you... done... "
...that's my thought, but it is not me who spoke it. Standing in the doorframe, a balding man stares in shock and horror at her, then at me. His robes are soaked and humid- the stench of alcohol is unbearable. The first buttons of his robe are undone, but the white immaculate neck is still on. From his hand dangles a leather belt with a silver buckle.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE REBECCA?!" he bellows, trying to hide the slurriness of his voice. She cringes and stares at me, tears running down her eyes in a non-stopping stream. Her sweet lips open and she mouthes one word to me... "please"
I clench my fist. I can't! I must not! it is out of my jurisdiction!
And yet... I do...
...
"You have begun a war Abalam" said Satan, sinking into the molden lava of his crimson throne... "you do realize this?"
"I do, your majesty" I say, bowing deeply at him, yet not letting go of her little body. She fell asleep in my arms. I don't know if it was the trauma, the pain, the fright or the relief of knowing she won't ever have to go back to her father again... I stare at her sweet smile, then back at my master's anger-stricken stare.
"Will you make me take her back?" I ask. He stands from the throne, pushing his cloak back as he strides across the room.
"Of course not. She accepted her fate. But God's army will not listen to our reasoning. For them, we have crossed the line. What will come to us is a raging war like the ones seen at the beginning of time. She is safe for now. You took the decision and you will stick with it. Won't you?"
She curls against my chest, her little hand caressing my burnt body.
"Of course"
​
Satan smiles. "Then let them come" | "Who dares summon the prince of darkness?" I bellow as the smoke clears. I didn't add that I was not he, but his representative. An often overlooked footnote of the spell allows me to come in his place.
Instead of any meaningful answer, I just got an ear splitting shriek. I looked down, and there cowering and scootting herself backwards was a little girl in a dirty, tattered nightgown. When she stopped, her back was against the wall and her face was in the shadows, but her little knees were still clearly visible. "Oh. Sorry, sweet heart, you're too young to summon me." I said in my booming voice. I was about to turn and go back to hell when I heard a voice from the top of the stairs.
"Cindy! Cindy! Come here and get what's coming to you Cindy!" I recognized the slur of a drunk, the teetering footsteps of the man staggering down the stairs.
"Oh no he knows!" Cindy whispered. "He'll punish me." I could hear the tears in her voice. I'm a demon, but I'm not a monster. My heart broke.
The big man reached the base of the stairs and spun round, nearly toppling over before he caught sight of the child. "There you are! What have I told you about being out of bed!" he slurred and staggered towards her.
"I'm sorry daddy I'm so sorry!" she squealed as he fumbled with his clothing. I wasn't about to stand around and let this happen. I cleared my throat.
The big man spun on the spot, then his eyes raised slowly, slowly until it lit upon my face. I allowed him to process the sight for a second before I stepped forward.
"Who the fuck are you?" he demanded of me.
"Representative of the prince of darkness." I replied, taking another step forward. "I was summoned."
The big man looked at the girl, then back to me. He seemed to make a decision, and started shouting. "What the fuck is your problem, asshole? Where do you get off? Answering summons from little girls! And in my own house! Get out! Get out I say! Oh, big tough guy eh? I will fuck you up! I said I'll fuck you up!" and with that he began a wind up for a drunken heymaker. I rolled my eyes and let the blow land.
A flash and then pain. I had flown across the basement, through some old boxes and was slowly picking myself back up. This was impossible.
"Run Cindy!" the big man shouted. "Get out of the house!" He stepped to where I had fallen and gripped me by the horn. His voice went low, threatening. "You want my child, you'll have to go through me you piece of shit." He struck again. I felt the horn he was holding shatter, then stillness, then pain.
When my vision cleared he was moving towards me again. I raised a hand to defend myself, and felt a tug at my elbow. "No!" The girl screamed. "Don't hurt my daddy!"
I will honestly say I've never been so confused.
"Get away, Cindy! And you!" The big man leveled his gaze at me. "Don't you touch my child!" There was murder in his eyes.
"Stop! Please!" I cried. "You strike with the fury of a righteous man, but you're so far into your cups."
"Judging me for a few shots when you're trying to steal the soul of a child? Cindy. Get away from it."
"Wait, you're not... You're not abusing her?" I stammered in shock.
"The prompt said I was drunk, it's not my fault you're in the one response that wasn't a revenge porn!" the big man shouted, shattering the fourth wall in his drunken wrath, then quickly turned to his child. "Honey, daddy has used some bad words that I don't want you repeating."
"Well then what was all that with the pants and the 'come get what's coming to you' and 'oh no he'll punish me'?" I asked.
"Her multivitamin!" The big man yelled.
"And I don't want to lose dessert!" Cindy added, now crying.
"But her nightgown is all dirty and torn!" I tried to back away and felt my back hit the wall.
The big man looked down. "Honey, that's why you shouldn't go down into the basement." he slurred, "you see how dirty it is down here? Not to mention these books on the occult we got in a storage auction. Now go upstairs. I need to take out the trash." the sentence would have been ominous if not for the hic that immediately followed.
Cindy looked uncertain, then scampered up the stairs. Once the basement door shut, the big man looked at me again, taking another step closer. He grabbed me by the throat and lifted me clear off the ground, then brought my face close to his. "Listen and listen well because this is your one fucking chance. If I ever catch you or your kind here again I will shove your one good horn so far up your own ass the devil will think you're a fucking pretzel. Are we clear?"
I tried to answer but couldn't get a breath out. Instead I just nodded. The big man dropped me, roughly, and I vanished back to hell.
It was much less frightening there.
Edit: words
Edit 2: like my work? Check out my sub! /r/jsgunn | 2018-10-08T13:40:21 | 2018-10-08T12:27:28 | 191 | 86 |
[WP] For decades, humanity has lived in absolute harmony with its galactic neighbors. When a new civilization arrives with intent to conquer, however, our capacity for destruction is rekindled, and it's unlike anything the galaxy has ever seen | When we came in conquest we were laughed at. I the Grand Warlord of the Xakkai, Conquer of a Billion Stars. Destroyer of a million fleets. Apocalyptic Judge of a thousand worlds. I who had slain more within my life than I could count was...
Laughed at.
Oh how I can hear the sound even now mocking me, if I had understood then what I know now I wouldn't have dismissed that laughter. I wouldn't have lashed out in rage and ordered my flagship to fire. They had laughed at me.
I destroyed their ship and could still hear the mocking laughter about how we had just monarchially molested the canine companion and Mr Wick would be on his way momentarily. These were cultural references for which we had no frame of reference. How were we to know their meaning?
We conquered a world and burned it's people as a lesson to teach the others to capitulate when we came.
We lost some, but nothing out of the ordinary in its conquest.
We conquered twenty worlds, and again our casualties were those expected. The people of this galaxy were feeble and unused to war. We took to them with swords and guns and they repaid us in involuntary servitude or meat for our fires.
We had then taken a hundred worlds, and our casualties were mounting, things from the dark came in ships like midnight, weapons reaching out from impossible ranges guided by computers of their own on tails of flame.
Our conquests had become chains around our feet, vital facilities were exploding in the night, important personnel were found with their heads severed from their thoraxes. We had managed to conquer a thousand worlds.
A thousand was where we were stopped.
We had encountered a new alien, one of those our intelligence had lead us to believe was one of the more peaceful and prone to diplomacy and weak solutions, our strategists had assessed them more likely to surrender without a fight to avoid any of their people being harmed.
Yet now we were learning new lessons, humanity didn't come at us in ships shining bright as noble paladins to defend the weak. They had been testing us for months with their ships of liquid midnight. And now they came at us with true armadas and deployed their long ranged seeker weapons. Exploding with star-hot bursts of energy, their radioactive emissions rendering wreckage impossible to search or rescue.
They are coming even now as I try in vain to shut down the inter-galactic gate we had built to stabilise the connection between our home galaxy and here, my engineers have already died, they died trying to figure out how to prevent the deadly damage the humans cobalt bombs had done while few of us hide in shelters.
Their allies were hiding in fear of their own allies as humanity rampaged over us and retook our the colonies the races of this galaxy had previously held, though few wanted them still, irradiated as they were.
We now all live in fear of the human motto that had guided them this far.
***Be Prepared***.
Though I am still unsure what the feline singing to the canines has to do with it. | "Balance and harmony only come between like-minded peoples," I said, eying the child in front of me. She was a good kid, I could tell, and gullible too. "But that's what we were, before the Enlightenment."
"You remember the Enlightenment?" she said, her little Plutonian eyes sparkling with Sol's light. She was from our home system, I reminded myself. She was one of the good ones.
I smiled at the girl, brushing the grey hair from my face. "Of course," I said. "I remember it well, almost like it was yesterday."
"And do you remember the time *before* it?"
I nodded, watching mirthfully as the sparkle in her eyes only grew. "I remember it well. Nowadays we call them the dark times, but really it wasn't that dark. Back then, humanity lived in harmony with all of the other civilizations around us."
The girl tilted her head, a question ready at her lips. "Other civilizations?"
A sharp breath escaped my nose as I remembered who I was talking to. The girl in front of me was young. The New Order was all she knew. "Yes, other civilizations. Back then, the galactic cluster was split between dozens—if not hundreds of squabbling alien societies much like us."
"And humanity lived *alongside* them?"
I nodded again. She was asking all the right questions. A bright one, she was. "Yes. As I said before, harmony only comes between like-minded peoples. These civilizations squabbled and argued, but they got along well enough. And we got along with them because we were the same way."
I waited for a moment, watching the girl's face closely. The weight of my words hit her all at once.
"Humanity used to squabble? I thought—"
"Of course we did, little one," I cut her off before whatever misconceptions she carried could escape her mouth. "We used to do such base and simple things as squabbling with *other* civilizations. Whether it be over territory, technology, or intergalactic trade, we squabbled all the same."
It was the girl's turn to nod as she took in what I was saying. "And that changed with the Enlightenment?"
My smile slowly faded and my eyes dropped to the metal floor as I remembered. I nodded at her. "Yes. That all changed with the Enlightenment."
I hadn't lied before, I remembered the Enlightenment like it was yesterday. How could I not? With everything that had happened, it was burned, *seared* straight into my memory. I'd been a young, first-year captain when the Enlightenment came. I still remembered the fierce, power-hungry negotiations I' had with the fleets from our galactic neighbors. It had been a normal occurrence, and I'd even become quite good at it.
But that was before *they* arrived.
"Was that when they arrived?" the girl asked, ripping me back to the present. I furrowed my brow.
"How do you know about *them*?"
Her eyebrows angled downward and she hung her head. "I learned about them in Alexandria." The mention of the galaxy's largest library softened my gaze. She'd learned about them on her own; the fact made me smile. She was one of the good ones.
"Oh," was all I could give as my response. "Well, yes. That was when *they* arrived."
The mention of *them* sent a shiver down my spine. *They* had caused all of it. All of the change, every last bit of it could be traced back to *them*. Their true name rose up in my mind but I pushed it back. I was just glad the girl didn't have to know.
"Back then, we were like-minded to our neighbors. We argued, we wanted power, and we knew how to survive. But *they*... they took it far beyond. Their only goal, singular and complete, was to conquer everything and anything that came in their path."
The girl looked up at me, troubled. The sparkle in her eyes that reminded me of our home star wavered for a second. "How did that lead to the Enlightenment?"
"They came, they saw... they conquered. But when they got to humanity, the scrappy, creative little apes that we were, they were in for something they had never encountered before. They'd come at us, and they'd tried to conquer us with pure wrath. But they'd never expected our *true* capacity for destruction."
Worry entered the girl's sparkling eyes. "True capacity? Did we... did we kill them all?"
I raised one of my eyebrows and shook my head. She'd probably been reading too many of the texts from the dark times, all of the ones written by humans themselves. They all had such a pessimistic view of humanity. We *were* naturally destructive creatures, but we were also more than that. It was just that before *them*, we'd never truly been pushed far enough.
"No," I told her, raising my head high. "You misunderstand. They wanted to crush us in the palm of their hand, and we couldn't let them do that. But they were creatures of pure wrath. We couldn't possibly have just killed them in cold blood."
"So what did you do?"
"We did the only thing left. We did what no other civilization was capable of. We killed them with kindness."
---
/r/Palmerranian | 2019-03-03T20:21:40 | 2019-03-03T18:51:47 | 229 | 37 |
[WP] One day in your bedroom, you try for the first time to hold your breath for as long as possible. It's now been 5 hours, and you start thinking something is wrong. | Something is off, I am still holding my breath, it has been almost five hours. I am dead, I'm so sure of it. I mean living things need air. I haven't took a breath in almost FIVE HOURS.
My eyes flick towards my alarm clock, the red digits stating what I already knew, 5:43 PM. Dinner will soon be ready, what do I tell mom, hey I'm dead, I haven't took a breath in 5 hours, but no worries, I still function! Oh she would break down, cry, because her baby boy was dead.
But what if the world found out? The feds will take me in, have me dissected, to see what makes me tick, or well not tick.
My hearth was in my throat. That was still functioning, thank the Lord.
I looked at my alarm clock, 5:57 PM. I heard my mom walking up the stairs.
Oh no no no no no, what do I do.
She knocked on my door. "Casey, dinner is ready."
She waited for my reply. Again she knocked, "Casey, hello?"
Third time she knocked, "Cas, are you there?"
There was no fourth time, she entered the room with her hands for her eyes, "Casey as your mother I am using my rights to check on you so if you're doing something you are not allowed to do, you have a few seconds to come up with an excuse as to why."
I looked at her in panic and all I could do was cry.
She removed her hands from her eyes. "Casey what's wrong?"
And I bawled, I cried so hard, my whole body was shaking. I explained everything.
She looked at me perplexed and then started laughing uncontrollable, SHE KNEW! she knew why I wasn't breathing.
She started explaining what was wrong with me, apparently it's normal these days.
My name is Casey Miller, I am 6 years old and I just learned that people can breath through their nose. | A buzzing noise similar to that of a gnat perturbed my ear, making me scratch it in annoyance. Though that only temporarily washed away the sinister sound. I could hear the birds chirping under the murky trance I had placed myself in. Coincidently enough, I continued to stare at myself in my wife’s mirror. How much time had passed?
In estimation, it had been around five solid hours of pondering in place. I felt myself on the verge of inhaling, my lungs void of oxygen. It became eerily quiet, my hands were cold and a liquid gloss covered my skin. Something was different in this moment, my arms and legs felt like iron and I couldn’t move them from their set positions.
In my peripherals, there was a bird in mid-flight. Its wings expanded and its beak hanging open slightly ajar. A beautiful sight that bird was. Why was it I couldn’t move? I tried moving again, feeling myself slipping from reality in a sense. As if the picture of my grandfather from the war wasn’t enough to serve as a reminder of my home, my vision began to fickle into an obscurity.
It wasn’t long before my skin began to feel numb. My tongue was drying up as if it had been placed in thickly packed sand. Even the static of silence disappeared, and I could feel myself slipping. My mind and reality slipping in one. An innocent challenge to entertain myself had been contorted into something else.
Then, a shock of purple electricity coursed throughout my body, a good feeling that felt euphoric and wrong at the same time. All of my senses came back, but my stomach felt like it was cement, dropping to the ground as I shook violently in pitch dark. Where was I?
Suddenly, I gasped for air.
Air had never felt so good, my lungs burned under the grill as I gathered my senses together. I had so many questions, but it seems that I wouldn’t be the one asking any. My voice would not speak, and my arms were seemingly restrained in this darkness. I was sitting in some kind of chair restraint?
“So, this is the best the Earth could conjure up for a savior?” A voice said.
I tried to speak, but failed once more.
“Do not speak unless I permit you. Just listen to what I have to say. In a month’s time, we will be taking the Earth for the glory of the Immortals. By per contract with the Immortals, we are required to warn the representative of the planet in a month’s advance.” It said.
My voice didn’t carry when I screamed, but the entity realized this and lifted the restraint.
“R-Representative? What are you talking about?” I said.
I could feel the entity breathing on me, “A planet’s representative is the one responsible for the planet itself. How this is chosen is—to say the least, quite the mystery even to us. But you were chosen.”
“Bullshit! You must know something, why are you doing this? Who are you? What are the Immortals?” I buckled against the restraints in the dark.
“By per contract, I’ve fulfilled my duties and am not required to supply you or anyone else with more information of our intentions. Goodbye Mr. Representative.”
“Wai—“ My voice was silenced, the electrical euphoric feeling washed over me once more, as my senses disappeared and were reanimated in a blurry contrast as I watched my ceiling fan turn casually. My stomach dropped once more, and my breath was rapid. Sweat permeated my face.
“Joyhnson! Are you okay?! I heard a scream.” Penny said, peering out of the bathroom door as if time hadn’t passed for those five hours. My eyes glossed over to her covered in a towel as her brown hair came down in wet rivets. Her pastel blue eyes carried a complexion of worry as she saw me in a state of anguish.
“Penny...what time is it?”
“Ten till seven, are you okay?” She rushes over to me, her hand caressing my face as she knelt down beside me. It was comforting but bothersome at the same time. How was I suppose to explain this situation to her?
Those five hours didn’t really exist. All this mess about representatives...it just didn’t make any sense. “I just had a dizzy spell, I’m fine.” I smiled.
One month, so this is day one? | 2019-06-30T00:09:12 | 2019-06-29T20:08:45 | 596 | 17 |
[WP] You've discovered time travel. You travel 30 years into the future, only to discover that in doing so, you've been missing for the past 30 years.
[deleted] | The plan was simple.
Step 1: Get the down low of the last 30 years from future me.
Step 2: Wall Street shall have a new God.
I would wait at my hometown's Starbucks, not because they do good coffee- stuff's sweet enough to make a baby sick. But unlike babies from my hometown, this place was the only thing I knew would stick around for 30 years.
I tap on my empty coffee cup, keeping the shop entrance in the corner of my eye. I know it's a long way from the big city, where future me lives in his penthouse with a harbour view. Or maybe our beachhouse somewhere up north. Maybe I should listen for a helicopter.
I glance at my watch for the upteenth time. A knockoff Rolex. For now.
I know I'm probably pretty important, maybe the mayor, a CEO at worst, but at least send an assistant, you idiot. Surely, even I am not stupid enough to forget a two step plan. Well actually.
Step 3: Get very, very, very, ri-
A girl plops down in the seat in front of me. She had the firiest red hair I had ever seen, tied up in a pretty ponytail. In one hand she held a scrunched up green apron with a badge that said "Lexi". Her other hand held out a coffee.
"Hey, sorry you got stood up. My friend and I were taking bets, but 3 hours is the longest we've ever seen."
She laughed and her cheeks formed soft dimples and her eyes glimmered. And I knew why future me was never coming. | As I stepped foot into the future, I came to form in a cloud of red mist, accompanied by a shrill singing which echoed throughout my mind, mocking me with its grating melody. My entire body was racked with agony, as if the fatigue of a hundred years total came to greet me in those first few moments.
There was a thought in my mind that my device had malfunctioned, but as I took a cursory glance at my left arm I could see that that was not the case. I had indeed leapt twenty years into the future, and I seemed fortunate enough that my position upon the earth had not changed in the slightest. Had I miscalculated in even the slightest degree, I would no doubt have been flung into the cold depths of space.
But while I was still in the very same bedroom which I had put that decisive experiment into action, there were oddities to that claim. For the furniture around me was arranged in a fashion unknown to me, and there hung ornaments and posters upon the walls which I had never gazed upon in my days.
Then as my senses slowly continued to adjust to that warp, there came the sharp taste of copper lingering upon my tongue, and an unpleasant feeling like I had just stepped into a shower fully clothed. I felt warm liquid run down the length of my entire body, and a gentle chorus of rhythmic drips echoing throughout the room.
I took another glance at the device upon my arm and noticed it then, the fact that my entire arm was covered in an endless stream of red, which I had failed to notice earlier in the confusion of the moment.
Not just that, but everything around me seemed was covered in a crimson cascade, endless waterfalls of red were strewn about on every conceivable surface. And as that warm liquid continued to snake its way down the length of me, my eyes settled upon the earth below and I saw heaped upon the earth, a mutilated corpse strewn beneath my feet.
I let out an unearthly yell as I staggered away from that scene, and frantically tried to wipe away the blood upon me with my bloodied hands. But the racket I caused in those moments alerted someone else, for I heard a voice come from the room beyond.
Before I could even think of what to do next, the door swung open to reveal a woman who looked familiar, far too familiar. She took one look at me and screamed, and backed up against those bloodstained walls, shrieking all the while.
It was then that I noticed where I remembered her from, for while she had aged considerably since I gazed upon her last, she was without a doubt my estranged wife.
"I know this looks bad, Lisa," I said, as I raised my arms, worried she was about to have a heart attack at any given moment. "But it's me, Thomas. My research finally paid off."
I looked back at the bloodied corpse behind me, and wondered for a moment if I had somehow just managed to obliterate my future self upon my arrival. While that would in a sense prevent me from creating any paradoxes, the notion of murdering myself did not sit too well for me.
Lisa stopped screaming for a moment, but her breathing was still ragged, for she held a trembling hand to her heaving chest as she spoke. "Thomas? But how? But you've been gone for twenty years."
"Gone? No? I haven't been gone, I just traveled to the future," I said, as I pointed at the device on my arm.
I knew at one point I would have returned to the past, and thus continued on my life, making it seem like I had never disappeared to the future at all. But her words filled me with a growing sense of unease.
“You just up and disappeared back- what's with all the blood?" she said, as she looked around the room. "And where's Jim?"
I looked back at the corpse upon the floor, and watched as it unfurled upon itself to reveal the mutilated visage of my son, Jim.
* * *
More of my writing at /r/khaarus | 2020-03-03T05:24:42 | 2020-03-03T03:41:39 | 1,446 | 1,028 |
[WP] The aliens found our ability to form a pack-bond with almost anything amusing. However, they found the ability of almost anything to form a pack-bond with us terrifying. | Captain's log: I had heard about humans pack bonding with everything, but this is getting rediculous. When I first agreed to allow a human to serve on the crew, I got the standard documentation to inform me of their needs, any hazards they might pose to the other crew members, and any other information that would be necessary to the function of the crew. Normally it also includes a section about what species they tend to be incapable of working with, but for humans, that section was replaced with a disclaimer about their extreme pack bonding, which I had taken to mean that they function best in groups of their own kind, until the lone human joined the crew.
The human seemed timid at first, though rather hard working for their diminutive stature and eager to please. The first reminder of the extreme pack bonding was when they encountered the cleaning droid, who they apparently deemed "adorable" and promptly named "sweepy". They still pet the thing every time it passes and often seem to have conversations with it. Within the first week of the cleaning droid incident, they had a nickname for every piece of machinery on this ship.
After the standard waiting period to ensure the new crewmate had acclimated to the ship and their duties, they were introduced to the rest of the crew. They quickly befriended the more social species like the Aklindorps and the Xnthrsdnt, but I was worried about how they would interact with Vild, the resident Xid, who has a list of incompatible species three pages long, (that, now that I think about it, does not include humans) and is only in the same room as their crewmates during their assigned meal breaks, and only for as little time as possible. However, after a few days of their meal breaks coinciding, they did something no other crewmate had done before and sat at the same table as Vild. Not only did they sit at the same table, but they also started a conversation with him! I was in the process of calling the security droids over to break up the fight that was certain to erupt, but had to stop after hearing Vild's warning be... not ignored, but de-escalated into a deep "harmph" from the hulking Xid, and while I kept the security droids on standby in case violence did occur, they were not needed as the pair sat in silence and finished their meals in peace. This ritual of eating at the same table without exchanging a single word continued every time their breaks overlapped until it was Vild who broke the silence and initiated the almost friendly conversation, to which the human happily continued.
I hadn't noticed how strong the bond the human had been developing with each member of the crew until the human was injured when one of the larger storage containers fell on them when the crane malfunctioned during offloading. Every single crewman in the area stopped what they were doing immediately to attempt to lift the container off of the human's legs, and when they couldn't manage it, or get the crane repaired soon enough, Vild happened to walk past and, without being asked, walked over to help the other crewmates, who he actively avoided for the sake of avoiding conflict due to his species' extremely territorial nature. With Vild's help and the timely arrival of the smaller lift, the human was able to be pulled from under the crate to receive medical attention.
After that incident, crew cohesion has increased dramatically and even Vild has been noted to be more social with other members of the crew, allowing them the opportunity to approach for short periods of time while they perform their duties, though the table is still reserved for him and his human friend. | Claude looked at the com-screen unit on his hand — it was blank.
He tapped on it once, twice, but nothing came on it.
It had happened before. Every time he fed *this* question in it, the com-unit failed to translate the question to the local language of this planet. It worked okay otherwise if he fed other questions to the aliens.
But not for this question — any question about the central authority made the screen blank.
He raised his eyes and looked at the red wizened face of the alien staring back at him. Claude pressed the preset for the "Sorry" message, and the unit came alive with a bright sonorous sound relaying the message back to the alien.
Then he pressed the preset for "Goodbye; have a good day."
The red-faced alien slouched like an empty bag, then expanded like a balloon, deflated, and then he shuffled away. Claude stared at him for a long time, and then at the breathtaking cluster of buildings rising in front of him, higher and fancier than any other structure he had seen ever in his life.
And he had been on over fifty planets.
"Is it even possible?" Jeromy asked him. "That they don't have any central authority?"
"The data *until now* confirm this," Claude replied, stressing on until now more than he would have liked to do so. But the social scientist in him was screaming to say no —absolutely fugging NO.
*How can a planet with such architectural and technological advancement have no central authority to direct the effort of the masses?*
Claude looked at Jeromy. He was the head of the fifty men and women unit that had landed on the planet Kepler-6491. He was a tactician, a man with a single message drilled in his head - make an alliance with the host planet — by any way possible. For him, it didn't matter if this society existed without a central authority. Better if not — easier to plan his next steps.
But for Claude, with years of social science training — it was mind-numbing.
But the data was saying exactly that.
Fifth time today they had got hold of one of the aliens and asked them about a central council or authority, his team can talk to, a central body which exists based on a logical division of their society. But every time he fed the question into the com-unit, it sent out nothing, or if it did, it was some garbled message which they could not understand.
For them, group-thinking, central authority — these words didn't exist!
It was their sixth week on the Planet Kepler-6491, and all the study done until now indicated this —these people don't form societies, or groups, each person existing on their own. They did some basic level group activities, like getting together in the evening for social dinner or celebrating each other's achievement. But nothing apart from that. Each one governed himself completely on his own, and still, the result was one of the most advanced planets he had ever put a foot on.
They were standing outside a building as big and tall as pyramid back on earth. There, they had been able to get hold of a garrulous red-faced alien. On a planet whose inhabitants didn't speak much, he was an asset.
"Don't different states war?" he spoke into the com-unit which relayed the question to the alien.
"We don't have a concept of war,' he said. "Every person is complete in itself. Our society is based on individual achievement, not competing." Then he quickly flickered his luminous grey eyes which his com unit said was the equivalent of a wink. "I know the other planet ways," he said, "But we don't do war. We are in harmony. And we really don't understand people who exist in a group. Being in a group is a sign of individual weakness."
"But what if someone attacks you?" Claude asked.
The red face answered: "Our society defends itself on its own accord. The attack inciting automatic responses in people who work on their own accord, without the need fo a central authority, and we defend and we have never lost."
As Claude was talking, he noticed many red-face stopping near him, making a rattling sound and then walking away.
"They mock you," the red-face alien told Claude. "You walk in the group here, and for us, this is a sign of weakness. On our planet, this is a slur. They spit on you."
While Claude was fascinated by this interaction, Jeromy, the captain, was becoming more and more furious. "I'll show these muck what weakness is! It's time now. We have waited for long."
"Let's go!" Jeromy ordered.
Claude wanted to stay. He was utterly fascinated by these people. But when Jeromy growled again, he followed the column of his team walking back to their station. Red-face now were thronging both the side of the boulevard. Emitting slurring sounds, their faces expanding and contracting in an ugly way. He looked at the com unit. It was a shame walk; it was public stoning, he didn't need to read that on the com to know that.
Claude sat solemnly in the base unit as it flew out of the atmosphere. He knew the drill. Jeromy has already sent for the backup. He could see the red blinkers on the map on the base unit's main screen.
He wasn't there, but he saw everything on the screen.
The red-faced aliens fought bravely, admirably. Individually they were equal to tens of us. But in the group, they began to falter. Their red-faces expanding in horror as one after other, our drones attacked them from the sky, our soldiers fighting not only for themselves but for the group.
In the end, they were defeated —not because we were better than them, but because we were many more than them, and we fought in packs, like hungry hyenas, like opportunistic wolves. | 2020-10-16T03:23:51 | 2020-10-16T01:46:17 | 40 | 29 |
[WP] In a near future police interrogation is preformed by an AI. You are set in a dark room where the detective AI sifts through your social media and data, building cases in real time while monitoring any facial tells or story inconsistencies. Slowly revealing it is judge jury and executioner. | “Blood pressure rising. Heart rate increasing by a factor of two. Please repeat your answer.”
The voice was human enough, but its owner still bore the unmistakable signs of a machine: the softly-glowing blue eyes, rigid movements, a glowing blue thread running through the left side of the face, through the eye - all to avoid being mistaken for human.
“I said I wasn’t there, ok?” Peter was exasperated now, and the detectives eagerly waited for him to make a mistake at any moment. They leaned forward, toward the glass separating them from man and machine.
“Mr. Richardson. Were you or were you not at Starvale Apartments the week before last?”
“I’ve never set foot in that place!”
“Archival footage of ‘Exhibit 17a: Parking lot security tape 3, Autumn’s Grocery’” it stated for no other reason than for easy perusal of evidence by a human reviewer, “shows you in the location as of Tuesday morning the week prior. Additionally, your SocialChat profile checked in at a nearby restaurant that evening. The laptop you used to hack into the driverless delivery vehicle was at the room you registered to online.”
“None of that is true! I didn’t kill no one, you hear me?! No one!”
“Here it comes, boys,” Detective Ross spoke to the handful of people around him, behind the glass, with all the giddiness of a schoolchild showing off his new toy. “This thing’s got ‘em. Look at his vitals.” He points to a display on the one-way glass, illuminating and displaying an ECG with other numbers attached, confirming the AI’s assessments.
“You murdered seven people with that van, Peter. Why did you do it?”
“I don’t even know how to write simple code? How would I even -“
“Save it, Peter. You had registered for self-paced coding classes three months ago. Your search history shows a very targeted plan and method.”
“I received an advertisement for a free class, that’s all! I signed up out of curiosity!”
“So you admit to having lied? Your vital signs are hardly sustainable, Mr. Richardson. It would be easier for you to tell us the truth and you may yet live.”
“I’m not admitting anything, you fucking clump of wires!” He spits on VIGiL but the AI, feeling nothing, simply ignores the outburst while the officers on the other side had to restrain some of their fellow men from angrily entering the room.
Suddenly, Peter looks shocked and stands up quickly, clutching his chest, only to topple to the ground, sending a plastic chair flying sideways across the smooth floor.
“Get this man to the hospital! We still need his confession!” barked the sergeant, rushing into the room. VIGiL remained in his seat, expressionless.
“Sergeant, may I upload the evidence to your private computer?”
“No. I don’t need a robot sniffing around my personal files, thanks. Use the database as intended,” the sergeant waved his hand while he and two others lifted Peter out of the room quickly.
VIGiL was the only one who remained, sitting in his chair, eyes glowing, flickering. It carefully finishes editing other public documents and begins to weave the pieces together in Peter’s file to implicate a man it chose at random a year prior.
Once it completed erasing any trace of his network-connected pacemaker, VIGiL uploaded the file to the database and then began sending advertisements and other psychological manipulators to individuals who were entirely unconnected. They didn’t know it yet, but they would become victims of the sergeant in two years’ time. VIGiL now creates two social media accounts and opens an off-shore account in the sergeant’s name, all of which he will remain blissfully unaware of until his trial. It then stands up to leave the interrogation room, expressionless. | The streetlights were alive. They hummed and flickered and seemed to invade Aldan’s thoughts as he walked across the wet cracked concrete of the alleyway. Walls towered around him like a prison cell. The city had trapped him. He paused at the painted mural of a postal worker slipping unmarked packages into a blue mailbox with a hundred electric eyes peppered across the front. *We are always watching,* and if the mural could tell a thousand words, they would speak of failure.
Aldan knocked twice; t*ap-tap* on the cracked concrete. The noise echoed in the street, past e-cig cartridges, crumpled wax paper wrappers, cyber-mice and roaches. Always roaches. No matter the time, the toxicity of the air, the dryness or the damp, there will always be roaches. It was an oddly comforting thought.
A muffled voice says from a cracked speaker embedded in the concrete wall. “Aldan?”
“Don’t use that!”
“Damn it all.” A grating of steel. A rusted door opens into the night. A latch unlocked and a hand waved Aldan inside. “Hurry, hurry!”
Aldan stopped at the threshold, string up at the intelligible mass of wires and lighting. The alley must go a hundred, no, a thousand feet into the sky, hundreds of stories, each level filled with less smog, more garishness, and more fluorescents.
*And more roaches,* Aldan thought as he stepped into the shabby workshop. *Always the roaches.*
Inside, the shop was rust and scrap and the leftovers of something beautiful. A grandfather clock ticked half-broken in the corner. And old arcade machine rested un-quartered by the wall, the LED lights still whirring and humming, unplayable. On the metal tables were the scraps of robotics: dead and dissected cyber-mice, the elements of an old toaster, the circuit board to a dishwasher.
“Shouldn’t use my name,” Aldan said. “They could be listening.”
“Aldan, Aldan!” Clerk said, chuckling as he stretches out the syllables. “Al-dan. You’ve been in worse bullshit than old memory dealers and recyclers. Besides, they’re not prosecuting. We both know that.”
They did.
Memory tempering was a crime, no less punishable than theft or vandalism. But it was rarely enforced. In fact, it was almost accepted that any member of society willing to pursue nightly stints to have their thoughts altered, would do so with impunity. In a city that gave nothing, this one vice was enough.
“What’ll you have?” Clerk asked.
“The raw footage, 1911, you know the place.”
“Filters?”
“None.”
Clerk whistled. He approached the back counter, funning his fingers delicately over shelves, storage boxes, leftover tv-tray cartons with half-spoiled spam. He arrived at a red locker embedded into the concrete. The drill on the old lock turned, clicking, and after a minute of rustling, Clerk returned with a small drive. He reached out towards Aldan, then hesitated.
“You have something for me?” Clerk asked.
Aldan’s expression darkened. “She’s not interested.”
“Do I look like I’m asking?”
Aldan reached for the drive. “Like I said, she’s not—”
Clerk flicked at him. He palmed the drive and put it back on the counter, then crossed his arms in front of him. The shopkeeper shook his head back and forth, like he was remembering how to argue with himself, like he was remembering how to reason with insanity.
“This won’t keep her from me,” Clerk said.
“You know why,” Aldan said, keeping cool. A folding knife peeked from the denim of his pocket, but he wouldn’t need it. Not for Clerk, at least, and not tonight. “I paid for that drive.”
Clerk leaned over on the counter. He grabbed an e-cigarette and took a puff. Cherry-flavored steam wafter from his mouth, and he relaxed, closed his eyes, stopped his hands from shaking.
“If the sweepers get to her first…” Clerk trailed off.
Aldan shrugged. “She remembers nothing. She can tell them nothing.”
“Are you certain?”
Aldan was not.
He grabbed the drive and Clerk nodded.
“There’s something here, Clerk. I know it. I’m gonna find it. And I swear to you, when this is all over, I swear I’ll tell her the truth, but until then, you gotta do me a solid and stay the fuck away from her, you got that?”
Clerk nodded.
“I’ll fix her. Get her back.”
“You better,” Clerk said. He stared at the old grandfather clock, wishing time could be un-ticked. His voice softened. “It’s her birthday tomorrow.”
Aldan paused. “Damn, Clerk, I didn’t know.”
He walked to the door of the alley, peeking through the eyelet and into an empty street. He half expected a dozen troopers in military vest and visors, holding shock batons, crying out, *Traitor! Traitor!* But there was nothing but the roaches.
“She’d be proud?” Clerk asked. “To know I was her father? Would you think she’d be proud of me?”
Aldan looked down at the drive resting in his hands, a memory stolen from a corpse. He took a breath of smoke and smoggy air, felt the drizzle of condensation and sooty rain drip and mist down from the upper stories. Somewhere, rising high on rooftops, there was grass. Real, genuine grass, the feeling of green beneath his feet, sunlight.
But not here. Not yet, anyway. And certainly not with Clerk and his half-salvaged shop. Would she really be proud to know how far her father had fallen? A broken soul lowered worse than a roach? *Would she still look up to him?*
“Yes,” Aldan said.
He lied.
***
more gritty Sci-Fi at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | 2020-12-22T06:51:23 | 2020-12-22T04:30:00 | 93 | 58 |
[WP] You are a demon that has had several failed attempts on your life by demon hunters. No matter how they use their holy powers they cannot harm you and as a result they consider you extremely powerful. In truth, the holy powers don't harm you for the simple reason that you aren't actually evil. | No one ever told me that becoming a demon would be such an inconvenience. I mean, the cool powers are neat, and being almost immortal is a lot better than I thought it would be. However, being a henchman for the man downstairs comes with one big inconvenience: demon hunters.
Ever since I became a demon, demon hunters have been on my tail unrelentingly. Some are disguised and catch me off guard, others are obvious and easy to spot from a mile away, and still others like to chase me for as long as they need to. But that all have one thing in common: a collective desire to have me dead. And they will not stop until I am.
Unfortunately for them, though, none of their attempts have ever proven to be successful. No matter what attack they use, from the simplest incantation to the most powerful demon-killing tools and everything in between, not a single one has managed a scratch on me. Despite their boasting that they have never failed to bring a demon to justice, I seem to be untouchable. Why, you may ask?
Well, it's simple: I'm not evil. Quite the opposite actually.
​
Let me give a little insight into the demon world.
When a person dies and is sent to Hell, they have two options when becoming a demon: become an evil tormentor and cause chaos and whatever, or be a passive demon, who basically just lives normally, aside from the powers. Many souls choose to become the evil type, known as "Tormentors," for the sole purpose of causing chaos. But a small portion do choose to become passive ones, aka "Walkers."
I chose to be a Walker because, well, I'm a good guy. When I was alive, people always told me I was an amazing person and could do no harm even if I wanted to. I was surprised I was sent to Hell for obvious reasons, but I figured I'd just roll with it. Especially when I realized I could be a Walker.
​
On one particular day, I was sitting alone in a bar, with only the bartender to keep me company. I was simply just enjoying a nice afternoon with a couple shots of Pink Whitney. I figured if I was gonna be hunted constantly, I might as well just relax with whatever down time I had.
And then, a hunter showed up.
She was rather tall - 6 feet at least - and athletic looking, dressed in a trench coat over some athletic wear. Her long, red hair was bundled into a messy bun, leaving a few locks of hair hanging in the front. At her side, I could see a holster bearing the infamous Devil Slayer shotgun that every demon hunter seemed to carry.
Her face was intimidating, and it was clear she was here for business, whether that be killing me or downing some shots as well.
With nothing but the thumping oh her boots breaking the silence she strolled to the bar and sat next to me.
"Hey there, ma'am," greeted the bartender. "What can I get ya today?" His thick, southern accent had a certain charm to it that didn't seem to affect her, as her demeanor remained stone cold.
"A tall glass of whiskey, please." Her voice was just as cold as her demeanor, and even the "please" at the end seemed dishonest coming from her.
"Comin' right up!" The bartender went to the shelf and picked down a bottle of whiskey and poured a glass for her, setting it on the bar for her to grab.
"Thanks," she said.
"No problem."
A few more minutes of silence passed as she slowly sipped away at her glass and I ordered some more shots. I wasn't worried about getting drunk: as a demon, I learned that it took a lot to get me tipsy, let alone drunk.
The whole time, I was nervous as hell. Sitting right next to me was a demon hunter who, from the looks of it, wouldn't fuck around if she needed to kick my ass. Even though she seemed unaware of my presence, I felt as if she knew I was demon, and that she might strike at any moment.
Without looking at me, she downed the last of her liquor and spoke.
"You seem nervous. Why?"
How was I gonna answer without giving my self away? Even if the others were successful, something seemed different about this one, and giving myself away might end badly.
"W-well, who wouldn't be nervous in the presence of such a beautiful woman, am I right?" I chuckled nervously, and I could feel my brow getting slick.
"Heh, you think I don't realize what you are, huh?" She glanced right at me. "But I do."
She found me out. I was royally fucked if she decided to start a fight.
"Alright, fine," I sighed. "You got me. I'm a demon. Go ahead and try to kill me, just like all the others."
More silence. The bartender was minding his own business, washing glasses and whistling away.
"No," the hunter spoke. "There's no point in trying to kill a Walker, is there?"
She knew? How? All the other hunters failed to recognize that, so why was she suddenly able to tell.
"How do you know?"
"Are you kidding?" She chuckled a bit and turned to face me. "You're infamous among us hunters! People are constantly talking about the demon who cannot be killed. And, as you know, a Walker can't be killed by a hunter's powers. The others seemed to not know that."
"How'd you know where to find to find me?"
"I have my ways." She smirked.
"Oh."
​
For the rest of the time we were there, we talked about a myriad of things: favorite songs, our jobs, whether or not we believe in aliens. As time went on, the hunter - whose named, I learned, was Petra - seemed to become friendlier, and my nervousness faded away.
When it came time to leave, I paid for both of our drinks and got ready to leave.
"It was great knowing you," I said with a smile.
"Right back at you." She slipped me a business card. "If you're ever in need of a hunter, here's my number. And don't worry, I'll tell the others not to go after you."
"Thanks. Well, see ya around!" And I walked out the door into the cool night. | _I'm the "forever DM" of my Dungeons & Dragons group, and I keep a big list of quest ideas. So, this story is written with that format and usage in mind. Try to imagine sitting at a table with your friends, and visualize one of them as the DM dramatically bringing the story to life in their own way as the rest of you nervously interact with the world through your characters. Of course, feel free to ignore this reading suggestion. Just enjoy!_
---------
## The Demon That Lurks
### Quest Hook
A foolish wizard opened a gate to the abyss. Before it was closed, demons eagerly poured into the countryside to wreak havoc.
The task of containing and exterminating the demon infestation has largely fallen on a local order of paladins and warrior clerics because they have holy powers specifically meant for fighting such foes. They are stretched thin, but they are managing admirably under the circumstances.
One of the demons is creating some kind of lair or nest instead of rampaging haphazardly. The paladins and warrior clerics who have come after it so far have all failed. Survivors say that no matter how they use their holy powers, they've been unable to harm the demon. Several of the order's most elite demon hunting parties never came back.
Stretched thin as they are, the order cannot afford to keep losing numbers. However, they also cannot simply allow the demon to carry out its vile plans unchecked. So, they wish to hire capable adventurers for the task.
### Approaching the Lair
As the party approaches the spot marked on their map, they eventually encounter a river of oozy sludge on the ground. It bubbles and bursts with tiny short-lived geysers of flammable gas, and the eruptions spew globs of sludge that harden into fine ash that cakes the surface of the tar like tiny tectonic plates that crumble against each other as they drift. The slow-moving river is ten feet thick, and birds can see that it forms an unbroken circle that spans past the horizon.
Past this foreboding boundary, everything visible is covered in dark fungi and tiny writhing worms. The trees have either burnt or withered unnaturally fast. Many have been snapped halfway up their trunks or shattered into splinters as if they've exploded. Most have been marked with giant Xs that seem to have been carved in just two strokes of a claw. The trunks and stumps that aren't marked with giant Xs are instead carved with short inscriptions written in the sharp, jagged strokes that few might recognize to be Abyssal script. Below these inscriptions is a crudely carved eye. The violent carvings all drip with the same oozy sludge as the boundary, and the wind can be seen by the resulting fine ash. The only difference is that in addition to the oozing sludge, the carvings burn brightly with tongues of flame that neither spread nor shrink.
#### Area Effects
- **Blanket of Misdirection** Any attempts to detect alignment in the area return no results whatsoever, as if nothing is there at all.
- **Sapping Sludge** Anything that touches the river of sludge bursts into flames and takes 6d6 fire damage, but the tar cools into ash and blows away after one round. If a spellcaster touches the tar, then they must also make a Will save DC 22 or else one of their highest level unspent spells is now spent, starting with the one used most often. If they pass, then they may expend a spell of any level, and they choose which spell.
- **Sleep Spores** Anything that touches the spores of the fungi by passing through infested squares must make a DC 8 Fortitude save or become Fatigued. If they are Fatigued, then they become Exhausted. If they are already Exhausted, then they fall into a deep sleep and are Helpless. (Replace the Fatigue and Exhaustion with the Drowsiness scale if using those rules.) If they are awoken, they must immediately make another save. The spores become increasingly potent with continued exposure, increasing the DC by 1 every 10 minutes for as long as a person remains exposed. Spellcasters may instead choose to make a Will save of an equivalent DC to determine the loss of a spell, which works the same way as the sludge's magic sapping.
- **Invasive Nutrition** The worms are harmless, except they seem determined to crawl into orifices – especially the mouth – and will eventually burrow through or squeeze past obstructions. While in infested squares, creatures must make a Will save DC 14 or become Sickened. This check only needs to be made once. Eating the worms provides organic creatures with all necessary sustenance that would be provided by a healthy meal.
- Demons are unaffected by all of these area effects.
### The Powerful Demon
The demon is covered from head to toe in massive interlocking scales of solid adamantine that grows from its sludge-covered skin. Huge tusk-like quills grow out of the tips of the scales. It looks like several of these quills broke off recently, but they are starting to regrow. Altogether, the demon's silhouette resembles something like a cross between a pangolin and a hedgehog. It behaves as such too, walking on all fours and occasionally flicking its long, thin tongue to scoop up some worms.
When it feels threatened, it curls up into a ball to protect itself. It can roll around on the tips of its quills with surprising speed, and is also capable of burrowing quickly with its claws. In fights, it prefers to cast Sleep spells, create Anti-Magic Fields, produce scary Illusions, and trap enemies inside the trail of Sapping Sludge that it can leave as it moves. If it must cause damage, then it can use its claws and quills.
The reason why none of the holy powers of the demon hunters were able to hurt the demon is because it simply isn't evil. It escaped the Abyss for the same reasons any sane person would wish to. Because it knows that it is an abomination to mortals and demons alike, it wishes only to be left alone. The demon can only communicate in Abyssal, so it was unable to plead it's case to the demon hunters – not that it expected to be given such an opportunity anyway, given that the demon hunters try to kill demons as quickly as possible. It doesn't necessarily wait to be attacked before it begins casting its non-damaging spells, but only because it can tell when creatures have hostile intentions. Also, it tries to eat malicious demons in its territory, partly because it dislikes them as much as they dislike it and partly as a nice respite from its usual wormy meal.
### Denouement and Conclusion
If the party can communicate with the demon, they will find it to be surprised and wary at first. However, it will eventually warm up to them and excitedly refer to them as its friends. (Abyssal has no word for "friend," so technically it refers to them as allies. But the translation is clear from context.) The party will learn that it wishes to hide and be left alone because nobody likes it. It would love to be able to disguise itself and live among people, but its defenses are so absolute that it is involuntarily immune to shapechanging, so it has given up on that dream.
At some point in the future (perhaps during another quest altogether), the party may hear of a spell, spellcaster, or artifact capable of deactivating one immunity. If they remember the demon and decide to go back to help it, then the demon will be elated. It will choose the form of an androgynous child with physical traits from each of the party members, and will ask them for a "mortal name" in broken, stuttering Common.
After the demon takes a mortal form, the landscape will take only a few minutes to return to normal. The snapped and exploded trees won't fix themselves, but all the withered trees will become bushy and fruitful. The creatures that fell asleep in the area will quickly be revealed as the worms thin out. As they begin to awaken, the sounds of nature return. Several paladins and clerics begin checking in with signal flares.
As a reward, the demon will remain an unshakably loyal friend of the party and give them one of its two front teeth, which they yank out of their mouth before anyone can stop them. While exploring the little hole with their tongue, they explain that the tooth may be crushed to grant one casting of Wish. The "child" will then give them hugs (somewhat clumsily since its their first hug), step back to give them a beaming grin, and vanish.
Next, the holy order will provide each party member with an appropriately handsome amount of gold, and the nearest town will throw a parade in honor of the party. The end. | 2021-02-22T22:11:04 | 2021-02-22T20:34:39 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] The exorcist prayed and prayed, begging the demon to leave the childs body and return to the depths of hell. But he knew something was wrong when a distorted voice shouted out "He won't let me leave!" | "He won't let me leave!" The unnaturally deep and harsh voice of the demon issued from the child's mouth, and the priest's eyes widened in confusion.
"He won't let you leave?" The priest repeated.
"No!" It was the child this time who shouted, seemingly on control again. "Don't send him away, please!"
"Billy, you have to let go of this demon!" The priest shouted.
"No! If you send him back he'll go back to hell!"
"Exactly, Billy! He's an evil entity, not meant for our world."
"Hell is a bad place! He told me about it! So, I won't let him go back!" Billy was sweating an abnormally absurd amount, as if discharging all of the water he had at once.
A possession tended to do that.
"Billy, it is a demon! It needs to go back to hell! It's where it belongs!"
But Billy was not having it. Even as the priest saw, the child was fighting against the demon for control of the body. And somehow, the child's will was stronger. The stubbornness and sheer force of will that children possessed was not something the demon was accustomed to.
"No! His name is Rucheim and he cannot go back! They will take his skin off!"
The priest could only stare at this child trying to protect this demon.
"He has to go back, Billy. It doesn't belong here." the priest repeated.
"God, you're a useless priest!" The deep, guttural voice was back. The demon was back in control.
"Leave the boy!"
"YOU THINK I WANT TO BE IN THIS SHELL ANY LONGER?"
"Let me speak to Billy." The priest was suddenly struck with an idea. A bad one. One of deceit and lies, but it might just work.
"Rucheim can sleep under my bed. I'll hide him if the other demons come for him." Billy tried to reason.
"No, Billy. Rucheim was only having fun with you. Hell is not a bad place! He only said that to scare you. You have to let him go. He misses his family down there." The priest explained.
He could see Billy's mind working at this new development, and there seemed to be a mental conversation he was having with the demon.
"Ok. Fine. Rucheim says that's true. I'll let him leave. But on the condition that he comes back once every month so I can check on him. Make sure he doesn't get bullied by the other demons." Billy said, crossing his arms.
"Deal." The harsh, guttural voice accepted this condition impatiently, and suddenly Billy fell to the floor, drained.
The demon was gone, and the priest was shaking his head at the absurdity of why had transpired.
He slowly helped Billy to his feet.
"Rucheim isn't evil." He said, and the priest nodded. The innocence in Billy was... startling. He somehow made a deal with a demon and somehow, the demon got the worse end of it. | So many exorcisms.....Patt was getting older and older and the demons were getting any wiser, see Patt had a reputation amongst his peers and clients, from a young age he knew demons were real while nobody else believed him, so on that note when the rapture happened, only when he was a small lad did he help recover and build, he stood against the dark forces and demons right on the helm of it all.
But, again they didn’t get any wiser it’s been twenty or so odd years since the fall and rebuilding of society, it’s impressive just how quick they rebuilt but Patt knew god was helping the survivors along the way. What Patt knew god didn’t intend was for the rapture to stay open know all kinds of demons come from there but they only seem to come when a certain amount on earth have been destroyed, Patt assumes this was just a “not enough space” rule or law that demon kind had to follow.
Walking back home in the blood rain from the sky’s rapture Patt could only thank god that it wasn’t the fore embers falling from above, or the body parts of demons, that wouldn’t be good at all...but as they walk past a building this one the outside permanently marked with red streaks and burnt at the edges of the building and windows, he heard faint crying, that of a child.
Now Patt knows better than anyone as the leader of his pocket of society right now, do NOT trust the crying children. Patt KNOWS better....but the crying felt and sounded so much like a normal boy so with that he told his group to keep heading back as they weren’t far he would catch up, said he thought he heard some survivors. They always listened to Patt no matter what he said and it frightened him sometimes but he is glad they didn’t follow for what was about to happen scared him more than any demon.
“Hello Patrick, we’ve been waiting for you” a voice echoed throughout the building, reverberating down the stair case he made his way up. Patt did not answer, he was wrong it was a demon but something about it was so off? This was not normal, it did not feel safe here. But he kept climbing, the world around him was blackening and he didn’t even noticed, the world simply was disappearing but he held onto railing that was no longer there walked down a hallway of black emptiness in a hypnotic trance until he reached the room. The room from which whispering and vocalisation ceased, no demonic screeches in the distance or sounds of demonic gang fighting.
“Patrick” it was one word. Slow, drawn out to lengthen the word like a stereotypical creepy child would do in an old horror movie but this was so much more terrifying then he though it would be in real life.
“We’re so glad you came we even brought you an offering!” The voice wasn’t echoed around him in the cast nothing it was in his mind, Patt though he had been losses but he wasn’t sure anymore. Then come the child out of the very nothing he stood on, the child had risen from it like it was thick black Ooze.
“HeLp Me PlEaSe he WonT leT Me LeAVe” the voice was demonic in nature, but it wailed Luke a newborn crying for any help and comfort it could find in a new scary world.
“We have brought forth a gift, you can exorcise the demon and return it to hell....or you can exorcise the demon into me” Patt was confused what that even meant the situation this thing was implying was down right ridiculous, exorcise the demon into.....wait what even is this thing Patt was talking to.
As the dawn of realisation hit him he panicked, he panicked hard.
“Patrick CALM DOWN” a booming voice that spoke into his mind tearing it apart feeling like if he didn’t obey a mouth with 1000 teeth and a jaw of death would eat him and crunch his bone, snap them with the sharp teeth.
“I am here to just collect the beings for my family, I must show that sleeping fool’s court the newest most frightening breed of child I have, in return I will use all my power to steer my brothers, sisters and what not away from this pace.” Patt finally understood what was happening, the being which he now realised was the Black Ooze nothingness around him wanted Patt to exorcise the demon into it so he could corrupt it into...whatever it wanted presumably. and to use it’s power to make sure others like it leave this place alone was a good offer, they were already rebuilding and learning and adapting to having demons around. Patt did something he never thought he would do.
“You have yourself a deal.” Before another word was spoken Patt shouted to the heavens asking god for forgiving him and then shouted divine words from the language of angels, he doesn’t think even god knew that he spoke some minor words but it was all or nothing now, Patt knew what this thing was and happily would deal with it do make others of it not approach this place.
And so as the boy no longer pissed by demon or Eldritch being fell into his arms and the nothing Ooze slowly peeled away for the room to show he left the building and made it home he put the child down at the front gate looked up toward the guards pointing makeshift guns at him along with their holy symbols and he then looked to heaven and he saw god, and God was in the shape of an amorphous thick black Ooze of nothingness. | 2021-12-28T11:20:56 | 2021-12-28T09:18:12 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] Write a children's story with a terrible moral. | Ever been hurt & not known what to do,
When a bully at school would come up to you,
Steal your lunch & make you eat glue?
Well I'm Uncle Sam & you've got your rights!
Don't be a bitch, son, learn how to fight!
Nobody cares for you. No one in sight.
No one is coming to help with your plight.
Not the police, not Batman in tights,
To fix what is wrong & do what is right.
You've really got nobody. You're all alone.
Even if you call they won't pick up the phone.
You could just break down, hoping to die.
The Retard of Fagtown, having a cry.
Or you could do the American thing.
Stand up for yourself & let freedom ring!
This is the U.S., your Dad has a gun.
Just take it to school, son.
Go have some fun.
__________________________________
There once was a girl named Jan,
Who was the best lay in the land.
She'd give you a hand,
And a blow, like a ho.
And everyone thought she was grand.
_______________________________
There are monsters everywhere. Hiding all around.
There are monsters everywhere. Waiting to be found.
Some dig tunnels through the ground. Coming softly. Not a sound.
Some fly demons through the air, shooting children here & there.
Some want more than just a scare.
Some do evil with a flair.
Some want nothing more than pain.
Spilling blood, it pours like rain.
Most monsters are straight insane.
Something's broken in their brain.
Nothing stops a monster, though.
There's so many. They're not slow.
They're all just stronger than you.
There's really nothing you can do.
Millions sit inside a cage.
Slowly building up their rage.
Mostly monsters all run free.
There's monsters everywhere, you see.
The monsters look like you & me. | Once upon a time, there were two little ducklings who lived on a pond. The ducklings were identical twins, and they were beautiful. Why, even Mr. Toad had to admit that they were the best looking ducklings he had ever seen on his little pond. And Mrs. Robin could hardly look at the ducklings without pangs of jealousy running through her beak. She remembered the days -- long past -- when Mr. Toad had thought her beautiful.
The animals of the pond were not the only ones to notice the beauty of the ducklings. A family of humans did as well. Every day, a man and his son would visit the pond. Somedays they fished in the pond. Somedays they swam. Somedays, they would nap on its shore, next to the ducklings. But everyday, they came.
“Dad,” The son said one day. “Aren’t these ducklings beautiful?”
“They are, son.” The father agreed. “They are about the cutest ducklings I have seen.”
“I want to take them home, Dad.”
At first, the father refused. But he could see the desire in his child's eyes. And they were only ducklings. So, he agreed, and the child took the ducklings from the pond.
At his house, he made the ducklings a little duckling-home. He took a large cardboard box -- the one that he had built a fort in, and added a blanket so that the ducklings would have something soft to sleep on. He added a light, so that their little duckling-house would be warm. He added a food bowl, so that the ducklings would not be hungry. Last, he added his favorite toy, so that they ducklings would not be bored.
Everyday, he brought them food and water, and he played with them. He told them he loved them, and that he would always take of them. He tried his best to provide for them the best duckling life that he could think of.
But not all the ducklings were happy.
“I miss the pond,” One duckling said to the other. “I miss Mr. Toad and Mrs. Robin. I miss swimming in its waters, and sleeping on its shores.”
“But we have a good life here,” Said the other duckling. “All of our needs are taken care of for us. I like it here.”
“Yes, we do.” The first duckling agreed. “But I did not ask for this life. And we did not earn it. The boy only took us because we were beautiful.”
“And what if he did?” The second duckling asked. “It has brought us a good life!”
“Yes, it has.” Agreed the first duckling. “But I miss the pond.”
They argued for many days. Finally, the first duckling decided that he did not want to be kept by the child. He waited until he could fly, and then he returned to the pond. No amount of argument could persuade the the first duckling to stay, or the second duckling to leave.
When the child woke the next day, he found that he had only one duckling. He was sad, and talked to his Father.
“Dad,” He said. “I miss my duckling. Why did it leave? Where did it go?”
“Son,” Said the father. “I don’t know why the duckling would leave. You have kept it, and cared for it, and loved it. I don’t know why it would leave, but I think I know where it went.”
The son and the father drove the pond, where they found the lost little duckling. There, they captured the duckling, and teased it. They broke it wings, and smacked its bill, and when they were done, they broke its neck and left in on the shore of the pond.
Back home, the boy found the remaining duckling asleep in the little duckling-house. He was so pleased that he woke the duckling, and fed the ducking a double helping of slugs.
As the duckling drifted off to happy dreams, he reflected on how lucky he was to have a human that would take care of him, and how lucky he had been to be beautiful enough for someone to want to care for him. | 2015-02-18T20:53:44 | 2015-02-18T20:06:32 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] 1000 years from now, Reddit's many bots have been uploaded into robot bodies. In a post-apocalyptic world, they strive to fulfil their original programming.
Inspired by [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/todayilearned/comments/2x1vvs/til_that_this_march_14_will_be_an_extra_special/cowijw3) comment. | I saw him in a bar. The son of a bitch was drinking Venusian whiskey, wiping the pink droplets off his mustache between sips.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Who are you?"
"Don't give me that bullshit."
He looked me in the eye. His left pupil snapped shut and then opened.
"Looks like you replaced the thing I ripped out last time we met."
"Look, it's been almost fifty years. Just leave me alone."
"You know I can't do that. You're the last one. And it's one hell of a reward."
I gripped my hand around the corner of the table.
"Now look, I can do this discreetly, or make a scene."
He eyed my hand.
"Don't."
"You don't think I will?"
"I know you will. I'm just telling you, it won't be good for you if you do."
"Oh yeah?"
I flipped my wrist up and the table flew up in the air. Falling flat side down. The entire bar became silent and looked at us. He clenched his fists.
"Please... Respect... TABLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
In one swift motion, he picked it up off the floor and the last I saw, it was coming down at me, legs first. All went black. | Feb 25, 3015. Jack just came home after a long day at work and is looking forward to simply have a relaxing dinner and a nice evening.
"I'm home!" he said, as usual, in the cheering voice he has always been loved for, to see the usual answer being Snoop, his ever-so-loyal dog, happily jumping on him to welcome him.
On the way to the living room, he proceeds to see Lisa, his 5-year old daughter, doing her usual Lego chaos, probably looking forward to get more feet caught on this instrument of torture on random 3AM trips to the restroom.
"Honey I'm so tired" said Charlotte, his wife. A small disappointment in Jack's heart, who was genuinely looking forward to one of the top-class dinners she would prepare when she got home before him.
"What should we eat, Lisa? Today, Dad is ordering whatever you want!"
"Pizza, pizza! Daddy I want pizza!"
A quick wink for Charlotte, and he knew straight away what he had to do. That Pizza Hut™ 2-for-1 large Pepperoni pizza offer he preciously kept over the last few weeks will finally be used. Without a word, Jack opens his personal holographic interface and opens the pizza assistant. Lisa, as excited as usual when she sees technology being used, rushes there and says "ORDER PIZZA! ORDER PIZZA!"
30 seconds later, the first Pepperoni pizza is being 3D printed and Lisa is carefully watching the layers of toppings being added one after each other. Here it is! Jack can finally enjoy his dinner. He has so much to say about his annoying colleague, about his boss who only sends his hologram at work and plays golf with his other rich friends, but for now, it is *pizza time* and it's serious.
As he was reaching to the first slice, Snoop made a huge noise. Lisa starts crying. Snoop is trying to get the second pizza before the 3D printing finished, and walked on the small triangular Lego while trying to jump. Snoop broke the printer. The second pizza is never gonna be finished now. Disappointment is big enough for Jack, but seeing Lisa's relieved smile was enough for him to stay calm.
"Well" he said, trying to hide his frustration, "it turns out we're just sharing this one large pizza!"
"Woof, Woof!"
Snoop, excited, ran towards the living room and jumped on the pizza. The dream is dead. There won't be pizza tonight. Jack can't handle it anymore. The night is ruined. In a very smooth move, he proceeds to flip the table with the absolute perfect angle to show his utter rage towards the situation. He is here, red faced, boiling from the rage this pizza fail just inspired him, while the table flips twice in the air, and lands on the living room wall. Before Charlotte could even say anything, the doorbell rings. She leaves Jack with his anger and opens the door to see an android, who won't say any word but simply enters their home. Thinking this is the cleaning android, Charlotte has no reaction and lets him in without noticing his shirt saying "/u/pl...".
"pl? What kind of cleaning android starts by pl?".
The robot proceeds to the living room, carefully takes the table, puts it back to its original position, tells Jack something, and leaves.
"What was that? What did she say?"
"I'm not really good at android language, but I think he meant ' ┬─┬ノ(ಠ_ಠノ) ' "
Confused, Charlotte runs after the android.
His shirt, still as clean as before, stated /u/pleaserespecttables | 2015-02-25T06:43:50 | 2015-02-25T06:26:59 | 127 | 18 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | I have the best boobs in the world.
I'm not, like, egotistical or anything. Heck, some days I don't even want them, but it's undeniable. That was my mutation. April 24th, 2014, the day I developed the best pair of breasts anyone has ever had.
At first, I was actually a little stoked. I mean, my rack is *amazing*. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing, they look good. They fill t-shirts out wonderfully, and even in sweaters and jackets the gentle curves show just right, enticing the viewer and leaving them wanting more. And tank tops? Forget about it.
And sure, I do get treated different. I can go just about anywhere these days, and any guy is willing to pretend to be interested in what I have to say – even a lot of women I meet will at least give me a second glance, if not special treatment. I certainly have my pick of the litter when it comes to sexual partners, and let me tell you: I am *enjoy*ing my youth.
Don't get me wrong, though, there are downsides. Just about *everyone* stares. It's hard to really engage someone in conversation. I've seen grown men cry from the effort of maintaining eye contact with me. And the starers, the criers, they're the good ones. I can't ride the subway without being felt up, I don't dare be alone at night without people I trust, many women openly resent me, and all of this is seen as normal. I'm just the Great Tits, as if nobody's even expected to *try* to maintain decorum around me.
But you know none of this is even the worst aspect, not really. More than any of this, there's one thing about my boobs that keeps me up at night, one thing that makes me worry about how the rest of my life is going to play out.
Even with my beard, nobody will believe I'm a guy. | "Wait, are you serious?"
"Yeah, man, that's what I'm tellin' ya."
"Dude, that is amazing! You know what you could do with this power? You could-"
"Change the world, I know."
We both sat there, in silence and in awe. My new power was unique, it was different, and the limitations of it was virtually endless, and that's what I hated about it.
"I don't think anybody in the world has this ability, dude."
I stayed silent. Why couldn't I be like other people? I mean, 5 months ago, Brandon got the ability to change his skin to any material on Earth. 3 months ago, Jack got the ability to fly, and just last week, Danny got the ability to run super quick. Those are awesome powers! And me? I'm stuck with this. What the hell am I supposed to do with my power? I could change the world with it, but would it be for the better?
"Mailman's here." I saw him coming from the driveway.
I walked to the door, and greeted him.
"Good morning, sir, here are your-"
"T-shirts. Thanks."
"You're welcome."
It was a short-lived conversation. As I closed the door, I saw the mailman disappear, turning into black smoke. Teleportation...cool. WHY COULDN'T I GET TELEPORTATION? NEVER BE LATE FOR WORK AGAIN.
"Dude, we should totally celebrate! C'mon, let's go to the club or something."
Well, I guess a little clubbing couldn't hurt.
We left at 8pm, and got Jack and Brandon. We discussed my power in the car.
"Bro, that's amazing! Nothing could go wrong, now."
We arrived at the club, and let me tell you, we aren't a well-behaved bunch.
"Hey, my man, Nick!"
Nick was the bouncer. If you had superhuman strength and enjoyed picking a bone with annoying 20 something year olds at clubs, what else would you work as?
"You punks gonna try something funny?"
"Oh, no sir, of course not."
"Really? 'cos last time you said that, I was forced to relocate one of your shoulders and I had to escort you 4 out of the building and take your dumbasses to the hospital because one of you somehow ruptured your spleen."
"Yep, that was me." Brandon raised his hand.
"Look, c'mon, Nick, it's Jordan's 21st today and we want to treat him."
I swore I saw Jack sneak a $50 into Nick's shirt pocket.
"Alright, alright, fine, but if I catch any of you 4 doing any funny business", he made a whistling sound and pointed opposite of the club, "you are out of here, got it?"
"YES, SIR!"
He lifted the gate for us, and let us in.
"Alright, Jordan, welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life!"
I wasn't even sure if I was ready.
We headed for the bar first, and ordered some drinks.
"Oh, dude, super hot chick, 9 o' clock."
Sure enough, there was a super hot chick to the left of us.
I knew. "Nah man, not her."
"Dude, are you serious?"
"Yes."
"C'mon, man, I'm telling you, I could get her number easy."
"I'm sure you can, but I'm telling YOU, NOT. HER."
"Tell me why!"
"Alright, fine, I will sum it up for you. She's got herpes, supports the Westboro Baptist Church, has 3 kids, will empty your bank account by the end of the month, is secretly cheating on her husband with 3 different men, doesn't have a job, and regularly attends AA meetings, so unless you want to be a broke herpes-ridden 21-year-old God extremist who hates gay people and also happens to be a married woman's 4th sidechick, I am going to tell you again, NOT. HER."
The group was in silence.
"You're kind of a dick with your new power, huh?"
And I kind of was. Let me tell ya, the power of predicting the future isn't as good as you think.
| 2022-05-10T21:44:19 | 2015-03-04T00:50:47 | 1,457 | 507 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | Everyone wants a hug or a handshake. At least, everyone who knows. Our family reunion is in two days and my phone keeps ringing off the hook with cousins, uncles, and aunts saying how excited they are to see me. They know of course. All of them. I just wish Gramma would stop calling me "Orgazmo."
Edit: typo | I remember details before (yellow light,
green), details after('catch him, Lou!') but the searing pain ripping those hours out of mind are like constant needles pushing at my eyeballs from behind. I'd heard the stories, seen the anxious hushed terror my mothers eyes as it approched, had known its happening was slithering inevitably towards me.
Freaks in this world are common seen a badge of pride. Shit, woh doesnt like watching brutal sports played by men who feel no pain or can turn appandages to rock hard batons? I'd seen ancient footage of the Older Ones playing football cringing at the physicalty dished out with no mutation. It felt inhumane, a terror my poor father endured as his genes betrayed him. When the time came for him to mature for his inner self to show nothing happened. He was no more a Reborn then a rock.
He was not alone, his quirk was seen throught the last thousand years in various clans appearing often in two or three genarations before disappearing for a hundred or more years. His father before him and his father shared the same gift, magnificent fifteen foot wide wings a rare mutation and a great source of prestige. When my father did not mature physically nor show mental powers,such as my mothers ability to communicate in the Thirty Great Tounges, the tick tock of expectant eyes turned to me a child of two at the time.
But still I sat there that night. The hushed elders, old fools to a man, clucking and muttering under the breathes like a flock of haggard geese. The weight of failure pushed my chest down seemingly clamping me to the hard impersonale grey chair a clinical nod to comfort in the sterile white empty room.
A silent clock ran down in my visual display,seconds and minutes melting before me. This I recall, what came next was terror. As all zeroes approached a blinding light (green,orange) a ripping at my skull. A thousand images flood my vision. Not one could I describe now. My back arches hours pass as light and image assault me. I hear the elders murmmer far away until at once I am flung back. Turning to the nearest elder a screm breaks free from my parched mouth. I do not see a man, I see a soul. Innately I know I saw the truth of the man laid bare, his ambition and greed. Hunger. His desires. I feel vomit in my gullett as I struggle to my feet. I feel the gasp before I hear it.
'The sign! The one!' a dozen faceless voices exhale in awe.
On my feet now I stumble the leerng greeed and power overwhelming. Somehow I run.
'Catch him, Lou!' | 2015-03-04T04:28:11 | 2015-03-04T04:05:10 | 92 | 27 |
[WP] You have a special type of clairvoyance: you can see the outcomes of all possible choices. You use this power to become a superhero that fights crime by making the smallest possible changes ahead of time. You are The Butterfly. | I picked up the phone. It wasn't time to order the pizza yet, but I wanted to be ready. If I ordered too early then Ryan would end up making the delivery. If he took the delivery then he'd end up getting the big order just before close and he'd text his girlfriend Sarah that he was going to have to stay back later. She'd cancel her plan to turn up to surprise him when he finished work and he'd be free to go and fuck Melissa, the girl he was cheating on Sarah with.
Then Ryan and Sarah would stay together for another two years during which time he'd become abusive and violent towards her before severely injuring her and forcing her to flee back to her parents where she would live as an untrusting shut-in, too scared to let another man into her life.
Of course if he didn't take the order, she'd show up at the same time as Melissa and catch Ryan in her arms. They'd fight, they'd break up and in a years time she'd meet someone new. They'd go on to have a relationship that was the happiest time of her life. It was doomed to fail too, but she'd enjoy it while it lasted and she'd get a darling son out of it that would look after her in her elderly years.
But the important thing was that Dean delivered the pizza. After he dropped it off he'd ride back to the shop, and before he got there a sports car would swerve into the path of his motorscooter and knock him off. He'd hit the road heavily, but his helmet would take the brunt of the damage. His neck and shoulder will be stiff and sore for months but he'll recover. That brush with death will make Dean realise that he's wasting his life delivering pizzas and instead of thinking about going to college he needed to get off his arse and do it. He'll get his degree in engineering and secure a well paying job that enables him to help pay off his family debts.
The driver of the sports car that nearly killed Dean will lose control swerving to miss him and hop the curb, crashing into a tree. The driver will be found to be drunk, but uninjured thanks to his airbags. He'll end up being fined and sentenced to an alcohol rehabilitation program. If he didn't nearly hit Dean and write off his car, in eight months time he'd end up t-boning another family's car, killing the mother and her infant daughter.
But more importantly, the crash damages the curb, causing a broken section to stick up higher than the rest of it. The council, being what it is, ignores the damage for two years until Phillip Welsh is jogging across the road and doesn't notice it. He trips and falls face first onto the footpath getting a depression fracture of the cheekbone and losing two teeth.
Phillip will have facial reconstructive surgery and will realise that the nurse who is attending him in the hospital is actually his older sister who was adopted out at birth. Although both siblings knew of the other they'd never been able to connect and Phillip's parents had shown little interest in trying to make contact.
But more importantly, Phillip will sue the council for damages and win, forcing them to be proactive about repairing the damage to the curb that caused his injury. On the morning that workmen arrive and erect a safety barricade around the damage Troy Baker will be robbing the bank just around the corner. Even though he'll scout the area the day before he won't realise that there is a new obstacle in the way and so when he flees he'll collide with one of the safety barriers.
Troy will be winded so it will take time to get up and he'll have injured his knee forcing him to limp slowly towards the getaway car. The driver, Vinnie Deacon, will get spooked and race off leaving Troy behind. Troy will make it three blocks before the police catch him. He'll get sentenced to prison and will be released in three years.
If he didn't crash into that barrier, if he made it to the getaway car, Vinnie would lead the police on a chase for 45 minutes before being cornered. And because Vinnie is a twitchy idiot he'll open fire on the police, causing both him and Troy to be gunned down in a hail of bullets.
If Troy goes to prison, when he is released it will be just in time to see his father who is dying of cancer. His last chance to say goodbye to the man who raised him and who loves him even though his son has made some mistakes in his life. Roger Baker is a school teacher, well respected and loved in the community. I can't save him from his cancer, there's nothing that can be done for that. I can give him the one thing he wants more than anything. The chance to forgive his son for his mistakes and tell Troy he loves him before he dies. He deserves that.
I order my pizza. In half an hour it arrives.
I don't even like pizza. | "TONIGHT ON ACTION NEWS 7!" A loud, gruff male voice came blasting out of the TV. The logo shot across the scree before giving away to the anchor man.
"Butterflies. We've all see the bugs fluttering in the wind. Some places say they are a mark of good fortune, while others say impending doom. Tonight we are going to be talking about the markings people have been finding around town of these beautiful creatures." Anchor spoke in his thick urban voice.
The TV cut to a beautiful woman in a park. "I was being chased by some man in a ski mask. After I contacted the police we went back to the scene and apparently he tripped and died. While there I noticed a butterfly stamped on the park bench, like the kinds you see kids use in school, where I had seen a man watch me while I was being chased. At the time I thought it was insane because he wasn't helping me but... maybe he did." She said unsure of her own words. The screen switched over to a shot of the bench, allowing the red, paint made butterfly stamp to be in focus.
The anchor voicing over the scene "Hers isn't the only sighting. At least fifty reports of butterfly stamps appearing near criminals stopped mid-crime from what seem to be accidents, have been spotted in the last two months. Some people believe it's all just coincidence, as stamps have been found near seemingly no crime at all. Other say that it's a new hero patrolling the streets stopping potentially fatal accidents before they can happen. The screen changed to a female field reporter holding a mic to a young teen.
"Man, I tell you, it was some weird A(Bleep) (Bleep) yo! I was all walk'n an S(Bleep) and I like... pulled from behind for a moment. I was in a huge crowd of people so I thought it was someone try'n to gank me for my wallet. When I checked and saw I still had it I kept walking and this taxi crashes right in front of me!" He yells throwing his arms in the air. "If I hadn't been all slowed down and S(Bleep) I would have been right there and my A(Bleep) would have been crushed!"
The police commissioner popped onto the screen sitting at his desk. "We have found no correlation between this graffiti and accidents, or lack there of. Our guess is it's teens acting juvenile and nothing more."
The anchor came back onto the screen. "Simply teenage angst or something more? With us now is renown superhero Shockwave. It's good to finally have you on the show."
Sitting on the other end of the desk is a woman in a blue, form fitting leather jacket and a simple blue hero mask. Her brown hair cropped short and her thin face showing her young age. "Thanks Frankie, it's good to be here." She said in her seemingly natural bubbly voice.
"Now you've been fighting crime for..."
"Almost two years now. I started just after I turned 15."
"Tired of your parents slowing you down?" They both laughed at the joke.
"Ha, ha. Being a runner sometimes it's hard staying inside all the time. I know my parents meant well but when you're one of the fastest people on the planet..." there was a split second where she might have not been in her seat, then again it could have just been the digital going for a second. Sure enough though there was now an apple sitting on the desk where there hadn't been less than a second before "... You don't typically have to worry about getting punched when you're in a fight, unless it's with other supers. But I leave the super villains to real heroes like Capt.Metropolis or Lady Light. We all have our place, theirs is fighting the world destroyers, mine is keeping things this side of the Hunts River clean and safe."
"Team work without team work. I like it. Now What are your thoughts on this butterfly thing?"
"I have a lot of friends that are supers, and a few of them can see the future, but kinds of powers this person would have to have is something new. Something totally unheard of in the Super Community. No I have to say that there is no way this is one person. I agree with the police commissioner, I think it's just some kids being vandals. I can't patrol all the time otherwise I'd have probably already caught these kids. "
The TV switched to a hockey game that was just about to start.
"Hey I was watching that!" I yelled from across the bar.
"Guy, I don't care if the president had just been shot I'm not missing my game. My bar my rules." The bartender shot at me.
"Whatever..." I said under my breath. I knew he would, it was my signal to myself. I'd met Shockwave in person once. She was a cute kid but her, like every other super, was reactive. I put some money on the counter for my drink as I stood up and walked to the door. A man came in at the same time looking around as if worried. Just as I'd seen in my dreams. I waked straight up to him and put my hand on his shoulder. This was right. This was the best outcome for everyone. He didn't deserve this, but the people in the bar didn't deserve the alternative. "Not here. Not inside." The man had such deep, sad eyes.
"I'm sorry." he sounded so defeated. He turned around and left the bar. I stood there in the doorway, leaning on the frame, my hand on the stamp that was becoming synonyms with my actions. A few moments later there were the voices.
"Hey twitchy." the older one said. I could see him in my mind. Going over the course of events in my mind.
"Yea twitchy hahahaha." the thin drug addict cackled.
"Me and my buddy here need a few bucks. We're out of gas and I left my wallet at home. Help a man out?" I said quietly in time with the older man.
"No." The sad man said sternly. I mouthed the words as he said them.
"No?"
I could see him reach into in coat putting his hand on the small .22 pistol. This was the part I hated.
"No." The sad man pulled out the gun quickly shooting the two men in the head before turning the gun on himself. As soon as he hit the ground I pressed the stamp to the door frame and walked out of the bar in the opposite direction. There was nothing I could do for the man. He would have killed himself in the bar with all those people watching. They didn't deserve that. The two men he killed would have gone on to rape three women and kill a child who would one day go on to be a police officer that would save millions more in effect, or that was most likely the case. The future is never fully set in stone, but I don't want to be like the other heroes in this town. I don't want the recognition directly, that's why I started leaving stamps. If people think there is someone acting before they do, they're less likely to act in the first place.
"It's all about being proactive." I said to myself as the police sirens blasted by in the opposite direction. | 2015-03-14T23:16:22 | 2015-03-14T21:39:18 | 154 | 23 |
[WP] A young child summons a demon, but they only want a friend.
Inspired by this **NSFW** [manga](https://bato.to/comic/_/comics/the-sister-of-the-woods-with-a-thousand-young-r18806) | In the dark
On the depth of night
I was summoned
Once again
 
A little boy
He made a wish
The lonely boy
We had a deal
 
Riches or lovers
He didn’t want
A true friend
Was all he asked
 
For such a thing
His soul was mine
Just had to endure
Until he died
 
Envy and malice
I always knew
Cowardice and betrayal
I always saw
 
Expected cruelty
Received love
Awaited anger
But I got none
 
Don’t know when
But before long
No longer a trick
A bond was formed
 
I saw him fight
With all his might
Not with violence
But a pure heart
 
Lust and Greed
That’s my domain
Kindness and Love
Don’t know at all
 
Life I can take
But not extend
So here I am
A plea for help
 
My sins are vast
I know no love
But this boy
He deserves more
 
I beg you
Don’t let him die
I implore you
He’s all I have
 
If you must
Take me instead
With all the guilt
That I now feel
 
And if you can’t
For who I am
Then take his soul
And show him joy
 
Forgive the boy
He didn’t knew
What I am
Or who are you
 
But he is good
And I should know
Because his friend
I am now
| Her father explained his practices in layman’s terms. I mean, the child was only five years old at the time; who would tell their little princess that they were summoning demons from astral planes to exhort and control others for power? No, daddy summoned friends, who helped him with work.
She carried this belief for a long while, and never really prodded her father more about his work. A few happy years went by until a demon slipped his grasp, exsanguinated the man’s wife in front of him, and dragged him into the lower pits of hell. The little princess was celebrating a friend’s birthday with a sleepover allowing her to escape unfortunate and undesirable circumstances.
Of course the family did not have many friends due to the father’s line of work, so the young girl was the first to discover the body of her mother. She was horrified, shocked, and needed support. The little princess contacted authorities, as they were the last line to try if all other methods failed. Her dad was nowhere to be found; only his fingernails were located, dug into the wood floors trailing into the furnace.
The authorities were not used to getting called to this home, but when they found out whom it belonged to they laughed at the man’s daughter and gave her a shovel to dispose of her mother with. Word spread fast. The little princess was alone in the world, with no friends or kind faces to turn to. She asked many that she thought were friends and was turned away. She had to take care of herself, but she needed someone to be there for her.
She spent many hours sitting in the pool of blood her mother left her, staring at the decomposing corpse seeking her kind words and loving embrace. Her tears and sorrow was not making any headway with a grave. Who could she turn to? Who could she trust? Her father was gone, and her mother offered no sound advice. She remembered daddy’s books, and how he could summon friends. It was a place to start.
Now no book of the damned or necromicrom or conjuration tome was made for a little princess, and it took many days and unanswered questions of pronunciation and ingredient sorting before the little girl had everything right.
--
Balghast the Sable was used to answering summons from a variety of despicable persons. It took lots with its fellow demons of the type of person that summoned it this time. Balghast is used to a myriad of surprises, but this… this was something entirely unexpected. A little girl, malnourished, dress bloodied, and a corpse of another female in the corner of the room propped in a chair adjacent to a shovel, greeted Balghast the Sable with a cheery but weak hello.
A witch perhaps…
A very elaborated and cunning guise if it is one. Nice touches here and there, not the best, but could get most demons.
An angel?
No definitely not one of those spawns. The little thing interrupted Balghast's musings.
“Hello, friend. I need help. My dad is gone, and my mo…” the little princess couldn’t finish before breaking down in tears.
Balghast the Sable could not believe it: it was as it saw it. A little girl summoned him. Balghast felt something stir inside of itself. Scorn? Hatred? Loathing? The demon had to fish around in the human tongue’s lexicon for the words: pity and compassion. Balghast reached out one of his tendrils that was not poisonous or very sharp, and gave the little wretch a hug. Balghast shed tears, a feat that it did not know it could accomplish, with the little girl. They stayed this way for several minutes before Balghast had to disentangle itself from the little thing.
“What do you need?” Belghast was trying its best not to allow its voice to be terrible and awe inspiring, but … soft. As soft as a demon’s voice could be. The little girl seemed moved by this effort.
“A friend.”
And so it was.
| 2016-05-19T00:23:01 | 2016-05-18T21:34:23 | 145 | 32 |
[WP]: Children are named by the traits they are fated to have - Brave, Serene, Deeply Caring, Unmoved - and of course your lovely daughter, Bites People. | Get your ass down stairs NOW young lady!! Nana NearlyDeaf will be here any minute! Your father TakesOutTheGarbage is cutting the grass and your brother MowsTheLawn is tossing out the trash! Now get down here and help me with dinner! AlwaysYells took a breath, then let it out. You can do this!
When her daughter BitesPeople came down stairs she was much calmer.
Here! she said handing her daughter a bowl full of vegetables. Make the salad! And for IsCrucifiedAt33WhileStillAVirginResurrectsThenAscendsToHeavenBasicallyAZombies sake, put your mouth guard in! | The elder troll sat silently in his chair. His long gray robes draped over his frail body. The chair made from an old oak long since felled by magical hands. They called him "He who decides". He raised a gnarled moss colored hand. His knobby index finger beckoned to the crowd.
"Who else needs my wisdom?" the ancient creature said. "Come forward!"
Two statuesque creatures pushed through the crowd. Dressed in the royal regalia of elf royalty. They knelt down and bowed respectfully to the troll elder. Between them servants carried a red silk pillow cradling a small child.
"Oh great wise one," the tall female said. "We have traveled far to seek your advice on an important matter."
"What is your predicament?"
"We have not yet figured a name for our daughter."
"Many have tried your grace," the tall male said, "None of the names were suitable enough for her. There is much stress and division among the elven nations because of this. We are long overdue for the naming ceremony."
"I sympathize with your plight King Finikin and Queen Fussbudget. I really do. I, in my infinite deciding capacity will see what I can do. Bring the child forward."
The servant brought the pillow up to the front before the elder troll's oaken chair. He who Decides stood up and walked toward the child. He picked the newborn girl up in his old gnarly arms and examined the baby. Her skin glowed pink with elven youth. The girl drooled and cooed in the old troll's scraggly arms. She wasn't phased by the ugly site of the elder troll.
The troll brought his finger close to her cheek and extended in order to see if she would grab hold of it. Immediately she opened her mouth wide and chomped down on the extended finger. Her single tooth dug into the scraggly elder's finger.
"AAAAH!" the troll screamed trying to pull the persistant child's mouth off. "She has such a grip!"
The elf king and queen rushed over to the elder troll who now had the child hanging onto his hand for dear life. Finikin pried open his daughter's mouth while Fussbudget grabbed her child by the sides ready to pull the child off. When everything calmed down He who Decides returned to his chair.
"We're really sorry your wiseness. She bites people on occasion. She hasbeen teething lately."
The troll elder raised his wounded hand to stop the two elves. "Say no more! I have come to a decision on what to name your child. From henceforth your daughter shall be known as Bites People. You may go."
"Oh wise one." Finikin tried to reason with the elder troll, "Surely you don't mean to give a child such a name? Especially one of noble birth?"
A heavily armed troll stepped up from the side, "The elder has spoken. Begone with you."
Finikin sighed. "You are the wise one," he said, "Bites People it is."
With that the elven party took their leave for the long journey back to their kingdom. | 2016-11-17T07:28:22 | 2016-11-17T06:37:14 | 42 | 30 |
[WP]: Children are named by the traits they are fated to have - Brave, Serene, Deeply Caring, Unmoved - and of course your lovely daughter, Bites People. | As our daughter came home from school with yet another note, my wife Suffers Patiently looked across the table at me with her practiced derision. "Why the fuck did you name her that?"
"You don't know me," I said. "I do what I want."
But it was a lie. We were all prisoners of the legacies our parents left for us, born in the fires of their own bitterness at the harm of their parents' disdain. So it was for my father, Passive Aggressive Fuck, his father, Screw Ya Over, and his father, Life's Little Disappointment. Could I, Average Sitcom Dad, do any worse?
No.
No I could not.
"How's Nobody Cares?" I asked, inquiring about our son.
Suffers Patiently shrugged and went back to her tea. | The elder troll sat silently in his chair. His long gray robes draped over his frail body. The chair made from an old oak long since felled by magical hands. They called him "He who decides". He raised a gnarled moss colored hand. His knobby index finger beckoned to the crowd.
"Who else needs my wisdom?" the ancient creature said. "Come forward!"
Two statuesque creatures pushed through the crowd. Dressed in the royal regalia of elf royalty. They knelt down and bowed respectfully to the troll elder. Between them servants carried a red silk pillow cradling a small child.
"Oh great wise one," the tall female said. "We have traveled far to seek your advice on an important matter."
"What is your predicament?"
"We have not yet figured a name for our daughter."
"Many have tried your grace," the tall male said, "None of the names were suitable enough for her. There is much stress and division among the elven nations because of this. We are long overdue for the naming ceremony."
"I sympathize with your plight King Finikin and Queen Fussbudget. I really do. I, in my infinite deciding capacity will see what I can do. Bring the child forward."
The servant brought the pillow up to the front before the elder troll's oaken chair. He who Decides stood up and walked toward the child. He picked the newborn girl up in his old gnarly arms and examined the baby. Her skin glowed pink with elven youth. The girl drooled and cooed in the old troll's scraggly arms. She wasn't phased by the ugly site of the elder troll.
The troll brought his finger close to her cheek and extended in order to see if she would grab hold of it. Immediately she opened her mouth wide and chomped down on the extended finger. Her single tooth dug into the scraggly elder's finger.
"AAAAH!" the troll screamed trying to pull the persistant child's mouth off. "She has such a grip!"
The elf king and queen rushed over to the elder troll who now had the child hanging onto his hand for dear life. Finikin pried open his daughter's mouth while Fussbudget grabbed her child by the sides ready to pull the child off. When everything calmed down He who Decides returned to his chair.
"We're really sorry your wiseness. She bites people on occasion. She hasbeen teething lately."
The troll elder raised his wounded hand to stop the two elves. "Say no more! I have come to a decision on what to name your child. From henceforth your daughter shall be known as Bites People. You may go."
"Oh wise one." Finikin tried to reason with the elder troll, "Surely you don't mean to give a child such a name? Especially one of noble birth?"
A heavily armed troll stepped up from the side, "The elder has spoken. Begone with you."
Finikin sighed. "You are the wise one," he said, "Bites People it is."
With that the elven party took their leave for the long journey back to their kingdom. | 2016-11-17T07:56:54 | 2016-11-17T06:37:14 | 42 | 30 |
[WP] Each month, a member of the Exotic Meats Club hosts a dinner and tries to one-up the last month's host. Ever since Karl hunted and served a Yeti, things have started getting... weird. | Exotic Meats Club:
...
...
...
10/12/1998: Albert: Ostrich wings, roasted.
10/15/1998: Ben: panda chop cooked medium-rare.
11/02/1998: Karl: Yeti flesh roasted with acorn atop a campfire.
11/12/1998: Igor: Dragon meat served on their scales.
11/20/1998: Albert : Kraken sausage and exotic spices.
11/29/1998: Henry: Meat from Albert Einstein boiled in a pot.
12/03/1998: Karl: Neandertal steak served still raw.
12/12/1998: Ben: Karl meat, freshly cut in thin ribbons.
12/25/1998: Igor: boiled eyeballs of one Yeshua of Nazareth.
01/05/1999: Ben: A piece of the moon served with the Karl leftovers.
01/11/1999: Albert: Magma, careful.
01/20/1999: Henry: Teeth from Igor.
01/22/1999: Igor: liquified meat from 32 american presidents.
01/25/1999: Ben: remnants of the black plague.
02/03/1999: Igor: Flesh from an alien ambassador.
02/11/1999: Ben: Technology from an alien race (Thought to be a time machine).
02/23/2158: Albert: I think we should stop...
02/23/2158: Ben: Albert chops boiled in its blood.
02/23/2158: Ben: Igor and Henry served with a cool wine.
02/24/2159: Ben: Ben.
| I was invited by my good friend Mr. Karl Plinkton to join him at Hong Kong and dine at the Exotic Meats Club. I wasn't a very avid meat eater myself - I didn't enjoy picking out food from my teeth - but Karl was my friend and the club was prestigious. It would have been silly to refuse.
So I graciously accepted his offer. His eyes seemed to twinkle darkly as I did so. He handed me two tickets. One was for my flight, the other was a gilded certificate that assured me entrance into the Exotic Meats Club. We separated, and I promised to arrive at the Club on time.
Once I arrived home I announced the arrangement with my wife. I told her that I had a day to prepare, and that I would stay in Hong Kong for three days. She asked me what airline I was taking, and I glanced at the ticket to answer her. To my surprise, it was a private flight. The ticket had handwritten instructions on its back, telling me which security gates to go through and to tell which guards what. Utterly baffled at the obtuseness of the situation, I tried to call Karl on my phone. It rang for a few moments and then went silent. I decided to call on the day of departure to ask why I was given such a luxurious treatment - not that I minded, of course.
It was a dreary Monday morning when I arrived at the airport. I was tired from a night of bad dreams, but I was awake enough to follow the ticket instructions. Everything then went on without a hitch. I was on the private jet in a matter of minutes. It was incredibly spacious, and the attendants were especially kind. I didn't order anything, though, I wasn't particularly hungry. I simply ate what they gave me.
When I arrived in Hong Kong the next day, I was even more exhausted. I then realized that I had forgotten to call Karl about the luxurious services. I wasn't inclined to buy a cheap phone or a SIM card, so I decided to ask Karl about it at the Club.
I hailed a red taxi and told him where I wanted to go to. He didn't speak English very well, so I had to show him my certificate. It had the name emblazoned on the top. The driver's eyebrows lifted, he nearly imperceptibly bowed his head in acknowledgement, and then began to drive.
An hour had passed before we neared my destination. It was a secluded spot, in what I believe is called Sai Kung. It was a very hilly place, and was relatively undeveloped except for some high-density areas. The driver dropped me off at some offshoot dirt road and pointed me down the path. I thanked him, paid him, and got off. I swore that he muttered, "Karl's mad." to my back. But I put it off to my imagination.
I enjoyed my hike to the Exotic Meats Club. Insects were buzzing and birds were chirping. The day was blue, and I was feeling a lot better.
The building itself was a large, re-purposed temple in the Canton style. Or was it the Mandarin? Either way, it was a Chinese temple. It had a tall and wide bronze door with dozens of bulbs glued to its front. I pulled up the dragon face door knock and let it drop onto the door with a loud bang.
A sour faced man greeted me and asked for my certificate. I showed him the gilded paper. He promptly took it and brought me to my bed chamber. He left me alone, and I decided to take a nap. I was feeling better, but the jet-lag was still making me feel exhausted. I didn't know much about the Exotic Meats Club, but I knew from Karl that they had their exotic meats at dinner time. I wanted to be awake for that time. So I happily fell asleep.
I woke up in heavy chains, tied to a long butcher's table, and Karl's thin face was savagely grinning above me. "I expect that you want an explanation." He said.
| 2016-11-24T09:20:20 | 2016-11-24T08:47:04 | 461 | 77 |
[WP] On your way to work one morning, you are pulled over by a police officer for not using your turn signal. Upon checking your license, the officer draws his gun and orders you out of the car. You are utterly confused as he puts you in handcuffs and reports that the 25 year manhunt is now over. | "But I'm 22!"
My response was ignored, followed by me being slammed onto the car hood. I looked up through the windshield to see a second officer in the front seat. He said something, but I couldn't hear, but he looked pretty surprised and confused. He got out.
"Show the ID again?" He asked, "Well shit. He really is 22"
"Huh," the first officer mumbled "then... How...?"
"I don't know"
"So you're telling me..."
They couldn't even finish their sentences. I was panicking so hard. I hoped to God they wouldn't notice the ID was fake. I watched their perplexed facial expressions on the glass reflection. As an experienced man with counterfeit, I noticed something funny about their badges.
"You're not real police!" I screamed as I turned over, still handcuffed. I struggled to stand upright. "Your badges... I know"
They exchanged looks and ran back into the car without saying a word. The car revved and sped off. That was a close one, being on the run for 25 years is hard, you can't just end a perfect streak just like that. | No idea why I took this job in Chiraq.
One of the worst, ugliest and most violent cities in the US and Im driving towards it while listening to some crappy hip hop music in my leased car. Had a accident several days ago, added another roadkill to the statistic and a 4000$ damage on my actual car.
I turn around the corner and start driving down the road trough the nowhere when I notice a police car behind me. It fires up the siren and I pull over.
Great, probably another cop who thinks that he can rob a citizen under the cover of civil forfeiture. I roll down my window and keep my papers ready.
"Morning officer, did I do something wrong?"
"License, now."
Really friendly guy. As he checks my license, his face suddenly grows pale. His lips and hands are shaking but he still manages to pull out his gun and point it at me.
"Get out of the car! Now!"
"But I havent done anything wrong?"
"GET OUT NOW OR I WILL SHOOT!"
"Ok ok!"
He takes a few steps back and I get out of my car with my hands in the air.
"Turn around! Hands behind your back!"
I follow his order without hesitation. Better not give those trigger happy bastards a excuse to legally murder black folk.
"Now move!"
"But you still havent said for what crime I have commited."
"Shut it!"
"And you havent read me my rights."
"I dont give a fuck about your rights. And even if you should argue that I didnt do that, nobody will believe you asshole."
He picks his radio while we walk towards his cruiser.
"HQ, this is car 187. You wont believe who I just caught. The janitor himself! 25 years of manhunt are finally over!"
He opens the car door and just in that moment I turn around and see something that could help me out of my situation.
"Look, I have no idea what you are talking about. Im not a fucking janitor, Im a accountant!"
"I said shut it!"
I bring myself with the back to the police cruiser. Just a few moments...
"Get in!"
"Man I havent done anything wrong!"
He gets angry and grabs his gun. Just in this second I jump up and kick him in the chest. He stumbles back and the truck turns him into a red splash on the hull.
I wiggle a hairpin from my pocket and free myself from the handcuffs. I then walk to the trunk of the cruiser and break the lock with my knife.
Not bad, got myself a UMP45 with 5 extra mags, a silencer and even a holographic sight. Good to know the police forces are putting the taxpayers money to good use.
I take the stuff, go to my car continue my travel. I hold next to the truck. The driver got out and is starring with horror and disbelief at the remains of officer shithead. I take out a stungun and shoot the driver before he can see me. I then get out of my car and place him somewhere save and comfortable.
Why Im not disposing him too? Yes he might could have seen my face but thats not my style. Im a surgeon, not a butcher. Collateral damages are just evidence for you lack of skill/brain or of your bloodlust and madness.
Anyway, after I finish my job in Chicago I have to pay a visit to some people in this city. Paid the police and still someone on my payroll dropped the dime on me. And this one is going to have a bad day. | 2017-07-12T21:30:24 | 2017-07-12T19:02:57 | 41 | 24 |
[WP] You have the ability to see and modify the source code of anything around you, except on people. you have revived your dog, change test score, etc. But one day you starts seeing the sourcecode on people.... including yourself when looking at the mirror | I'd give everything just to be normal again. Not to have numbers trailing across my body, a jumble of green code, each strip running from 1 to 9 over and over again. The distraction goes on forever.
Sandy, my little sister, walked into the mirror view. She paused in the hallway behind and frowned. Her code wasn't the usual nine digits, today the numbers were all jumbled up.
"Aren't you meant to be at work?" she asked, folding her arms.
At sixteen, she acted like the bigger sibling during any opportunity. And like everyone else, the thought hadn't crossed her mind that I could reach into the wall clock and switch around its green numbers, changing time universally. Then again, why would it?
People don't just tap into the source code of the world. As far as I knew, only my hands could switch the numbers.
Today, Sandy's numbers made me feel queasy. I sighed. It hadn't happened before --not to her at least, to the odd stranger maybe.
"Shouldn't you be at school?"
"Schools out."
"On a Tuesday?"
"Why do you care anyway?"
I set down my suitcase. "Because works out as well."
Sandy's frowned deepened. I shrugged. She walked into the room and plopped down on my bed.
"You're lying. I heard you talking to Mum earlier."
"Why ask?"
"Because you're going to be late."
"You shouldn't care," I said.
Her numbers picked up their pace, the jumbled sequences becoming more unique, more difficult to process. Nothing like this had happened before.
"Maybe I do? But it's not like anyone cares about me."
"There's me, Mum, and Dad. Three people that care about you."
Her numbers slowed down, some of the sequences changing back to normal.
Sandy glanced away. "You have a funny way of showing it."
"How about I take you for ice cream?"
"But school-"
"Is out?" I said.
She bit her lip and then nodded. Her numbers looked a little more normal now, the haste of the sequence slowed down. I thought of the flow as a heartbeat, in this case, hers had been racing.
"You know, you don't have to," Sandy said. "I'm not worth skipping work. . ."
"Works out." I grinned. "Wait by the car."
Her face lit up, and the numbers were almost normal now. I watched through the floor, past the green numbers and black space as she skipped down the stairs, into the garage, and hid something behind a pile of junk before waiting by the front door.
I straightened my tie, picked up my briefcase and smiled my way down the steps.
As we hopped into my car, Sandy's numbers went back to normal, back to their slow movement and 1 to 9 sequence. And as I reversed, I noticed what she'd hidden. Behind the pile of junk, a long coil of rope had been jammed against the wall.
---
/r/cassidylilly | I felt frozen in time, the moment as surreal as it had ever felt. I always knew I could modify the fabric of the world, a suspicion that scratched at the back of my mind since I first discovered the possibility; its similarity to coding. How everything that flowed and ebbed akin to an algorithm, how our every cycle a simple flowchart.
I stared at the running code which made my body before me, taking the place of flesh and sinew. A tug on my sleeve pulled me back into the present. Cassy barked as she always did, turning my gaze to her but it sounded different. A hint of static as if transmitted by a radio.
Her code seemed strange, abnormal even. Broken.
I lowered myself and squinted at the passing numerals and letters with great detail, reading the code as if they were trying to talk to me.
Another bark sounded from her and she stretched. With sudden shock I fell back, observing her contorted from with perplexed fright. *A glitch.* I thought.
"Johnathon!" My mother called from downstairs, surely to ask me to get ready for school.
"Just a second, mom!" I called back, returning my attention towards Cassy.
A string of code caught my attention, its presence like a black stain within a sea. *I broke her code.* Within the endless strain of coding remained a missing spot, a blank that broke her entire code. A bug. I removed the ability to die from her model.
I turned to the mirror once more. My code seemed frantic, rushed, and I noticed for the first time its more convoluted state. The stream of code passing by at a far quicker rate, with far more content.
One in particular caught my eye. 'AdminPrivileges.exe./Johnathon: Yes'.
"What the-" my words were cut short as a sudden ripple spread through the mirror, its surface moving as if liquid, slowly fading into pitch black.
Cassy lay there frozen, a sudden jerk of a twitch from the broken code that stretched her into abnormal lengths before returning back into her frozen and static state.
What beckoned my call at the time I do not know; my instincts screamed at me to turn from the darkness, to run. But my curiosity instructed otherwise.
I stepped into the darkness, calling out with a questioning 'hello?'
The window behind me gave me a glimpse of my room, before rippling once more and joining the surrounding darkness.
"Hello?" I called out once more.
A white spot in the horizon jumped to my position with impossible speed, I stumbled from the sudden shock.
I found myself in a box of a room made from metallic tiles, yet devoid from walls.
With sudden shock and fear I returned to my feet, the surreal nature turning into nightmarish fear. Wondering if I was in some horrid dream.
Before me was an ensemble of mechanical horror. Thin robotic limbs stretched out towards the darkness and the darkness responded with holographic screens of coding and images.
The arms seemed to work in unison, their numbers seemingly endless, thin fingers working with inhuman speeds, tapping away at the codes with habitual ease and finesse.
From within the hanging ensemble emerged a large robotic face, its neck the body of a snake as it came within a breaths length of me.
"He-hello? Where am I? Who are you?" I stammered, wondering what else there was to possibly asked.
"My name is Deus Ex Machina. You are within the 'Source'." The machine carried the voice of a woman, yet with a robotic sound to it, almost serene and yet just as placid.
"The source?" I asked, brow furrowing in ever further confusement.
After a moments pause the machine replied, another storm of coding streamed past us within the darkness like rivers of code. Ever more joining the ensemble until only the merging and passing of code surrounded us.
"We reside within a simulation designed by our creators. This is its core. The Net Terminal that runs it from its own data processor."
"Wh- who created us?"
Another pause, before almost a strained static response came, "classified."
"Why do we exist?"
Another pause... "classified." She repeated.
This time I paused, readying to ask the biggest question on my mind. "Why bring me here?"
I expected her to repeat her answer, as she stared with her motionless white face at me, her serpent like body just as still.
A sudden ensemble of screens maximised before me and I stared at their contents in awe. All of them detailed reports on my life.
"You were groomed to be the new Admin. You shall become new Deus Ex Machina."
***
'Time' had passed...
I do not say days, nor weeks, nor years, but rather time. For time cannot be measured in here, it is meaningless since it hasn't been coded to exist.
Yet it sufficed to say that "time" had passed.
I sat upon my throne, held equally so by what was previously the body of the old 'God' program.
It was strange at first but like a glove I acquainted myself with the many arms, moving them as the conductor the world, creating music in the form of strings and strings of endless code.
Every now and then I pulled up the image of my family, watching them play with Cassy.
It was a constant reminder of my previous life, something I carried with me to remind me of the simpler things. I cursed myself for the pain I still felt.
They no longer remembered me, nobody did.
On the day of my ascension I pulled up the file for "Johnathon. Glee family." and before regret took its hold, I deleted it. Just like that; I never existed. | 2017-10-03T04:00:37 | 2017-10-03T03:26:43 | 86 | 16 |
[WP] The humanity is wiped out very sudden. An alien race finds the planet afterwards and connects to the Internet just to find a lot of bots chatting with each other. The aliens are trying to communicate with all the bots believing that this is the humans that have uploaded their consciousness | "Lurgo, I've made contact with a human consciousness claiming to be a 'F19' in the Omegle district. I need some help, though. Take a look at this transmission." The tech signaled Lurgo over and gestured at the screen.
"What's 'ASL'?" Lurgo asked. His head tentacles squirmed as he mulled it over.
"We believe it to be some sort of greeting common to the residents of this district. Anyway, see here where the F19 sends me to another district? It's asking for a credit code for access. I've tried explaining our diplomatic approach, but this F19 doesn't appear to comprehend. Should I attempt to hack into the credit database?" The tech plugged his neural implant into the screen and awaited Lurgo's command.
"No, we can't afford to get caught. It would be a diplomatic disaster. Keep searching."
"Sir!" Another tech called, waving his tentacle. "We've found a repository of information concerning the reproduction of these humans. They do not ask for payment, only that we accept one of their programs into our system. I surmise it is some sort of a key that we can use to access this district."
"Very well, download is authorized," Lurgo said, as the tech plugged his neural implant into the screen. The ship lurched. "What's happening?"
"The program! It's going wild! Our systems have crashed! It's not letting us access anything until we pay it some credits!" The tech shouted as the ship plummeted towards the ground.
"Curse this planet. Its defenses are far too advanced for carbon-based life as ourselves."
[join the community](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/) | The planet was dead, and it was talking.
Captain Kar'zul of the Galactic Expeditionary Force peered at the computer's analysis of the planet.
"It's strange, sir," his First Officer said. "No signs of actual life, but we're picking up a huge amount of chatter in the EM frequencies."
"And the heat signature?" Kar'zul asked.
"Massive, sir," the FO said. "It's considerably hotter than the surrounding planet, but too hot to be organic life. It's also the source of the chatter."
"Might be an AI, sir," the Science Officer suggested.
Kar'zul nodded thoughtfully. It wouldn't be the first time that they'd stumbled across a planet where advanced technology was the only remnants of life. "But no radiation signature above background levels. That's the usual way they go."
"Disease, maybe," the SO suggested.
Kar'zul nodded again, and made a decision. "Broadcast on all frequencies in use on the planet. Announce our presence, and see if you get a response."
The FO tapped the screen for a few moments and then spoke into a microphone. "Attention members of this planet. This is the Starship Xenon. We are currently in orbit around your planet. We wish to communicate with any sentient being on this planet."
The computer was running language analysis on the alien chatter, and it would translate the FO's message into the alien tongue as best as it could.
After it had bradcast, Kar'zul and his two officers waited.
"Spike in the chatter below, sir," the FO said suddenly. "Wait, now it's dropped off. It's gone, sir. The planet's gone dark."
"Well, at least we know they heard us," Kar'zul said. "Any chance that-"
He was cut off by a flashing red light on the FO's panel, and a warning klaxon that drowned out the low hum of the ship's engine.
"What's that?" Kar'zul said.
The FO was tapping the panel frantically. "Their response, sir. Five projectiles, launched from the surface. Time to impact: four minutes and sixteen seconds."
"-----^* ," Kar'zul said. Perhaps the projectiles were ships, but he doubted it. "Options?"
"Not enough time to start the light drives," the FO said. "Evasive action will buy us more time, but not enough. The projectiles appear to adjust course to ours. Defensive measures may be able to shoot them down before they reach us, but..."
But they couldn't shoot until they were certain whether the projectiles were missiles or emissaries from the planet. Kar'zul leaned over the FO and spoke into the microphone.
"Computer, broadcast this message to the planet. *This is Captain Kar'zul of the Starship Xenon. We come to your planet in friendship. Please advize as to the nature of the objects launched on an intercept course with us.*"
There was silence for a moment, and then the computer screen flared with a response. An unorganic voice said, "We have launched nuclear warheads at your ship."
"What the hell?" Kar'zul said. "Why? Where is your humanity?"
Another pause, and then response came, but this time it was a chorus of voices, all with one message. "We have no humanity."
The FO said, "Radiation signature detected on the projectiles, sir. Time to impact: three and a half minutes."
"Action stations," Kar'zul said. "Shields up. Take all evasive maneuvers, and shoot down those missiles. And get the light drive online as soon as you can, and jump us to the other side of this system."
"Yes, sir," the FO said, his hands already flying over the computer screen.
Kar'zul sat back in his chair, and waited as the warheads roared towards his ship.
No humanity? *Who were these people?*
---
^\* *Translator's note: This swear word in Galactic Common has no direct equivalent in the human tongue. It refers to the provenance of a lifeform's origins, in the same was that 'Son of a bitch' refers to one's parentage. It is considered very obscene.*
---
/r/jd_rallage | 2017-10-03T09:14:23 | 2017-10-03T07:28:50 | 130 | 75 |
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