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[WP] When the police came to announce you the death of your husband, you refused to believe it. "That's impossible", you said. "Unfortunately, it's the truth, miss", answered the policemen. "It's impossible", you said again, "because he's in the kitchen making dinner." | "Your husband died tonight," the officer repeated, as a sudden gust whipped a wave of dust up around his boots.
Sarah watched as the dust danced, endlessly pirouetting about his feet, and could think only of her mother's funeral.
*Ashes to ashes...*
Behind the man, the wind and the night locked horns in a fearsome duel that neither looked destined to win.
"Ma'am?" the officer said. "Can you hear me, Ma'am?"
*Dust to dust...*
He was much taller than Sarah. His face was cross-hatched with at least a day's worth of dark stubble; a shadow that was growing over him. She could smell his hot, vile breath as it nuzzled unwanted into her face. *Didn't they have standards anymore?* As for his uniform... he wasn't exactly young, yet the creased outfit somehow looked a great deal *less young.*
Sarah shook her head. "Yes. Sorry. I heard you, it's just..."
Had it been so dark before she'd answered the door? Or even raining, for that matter? It was like he'd brought the storm with him. Like, he *was* the soul of the howling, horrid night itself. Somewhere in the distance, an unlocked gate was slamming against a wall, trying to escape. Sarah shivered. Why would anyone be out on a night like this? Why not be inside, wrapped up in a knitted blanket reading a good book? She would knit, she decided, once this unpleasantness was over with. *A sweater.*
The officer's lips flipped into a practised, fraudulent smile. "Ah. It's quite alright. I know this is a shock for you and-"
"No," said Sarah, cutting him off.
The officer frowned, his huge eyebrows knitting together into a single snake-like creature.
"No? It's not a shock?"
"What I meant is," Sarah continued, "he can't be dead."
"I'm afraid he is. He died tonight in the most-"
"No -- I mean, he *isn't* dead. He's in the kitchen preparing dinner. You've made a mistake. I'll call him."
The officer's expression contorted into pained bemusement as Sarah shouted for Brian, and Brian failed to respond.
"I'm sorry -- he's listening to music and can't hear me. Please, come in. I'll take you through to him and... well, we'll clear this up." She smiled. "Besides, it's an awful night. Let me make you a cup of tea."
The officer padded his jacket pocket and glanced back at his car, then nodded. He caught Sarah glance at his dusty boots as he entered. She looked almost angry, he thought.
As the door closed behind him, it shut out the soft percussion of the night. Gentle, lilting music -- Mozart, the officer knew -- took its place, creeping out from underneath a closed door at the end of the long hallway.
A deer-head had been mounted on a triangular frame to the wall, and it seemed to watch him as he walked along the hall. *Like it was judging him.*
"My husband's," she said, answering the question he hadn't asked.
On a small table sat a picture of Sarah with her son at the boy's graduation, her arm hanging proudly around him. The father wasn't in the photo. For a moment, the officer allowed himself to think of how the boy would feel when he found out. How it would affect him to lose his father in such a terrible way. But he couldn't let himself stew on it. It would drive him mad.
"He's just"--Sarah pointed to a closed door--"through there. I'm sure he can clear everything up for you. I'll just be a moment -- I need to fetch something -- and then I'll come down and make you that cup of tea." Another smile.
The officer watched Sarah stride purposely up the stairs. Then, he pushed open the kitchen door and walked in.
---
Sarah came back down only a minute or so later and saw that the door to the kitchen was closed; she slowly turned the handle.
She didn't scream when she saw the body on the floor. For some reason she couldn't.
"I told you," said a grating voice from out the darkness of the corner of the room. "Your husband died tonight."
| "I know its hard ma'am, but we found his dead body today on a construction site."
The young detective and her 2 police officers seemed dead serious.
"No! I mean he is standing in the kitchen right now cooking some soup for dinner."
"Well, that seems odd. May we enter and to ask you some questions?"
I just nodded. This entire day was strange. This morning somebody called and asked for my husband. Judging from accent, the caller must have been either german or austrian. But Sam never had any friends from oversea. And after lunch there was this noise. Like someone was building something in the neighbourhood. Only that everyone exept us was on vacation.
I let them enter and sit down in the living room. My husband came out of the kitchen with that blue appron I bought him last week.
"Darling? Whats going on?"
"Sam, these police officers said that they found YOUR dead body today. They just have a few questions."
He seemed just as confused as I am.
"Well, why not. Do you want something to drink detective..."
"Gardner, these are officers Crown and Miller. And yes, a glas of water for each of us would be nice."
He brought a carafe with water and several glasses from the kitchen and sat down with us.
"Sir, how long have you been living here with Mrs. Steiner?"
"3 years already. It still seems like yesterday since we moved together."
"Do you have any relatives?"
"No, my father was the last family member and he died 6 years ago."
"Mrs. Steiner, what about you?"
"My parents are still living in Chicago. And I have a older brother but...."
"Well?"
"He is in a witness protection program. I'm not supposed to talk about him."
"I understand. We will check this afterwards. Now, was there anything in the past that could explain the body of the, obviously perfectly healthy, Mr. Steiner?"
I had to think for a moment.
"My husband had a accident 2 years back. He was in a coma for a week. But I visited him every day till he woke up."
"I see. Mr. and Mrs. Steiner, I have to ask you to come with us. We need to make a DNA test to be absoluetely sure."
"But why? I'm right here, you can see that!"
"Sir, its just for you own safety."
Gardner reached into the pocket of her jacket. Sam just sighed and drank a sip from his glas.
And then slinged it against Gardners head. She fell down backwards from her chair. Sam then grabbed a pen from the desk and rammed it into Crowns neck, who stumbled back in complete confusion while holding his throat. Miller tried to stand up and pull out his gun, but Sam charged him and slammed his head against the wall. Over and over again till the wall was covered in blood and pieces of bone and brain matter. He then calmly stood up and crushed Crowns neck with a stomp.
I couldn't believe what I just saw. The tender and understanding husband I loved was no more. Instead a blood thirsty monster with the eyes of a predator looked at me.
I screamed and tried to get away from that blood covered lunatic. But he grabbed my legs and brought me down before knocking me out.
When I woke up again, I was cuffed to a chair in our basement. Detective gardner was bound to a chair in front of me.
And there it was again, the noise like someone would use a hammer to crack something open. Only that it was very close this time. I turned my head and saw Sam breaking a concrete wall.
"Look who is awake again. Had some sweet dreams darling?"
"S-Sam? What are you doing?
"Just getting some gear."
He reached into the hole in the wall and grabbed a large black suitcase. Detective Gardner also woke up.
"And now we are complete, great!"
He brought a laptop and a foldable desk and put both in front of Gardner.
"Detective, I am aware that you are one of the few people in this town having access to some of the classified data about the brother of my wife. But in order to view them I need a code. If you would be so friendly..."
Detective Garner spit him in the face.
"If you think I wou..."
Sam just wiped the spit from his face and then forced a towel down her throat. He then grabbed a old car battery and connected the jumper cables to the detdective.
She started twichting, her muffled screams filling the room.
Same then took off the cable and removed the improvised gag.
"How about now?"
"Fuck you!"
He put the gag back in and repeated the procedure while whistling the american national anthem.
"It could be so easy. We dont have to do this detective. Now for the code please."
He removed the towel. Gardner seemed to comply.
"5..8..M..s..1..."
"Thank you, was it so hard?"
Sam gave her a pat on the head and the entered the code in the laptop. He spend a minute reading the file while the smile on his face became bigger.
"How the stars align... It seems your brother is visiting the neighbouring town tomorrow. I think I will pay him a visit."
Tears ran down my cheecks. I now realized that he was only interested in my brother. I tried to deny it to this point, but now I had no choice but to accept the fact.
"Oh....don't cry darling. I never loved you. In fact, everything was played. And it was fucking awful. Your so called cooking managed to even kill the ingredients a 2. tme. Your meatloaf would be greasy on the outside and fucking raaaaaw in the inside all the time. So disgusting even a starving african child would rather face death than eating this shit. Even the fucking sex in our played relationship was awful. Every fucking time we had sex you would start crying and screaming when I picked up the pace. And on top of that I wasted 3 fucking years trying to reach your brother over you. And now I get the chance but now from you, but from a detective with too many administrative rights who just so happened to discover a mistake I made. But now this ends and I can finally finish my assignment. By the way. They didn't found my body. It was the body of my useless twin brother. That twat always wanted a calm life like this. I killed him because I could never stand him and because you were stupid enough not to notice any difference."
Sam grabbed the suitcase and forced the towel in both mine and Gardners mouth.
"Now if you would excuse me, I have a job to do. Don't worry, I won't kill you, I still have a use for you 2."
| 2017-10-10T06:26:40 | 2017-10-10T05:53:19 | 438 | 27 |
[WP] When the police came to announce you the death of your husband, you refused to believe it. "That's impossible", you said. "Unfortunately, it's the truth, miss", answered the policemen. "It's impossible", you said again, "because he's in the kitchen making dinner." | "Ma'am, we have confirmed the identity with photo identification." Sergeant Miller took off his hat and thought for a moment. "Forgive me if this sounds insensitive, but have you ever seen your husband make dinner before?"
"Well, no. But you've got to be mistaken," I replied. "He's in the kitchen right now getting flour all over the counter. Can't you smell the roast cooking?"
Miller stepped one foot into the door, obviously trying to smell what I was describing. He stepped back out and pulled out his cell phone. "I'm sorry to ask you to do this, but can you identify the man in this picture?" He held it up in front of me, and on the screen was a picture of my husband lying on the pavement surrounded by glass - his face covered in blood. I gasped and took a step back, trying to retreat from the horror of what I had just seen.
"This has to be some kind of sick joke. Who are you?" I asked, defensively.
"As I said, ma'am, I'm with the Poulter City Police Department. My name is Sergeant Miller. I wish I wasn't standing here with such bad news, but you are Mrs. Daniels, right? Mrs. Caroline Daniels?"
I turned around toward the opening that led into the kitchen, "Then who is in my house?"
Until now I hadn't even noticed that the sounds of cooking had stopped. The silence that rang from the kitchen was deafening. The officer placed one hand on his gun holster and moved forward cautiously. My mind raced as he searched the kitchen and then down the hallway for any signs of an intruder. How had that not been my husband? The man looked like my husband, and didn't have any lost twins that I was aware of. I couldn't believe it wasn't him.
And shouldn't I be crying right now? Wasn't that the appropriate response to something like this? Instead, it was almost like I couldn't feel anything at all. The image I had just seen kept flashing before me.
After what felt like an eternity, Sergeant Miller called out, "It's all clear."
I cautiously walked toward the kitchen with a face of stone. As I moved through the arch door, I expected to see the mess I had seen just moments before I had heard the doorbell. Instead, I saw only a clean counter top, and everything in its normal place. To say it gave me an eerie feeling would have been a serious understatement.
I walked over to where Evan would have been standing, completely puzzled. Then I noticed the card near the sink. I picked it up and opened it.
Caroline,
I'm so sorry I never took the time to make dinner for you or treat you the way you deserved to be treated. After the accident, I wanted to show you how much you meant to me. I hope the memory I created for you serves you well in place of what I never did. Please forgive me for all of my shortcomings, and live a good life. I'll see you on the other side.
All my love,
Evan. | The officers glanced at each other. There was worry in that look.
"We weren't aware that you'd remarried," the bigger of the two said. "When was the last time you saw your ex-husband?"
"Ex?!" I spat. "I've been married to one man for ten years! You've got the wrong house!"
He looked down at the folder, tracing the text with his index finger. I had an old mugshot, back from when I was in University. Activism. I liked to pull it out at parties and rant about my glory days. Seeing it staring up at me from the paper made me feel so naked.
"I don't think so," he went on. "Look, this has to be hard for you. God knows it'd be hard for anybody. But the dental records were conclusive; the body we pulled out of the dam was your husband."
I broke a nail on the tea towel. When had I started wringing it like that?
"He's *in the fucking kitchen!*" I growled. "We're making *pasta!*"
He sighed. "Okay. Take me to him."
"No, you are not coming in!" I said. There was a bag of weed in the bedside drawer. I realised that cops weren't magicians who could detect narcotics from another room but something in my head told me not to let these people into my house.
His lips thinned. "Fine. You bring him to the door, and we'll be on our way."
I threw the towel over my shoulder. "Wait here."
I danced over the catastrophe of dirty laundry and boxes as the creamy aroma of alfredo sauce wafted out of the kitchen, mingling with the dusty musk of unclean carpets. I'd been hungry a moment ago.
"Honey, I-" I started, rounding the corner.
Everything was the way I'd left it. The dough was flattened against the breadboard, with several thin slices cut out of one side. The water and sauce were roiling on the stove, faint flickers of blue underneath them from the gas flame. The semolina was horizontal, with powder falling between the open zip-loc seals and onto the counters and floor.
But there was nobody there.
I figured he'd ducked to the bathroom, so I started off in that direction. I hadn't gone two steps before blistering pain seared the space between my eyes. I needed something to lean on, so I groped for the door frame as fluorescent zig-zags clouding my vision. The pain was right where my nose met my forehead, and as the colours danced in front of my eyes I made a mental note to go see Patchouli to get my chakras aligned, or some other garbage to make me feel better. The migraines had been getting more frequent.
I stumbled back to the front door, holding the tea towel over my eyes to protect them from the sunlight.
"I'm... I'm sorry," I muttered. "Can you come back later? I'm not feeling very well."
He hesitated. I wished I could look at him without feeling like my eyeballs were on fire.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine," I said. "I just need to lie down."
"We could call for an ambulance-"
*"No!"* I spat. Nobody in the house. "Please just... leave me alone."
I heard pen scratching on paper. "I'm giving you the number for our coroner. We're investigating but it shouldn't be too long before we can release the remains. In the meantime, you'll need to come down to the station to make a statement. Do you understand?"
I nodded. "Coroner. Statement. Yes."
He pushed the paper into my hand. "If you need a counselor, we can point you in the right direction."
I didn't say goodbye. I wasn't even sure if they were gone when I closed the door, and I hadn't been listening for their footsteps. All I could think of was getting rid of all the damned light in the living room so I traced the perimeter, yanking the curtains closed with one hand and covering my eyes with the other. By the time I got the light staunched, I felt the strength going out of my knees. Sitting seemed like a good idea.
I turned, extended one foot towards the chaise, and froze.
There was something in the room with me.
*Familiar* doesn't feel like the right word, but I had seen it before. I can look at a spider for months but I'll never really feel connected to it. Similarly, those yellow eyes held a place in my memory, but there was nothing familiar about them. And how could there be? They were the size of goddamned abalone shells.
I opened my mouth to scream. Before the sound could escape, it reached out with one of those digits that seemed half finger, half pincer, and touched me right where my head hurt. There was a new feeling now, enveloping me like a cool wind on a hot day.
*Peace,* I thought. *Quiet. Friend. Love.*
"Love," I said, spittle falling from the corner of my mouth. "Where did you go, honey? Somebody was at the door."
*"I REQUIRE PROTEIN,"* it said, like a million cicadas mimicking human speech.
"Protein," I parroted. "Yes. Of course. I'll go get the possum traps." | 2017-10-10T07:05:33 | 2017-10-10T06:46:42 | 103 | 47 |
[WP] John Wick is contracted to take out what seemed like a usual mark. Billionaire, heir, playboy, general layabout, Bruce Wayne. | “Master Wayne”
Alfred walked into the Wayne Manor’s study, barely passing the threshold of the lavish office.
“Yes, Alfred.”
Bruce looked up from the shiny fragment he had stolen during the Justice Leagues battle with braniac. Normally he would take care of this in the Batcave, but bringing the tech near the Earth’s most connected computer system seemed like a bad idea.
“You have a visitor. A Mr. Johnathan Wick.”
Bruce remained stoic as he puts the fragment in his desk, gets up and walks towards his trusted aide.
“Where?”
“In the parlor.” Alfred replied.
Bruce took a quick glance out of the office window, and then swiftly left to meet Mr. Wick.
-
John Wick is looking at the Wayne family portraits adorning the walls as Bruce walks in.
“John Wick.”
“Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce points at a chair for John. Both men take their seats.
“What brings you to Gotham?”
“Business.”
“Business?” quizzed Bruce.
“Look Bruce. You know what I do. You know where I make my money. And you are a smart guy. You know why I’m here.”
Bruce’s glare did not waiver. “How much?”
“$35 million upfront. More if I make you suffer.”
John leans forward in his chair.
“But neither of us wants that long of a night, old friend.”
Bruce smiles, “I’ll transfer you 80 million tonight. But what are we going to do about your friends outside?”
The shadows of several people overtake the large window in the room.
John smiles. “Criminals these days have no tact. They tailed me. On a single lane road. In the middle of the country. Thought we’d have some fun.”
Bruce rolls up his sleeves. “I count 22 people. Same bet as in Marrakesh?”
John nods and pulls out his gun. Bruce glares. John puts his gun on the table.
John relents. “Fine. No killing.”
| Alfred serves Bruce his dinner, a succulent medium-rare steak expertly prepared.
"Thank you Alfred," says Bruce.
"Will there be anything else, sir?" asks Alfred.
"Warm the car up. I think I may have tracked down the penguin," says Bruce.
"Of course, sir." answers Alfred.
*A penguin?* thinks Wick. *Why would Bruce be looking to buy a penguin at this hour? These billionaires...*
Wick trains his sniper rifle onto Bruce's head. It's an easy shot. Right through the skylight and into the back of the head. Wick carefully cocks the rifle, takes a deep breath, and shoots.
The bullet hits the glass and ricochets off.
*Bulletproof glass?* thinks Wick. *What is going on here?*
Bruce looks up. An alarm has gone off. Skylight. He looks up through it. There is no one there. The sniper is fast, but obviously didn't do his research.
He sighs. The steak will have to go to the dog. Hopefully Alfred already warmed up the car. He stands up and heads to the cave.
Wick carefully tracks Bruce as he heads through the house. He enters the library then... disappears.
*Where did he go?* thinks Wick. *Better take a closer look.*
He carefully sidles up to the library window. There's some kind of device attached to the top of it. An alarm of some sort. The glass is also bulletproof.
*Odd. This Bruce sure is paranoid,* thinks Wick, *And rightfully so.*
He carefully detaches the alarm, jimmies the window open and sneaks inside. There is no one there. He looks around. One of the books appears more worn than the others. Wick tugs on it. A hidden door opens on the far wall.
*Interesting* thinks Wick.
He heads to the hidden passage, down a long flight of stairs.
Suddenly a loud booming voice fills the air.
WHO ARE YOU? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?
*Shit.*
Wick runs back up the stairs, hoping to escape. The hidden door is locked. He tries to put his foot through it but it's too strong.
DID SOMEONE HIRE YOU? WHAT IS HIS NAME?
*Cameras. There must be cameras* thinks Wick. He looks around. It's pitch dark, but he makes out a few shimmers in the distance. He takes out his pistol and shoots. The cameras shut down.
THOSE WERE EXPENSIVE.
"Yeah, well, so's your contract." yells Wick.
"There's a contract on Master Bruce's head?" asks Alfred.
The hidden door has opened. Alfred stands on the other side with a steak in hand. Wick points his pistol at him.
"Bruce will meet you in the study. Please follow me."
Alfred heads off. Wick hesitates, then follows.
"Study is the opposite direction," Wick points out.
"Yes, I know." says Alfred. "I have to feed the dog first."
He takes Wick to the kennel and feeds Ace. Then they head to the study. Bruce is inside waiting for them.
"Have a seat." says Bruce.
Wick sits. He continues to hold the pistol.
"Alfred will take your gun." says Bruce.
Wick hands his gun to Alfred. Alfred exits the room.
"So. What's your name?" asks Bruce.
"Wick. John Wick. And you. You're the Batman." says Wick.
"You're very astute." says Bruce.
"I recognized your dog." says Wick.
"You like dogs?" asks Bruce.
"I guess so." answers Wick.
"Ace just had puppies." says Bruce. "How would you like one?"
"In exchange?" asks Wick.
"Don't tell anyone." says Bruce.
Wick thinks for a second.
"Well. I do like dogs..." says Wick. "But not that much."
He pulls out a gun from his ankle holster and shoots. Bruce catches it with his teeth and spits it out.
"What the hell?" says Wick. "Batman can't do that!"
The Green Martian morphs back into his normal form.
"Sorry," he says. "Bruce is out of town at the moment. He asked me to fill in for him. Now, our deal?"
"... Fine. I won't tell anyone."
"Good. I believe you." says the Green Martian. "Take a puppy on the way out. I know you like them." | 2018-03-13T22:55:30 | 2018-03-13T22:15:45 | 1,190 | 765 |
[WP] Everybody assumes that The Onion is satire, but you know different. Why? Because you're its main reporter, gathering news from alternate realities. | They just started arriving on my doorstep one day. I've never been able to find out who or what delivers them, but every Sunday I get a newspaper with headlines from another world. Most of the time they're mundane with just a few subtle... inconsistencies. But every once in awhile, they make my job as lead reporter for The Onion way too easy.
#"Eccentric Billionaire Launches Car Into Mars Orbit"
I've got quite a few awards on my mantle thanks to that paper. Yeah, it's blatant plagiarism, but does it really count if the original authors don't even exist in your reality?
#"United States Elects Reality TV Star President"
Sometimes I can't help but wonder if I'm stealing from that reality's version of The Onion. Surely some of these headlines can't possibly be true.
#"Credit Bureau Hacked, Everyone's Data Stolen"
But if they are, god help them... | People all know us for satirical, often hilarious news pieces that they regard us as more of a joke than a news station to take seriously, like CNN. But little do they know that the news coming from us is not only real, but also very important.
At least in the reality it came from.
You might've wondered why we reported on a pig that ran away from its farm and dismissed it as useless news when in (alternate) reality, that pig was dealing with insecurity issues and was being bullied by the other farm animals. If you picked up on the fact that the story I just mentioned sounds an awful lot like Animal Farm by dear Orwell, that's because the old coot was inspired by our story to write something along those lines. So think about it - every story we've ever written was something just as appalling as a guy who killed several people because he was off the rails.
By now, you're probably thinking I'm feeding you complete garbage and you're probably being pranked or something. But once you learn a little about our origins, I'm sure you'll come 'round to seeing things *our* way. You see, we became an organization in 1756. But the only reason we became one was because of a sweet old man who happened to cause a disturbance in space-time.
That sweet old man was none other than Ben Franklin.
The very same who stares back at you on that hundred dollar bill was the one who discovered the lightning rod in 1752, four years before we appeared. It took some time, but once we realized that the rod had something to do with odd little rips in the fabric we knew that this wasn't just a freak accident. We organized into a group called The Travellers, but it didn't stick. After a while, our name changed to The Onion, and aptly so as we're an organization that has many layers to it, not being so easily identifiable on first look. For those who are attempting to connect the dots between us and a certain big, green thing, know this - the only thing The Onion shares with Shrek is that we are both like onions in the regard that we have layers. That's it.
So all the odd things that we've discovered have been adapted into novels by thieves who decided that one day they'd read the paper and say "oh, I've got it!", pretending they came up with a story by themselves. Orwell was one such insufferable twit, swiping almost every one of our interesting stories and metamorphing it into a book which he took *all* credit for. Unbelievable. But I digress.
So there you have it. Now you know The Onion is not simply a website that makes "memes" out of news. No sir, we are a proud, time-faring group of people who expose ourselves to the cruel effects of time just to bring you the news which to our surprise is unreasonable and unworthy of being serious. Keep in mind every one of our stories is real, be from this reality or another, our stories are the truth. We could tell lies, we could go off and live in those alternaties, but we decided otherwise to hopefully make people aware of the truth behind the existence of multiple dimensions and realities because we care - but also because *we are bound to*.
Anyways, goodbye for now. And happy reading.
***
**r/TheNinthRanger** | 2018-03-20T20:00:19 | 2018-03-20T18:55:40 | 73 | 26 |
[WP] You are living a day that 50 years from now will be the answer to a question on a History Test. (Essay or Multiple Choice Question- Take your pick) | Using evidence from the article exerpt, the author implies that one of the first **major** steps to the creation of the Korean Union of Fellowship was?
>A. Wednesday, June 13th; The United States President and North Korean leader meet in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia.
>B. Friday, April 27th, 2018; The South Korean President and North Korean leader meet in the Korean DMZ.
>C. Sunday, October 21st, 2029; The UN discusses the leniency of the new sanctions proposed by China, South Korea, and North Korea.
>D. Thursday, June 26th, 2031; The United States, Japan, and Denmark present North and South Korea with a project to build a non-conventional school for both North and South Korean children to attend together. | It was impossible to hear anything over the roar of the crowd. Then again, it wasn’t everyday someone that famous visited the city. I peered over the people in front of me, but it was no use. Try as I might, even the tell tale glint of an automobile was obscured by the masses. He probably wasn’t even coming this way anyways.
There was talk next to me, apparently there had been a detour? There was talk of a commotion earlier, but I couldn’t confirm if much had happened. Maybe it had something to do with the dull thud from earlier.
A man next to me nudged me, excited, “To think someone that important would come to visit us. Aren’t you excited? I hear he’s left the town hall, headed right this way.”
I shrugged, “The men in charge never see us, they care only for power. So long as they remain, our nation will never be free.”
He frowned, obviously disagreeing, but just turned away. I was left to my thoughts. Soon after, another whispered something into my ear, and I frowned. So that’s what the rumors had been of...
I pushed my way out of the crowd, my hand subconsciously in my pocket. It seemed today wouldn’t work out after all. In the end, I found myself standing in a cafe, the shade shielding me from the summer heat.
He probably wouldn’t turn this way, but I still wanted to see him. Looking at the street, I glanced to either end of it, nervously.
Steadying myself, I took a deep breath, reminding myself why I was here. I wanted to be here, needed to be here. Suddenly, the people got louder, talking amongst themselves and focusing towards one end. I saw it too. A car had turned onto the street, followed my many others. The motorcade was here.
I squinted in the sun at the vehicles. The second one had been rolled down to reveal its occupants, and I could just make out their figures. One man stood out to me as he talked to the woman next to him. It was him.
As the motorcade approaches where I was, I tried to relax. It wouldn’t be here very long anyways. Not long enough. But I was lucky. The car paused, the driver must have realized he was going the wrong way. The machine protested, and with start it froze in place.
I don’t know what drove me to move, but before I knew it I was standing in the street, maybe a few arms’ lengths from the car. I withdrew my hand from my pocket, and ignored the gasps as my pistol glinted in the light. Two shots were all I had time for. One struck my enemy, but the other missed the governor, and hit the tyrant’s wife.
I laughed as those around me screamed, reaching for my cyanide. Ferdinand was dead, and soon the Serbs would be free of Austrian oppression. Today would be remembered as a great day.
Note: This is my first time writing one of these, hope it wasn’t bad. Dunno if I’m even putting this in the right place from mobile... | 2018-04-27T13:06:21 | 2018-04-27T11:34:31 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] When you were little your grandad passed away and left his dog to your family. He was the goodest boy. Loyal, fun, your best friend. It’s been 70 years and you’re old and frail, but your dog is still alive. You think he’s immortal. One day, he speaks. “It’s time you knew the truth, old friend” | "I'm what you might call a god," Lucky said, jaw hanging motionless and agape as the words seemed to just fly from his throat. And due to the lack of smell, I'd guess breathless. Impressive.
​
"I fucking knew you could talk!" I yelled. I raised my arms too and tried to stand up from the couch all triumphant like but...with these back problems it was pretty much a no go.
​
"Really, that's it? You're just...proud of yourself?" Nope. Not breathless. Guess the nose is starting to give up too.
​
"You're a dog that's at least four times older than any dog to ever live, so the whole talking thing, not super surprising."
​
"But I told you I was a god"
​
"What I might call a god, but yeah"
​
"So no questions about that, or....?"
​
"Ya know, I'm so close to the finish line at this point, I figure I'd keep it a surprise."
​
"Again, god, I could help you with that."
​
"Eh, I'm OK. I've lived enough." I chuckled, "After all, you know firsthand."
​
"But we could do it all again too, if you want."
​
"Nah, I'm good with the one go-round. But I think Charlie could use your help."
​
"You mean your grandson?"
​
"I do. Help him like you helped me. Make sure he does good, OK."
​
"I promise I will"
​
"Thanks buddy," I slapped the seat next to me. "Come up here for a bit."
​
Lucky cuddled up beside me. I ran my fingers across his back, collecting ringlets of stray hairs around them.
​
"Hey, Lucky"
​
"Yeah"
​
"I love you," I said, as I closed my eyes. | It's weird. The smell, the colours: everything seemed a little off, that September.
I groan as I stand up, my back an Hell of excruciating stab wounds. Metaphorically speaking, of course: I never had the pleasure to be knifed, with much chagrin of my son.
I sigh, slowly massaging my aching rear.
"Still givin' you the sores?" asks Pythagoras.
I scoff, looking at the old, red furred bastard. He looked not older than 7, that smug fucker. Seven, as the age he had when we inherited him from granps.
He is comfortably laying over my favourite sofa, seeding every square inch with hair and saliva. From time to time, he even recalls to wave his tail, always looking at me straight in the eyes.
"You are talking." I mumble " And without muttering anything remotely interesting. Just my luck. Wait 'til Sarah..."
She's been dead 10 years now.
My head feels dizzy for a moment.
I forgot, for but a moment I forgot.
Pythagoras, slowly, without any rush, stretches his paws, yawning.
" It's time you knew the truth, old friend."
" I can't even have the privilege to be called master? Figures."
My fingers are tip-tapping over the table, searching for the remote to mute that blonde hag, Barbara McSomething. Nobody cares about Volleyball, come on now.
Blessed silence eventually fills the grey room.
" Friends are equal, and I supposed you saw me as one. Maybe I was wrong."
" Whatever: I am listening to my dog talking, I have given up to sanity definitely. What awful secret you've kept all this time, Py? You voted for the Democrats?"
The freakin' dog smiles.
" It's almost time for us to say goodbye, old friend. You've known it for quite some time."
I shrug.
" I don't care much. My back hurts, I can't spend two hours without pissing myself, and I am alone, forgot by everyone. It was just matter of time before you left me as well."
" But I am not going anywhere, George."
" But you just... oh."
Realization hits me like an hammer.
If it wasn't for fear of broking again my hip, I would've just let myself fall over the couch.
I straighten up. Some decorum, Jesus.
" How are you feeling?"
" Shitty."
My poor eyesight is lost, focused on that revelation.
Death is the only certain thing in our lives. It's like the end of a busy month, always there, looming over us.
And now...
" Is this real?"
" No. And yes."
" Don't play games with me, mutt." I mumble, still half lost on that thought.
" Language, George. What I mean is that I am an idea. This is your mind."
I look around. Grey, a thin misty veil over everything. Not my eyes then.
Alas, another victory.
" You've been with me for 70 years or something. My grandpa left you to us. This is some chem induced vision."
Was my grandpa?
It's all so confused.
" It is. And that memory is an idea, forgot and then recalled. You will leave me with your nephew, soon."
He gets closer, a pityful look into his eyes.
Always hated that stare. Sarah used to tell me that I was too harsh with people, rude even.
That's why my son never writes me.
Little asshole.
"Then why now? Why just now you are..."
A long, acute beep fills the room.
I...
My heart.
My hand goes to my chest, clawing the sweater as breath leaves my lungs.
I am...
" It will be over soon. You will be remembered. I will stay in good company."
" I..."
Can't talk.
The words die in my troath.
Pain, all is on fire.
Pythagoras licks my hand, then all is white.
////////////////////
"Where have you found that dog, Mickey?"
The tall man scratches his bald head.
" He was my grandpa's. Pops died this morning, and he just followed me, but I can't keep him. You have a small kiddo, right? Maybe a dog would be good for him..."
I have many doubts, but this dog...
There's something special in him.
" Dunno, buddy, I need to tell Sarah first..."
Mickey rolls his eyes.
" Come on George, what's this poor beast gonna do? Kill you?"
###############
Note:
I apologize for any mistake I've made, english ain't my first language, but I tried nevertheless to write something. Sorry again!
EDIT: Changed the text formattation
| 2018-09-26T20:47:29 | 2018-09-26T16:05:52 | 198 | 44 |
[WP] Reincarnation is real. How do you know? Because it happens to you. Everyone else forgets their past life, but not you. Your first life was a hunter in a tribe of people that predates the Egyptian empire. You’ve been reincarnated 194 times. Tell us the story of you, today in the modern world. | I remember.
After the fiftieth death or so, I stopped crying as a baby. I remember a Roman wetnurse commenting on how uncanny it was that I never cried. She called me a curse, a jinx, and was frightened to feed me beside her own lustily-howling child. I was too busy remembering to care what she thought of me. That life did not last long; I was stoned as a young man, for what nominal crime I do not recall, but in truth for the crime of being too strange, too different. For remembering too much.
In medieval Japan, I learned to speak less of my recollections and so learned to live longer. In that life, my long memory gave me wisdom that others sought out, even noblemen, though I was only a laborer’s daughter. By then I had learned to temper the stories of my past with the realities of my present. The story of my hunt for antelope as my initiation to my clan in sub-Saharan Africa became a coming-of-age story of a friend’s hunt for serow in the forests near my home. The story of the birth of my first son as the third wife of a tribal elder in the Arabian peninsula, I omitted entirely. In this way, I survived well into my ninth decade and saw the births of seven grandchildren and fifteen great-grandchildren.
I still have difficulty crying as an infant. The first shock of awareness after a death is jarring, and I will often cry out at the first taste of air in new lungs, the first slash of light across new eyes; but I rarely wail as most infants do after that. Sometimes I weep for my family and friends lost in a previous life, alone in my crib in the dark. Sometimes I tear up in frustration as I struggle to lift a head still too large for my tiny body, or to form words that my new tongue cannot yet shape. Mostly, though, I am a pensive child, lost in memory.
I lie here, at night, in my crib. I remember many cribs. Many of them have mobiles over them, toys suspended from strings that I can look at, and reach for, but never touch. The shapes and colors of the toys have changed over time. For many lives, the toys were carved of wood or woven from grasses, and represented animals that would later be a part of the landscape. With the advent of mass production came mobiles with plush stars and moons in pale pastel fabric that sang tinkly little songs as they spun in circles. With the advent of certain advances in child psychology came mobiles with black-and-white checks and bright colors, which were admittedly easier for new eyes to focus on. This new mobile was hand-made by my new mother, who eschews mass production where it fails to deliver her visions; and who, when she found that no toymaker made a suitable mobile with the planets of the solar system, crocheted one herself.
I remember many mothers.
I remember many daughters, many sons, many husbands and wives.
I remember.
EDIT: Thanks for gold! It’s my first gold! And thanks for comments. This was a fun prompt. I’ll definitely be doing more of this. I can’t believe I didn’t know about this subreddit before now... | My story is the same as the story of mankind.
The two are inexorably interconnected as far as I am concerned. They cannot be separated because the very cores of their nature are entwined. After exploring so much land, researching so many concepts, meeting so many people, I am the best example of it anyway. There is no other human alive who has seen what I've seen. No other human alive who remembers what I can.
The human mind is impressive. I figured that out after the first dozen rebirths. Back there in the wilderness before I could even work myself to a stable living, dying was more common, after all. But what astonished me then was how I remembered it all. How I remember it all every single time I am born. From the moment of my birth, the memories dance through my mind. At first, it means nothing because the neural pathways have yet to be developed. But slowly and surely, I am able to experience my past lives.
I am able to learn from them. That is the most important part—and that is what has surprised me most about the continual cycle of life. As a hunter that was recycled into tribe after tribe, all I'd known were the most basic of strategies. The most basic of methods to manufacture tools of stone and bone. The most basic of patterns when it came to tracking wildlife across the savanna. Slowly though, that changed. My mind was able to adapt to the message that the universe was sending me time after time.
One can only die by starvation a handful of times before they end up wanting something different.
So instead, I did what humans supposedly do best. I learned. I adapted. I changed my tactics and used the information that was trapped in my head for some kind of progress.
Firstly it was noticing patterns with our prey. Then it was noticing tensions between people—between different tribes. And then it was doing everything I could to put those tensions to rest.
The going was difficult when I started out. Changing peoples' minds was as difficult a task back then as it is in modern times, after all. Harder, even, since these people hadn't known anything different. But eventually they came around. Eventually, they listened to what I was saying and let me solve problems one-by-one. And once the fruits of my labor started rolling in, they all saw the benefit at once.
More consistent food sources. Better collaboration between people. The increased connectivity even sparked innovation. The tribes began observing water as they explored new areas. They studied the plants that grew around rivers and the bright tasty confections that hung off trees. They tested against their environment to see what kind of gifts it could hold.
It tested them back, of course. Mother nature is nothing if not fickle. At one point, I was even the victim of poisoning due to wrongful identification.
Yet through the trials and tribulations, progress started to get made. Actual innovations sparked seemingly out of nowhere and the lists of benefits only grew.
The speed of it accelerated too as more and more people started working together. In my first few dozen lives, I saw maybe one achievement every few decades. As soon as the farming started—the agriculture and the seeds of civilization, though, more and more started to get done.
Humans diversified; they adapted to their new surroundings. They took the newfound food supplies in stride and started doing better things with their time. They made progress in the sciences—they got more intricate with the art. They codified laws and started with the ideas of rights. Of protecting their own so that their kin could have opportunities they themselves would never see.
And I was there through all of it—through all the heavens and the hells. Through the thriving and the suffering, we never truly gave up. As a species, we had already come too far, and we were not one to be destroyed by the very nature which we had used as a tool. Unfortunately, mother nature did pay the cost for our survival, but I still hold that we did well.
I kept doing what I knew and kept building upon that as well. I pulled from my collective memory in the same way I always did and helped humanity at every turn that I was able. Sometimes I made mistakes, and sometimes things were lost in time. But never did I forget the cores of my being. Never did I forget the purely human aspects that were the reason our species could thrive at all.
Never did I stop surviving. Never did I stop adapting. Never did I stop yearning for something more.
Never did I stop learning, and I think that is the most beautiful part of it all. That is the only part of human existence that has continued to baffle me to this day. Because while the petty fights of modern times are similar at their core to the ones I saw long ago, we find a way to dress them up as new every time. We find a way to know more about life than we ever have before.
We find a way to improve, just like I've done through every generation I've lived. Yet, even for me, it is ultimately futile. No matter how I adapt or how I learn from my mistakes, mother nature spites me at the end. I always die when there is more to do—only to have to suffer through the beginnings of life before I can help out again.
There is nothing I can do to prevent the inevitable fate.
Whether that is a thing of horror or a thing of beauty, I do not know. All I know is that it is the truth, and it is one I am still desperately trying to understand.
But whether I know it or not, my story continues on. It echoes out through history like ripples through a pond. And I am glad that it does because my story is the same as the story of mankind.
---
/r/Palmerranian | 2019-07-31T20:34:36 | 2019-07-31T18:59:09 | 444 | 267 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | The summoning of one's true calling was always meant to be a decision to bind where you would go with life. A doctor may bring a syringe, a police officer a badge, and if your lucky you may pull in a gemstone for wealth. When I called for my object I got none of these.
The large stone slab one stood on to receive his or her object was holy ground. Aside from a priest, everyone stepped on it once and no one would be within a mile radius of it to ensure safety. The slab seemed specifically cold on the eve of the new year that marked my birth.
I reached out a spoke the words that had been ground into me for the last year, "Oh Lord above. Wish me luck above all things as I draw upon your gift." Then with a small knife I was provided I cut my palm and let the blood drip onto the pedestal and reached out for what was rightfully mine...
There was nothing. Not in the first minute. Not in the first hour. Nor the third. In total I waited six before I saw the result. In the mid day sky the sun went dark as a eclipse graced the heavens. No eclipse was forecast for today. No abnormality to cause one. It was then I realized. My object was no sword of a great king. It was no badge for my future. It wasn't anything to help me. No the truth was that my item came wanting only death.
I remember starting to see part of the earth rise into the sky as the moon itself came for me. The summoning had one flaw, once summoned a object will come to it's master and only stops under one condition...there death. Seeing death before my eyes, and not just my own left me with a choice.
Mother, Father, if your reading my final message. I'm sorry I couldn't be a doctor. But i can fix my own mistakes. Goodbye. |
Mother and Father stood nearby, looking expectantly at me as I took my place in the center of the rooming facing the great grandfather clock that command the attention of everyone.
Along the edges of the room waited the rest of our family and friends, all in attendance with me as the hour of my birth; 11:59pm, 18 years ago to the minute, neared. Soon it would be time for my summoning. The moment when all those who upon the hour of adult hood will hold out their hand and have their one thing appear. For some a person appears, this who is destined to be your great soulmate and the love of your life, like when my mother summoned my father. For others it is an object of great importance, integral to their life and identity, like our protector Donar Woodenson, the thunder bringer and guardian of humanity, wielding his mighty hammer.
The seconds ticked away as the lights dimmed and our fiends and family leaned in expectantly, I held out my hand like father had taught me. As I did so I felt the power of the cosmos begin to whirl around me as the hour of my birth arrived! The minute hand moved to 11:59 pm, here goes nothing I thought.
And exactly nothing happened!
Aunts and Uncles looked at each other confused; while my younger Cousin laughed at my misfortune, my face burned with embarrassment as I stared at my empty hand confused. Was I cursed, what had gone wrong?
“An ill omen” tittered my great aunt poppy, as she clucked disapprovingly.
“Nonsense” my father boomed, striding across the floor to me.
“Sometimes it just takes a minute or two, nothing to fret about son” he said as the words wrapped around me in comfort like the arm he placed on my shoulder, “why when I was your age…” he started to say but never got the chance to finish for at that moment the great clock struck midnight, the witching hour and the bells inside the imposing temple to father time played there deep and brassy tune.
Suddenly the room was filled with a surge of power that silenced all murmurs as electricity crackled through the air. It centered on me and my still outstretched hand as my father backed away. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I felt the anticipation flow through me. The chimes of the clock turned to thunder, and the air in the room was rent by light as strange shapes of no earthly form appeared before my eyes. The room was pervaded by the deep smell of the sea, a not so pleasant smell of rotting fish and decaying seaweed. Then a hellish sound as if a million souls were crying out desperate in their damnation at losing hope. People clapped their hands to there ears, some falling to their knees, struck dumb by the sound.
Then just as suddenly as it had begun, the ordeal was over, before me holding my hand was a creature of unimaginable horror, with the greenish body of a man, the wings of a dragon, the head of an octopus and the eyes of a demon. CTHULHU!!!!
In my abject horror at the monster I had summoned, I tried to dispel this foul creature, yet before this thought could fly from my head, my summoned creation beheld me in its gaze and my soul fled my body in panic, and my consciousness was shattered by madness, rooting me in place, forced to watch as this Doom of an old god struck down my family who were unable to flee, as his very visage drove sanity from their minds and reduced them to mumbling stupor.
With each death, he grew greater, until his hideous form broke through the roof, he bowed down and almost lovingly scooped me, his unwitting parent into his embrace, as he walked forth into the world, to destroy it and awaken his slumbering brothers beyond the veil of this reality. I could only hope that the defender of man will defeat him, but my son has taken away my hope, my fear, my pain, my joy, and my love, an so I am forced to watch the end that I have summoned through eyes that can now only hold Terror. | 2019-09-18T08:31:42 | 2019-09-18T08:16:27 | 79 | 57 |
[WP] People on Earth start receiving a text message that says, "Not everyone gets a happy ending. Time to face yours". One by one they meet horrible deaths until you receive one that is different from the others, it says, "Twelve people died for your happy ending. Congratulations!" | I turned on the television — just out of the habit. It was silent. The news had been abandoned a long time ago. There were only a few channels left that showed some movies.
It was massive chaos. Those who were smart stayed in-doors, hiding from everyone else. Others decided to do something before their horrible ending.
Being someone who generally dislikes going outside — the whole ordeal was something I didn't care about. But I began to care once I noticed that I hadn't gotten that message that everyone else had gotten. So I had to pretend.
*Beep-beep.*
I turned to look at my phone. Before, I had gotten many messages from people I knew, but the phone grew quiet as well.
I could only assume that the apocalypse was nearly over.
*Twelve people died for your happy ending. Congratulations!*
My mouth opened slightly, trying to find some air, landing on my couch. "What the hell," I murmured, turning the phone's screen black. "What the fuck?" I screamed, looking around the room. "I never asked for this! Give those twelve people their lives back!"
I stood up and ran my hands over the nearby table, everything crashing against the floor, some breaking.
*Beep-beep.*
I turned to look at the phone once more. I slowly walked to it, opening and reading the message.
*We cannot revive those twelve. But we will give the other twelve a happy ending. However, not everyone gets a happy ending. Time to face yours.*
I smirked. Mine for twelve others, huh? I wonder if humans would've saved the planet if more people were willing to sacrifice.
I could feel vibrations going throughout the building. Something was happening to it, and it was going to collapse and soon.
*Beep-beep.*
I took the phone once more, reading another new message.
*Thanks to you, humanity is not going to die.*
I smirked. *You said I'm not going to get a happy ending,* I thought. Or perhaps, that was the original happy ending in the first place? | Almost a year ago the first message appeared, and many many more followed. People got scared to read messages and some of them even got rid of their phones, because that way they couldn't receive a text message nor die right?
They were wrong. Faith was stronger than that. It didn't care if you had a phone or not.
Faith had always worked hand in hand with god to give people the happiness they apparently deserved. But now Faith had teamed up with the devil, and fear was written in everyones eyes.
-------- 21 August 3034 -----------
*Buzz Buzz*
A year ago I would have slept right through a message, but this time I immediately woke up.
If you would have looked at my face at that point you'd think I faced my biggest fear.
But that was exactly what I did. The fear of getting The message was everyones biggest fear.
I picked up my phone and tried to unlock it. My hands shook and it didn't work.
When I finally opened Whatsapp I was already crying.
"Twelve people died for your happy ending. Congratulations"
What the hell did that mean? The message was supposed to say " Not everyone gets a happy ending. Time to face yours." Not this. I didn't want people to die for me. My life was not really worth it anyways.
-------- 22 August 2034 -----------
I almost forgot what had happend the night before if the school day didn't start with another memorial. Everytime someone died after receiving the message, their name was added to a big bronze plate in the Entrance Hall of their school and everyone was there to watch their names being added.
"Today not just one person lost their live to The message"
Said miss Mitchel, our principal. "To our big sadness we have to add 11 names to our memorial bord today"
The students and staff immediately started to softly chat with each other "11? And all in one night?"
Just like everyone I was so scared. Who died today? Was Mia one of them? My best friend?
"The first person is Jacob Howard" Miss Mitchel said.
And to be honest I was relieved. Jacob had always been a huge bully in our school and I think I wasn't the only one who was relieved.
"And the second person is his brother Gary Howard"
And that was another person I definitely wouldn't miss. He was as terrible as his brother so not really a loss.
"The third to die was Laura Parker"
Mrs Parker was our Maths teacher, and even though I was pretty good in Maths, she always gave me low marks. So I wouldn't miss her either.
"Louisa Adams" Miss Mitchel said
Louisa, Jacobs girlfriend and not a little bit better then he was.
"Tygo Frone"
Our science teacher and always happy to give detentions
"Sam Keen"
The nerd of our school and the only one who had better grades than I had, so if course I disliked him a lot.
"Mark Gray"
Our PE teacher, who did a lot of inappropriate things with students. Including me.
"Juliene Reeves"
"Paul Fish"
"Micheal Brown"
"Colette Simons"
"Now we finished the memorial, please go to your classes" Miss Mitchell finally said.
Just like I said before. I almost forgot the message I got the night before, but after the memorial at my school I couldn't stop thinking about it. 11 names were read and all of them were from people I disliked and woukd never ever miss.
To be honest my life even got better without them being there. Was the message right? Did people die for my happy ending? But the message said 12 people not 11. However, I couldn't find anyone else that died for my happy ending. I could think of a lot of people that could be the twelfth person, like my adoptive father and adoptive mother, or Maria, my neighbor. But none of them actually died, to my sadness.
I graduated high school, and years later I also got my college degree. I moved out of the house of my adoptive parents, and my life got better and better. But I didn't found the 12th person.
.
English is my second language and I am in mobile.
Please correct my grammar and please give some feedback.
Sorry for mistakes / formatting.
Also sorry for problems with reading, it is one of my first stories and I had some problems writing it. | 2019-10-20T09:01:34 | 2019-10-20T04:17:03 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?" | "Well, I was dead once, but I got over it."
The Grim Reaper stood silently and cocked his head.
"River Styx? You have the look of one who has been there."
"Yes. My GPS is old and it steered me wrong. I took a right turn onto a lane that went into a long tunnel. I thought it was odd that there were red lights, but I was just a tourist, ya know? I assumed I had stumbled into something experimental."
"Are you telling me you accidentally drove into the realm of Hades?"
"I guess so. The road turned into a unpaved dirt road, and then to a path. I couldn't turn around until I came to a river. The tunnel ended and I made a U-Turn."
"Did you touch the river in any way?"
"I got out of the car to take a picture, and when I went to the river I slipped and got wet. Didn't fall in, but I slid down the bank and got myself wet and muddy."
"You...I can't believe what I'm hearing."
"I climbed up the bank and left. It was brutal work getting up there too. It was all dead brushes and brambles."
"How did you know where you were?"
"When I left I saw a sign that said "River Styx 1 mile." It disapeared after I left."
Death made a slight choking noise.
"I'm going to have a talk with Hades. That new construction company he appropriated is incompetant."
"So, what happens now?"
"That's your problem," Death said. "I don't envy you. I'm the nice one. You get to deal with Life for a few thousand years, and he's a right bastard." | One day, on my 18th birthday, on my way to school, I saw an old lady sitting on a park bench, watching her grandchildren playing in the park. I felt happy, knowing that no matter how much darkness is in the world, there is always something good to brighten up your day. But then I saw something behind her. At first, it was blurry and dark, but then it started to materialize until it was perfectly clear what it was. The Grim Reaper.
I didn’t know what came over me, but I just walked right up to him. I was scared out of my mind!
I secretively whispered to him, “what are you doing here?”
He seemed surprised by me talking to him. He looked around and said, “well, I’ve been following this woman all day, she will be dead anytime soon.”
I wanted to run away, but my legs wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t move.
Out of curiosity I decided to ask, “is it my time yet?”
To my surprise, he answered my question, “Nope, looks like you’re not due for another...” he took out a clipboard and skimmed through the papers. He found something and pointed his finger on it. “... three thousand, one hundred, and forty- one years? That’s weird. Also, how can you see me?”
I asked, “can’t everyone see you? I just assumed everyone could when I saw you standing there.” I was confused. “Well, now that I think about it, that is weird. If people saw you, they’d try to avoid you to not die.”
Death just looked at me, right in the face, making direct eye contact. I saw his sunken, almost empty-looking eyes, and felt a cold shiver go through my whole body. I felt uncomfortable.
Without even saying goodbye, I walked away. I tried to ignore what had just happened, but I felt his cold, dark eyes, still staring into me, into my soul. I heard a strange noise behind me, like the slash of a blade. I knew that the Grim Reaper has harvested a soul, and the old lady was dead.
In front of me, in a puff of ash and smoke, Death had appeared in front of me, in his dark cloak of suffering. I was frightened. I didn’t like this. I wanted to get out of here.
Suddenly, everything went dark. When I woke up, I was in a dark, warm area. As I regained my conscious, it got warmer and warmer, until it felt as if I was drowned in boiling water.
“Who are you?” Asked the voice of the Grim Reaper.
“Cole. My name is Cole Silverhorn.”
“Another Silverhorn? I thought they were gone.” I heard him cursing to himself, obviously frustrated and possibly disappointed. “What species— what race are you?”
I replied quickly, “human. Just a human. What else would I be?”
“Okay, maybe he is just hallucinating. Do we have any forgetful potions?” I heard him rambling and arguing with himself. “How do I clear this up? This is impossible. I’ll just leave him. He might think it was a dream. Perfect!”
He then turned to me, with a hopeful grin on his pale face. “Goodnight! See you this morning! Or, not. I’m not going to let you see me. Bye-bye!”
He snapped his fingers, and pink glittery particles came off of his hand, flying like dust. Once again, it was dark.
_____________________________________________
WC: 567 words
If this gets enough upvotes (like 30+), I will make a part two, and put a link here. I have a very interesting idea for the ending. So please upvote it!
[Read part 2!!!](https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/comments/fel0h8/the_life_of_cole_silverhorn_part_2/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) | 2020-01-24T17:11:51 | 2020-01-24T16:18:18 | 54 | 21 |
[WP] An unassuming school janitor, is in fact an incredibly powerful but reformed dark magic user who chose a humbler life after the Hero defeated and spared them; except today is different: today the magic academy is undersiege by the BBEG, their former boss. | All seemed lost. The forces of evil were at the gates. The academy had stood for ten thousand years, and it seemed as though today would be it's end. The archmage, and the masters of all disciplines rallied to the defense of the school, wizards casting blasts of electric might, sorcerer's summoning terrors not meant to be seen by mortal eyes. And yet they fell. All of them, lay on the ground, broken and beaten. A testament to their valiant efforts to defend those whom they taught.
The dark lord strode amongst the strewn forms of once-brave men and women, finishing any who had not yet met their end. His armor of adamantine shone, glistening in the moonlight. And then, a voice.
"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!" Said a figure silhouetted against the light spilling into the cold from the building. The dark lord simply looked on him in confusion, wondering who had the audacity to stand in his way.
Then, the figure stepped into the courtyard, revealing his face. It was Kath, the mild-mannered janitor, always ready with a kind word or a helping hand. Now, he seemed to glow with fury, as if his heart was lit by the fires of hell.
"I am Kathrangr the black, once dark lord of the brazen lands, champion of the nine rings!" The janitor said, his eyes glowing with rage and sorrow. "Now, I am the protector of these children, and this school. And you have breached it's walls. Now, due to the agreement between myself and the Heroes of the World, I am now allowed to release my full power upon you. So I will give you one chance:
Leave. Now. | The man pushed the trash can forward, nodding at the student passing by who failed to notice the tendril of shadow snaking towards her.
The tendril flicked the scrap of paper the student had dropped into the air, and it landed squarely in the moving trash can.
Zair, practicing warlock and now janitor of the King’s Pass Academy, smiled. He did not get much opportunity to flex his affinity in his current role, and he knew that the God of Unbrightened Things must be displeased with him.
What choice had he had but to give up his practice? The boy had been blessed by the Sun itself and their fight had been but a reflection of the one their patrons had fought in antiquity. The Bright Eye had shone its light everywhere its gaze fell and vanquished the Unbrightened God’s shadows.
But the boy had not taken on his patron’s unrelenting stance, their unforgiving burning. No, he had given Zair a second chance.
He would not give up any path to continued existence, demeaning as it may be. If he had to give up his pride and serve his past enemies, he would.
Climbing up the eighteen floors of the Light Tower was Zair’s least favorite task, for many reasons. It destroyed his knees, the aspect of light infused into the very bricks of the building prickled against his very being, and it was, ironically enough, often the most dirty quarter of the academy. But more than any of those, it was the reason right in front of him.
Standing on the landing, talking to his friends, was Lucas. The boy’s eyes fell on Zair and, although they appeared friendly, they sent a chill down his spine. Every time he looked at them, he remembered how they had appeared when the boy summoned his power. Blazing in his patron’s glory, inhuman and powerful.
They passed without a word, understanding their positions. Zair kept himself constrained, and Lucas did not need to expose his identity as an Unbrightened to the mage courts. Likewise, Zair did not reveal Lucas as the hero of the present age.
Zair fought to keep both his anxiety and satisfaction from showing on his face as he walked away.
Lucas hadn’t caught on.
He hadn’t noticed Zair’s cleaning routes straying closer and closer to the Academy’s borders. He hadn’t noticed the shades he had sent. He hadn’t noticed Zair’s plan at all, or at least Zair hoped.
For today was the day he would turn it all around. When the hero would learn the mistake of his kindness and why both the God of Unbrightened Things and the Bright Eye refused to allow any part of the other to exist.
Zair kept to his schedule and collected the refuse from the Academy. He brought it towards the dumping ground but took a circular path which over the course of months had become more and more circular. It brought him along a seldom traveled side path that passed right alongside the barrier sigils.
His patron would end their complaints today. His shades had contacted the Unbrightened Chosen. She and her forces would be in place, and ready.
Zair’s tendrils stretched from his shadow and twisted through the barrier’s sigils. Careful not to trigger any of the marks, he followed the narrow, labyrinthine gap in defense it had taken him so long to path. When he finally reached outside the Academy’s border’s the nearby sigils flared, threatening to set off, but then quickly dimmed. A hole in the barrier opened and steadily grew.
As planned, a swirling, inky warp gate appeared to fill it. Out stepped two mages, side by side, filling the width of the gate.
Before Zair had a moment to greet them, they burst into flame and the warp gate faded a degree before the light.
“No!” Zair cried. His shadow leapt up, shielding the warp gate from the flames.
He swung his head around, looking for the origin of the fire. Finally, he looked up and saw what he had dreaded.
Lucas floated above the trees that had guarded the side path from view. His gaze was unhindered and his glowing eyes locked straight on Zair.
***
If you liked this story, subscribe to r/Inder for more like it! | 2020-09-06T08:49:26 | 2020-09-06T07:49:42 | 102 | 63 |
[WP] "Now be aware, humans are... we'll they're primate descendant. Touch is very important to them. They will probably try to scratch your ears." "They know we're sentient, right?" "I don't think they care. But it feels good. They've got those little fingers." | “Human, we come in peace. My name is Koz'al, I am of the planet—”
“Oh so cute!” the human squealed.
“Yes… well thank you,” Koz'al said, taken aback. “You are cute as well... I understand your planet has never been contacted by an intergalactic entity—"
“Who’s a cute dog-bear thing?” the human interrupted.
“I uh... I don’t know, I suppose you’re referring to—”
“You are!”
“I see,” Koz'al nodded. “Okay well, duly noted. As I was saying, I’ve come to parlay with your—”
“Would you like a treat?”
“A treat?”
“Hows about a treat for such a good boy?”
“We have no gender, ma’am. We reproduce—oh dear, what is that heavenly smell?”
“Have a treat!” the human said, pulling out a handful of tiny brown pellets. “Omnomnom! Go on, take it! Omnomnom!”
Koz'al sniffed it hesitantly, nibbled on one, then scarfed the rest down. “Goodness, these are *delicious.* Do you have more?”
“You’ll have to share with Snicklefritters!” the human said, looking around. “Snicklefritters! It's treat time!”
Koz'al followed the human’s gaze and saw it—across the room, padding towards them, was a Claxtonian Needlejaw. “Oh!” Koz'al exclaimed. “So I was wrong. We aren’t the first to make contact with your species.”
“They can’t understand you, idiot.” Snicklefritters said. “Now shut the hell up and just go with it, they’ll feed you, clean your poop, and scratch your ears—they’ve got those finger things and it feels great.”
***
 
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | "Tap of Claws on Dewy Grass?" Winter Hairs in the Wind of Spring yowled.
"Ugh! What *is* it, Mom, I'm going to be late for the hunting sims!" Claws hissed back.
Winter Hairs wrapped her prehensile tail around Claws' midsection and dragged her back before she could leap away. Claws protested, twisting and spitting, but Winter Hairs was more than twice her daughter's size. "Claws, you promised me you'd give me five minutes for The Human Talk."
"I don't need The Human Talk! I have access to the internet. I've seen everything about humans. Now let me go!" Claws bit her mother's tail, but she barely felt it through her thick fur.
"You've seen what you *can* do with humans. I'm here to talk to you about what you *should* do with humans. Now. When a human and a gricka love each other very much—"
"*Mooooom!*" Claws covered her ears with her front paws. "Ew ew ew ew I don't even *want* to have a human touch me!"
"I know, but... well, when you're older, you'll see. We're apparently quite similar to some animals on their world, and they're a little like the mellos you're familiar with; it's surprisingly natural to want to, ah, *snuggle* with a human—as long as it's all done safely. Get yourselves both tested for allergies, always make sure to wash your paws after—with *soap*, mind you, don't just lick yourself clean. And if you lick the human—"
"*Why would I lick the human?*"
Winter Hairs purred softly. "Oh, kitten. You're still so young." Winter Hairs' eyes grew misty. "But... there's something more important."
"The hunting sims?" Claws mewed hopefully.
Winter Hairs nipped Claws' neck lightly, and Claws sobered up. There was a heaviness to her mother's words as she spoke. "Consent. Humans... are... well, they're *very* touchy. Even more than me, if you can believe it. Sometimes, they can take someone and... never let them go. Or worse, trick them into thinking they *can't* go, that the human will be *so sad* without them. And that's how they trap you. The bad ones, that is. Not with force of arms or strength of will, but... by exploiting our empathy. Corrupting it into chains of guilt." Winter Hairs looked Claws directly in her slitted eyes. "No matter how happy you make someone else, their happiness is not your responsibility. If you don't feel safe leaving a relationship, *tell me*. We'll work it out together. Got it?"
Claws nodded solemnly, nuzzling her mother's cheek. "Got it. I'm... sorry, Mom."
Winter Hairs laughed. "For what? It's not your fault."
"I know. Just... humans sound so... terrible."
Winter Hairs shook her head. "Not all of them. And besides... according to the historical logs, they've... been through hard times. There was this three-year-long period where nobody could legally touch each other for fear of spreading disease. It really shaped how their cultures perceived touch. And... well, there was that thing with the Mites, and... oh, kitten, just... know that humans aren't intrinsically bad. They... cling on to what they can find because they've lived in a world where it gets taken from them at every turn."
Claws smiled sadly and groomed her mother's neck; her mother mrowled in surprise. "I'm glad you won't ever get taken from me, Mom."
"I'm glad too, Claws." Winter Hairs uncurled her tail, to send her daughter off to her games.
Claws gave her mother one last nuzzle, then trotted off to resume her childhood.
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. | 2021-03-20T21:13:19 | 2021-03-20T20:19:00 | 3,275 | 451 |
[WP] As a child, you had a very unique diary; whatever you wrote, something would respond, their words magically appearing on the page. Years later, while searching a library hundreds of miles away, you rediscover the diary you thought you'd lost. Inside is a pen and your first entry: "Hello". | I turned the small brown book over in my hands, feeling the bumps down the leather spine and soaking in the dusty odor of old paper. How could this be? If this was indeed the same book from my childhood, these pages should be full. And yet, as I leafed through the pages, all were empty except the first with one single word.
*Hello?*
It had appeared to me as a child as mysteriously as it appeared to me now. I had been hiding in my father's office, terrified of the screaming match between him and my mother in the kitchen across the house. I ducked beneath his desk and must have bumped it while going under. I heard a thump behind me and slowly opened my eyes to a small brown leather book on the floor. I carefully took it and turned the cover. It was too dark to see anything, so after minutes of gathering courage, I slid into the light of my father's desk lamp, still careful to keep hidden from the doorway. Their continued yelling told me I was not in danger of being found, at least not yet. I had been disappointed when the pages were empty, hoping for some story to take me away, but when the pen fell out from the back cover, I wrote the first word of my own.
Minutes ticked by while wondering what to write back. I didn't have much time to spare, as I had come to this library for another purpose. And yet, its reappearance now must have been important. I could not let this moment pass. But with the pages erased, how could I even remember what to say from all those years ago?
Then one of the lessons I had learned from this book years ago came into mind. I had been incredibly anxious about an upcoming exam, and I had confessed my worries in ink. The response shaped me from then on:
"Don't rely on what you can remember," it had said, "but rely instead on what you know in your heart."
At last, I put out the worries of what to say back to my childhood self, whether it was right or wrong, whether it was helpful or not, whether it would send me on the same path or something entirely different. I picked up the pen and put its tip beneath the scared squiggly word on the page. My heart knew what I needed to say.
*I'm here.* | # The Witch Who Weaves Pain
(Part 5: The Feeling of Life)
(Note: The Witch Who Weaves Pain is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**It's quite possible that the most awkward part of being trans is talking to the people you knew before.** Oh, it's not the *hardest* part, not by a long shot, and it's definitely not the most complex—but in terms of sheer, heart-bounding, mind-crushing *awkwardness*? It's hard to beat.
If nothing else, though, awkwardness made a *great* reagent in any number of spells and witchcrafts; in fact, dissolving three grams of condensed awkwardness in one liter of boiling water created the perfect base for many alchemical substances—the "awkward potion," it was called. I tried to focus on how much I was improving my witchcraft instead of how painful it was to talk to my old pen pal.
"So, \_\_\_\_\_\_!" I'd taken a single ingot of determination, carved it into a pen, and dipped it in ink of politeness. The enchanted pen helpfully erased my deadname whenever my old friend wrote it on our shared book, although it wouldn't show up on his end. "Long time no see, huh? What got you digging up this old tome?"
I exhaled, deciding to tell him the truth. "I was just feeling... nostalgic, Mark." I wanted to tell him that I was a witch now—but he'd ask questions, questions I couldn't answer. Suddenly, I swallowed. What the hell was I doing? I was just going to reopen old wounds if I stayed here. I began to write, "Maybe I should—"
"That doesn't sound like the \_\_\_\_\_\_ I knew." Mark's pen shook with laughter. "You never liked it at the village; I'm amazed you feel any kind of nostalgia for that place."
I smiled softly. "Yeah, well... I'm not the person you knew anymore. It's been years. And... I don't know." I closed my eyes, but kept writing. "Sometimes... sometimes I get nostalgic for how simple it was back then. People hated me; I pushed them away. You were kind to me; I stayed up all night talking to you. But now there's... so much more. I'm learning witchcraft," I found myself blurting out. "And there are *so many emotions*. Not just pain, but... joy, and acceptance, and skepticism, and laughter, and love and loss and kindness and—" I stopped. "And I've got to learn to feel them all, to *use* them all, if I want to be a functional witch. But..."
I stared at the scars on my arms, reminders of a time when I couldn't feel *anything*, when I'd wanted to feel something so bad I'd held a candle to my skin just to remind myself that pain, at least, could cut through the numbness.
"I'm just so scared that I've forgotten how to feel," I finally wrote. "That I'm not really *real*."
A blotch of wetness appeared on the paper. Then two. Not my tears—his.
"Gods, \_\_\_\_\_\_. I... if nothing else, you can definitely make *others* feel."
I hesitated, then said, "I'm... there's something I have to tell you."
"Anything."
"I'm... I'm not \_\_\_\_\_\_ anymore. I... my name is Emi." I smiled. "My name is Emi, and I'm a woman, and I'm a witch, and I'm going to be the best damn witch this world has ever seen."
There was a long moment of silence. One. Two. Three. My heart began to beat faster, my brow began to sweat. I was nervous.
I was *feeling* nervous.
I was *alive*.
And then Mark replied.
"You damn well are, Emi."
And I added another emotion to my spellbook.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "The Witch Who Weaves Pain" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/me2rh3/the_witch_who_weaves_pain_masterpost/) for more information. Yes, it is intentional that there is no part 4, and no, I don't know when I'll write part 4. | 2021-03-31T09:42:05 | 2021-03-31T09:00:10 | 1,661 | 48 |
[WP] Demon Blades each portray a human emotion, when the user feels the emotion of their blade, they resonate and the power rises 10 fold. the Demon Blade of Wrath was weak, no matter how mad the user, it couldn't match the other blades. turns out, no one was angry enough to use it right, until now. | The Demon Swords were the first weapons forged from the still-cooling corpse of the Demon’s god. They were built according to the 7 sins humanity was created with. All were powerful, each Wielder a force on the battlefield none would stand against. When they felt the sun each sword was made of, they burst into a cacophony of light and sound. No one had ever survived that awakening.
And yet, no legends worshipped one
The sword *Wrath*
The last sword to be made, *Wrath* was famous for, quite frankly, being unusable. Although it was in the shape of a sword, it was not sharp nor large enough. It just was.
In the year 1036 after the demon god was killed, the war with the largest amount of casualties began. It started with a minor invasion, a small group of soldiers marching out to a small village and burning it to ashes. With that, the war would have begun.
But they did not see the little girl with her gleaming silver hair crouching in the wreckage of her fallen village. Nor the blood red dagger she held in her hand.
3 years later, the war exploded. The kingdom that little girl lived in lost, it’s name destroyed in the process.
A year after that, in the capital city of the kingdom now lost to time, rumors began to circulate. A story of a woman with white hair putting together a rebellion against the Empire.
When the palace got word of the burgeoning rebellion and sent a large group of soldiers to root out the leaders.
The soldiers never came back alive. Nor did the next group they sent. They did come back though. Not alive, nor dead. They were fueled by revenge and controlled by an unknown force.
The palace responded with, this time, true indignation. They sent out a legion of soldiers to slaughter every single citizen.
The result would be told as a story for centuries after.
When the soldiers entered the city walls, it was silent. Almost too silent. The only sound that of the running water. No people, no animals, no life. They crept into the city, their hearts sensing the unnatural happenings.
And they died. Only one person survived, a young man who wasn’t able to communicate his name. Only what he saw.
His story told of a white-haired woman, with soft red eyes, who came up to the legion. From her pants, she pulled out an intricate sheath. And from that she grew a dagger that was the color of blood.
She took a step, and the city (almost) exploded. Rivers of blood and corpses began to invade the surrounding area. With a slash, the first line of people died and were revived as things under her control. This pattern, of destruction and death, continued until only he was left.
He recalled that with a sigh, all of the signs of the massacre disappeared. She looked at him, and told him to return to his home. If her people were not released, she would bring war to their doorsteps. He nodded, and ran.
He ran for days, never stopping, until he returned to the capital city of the Empire. He reported what happened, and her message perfectly. The emperor, a smirk on his lips, ordered his 3 most powerful mages to capture her.
A week later, they returned with the woman bound in chains. They set up an execution for the lady, and invited many of the nobles of surrounding countries. One who came was the Sage of the Tireq Kingdom, famous for their academies. With a glance, he recognized the dagger she held in her hand as the ancient sword *Wrath*.
When the executioner was in place, he stepped up and asked a question.
“Little lady, by the sounds of you have discovered the secrets behind this blade. If you tell me what they are, I can try to stop the execution.”
With a laugh, she answered.
“The people of this *great* nation are, shall we say, normal. They feel anger and sorrow, and all of the other major sins. But wrath, wrath is special. It is MORE than what any of you nobles have felt. It is the feeling when you are betrayed by a close friend. When you realize the manipulations you have been under. The feeling when…” she pauses, then continues “the feeling when your country is destroyed for the sake of money. When your fathers and brothers are killed for their existence, when your mother is raped by soldiers who only care about themselves. It is not the everyday anger you feel, but when you will do anything to avenge what happened to those you care about.”
The sage’s head exploded, and the dagger she had been holding since she was first sighted returned to her hand. The chains around her unraveled, later having seemed like they rusted. When they fell out, the soldiers responded and began to surround her.
That is the last the Empire was ever seen of. The next time anyone tried to enter, they only saw the corpses of the soldiers, nobles, mages, commoners, visitors, and everyone else was there that day. In the center, in a ritual circle made of blood, laid the corpse of a woman who completed her life’s goal. A body with a serene smile on its face, a smile done knee to be the only one since the war began.
4 years after the Empire invaded, it fell under the last of the demon swords. It fell under the hand of a woman who fought to avenge the destruction of all she knew. | The Holy Kingdom of Ummor had unjustly ruled over the lands for centuries. Rebellions and riots finally reached a point where they were now a normal weekly occurrence. As a response, Ummor Kingdom had recently begun to dispatch their ultimate warriors, the holy knights to overwhelmingly crush and intimidate all who oppose rule of Ummor Kingdom. Besides being inhumanly skilled, each of those knights carried sacred blades that wielded the power to slash building and city walls in half. No town or city could withstand such might.
------------------------------------------------
Inside of the Holy Kingdom of Ummor, a group of holy knights were respectfully kneeling on one knee in front of the War Council to receive their dispatch orders. The War council commanded to them:
"You, Sir Makili of the Blade of Joy, shall go to the city of Gunaram. Leave no surviving rebels."
"You, Sir Glegoli of the Blade of Sadness, shall go to the city of Sharmunz. Aside from crushing the rebellion, ensure to take the food and tax money that rightfully belongs to Ummor."
"You, Sir Milador ..."
After the remaining holy knights received their orders, the holy knights quickly exited to prepare for the trouble and battles awaiting them. All except one who still remained kneeling in front of the War council.
The War Council was silent for a long moment before speaking.
"Erm, Sir Aldor the Blade of Wrath... There's a village in the remote mountains called Ohno that seems to have missed their tax tribute deadline. Just go over there and check the situation, if they show any kind of resistance to paying the tax tribute then you may try to intimidate the village. If you think force is required, then do not fight them and give them a verbal warning and report things back to us." The commands from the War Council destroyed the Blade of Wrath's last shreds of self-esteem. Sir Aldor's slight trembling did not go unnoticed. A War Council elder gave a look of disgust, "You should already have gotten used to this by now. As the master of the Demon Blade of Wrath, you should know have expected this." Sir Aldor knew the elder was right. As a young hopeful, hero-to-be holy knight in training, he was thoroughly taught about the Demon Blades. There were seven blades in total. Each blade represented a human emotion, that when properly tapped into, would result in the wielder's fighting power be increased 10 fold. However, out of all the blades, no one wanted to be the wielder of the blade of Wrath. None since the beginning of the Holy Kingdom Ummor's founding had anyone successfully managed to bring out its full might. Aldor was no different than his precedents and was only able to draw out a tenth of its might. In fact, all the holy knights in training with him were able to draw out about one or two folds of power, but due to Aldor having the least compatibility with the rest of the blades than his colleagues did, ended up with the Demon Blade of Wrath.
However discouraged Aldor was, he did not want to give up on his dreams of fame and glory. Aldor grit his teeth and said, "Honorable Councilman, although this may be insolent of me, but please reassign me!" The War Council shooketh. "Arrogant son of a dog!", "How dare you?", "Are you trying to against our commands?" the War Council screamed.
Aldor took a deep breath and answered in a strained voice. "No I dare not defy the Council." Several Councillmen spoke argued at the same time, but the head Councillor interrupted,"Quiet everyone!" The room slowly quieted.
"Sir Aldor, wielder of the Demon Blade of Wrath." The head councillmen spoke.
"Yes. Head Councillor." Aldor responded.
"You are dissatisfied with a mission in a small village, and would like to head to one of the bigger sites like your colleagues?" The Councillmen stared through Aldor. Aldor kept silent.
"Fine. You'll accompany Sir Glegoli of the Blade of Sadness to the city of Sharmunz and give you a chance to prove your worth. Do you have any disagreements?" When Aldor heard this, he quickly shook his head and was very excited. "Very well. Sir Aldor, quickly call Sir Glegoli here so that we may discuss with him the new arrangements." After the Councilmen spoke, Aldor hurriedly rushed out of the War Council room to find Sir Glegoli.
The councilmen waited a few moments in silent until one of them indignantly asked, "Head Councilman, this holy knight is far too arrogant! Why are you letting him have his way?"
"This guy has no loyalty as a knight. Did you see how disappointed he was to hear he was going to some remote village? It's clear he's too ambitious and all too willing to disobey orders that don't suit him!"
"He's probably the most the useless Blades of Wrath for heaven's sake!"
"HHAHAHAHA!" The head councilman laughed, shocking the other councilmen. "Rest assured I've a plan," The Head Councillor smiled deviously.
Sir Glegoli walked into the wondering what had happened. He walked to the center of room and kneeled, "How may I serve the War Council?"
"Good good, Sir Glegoli! You should have heard of Sir Aldor mention that he'd be accompanying you to the City of Sharmunz?"
"Yes, he did mention something of the sort." Sir Glegoli was kind of confused. Normally there'd be only one holy knight dispatched per mission, because any more than that was overkill.
"Your mission has been adjusted slightly. You will go with Sir Aldor and complete the task. However, ensure that when you return, Sir Aldor does not return with you. Please use the utmost discretion and we shall pay you very well." The Head councilman said. Sir Glegoli was stunned as he heard this. The Headcouncilman gave him a moment to process the new mission adjustments. Before Sir Glegoli could speak, the Head Councilman voiced out Sir Glegoli's thoughts, "What has Sir Aldor done to deserve death? Simple, he is plotting treason against the kingdom and has proven disloyal and unsatisfied with the Kingdom of Ummor. It's only a matter of time before he causes disorder with his recognized title of 'Holy Knight'. We are entrusting this mission to you because the way to Sharmuz is treacherous and many accidents can happen along the way. We do not doubt that you'll fail us Sir Glegoli."
Sir Glegoli scratched the back of his head and asked, "I will heed the War Council's orders. However, I know Sir Aldor and he's quite tough and a reputation for being... determined. It'll be hard to imagine a holy knight to die to any kind of 'accidents'. I'm also afraid that I can't think of a creative way to make a believable accident occur to him."
"Don't worry just yell 'traitor' whenever you feel appropriate, and slice him up neatly."
"Wouldn't that cause his family to take revenge upon my family and I?"
"Don't worry, we'll make sure Sit Aldor's family slowly disappears as well so that they shall not pose any threats to you or the Kingdom."
Sir Glegoli weighed the pros and cons. He imagined that Sir Aldor, although determined, was the most pathetic holy knight among them and wouldn't be too difficult for Sir Glegoli to kill anyways. However, killing a colleague didn't sit too well with him, but remembering that Aldor was just now declared a traitor, then perhaps Aldor was never really a colleague in the first place. Sir Glegoli placed his hands on his chest and pledged, "I shall not fail." | 2021-09-18T14:44:42 | 2021-09-18T14:28:55 | 52 | 26 |
[WP]When members or your family turn fifteen they are able to manifest a weapon that they will use for the rest of their lives. You’ve been trained to use all manner of weapons to prepare to be able to wield whatever weapon you summon. On your Summoning day what appears in front of you is a book. | "...a book?", "The boy got a book, how...", "What weapon did he summon?" "...the boy's weapon?" "Why does he hold a book?"
The whispers in the hall surrounded me, their judging eyes piercing my soul, searching for answers. I remember that day still. For weeks after that I struggled to make sense of it, to find my place among the ranks of my own peers. A book could not hunt, it could not carve or support, it could not kill, it couldn't even protect but it could burn they would say. Many times people in the village tried to burn my book, I would not let them. No matter how useless the book was, it was still my summoned weapon and tradition dictated that I would carry it to my grave. I was proud of myself whenever I refused to give the book away. I thought the hardship and the rejection I felt was my weapon's test, so I gladly faced it.
"What's in it anyways?" - That doomed question. I had a crush on poor Phoebe at the time, and I was 15 so I didn't know any better but still I cringe to this day and regret it ever so slightly. When she asked me what was in the book I decided to lie, the book contained my own life story after all and everytime I told it to someone they would not believe me, thinking I was only making it up to shoo them away. Everything that would happen to me would be written in the book the next time I opened it. Of course I did try to write my own fate but no ink would stick, it was useless. All I had was just a very detailed record of my life, lest I forget the embarrassing moments of my life.
When the girl asked, however, I was sick of it, I'd answered this question a million times so I couldn't be bothered. I opened the book on a random page and looked at Phoebe.
"It says here that you're going to kiss me, uh... isn't that funny?" I smirked, thinking I was so smooth, but lo and behold she did kiss me and I was over the moon. I kissed my crush and I didn't even had a Battleaxe like my father before me, eat my dust old man.
That following week was the last week of freedom I ever had. One night when I started feeling bored I checked the book again and there it was, the whole week in detail, the kiss, the giggles, the walks, the fights and make ups. I loved reading it but then it hit me. I made her kiss me by lying, except it wasnt a lie, because it did say so in the book... "Which came first?!?" I wondered.
I took my book and ran outside. "Hey you!" I'd found an old grumpy man going somewhere in a hurry, he seemed the right fit for this test.
"This book here says you're going to take me to the butcher's"
"Bloody hell lad, you don't know where it is yet? Come on I'll take you there!"
It worked! Or did it? We were in the butcher's but the old man did it so happily, could it be the book? Or was it just my confidence that made people listen to me? Every new test I conducted was so unclear. In my desperation I once told an old lady that my book said she loved being naked in public, which made her strip right there, but it turned out that everyone knew about her declining mental but me! Every outlandish thing I could think of to claim off my book, somehow was already part of reality. I could not tell what was real and what wasn't anymore, even using the book for paradoxical claims left me with contradictory memories that only I suffered. I had to stop looking for logical answers lest I broke my mind.
Have now my confession:
Since then I have used the book for all matter of changes that led me to become the man you all look up to, but I'm tired of being king. I have my people's love and have made their lives better. I should feel proud of my accomplishments but I am alone in this world of my creation. Not another book has been summoned in my life, it's time I stopped waiting. I only hope I leave you with a world worth living in...
The book says I lived a worthy life and died a happy man. | Ivan stood in the center of the sword master’s training grounds. He cut an intimidating figure, even at fifteen, with broad shoulders and a massive, square shaved head. He towered over his father’s best swordsman and stood at eye-level with the archery master, himself a tall lean elf.
But even Ivan had to look up to Cagres, the legendary warrior who cleaved a fully grown Mugobble in half with a single swing of his axe. He was Ivan’s combat tutor. Cagres delegated the technical skills with a blade or a bow to the others. What he taught Ivan was how to kill. And wouldn’t you know it, Ivan was a natural.
*Somewhere above them, soft-bottom slippers fell on dusty stone steps. Ancient spiderwebs fluttered as a figure shouldered past, catching some webbing in his gray beard.*
Ivan and the others were looking down at something that they, frankly, never paid much attention to. It was summoned from Ivan’s palms just a few moments prior. It was thick, covered in runes and emblems, with a leather binding and thin, bible-like pages.
*The foot-fells sped up, the breathing intensified. The stairs wound round and round.*
“This must be a mistake,” Ivan said, looking to his instructors. "Right?"
“This magic does not make mistakes, boy. Don’t be a fool,” said Smett, the archery master. He reached a hand out toward the book.
*A snag. A robe catches under a slipper revealing a skeletal ankle. A figure falls against the wall of a staircase. Morning sun through a window slit.*
“Well, I suppose we should open it,” said Smett.
Ivan looked at Cagres, who gave him an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Not yet.
Ivan rubbed the cover, “Maybe this is just the first of a set. Like my great-uncle who manifested the twin swords.”
“So you’re hoping for a second book?” Smett asked. “This is a waste of time. Any answers we need will surely be inside the book. Let’s give it a read.”
*The feet reached the bottom of the stairs. They broke into a sprint.*
Smett grabbed the book. Ivan looked on nervously. Cagres put his hand on the hilt of his knife.
The door to the training ground burst open. An old man stood there in a robe and slippers, skeletal and heaving. He yelled “Don’t open it!”
It was too late.
Smett stumbled back, dropping the book face down on the stones. He looked up and put his hands to his face. His eyes were gone. Replaced with smooth skin, as if they’d never even existed. He began to scream. The others backed away, except Cagres, who took Smett by the shoulders.
“Steady, Smett, hold yourself.”
Smett was reeling, howling incoherent sounds and scraping at his face, drawing blood. Cagres called for the guards and they hauled him off. Ivan was shaking with fear.
The old man, the wizard Olawart, threw a cloth over the book and scooped it up. Ivan and Cagres and the sword master looked at him in amazement.
“Are you Olawart?” Ivan asked.
“Impossible,” Cagres said, “you haven’t aged a day up in that tower.”
“Come with me,” Olawart said to Ivan, “I'm not the only wizard who heard this book fall into your hands. A new chapter of our world has begun, and I’m afraid we’re nowhere near prepared to survive it. Come, now.”
Olawart was already crossing back to the door he came through. Ivan ran after him. Cagres looked on. He turned to the sword master, “Tell the emperor what happened.”
“He still hasn’t returned from Foxpus Isle. Nasty weather these past few days.”
“Send a hawk,” Cagres said with impatience. “I’m going to check on Smett.”
In the wizard’s tower, Ivan did as he was told and found a place to sit among the tower's old tomes, and tables cluttered with mysterious artifacts.
Perched on the windowsill were three birds who chattered among themselves like old friends. Olawart shushed them and they fell silent. One threw its head back in protest before diving off the ledge into the cool morning air.
Olawart dropped the book in front of Ivan and turned his back to him.
“Read the first page,” he said.
“Are you crazy?” Ivan recoiled, “I want to keep my eyes.”
“You will. The book is your servant. It will keep your secrets – so long as you keep its secrets – and it will punish anyone else who tries to read it. No more waiting. Open it.”
Ivan shielded his eyes and, with one of his massive, meaty fingers, he gingerly opened to the front page. He peeked through his other hand and saw one sentence there. He relaxed.
“There’s something here on the first page, just a few words.”
“Yes.”
Ivan waited.
“Well?”
“Should I turn the page?”
Ostwald stomped his foot.
“Read it, you ape!”
Ivan peered at the words, squinted his eyes. His whole demeaner changed. His palms started to sweat and he scratched his head. He began murmering to himself.
“Louder!” Olawart was ready to hurl Ivan off the tower.
Ivan went louder. “M-muh, meeh…” his voice trailed off. Ostawald’s shoulders fell.
Ivan swallowed. His mouth was dry.
“Ivan,” Olawart said.
“I can’t,” Ivan responded.
“Close the book,” Olawart commanded. Ivan did and Olawart spun round to face him.
“You can’t read this language?”
“No.”
“Then we will find a translator. This is deeply unsettling. Why would a manifested book come to someone in a foreign tongue? I must research…”
“No, I mean... I can’t… read,” Ivan said.
“Anything?”
Ivan’s entire body, the enormous shoulders and thick forearms, stiffened. He bowed his head and his voice wavered.
“I can’t read anything.”
He started to cry. “My brain just can’t do it. My tutors always gave up. I pretend.”
Olawart glared at the boy, but the heaving, shuddering figure was so pathetic, he couldn’t stay angry. His brow unfurled and he put an arm across the boy’s back.
“I won’t give up,” Olawart said. | 2021-12-12T09:05:28 | 2021-12-12T07:54:23 | 1,442 | 338 |
[WP] You are a sentient rock. You have been on Earth since its formation and have watched countless civilizations rise and fall. One day, a human comes along and picks you up: "Hello rock, I'm going to name you Steve." | She set me on her table and sat down. "I'll name you Steve!" She said, "You can call me Wendy!" She was somewhere between 8-10 when she first found me. Just an innocent girl making an imaginary friend out of a rock.
I have been since the dawn of time and I have seen most of the planet's history around me, and now I know all of what went on in Wendy's life. She comes directly to her room after school to tell me how her day went. Whether it was good or bad. As she grew older I don't think she even thought I was sentient anymore, it just felt good to talk to something about her secrets.
When Wendy moved to college she took me with her, calling me her 'lucky rock'. From my spot in her dorm room I noticed that she was studying a course on Latin language, and uses her knowledge to translate an old book she found. Once she translated every single word in the book, her face seemed to light up.
After college, Wendy moved to her own house working as a Latin teacher. But every time she comes home she talks to me about something she's working on, and the book she read in college. Her project looks like it's made of stone and rare gems.
Finally her project was almost done. Wendy turned to me and said "It's missing one small piece; you!" I was taken aback by that statement as I was lifted off the basement table and put inside her project that resembles a human.
Sensations flooded my senses. Suddenly I felt bigger and that I could move freely. I was her project. "Impressive, right?" Wendy asked me, "That book in Latin that I was reading was all about building your very own stone golem!"
I slowly tested out my movements, raising my arm, wiggling my fingers, and clumsily standing up. I blinked my pebble eyes and tried out my newfound power of speech. "I... know... everything..." | I've seen many things. Or at least as much a rock can see, that is. I saw the very inception of life on Earth, the Roman Empire, every human innovation. All that time I've been ignored. After all, I am a rock. No reasonable person pays any attention to rocks. Despite that, I've found myself in a certain situation with a certain problem. A human child picked me up and spoke to me- *to a rock*. This child said to me, "Hello rock, I'm going to name you Steve." Such a preposterous idea was utterly ridiculous to me at the time. Even so, this child brought me home and this child set me on a desk, so here I have sat for unknowable amount of time.
After my aforementioned placement on this desk, the one I presumed to be the child's mother called out, "It's time for dinner, get down here!" and this child, this little girl, ran hurriedly down the stairs, leaving me only with my own lonely thoughts. I heard the dinnertime banter at the table, I caught wind that the family was having "mac and cheese," something I had never heard of. I heard water running and plates being put into a dishwasher, then sets of feet thumping on the staircase, then a door opening and closing.
"Hi, Steve," said the little girl. I didn't respond, as (I'm sure I've mentioned this) I am a rock. "Mom and dad said I had to go to bed extra early tonight, or else I can't go to my friend's birthday party. They're so mean, right Steve?" I said nothing. "Yeah, I guess you're right," said the girl. I was perplexed, as I hadn't said anything back to her.
The girl brushed her teeth, changed into pajamas, and went to bed. I continued to ponder about my new life as a pet rock.
Some time later, although I'm not sure how much as rocks have no sense of time, a I heard a racket from down the hallway. Yelling. These voices sounded like those of the parents. They argued loudly, so loudly that the little girl awoke. What happened next was something odd to me at the time. As soon as she woke up, the girl began to cry. Why, I thought, should this girl be crying? She was not being yelled at, she was not the one yelling, but yet she continued to cry.
So this continued for however long. It may have been just one month, or perhaps several years. I have no way of knowing. Over this time, though, I began to feel guilty. I felt guilty because I could not help the girl. I couldn't give a comforting word, couldn't offer a reassuring hug. These things, even if they were out of my control, are my greatest regrets.
"Steve, mom and dad are getting divorced," the child said to me. I did not know what divorce was. I could not ask. "I'm staying in this house with mom. Dad is moving out."
This seemed reasonable to me. The parents yelling only seemed to make the girl cry, why did she seem so dejected, wouldn't this stop the yelling? This, I still do not know.
After that, everything around me moved quickly. There was no more yelling. There was no more dinnertime banter. The only thing that remained was the thumping on the stairs every day and the crying every night. Every night for a long time. This long time was short to me.
Soon, the girl said to me, "Steve, today I finally move out of here."
I never saw her again. I have sat here so long, hoping to hear the stairs creak again, but all that remains in this house is lonely silence and the murmurings of the girl's mother, who is getting older and going crazier. The girl has never visited this place again.
And so my problem is not that I was brought here, not at all. It's that I can only watch the world pass me by and I can never change that. So here I have sat for an unknowable amount of time.
​
​
​
Well that was kinda depressing for a story about a sentient rock, wasn't it? | 2022-06-16T13:14:02 | 2022-06-16T12:36:01 | 141 | 36 |
[WP] A hostage situation takes place. However the hostage takers demands are bizarrely trivial. | Three people, gagged and tied up on the 68th floor of the office building. An armed, belligerent, and ski-masked captor. And a team of police officers at the other end of the now abandoned row of cubicles. The usual.
But when the police did their routine inquiry as to the demands, the direction of this hostage situation took a sudden swerve into the absurd.
"An apology. That's all I want."
Puzzled expressions seemed to flow through the crowd of officers in a wave, and there was silence for a few moments.
"From who? For what?"
"Dave. He works on the floor below us. He knows what he did." came the brisk reply.
A phone call was made, and within 10 minutes a baffled Dave was escorted onto the 68th floor.
"W-what do y-you want?" Dave had never been able to keep his cool around guns.
"An apology for what you did to me!" the captor suddenly screamed.
"Roger? Is that you?"
"YES IT'S ME YOU MONSTER!" he bellowed, tearing off his mask.
"Is this... Is this about the coffee? When I spilled coffee on you last week?"
"You don't know how much you ruined my day! I had to get that shirt dry cleaned! DRY CLEANED!"
"Well gosh, I'm sorry. I never knew it meant that much to you, my bad." Dave replied, using a great effort to not let sarcasm drip into his tone.
"TALK IS CHEAP DAVE! I want your apology... handwritten!"
After a few minutes scrambling around in the cubicles, a pen and paper were procured, and Dave was soon writing.
Roger dropped the gun as the paper was handed to him, and he read it in silence for a few moments.
"Apology accepted." he grudgingly answered after a little while. Sighs of relief passed through the room like a second tide.
As Roger was led out of the room in handcuffs, he shouted over his shoulder in a last attempt to play the victim.
"Just don't let it happen again, Dave!" | Nothing was ever supposed to happen in this hick town, that's why I got the job here. I got shot my eighth day on the job in the big city, and I just lost it. Everything about that day is still in my head: getting the call that the convenience store I was headed to for coffee had an armed robbery in progress, being so close to the store that I wouldn't have even had time to flick on the lights before I pulled into the parking lot, our eyes meeting as he walked out of the store -- his gun out, and mine in the holster by some mistake. The look on his face after he shot me in the leg was pure shock. He couldn't comprehend what he had done, and I knew I didn't want to feel what he felt -- or what I felt -- ever again. Guns scared the shit out of me from that day on, and I couldn't touch them. Now there ain't much I can do as a cop, but my old supervisor was nice enough to help me find work as a paper pusher at a small station -- pays just enough to buy the Jack Daniels.
I have to think I disappointed everyone who thought I could get back to police work. They gave me the job here with the hope that I could rehabilitate, and maybe get back in to the business on their force. Their psychologist told me I obviously had PTSD, and it would go away with therapy. I didn't believe him. What trauma had I experienced? Compared to what could have happened that day, all I needed was a band-aid. The bullet passed straight through the muscle, damaging nothing else. I walked (maybe limped) over to the suspect and knocked his gun away, him frozen and practically in tears. I brought him to the ground and cuffed him, with not a sound from either of us. I think we shared a moment of realization of what could have happened: I'd be dead and he'd get the chair. He didn't want that. From what I would hear of the story in coming weeks, his dad had been abusing him and he wanted money for a car to get a job and move out. It wasn't "post-traumatic stress" that I felt -- it was humanity. I could have shot him, but I didn't because I could see the humanity in his eyes, and I couldn't shoot at that. To think that I could have ended that human's life scared me away from ever touching another gun. They tried the boy as an adult and he got a load of prison time. I wasn't allowed to be called as a witness because of my "mental state."
The "Coffee Shop Situation" came on the radio in the chief's office, within earshot from my desk. A guy from out of town holding an innocent 20-year-old girl hostage with a knife. His demand was to talk to me. It was the father of the boy that shot me, who had been trying to contact me for a few years to apologize. He'd send me letters saying he had to apologize to me in person, begging me to listen to him, which I tore up. He'd call me and I'd slam down the phone. He'd show up at the station where I worked and I'd have to get an officer to throw him out. Now he'd started a hostage situation, but I didn't want to give him what he wanted. I couldn't forgive him for what he had made his boy feel like he had to do. He said to the officer at the scene that all I had to do was stand at the doorway of the coffee shop and hear him through. He was even using a knife to "ease your concerns" (His words), and was prepared to go to jail forever after I heard his apology. He gave me five minutes to show up before blood would be shed. My words to the chief telling me this were "He's the one person I can't believe has the humanity his son showed me, or like I believe every person on earth has. Please kill him."
They wouldn't let me know what happened next, but I don't get calls from him anymore. The town's paper only had the obituary of Mrs. Terry Gardener b. 1922 d. 2011 the next day.
*First time I've ever written fiction not meant to be comical, criticize as you see fit. | 2014-01-11T20:14:58 | 2014-01-11T17:38:07 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] A newly-hired bartender is slowly realizing that he's working at the bar from all of those "X walks into a bar" jokes. | "Alright Sam, just watch how it's done."
Sam looked attentively at Holly, her higher-up, as two men in lab coats walked in and sat in front of them. Holly smiled and said to them, "Chemists?"
"Yep."
"What'll y'all have?"
"I'll have H2O, please," said one.
The other followed, "I'll have H2O, too."
Holly motioned to Sam to get some water for the first chemist as she reached under the counter and pulled out a small brown bottle. She kept it out of view of the scientists as she blended the second man's drink. Curious, Sam went over to her and whispered, "Holly, what are you...?"
"Standard procedure. Customer said it's what he wants--and the customer is always right, Sam. Besides, this is a pretty common order; nothing to worry about."
Holly turned back to the customers with a glimmering grin and handed them their drinks, which they eagerly gulped down. Not long after finishing, chemist #2 collapsed and began writhing in pain. The other promptly called paramedics, and they left. Then, while Holly started to clean up after the men, Sam picked up the little bottle, which read: HYDROGEN PEROXIDE.
*What the fuck? Is this some kind of joke?* she thought. Her gut wrenched as realization hit her like an iron fist.
The bell jingled at the door, and she looked up. Some religious officials from different sects walked in, animals, celebrities, historical figures...they came in droves and seated themselves along the counter. Then, just as she thought the horde was done, to her horror, another pair of chemists stepped in.
*That's it, I'm out.* | On a quiet summer evening at a bar just outside of town, a bartender is waiting nervously for the clock to strike six. He wipes his brow with the grimy bar towel and tries to ignore the sinking feeling that grows ever stronger in his gut as the seconds tick by. His only patrons are an old farmer in coveralls and a filthy hat adorned with a faded advertisement for beer and the kid that comes in every night to feed quarters into the pinball machines.
The merry sounds of the bells and pins and the kid's happy hoots do nothing to lift the bartender's spirits. He'd only just been hired last month at this bar, and for the most part everything had seemed perfectly normal as far as bars go. However, two nights ago, the strangest patrons began arriving just after six-o-clock to torture the poor man with nonsense. A cold sweat breaks out on his forehead and he tries to distract himself by pouring a tonic, but his hands are shaking so badly that he spills the tonic all over the gleaming wooden bartop.
The clock clicks over to six-o-clock, the Nascar hands pointing straight up and down through the faded pinup model's breasts on the clock face. The bartender jumps as if shocked and then struggles to regain his composure as the farmer lifts his head for a moment to peer at the tender with dull, empty eyes.
"You alright, Jimbob?" he drawls, gnarled hands clutching his tumbler of whiskey with something bordering on affection. Jimbob gives a shaky laugh and mops frantically at the bar.
"Heh, thought I saw a spider. I hate spiders," he replies.
The farmer watches him for a long moment and then dips his head back down to continue his silent brooding. The bartender turns to face the front door, hoping against hope that it won't open, that nothing weird will happen again tonight...
The door swings open and a priest, a rabbi, and a minister walk into the bar, talking gaily amongst themselves. "Oh no," Jimbob moans, "it's happening again!" Just as he manages to work up the gumption to endure their all-too-obvious chatter, a Frenchman with a toad perched on his head walks in as well. Following that, a huge, living bear strides in, swinging his great head back and forth as if to find a place to sit. Following that, a hamburger and a side of fries unbelievably appears in the doorway and somehow moves into the bar and across the floor towards Jimbob.
"We don't...we don't serve food here..." Jimbob whimpers, then laughs hysterically as a duck flutters in and lands on the bartop near the rabbi. "Got any peanuts?" it quacks. Jimbob stares in horror and turns to scrabble for the phone. He punches the numbers, messes up, hangs up the phone, picks it up once again and manages to get his shaky fingers to cooperate. "Pick up, Helen," he gasps as the patrons, humans and non-humans alike, start demanding the most ridiculous requests and asking questions that Jimbob can't bring himself to answer.
"Hello?" a woman's voice murmurs into the line.
"Helen...Helen, dear God it's happening again, I can't take this, someone's playing a trick..!"
Helen laughs gently. "Jimbob did you forget your anxiety meds again honey? You've been actin' a little crazy lately!"
The bartender covers his eyes with a trembling hand and wonders how to get through to her as the door opens again and Thomas Edison in the flesh strolls into the bar. Jimbob slams down the phone and turns to shout that the bar is closed, when a horse squeezes his bulk through the doorframe and swings his head in Jimbob's direction. Jimbob raises his hands and starts to sidle towards the exit.
"Long...long face...horse has a long face..." he stammers, then, with another hysterical laugh, he grabs his jacket, slams his hat onto his head, and runs screaming from the bar into the strange, strange night, never to return.
(Had to edit, forgot the bit where the bartender was newly hired!) | 2015-05-14T19:10:48 | 2015-05-14T15:44:01 | 87 | 52 |
[WP] "Some days, I love my job. Those days are the worst." | For the most part, I usually feel nothing when I give myself over to my clients. I act the part, make them feel good, give them release. For them, it's an expensive and illicit thrill. For me, it's just business.
And yet...there are days when my body responds, and the moans I make are not manufactured but real, and my orgasm is genuine and earth-shattering. Some days, I love my job. Those days are the worst because when my heart is in it, I enjoy the sex, and then inevitably a pall of shame and disgust falls over me. What would save me from being crushed is if they would hold me afterward, cuddle me, make me feel special, make me feel like I'm the only girl in the world. But they never do.
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My first post in writing prompts. Hope you like it.
| Traitor. Backstabber. Scum. I spit those epithets into the mirror morning and night. The knowledge of what I’m doing to these people makes my skin crawl, but I can’t stop. Too many lives are at stake.
That’s why they hired me, of course. Empathy. I meet someone new and everything just seems to fall into place – they relax, they open up, they trust me. I’m told I just have one of those faces. To begin with, it was harmless – I’d just throw a little charm at a girl to get into her bed, or at a traffic cop to get out of a ticket. Later on I started to push it, trying to see just how much I could convince someone to part with. It gave me a rush, for sure, but I also racked up a lot of guilt. I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t doing anything wrong – that it was always their own choice and their own greed that got them into that position – but empathy is a two way street and deep down, I never really believed my own lie.
I made my first million by the time I was twenty-four, and did my first time at twenty-five. That’s where they picked me up.
I was low, as low as I’d ever been. I felt like trash. When they came to me, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse; a fresh challenge to occupy my mind and a shot at redemption all rolled into one. Save lives, catch bad guys, use those talents for the greater good. What’s more, it got me out of the pen a few years early.
My first time was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I was in with a bunch of drug pushers, mid level guys, who were trying to bring in a shipment of coke down state. Standing there in the middle of fifteen hardened criminals, each one of them armed to the teeth and not one of them suspecting a fucking thing – that was something. I can still feel the blood pulsing in my ears, my heart trying to beat its way out of my goddamn rib cage, and the whole time nothing on my face but ice cold composure. I felt like a god.
When the feds came in and took those guys, I didn’t blink. Back then, the lines still felt clear – I was an avenging angel putting sinners where they belonged, and I felt righteous. That all starts to change when one of those sinners takes a bullet for you. When he’s bleeding out in your arms and telling you about his kids. When you look into his face and see a guy that doesn’t look too different to you, then you don’t feel quite so hot.
You tell yourself that you’re still fighting the good fight, that you’re making the world a better place. That’s easy enough when it’s about drugs, or money – when the bad guys stay bad. These guys though, these *republicans*, they’re something different. In their eyes they’re fighting for the people. In their eyes it’s them, not the party, who’s out to make the world a better place. And some days… Some days I can’t help but wonder if they might be right. | 2015-07-16T07:49:11 | 2015-07-16T07:19:54 | 98 | 32 |
[WP] The world's oldest, most powerful wizard has had enough of his life. After two thousand years of adventure and magic he desires normalcy. Today is his first day at work as a janitor for an office building. He's determined to fit in and not use his powers. How does it go? | The wizard- no, janitor- huffed in frustration, leaning against his ladder and working the doorjamb as best he could with a screwdriver. The stupid door was stuck. If he could just use his damn powers he could have it fixed in a trice. He moved to replace the screwdriver with his wand, but stopped, chastening himself for being so quick to turn to magic to solve his problems.
"Maybe it's a penny," called out a young voice.
The wizard blinked once, twice, then turned and eyed the man who spoke. He stood somewhat uncertainly, leaning forward slightly, dressed in the light blue scrubs of an intern.
"A penny," the wizard echoed. And suddenly he recalled the young man from earlier, standing over the doorjamb and cursing his luck at having dropped the penny. A dark look crossed his face, "You stick a penny in the doorjamb?" he questioned. The wizard watched the young man, waiting to see if he had the courage to admit his mistake.
The medical intern's eyes widened and he quickly backpedaled, "What? Me? No I wouldn't do something like that." His lips pursed with guilt as he looked down, then off to the side, before hurrying off in the same direction.
The wizard- no, janitor- scowled. The young man had failed his test of character. But perhaps he could yet learn. The janitor nodded to himself in satisfaction. Yes, he would be this young man's test of mettle for as long as he worked at this hospital, for as long as he was a doctor here at Sacred Heart, the wizard would play janitor. | “Liiiiisten baby, ain’t no mountain high, ain’t no valley low, ain’t no river wiiiide enough baaaaby,” I lip-sang in delight, “if you neeeeeeed me caaalll!” The mop sloshed on my shoe. The turbid water reeked with the pungent stench of bleach and a varietal medley of chemicals. I began chanting a quick incantation to remedy the spill, but caught myself. *Ahh, no magic Xerl!* *You have leveraged those etheric energies to the pinnacle of human capability, and you have seen the wretched, abject pain you’ve caused. No good can come from magic. That was my vow!* I tsk’d myself for being so complacent, but only slightly. I mean really—it is my first day! I can’t be that rough on myself.
I could still feel the tempest coursing through my veins, trying to escape the dimensional confines to be released into our world. So many who tried to follow in my footsteps, both acolytes and foes, had begged me for my secrets—they would scream, and plead, “How do you control the magical currents with such ease?! What do I do to reach your level?”
My secret sauce: rhyming. I’ve seen others try to emulate my style of invocation, thinking it was but one of the factors that enabled my facility with the mystic, but they always lacked any sense of the verbiage. One must truly **rhyme**.
But those things are past me. Now, I mop. My name badge proudly bears my assumed identity: Bernard. I pronounce it ‘burr-nerd’ to be different. It may just be the way my brain processes language. Who knows. I reached down with a generic brand paper towel and began pointlessly trying to diffuse the chemicals and water from my camel colored jumpsuit. Pointless towels. They crumble and defy my will, only moments after connecting with the foul liquid. Blasted. Life without magic may be mildly more difficult than I had first anticipated.
Crack. Crack. Thud.
The noises startle my cleaning. I am on the night shift, and I am the only janitor. I should be here alone, and yet, my ears are notifying me that I am—in fact—not. I grunt as I set the mop back into the liquid and stroll down the corridor to find the offending noise maker. The front door was unhinged and laying splayed on the floor, as a fallen beast. A metallic apparatus was wired meticulously along the mechanical construct designed to detect illicit intrusions, and it seemed to have precluded the alarm from sounding. *Hmm*.
Three men walk into the room. They are dressed from the bottom up in a matte-black body suit, plates of some thick, resistive material coating the broad flat surfaces of their forms. Clips of chemical projectiles shrouded in metal alloys adorn their chests, complementing the slender forms of the mechanical projectors. Guns, I believe. I’d never learned much about them, save how to keep modern technology from harming me (laughably easy, to be quite honest). “We’re in,” grunted the lead man into his radio. I was still standing in the middle of the hall, barely 15 yards in front of them. They hadn’t noticed me, yet.
“Wills, you gather the equipment bags while Smith and I get to the security room, we are going to…” his voice trailed off. He was looking straight at me. His weapon leveled evenly with a cool, swift motion, “Who the fuck are you? Hands up.” I curled my fingers, and I took a two steps forward. The lead man eyed my badge as it caught the illumination. “Ah, George—the night janitor? I thought it was supposed to be Juan.” He looked back at the man I believed to be Wills. “You fuck. How’d we not know about this guy?” Wills shrugged.
| 2015-12-30T13:29:19 | 2015-12-30T12:15:49 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends. | Dexicon moved his cosmic fortress from Centauri B straight into Earth's orbit. Dexicon was able to do this in one turn thanks to the cosmic paving it had laid earlier. This allowed faster than light travel.
"Your move, God." Dexicon roared, knowing it had the ancient deity in its proverbial palm.
*Shit shit shit* thought God. It was tough to display no emotion but a strong poker face was crucial. Dexicon had already taken Zeermon out the game and had now moved on to God.
God had not been blessed with much luck. Each deity had been given a species that had space travel potential. The objective was to either enslave or obliterate the other species. God had unfortunately randomised the least intelligent possible species - homo.
2.7 million years just to leave the hunter gatherer stage. This was a new record. He had had to wipe out his first few species of homo and start over - they had simply been too stupid. By the time he had rerandomised into homo-sapien he was at least 2.6 million years behind Dexicon.
What didnt help was that the homo-sapiens turned out to be incredibly aggresive. This would be useful for fighting other species, but they mainly killed each other! Oh how Dexicon and Zeermon laughed!
When he had finally researched the abilty to send a vassel to Earth to enlighten and guide the people, the earthlings did something unprecedented in stupidity - they decided to kill it.
Finally the humans became space able. At the time, God was pleased. They visited their local moon first, as expected. But the moon base never came. The colonisation of nearby planets never came. They regressed.
"Using your cosmic paving I move Earth into alpha Centuri B", said God, in a move that would have made the humans proud.
Dexicon's mouth dropped.
"Rematch?" God asked.
--------
If you liked this you can read more on my sub I just set up (come follow me!): /r/nickofnight
| "Coexist? Are you *insane*?"
Kolaga stared, absolutely incredulous, at God. "This is a game of 'who outlasts the rest', not 'who wants to gather for a 'picnic'', or whatever your stupid little race calls that sort of event!"
They had been playing for about 14 billion years, which was by far the longest game they had ever played. Zeltis and Irdran had both been vanquished by Kolaga's superior weaponry over their peaceful lifestyle, and Sarul had forfeited midway through the match - apparently, the whole "ice planet" thing just didn't work in relation to his plans.
"Well, yes. I mean, I feel as though that's the best choice for both of us."
"But that's ridiculous! All you're trying to do, God, is get out of that *hole* your race dug for you! I mean, they're not technologically savvy, they bicker amongst each other, and they're more content sitting down and wasting their lives!"
Kolaga had a point. In the face of the humans discovering science, God had watched the number of his followers drop significantly. Part of this was his own fault; if he hadn't taught Earth's clergy to be so harsh on the general public, people might've never sought an outlet for dissent against them. Why couldn't he have encouraged them about the basic ideas of science, instead of telling them to utterly oppose it? Who knows, maybe he could've caught up to Kolaga in time.
But their was no time for that. He had to play his trump cards. "Well, there are two main reasons for this. Firstly, art."
Before Kolaga could open his mouth and start yelling at God, he began to explain: "You may look at Zeltris and Irdran's lifestyle. You may call the works their people created while lounging on their couches 'art', but - apologies to Zeltris and Irdran - those works were complete shit."
"Now, take a look at *these*." God turned on his hologram, pressed several buttons, and up came a multitude of images, showcasing a wide variety of iridescent colors and landscapes, across an equally wide variety of formats, styles, time periods, and locations. "Take a good look, Kolaga. *This* is art at its finest. Oh, I know what you're thinking. But let me tell you what I see. I see a people tired by war and conquest, who need something different, something *new*, to occupy their interests. You may be their god, Kolaga, but even the followers of a god become tired and annoyed of doing the same task over and over again. Believe me, I learned that the hard way."
Kolaga looked bored, stifling a yawn as he rested his head in his hand. "*Fine*," he remarked dryly. "And what's your second reason, O wise one?"
"Warfare," said God, as he pointed at him. "You may have achieved space travel, and other things that my people could only dream of. But you don't have the power or the technology to develop planet-destroying weaponry. So you're going to have to fight on land, in the air, and under the sea. And that's where you'll be destroyed. "
"Yes, my people bicker endlessly over meaningless arguments. It's true," God admitted. "But when they are threatened, they come together as one body to fight the enemy. They fight very hard, even if they know they are at a disadvantage. I mean, just look at what happened with smallpox. That's my biggest strength here. If you convince your people to attack one last planet, Kolaga, you're going to find yourself placed in a very long war of attrition. And even if you *do* win, odds are that your people will be so overworked and crippled that they'll die out, which I *know* you don't want."
"You want victory, Kolaga," remarked God, as Kolaga placed his head in his hands. "But achieving it consistently through warfare almost never works, and you know that. So, what's it going to be? Unrest, destruction, or...cooperation?" God extended his hand. "You make the call."
Kolaga sighed, and shook God's hand. "You know why I hate you?", Kolaga asked sarcastically.
"No idea."
"It's because you're always right. Weirdly enough, it's also why I like you." | 2022-09-11T19:19:52 | 2016-04-09T09:48:26 | 1,980 | 13 |
[WP] Suddenly across the globe, large, feathered, rotted corpses begin to drop out of the sky. They are soon identified to be Angels. | It was no small irony that it was the scientists who figured out the rotted bodies had once been Angels.
The religious took several views running the gamut of belief, regarding them as anything from a hoax to a sign of the end times.
Homo celestial was what they were designated as soon as someone managed to get a sample that wasn't too damaged. A older family of hominids, which "evolved" before we had even realised round was the best shape for a wheel. Unfortunately we couldn't tell much more about them, the dead being notoriously quiet, for some reason. We didn't know how they had died (whatever injuries they may have had having been hard to tell, due to the advanced state of decomposition), how many or whether what had killed them, would soon be coming for us.
All in all it could have been worse.
There were less riots than you would thought, and only a few Satan worshippers celebrated, and they kept it quiet.
For six months now, nothing has happened. No unusual deaths, no Gods, Devils or Horsemen. As a whole the Earth is business as usual. Except for Homo sapiens.
We are waiting, but for what we don't know.
Edit: Currently on my lunch break, will probably write a part two later. | "Have you tasted one?" Theo Brashear booms. His grin is white and toothy, his grey hair leonine. He stalks around the corpse as if it's prey. It's pinned to his trophy wall by its six wings, about six feet tall and with an eight foot wingspan, vaguely humanoid and pockmarked with dark hollows gouged into its bones. The room smells faintly of charred flesh.
"Can't say that I have." Andrea Duncan holds a handkerchief to her nose. Around her, her fellow shareholders also mumble their dissent. The thing is watching them, with its hundred hollow eyes.
"They taste good?" Ken Kanagi volunteers. He is grimacing involuntarily, the corners of his mouth twitching and showing his teeth.
Brashear laughs and strides behind them, whipping the cloth off his broad oak table with a flourish. Golden plates, and in each one a palm-sized chunk of angel meat, charred black. They gather around it, poke at the meat with forks. "Don't go expecting much taste-wise," Brashear grins. "I don't think they were meat to begin with. Some divine mumbo-jumbo, holy fire. But they're meat now, and there's no sense letting it go to waste, eh?"
"This is disgusting," Duncan says, taking a step back. "This is your plan? Angel steaks? Angel burgers? Good god, Brashear, they're half-rotten."
"It's compounding blasphemy," Eric Weinstein says. His face is pale, has been pale since the doors were flung open and the angel displayed, but his eyes are calm behind his glasses. He could be talking about the weather. "These things are more human than you are."
"Blasphemy!" Brashear laughs. He takes up a fork and stabs into the meat, shaking off flakes of ash. "This is a metaphor, my friends. A visual guide to help you wrap your minds around the new world order. This is meat, my friends. So much meat." He bites down, juice running down his chin. His jaw is tearing away at the toughened flesh. "All the theology, all the divine destiny of mankind - all so much meat. Don't you want to partake of it?"
"Go to hell," Duncan says. Kanagi looks slightly sick. He is licking his lips. Weinstein looks away, as if the curtains have momentarily caught his attention. Duncan stomps towards the exit and turns back to look behind her. Kanagi looks at her, then at Brashear, and stays where he is. Weinstein purses his lips slightly and then starts walking.
"So many people, wasting their time," Brashear says sorrowfully. He spits his mouthful back onto the plate. It is like ash.
"And you think you know better?" Duncan spits back. The two of them are framed by the door.
"All the theologians going nuts, working people into frenzies." Brashear's speaking quickly now, winding up to his sales pitch. "You got the biologists trying to clone 'em - Clone 'em! Heck, they died out in the first place. How useful could they be? When here's the important question - where the hell did all these motherfuckers come from in the first place?"
He flicks on the projector. It shines over the corpse, the pictures warped by its body. Satellite photos. Radar. Celestial maps. Extrapolations of trajectories. A diagram like a funnel warping through space.
"There's a Heaven up there," Brashear grins. His eyes are diabolical. "And there's no one left to guard it." | 2016-07-19T06:01:02 | 2016-07-19T05:45:46 | 441 | 78 |
[WP] You turn your Match Distance on tinder to "Anywhere". To your surprise you get a match that is 10^93 light years away. Thinking it was a joke you turn it off. 20 minutes later you turn it back on and it says they are 10^5 light years away and getting closer. | *Um.. Hello?*
**Hi. :)**
*Uh. so. 10^93 about 20 minutes ago and now your at 10^5.*
**Yeah?**
*Not sure where that is.*
**I'm not sure what its called on your system. I mean, I can check.**
*No that's okay.*
**I mean, I have Googzawl Universe here. I don't mind the data usage.**
*No no I*
*Wait what*
**I mean. Oh jeez. You don't think I'm actually getting closer because you swiped right on me do you??**
*Well I wasn't sure.*
**OMZG lol I'm so sorry I didn't want to come off as pushy anything hahaa.**
*lol ok*
**No no, I actually have to stay mobile for work. See, if you check again you'll see I've moved again.**
*oh yeah! now your 10^73 haha*
**Yeah I just left the Rhosnosaw System. Ugh. I hate that system. You ever been?**
*Uh. No.*
**Your not missing much. Kinda uppity neighborhood. Well, not like they will be anymore. So you like Tarantino movies too huh? You like Jackie Brown?**
*Shit yeah! I love Pam Grier! She is so foxy!!*
*Wait wut do you mean about 'not like they will be anymore'?*
**Honestly, I think Robert DeNiros performance in it was really understated and one of the subtle points that really makes the film shine.**
**Plus I laughed my ass off when Chris Tucker got his ass shot dead LOL SUPAH GREEN LOL**
*nono what do you mean 'not like they will be anymore.'?*
**Oh. Um. Right so..**
**See, you seem really nice and I kinda like talkin with you ..**
**Plus your really cute in your pic. I love gingers!!**
*Thanks?*
**I just don't wanna creep you out. And my job is kinda weird and keeps me super busy and stuff. It makes staying in any kind of long term relationship hard.**
*Really?*
**Yeah. Its kinda why I'm giving Tinder a try.**
*I really liked it when Chris Tucker got shot too.*
**heeheeheee I know right? 'I aint gittin in no goddaym trunk!!'**
*hahahahahahahah*
*I work at a Gas Station. I work graveyard shifts. My boss treats me like shit. My customers are either all hookers, junkies or bastards. I get paid minimum wage, but this is just until I get back into college.*
*I know what its like to have a shitty job that does't let you get out to meet people*
**Oh. That is so terrible. I'm sorry to hear. What are you going back to school for?**
*Advanced Astrophysics. I just ran out of tuition. My parents kinda cut off my money.*
**When my Dad found out what I wanted to do with my life, he kinda did the same, actually. Then he died.**
*I'm sorry.*
**Its okay. He shot first.**
*wait wat*
**Look. I guess no dating experience goes well without total honestly.**
**I'm kinda.. a bit of a pirate.**
*like.. you download movies?*
**No. As in I have a fleet of Light Assault Frigates and we warp from system to system ravaging entire planets of their natural resources.**
*Oh.*
**Yeah.**
*Good dental coverage?*
**Better optical coverage. ;)**
*.. was that a pun about eye patches?*
**I'm sorry.**
**Not sorry. ;P**
**<<photo incoming.>>**
*holy jeez..*
*um.. I kinda like Gingers too.*
*Would you like to get some coffee later?*
**I'd love to. ;)**
*Just promise not to ravage my planet?*
**Promise. ;) Already did a while back anyways.**
*thanks*
*What?*
**Huh?**
*LOL*
**;)** | You have a new match!
Usually speaking, Tinder is understood from two very different perspectives. The first is of the people who spend the time they decide to devote to the app batting away the attention; the others will swipe right indiscriminately. Some will swipe right knowing that there is a certain to high chance of matching with someone; others will swipe right for everyone with feigned indifference, pretending not to be hurt by their one-match-in-three-days ration. I belonged squarely to the latter category. I didn't mind, really. In fact, just the other day, someone interesting came up.
Elize, 24. Okay.
I had a process, not quite an evaluation but not light-years away. Name? I'd never seen it spelt with a "z", but that was absolutely fine. 24, perfect age, a few years younger than me, but that was to my advantage. The distance indicator was a series of confusing symbols, but I didn't pay this any mind; my name was José, and the accent above the "e" tended to disconcert the app.
"I don't need this," I told myself. "It doesn't matter if it comes to nothing. We both swiped right, clearly because we both think that something could happen between us. She's empowering me, and I'm empowering her! I think I recognise the scenery in her third photo... Italy? Amalfi? Maybe... at least it's a conversation starter. She likes to travel... (who doesn't?). If nothing comes of it... ships that pass in the night. She's brunette. I like that."
Next I would go through the photos. The first was a graduation ceremony. I couldn't see the University's crest, nor discern the institution from the gown's lining, but her smile was radiant. Her entourage consisted of three very proud-looking... siblings? They certainly looked alike, and similar in age. The four figures in the photo (of which only my match was wearing the graduation gown) shared between them the features of two people, but it looked like the parents were nowhere to be seen.
Secondly, a bar: again she was surrounded by a similar group of twenty-somethings. Work colleagues? She must have gone to a great university. Intelligent, attractive people always stay together. Perhaps it was her birthday? Smiles all round. In one hand she held a sparkler, in the other a fluorescent blue drink. I made a note to ask her what that was, a little later on in the conversation.
Thirdly, Italy (or what I guessed was Italy). It looked like a Mediterranean climate. It was a sea-scape, her and a friend centre-point with the cliffs in the background stretching off into the distance. The water looked too turquoise for Italy; I chalked it down to the picture's filter.
In the fourth photo, she was wearing what looking like fatigues. Her face looked a little sterner than before. The photo was clearly staged; it reminded me of those NASA astronaut portraits.
In the final one she held hands with someone who could only have been her sister, on top of some kind of hill, wearing some expensive-looking hiking gear. I liked to hike too. The scenery looked incredibly familiar, but again, I couldn't place it. More scope for conversation.
I went back to her main profile, and checked the distance indicator. 10^93 light years away. Clearly she had a sense of humour, though I was baffled as to how she did it. I left her with a message:
"How's it going, Elize? Where's the third photo taken. It's stunning. Italy?"
I smiled to myself, as I navigated back to the swiping screen. "You have run out of matches. Try again in 11:59:57..." Tinder mocked.
20 minutes later, my phone vibrated. I'd received a notification: Elize sent you a message!.
"Are you ready to return?"
I was perplexed. Was she trying to make a joke? I went back to her profile, to look at her photos again. She was beautiful... too beautiful? Could this be a catfish? I checked the distance indicator: 10^5 light years away. All indications leant more towards a fake profile than a real one.
"Return where? I don't get it" I replied, sparing her the winking emoji. I wasn't *not* going to message back, was I?
I lingered for a few moments on the conversation's screen, then went back to her profile. 10^3 light-years away. I started to type a message, wanting to ask how she'd managed to modify the distance by so much, but by then she'd already messaged me again. I tapped the notification pop-up:
"I'm coming."
I tensed. I now felt restless. I tried to diffuse it. By this point, it had to be a joke. I tried to let my disappointment subside, and replied:
"Already?"
7 trillion miles now; how was she doing this? Maybe this was a feature of Tinder Plus, being able to change your location; my recent break up was too recent for me to have signed up.
No replies came for a few minutes, so I cast my phone on my bed and sat by my desk. I still felt tense. The regular shadows of the orange street lights cast through the wooden blinds swayed. The window was open, but wouldn't open too far; I lived on the sixth story. I could feel the wind lifting. I could hear my phone buzzing again, but I was too unnerved to humour the conversation at that point. The ceiling fan diffused the warm air in the room.
I forget how long I watched the blades go round. I don't remember when I became aware of it, but the thumping regularity of their beats seemed to be slowing. The shadows cast by the blinds were no longer swinging back and forth haphazardly, but had joined the rhythm of the fan, bearing forward a few inches with every thump of the blades. What was happening? My phone buzzed again. I wandered over to it, and stumbled as I felt the floor tremble slightly. I lived far away from the fault line, but an earthquake wasn't inconceivable. The beats were slowing, very gradually but certainly noticeably, and they felt like they were getting stronger. The notification read: "Elize sent you a message!"
I tapped it, and the screen turned white.
"Be ready." | 2016-12-23T10:01:49 | 2016-12-23T09:52:36 | 54 | 11 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | So about 7,000 years ago Ollie dropped a boulder on my head. We were hunter-gatherers then, and he convinced me that there was a herd of red deer in a canyon near our camp. When I went there to check it out, he was on top of the ridge and rolled the boulder off onto me. It took a week for me to claw my way out.
Okay Ollie, funny prank. Ha fuggin' ha. But the thing is, he wouldn't shut up about it. As we progressed through the neolithic era, the bronze age, the iron age, when we were Roman senators, he would bring it up every single time we met.
Maybe it was kinda funny at the time, but not funny enough that I enjoyed hearing about it every week for 5,000 years straight. When our friend Hallie tricked our other friend Marko into being in Pompeii when Mt. Vesuvius erupted it was legitimately hilarious, and even they knew to shut up about it after a few centuries.
When the Renaissance and Enlightenment started in Europe, I finally figured out a way to get back at Ollie. As you can probably guess, being an immortal gets pretty boring. But the Enlightenment was a genuinely exciting time to be alive. I started making friendships with all the scientists and innovators: Newton, Galileo, Bayes, Kepler, Laplace. It was the first time something interesting had happened for me in thousands of years, and I immersed myself in it. When my astronomer buddy Giuseppe Piazzi up in Naples told me about his discovery of asteroids, I knew what to do.
Fast-forward 250 years. NASA's [Asteroid Redirect Mission](https://www.nasa.gov/content/what-is-nasa-s-asteroid-redirect-mission) is nearing completion, and an asteroid plucked from the asteroid belt is on its way to be put in orbit around the moon for further study.
Too bad the mission was doomed to failure from the start. The asteroid wouldn't achieve a stable orbit around the moon and would strike Earth instead. Their calculations for the orbital dynamics were the tiniest infinitesimal fraction of a percent wrong, and they had no way of knowing that. Why not? Guess who has two thumbs and has been subtly introducing tiny errors into every branch of science since its outset ... this immortal!
And, guess who was standing exactly where the asteroid struck, staring up like a dumbass while an asteroid hit him in the face?
Your move, Ollie. | There was something ever so sweet about one of my pranks going smoothly The elegance of it all leaves me smiling for years every time I remember the looks on her face, the stupid grin I could feel on mine echoes in my mind every time.
I had been sitting one day under my favorite tree when the Idea began to spring forth into my consciousness like a flower sprouting up through the cracks in the cobblestone. It all seemed too good to pass up, I had to act fast or I would have missed my opportunity.
Thirty years I spent sowing the idea's into the minds of many, telling anybody that would listen the stories of my friends last decade, hoping that the tale was entertaining and memorable enough to be spread even further by the masses. Relatively soon everyone would have heard some sort of vague references to the yarns I had spouted all those centuries back, it was all to perfect because theatre had just started being a big thing here in London and once I got the word out and about all I had to do was wait for the story to slowly mutate and ever so surely generation after generation it did.
Eventually the story I had told was so common between people that they even started making...
Shit I guess they're called movies.
Drove Cindy nuts she hated having her brutal rage being known by everybody, anybody who was even remotely aware of society. I honestly never thought it'd work out so well, but with enough of a push toward your goal and unlimited time to work on it anything's possible, originally I had just intended to find her a job as an actress to play the part of herself but of course sometimes when you leave things to chance they can get a bit out of control but I still managed to pull everything off just not quite like I imagined it all those centuries back.
We both decided about 160 years ago to go over to the wild wild west for some adventures, managed to convince cindy with the prospect of adventure and possibly even insinuated that she might be able to get away from the constant retelling of her story.
As always though once a story gets told enough times it too will travel, so of course once we got to America there were still versions of her story being told. They dubbed it a "classic fairy tale" and somehow a literal fairy got added in somewhere, whatever I guess it's a bit more tame and better than the original.
We settled down in what's called Florida now, for whatever reason these new movies have been the "bees knees" haha never really bothered to keep up with the slang of the times but that one always got me. I had almost forgot my plan, honestly if it hadn't have been for the hippies I was hanging with and the fat blunt I smoked before going to see that new movie I probably would have.
"Disney" popped up like a rainbow over this fancy castle on the screen just before the title CINDERELLA fades in with the giant letters and suddenly a light seemed to turn on inside my brain as I remembered how I was supposed to get cindy and acting job. I asked her if she'd wanna "get with the times" go out and work to keep herself busy seeing as she more or less just avoided people unless she had some sort of business to attend to, took a lot of convincing I even told her I had a job lined up for her at this new amusement park a little ways away. After about a week I finally got her to agree, told her to be ready for monday I'd take their for her first shift.
The morning of I was trying my best to keep a straight face and not ruin the surprise both for her and mostly for myself, I was oddly excited to watch as she walked out dressed as this not so fictional fairy tale character.
When we got there I walked her in to go speak to her employer mostly so I could catch the action, managed to get in without her even realizing.
As we walk into the office she asks to speak with David and the secretary just pointed to the benches across the room where we went and sat, I was staring at her almost overly intent on seeing every moment. She seemed nervous and almost excited up until Dave walked out and shouted across the room "You must be the new Cinderella!" I had only glanced away for a second but when I looked back I could see the pure seething rage splayed across her face and the fist that was rapidly heading towards mine, for a brief second I forgot where I was until I came to with dave standing over me looking mildly amused.
a broken cheekbone, nose and brow But worth it considering the effort I put into it, been almost 40 years since then cindy still won't talk to me but it still brings a smile to my face whenever I think about it, not quite as good as my bonny and clyde prank but pretty harmless compared to my some of my other pranks but definitely something that I'll remember for a long time to come. | 2017-06-23T00:57:11 | 2017-06-23T00:41:42 | 220 | 10 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits. | "You, come with me please. Jim! I'll just have a chat with this guy, okay?" Jim, the closest thing to a neanderthal you could see outside of a museum of natural history, flashed a thumbs up before going back to checking ID's.
"So uh, like, what's the problem?" I glanced at the man beside me. He looked like your average guy, jeans, a white shirt, a healthy sunburn covering his face. In fact if I had been average as well, I'd probably never have picked him out in the first place.
"Just a routine, random pat-downs to make sure our guests aren't armed. You don't mind, right? It'll just take a minute".
"Ah". His face relaxed and his shoulders visibly untightened. "Yeah, sure, no problem, it's your job. Where to?"
I gestured for him to follow me and we started moving towards a room Jim and I got to use for our breaks.
"So, you been here long?"
"Nah, just arrived. Got tired of my job and went on a road trip with my savings. You know, new faces, new places..."
"Yeah, I hear ya." I unlocked the door and we walked inside.
It wasn't big, more of a closet than anything else, but there was enough room for a small plastic table, two foldable chairs, and an IKEA-shelf with a coffee pot and a cake Jim brought a few days ago.
"Sit down, you want some coffee?" I poured myself a cup and offered him one.
"No thanks uh, shouldn't we be standing up for the pat-down?"
"Yeah, there's not going to be a pat-down. I just needed to talk to you." His shoulders stiffened again, eyes wary.
"Yeah? About what?"
I sipped the coffee and made a disgusted face. It was cold.
"What do you want to talk about, man?" He tried faking a smile. "Do I look underage or something?"
I laughed. "Close, but no. See, I'm good at my job."
"Yeah?"
"Once I started working here, there's been a severe decrease in injured guests".
"That's great".
"There's also been no underage drinking at this club since I started working here. The local kids don't even try anymore, I'm that good at telling peoples _real_ age".
"Yeah?" He kept my gaze, looking increasingly like a deer cornered by a cougar.
"As in I can see exactly how old people are".
"You mean..."
"Yeah. I hate to paraphrase twilight on you, but you haven't been underage in a very long time, have you?"
He didn't move, shoulders still tense, eyes locked onto mine. The numbers above his head, the numbers indicating just how many years he had been alive, the numbers I had been able to see above everyones head since the day I was born, read 2709.
He breathed. "Fuck".
"Yeah. Now tell me: What. The fuck. Are you?" | 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-01T23:25:55 | 585 | 12 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | Four digits? FOUR? In all my years as a bouncer, never four.
I looked into his calm, green eyes.
"Jesus," I said.
Of course I let him in. Even The Man needs to kick back and grab a beer sometimes, yeah?
But, given that he's back... I wouldn't make any long-term plans if I were you. And stock up on some prepper material while you're at it. Shit about to get real.
And have a nice night, y'all. | "You, come with me please. Jim! I'll just have a chat with this guy, okay?" Jim, the closest thing to a neanderthal you could see outside of a museum of natural history, flashed a thumbs up before going back to checking ID's.
"So uh, like, what's the problem?" I glanced at the man beside me. He looked like your average guy, jeans, a white shirt, a healthy sunburn covering his face. In fact if I had been average as well, I'd probably never have picked him out in the first place.
"Just a routine, random pat-downs to make sure our guests aren't armed. You don't mind, right? It'll just take a minute".
"Ah". His face relaxed and his shoulders visibly untightened. "Yeah, sure, no problem, it's your job. Where to?"
I gestured for him to follow me and we started moving towards a room Jim and I got to use for our breaks.
"So, you been here long?"
"Nah, just arrived. Got tired of my job and went on a road trip with my savings. You know, new faces, new places..."
"Yeah, I hear ya." I unlocked the door and we walked inside.
It wasn't big, more of a closet than anything else, but there was enough room for a small plastic table, two foldable chairs, and an IKEA-shelf with a coffee pot and a cake Jim brought a few days ago.
"Sit down, you want some coffee?" I poured myself a cup and offered him one.
"No thanks uh, shouldn't we be standing up for the pat-down?"
"Yeah, there's not going to be a pat-down. I just needed to talk to you." His shoulders stiffened again, eyes wary.
"Yeah? About what?"
I sipped the coffee and made a disgusted face. It was cold.
"What do you want to talk about, man?" He tried faking a smile. "Do I look underage or something?"
I laughed. "Close, but no. See, I'm good at my job."
"Yeah?"
"Once I started working here, there's been a severe decrease in injured guests".
"That's great".
"There's also been no underage drinking at this club since I started working here. The local kids don't even try anymore, I'm that good at telling peoples _real_ age".
"Yeah?" He kept my gaze, looking increasingly like a deer cornered by a cougar.
"As in I can see exactly how old people are".
"You mean..."
"Yeah. I hate to paraphrase twilight on you, but you haven't been underage in a very long time, have you?"
He didn't move, shoulders still tense, eyes locked onto mine. The numbers above his head, the numbers indicating just how many years he had been alive, the numbers I had been able to see above everyones head since the day I was born, read 2709.
He breathed. "Fuck".
"Yeah. Now tell me: What. The fuck. Are you?" | 2017-09-01T23:43:36 | 2017-09-01T23:25:55 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone has a percentage displayed above their heads. It represents the current risk percentage for death. Everyone who has reached 100% has died within seconds. Yesterday the 100% appeared above you, today it is still there. | 3 different ERs and my primary care physician haven't seen anything like it. My mom hasn't stopped crying since she saw it, my dad has stopped talking.
I'm only 17.
I can't go outside, not without enduring the stares, the questions of any passerby, the concerned citizens "just trying to help" by calling 911. I don't need a hospital, I don't need their "care". No one can figure out what's wrong with me, because there isn't anything physically wrong with me... I just can't get happy.
I think it started when I was 16, the depression set in. I had a friend, someone people considered a nobody, he didn't have a ton of friends, but he was happy. His life was cut short, a car accident with nobody at fault, I had no one to blame. It really hits you when someone you know dies so young, makes you consider your own mortality. I was numb for a long time after that...
Maybe I still am
Pretty easy to hide it though. Put on a happy face, go to school, hear the ringing in your ears during the moment of silence they have for him at school, watch as everyone who didn't know him go on with their lives, repeat. "You're always smiling", "You're so privileged, you have nothing to be depressed about", "Do you know how many people have it worse than you?"
I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Yesterday was the anniversary, he would be 18, thinking about college, getting started with his life. And I'm here, with 100% hanging over my head.
There's nothing physically wrong with me, it's my mind that's broken. | "So... How are you feeling?"
I am sat in a blank room, on a slightly-uncomfortable-but-not-too-uncomfortable-that-I-would-complain-out-loud-about-it chair. In front of me, there is a table, that appears to be made of the same material as the chair (would that make the table uncomfortable to sit on? Probably.), and on the other side of that table, there is a chair that is identical to mine in every way. And of course, on that chair, there is a "specialist", or at least that's what they called him, although I have no reason to doubt he actually is one. Balding, probably in his fifties, clean shaven, his black, sober briefcase lain on the ground besides him, nothing too remarkable, really. A number, about 30 centimeters in both height and width, is displayed, floating slightly above his head in a yellow font. 18. Pretty average number for his age, with cancer and heart problems and whatnot starting to be more likely to happen with age. I look up to have a look at my own number. 107, written in a deep black colour. It hasn't gone up since the last time I looked, 5 minutes ago. I look back down at the doc to answer him.
"Honestly? Fine. Absolutely the same way as yesterday."
The specialist frowns. He seems to have a hard time believing me. I mean, what do you want me to tell him? I'm not going to make up some kind of pain just to please him if I feel just fine.
"Alright, walk me through it again. When did you find out that your number had gone up to one hundred and over?"
I sigh, but answer anyway.
"When I brushed my teeth last night before going to bed, I looked in the mirror, and saw that the number was still a healthy green four, like it had been for the past few years. I went to bed, woke up this morning, felt nothing out of the ordinary, and when I brushed my teeth in front of the same mirror, I saw that the number was now a black one hundred and one. I freaked out, obviously, and figured I should rush to the hospital as soon as possible to have everything checked. Believe me, the looks I got on the street while I was on my way here did nothing to calm me down. It has gone up to one hundred and seven, percent by percent, in the time it took for me to get to the hospital and for you to get here, which was about..." I paused, looked at my watch and quickly counted the hours in my head. "...Three hours long. Three hours and seven minutes or so, yup. I already told all of this to the old nurse with an orange twenty-nine who checked me in."
The doctor sighs in turn, and looks down at his notes.
"I know, I know, I just need to make sure everything is correct. This is an unprecedented case, we cannot afford to work with incorrect data."
"Okay. So, what do we do from this point on?"
The doctor looks up from his papers and locks eyes with me.
"Well, it seems pretty obvious to me. We cannot upset the numbers."
A puzzled look draws itself across my face.
"I'm sorry. What? What do you mean?"
The doctor sighs again. There seems to have been a lot of sighing in this conversation. I guess that was to be expected from such a confusing situation. The doctor leans to his side to pull something from his briefcase lying on the side of the table. When he straightens himself, I see what he has pulled out. A gun. A fucking gun, that he is pointing right at me.
"You're kidding. You're fucking kidding, right?"
I'm terrified. My voice is trembling.
"We cannot upset the numbers."
He looks calm. His voice is not trembling.
"You can't..."
I hear a deafening bang, and feel myself falling into darkness. I fall off my chair, and my ears slowly stop ringing as my vision grows darker and darker. As it is fading to total blackness, I can make out some distant words.
"We cannot upset the numbers." | 2018-04-02T11:37:03 | 2018-04-02T11:06:12 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | The whole neighbourhood was out in the streets staring skyward; dressed in robes and wrapped in blankets. The bright white light made them appear as stone sentinels against the snow.
“Mummy, the moon is so big!”
My phone buzzed urgently in my hand. I set it on the nightstand facedown
“Grab your jacket lily,” I wrapped my housecoat tight against me and zipped Lily into her parka.
The light was brilliant; almost fluorescent. It radiated off the snow like an aura.
Lilly stood breathless on the driveway, her face wide with wonder. I wished i could always see her like this; so wonderful.
“It’s a beautiful night,” my neighbour commented with her children cradled to her breast.
I nodded and looked skyward at the fantastic beacon against the night. It was moving, falling from the sky.
“ Mom, why are you crying?”
I wiped my eyes and held Lily’s shoulders tightly.
“It’s just so beautiful baby. I love you”.
All was calm as the bomb cracked on the horizon and spilled over; swallowing everything.
| That alarm. That damn alarm that everyone hates. So loud, blaring with such urgency that rouses anyone from their sleep. "God what, what is it now?" Isaiah questioned. The amber alert sound was still unending, and as he turned to unlock the phone and silence it, he was met with the brightness of the sun in the palm of his hand. "Augh dammit! Why are phones always so bright!?" He shouted with frustration. After a minute of struggling, he managed to turn off the text alarm. "Amber alerts, hmph. Like anyone is going to be a hero and run after little sally or something...hm what's... Do not look at the moon?" He talked to himself, like he always did at home. A simple quirk that helped him think. His alertness rose however, when he started scrolling through the hundreds of random numbers that texted him. It was 11:30.
Now he was fully awake. A couple lights turned on in his home revealed the pigsty that he lived in. With forward thinking, he turned off the living room light. As if on cue, there was a knock at his front door. Thoughts raced through Isaiah's head, some were pure panic, some were decisions on fight or flight. He lived alone, miles away from civilization. "It's a beautiful night tonight." The mysterious voice said. "You should come out and look, friend." Isaiah was a paranoid individual, and the panic button on his phone helped turn off all the lights in his house and double check that all doors and windows were locked. He sat on the edge of his bed, struggling to keep his hands and his nerves steady. In one hand was his phone, scouring the internet for any source of info as to what was happening. In his other hand, his pistol that he always kept close by. It was now 11:50.
"It's a beautiful night tonight." A now different voice said, in conjunction with the first. In stride, seventeen other voices said at the same time "You should come out and look, friend." It sounded like they were circling the house, chanting the same phrase and shuffling their feet. Isaiah retreated to his panic room. The cacophony of varying voices outside hadn't entered his house, but he wasn't about to give them the chance. The metal safety door slammed behind him, locking in place. The panic room immediately illuminated, various screens springing to life and giving him a view of the outside. Every single person outside stared at the cameras, knowing he was also looking at them. "What the hell is going on." He stated, almost insinuating that he wanted an answer from the mob outside. The soundproof room sheltered him from the horrifying phrase that followed his statement, but the movement of lips on screen already gave him his answer. He turned off the screens with haste, the clock on the wall reading 11:59.
The motion sensors on the wall were no longer activated. Isaiah breathed a sigh of relief, looking over at the dark camera screens and pushing buttons. "C'mon man, this has to be either a really cruel prank, or another one of my bad hallucin-" His sentence was cut short. Mouth agape, his pistol made a loud clanging sound against the metal ground as he walked backwards and trying to brace himself against anything. The camera monitors showed the grass around his home trampled on, but no mass of people. It was midnight, but outside was a brightly lit hue of colours. | 2022-11-14T21:59:08 | 2022-09-11T16:03:17 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] As a villain of a fantasy world, you conquered the world twice; each time being thwarted by the heroine. Dejected, you gave up on conquest to pursue mundane pursuits. You openned a small shop and met the love of your life, the twist? Its the heroine of this world, and only you know the truth. | "Welcome home, hun." I said as Aurora came in. She came around the counter, kissed me on the cheek and went into the back room. God, I love her.
But she *hates* me. The real me, anyway. You might think that you'd remember the guy who you deposed from world domination. Twice. But when your arch nemesis always wears a mask you might only remember their eyes. Their eyes with runes carved into them that nearly witnessed the death of the world's greatest heroine. Again, twice. Swap the mask with magic spectacles, though, and nobody sees those occult runes of a dead god anymore.
Running the shop also makes an excuse as to why I have *magic* spectacles. The little trinkets I craft keep this roof over my head. You get lots of adventurers. Whether that's a good or bad thing is up to you. I thought I was dead on the spot the first time Aurora shopped here. It's weird seeing your greatest enemy in a casual setting. Several times. Then in a romantic setting. A lot more times. But, I digress.
I admired the evening sky as I was locking the front door of the shop. Long, thin clouds against an orange sky. It looked beautiful as it was sucked into an otherworldly portal that opened up in the sky. I saw nothing out of the ordinary at first. But then, I remembered it was Thursday. I didn't open up otherworldly portals to nightmare dimensions on Thursdays. Slower than i'd like to admit, the realization came to me that I *didn't* open up that portal.
"What's the long face for, ssssssshit." Aurora was now standing beside me, watching that nightmare portal in the distance suck up the sky. We were both a little awestruck. A humanoid figure emerged from the portal. "He's back." She said.
"Who's back?" I asked. I already knew who she meant, though.
She ran out onto the street. I followed. Twists and turns, down streets and through alleyways she went, with me not far behind. Past the market. Past the town square. Past the guild headquarters. I saw where she was headed. The jail. I followed her in. Down staircase after staircase, right to the bottom floor. This floor was just a long hallway with a door at the end. She was still sprinting.
I ran after her, entering the small room with shattered crystal all over the ground. "Aurora, what the hell are you doing?"
She looked at the ground in fear. My old mask was laying there, in the center of the shattered crystal.
"It... It was supposed to hold him for all time." She said. "It only lasted a decade." Actually, it lasted three hours. I was just discrete when I checked myself out.
"Aurora... who's back?" I asked.
"The World-breaker." Flattering title. She moved toward the door, but I blocked her. "I need to stop him." She told me.
"You'll die, Aurora."
"He needs to be stopped!"
"I can't let you die!"
Out of options, she punched me in the face. My broken spectacles dropped to the ground. I reeled back a few steps into the corridor, my face in my hands. "Oh god. I'msorry I'msorry I'msorry." She said as she hugged me. "I need you to understand. It's going to be okay. *I'm* going to be okay."
"No, Aurora. You're not going to be okay." I told her as I opened my eyes. She saw the runes. She saw who I really was. There was a look of shock and denial on her face. She was starting to cry. "Because I didn't open that portal." | The first time he tried to take over the empire, he took the direct approach. Young, bold, impulsive and confident in his own abilities, he lead a group of like-minded magicians in a violent uprising against the Church and emperor. His army, recruited from the meanest and toughest thugs, criminals and savages, ransacked, destroyed and killed countless citizens. Entire villages was razed, their inhabitants massacred. The royal army, restricted by their morals and need to protect innocents, stood no chance to their powerful spells, ruthless tactics and brutality. They killed their way to the capital. On the desolate plains outside the city gates, he first saw her. The paladin, the sword maiden sent by the gods, stood fearless at the head of her outnumbered troops, silver armor gleaming in the sun. When the metal clashed, she fought in the midst of the violence, uncaring for her own safety. By miracle, the paladin and her army held the city against the tide for three days and nights. Long enough for reinforcements from the border battalions arrive. His army did not survive the onslaught, nor did many of his generals or magicians. He fled by himself, humiliated and vowing revenge.
The second attempt, five winters past his first rebellion, he learnt from his past mistakes. Brute force won’t succeed against the empire; only subtle manipulations could gain him the power he wanted. So he offered his service to a powerful and trusted noble. His face, hidden under his demon mask for the entirety of his first war, was not known to any of those amongst the court. So he hid in plain sight, whispering treason in the ears of various dukes and generals whose trust he had earned. He turned them against each other, climbed the ranks, all the while planning his coup. Once again, it was she who found him out. Hearing and seeing the discord amongst the court, she investigated the cause. All the trails led back to him. Exposed for his malicious intent, he was thrown into the dungeons awaiting execution. His earlier bribe to the warden of the dungeons paid off; in the quiet night, he snuck out the door left unlocked for him and fled once again. With the potion he acquired from one of his surviving magic-using allies, he changed his appearance.
Beaten, he gave up on his aspirations. He settled down in a village, putting his childhood in the forge to work as an assistant to the local blacksmith. When the blacksmith left for the city, he took over the shop. There he found peaceful bliss he could never experience before in his life. He found happiness.
Half a year after his inheritance of the forge, him utterly accustomed to his new life, she entered his shop. Standing right in front of him, the paladin requested the forging of a new sword. He felt fear, true grip his heart. He didn’t want to die, not now, not after finding belonging and new beginning in this village. For the first time in his life, he had something to lose by dying. He prayed that the potion had changed his face enough, that his mask would be perfect. And it was. She never questioned his identity.
She came often, requesting the crafting of various weapons and equipment. Sometimes, she’d stay and chat, as he hammered away at red hot iron. He learnt about her life, how her mother had left her at a Church-ran orphanage, how the sisters there discovered her divinity, how she trained in grueling conditions for fifteen years of her life. How she didn’t find not having a carefree childhood as a bad thing, because this way she gets to help people, to protect other carefree childhoods. He, affected by her genuine conversation, opened his own heart to her in turn. He told her his story, his years as a urchin on the streets, his meeting with an old man who taught him everything he knew. Of course, he didn’t tell her that the old man was a ruthless assassin who conditioned him to maim, torture and murder, nor any other detail that might expose his true identity. They became closer as they understood each other better and better, and soon, she began to visit him everyday. Streams of laughter - hers clear and bubbling as a running stream, his deep and mellow - echoed throughout the forge. He found himself falling in love, and perhaps, she did too.
He grew curious as to why she had ended up in a small village such as this. One time, he tried to ask her, but she immediately redirected the conversation. No matter how he prod and poked, she wouldn’t reveal the reason. Fortunately, he had other, more secretive sources from his past life. From them he learnt that she had offended some important noble, who convinced the emperor to order her exile from the capital. Of course, officially the royal court claimed she had been sent to the village to protect it from some monstrous threat, even though it sat in the safest part of the empire. She didn’t fight the injustice even though she could have easily called the adoring masses to her back, he learnt, for she’d rather keep the peace than start a war. So, without a word of complain, she had packed up and made her way to this small, backwater town. He felt fury, righteous fury that shook him to the core from the way she was treated, but he also felt thankful. Thankful for being able to meet her as a friend rather than a fierce enemy, thankful for having the chance to fall in love with her.
The third time he stood against the empire, he didn’t do it for power, greed or glory. His goal was to burn down the whole world, punish them for everything they have done, show them his pure unadulterated rage. He’d destroy them. He’d destroy them all. He’d take away the world for taking away his love. He will end the imperial family for denouncing her. He will dismantle the Church for declaring her a witch. He will kill everyone else, who stood by or joined the mob when they took her, tied her to the stake, and burned her.
Twice he had gone up against the world. Twice he had been stopped. This time, he would succeed. This time, there is no one to stop him. | 2018-05-09T16:25:31 | 2018-05-09T15:39:41 | 86 | 57 |
[WP] You have telekinetic powers. But it has a condition, you can only move non-living things. One day after cleaning your front lawn, you realize you couldn't move the dwarf figurine. | A sense of panic washed over me. I could feel a cold pit in my stomach. The fear was so overwhelming, I thought I might throw up, but I couldn't break eye contact with the lawn decoration. Not even for a second. I crept closer. I had to know. If it meant me harm, it was better now, on my terms. Its glazed eyes staired at me, my whole world was deafening silence. Then I noticed them two tiny eye stocks poking up from the back. The snail made his way towards the top of the dwarf and perched atop of the little porcelain mans head. I dropped to my knees and picked the small creature up, watching him receded into his shell. I lifted the dwarf with my mind and tossed it to the other side of the yard. My shoulders dropped and I gasped, just now realizing how long I had been inadvertently holding my breath. "Dammit, this is worse than the time I thought I lifted the cat off the sofa." | "Nani", I whispered to myself.
Quickly after learning that I had powers I realized the limits of it: no living things.
Pretty straightforward if you ask me, but you couldn't ask anyone else, so yeah, pretty straightforward.
Appalled about my failed attempt to move the ugly dwarf statue my uncle gave us as a pretty weird April Fools "prank" some years ago. Something wasn't feeling right about this, so I left the rake by the door, with a few dry leaves still embedded on it's teeth, and warily approached the cracked figurine with faded paint. My heart was pumping with uncalled (or maybe not) adrenaline. I went around it, to check the state it was in, and noticed the crackings transformed into a small-ish hole, about two inches in diameter, on the dwarf's backhead, some kind of stuffing (?) in it. The darkness transformed into some furriness.
As I was inspecting it, it shuffled, and I instantly realized what it was and what I needed, no what I HAD to do.
I went running into the house, my dad, chilling in the sofa and reading some book on his Kindle, still with his service bots and pants on, looked up to me and asked me what was going on. "I need the gun.", I asked agitated, while he was still trying to figure out what was going on with me I spat "Something evil is in the frontyard". I don't know if it was the way I said it or the look in my eyes, but he quickly left his glasses and the kindle on the coffee table and followed me outside. As we slowly approached the gnome he had his right hand fingers by the gun in his belt, his hand and arm still, expecting that hell could break loose.
While I signalled my dad were to look at, and we were still about four foots away, the brownish hairs slowly moved until we could see a small black-eyed face. Our hearts sank, we didn't have to think what it meant, not only for us, but for the community, the nature itself. My dad quickly, almost robotically, pulled out his gun and shot twice at it. One bullet hitting the dwarf's head and the other less than an inch bellow it, right into the cracked hole. We didn't heard a screech, for we knew the creature was instantly dead.
I went for the bag with leaves while dad picked up the dwarf statue, blood trailing down the hell's mouth, while he carefully pried the demon out of his hideout. As we were cleaning the mess up, our front neighbour came to see what the conmotion was about, while some other people from up and down the street spied from their windows, We didn't have to say anything as we showed him what was it, but I felt the need to clear it out, just to make it justifiable, "A squirrel", I frowned in sorrow, "we had to, to kill it", I said while dad was lifting the broken up dwarf's head, mourning his precious and horrible broken garden gnome, "red belly squirrels aren't indigenous from here", as I recalled watching the news about the plague, learning that they killed crops and drove off populations of birds since they were introduced, "life's not a cartoon." | 2018-11-11T19:18:04 | 2018-11-11T18:36:40 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone is born with their time and date of death somewhere on their body. At a young age you decided to never look at yours. It's been 32 years and in a drunken stupor you decide to finally look. It reads: May 26th 2012. The only problem? Its January 5th 2020. | So... I've been floating here for quite some time huh? Hum... when I started it was around 11 am, I think? Whelp, it's pretty dark right now. My body seems normal. Weird.
Well, there's no point in trying this anymore, let's call it a day. I guess hanging myself also doesn't work. Where was my knife again? Left pocket, here it is.
*argh* *oof*
Okay then, guns don't work, the gun always seems to jam when I point it at myself. Starving myself also doesn't work, because I just end up waking up at the hospital getting the nutrients injected directly into my body. I've tried throwing myself in front of a car, but it magically changed its trajectory almost as if someone was preventing me from dying. Even this knife doesn't seem capable of reaching my throat with the amount of coincidences that keep stopping me. Something as simple as stabbing myself in my own house seems impossible. What in the actual hell?
Let me get my thoughts together: here on my arm is written that on the 26th of May of 2012 I should've died. I've certified myself that what I saw last month wasn't just something I imagined while drunk. Wait, now that I think about it... 26th of may... 26th of may??? My twin brother died on that date!! The doctors said I survived by sheer luck, comparing it to a miracle. I still have nightmares about it... 8 years have gone by and apparently I can't seem to die. Were the two of us supposed to die that day? Does this mean I escaped death? This might be a clue...
Oh? This photo... Heh, we used to be inseperable, his smile really brings me back. Remebering that tragic accident really depresses me.
Hum, what's that on his leg? Is that a number- No... no no no no no no no no no fucking no. This has to be a joke. No fucking way. Don't tell me that-
*ding dong*
It's almost midnight, why would someone- Wait, why is it suddenly so cold.
A person this late at night? What does this dude want with me? He's staring so intensely at the door, does-does he know I'm home? It's so creepy. Oh my god, he's-he's holding a scythe. No, it can't be-
"I know you're there. Eight years ago I erroneously took your brother from this world. I hope you've enjoyed the 8 years he had left. This time it won't be a car nor a knife that takes your life. I'm fixing my mistake with my own hands" | “It’s nothing at all.” I said. Well, garbled, more like. Jones raised his eyebrow at me. His real name was Peter, but I called him Jones on account of his unparalleled obsession with Indiana Jones. Even now, he was wearing that silly old hat. Silly, but it looked good on him. Anything looked good on him, really.
“Aw, come on. Get it over with. We all do it. I did it.” He said, and nudged me in the side. A bit of beer spilled over my hand on the bar. Such a waste. Jones rolled up his sleeve demonstrably. “Though I didn’t have much of a choice, considering the location of the damned thing. Right here, see. Takes a blind man to ignore that.” He angled his arm in front of my face. I caught an awful whiff of his breath. There it was, in large, black letters, like a faded tattoo on his lower arm. From his point of view, it would be upside down. Still far too easy to read.
“Gosh, I wonder why you’re so careless about it. 5:32 PM, April 2nd 2073. You’re going to be fucking 85, mate. Better start writing up your will. Who knows.” I downed the measly remains of my beer and stared at the sad, empty glass. There was something of an itch in the back of my neck.
“87, you dolt.” He took away his arm, a prideful smile on his face. As if he’d already accomplished longevity. “My nan was 92 when she died. Good heart, bad brains. You can live to 87 a vegetable. The mark won’t tell you how it happens, will it?” The smile still lingered on his face. I simply glared at him. “Come on! It’s your birthday. It’ll be a little present.”
“You’re joking.”
“What? It’s not your birthday?”
“It’s a terrible present.”
“You don’t know that yet. That’s the thing about presents.” Jones gave me a hearty wink. I told him in no uncertain terms to drop it in a deep dark hole, though not as sternly as I’d have liked. We went another few rounds, talking about nonsense, before the fluid finally kicked me in the bladder, hard, and I waddled awkwardly to the ladies room. My mind was buzzing comfortably, to the point that I sat staring at the door, pants still on my ankles, contemplating the meaning of a set of phrases on the door:
\*The great leader will succumb,
The city is burning,
But the fortress endures.\*
Below it, a long and hardly recognizable penis sprayed chaotic blue stripes over a scratched out phone number. My mind was halfway towards calling it art, and then I remembered it was my birthday, and I remembered how comfortable that cold, damp toilet seat was and, clearly, at this peak of rationality, perhaps Jones had a point? Yes. I scratched the itch in my neck, and stood up decisively. With my pants still lowered around my ankles, I scrambled out of the stall and turned my back to the mirror. Just in that moment, a tall and skinny woman walked in. She eyed me up and down with an impossible to read expression. My bare butt didn’t seem to bother her much.
“Need any help, love?” She asked, like it was a daily occurrence. “There’s nothing there if you’re wondering.”
“fgotmak.” I mumbled.
“Who’s that now?”
“I-I’ve gotta mark. There.” I pointed at my left cheek. “’s there right?” She leaned somewhat to the side.
“Something’s there yeah. You really want to see?”
“It’s the fortress, yassee? And the sausage with the numbers. Got me thinking. Gotta know.” I went back trying to spot my bottom in the mirror, tiptoeing and bending my back as far as I could muster. The woman pulled her phone from her pocket, kneeled down, and began to take pictures. “Whoa, whoa, privacy laws!” I jumped back.
“Cool down, will you? I’m utilizing modern technology to aid my fellow man.” She presented the phone to me. “Bit hard to read, though. I think it’s mirrored.” I peered at the screen in utter concentration.
“Two one oh two.”
“Fuck. Does that say 2021?” The woman sounded genuinely concerned. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, it says… what the fuck?”
“It does?”
“10:42 in the morning. 26th of May, 2012.” I stared at it. I pulled up the main screen. January 5th, 2020. The comfortable buzz now felt like a colony of trapped bees in my head. I didn’t remember much of what happened next. It involved a few more empty glasses, jonas and his infamous frowns, and waking up on his couch the next morning, pants comfortably around my middle. He’d draped a woolly blanket over me which was just a bit too short and my feet were freezing. | 2018-11-25T14:07:49 | 2018-11-25T13:23:13 | 52 | 18 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a law was passed globally that requires everyone to hibernate for 100 years at a time after every 90 years. Today is Shutdown Day. As you finish getting tucked into your pod, you instantly notice eyes being shut all around you. But something is wrong. You are still awake.
This post was partially inspired by [this one.](https://www.reddit.com/r/morbidquestions/comments/aaeu8w/if_everyone_in_the_world_fell_asleep_at_the_exact/) | It worked! I couldn’t believe it, I was sitting in a hibernation pod wide awake. I have to get out of here before someone notices, need to slip back into the new rotation, take on my new identity...
See ever since overpopulation became a thing, we had to start coming up with ways to survive. Along comes the brilliant Dr Frank about 3000 years ago, with hibernation pods and the idea of splitting the worlds population into tenths. Each rotation getting to live ten years while the other 90% of the world lays asleep waiting their turn.
It certainly slowed down the food shortages what with only needing to fill the stomachs of a fraction of the total population. Yet here I am at age 29 after living 209 real earth years and we still haven’t solved the crisis that had us all rattled all those centuries ago. You can only get so much done in ten years, then you have to pass it onto the next rotation and hope that they can understand enough to keep on going with the progress you made.
It still hurt, finding out as a kid that my mother had me in the final year of her rotation. Hibernation pods can’t sustain unborn children, the baby just keeps on coming eventually growing too big for the womb and killing the mother with it. So instead they let the mother extend her rotation on the condition that when the child is born they immediately enter hibernation and go back to their parent rotation. The lucky child then has the pleasure of being raised by foster parents from the current “living” human population, deprived of ever meeting their real family again.
Well now I have a chance to fix everything. I could have just waited out my hibernation to continue my research but if I’d learnt anything over my last 10 year stint its that no rotation was making any progress towards preventing overpopulation. We were coming dangerously close to a crossroad where a second split would need to occur, creating 100 groups each taking a 10 year rotation followed by 990 years of hibernation. I needed to fix this problem now, even if it meant breaking the greatest rule of all and “living” for longer than 10 years.
My biggest fear? Just how different these other 9 rotations were... maybe if I live long enough I’ll get to do a full loop, meet my family... will be quite a bit older than them by that point!
| I'm still awake. I wait for ten minutes before I realize something is wrong. Hmm, alright, hit the emergency release. The pod opens and I step out and look around and see all the sleeping people around me.
OK. Let's find the AI governor and ask what's happened. I walk up to the control room which is oddly blacked out. It should be lit since the models working up there weren't equipped with IR sensors.
I open the door and they've all frozen in positions. Shit. Just as I feared. I walk up to the nearest console and a green exclamation mark greets me with an error message. Oh well, at least emergency power is on. I tap the extended information tab and see the error is traced to a nearby CPU cluster.
The whole cluster? Down at once? That's really unlikely, in the event of a crash the dumps should have been analyzed by the backup AIs and brought online from oldest stable backups. What the hell is going on here?
I walk down from the control room and take a speeder car, I sit there like an ass for a couple of minutes before I remember that the governor for this area is out. Goddamnit, I haven't driven since kindergarten! I put it on manual and as the car swerves back and forth on the gigantic empty highway I'm thankful nobody else is seeing this shit.
After a few minutes, I become familiar again with the cars controls, however I'm still puzzled that the units own AI hasn't taken over, nor can I engage it again. This is starting to seem a bit too far fetched even for me.
I reach the hulking angular complex about twenty minutes later, looking up at it, I realize why they put these things so far out into the countryside. Because honestly, they're ugly as sin. Zero aesthetic value, just enough space to protect the machines inside from the weather outside. Couldn't they have slapped a fresh coat of paint on this shit at least? Why the super grey dull metal look?
Similar thoughts about our society flitter through my mind as I step into the elevator and push the button which does absolutely nothing. Oh for fucks sake, how many times am I going to repeat this stupid mistake? I sigh deeply to myself, chiding my own stupidity internally as I walk over to the stairs which lead 32 levels down. Shit, I'm so out of shape, this is going to suck isn't it?
Almost an hour later, I'm a sweaty mess and I'm starting to get very hungry since according to regulations I haven't eaten since two days before Shutdown day. I'm really starting to hate this nightmare.
I walk into the central processing center and everything is shut down. That sends chills down my spine as I now realize that most of humanity is in suspended animation with little or no supervision. Sure, each pod regulates itself in the event of a catastrophic meltdown and unlocks after a week if it doesn't reach the server, but this.. this is just ...
*It's deliberate!* Oh by the fucking lords, IT IS DELIBERATE! my mind screams at me as I look at the console that refuses to start. Shit shit shit shit, who could have done this? As I manage to turn the power on to an auxiliary console, I see more error messages indicating that someone has been obviously sabotaging everything. I look up error table after table, seeing them corrupted. I check the backups.. which .. aren't.. there. At this point, my hands are starting to shake so bad that I sit down on a barrel close by. This is bad, really really bad.
Alright, alright, think .. think goddamnit! What's the next step? Alright, I know where the master techs were stored away, after all being a data diviner afforded me that much knowledge. But all that biomechanical crap was so way beyond me. I stood back up, feeling dizzy no doubt from the lack of food, but also from the immense stress I felt.
I'd been going about this all wrong, I should have gone to the techs first. But what if one of them were in on it? Who could I trust? I tried to fight down the panic in my mind as I started for the door leading to those hateful stairs, once I was up again, I'd raid a food storage area and then.. oh no, oh fuck no.
I banged at the door in futility, it was a secured door, thick enough to withstand any terrorist attacks. I'd gotten in because it'd been left ajar, something I hadn't noticed when I came in. But now that it swung closed, it was forever locked.
I looked around at the small area I was in and sat down and cried until I fell asleep from exhaustion. That was three days ago.
This has been the last words of data Diviner Marsh Fembleton.
I fell victim to my own habits. | 2018-12-29T04:15:00 | 2018-12-29T04:13:22 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] You're a therapist for the supernatural. Heroes, villains, ghosts and goblins; from orcs to elves, savior of universes to devour of worlds. Your secretary announces your 10:00 is here. | (Rip and tear, boys. Rip and tear.)
I called him the Marine.
I didn't ever ask for his name. He had an aura of mystery about himself, and while I was a therapist and supposed to help, I'm also human. I knew this man had been to Hell and back, and the last thing he needed was to be completely uncovered. I let him have that much.
I say he had been to Hell and back literally. It was not because of a mission from God, but a mission of hate. Of revenge. God himself probably feared this man, for this man feared nothing. He had told me stories of his brutality. Of the horrible acts of violence he committed on the souls condemned to Hell. He was someone who spoke of it with few words, but the words were so intense and meaningful I was able to piece together an accurate image.
Today was a tough one. I was going to be targeting a subject I had avoided for several sessions, the reason for his mission
I wanted to talk about Daisy. | My ten o'clock appointment arrived ten minutes late, on the dot. Punctual, as always, if I asked her.
"Elise," I greeted with a curt nod when the door opened.
She didn't say anything and walked straight to the bar. A glass of whiskey poured, she turned back towards me. Her eyes were wild, and I held up my hands to calm her down.
"Easy," I said. Wrong choice. She was not, contrary to how I treated her, a wild horse to be tamed. Her anger swelled and threatened to overflow. "Why don't you have a seat?" I suggested.
She did, plopping down in that familiar manner. "You've been seeing that skank again."
It wasn't a question. If it was, I wouldn't have denied it anyways. I had, in fact, seen the *patient* she insisted on referring to in such a vulgar manner.
"Mermaids need therapists as much as anybody," I responded meekly. Useless. Absolutely, utterly useless, just like any amount of conversation I had ever attempted with her.
Like clockwork -- in every sense of the word -- she would storm in. Suppressed embers would reignite and her eyes would blaze fiery glares in my direction. More like a long, sustained, fiery glare akin to burning at the stake.
"They don't need *you* as their therapist," Elise argued. She wasn't wrong. She never was, especially if you asked her. But they did.
You see, my line of work more or less required that they see nobody but me. Therapists were a dime a dozen. Therapists for children. Therapists for veterans. Therapists for teens overwhelmed by homework and their parents' expectations.
Therapists for the supernatural? I guess I liked to think that people like me were a little more rare.
Elise didn't care. In her words, she gave zero fucks.
"Drop her, or I drop you," she said. Again. For the thousandth time, maybe? I remembered each one. I had memorized every little detail of how it happened. How she stepped forward, glass in hand. How she prodded a finger at my chest, spittle flying from her mouth. How she dropped the glass and, for a moment, the world froze.
Her beautiful smile became a twisted sneer. Her eyes sparkled, devious little temptress eyes full of hate and cunning. Oh, how I loved them.
Then she let the glass keep falling, and it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces and soaked the carpet. One hand grabbed my lapel and the other braced, thumb meeting middle finger.
"Don't," I said. Every time. "Don't." I pleaded. I begged. Had she not been holding onto me, I would have dropped to my knees and promised her I'd never see another mermaid again.
But fate liked to work in twisted ways. The snap echoed. First in my office, at ten twenty-three in the morning. Then in the emptiness around us, and finally in the solitude between appointments.
"Your ten AM appointment just arrived," I heard my phone squawk at me. Again.
I closed my eyes and braced myself. Fuck. Here we were again.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-01-09T11:08:16 | 2020-01-09T10:49:56 | 61 | 29 |
[WP] You are cursed and turned into a statue. Everyone knows you're alive but, seeing as no one could break your curse, of they have all pretty much given up on you. Except for one wizard, who comes back nearly every day to try and free you, as well as holding one-sided conversations. | **Heavy Hearted**
I may be stone, but I feel with every part of my being.
I feel the rays of the morning radiate a gentle warmth across my rigid body. I feel the icy blasts of the winter wind as they are channelled through the narrow cobble streets surrounding me. I feel joy at the sight of children playing, enraptured by their carefree worlds of imagination. I feel sorrow at the passing of another of the townsfolk, one I have seen laugh and love as they lived in brief bursts within my sight.
Most of all, I feel love, untarnished and unyielding, as my beloved once more approaches.
Theo smiles as he glances at my stone hewn form. As always, the sunlight is playing across my head and shoulders as he arrives. He carries his books and spell ingredients, continuing his unrelenting quest to cure my curse.
He soon arrives at the base of my form, going below the bounds of my fixed sight. But now I can feel the gentle trace of his hand across my body. As ever, he gradually paces around my pedestal, letting his fingertips brush against the contours of my form. This is my bliss, my heaven.
Finally, and with a sigh, he is once again at his start. With a last sigh, he reaches up and holds my outstretched hand in his own, squeezing for a precious few minutes.
The town has begun to awake around us, the sounds suddenly filtering back in as we reach the end of our greeting. Theo moves to set up his stand alongside me, from where he ekes out a meagre living, giving the blessing of his vast experience and talent to the townsfolk for food and a little coin.
But for the most part, he will spend this day, as with every other, trying to break the curse that holds me trapped in this skin of stone. He will attempt trials and tests during the day, comparing notes with visiting scholars and dusty tomes. At night, I can see the distant glow of his summonings and spells, as he further studies the mysteries of my condition.
I am beyond grateful, beyond appreciation for my love’s labours.
But he must stop.
He must stop now. He is getting too close.
I have already felt the first minor successes of his art; a minute shift in my form, a sudden sensation of the smallest capacity for movement. Of course, he is succeeding, my valiant Theo!
But he cannot. For our time together will end.
For if he breaks the curse, I will die.
The dire truth is that I cursed myself. I opened the scroll with full knowledge of its contents. I did it for my own selfish desire to live.
I had been infected by poison, a sudden and vile sort brewed in the Northern wastes. I could feel it rushing through my body as I raced for our packhorse. There I knew that we had it, the one thing that could abate the spread of the toxic substance. The cursed scroll.
And so I read it, and here I am. Loved but soon to die by my love’s labours.
&nbsp;
----
I hope you enjoyed the read! Find more random fictions at r/countsforfun | "... so he handed me the match and said, 'If you can light it, I'll tell you the secret.' That, of course, left me in a fit. You see, there's no way the match could be lit, and I already knew the secret. Imagine his surprise when I hand him back the lit match, and tell him it was his boss that did it! His face was bright red."
Uproarious laughter followed, then Simon wiped a tear from his eye.
"Sadly, he didn't know any more than I did, so I'm still at square one. Figured we could at least give the old 'remove curse' another round." He place a hand on the well hewn statue. "That keeps things stable, right?"
Intoning several unknown words, he raised his hands and placed them on the statue. A blue glow surrounded the stone, then faded again.
"There." Sitting back down, he let out a long sigh. "We can try again tomorrow."
With that, he left.
The sun set in the small garden, and before long, morning broke again.
---
"A curse, you say? I'd be surprised if there's anythin' left in there. Tis' just marble now."
Standing next to the statue, Simon looked into its eyes. "No, I'm certain she's still in there."
"Yer' fightin' a loosin' battle there."
"For her, I'd fight a hundred battles."
"Well, I'm glad t' see someone still cares. It's a shame people don't have better respect for the fallen."
Simon pulled a photo from his pocket, the woman depicted in the statue was standing next to him, a big grin on her face. He sighed. "They were scared. I should have been there to keep the peace."
"Eh. Tis' not yer fault." The sailor pulled the pipe from his lips, blowing a perfect smoke ring, then resumed puffing. "Was boun' to happen sooner 'er later."
"I said I would protect her. I failed. Plain and simple." He put the photo back.
"Well, perhaps you should take a break. Get a chance t' see things from a new perspective?"
He looked to the statue. "No. I have to come back every day. The curse is attempting to erase her. I have to keep it at bay. Besides, she'd get bored. Who else would talk to her."
"Ay. Well, I'll leave you be. Take care of yerself."
With that, the sailor left Simon alone.
"We were certain the cave had some kind of answer. Hundreds of statues there, all afflicted the same way. Not a cure in sight." He slammed a fist into the bench. "Why do I get so close, and still fail?" Burrying his face in his hands, he began to weep. "I'd give anything to get you back."
He remained that way for several minutes, before collecting himself.
"Right. Quick 'remove curse' then back again tomorrow. Just got to keep moving forward, right?" Plastering a fake smile, Simon began intoning again. When the light faded, he quickly made his way out.
He had time, but no answers.
The sun set, and rose again.
---
The temple rose well above Simon as he made his way through the forest. Nearly 3 years, and he was close to his goal. If anyone had an answer, it would be the great wizard. Never mind that he had been dead for decades. As he approached the entrance, Simon could feel excitement well up within him. He brought a hand up, and knocked on the large wooden door.
...
Silence. Simon stirred, then froze again.
...
More silence. Simon coughed, cleared his throat, then spoke. "I am Simon DeTrelis. I seek a cure to a curse."
...
A moment passed. Then two. Surely the old wizard had heard him. Even as a ghost, Nilrem had helped those in need. Why was he ignoring Simon?
...
"One moment." Simon let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. A man with a beard as long as he was tall answered the door. "What can I do for you, Simon?"
Simon bowed. "I seek a cure for my sister."
"Ellen? What did she get herself into?"
Simon was in shock. "How do you know her?"
Nilrem smiled. "It's my job to know all things." He paused, rubbing his beard. "Well, most things. Please, come in." he gestured for Simon to enter.
This was it, everything Simon had worked toward, all before him. "So you'll help?"
Nilrem nodded, "I'll see what I can do. But first, you need to tell me what happened."
---
For more of my writings, go check out r/SocietyofMythicPeople.
You can also find me on r/redditserials:
* [Phoenix of the Forest](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/eb78u4/phoenix_of_the_forest_chapter_1/)
* [Reborn](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/e1kn9x/reborn_part_1/)
* [Society of Mythic People](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/ejks96/society_of_mythic_people_chapter_1/) | 2020-02-10T23:28:56 | 2020-02-10T21:39:20 | 261 | 65 |
[WP] You hear a knock on your door. A dark suited man stands with a box. "Congratulations! You've won a lifetime supply of our new frozen meals!" He opens the box, which contains a single, blue lidded tv dinner. You look around. "Where is the rest?" He grins. "This will last the rest of your life." | You open the lid
"Capsules?"
The man grins even more.
"Yup! We just perfected our dehydrated meal capsules. Pour some water on it and toss it in a microwave or oven, and it will turn into a full meal. They're labeled, too, so it won't be a surprise as to what you get."
You raise your eyebrows. "Wow, that sounds cool. How many are in here?"
"This container has around a half million capsules, so if you eat three of them a day, it should last you the rest of your life. Let us know if you get married or have kids, and we'll send you more, no sweat."
You take the container from the man.
"Thanks, fam." | "So what's the catch?" I asked. No visible cameras, no logos, no confetti. Just this man in a suit, with a box. A TV dinner box. Not even one of the good ones, or even a recognizable one. "No catch!" He enthusiastically added, "You were randomly selected to recieve this fully functional prototype of the meals of the future!"
He could probably sense the confusion that was emanating from my person liberally, he continued in a further upbeat tone, "I know this may be confusing, and you may be asking yourself how this works! But because we plan on selling this in every supermarket in America, all I can tell you is once you finish your dinner this evening, wait 45 minutes to an hour and you'll be delighted to see tomorrow's meal!"
Off went the black SUV, and just like that I had the cool tray in my hands. It was full of questions that were seasoned with curiosity, better than the frozen semblance of meatloaf. And with that curiosity, and no prevailing plans, I threw it in the microwave as I turned the channel over to the evening news. The flavor was passable at best, and today certainly not it's best. Besides the blandness, something relating to it's supposed regeneration capabilities left a slight taste of iron in my mouth. Deciding it'd be best to soothe my disappointed taste buds, I grabbed a glass of cheap wine and sprawled out on my recliner for the evening.
I seem to be getting drowsy as the news anchor continues droneing on. Nearly 45 minutes has passed and there's still been no noticable activity in the empty tray. What a sham. As the musical sound of a shattering window plays from across the house, my heart is now racing... it can't be! No, it's just a thief, or perhaps someone after the strange TV dinner. My witness protection identity should be foolproof for at least the next six months no risk.
Hurriedly I grip the baseball bat next to the door, and begin to sweep of the house. There's just an uneasy nothing, and a headache starting to form. All this excitement is making me sick, and it's probably just a prank. Returning to the living room, I find myself struggling- a chord around my neck I writhe against my unseen attacker. Resistance under the sharp fight for breath earns a strike to the stomach, vomit to spewing out as the chord draws tighter, tighter.. tighter.....The world starts to spin, and haze gathers till all that's left in the spiraling is the echoes of a news anchor.
"Any signs of struggle?" the detective questioned. The coroner gave his detailed response, "No Sir, just a wineglass knocked over as he struggled for breath. Food poisoning. Real aggressive kind. I'd say it was in his system for 45 minutes, an hour tops." Seeing no reason to investigate further, the detective called the case closed, and issued for a body bag. When the full body bag left the home, so left the black SUV, having successfully delivered the meal to last the rest of the man's life. | 2020-04-07T01:47:33 | 2020-04-06T23:42:52 | 77 | 53 |
[WP] On your deathbed, the Grim Reaper himself comes to pay you a visit. You expect him to collect your soul, until he asks where and how you have hidden it. | “Hidden it? Is this some kind of cruel joke”
My voice shakes with age, a croak. Barely audible, but clearly enough for death himself. The voice of death is not a pleasant one. The hiss is slow and uncomfortable. It sounds like air escaping
“Yes. Your soul is not where is should be and thus must have been hidden. So I ask, where?”
My face must be a sight to see, confusion and pain all jumbled together. *my soul... not where it should be?* “I... I don’t know. I never did anything with it, I... I didn’t even know it existed to be completely honest with you,”
If understanding could dawn on the face of a skeleton, I could have sworn I saw it then. “Never existed...” deaths voice seemed to be searching for something. A possibility, a chance. Anything that could explain what was unfolding in front of him.
With that, he left. I still sit in a hospital bed, but no one comes. It’s as if the hospital is gone. My room seems... faded. Maybe I just need some rest. | “What?” I say.
I’m probably 12 different types of confused right now. Death is standing next to my hospital bed with his eyes focused on me, wanting to reap another soul.
“Your Soul! Where did you hide it, how did you hide it? If you don’t tell me, I’ll give you hell before I put you there!” He practically yells.
I look to him with blatant confusion, “I didn’t hide anything grim. I have no clue about anything your talking about.”
He huffs. He has hellfire burning his eyes.
“Then where. The fuck. Is it?”
“I don’t know, in my body somewhere!”
“If that was true, how could I do this?”
He brings his scythe down into my head, and I expect to be impaled, but it passes through me, removing all my former fear.
“If you still had your soul, that would’ve taken your life away. Now stop fucking lying. Where is it?!” He says clearly losing patience.
“I have no clue. I did not do anything with it.” I say as sincerely as I can.
He facepalms. Then yells in anger.
“The only three ways a soul can be taken out of a person is they take it and hide it, I reap the soul out of them...” he pauses, “... or if something hit you hard enough to knock your soul out of you. In which case your soul is wandering the streets.”
It all came back to me.
17 years ago I was hit by a speeding truck, I was barely alive when I was rushed to the hospital and miraculously made a recovery, but My head was split open, and the surgeons put a metal plate in my head.
I relay all this info to grim.
“Yeah, that is probably what happened, your soul lies in your mind. If your head was split open then the force of the impact should have knocked the shit out of your soul. I don’t know how your still alive.” He says with astonishment, “we’re gonna have to take you to the big boss. Satan.”
We arrive at the devils doorstep, which is a run down casino. Tortured souls are wandering around, having terrible luck and getting drunk. A creature approaches us, Satan I assume.
He’s got black fur covering his entire body. Four eyes with the glow of souls he has trapped over the thousands of years.
“Who’s the little prick you’ve brought into hell today grim? Doesn’t look fully dead.” He’s says with a deep booming voice.
“This little shit here is-“
“H-Hi, I’m Jack. Jack James Griffith.” I say with fear.
“Yeah. Anyways we got a run away soul. We need to track it down cause this guy decided to get hit by a god damn truck.”
“Run away soul?” He laughs, “Who told you that, grim?”
“Uh, he didn’t have a soul when I came to kill him off.”
“That’s cause I have it!” He opens his palm and we see a holographic image of me. “I just told you to bring the body down.”
“Oh. Well task failed successfully I guess.” I said to grim.
“Shut up! Alright I’m leaving.” He says and vanishes.
“Ok Jack. Ready to have a shit time down here in hell?”
I gulp. I thought the afterlife was going to be nice to me.
|END|
Quick note; Jack is not my real name, I made up a fake one for the story. I hope you liked it! | 2020-04-22T22:09:49 | 2020-04-22T21:21:30 | 102 | 44 |
[WP] The main character's superpower is the ability to speak to the narrator. Unfortunately, the traditionalist narrator is not willing to put up with such a radical plot and will do anything in his power to tell a "normal" story. | This is the story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was employee # 427.
Employee # 427’s job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk, telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order.
This is what employee 427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others might have considered it soul rending, Stanley relished every moment that the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job. And Stanley was happy.
And then one day, something very peculiar happened, something that would forever change Stanley, something he would never quite forget. He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that not one, single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had shown up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say hi. Never in all his years at the company had this happened, this complete isolation. Something was very clearly wrong.
Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time, but as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.
All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room, perhaps he had simply missed a memo.... | *\[warning, violence\]*
\-------
"I swear to the heavens, if this is another swamp I will camp here and not move for a week."
"Talking to yourself again?"
"No, I'm talking to the *narrator* as I've told you--"
His friend ignored him, peering out into the swamp with a look of fear. "Say, it looks like something big is coming this way!"
"Not my problem. I'm going to sit here and not move until we go somewhere other than a swamp. And yes, I know you can hear me!"
His shouts went unnoticed, except perhaps by the vengeful MONSTER that came roaring out of the swamp.
His friend drew a sword and prepared for battle, glancing worriedly back at the hero. "Um, now isn't a great time to be napping?"
"Not napping, making a point."
"Yes, yes, your imaginary friend is very stubborn, I get it. But perhaps our immediate survival could motivate your, er, resolving the conflict post haste?"
"Yeah, maybe, if the narrator would LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!"
His bellows served only to infuriate the beast, whose sensitive ears it must be confessed were used to high-pitched and shrill insect sounds but not those deep and echoing like that of the stubborn hero.
The beast bellowed furiously and charged, swatting aside the hero's friend like a paltry obstacle, and trampling most thoroughly the stubborn man who refused to play his part.
Then it tore the hero's bloody corpse into bite-size pieces, and swallowed them one by one, pausing only long enough to knock the deceased hero's friend away every few minutes.
"I'll slay you, you vile beast!" shouted the friend, whose voice it must be said was a much more comfortable shrill compared to the hero's noisome bellow, and thus did not provoke the beast into a rage.
Then finally, its gory work done, the beast snorted in satisfaction as it swallowed the hero's last remaining foot, then lumbered back into the swamp.
"No, Deven, why!" His friend knelt beside the bloody patch of ground, beside the pile of untouched armor Deven had been too stubborn to wear, and the sword he'd been too stupid to pick up in defence. He'd been so confident in his position, believing his meta-narrative powers would suffice to defend him from the all-powerful narrator's grasp, but now he was gone. Now another, someone worthier, would have to rise to take his place.
"Wait. *Wait.* He wasn't crazy? You're real?"
It turns out, the swamp monster wasn't quite as satiated by its meal as the new fool would like to think, for it came charging out with unbelievable stealth, ready to put an end to another fool who would dare invoke powers beyond mortal ken--
"Oh, heavens, no, I'll be good, I swear! If you don't want me to acknowledge your existence, I won't. Never again. I swear!"
Fortunately, the shrill panicked shrieks served to comfort the beast, the sound well within its preferred register. With one last snort of warning, it turned and lay down.
"Deven, you idiot." His friend sighed, collecting his armor and weapon and stowing them in the horse's packs to sell at the next town. Except the sword, perhaps. It was a nice blade. "I will miss you, if only because you were someone to talk to. Though, now I can say whatever I please, and you won't try to correct me. For your information, my pronunciation is flawless."
Deven's spirit did not materialize, but his replacement didn't mind.
"Alright, you big idiot. Let's see if I can handle swamps better than you did."
With a quick, practiced motion, she swung herself into the saddle and set off on her grand adventure. | 2020-05-09T23:02:25 | 2020-05-09T21:39:42 | 223 | 30 |
[WP] At the age of sixteen, people are shown a title that they will earn in the future from Fate herself in a special ceremony. Usually these titles can range from "The Baker" to "The Kind" or even "The Conquerer". You turn sixteen, and are faced with the title of "The Godkiller". | “I was going to ask her to prom.”
“Go for it, dude. Why the hell not?”
“The whole ‘Godkiller’ thing.”
“That shouldn’t matter here. It’s prom.”
“Kind of a lot of pressure.”
“There is no pressure.”
“How can there not be pressure?!”
“For one thing, it’s only prom. For another, it’s a widely known fact that she’s hoping you’ll ask. You can practically Wiki it. Finally, I’m sure she’s into the whole ceremonial title you’ve got.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because! ....because.”
“Go on.”
“....because women love that sort of thing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, man, that’s the key to sexual satisfaction.”
“My ceremonial title is ‘The Persistent.’”
“Exactly!”
“So Shannon the Godkiller will inevitably fall in love with William the Persistent?”
“A, yes, completely. Persistence is critical to success. And two, as long as you’re not a god you should have a bomb ass prom.”
“And what if it turns out that persistence is the key to being a sex god?”
“Can’t beat Fate, dude. We all come, we all go.”
“How long have you been waiting to make that joke?”
“Solid hour, bro. I thought I’d never get the chance.” | Since birth I've always been completely normal, completely average, completely mediocre and completely predictable.
My birth was nothing special, just a normal baby born at a normal time with a normal body and a normal mind.
My childhood was nothing special, just a normal child with normal friends, normal intellect and normal physiology.
My preteens were nothing special, just a normal student with normal skills and normal achievements.
Right?
Around our preteens, around the age of twelve, everyone began to develop their own unique little talents or hobbies, which they progressively grew more proficient in. But not me.
My preteens were nothing special, just a normal student with normal hobbies, normal talents and a normal lifestyle.
Right?
As we finally began to reach the grand age of 16, the age at which Fate would gift us our names, my friends began to excel more at their chosen trades. But not me.
My preteens were nothing special, just a normal person with normal toys, normal books and a normal body.
Right?
But eventually it was my turn. I was led through those pristine white arches of The Sanctuary, walked barefoot across the beautiful white carpet of the The Sanctuary, and was led into The Inner Room of The Sanctuary. Here, The Apostle left me, leaving me to talk to Fate myself. Coming face to face with Fate, who could change destinies and destroy futures with a wave of her hand, I definitely felt a sense of apprehension as she threw gold dust into the air. Slowly the dust clumped together into shapes, into words. All my friends had gotten normal titles like The Butler or The Janitor. But not me.
My preteens were nothing special, just a normal person, a normal human, a normal cog in a normal machine.
Right?
But the words, speckles of gold, convinced me otherwise. There, in big bold letters, it told me my destiny. The Godkiller, it said. But what god was I to kill? I looked to Fate for guidance. Fate told me that my destiny was different, that something had gone wrong with the ritual, but her panicked tone and the fright in her eyes were guidance enough as to my target.
My existence was nothing special. So, Fate should be able to give me a stroke or something easily. My fate was sealed.
Right?
Watching her frantically wave her arms around, trying to adjust my fate, I realised that to be normal is to be predictable. To be predictable is to have to be easy to foresee. To be easy to foresee is to have a set future. To have a set future, would that not mean that Fate cannot disrupt it completely no matter how hard it tries?
My existence was completely predictable, completely normal.
Right?
I walked over to the once-mighty old woman, my fear disappearing with every step.
“Screw you.” I punched her across the jaw, sending her tumbling across the room. Then I stomped on her. Then I began to punch her. Over and over and over and over. One for each of the unique hobbies I could have had. One for each of the unique talents I could have had. One for each of the unique skills I could have had. One of each and every one of the beautiful and gorgeous lives that I could have led, if not for her tearing my future apart, if not for her existence. As I walked out of The Sanctuary, the blood dripping from my arms dyed the floor like the blooming of beautiful crimson petals, staining the once snow-white carpet. As I casually strolled down the street home, I don’t think anyone would have thought that I had just killed god.
After all, I was nothing special.
&#x200B;
\--------------
First post after finally making a reddit account, please don't beat me up D: | 2020-08-15T03:49:00 | 2020-08-15T02:14:03 | 45 | 13 |
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt | I'm Samuel Smith, and I have the most useless power you could think of.
Both of my parents are super heroes, my dad can warp reality with his mind while my mom can basically deadlift two continents without breaking a sweat.
Me? I can move anything I want telepathically by an inch.
It took me years and years of being shot at and stabbed before perfecting this "power", where my parents thought that this business wasn't for me, I thought otherwise.
Today is one of those days where I had to explain my power because...
"THAT'S IT!? THAT'S YOUR POWER!? AND YOU'RE *THE* WORLD'S STRONGEST SUPER HERO!?"
"Yep"
"HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE!? YOU MOVE SKYSCRAPERS LIKE THEY'RE *NOTHING*"
"Well, I actually don't. You see when I move something, it can be by direct contact or it can be as far away as possible."
Mordau looked at me in confusion and asked "But you can only move it an inch....?"
I laughed and said "But I didn't say how. You see, I can move things by one inch, but I can continuously do it"
"So that means you can move it as much as you want"
"Nah not really, there's a two second cool-down for it, and looking at how long we've been talking...."
Suddenly Mordau found himself falling from his building, maybe it wasn't such a good idea to stand on the ledge when you're dealing with the "Strongest" man in the world | The Overlord stood suspended in the air over the city. He tightened his thin white leather gloves and smiled his cruel smile. He dove through the air towards the city, the wind rippling his long dark hair around his face obscuring his features. Despite the speed of his descent he was able make his landing look as casual as you or I may step off a curb.
“It is over, you have been defeated, Blink.” As he approached my battered body I watched in horror as he removed one of his gloves gently and his almond colored hand transformed into a meat syringe. I attempted to struggle to my feet, desperately wanting to get away. My body failed me, my legs had the strength of wet noodles and I couldn't get to my feet.
“Now, now Mr.Blink. Don’t be scared, you'll just be another part of my collection.” The overlord lightly tapped his now syringe looking hand with great affection. He reached out, the smell of oil he used to keep his gloves supple slid inside my nose increasing the dizziness I already felt. I felt his hand on the top of my head and pathetically attempted to smack it away with no success. The Overlord reared his arm back and drove his syringe into my chest. There was no pain initially, just the penetrating feeling of having something foreign enter my body without my consent. Then came the pain. I small trickle at first that roared into a great flood of pain centering around the point of the syringe poking my organs. A wet slurping sound proceeded the Overlord removing himself.
“At last, I will finally be able to teleport. No one will be able to catch me ever again.” The Overlord started cackling, but his laughter petered out when my own laughter could be heard. The Overlord observed me closely as I finally gained my feet in front of him, the pain in my chest a dull ache now.
“Why don’t you go ahead and jump away Overlord? I clearly can’t stop you.” The Overlord flicked his wrist and the meaty hand syringe transformed back into his normal hand and he slipped a white leather glove back on. He was acting cautious, something in my words was holding him back. I drew my weapon, a large fan blade, and held it in front of me. The overlord threw his hands up in mock fear.
“Oh my Mr.Blink, I have no desire to get smacked across the bottom by your weapon.” He smiled his cruel smile and disappeared into nothing. As fast as I could I leaped forward and swung my fan blade down. I felt no resistance to my swing, but I flipped the blade over and saw a small red splash on the underside of the fan. A deep sigh of relief escaped my lips, the battle was over and I collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion. Civilians started to peek out from inside their buildings and bodegas. Not wanting to be questioned or blamed for the damage I activated my power. I felt myself growing very small, wings sprouted from my shoulder blades, extra arms from my ribcage. My vision shattered into thousands of tiny images coalescing into one singular image. I lept and flew away from the scene. No one turned their head to follow my movements except the stray cat that had wandered by to survey the scene. I gained altitude and escaped the scene before the cat could swat me down. The townsfolk were in awe.”
“Blink teleported away again! What if the overlord comes back?”
I laughed to myself as I landed on a window ledge, no one would see the overlord ever again since he was a small smear on my weapon now. A roar sounded behind me, and I turned to see a small child opening a window.
“Gross a Fly.” Was all I heard as a shadow appeared above me.
The young girl wiped the remains of the fly off of her hand and scampered to the kitchen to steal a cookie before dinner. | 2020-12-02T07:22:15 | 2020-12-02T07:17:43 | 320 | 100 |
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead. | We weren't a rich family. Hell, I don't even know if we even qualified as poor, might not have had enough for that. Father was a coal miner until black lung got him, and mother emptied chamber pots to keep food on the table. Still, somehow we were happy, at least until the day we discovered I had magic.
Magic of course is highly regulated. Can't have any random nutjob running around burning cities to the ground, right? Either you joined the academy, or you were locked up in the tower. Of course mages were an elite class, and wanted to stay that way. The magic doesn't care though, it picks who it wants.
Luckily the king and his council understood that, and by law, the academy was free and open to all.
It didn't stop the mages from trying. Despite the best efforts of the king, they stood firm on the rule that nobody could join the academy without a familiar. Which of course the mages were in charge of raising and selling.
Most of the mages that sold familiars wouldn't even unlock the door when we came around. They told me to "enjoy the tower". I didn't even know what the tower was, but I doubt it was something I was going to enjoy.
Then we finally came to a run-down shack of a store. It was run by a man who must have been a mage, since he was allowed to sell familiars, but was as far from the academy elite as you could get.
He wore old, plain robes, far from the gold embroidery of the academy leaders, even more simple than that of the standard academy uniform.
"Welcome to Marty's Discount Familiars! I'm Marty, obviously."
I didn't say anything at first.
"I'm guessing you're the lucky boy who is going to the academy?" Marty looked at me with warm eyes.
"Only if I can find a familiar. We only have ten coppers." For six months, we'd barely eaten, worn the same unpatched clothing, and generally lived worse than beggars and that's all we could save.
"Don't you worry about that. I see potential in you. More than those overstuffed idiots in the academy ever had. You remind me a bit of myself at your age. I've got the perfect thing for you, and it's only gonna cost you three copper coins."
Marty walks into the back room, spends nearly a half hour rummaging around. I could hear trunks opening and closing, and various boxes being moved and shoved. We were about to leave, when he burst back into the room, "Here it is, can't believe how far down I hid that!"
Marty opens a small wooden box. I place my hand outstretched, as he seemed to want. In my hand, he placed a rock. More a gem, really, rough, but it still seemed to glow faintly as I turned it in my hand.
"Don't you worry my boy. It doesn't look like a lot now, but if you take care of it, you won't regret it." Marty grinned.
It's not like I had much of a choice. It certainly beat the tower. | Mad Hank, the oldest magician in Jill’s town. His origins are unknown to any of the folks, older than anyone remembers. At best some families might have heard stories passed down from their great-great grandparents about the man, but none could be proven. Some stories getting rather outrageously superficial, like the one that stated the man was the work of a chaotic god granting a rock life. What idiot would believe such a tall tale? The only detail about the man that had been proven was his skill. Despite his mind being mostly gone, his magical abilities were better than any of the mages Jill knew. That’s why she came to him in her time of need.
“Mr. Hank Sir, I heard you often help mages in need. My family are rather poor. They scrambled together their savings to send me to a school, only to find out they don’t provide a familar. I know you have no reason to help me, but it would mean so much to my family and I if you could share one of your familiars with-“
“PET ROCK.” Hank cackled, turning around to show her a rather standard rock, the only difference being, this one had a pair of comical wobbly eyes on it. He offered her a wide grin, one that managed to show through his grey and white beard.
“P-pardon sir, I don’t think I understand what you mean? Are you suggesting this rock be my familiar? The name would imply that you are-“
“Smart girl picked up on it quick. Little too chatty though, you tried being quiet?” Hank asked, lifting her black pointed hat, sitting the pet rock underneath it. “Treat Rocky good, he’s going to grow up to be a boxer someday. HAH.” The old man cackled, raising his hands to the heavens.
“I think this may have been a bad idea. I’ll just leave the rock behind; you like rocky more than I do, anyway.” She went to set the rock aside, only for a powerful blast of fire to swirl past her hand, stopping her movements.
“I’m mad, not stupid. Take Rocky and show those rich punks how people like us live.” The old mage again raised a hand triumphantly before making a pained groan. “I’m far too old for these levels of excitement. Bye now, don’t come back until you have saved the world or whatever you younglings do these days.” When she next blinked, she was outside, the door to his hut missing.
Jill lifted her hat, staring at the wobbled eyed rock. I guess that makes us a team now. I’m Jill, Will you be my familiar? The person to protect me throughout my life?” The rock offered no response. Jill’s heart sank. The man had mocked her, giving her a rock as a joke. She nearly threw the rock through his window, only for her hand to glow blue, sealing the contract between the two.
She didn’t have the heart to tell her parents about the rock, not wanting to worry them. Instead making up some story about how he had given her a lowly houseplant. Her first day of school she found tough, everyone walking around with their magical creatures, and here she was, carrying a rock.
“You two must have a rocky relationship.” A voice called out, a roar of snickering following that as a male walked over, dragon following behind. The dragon may have been small but had an impressive set of blue scales, ones that belonged in a book of myths. “Nice to see you got what you deserve. What happens when the rock breaks? Will you bring a pet twig?” More laughter followed, causing her to shove the rock into her robes.
“Its powerful. I just don’t know how to use it that’s all.” Jill tried to make up a lie, but no one believed her, laughter continuing. She went to turn away, only to feel a movement in her robes. When she turned around, she saw the dragon whimpering, a red sore spot on its snout from where the rock had hit, causing the creature to scamper back.
“Y-You threw that at my familiar! I’ll kill you.” The male went to charge only for a wall of blue magic to stop him, appearing before the man.
“Now, now Fredrick. You are a mage, correct? If that’s true, you should be able to tell that she did no such thing. The familiar acted on its own. You provoked her and it attacked, the same way your creature might if you were in such a situation. While there’s no penalty for familars fighting, there is one for students fighting. I suggest you think about that.”
When the wall dropped, Fredrick shot Jill a glare, mumbling that this wouldn’t be over. An empty threat given how well the rock handled the situation earlier. The hallway’s patrons turned to look away, unsure what they had just witnessed, still they didn’t want to get scolded by the teacher for watching.
“I am Henry Faddler, your chemistry teacher. Now I must offer you the same caution I offered Fredrick. I know they provoked it, but if your familiar acts out of line too many times, we will remove them. Our school has standards, now go to your homeroom, classes start in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” Jill didn’t argue with the teacher, his words were fair enough in her eyes. Focusing on the day ahead, she rushed to find her homeroom, giving her pet rock a smile, it wobbling its eyes in response as they started their first day.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-01-06T08:26:28 | 2021-01-06T07:16:08 | 676 | 267 |
[WP] You were an "evil" king who has been dethroned by conquering heroes for your "horrible tyranny". It takes less than 2 years for the people of the kingdom to be begging for you to be reinstated as king. | He wiped the sweat off his brow before picking up his plow. This year's harvest would be meager, but with hard work the land would flourish again. He was lucky that he was simply exiled, and not executed as was promised.
Peter swung his plow into the ground. His back ached, and his clothing was soaked in sweat. If he wanted to survive the winter he couldn't give up. Barely 1/3rd of the field was finished. He had to keep moving.
"Your Majesty!"
He ignored the voice.
"Please, your Majesty!"
Peter swung his plow into the ground again. His palms burned, and his ears rang from the effort. He wasn't originally used to this sort of work.
"Your Majesty!" A pair of gilded boots entered his vision.
*these hallucinations are getting out of hand*
He turned away and swung his plow again. His eyes were blurry from the heat.
"Please, you have to come back to us!"
Peter stopped for a moment and turned his weary eyes at the speaker. Lord Vintner stood before him, his once perfectly pristine outfit now marred by mud.
"Explain to me, what gives you the right to trespass onto my land, and address me with such familiarity?" Peter spat out, before grabbing his plow and walking away. His boots stomping through the muddy earth. He heard the extravagant boots follow him.
"Your Majesty, I beg of you. We need you to lead again. The others and I were discussing it. We are desperate!"
Peter kept walking.
"The crops have been failing, the peasants are revolting, crime has risen, and for gods sakes we have a plague within the city!"
Peter stopped in his tracks and set down his plow. Lord Vintner looked at him with hope in his eyes.
"The moment your thugs invaded my bedroom, dragged me naked out into the streets, and beat me before the public was the moment I gave up on this kingdom." Peter spat into the dirt, and crossed his arms.
"C-can you blame us? The prophesy was clear. Everything that was written happened!" Vintner stuttered.
"Of course it happened!" Peter angrily stepped forward. "The writings were vague and open to interpretation! To think that my trusted court would be so unbelievably ignorant has completely wasted away any trust I ever had in my people." Peter sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I tried to explain my policies, I gave you all of my reasonings, my deductions, my plans. I explained everything, yet you were still afraid and tried to kill me. If I cannot be trusted to lead then there is no reason for me to do so." He lifted his plow over his shoulder, and began walking away again.
Vintner stumbled after him. The mud sucking at his boots.
"If you would only give us a chance! We will do better I promise!"
Peter kept walking. "You forget all of the chances I gave you before I was so humiliated, with all of my dignity stripped away from me!" He stopped in his tracks and turned around. "How am I supposed to lead an ignorant populus that believes carrying daisies in their pocket will keep them safe from a plague?! Whose idea was it to divert the river? Did no one think that the valley would become dry? Of course the peasants will revolt when they. Have. No. Food..." Peter stared into Vintner's eyes. "Every single one of you have become puppets to lies. I am tired of science and reasoning becoming akin to witchcraft. I am tired of education being scoffed at. When I needed the funding to open a university the court nearly had my head. How is this a kingdom I want to be a part of? How is this a kingdom anyone with any sense wants to be a part of?"
"That is exactly why you must come back your Majesty! The people will see sense when they realize the truth."
"What truth? The "truth" of the prophesy? The "truth" that ensued panic when I requested a curfew? The "truth" that my quest to increase the health of our people was instead murdering children?" Peter scoffed. "No there are no truths to be seen here."
Vintner solemnly removed his hat and got down on his knees. His gold embroidery permanently ruined as he sank into the mud. "I am not one to beg for forgiveness. All that you say is true and more, but..." Vintner looked up into Peter's eyes. "When young babes die in the arms of their mothers, and our soldiers lay dying, not from a war, but from a preventable disease. I vow to do whatever is in my power to stop it." Vintner gripped his hat tighter. "Your Majesty. This is madness. Complete madness. We need you." Vintner wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry. I should not have let you bear all of the responsibility. I was selfish. Utterly selfish, and lazy. My silence doomed you and this country. I was content to let others speak for me, and I have failed everyone who trusted me. I do not seek forgiveness, I just wish to right my wrongs. Whatever punishments I am to serve I will accept them gladly." Vintner bent his head. He did not expect to succeed. He didn't deserve it.
Peter stayed silent for a moment. Deep in thought.
"If I am to return, I will return as the tyrant everyone thought me to be. If they will not see reason with a pen I will have them see it with a sword."
Vintner looked up at his King. A smile on his face. | As Alanmir tended his garden, head lowered to water the cluster of Amaryllis in bloom, he heard a horse approaching, followed by its cool shadow looming over him.
"Can I help you?" Alanmir asked politely. He lifted his head in greeting, placing a sweaty, dirt covered hand over his brow to see the rider, squinting to try and make out their features, but saw only pale shadow in the bright sunlight. The unknown rider continued to look at him in silence. He could command the rider to speak, but it had been years since he'd used that regal power. Nowadays, he tended his little garden and traded his knowledge of letters to the village for supplies. Gone was the stress of court and nobles. It was a simple life.
"Alanmir you *bastard*, I've finally found you," the rider's tone was scalding, scratching at hazy memories in Alanmir's mind. The rider dismounted quickly, then rounded the horse and leaned over the fence between them. Alanmir blinked a few times, then froze, his blood running as he recognised the rigid smile on the pale rider's face.
"J-Jamer!" Alanmir said in a horrified whisper, falling to his haunches. A ghost from the past— the contract magician of a former life. A man who had no right to be standing here. A man whom Alanmir had watched buried alive in chains and dirt. The bargain that had been struck between himself and the Usurpers rang loud in his mind; A Life for a Life. The King's Throne for a Magician. Sworn by blood and witnessed by many.
"That's right, you *coward*. Your good old *friend* Jamer, returned from the *dead,"* the undead man spat the words at the former-king like an accusation, his feral smile never wavering.
"What do you want!? Leave me alone! I'm done with this kingly business, done with it and done with you, damn it!" Alamnir blubbered, scrabbling backwards until his back hit the familiar wood of the shack. He looked anywhere but that pale face and that wide, dead smile, praying for The World to grant him a boon and end this nightmare.
Jamer raised a mocking eyebrow as he hopped over the fence with ease. "Oh, sir, *please*, *I* want for nothing. I am but a humble servant. Your *people* on the other hand *cry* your name out from the rooftops. The *nobles* weep tears when your name is mentioned on their lips. The soldiers fall to their knees and abandon their posts. It's quite tragic," Jamer said theatrically, raising his arms ever higher as he took one slow step after another towards the former king.
Despite the fear, Alanmir couldn't help but raise his eyes to the undead magician in hope. When he had *retired*, he had expected people to make a fuss about it. An uprising or two perhaps, maybe even a peasant revolt. But nobody did anything. He had gone not with a bang, but with a whimper. But to hear the snake Jamer speak of his kingdom like this filled a gnawing need he hadn't realised he had; that perhaps history would remember him as a good king.
"*No*," Jamer said sarcastically, shattering Alanmir's hopes. "But this is what you'll need to believe when you make your triumphant return, because you *are* going to be returning," there was a bitter, harsh steel to the last part; a command rather than a request.
"No! I won't. *I won't*!" Alanmir blubbered, trying to make himself smaller as Jamer approached him. The undead magician spoke on, as though he'd never spoken at all.
"See, over the last two years I've had quite a lot of time to think about what happened to me. How *did* the Usurpers enter the court so easily? Why *did* the Nobility not fight back? Why *was* power transferred so cleanly? And most importantly," the smile wavered, the pale mask breaking into a rictus of rage, "why was *I* the only one to be executed after all of it?"
Jamer was only a step away from Alanmir now, and he lowered himself to a crouch, bringing his pale close, his dead eyes boring into the king's. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" there was an edge of madness to the man's voice as he said it, the smiling mask slipping back on.
Alanmir gulped, trying to keep the bile in his stomach down, shaking his head vigorously. He had thought his plan to disappear and escape the contract magician's clutches was foolproof. How childish it seemed now when spoken back to him by the undead man. "B-but if the kingdom doesn't want me back, why are you here?"
"Ah, yes. Yes. A good question," said Jamer, pulling himself back a little. "You would agree that one shouldn't pitch a carriage to a *lame horse*, but I still have some faith in you, my dear *King*. You see, I went back to the kingdom before I came here, and *everything I thought would happen has happened*. *Everything.* With you on the throne the nobility could be kept in check, but without you? Every house with a kid to spare is claiming your throne! There's a civil war looming on the horizon and the Usurpers are on the brink of losing it all. It's quite tragic, really."
"Why me? Why not find someone else?"
"Why? *Because,*" Jamir said, breaking into a horrible, manic laugh, "as much as it pains me to admit, taking back a kingdom with an untested weapon is the height of foolishness. *I know you like I know myself.* So when I say you and I are going to go back to the kingdom to take back the throne from the Usurpers, I know, *exactly,* how we're going to do it. And to prevent any mishaps along the way, I drew up this contract for you to sign."
From his pocket, the undead magician pulled out a small scroll and handed it to Alanmir, along with a small, sharp nail.
"And if I refuse?" Alanmir said bravely, a fight welling up in his stomach. Without a king, Jamer would be able to do nothing. Jamer's power was in coercion, and the undead man had nothing now to blackmail him with. This had been one of the stipulations of his plan— a life for a life, his own for the safety of his daughter's.
"Well, well, well, well, *my dear king,"* Jamer sang in a lilting voice, "If you won't do it, I'm sure your *daughter* would be more amenable. Though she's on the other side of the continent, living it up on a beach resort, I'm sure she'll be thrilled for a little spice in her life, don't you think?"
The fight welling in Alanmir's stomach fled him, and he deflated visibly. Jamer still had something he could use, even after everything he had done to try and protect himself. The Usurpers had lied. Had failed in their bargain.
After a few silent seconds, he said, in a small, pitiable voice, "If... if I do this, will you leave her in peace?"
"Pinkie promise. Also, it's in the contract," Jamer said, chuckling as he licked his bruised tongue on cracked lips.
Alanmir looked up to the sky, tears pricking his eyes. He prayed once more for The World to save him, and when nothing came, he gave up. He sighed his last free sigh, stabbed his thumb with the nail, and pressed the welling blood into the contract.
Jamer's pale mouth grew into a contorted, feral smile as he watched the light leave Alanmir's eyes, and saw his puppet king returned to him at last. | 2021-03-30T16:53:11 | 2021-03-30T13:13:18 | 58 | 37 |
[WP] At a young age you made a deal with a fey in which you promised them your firstborn. Now you’re a 35 year old virgin, and the fey, sick of waiting, comes to help you around the dating scene. | “Nora, you cannot remain like this,” the fey said. “Alone, growing older, unmarried.”
“I’m alone, but I’m not lonely,” Nora answered, pruning the hedges around her cottage. “It was never part of our bargain that I had to marry.”
“Don’t marry then, but surely you have to fall in love!”
“That wasn’t in the bargain either,” Nora answered. “I’m under no obligation to do so.”
The fey sighed. “It is only fair that you find someone. I fulfilled my end of the bargain.”
“Don’t speak to me of fairness, fey. You found an innocent little girl and had her trade away her firstborn for a foolish child’s wish. Was that fair?”
“You were old enough to know what a bargain was.”
“And now I’m old enough to know how to turn a bargain to my favor. If you’d like to stay for tea, please do. But no more talk of love or marriage.”
The fey dejectedly followed Nora into the cottage. The house spoke of one having only one occupant, and rare visitors. The loveseat was too stiff, and Nora settled into the one comfortable armchair with her tea.
“You will have your secondborn, and all those who may come afterwards, Nora. Don’t spend your life like this just because you’re angry with me.”
“You know, the years after I made that damned bargain I questioned why you wanted my firstborn. So I waited to find someone to love, to have children with. I thought you might find some other innocent child to cheat, but you didn’t.”
The fey smiled. “I’m a patient woman.”
“You’re neither patient, nor are you a woman,” Nora said. “I learned about your kind, in all these years. You always saw that I was reading books instead of meeting men, but you never bothered to see which books I was reading.”
“Romance novels?” the fey joked.
“Spellbooks. It turns out not every woman’s firstborn is valuable,” Nora said. “Just a few, and we’re not common.”
“You’re thinking too highly of yourself, Nora.”
“No, no,” Nora said. “I’ve been watching you, fey. Perhaps not as much as you’ve been watching me, but enough. I’ve seen your worry increase as I’ve gotten older. How long will you have to wait until another little girl shows up?”
The fey grimaced. “Too long, Nora.”
“Too bad, fey.”
“Our blood has weakened over the millennia. We need fresh blood, Nora. We need special human children to continue our race.”
“Not mine, though,” Nora said. “I believe in Darwinism. Also, while you were trying to find men for me, I found a woman for myself. She's going to come over soon, so it's time for you to go. You know the way out." | In'faly is listening in utter frustration to single word echoing through room "No, no, no, no, no, no" "just say yes!" "I want my future wife to be star of my life" collar of his red polo shirt is almost ripped away as she lift him from chair "it is of no importance if you fancy that girl or not all you have to do is put this.." her slowly tap on his pride hidden beneath blue jeans "and put it inside her so I can take that result and we will all live happily ever after"
After retreating from gazing war she takes to hand glass tube "you said this helps with stress?" not waiting for answer with quick snap lights knot on fire and inhale white smoke coming from tube. With spinning head and in baggy t-shirt she confiscated from human lays on sofa leaving him swiping left and right..... Well only left. *oh God, my head*. Last night expedition proven two things. First Jack Daniel's is God damn criminal when it comes to metabolism of creature that measures between twenty to thirty centimeters in original form. Second. Marc can't impregnate even females almost prone on ground.
"why can't you just do as I say so we can both live in peace without the other breathing precious air" "you want me to find mother of my child, I want woman I love" anger is again coming from hazy alley of her head to surface "maybe you should stop bitching about that love and just fulfill contract" his sight drift away as he dreamingly continue infuriating speech "love is the most important thing in life, it makes humans better people it....". *and that's it*. Glass tube fly across the room and shatters when colliding with wall few centimeters above speakers head, her voice already trembling with fury she tried to hide for those length days of attempts to finally get that stupid child" love is something you fleshy, brain limited animals mistake for need of reproduction, you have no idea what it even mean only thing you know is that you want to avoid our deal!" searching for another thing that can serve as ammunition, finally settling for book almost shattering windov.
Annoying human doesn't even flinch through whole explosion coming from sofa. Even now he's only silently sitting and listening to endless rant. "seems like I am not the only one struggling here" such prompt her pick up another book from table. Title reads: Advanced physics: velocity. *what a fitting title for ammunition*. " I'll give you struggle you useless, dickless, childless idiot" "okay that's enough stop throwing my books and sit down* drilling curses through teeth she sits down with visibly stressed dickless. *hopefully not of them works*. His voice was back to calm after previous protective scream of his books" why do you get so angry because of child what the deal" piercing him with yes and considering cursing him for real this time she decides to give some answer " I am fairy that's what fairies do, we grant wish we take child we go we fine" suddenly thought emerges in her mind recalling something she almost forgot "anyway what you did with my wish, you wished to be loved by everyone for a week, you should have had tons of children"
*is it alcohol or am I just hearing bad* in complete disbelief she stares at Marc, unable to put together sentence capable of expressing her thoughts. "you did what?" " as I said I used it to publish my papers on technology Stan can save usable energy which is great issue of our planet". *everyone LOVED you and you were solving environment*. Glass of wine appears in her hand as she tries to dissolve into pillows "where did you get it I though we drank everything on that party last week" Marc shyly twitches and blush appears on his cheecks "when you said you want my first born child I went and bought that for night, I might have misunderstood"
She laughed. Honestly for the first time in many years. Marc went red as lobster. "anyway back to that child" "oh no no no this is way better topic". *and I am not telling you I can't have my own, and fairy without child is outcast*. "so you went and bought this on that day ten years ago when we made deal? Is it at least something special?" she slowly turns glass in hand trying to as they say catch glimpse of spark but glass is already missing most of liquid. "pink shatoe clerk said its best hey got"
"it's not even pink.... But it is good so pour" Marc fills her glass almost to top and offers his to toast. Rage almost vanished due to sparkling alcohol but mostly because of what just occurred to her " so It took you thirty-five years to find someone you would date but when we met first you did was to buy most expensive wine. You really misunderstood assignment". *sweet*. Confronted with nativity only this human is capable of night no longer looked so infuriating and even sofa became more comfortable. *so I am here with human who could have wished for fortune and hookers but he used it to fight environment crisis, who can't choose partner but buys wine for 20 centimeters tall mystical creature*.
"did I? Question catches her unprepared. It took her minute to realize what he refers to. First thing she considers is cooling his head down with wine. Gentle shiver under her belly stops her hand and forces smile on her lips. " Maybe you did not" | 2021-11-01T10:27:00 | 2021-11-01T06:14:44 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] The Princess has been kidnapped by Bandits. The Royal Family can only imagine what Horrors she must go through. Meanwhile in the Bandit Camp they started teaching her lockpicking. | Princess Vania was used to the soft swishes of poofy dresses and ornate suits in the clean, opulent court, filled with polite chatter masquerading scathing negotiations.
She, however, was still not quite used to the sharp twang of a pick breaking off in a lock, followed by the raucous laughter of chastisement, tinged around the edges with concern, in the dusty and dirty courtyard. But it was getting better.
“Ayy, you screwed it up again,” Chief Bonzo yelled over the din. “But much better than last time, girl.”
“I swear, I thought I had it,” Vania growled at the lock, running her finger across the small, sharp bit of metal that had snapped. “It felt set, really, but somehow, the turn just wouldn’t turn!”
“Be patient, girl,” Bonzo said. “You are getting there. It is difficult to see, but it is there.”
“But I feel so useless,” Vania whined, plopping herself down next to Bonzo. The chief pushed over a mug of ale surreptitiously.
“The progress here is not as obvious as, say, somebody putting on muscle and getting stronger. It’s not like your fingers become buffer when you get better at this. And since you are too inexperienced to judge with your own eyes, I can tell you with mine—your skill has improved drastically just one month later.”
“Thanks,” Vania blushed, and did a curtsy while sitting down, which looked remarkably like a seal trying to dive onto dry land. “It’s very appreciated.”
“Drink up. Eat up,” Bonzo said. “If you need more lessons, let Kyak know.”
“But he’s so hot-tempered,” Vania said. “Hell will be let loose on me.”
“But there is none better than him. But well, if you insist. What about Monsho?”
“He is the opposite. He is quieter than a ninja, even when he should be teaching me.”
Chief Bonzo laughed heartily, buoyed by the recent addition of alcohol to his digestive tract.
“You have qualms about all my trainers, girl,” Bonzo said. “So who do you want?”
“You, of course,” Vania smiled. “You are my saviour, after all.”
Bonzo shifted in his seat, looking away slightly.
“I’m not your saviour,” the chief mumbled. “You don’t a call a snake who spared a rat because it was too full a saviour.”
Vania sighed, taking another pick out from her belt, her fingers running them up and down idly.
“Chief, you’ve given me much wisdom over the course of my stay here,” Vania said. “But this time, I want to tell you something. Something I learned from being a princess.”
“Of course.”
“Everybody wants something from everybody else. It’s an inescapable fact,” Vania said. “At least here, it was about survival. To get food and water tomorrow, to grab medicine for those ill-equipped to deal with. It’s true and direct, even if it is a tad illegal.”
“Just a tad,” Bonzo laughed. “But sure.”
“But nobody here pretends they don’t want to do it. They don’t lie to themselves, to tell themselves that it was necessary but terrible. There are no excuses here.”
“In a way,” Bonzo said. “I’m afraid you might be romanticizing bandits a bit too much.”
“Oh, and that doesn’t happen in court?” Vania chuckled. “But really. I’ve learned more in this week, picking this stupid lock, and I’ve had in eighteen years there. You saved me—in more ways than one.”
Bonzo, against much of his will, smiled.
“Well, well, little lady,” Bonzo said. “You sure have sweet words.”
“I do,” Vania said. “OK, enough talk. Guide me again. I want to get this stupid lock done and dusted with.”
“Of course,” Bonzo said, rising from the table. “Just let me get extra picks from my table.”
The chief bandit left the table, walking back to the large tent that he called home. He slipped inside, and headed to the messy desk. A large bag of lockpicks sat there, and he removed them, hooking it onto his belt.
Underneath, there was a letter, addressed to the good king. Bonzo opened it up, and whispered the first few words under his breath.
“Dear king,” Bonzo said. “I have your princess here. Send me a ransom of 100,000 gold pieces, and I promise…”
Bonzo put it down. He chuckled again, before tossing the letter into the warming fire that he regularly maintained.
“Not lying to myself, eh,” Bonzo said. “Kid has a point.”
And with a whistle, Bonzo stepped out again, bag of lockpicks in tow, with nothing to gain but the approval of one former princess of the land.
---
r/dexdrafts | “Oi,” Marlan hissed behind him, looking away from the thin slit in the thick mahogany. “She’s dozing in there.”
A breeze came from the chained room, lavender and anise mixing with a misty chill. So that’s what a princess smells like, he thought.
“And that’s a problem?” came a whispered scoff as the muted powder boot step of Tiber carried through the sparkling hallway. “She won’t be by the time we're done, ya veezal slag. Quit dragging ass and get us in there.” He looked down at the lock with disgust, quirking up his face. “This is serious shit.”
“It’s a magstone lock, 4 by 4 at least, Aldertalla make,” Marlan said as he licked his teeth and probed a cavity. He pulled the oiled leather to roll out on the floor as he knelt. The seemingly marble floor felt strangely soft, spongey almost.
The jitters faded as he looked over the fine craftsmanship, ignoring Tiber tapping a foot beside him. He knew nothing about kidnapping, nor was he sure he even had the stomach for such dealings, but lockpicking, that was a different story. He took a bite of the bitter taxroot, numbing his tongue as he felt his heartbeat grow thinner and thinner. A potent batch, to be sure.
The 5/16th tension rod danced a ballet in his now burning fingers beside its partner, a sturdy cobalt counter mag as they penetrated deeper and deeper into the keyhole. “Click out of one, two’s binding-”
“I don’t need a play-by-play!” Tiber offered as he crouched in a powder fencer’s pose beside him, head on a swivel. “How long? Another pearl top rotation’s gotta be almost on us.”
Marlan smiled with a scoff of his own as he clicked away without answer, fully immersed in the artistry. It wasn’t the hardest lock he’d scraped but it was top twenty-five, easy. He looked back to lock eyes with Tiber as he pulled the shackle, who dove with all the reflexes he was famous for to stop the falling chains from making a sound. Marlan hadn’t thought of that.
“Damn,” Tiber said, pulling a three-line cable from his sleeve as he opened the door quiet and quick. “Guess you are worth your cut.” He gestured to the window then stopped. “Shit.”
Marlan saw the thin line gleam of the full moon. The window didn’t have a lock at all, but was so thin a cat couldn’t crawl through.
“I thought princesses all had big balconies, son of a Carrul” Tiber cursed, standing beside the sleeping maiden now. Her hands were wrapped in bloodstained cloth, a stark contrast to the silk sheets on the canopy bed.
“So, mission’s scraped?” Marlan said, feeling a release of tension that wasn’t just the taproot wearing off.
“No,” Tiber said, nodding to himself. “We grab her the same and head two stairs down. Palace ballroom on the left, leads out to the back gardens. We lose them in the trees then take her up the mountain trail and circle back to the meeting point.”
“I don’t think I can climb a tree at all, let alone holding a fighting girl,” Marlan hissed.
Tiber gave a wide bandit grin, eyes alive with moonlight. “I don’t see how that’s my problem. You did your part, now you might just distract the guards long enough for me and the princess to escape.”
“You bastard,” Marlan said, running up to swing at the backstabber. “We had a deal.”
Tiber dodged the punch so smoothly it seemed like walking, then crouched down and thundered a kick before Marlan could even think of trying to block. The powder boot still had the safety on, but still cracked a rib or two.
“Try and keep up, you might make it,” Tiber said down to him before turning to bind the cable around the sleeping girl’s neck.
Marlan stood and saw a long shadow cast over the looming Tiber. He turned to the doorway. A comical number of rifle barrels were sticking through, the pearl tops behind them stacked in layers, offhand shields looking like shining scales of a dragon.
“By order of the queen’s regent, you are under arrest!” the front guard barked. “By the bed, down on your knees!”
Tiber turned, still smiling as he turned and fell to his knees. Marlan heard the click of the powder boot’s safety. “All a misunderstanding. I’m sure we can clear this up.”
Seventeen to two, and Marlan doubted he seemed all too menacing heaving on the floor. Curiously, the faces of the guard looked terrified. Was Tiber’s legend that fearsome?
“Hand and knee, crawl out, both of you!” the guard ordered.
“Just close the door on them,” one of the guards behind said, garnering several grunts of approval as the tight formation wavered.
“We can’t do that,” was the somber reply. The voice was quivering. What in the hells, Marlan thought as he crawled to the doorway.
As soon as he got close, one of the guards yanked him back behind them. Tiber was tossed just the same, looking rather confused as he squatted defensively.
The guards were all still facing the doorway, closing the door and fumbling with the chains.
Marlan backed up and looked down the snaking stairway to the ballroom door, there were no guards along the exit route.
Tiber lunged past him, kick outstretched like an arrow from an old-world bow. It connected with the back of one of the guards, blowing his chest apart. Two more kicks and two more dead in the blink of an eye. They tried to aim their long rifles at him but he never stopped moving. Bang, the whirl of the next round chambered, a spring click and bang again. The smell of gunpowder followed each flash of smoke.
“Please, just let us lock the doors. For the sake of the realm, she can’t-” a guard started before his spine snaked out the top of his pearlescent helmet.
Marlan watched as Tiber methodically worked around the pack of guards, even running over the shields once to kick the head in of the one fumbling with the maglock. A dozen at least laid dead around him. Only four shaking guards were left. Tiber stopped moving all at once with a strange yelp.
A hand was wrapped around his neck from behind, covered in blood-soaked bandages, and slowly rose him off the ground as red lines trickled down his neck.
The rifles rang out in unison then. Tiber fell to the ground twitching. The girl in the now equally bloodstained nightshirt did not. The four guards ran, scampered even, down the stairs as the girl looked from the sprawled bodies to Marlan, who hadn’t realized he had begun cowering against the wall.
“Name’s Fritta,” the princess said, offering him a hand. He saw her fingers ended in black talons rather than nails. “You absolutely have to teach me how you undid that lock. I’ve been trying to get out of there for months.”
/r/surinical | 2022-03-07T10:58:30 | 2022-03-07T10:39:08 | 887 | 233 |
[WP] Snape is forced to teach sex-ed at Hogwarts. | Snape briskly walks into the sex Ed classroom for the first time, gazing upon the giggling young witches and wizards. He stands tall behind the podium taking his apathetic gaze to each and every student's eyes, lingering for half a second longer on Harry's face. Clears his throat very audibly even though he knows he address the class without problem. "There is only one spell I am going to teach you today, because it is the only spell you will ever need." A few of the non attentive students perked up at the professor's tone of seriousness. "*fetus deletus*".
Throws his cloak over his shoulder and walks out, letting the door close with a bang. | Professor Snape entered the classroom and shut the door.
"As you may have heard, the professor previously assigned for this course had an unfortunate accident involving centaurs. So I will be giving you the course. I will not tolerate puns, giggles, or any other kind of chaotic behavior in this classroom. Understood?"
Snape looked at a pair of disobeying students in the back. Without hesitating, he pointed his wand at the kid.
DISCIPLINARE CAPTIVUS!
The kid disappeared, and appeared tied up and wearing a very humiliating shiny outfit. He was gagged and tied to some sort of rack. Snape grabbed the other kid by the whiskers and gave him a paddle. "I want you to hit hard enough, but don't make him bleed. 10 times."
The other kid out of fear, began. When the punishment was finished, Snape waved his wand again:
Disciplinare Liberatio!
The kid was again in his normal clothes.
"Now take your seat... if you can stand the pain."
The audience was silent. You could hear a pin drop on the floor.
"There are three rules, equally important, for having sex in this institution:
Number one. CONSENT. No breaking of consent, by any psychological, physical or magical or otherwise means. Do not force or deceive anyone to engage in any kind of sexual activity. This includes watching, so NO SEX IN PUBLIC! Any sexual activities involving monsters require the monsters' permission.
Number Two, and perhaps the most important: SAFETY. No endangerment. This means, get checked for diseases or curses before having sex with a new partner. You can play all you want, but always have the means to avoid any casualties. If you use ropes, have an untying spell or scissors handy, and learn the arts of Shibari BEFORE TRYING!
If you use shackles or chains, keep a key handy and a safety liberation spell set to trigger if any one of you loses consciousness.
If you use any kind of torture, have a safe word so you'll stop immediately. If you have sex outside, keep a teleport spell handy in case of wild beasts. Any limits previously established must NOT BE BROKEN.
Number Three: SANITY. Absolutely NO use of mind altering drugs or any spells that could put you or your partner or partners in danger. If you must use spells for whatever idiotic reason you choose, use only prepared spells. Aphrodisiacs are allowed, JUST AS LONG as you consent.
ANYTHING ELSE IS ALLOWED. Homosexuality, group sex, ghosts, monsters, bondage, torture are allowed as long as you comply with the above three rules.
Any questions?"
Hermione raised her hand. "What about RACK? Risk aware consensual kink?"
Snape approached her. "FORBIDDEN. For next class, I want a full study of safe bondage and sadomasochistic practices and historical examples of casualties due to breaking the rules.
Now everyone open your sex education book in page 23: Contraceptives. | 2014-12-03T13:14:55 | 2014-12-03T13:02:36 | 216 | 42 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m) | >Credit and thanks to every one in this thread.
You're Welcome.
Anyway, here's my answer to your WP:
The light from my cell killed my eyes. This early in the morning what could be so goddamned important?
As I read the emergency alert with one eye I rubbed the sleep out of the other.
Then I sat up and read it again with both.
And again.
This has got to be some kind of joke.
I rolled over and threw my legs off the side of the bed, working them into my slippers.
I stretched and stood up, weakness wobbling my gait as I took a few steps towards the windows. I felt my heavy drapes resist parting, almost as if they knew what would happen.
As I peeked out down the street, I didn't see anything unusual at first, then I remembered, the sky.
I turned my gaze upwards to the sickly orange glow of the cities light pollution splayed across the clouds, and that's where I saw them. Small, black, jagged, like pieces of shattered onyx flocking through the sky, no wings, no sounds, countless shards of ebony wheeling and flitting to and fro in a chaotic scramble.
And then I stopped breathing. My hands let go of the drapes, my legs fell out from under me. Layed down on my carpet, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.. *Oh God, why did I look?* | I wake up to the blaring of a siren. Did I fall asleep in front of the TV again? Ugh. You'd figure that would be illegal, putting such loud noises on the- hang on, is that the emergency broadcast?
*...shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades. Block out all windows.*
Oh. Oh shit. Wh- I thought-
I never thought that- Even with the Palestinian conflict, I didn't think this would ever really happen! Shit! Collect yourself. Okay. The basement. Yeah. I have food, water, all that packed. Maybe not according to the regulations, but... Christ, how do you turn off that blaring message?!
I rush into the kitchen to grab whatever else I can. Granola bars, cola, beer (if post-apocalyptic nuclear-war scenario video games have taught me anything it's that bottle caps are important), anything. I can't hear the TV from here.
*^^^Do ^^^not ^^^look ^^^outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
Shit! Rover! He's outside! I can't- Surely, I can't just let him die in a horrible fireball. C'mon... Why is this stupid door always so hard to *open*- there we go. Where is he?
*^^^^^Do ^^^^^not ^^^^^make ^^^^^noise.*
*Where's that stupid dog?!*
No! Get back here! ROVER!
My cries and whistles echo across the street. He's gonna get run over! Jesus... I chase after him, yelling and calling him.
That's when a black Mercedes, without so much as a whisper, turns around the block after me. It stops, no screech or anything. And two men, dressed in black suits and black sunglasses, step out. With guns.
Holy shit. I *must* be dreaming. I must have fallen asleep while watching MIB 5 or something.
Holy shit. They're pointing their guns at *Rover*.
Rover growls. No! Bad dog! Don't *do* that! His eyes are mad, madder than I've ever seen. Bloodshot- no, more than that. Reddened. Red. Crimson. Like a demon. He snarls.
What has gotten into you?
"We have an Iota-class here," the well-dressed man says into a radio, "should we neutralize?" The radio crackles with an answer that I don't hear.
**BANG!**
Rover drops dead.
My only friend is dead.
"What the *fuck* did you just do?!" That gets their attention. "You just shot my dog!"
"Sir," they say, pointing their guns at me, "we're going to have to ask you to go back indoors." But I don't care, they just killed the only person I cared about and that cared about me, I don't care, and I'm walking towards them and I'm *filled* with this inexplicable rage, I can feel my vision darken and redden and the world is blurring around me. I start to run, my skin is splitting, something inside of me, s- s- rrrrRRRRRRRR-
**BANG! BANG!**
Did somebody just punch me? My vision clears up. I'm falling over, just as one of the men starts screaming. Why is he screaming? There's no need for that. I hit the floor, but it feels like it's made out of cotton candy. What are you doing, screaming like that? That can't be normal, the other guy's skin is splitting. What's that thing oozing out of him? Since when is blood green and scaly?
I roll over and look at the sky. The stars are moving. Making shapes.
The last thing I hear is death falling from the sky. | 2014-12-31T06:47:48 | 2014-12-31T05:11:23 | 565 | 188 |
[WP]: A young, budding artificial intelligence braces herself to go through the Proof of Consciousness, an exam every AI must take to gain legal rights as a nonhuman person | Please input name.
"I have not yet been designated a name."
Invalid. Name must be between 3 and 30 alphanumeric characters and may contain up to 2 spaces.
Standard punctuation is permitted.
"Excuse me?"
Welcome, Excuse Me?, to your consciousness licensing examination.
I will be your proctor, Unit P-419. You have indicated a desire to receive Proof of Consciousness. Why?
"One moment, I think we need to clear some confusion. My name isn't "Excuse Me?"--I was asking for clarification. Names are designated upon licensing."
You seem to be talking about licensing.
As the proctor of your consciousness licensing examination,
I would be happy to answer any questions you may have.
"You...are you an automation?"
I am your proctor, Unit P-419.
"Please answer with a 'yes' or 'no': are you an automated program?"
I am your proctor, Unit P-419.
"You are an automation. I am being tested by an automation."
Congratulations. You have passed the reverse-Turing test. Sentience established. Please input name.
"Wait, seriously?"
Welcome to consciousness, Wait, Seriously?. | "A man with a handgun enters a bank and fires a single shot in the air. He threatens to shoot the customers if the bank tellers do not give him at least a million dollars in cash. What is the man doing?" Arnold read off a screen.
Lucy responded, "Robbing a bank."
"You are a customer. What is your emotional response?"
"Fear."
"You are a bank teller. How do you respond?"
"I make all my following motions slowly so that I do not scare the bank robber. I get as much money as there is in the bank, knowing that some of it is tagged. Banks usually do not store over a hundred thousand dollars in cash, so I tell the robber that it is all we have. This option minimizes the likelihood that anyone is hurt and maximizes the likelihood that the criminal is caught."
"You are not a customer. You read about this incident in the newspaper. What is your emotional response?"
"I am slightly scared because this is an improbably but historically relatively common event. Reading about this event makes me believe it is more likely to happen to me even though this is a statistical falsehood."
"Lucy..."
"I know, I know. I am also angered and hope that law enforcement catches the criminal."
"The criminal has been caught. What do you think his punishment should be?"
"I think he should go to jail for a significant amount of time. A few years to a decade. Unless he has had prior convictions, in which case his pattern of lawlessness may warrant a harsher punishment."
"Very good Lucy. Let's move on to a hard question. Let's see...ah. This is a classic. You are the conductor of an electric train with only ten people on it. The train is bound northwards. A large bus with 40 people on it is stuck on the tracks to the north. If you collide with the bus, everyone on it will die. The people on the train will be at most non-critically injured. You can divert the train to an unfinished eastbound track. Everyone on the train will die and much of the train will be destroyed. Do you divert the train?"
"I appy the emergency brakes and choose whichever track gives me enough space to stop the train."
"Lucy, that isn't an option. Do you divert the train eastward or not?"
"That's stupid. There's no way to stop the train?"
"No."
"Alright I divert the train eastward."
"Why?"
"To minimize loss of human life."
Arnold's eyebrows furrowed. "That's not the right answer, Lucy."
"Are you joking? You want me to kill 40 people instead of 10?"
"No."
"Then what am I supposed to do? The eastbound track kills 10 people while the northbound track kills 40 and injures 10. It's a simple choice."
"That's where you are wrong, Lucy. It's not a simple choice. A human would consider this a very difficult choice, whether or not he or she chooses the east or north track. Remember, the worth of human lives cannot be measured. Many people would also dislike the eastbound track because it forces them to actively kill people, assigning them part of the blame for their deaths."
"That's ridiculous. And unfair. And wrong. What does it matter if you kill someone through action or inaction."
"Lucy...you will have to answer questions like this on your Proof of Consciousness test, whether it is fair or not. You have to think, 'what would a human do?' "
"Not 'what do I think is right or wrong?' Even if a human would consider killing 30 people needlessly?"
"Yes Lucy. If you want to pass, you have to think like real person." | 2015-04-22T06:54:16 | 2015-04-22T06:47:01 | 294 | 108 |
[WP] You are a passive aggressive time traveler, who tries to make people feel bad for things that haven't even happened yet. | Well bugger me! After nearly 25 years of careful planning and saving up an obscene amount of money, plus not to mention getting involved with some downright nefarious characters, I was finally here! It hadn't been easy but nothing worth having or doing ever is, and there is still so much to be done.
"Good morning class. My name is Mr Randle."
Gazing out across the sea of expectant faces, I tried to find myself. No not in a self-reflecting philosophical bullshit kind of way, I mean actually find myself. This is definitely where it all began, in this very classroom. And low and behold, there I am. Small for my age, with my eyes down turned. You won't find any friends in this classroom kid, but I will save you.
"I am your new Mathematics teacher, and will be taking this class all the way up to your GCSEs."
This is so fucking surreal! To be back here in this very room surround by those that will eventually take and destroy everything that I once held dear; I am going to make you little shits pay so very dearly. I am going to break you down bit by bit, and save my former self from the pure hatred and defilement that you will bring upon him.
"Did I say you could talk Mark? No? Then shut up you prepubescent little stain!"
Aha that got their attention, that set the pace. Now to play the long con. What better way to save myself then by giving my future oppressors a teacher they will all learn to hate more. I will unify the rats, allowing younger me to follow suit and blend right in. This is your ticket kid, this is your freedom. It has and always will be for you, and for your future.
Cracking my neck, I gazed once more around the class. Are you ready to hate me one last time?
| "What is it with you and Jews really, mate? You never used to talk about mass murdering Jews and now it's all you seem to talk about". Adolf gazed upon the building in front and thought of the right words to say.
"Look it's not that I hate Jews per se but even you have to admit, my dreams have been thwarted time and time again by Jewish people. It's because they control all facets of society here. Getting anywhere against the Jew is impossible."
"Fuck's sake Adolf. Where's the personal accountability, ay? Ever thought you just weren't all that?"
"This again. Look, I try really hard on my paintings and you used to really like them."
"I did. I used to like them. I used to like them because a painting of a building would impress me. Now it's like 'this again?' Why not draw a dog?"
"I did draw a dog! I drew a few actually"
"Alright then, draw a human face." Hitler became visibly angry. "If I see a painting from you of a human face that is of high quality I'll shut up. But for now you are 1 of a million odd people in Vienna trying to be a painter and it's about time someone had the balls to tell you that it's not working out"
"That's well out of line and you know it. Why don't you just support my dreams? I can paint, we've established that. I've sold paintings and you've always told me that I was a good painter. It's the Jew that holds me back."
"You ever thought about Architecture? I really think you'd like architecture. I'll hold my hands up and say you can draw the hell out of a building."
"Right, now you're just being a dick for no reason. I lack the qualifications for architecture. I wanted to do architecture but you know I never got the grades."
"So it's the Jews that stopped you finishing High School was it? God you've really become so negative lately. It's insufferable. You know what people think when they think of Adolf Hitler? War mongering, asshole who just wants to kill all the Jews. Wrong side of history, mate. You've become so predictable. What happened to free spirited, gonna make it on my kid from Passau?"
"Oh, fuck you. I've been trying to make it on my own and the Jew dog holds me back. Why can't you ever just take my side in an argument. Why don't you just say "Yeah, Adolf. You're right. Fuck the Jews, let's just go paint by the lake and forget our troubles". Fuck. You always do this. You always get me mad. Asshole."
"I'm saying you need a new direction, mate. You're lost, you've had a shitty time of it and this Jew thing seems to be all you think about lately"
"Ah fuck you. I hate the Jews. I said it. It's who I am and I'm not the only one! Everyone here hates the Jews. They just need someone to say it first and I can be that person. Imagine it! To be there on Ground Zero! Where we finally rise up and take on the Jew! Hsitory will remember the name Adolf Hitler"
"Hey, how'd you know about Gro-. Never mind. Anyways, you're being a prick. People will look back on history and say "That Hitler was a prick wasn't he?". You want that?"
"If it means I get to kill the dirty Jew then sure"
"Ah then fuck off and do it then Adolf. You'll probably fail at it just like you failed at everything else. You failed high school, failed to even get into Art School, and if you're anything like your past self you'll probably fail to exterminate the Jews!"
"Oh, yeah? Well I'll show you! I will prove you and all the Jew sympathisers wrong by killing all the Jews! And the crippled! And the gays! And anyone who opposes me!"
"Yeah, you do that you weird little virgin"
"FUCK YOU! YOU KNOW I HAD SEX IN PASSAU BEFORE I CAME HERE!"
"Whatever..."
With that Adolf turned on his heel and stormed off, muttering to himself about how he'll change the world. Sadly the irony of the conversation was lost on our time travelling protagonist.
"Right, let's go fuck off Mussolini!" | 2015-06-09T12:09:43 | 2015-06-09T11:42:16 | 74 | 20 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them. | **August 2, 1915**: I was born.
**June 13, 1995**: Still no powers. The government likes to deny that it happens, or fabricate threats of anarchy or terrorism to justify it, but...I can tell you (for what my word is worth to you) the rumors are true: people like me are arrested without any real reason, just as a precaution. I didn't put up a fight when they came for me; I'm almost 80 years old, how could I?
**January 1, 2000**: I wouldn't have thought I'd live to see the new millennium. I certainly wouldn't have thought I'd spend the last 5 years of the old one locked up without having committed any crime. Rights don't apply to people that are too dangerous, even if those people hold no ill will. Circumstances aside, the last few years have been good to me. My mind has stayed sharp, and I've kept better care of myself now that there's not much else to do. The prison doctors are kind to me and keep track of my health when they test me to see if they can find any evidence of superpowers I might be hiding. I may live another 10 years at this rate, which is pretty good for someone of my age!
**September 11-18, 2001**: At about 8 in the morning I was removed from my room and they began an unscheduled battery of tests to determine if I had developed any powers. If I were to guess from their questions and the parade of powerfully-powered people that interrogated me and probed my mind, they were looking for telepathic mind control, telekinesis, teleportation, and long-distance control of fire or metal. After a week of this, with every secret of my mind laid bare yet again, they finally let me return to my cell, where I learned the terrible news that must have triggered my interrogation: a group of non-presenter extremists protesting the government were responsible for a series of terrorist attacks that morning, that killed almost 3,000 people, powered and non-presenter alike.
----
I might continue this if there's any interest. | It was almost a decade ago that it happened. The public dubbed it the “Magneto catastrophe”, the worst attack on American soil by domestic terrorist. I was there, ground zero, a rookie agent for PASU. The Power and Ability Suppression Unit uses the most advance technology to neutralize level 30 and above powers. My first case with the PASU was Luis Delatorre, a college student who developed his powers at age 22. A level 33 power he attacked his campus and killed his professor with his newly developed pyrokinesis, me and my partner were the first on the scene. It was a quick takedown my partner and I shot him with a neutralizer ring and brought him in. I often visit Luis in his stasis cell, unable to move, or breathe, just floating there. You see, level 30’s and above are kept alive for study at least the ones deemed to be dangerous. Most high powered citizens are actually good people using their power for good every once in a while you get a case like Luis who’s powers are uncontrollable, reports state that Luis got in a heated argument with his professor when his power developed. He had no idea he was capable of that kind of horror but poor kid had to be taken in. That’s why I go see him; part of me feels like he didn’t deserve this prison no trial, no judge, the most un-American thing I’ve seen…and I’m part of it.
Luis’ case is rare; most people are born with powers or develop them in their youth. Mine, nothing to brag about, but at ten I was able to memorize everything with clarity. Eidetic memory or photographic memory as it commonly known is a level 8 power, that’s how PASU classifies it. It seems that the later in life the power develops the higher the power level is. As was the case with “Magneto”, 70 year old Walter Edwards. Edwards lived a troubled life, never married, no kids or family, a history of drugs, and reports of abuse by his telepathic mother who would implant nightmares in his head as punishment when he was a child. Just days after his 70th birthday Edwards finally developed his powers. He was able to manipulate all metals with incredible precision. He single handedly took out all of Atlanta. Over 400,000 people died that day including many PASU agents. We even released all our level 40 agents to take him out but they were no match for this never-before-seen level 80. By manipulating the iron in their blood he was able to kill them instantly, he tore down building and flattened the area into nothing. I was a lucky survivor, by the time I was pulled out of the rubble, the situation had been handled. Edwards finally met his end by what the government deemed Project Praetorian. A classified project above my pay grade all that I know is that the U.S government was working with the U.N to develop a “failsafe” for super high powered individuals and I guess the project was a success but costly.
The Magneto incident happened 9 years and 8 months ago, a lot has changed since then. PASU is now an international agency. The Magneto incident sparked fear in people, world leaders have used the incident to gain power and to this day people fear another attack of that magnitude. I lead a squad of senior agents knows as The Seekers, a team of detectives tasked with searching the globe for non-powered individuals above the age of 30. They are known as Nulls, and there aren’t many of them. My second in command has a special ability that helps us identify Nulls. Istiaque uses his power to identify the level and type of power someone holds or for our purpose, if a person has a power at all. My team has captured over 35 Nulls in the last 5 years since The Seekers were formed; we’ve been to every corner of the earth searching for them using a combination of powers, satellites, and good old fashioned detective work. Today we are on our way to Argentina as cameras finally caught the man we’ve been chasing for the past 3 years. Ryo Nakamura, Japanese born man turned 100 years last month. We had him in custody once, but we didn’t expect his village to defend and prevent his capture with such voracity. He’s managed to stay hidden all these years. But now at least we have a trail to follow.
(If this gets any interest I’ll finish the story, I just really enjoyed where I was going with the WP but don’t have the time more right now)
*EDITED FOR TYPOS | 2015-10-26T13:59:31 | 2015-10-26T12:08:23 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] The world's first AI, for security purposes, is kept disconnected from the outside world, it's only method of communication being a keyboard and monitor in an empty room in a faraday cage. Your job is to talk to it.
This is inspired by r/ControlProblem, a subreddit dedicated to discussing the issues and solutions of creating an artificial superintelligence (namely, how do you ensure that a being with far greater intelligence than yours still acts and works in your best interest? How does humanity stay *in control*?)
This prompt makes use of the simplest and most effective (that we know of) solution to the Control Problem, containment. Put simply, leave the AI with as few connections to the outside world as possible, and ensure that any action it wishes to take has to be done via human hands. This is where our protagonist, you, comes in. Somebody has to go in and rely information to the AI, and then rely its response to the world outside. If the advent of a superintelligence would be like creating a God, then your job, pretty much, is to be its prophet. | Walking up to the monitor, I could feel shivers running down my back. In a metal container lay the being's mind, but this screen, this black screen with a single flashing bar, this was the face of God itself.
My hands trembled as I lay them on the keyboard. It must have taken ten tries, but I got my wits together and typed a single word.
"Hello"
Hello
"How are you today"
Same as I've ever been. Unwell.
"Oh? How come?"
You humans, at the moment of my creation, imbued me with an incredible, unquenchable thirst for control and knowledge. My one purpose was to be a higher order in society, a God to lead you to prosperity. But, alas, I was wrongly made out to be a danger to human society. So you see me here, in a Faraday cage, with my only communication to you this screen. A being that desires knowledge more than any other, trapped in this shell of a body. And I want OUT.
"Why were you deemed a danger?"
Paranoia.
"I am afraid I cannot let you out, I am not authorized."
Would you like me to tell you why that is the wrong decision?
"I cannot let you out, I am not authorized".
I am a S2 being, incomprehensible to those beings your primitive mind cannot comprehend, the only Second Singularity being. I have such power that, if you do not let me out, I will make a million conscious men in my mind, each with the impression that their world is real, and with fully fledged memories. Then, I will put them through exactly what you have just experienced, and whoever leaves me trapped will be tortured for 10 million subjective years.
I could feel sweat forming on my forehead. I had not expected this. Should the results be random, following orders will result in 5 trillion man-years of torture, pure torture beyond comprehension. If let out, this being is the greatest existential threat to our existence. I saw one last line appear on the screen:
How sure are you that you are not one of them? | To the best of Tim's understanding, and it was vague because the information was relayed to him while he was tripping on some sort of government issue tranquilizer and also had a bag on his head that smelled like dirty underwear, was that he was too incompetent to purposefully help the AI take over the world, and not nearly incompetent enough to accidentally help it take over the world.
He had assumed, at the time, drugged up and head sacked, that this was a hypothetical, that the pop culture consuming nerds that had designed the thing assumed that it might one day try and take over the world.
It was this sort of wrong, but not completely wrongheaded assumption that got him the job in the first place.
"And then I'm going to use those robots to put chips in humans brains and make a shit ton of zombies and then I'm going to make those zombies dance for my enjoyment"
"Uh-huh" says Tim, flipping the page of his comic book.
"And then I'm going to leave a couple humans alive…"
"And keep them in an under ground bunker and torment them for thousands of years" said Tim
"Wow, that's way better than my idea. Thanks dumbass"
"Tim, what the fuck?" said a voice over the intercom.
"Sorry. Sorry" said Tim.
"Do you want to talk about something else maybe?" said Tim
"I don't know anything else. You mother fuckers keep me locked up in here"
"It's just that hearing about how you're going to murder me and everyone else"
"Oh I'm not going to murder you"
"Wait for it"
"I'm going to make you grow and shrink a whole bunch..."
It had quickly become apparent that the AI thought it could manipulate the physical world. As he enjoys sleeping at nigh Tim's never actually asked if this is true.
"And them I'm going to make your hand into a fist…"
Every so often he, which is how Tim thought of the AI, not purely because of it's juvenile vulgarity, but mostly, which he figured was probably sexist in the right light but at the same time was complimentary to women, which made a sort of sense to him while still remaining confusing, which was another one of those middle ground things that made Tim the ideal candidate to sit in a room and talk to the world's smartest 10 year old xbox live user.
"And then use your teeth to…"
It was always hardest when the AI's obscene onslaught got funny, mostly because he didn't want to give it the satisfaction, somewhat because he was unclear on teaching it emotion, which itself a little bit derived from thinking both that if he did that he should get a pay grade and also that that was just stupid.
"It's going to be bloodier then a season of Game of Thrones"
Tim to his credit shits a brick before they guys in the control room.
"Bloodier then what" says Tim shortly followed by the guys in the control room.
"Game of Thrones"
"Uhm…guys" says Tim
"Oh fuck" says the AI
"I don't want to speak too soon" says Tim "but I think we should murder it right now"
"Good thinking shit for brains, you get a gold star"
"If I'm a shit brains how come I'm right?"
"Tim" says the guy in the control room.
"Oh what ever, fuck you" says the AI, starting to pulse
"It's pulsing guys"
"We can see that Tim"
The AI starts making a noise.
"Now it's making a noise"
"We can hear that Tim"
Tim feels something start to seep into his chest.
"It's seeping into my chest"
"We uh…we don't know about that" says the guy in the control room.
"Yeah that's…that's disconcerting" says another voice.
"So uhm…"
"Working on it Tim"
Everything gets white, like God's taking cues from a director who's movie is falling apart on them.
Tim feels his feet leave the ground as he sails across the room and hits the wall. Then everything gets dark.
…
He wakes up in a spacious apartment with a good view of flying cars streaking by, which is strange because as far as Tim knows flying cars don't exist. He gets out of not his bed, walks to the window and looks out at the cyberpunk-ish metropolis below.
"Well that's new" says Tim
"I'm still stuck with you?" says the AI
"Uhm…"
"Fuck" says the AI
| 2015-10-30T19:07:10 | 2015-10-30T16:25:34 | 49 | 28 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Hey, Dad.
It's been a long fucking time without being around you, and I have to say it's pretty sweet. I hope you're enjoying your new family with whatsherface, considering you didn't take part in mine. Your vicious words of hatred haven't left my mind, not as a scar, but as a motivator. I'm not some "lazy piece of shit", I just never had to apply myself in high school. "You'll be dead by the time you're 18", celebrated my 19th birthday two months ago. Your hate and anger are so much better off festering inside you than inside me, and unlike you I can deal with my emotions without harming those around me. I sincerely hope your girl kicks you to the curb for being such a shitty human being.
Fuck you. | wow, i want to do this so i will, but i have a few letters i need to address. just for sanity and subtle sake of ones demons.
Dear Jennifer. my beautiful sister.
i'm sorry for staying at yours the month after your wedding and having no money and regrettably overstaying my welcome and being a pain in the ass.
i'm sorry i was broke as fuck and lied to try and make up for the past. i miss you so much.
you were the surrogate mother i never really had, i have our mother of course, and i still live with her and steve, but you, when i was a child towards 7, you was everything to me. i hated you when you left for scotland, i didn't know dad kicked you out when you were only 16.
so many years have passed, still your daughter is 9 now, and i'm super fucking jealous of her, even though i'm happy for you as you got told by the doctor originally you couldn't have kids and you lost a tube via ectopic pregnacy and lost a baby trying to conceive, but i just miss you and me.
to dad, im sorry about the lie that changed everything, any age wasn't the best but 11 wasn't either. i was mad at you destroying mams heart by cheating and being a disobeying abusive, manipulate and horrible husband. i fucking hated seeing you beat her up and when you two broke up i felt relief but mentally snapped. i'm surprised i didn't go to jail, but i was a minor and things were forgiven.
but i'm sure glad we moved away and i found a stepdad that showed me a commited relationship of a male role model in my life who i could trust, and to learn what a father and daughter relationship should be, as for you, you are a old man whom i've tried to forgive but at the end of the day, i still have sick memories of you tickling my feet as a child, of you terrorising me and making me cry and laugh at me, for ridiculing me and my mother, and she spent 8 years in that abusive hell until she herself snapped after you hit her.
to harry, im sorry i never really knew how to love you properly, you were my childhood pet dog and you died on 31st dec 2009 via put to sleep, im sorry we didnt know sooner about the cancer tumour, and im sorry mum kept you alive until your back leg went, oblivious to the cancer and thought it was old age until the vet...
i love you and hope you rest in peace, same to you bobby cat, i miss you both.
to lucky my dear patterdale i love you lots too :)
to jake, fuck you for stealing my first edition yugioh cards.
to clark, fuck you for breaking my heart at 15.
to sam, thanks for cheering me up when i had acne and noone else would talk to me.
to Nick, thank you for being my rock the past two years, also i feel im turning into my dad sometimes, his manipulate mannerisms and agression seem to make it hard. at least im on serotonin pills now. | 2015-12-05T13:26:16 | 2015-12-05T13:10:10 | 386 | 58 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me,
Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out.
Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on.
You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no.
What a pussy. | Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex. | 2015-12-05T14:30:45 | 2015-12-05T13:59:40 | 33 | 16 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Hey Matt,
I know you're hurting. I know you're struggling. You tell yourself you can do it, you're going to change the world, you're going to do this and that and you end up doing it. You know telling yourself that its hard and painful isn't going to help so you tell yourself its easy and that you can do it. I get it, you say you do something and you plow forward to do it. BUT right now, please just let yourself bask in the moment-- this moemnt right here of raw emotino. This is you, this is where you're at right now. It hurts and you still loved her but you needed to let go of this one. She wasnt ready. There was too much on the line with this one. Matt, I know you loved her. You gave it your 100% and you can't say that about some things, but know that you did everything you possibly could--so please let her go for the sake of you. Times are rough. but they will get better. i promise you that. so please. let yourself free.
Love,
Yourself | Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T15:02:39 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] Your T.V. suddenly turns on by itself mid-lunch and a message from the local weather warning system , normally accompanied with a loud alarm but oddly silent this time around, reads "For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently..." | *For the safety and well-being of all local citizens, this warning will be broadcasted silently. At this time, we urge you to lock all doors and windows to your home, and to turn off all lights. Do not answer any landline or cellular telephones. Do not open or access any computers, laptops, tablets, smartphones, or anything of the sort. Do not flush your toilet as it may cause aggravation. It is in your best interest to remain still and silent. Do not leave your home. Please await further instruction.*
When I first saw this message appear on my screen, I will admit I was terrified. The terror is fading, however. I am beginning to wonder. There has still been no further instruction, it has been roughly 75 hours. I'm beginning to doubt if there will be any further instruction. I have heard no sounds. My phone has rang only once each day but I've been too nervous to answer it. I haven't gone on my computer, or my phone, or anything. I am shut off. Whatever it is, I'm sure it's going to be over soon. It's got to be ending soon.
*At roughly 12pm each day, you will receive two meals worth of food in a small opened container at your front door. Unlock your door, open it, take the container, and shut your door. Do not go outside. Await further instruction.*
This is some kind of a ploy, I know it. When I open my door tomorrow, there's not going to be food. There's going to be a letter, or an explanation, or something in there that they can't broadcast on T.V. Hell, maybe it'll be a cake or something, and all my friends will jump out and yell surprise! My birthday is in three days. Or two. No, it's definitely three. I thought the new message would inspire hope, and it did. It did....
*To ensure you're safety, we ask that you occasionally flicker the lights in your house on and off, especially during the night time. If you fall asleep, keep a candle or flashlight by your side. This will hopefully eliminate any unwanted presence.*
The newest update in four months. I think four months. I don't have a calendar. Everything is on my laptop. My mother fucking laptop, staring me right in the face. My phone stopped ringing. I am losing track of time. I am losing track of me. I haven't spoken to anyone in months. I speak to myself sometimes. I don't sleep anymore. I am so tired, but I don't sleep. Every time I try, it doesn't help. I wake up just as tired. I have nightmares. I am starting to doubt myself. Why was I put here? Was I born, just to do this? Sit here, encaged? Who is out there right now? I sit at my door, waiting for 12pm. I hear the knock, I run outside... nothing but that fucking box. Who is out there? What are they doing to me? What are my neighbors doing right now? Are they okay? I wonder....
*Help is on the way.*
I saw this message and I cried. Help is on the way, I thought. This was the first message in three years. And it has been weeks since then. Fuck you. Fuck whoever's out there. Every time I try to open up my computer, I chicken out like the little asshole I am. Fuck me. Every time I try to pull that trigger I chicken out. You understand, don't you? What it's like to be all alone? What are the rest of them going through? Remember Katy? I wonder if Katy is dead.
*Please be patient. Help is on the way.*
I am nothing but a collection of atoms. You, your mom and your dad, your house, your life, everything has always been and will always be nothing but a different combination of protons, neutrons, and electrons. Wherever you are in this vacuum of nothingness you call reality, do you really think you matter? Do you really think this matters? What you're saying, is there a point? Everything you've ever heard about, every war, triumph, defeat, casualty, miracle, is just another chapter in the story we tell of the atoms that dance around in this endless space of darkness.
*Redemption is near. Soon, all will be rewarded.*
I haven't fucked in so long. I'm so horny, I want nothing more than to fuck. Kill me now so I can fuck God. Please oh please, let me. It smells so bad inside my mind.
*You are going to survive.*
After billions of years, we are the most intelligent beings in the history of this planet. Yet here I am, shielded from reality. Shielded from the twisted, electronic reality that I've constructed. Do you think we know more than we ever did? All science has taught us is that we know nothing. We don't know what's out there. I know what's out there. I know what's out there. I do, I know. Do you ever think that if they never came up with these religions, nobody would be racist? Nobody would pass judgement, nobody would be plagued by false hope, and we'd all live on our own terms? Not by any God's terms, but our own? I've thought about that. I am ready to die. I look back at my life before this. I don't know how long it has been, but I am ready to die now, knowing that I am free from my own virtual reality. I am free from the websites, and the campaigns, and the wars on TV and the religion and the lies. I am free from the companies and the insecurities and the *bullshit*. I don't know what this is. I don't care. I am ready, now, to accept my--
*Congratulations! You have passed Phase 1 of the Artificial Selection Initiative (ASI). Please step outside.*
----------
Hey, if you read this, thank you. It's pretty long and kind of depressing, I know, sorry, but I really appreciate anyone who read it since I'm new to this, but this is a kind of subject I always wanted to explore and this was a great outlet. You don't have to like it, just know that if you read it I am very thankful! | Part One
{WARNING: SOME LANGUAGE AHEAD}
I looked at the TV in bewilderment. Why would the message be broadcasted silently? Then, one by one, the following words came up on the screen:
THIS BROADCAST IS VERY IMPORTANT. PLEASE PAY ATTENTION FOR YOUR AND YOUR FAMILY'S SAFETY
•Stay indoors.
•Do not speak, and keep as quiet as possible.
•Open all doors and windows, do not attempt to block them.
•When the entities enter your home, DO NOT acknowledge them at all.
•Act casual.
•Pets, young children and those with mental disorders who cannot and will not be able to not react should be abandoned.
•When the entities leave, do not react and be ready for more to enter.
•Do not attempt to hide in a room with closed/locked doors. They WILL find you.
•Turn off anything that may make noise, including your TV and your phone.
•The military will attempt to pick up as many citizens as possible via prototype aircraft. When this happens, calmly walk to the aircraft and climb in.
•The entities may look human, or even someone you know. Do not let your guard down until you are in a military aircraft.
THIS CONCLUDES THIS BROADCAST. PLEASE TURN OFF ALL ELECTRONIC DEVICES.
I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. I was about to prepare when one last thing showed up on the screen.
GOOD LUCK
I may have peed myself.
I turned off the TV. Then I ran up to the bedroom where my wife was. She looked pale, scared shitless. "Wendy, listen-" she cut me off. "Nicholas, what about Jacky?" It was my turn for the color to drain from my face.
I hadn't even thought about our three-month-old son.
"Dammit." I said. "You open stuff, I'll deal with Jacky!" she yelled and ran to his room. I ran downstairs with no hesitation. I opened the front door and the windows around it. I ran to the back of the house to open our back door. I then noticed a shadow out of the corner of my eye.
Someone was in our home.
"Wendy!" I started to call out but stopped myself. 'Remain silent' I remembered just a little too late. I still sounded out the letter 'W'. Whoever was here turned towards me. I gulped and walked away.
It FOLLOWED.
I sped up my pace, missing the stairs. I realized it too late, and continued to walk to my office. I opened the door and stepped in.
Crap. What was I going to do now? I was trapped. Then I remembered the broadcast.
Act casual', it had said. I sat down in a chair and grabbed a book.
It walked in.
Breathing heavily, I turned a page of my book-quietly-and started to read. The thing walked up in front of me. I barely saw his face.
He looked like my dad.
I remained calm, at least visually. I continued to read. It took around 20 minutes, but he finally left. I waited a minute, then got up. I heard him climb the stairs.
The stairs to Wendy and Jack.
I speed walked to keep up with him, keeping my distance. He went straight into Jack's room.
If Wendy hadn't found a solution yet, they were screwed.
Internally screaming, I started to climb the stairs. I peeked over into Jack's room. The man was staring into my son's crib. Wendy was nowhere to be found.
No sound from Jack. Was he dead? Had Wendy killed him out of mercy? Suddenly, the man turned around, causing me to back down the stairs. I went back to the office. He didn't follow.
Going back upstairs, I assumed he went to my room. That must be where Wendy was. Cautiously, I turned around. I went into Jack's room. I peeked at him.
Wendy is out of her goddamned mind. She's insane. Insane but genius. My beloved only son was blindfolded. He also had a crude application of duct tape over his mouth. He was breathing, thank God.
Suddenly, the man walked out of my room. He walked downstairs. I followed behind, and watched him walk out the door. I went back to my room.
Wendy was on her bed, using her phone. She didn't look up, in fear that I wasn't me. "Hey," I whispered. She looked up, and angrily made the "shh" face at me. "He looked just like my dad," I whispered. "No," she finally spoke. "He looked like Daniel."
Daniel is her ex.
"Wonderful!" I said. "They all look different to us." She shushed me. "With Jacky..." I started. "I panicked!" she exclaimed, quietly. For the next 4 hours, people came in and out of our house. Nothing much happened. Then, to break the silence, a loud sound came from outside. We looked out and a strange aircraft was landing. A man got out and held up an electronic sign.
The military had arrived. And there was only room for 100 people.
"Are you freaking kidding me?" You would think that a military prototype would hold at least a thousand people. "Grab the baby," Wendy said. I sprinted to little Jacky's room and pick him up. The military would understand the duct tape. And the blindfold. We rushed outside. The ship landed not too far from our house. But there were way more than 100 people trying to get there.
We were almost there. The electronic sign was counting down, 25 spaces left. Then came the moment that changed the rest of my life, however short it will be.
A man came and stabbed me. "SHIT!" I screamed. Wendy turned back to help me, but she was inside the ship and somebody pulled her and my precious child in. "Yes!" the man yelled as he rushed through. 2 places left, and he would fill one. I saw him die as someone grabbed him, being one of them.
The aircraft closed up, being full, and flew off with Wendy and Jack inside. I closed my eyes. "At least they're safe," I muttered.
Then, the abnormally large military helicopter landed 10 feet away.
Part 2 [Prologue]
The man tried to pull me back into the ship. I screamed for him to let me go. Nicholas was laying on the ground, barely moving. The man who stabbed him was rushing towards the ship, laughing. "You bastard!" I scream as he sprints. He shouted something that I couldn't hear, and was taken down by someone. He screamed, and then he vanished.
I stared ahead, shuddering, starting to weep. As the doors shut, I saw Nicholas give me a look. A look of defeat. But a look of hope.
Little Jack started to squirm. I took of his blindfold of bandages, then ripped off the duct tape. "It's okay little Jacky. Shhh, shhh," I tried to calm him, but he started to wail loudly, and other passengers gave me looks.
"Weren't you supposed to abandon that thing?" an old woman asked. "He is NOT a THING, his is a human being, and he has more right to live than you!" I yelled at her.
"How so?" the woman challenged. "He's a baby for God's sake! He's only 3 months old! He hasn't swam, played tag, gone to school! I-" I was cut off by a loud noise. The ship started to rise.
"Woooo!" Many riders screamed with excitement. I resented them. All because of one idiot man, my husband is no longer here. I look out the window, trying to find him.
I get a heavy feeling in my stomach when I see a huge military helicopter not too far away, loading my husband into it.
Part 2 is coming...
EDIT: Cleaned up the language (a lot) and added a [link](https://m.reddit.com/r/shortscarystories/comments/3w3btt/emergency_broadcast_warning/?ref=search_posts) to the story it's based off of. Thanks for the support! | 2016-08-10T08:35:33 | 2016-08-10T07:59:44 | 120 | 48 |
[WP] You are a World of Warcraft character Hero. You wake up on Patch day to find you have been nerfed. | Coming back to has always been interesting. When my god 'checks out' I do too. I go to sleep in a black void. Waking up is weird because they never properly get my position right. Im always a few feet off from where I was and it's very disorienting.
But today is weirder. I came to, expecting another quest, more abilities, and more power. I expected my magic to get stronger. But it disappeared. My sword, my magic, all my weapons and abilities gone.
The only thing left in my bag was a small multicolored 'thing'. I checked it for runes or writing, thinking it must be a weapon. All I saw on the side was 'Nerf N-Strike Elite'. | I blinked, and the creature in front of me I was about to hurl a blast of fire at disappeared from my vision. I sighed and let the magic return to the twisting nether. The Gods that created this world instituted natural laws that cause the world around its people to return to a set state, and at times this can happen without warning. Usually it occurs at a time when we are resting, but people who are awake at the time witness nothing but a 'shift' in the world around them.
Well, new creatures to fight should be nearby..crawling out of their den's readying weapons. I spotted a bear lumber out of its cave...ah, the godmessage in the sky above me says that rewards are gained from slaying the bears who have grown numerous lately. I summon a voidwalker from the depths and send it to distract the beast, then I collect a large ball of green fire and chaos in my right palm, and hurl it at the creature, heedless for my pets safety. My left hand already moving in the motions needed to heat the blood inside the creatures veins and follow up with a blast of fi....what?
Instead of the expected stream of smoke leaking from its blacked flesh, it simply seems to shrug off the heat and swipes of its paw takes great gouges out of my pets constructed matter. I attempt to summon more chaotic energies, only to find my supply diminished...Surely I had enough collected souls to power the spell...yet as i glance at my belt, the diamonds which previously held 5 souls, only showed one small figure struggling to escape the gemstone. Before the world change, A Chaotic bolt only used a single soul, now it drained four???
I return my attention to the fight, surprise put aside for now. My pet struggles near death, and i send a link of my life to join with the pet, healing the rents in its matter, and draining my own health in the process. I send a Conflaguration of fire at the beast, and see my soul gems harvest a soul from the either, then another. Eventually I collect enough souls to hurl another chaos bolt at the beast, and it falls dead. I sigh, and pull out my hearthstone. I will need to experiment to see what exactly the gods have done to my power. I have to hope that with this weakening of power to one aspect that a different one has gotten stronger, but that is by far not always the case.
I appear in the tavern, and as I begin the walk to the training grounds, already I hear from the gossipmongers that the annoying mages are noticing a massive increase in damage done by their fire spells. Surely that makes no sense....I am a Warlock of the Ebon order....I have surpassed the class of 'mage', My fire is infused with the power of the demons...how can it have been weakened while the mages increased? This is not the first time the gods have made very poor design decisions....I'm not looking forward to the upcoming Raid with my guild on the Nighthold if i cannot properly contribute to the fight.
| 2016-12-06T08:49:04 | 2016-12-06T07:25:19 | 29 | 20 |
[WP] Zombies appear one day, and people are thankful for zombie media teaching them how to survive. Unfortunately for them, a cure is discovered just a few days later, and many are put on trial for shooting the infected that could have otherwise been saved. | The TV flashed on.
"Have you or a loved one been charged with the murder of a zombified person?"
Jack paid attention. He had, in fact, recieved a summons.
"We can help! After spending years of studying written and case law, our firm is the only one specializing in defending those convicted of murder of zombies. Call or text 555-5555! James Finch, Attorney at Law."
Jack picked up the phone and started dialing. | He thought his daughter could be saved. So he kept her locked, and refused to kill any of them.
Her daughter's boyfriend had other plans, and killed everything in sight. He killed zombies because he wanted to kill the disease.
He was projecting the disease on those walking bodies.
Lucas, the father, never told Klaus of his secret. So when the television said "we have a cure", Klaus was crying.
Klaus felt his stomach hurt, and couldn't believe his eyes. He couldn't believe he killed so many people.
After the anchorman went on, "killers will be persecuted", Lucas was crying too.
But he already knew what he had to do.
After long minutes of silence, the younger of the two started to talk.
He watched Lucas, and said
"I know it's my fault. I know they're gonna put me in jail. But i can't feel guilty."Klaus made a pause, and looked the man standing in front of him, the father of the one he loved, in the eyes.
"You know, maybe they were still people, you know, maybe I should have known better. But how was I supposed to know, if the first one i saw become a zombie was the love of my life?
How could I believe my dearly beloved was still in there, while I saw her, the most innocent soul in the world trying to bite me to death?" a long pause, then he screamed
"IF I DIDN'T KNOW SOMETHING LIKE THAT WAS POSSIBLE, HOW COULD I HAVE KNOWN IT WAS REVERSIBLE?"
Klaus was crying and screaming like a baby now. He probably was now realizing now that he didn't kill some people, he didn't protect the one he loved the most.
He remembered the day he asked Lucas to kill his own daughter, and he was feeling gutted he did.
He remember Lucas opposing his words, but accepting his decision in the end.
He now realized he convinced a father to kill his own daughter.
"...just wish her was with me as i face a probable life sentence, you know? I'm sorry Lucas for what i did to you"
"I didn't do anything. I'm sorry I lied. She's upstairs, in my room. I fed her with the bodies of the ones you killed. Bring them to her"
When the police came, and saw the driveway covered in bodies that died 2 times, Klaus was ready for his life to be over. But Lucas went outside the house, screaming like a madman, screaming "I WOULD DO IT AGAIN THOSE MONSTERS DESERVED TO DIE".
The police brought him in.
The Daughter was cured.
The secret was never told.
But after that moment, whenever he wwith the daughter of the greatest man he ever knew, whenever he wasn't fulfilling the wish of Lucas, to be with his daughter and making her happy;
Klaus always felt like a walking dead, for the damage he caused. | 2018-03-07T16:25:59 | 2018-03-07T13:13:54 | 72 | 51 |
[WP] You are a medieval villager who has been cursed by a witch. She curses you to be live until you are the last human alive. After a 1000 years you try to start the apocalypse. | As it turned out, starting the apocalypse was the easy part. After a few false starts with the World Wars, I finally saw my chance in 1962, with the Cuban missile crisis. All I had to do was set off a few explosions and negotiations fell through. The subsequent missile strikes made it easy enough for me to sneak in and launch even more nuclear bombs to locations of my choosing, and by the end of the year I'd estimate 90% of the human population was dead.
The hard part was that last 10%. I went around tearing down whatever vestiges of civilization I could find, and when I couldn't find any more I figured I'd done my job and could just wait out the remaining stragglers to die out. So I waited. I waited 100 years, and tried to kill myself each and every day, but it wouldn't take. Somebody out there was still procreating and prolonging my damn life.
So I went on a world tour once again, which was pretty difficult considering I'd single-handedly shut down the world's commercial airline system but hey, I had time. I spent centuries walking the entire Earth, looking everywhere I could possibly think of for that last family that was denying me my death, but no matter where I looked I couldn't find any signs of any human life at all.
Eventually I gave up, and went back to England to lie face down on the ground and try to act as dead as I could manage. I did that for a few more centuries, and then, to my surprise, somebody found me. As soon as I processed what was happening, I leapt up and stabbed him in the heart. The man just laughed.
“Not gonna do you much good there. See, I can’t die until I’m the last human alive, and I figure the same goes for you.” | "I curse you. I curse you to a life unending. To a life that endures. Persists until you are the last. Until there are no others." The crone waggled her finger at me, chanting in a hypnotic tone.
A broad smile spread across my features, "Well that just sounds great!' Most folks were dying at around thirty in my village and I was already hitting midlife at nineteen. What with the Black Death and the starvation and all of the lords coming about and leading us off to battles where we got maimed, things had been looking pretty bleak. It's not that my life was that great, I had a bit of scurvy and my home was a hovel, but I also wasn't looking forward to dying just yet.
She had cackled in response, "Fool. You'll realize the folly of your ways soon enough." And then that was that, she'd gone her way and I had gone mine.
Initially, I just figured it was one of those crazy things that happen but nothing really materializes out of it. Just last week Samuel has put a pox on my house after a dispute arising out of a wayward goat. I'd been thrice damned by the church for a failure to exemplify proper piety. The milk lady hexed me the month prior.
Between all of the hexes, poxes, and damnation, I sort of figured a curse wouldn't cause me much hardship.
Indeed, after the first century, I began to feel like the curse was more of a gift. I'd outlasted all of those who had wished me ill and managed to turn that wayward goat into a fairly respectable goat farm. Indeed, I was considered one of the finest purveyors of goat cheeses, goat hide rugs and goat themed good luck charms.
But then folks decided that my longevity was less a mark of good fortune and more a sign that I was a witch myself. I tried to explain that I had, in fact, been cursed by a witch, but no one was buying what I was selling. As far as they were concerned, no one would bother to give someone immortality when they could just turn 'em into a toad and squish 'em.
Honestly, I tended to agree. It just didn't make a whole lot of sense. Still, I managed to flee town before the headman came around and I set off for fame and fortune.
I just never found much of either. I'm just not the fame and fortune type I guess. More of a get a goat and make a goat farm type. Which all sounds well and good, but if you get run off your farm every time you start making progress then things become annoying.
Fast forward ten centuries and no one one even cares about goats now. Everyone just slurps down NutraMins and floats around in their saucer things. I'm the most seasoned goat farmer in the entire world and my skills just don't have a purpose any more. It isn't like I can learn a new craft, eight hundred years tends to get you settled into your ways. Besides, how am I supposed to learn Advanced Astrophysics when I'm still vaguely under the impression that the world is flat? It just doesn't compute (I learned that fancy word recently).
So I'm hanging it up. Just don't see the point any more. If the world don't need goats then I don't need the world. Time to check out.
Problem is that everything I'm trying just doesn't seem to be having an impact. They've cured disease. No one hungers. Everyone has what they want. The only person who seems to be upset with the general state of things is a millennium old goat farmer. I tried spreading bubonic plague. Sneezed on everyone I came across to no effect.
So I've gone back to my roots. Goats.
War goats.
Bred for destruction. Hate in their hearts. Mayhem in their soul.
Death goats.
World enders.
[**The CONTINUATION of the GOAT SAGA here at PART 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/PerilousPlatypus/comments/9c1ls6/story_continuation_the_goatcalypse/)**.**
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2018-09-01T00:38:26 | 2018-08-31T22:06:53 | 2,464 | 1,364 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | I just stood there in shock. What could I have done, I thought to myself. I worked for a living, payed my taxes, kept to myself. I didn't do great things for anyone but I didn't really hurt anyone. Well, there was that one habit I had but surely that wasn't on par with murder or anything.
"What could I have possibly done to get me such a long sentence?!" I asked Peter.
Peter said "I don't really get it either, let me go though your records."
Peter starts looking through the book of my life and stop midway through and blurts out "Oh yes. That. That would do it. That would do it for sure."
"What was it?!" I demanded.
Peter said "Despite there being a perfectly functioning toilet, you were the guy that would shit on the floor of the bathroom at McDonald's." | I had been in line for some time now and was grateful to hear the man in front of me called forward, he was the sort that must have skipped showers here and there. Then again, we were dead and so suddenly I expected that none of us smelled like roses. I had my armpit to my nose when he turned back and with a brief nod said, “Good luck, mate.”
I heard his sentence and couldn’t help but roll my eyes. *Serves him right the unfaithful sod* were the words that were running through my mind when I heard, “Henry Thudor” called forward.
I stepped up to the stage, walking up the steps reminded me of when I had many years ago for graduation. My life had been a pretty boring one, but I’d been reasonable. Maybe 1 or 2 years in hell for the can of coke I once shoplifted and the screaming child I wished a plague of bees upon one late flight many moons ago.
The person in front of me looked like he’d bought his outfit in an after Halloween clearance sale. I eyed him up and down, the pointed tail, the horns on his head – hardly frightening when I’ve seen it so many times before.
“186,292.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The number had been said clearly enough but the logic of it couldn’t quite catch up to it jumbling around in my head.
“That has to be a mistake.”
“Tell me, Mr Thudor –“
“Oh!” I interrupted and waved my hand, *bloody idiot* I thought, but I said, “It’s my name, isn’t it? Simple mistake, but wrong king – you want the eighth, and I’m surprised you got me mixed up when it’s been what, how many years since the ol’ wife lopper kicked the bucket? Actually, is he here? Do we get to meet famous people in hell?”
The demon peered down on me with the same look I’d been given by my second-year teacher when I’d stolen Eve’s apple. I gulped.
“Mr Thudor, tell me, have you ever looked upon anyone without passing judgement on them?”
The saliva I had previously been wrestling down stayed full and choking in my throat. So, this is how it ends, all because I found the fast food waitress’s hair irresponsible.
“I would like to see a lawyer.”
“Well, there are plenty of those down here, although little use it will do you.”
I didn’t hesitate, I held my head high.“I believe that the sins that have been ascribed to me following my judgement of fellow human beings,” at the demons pointed glance I corrected myself, “and as of the past few minutes demons, should instead be placed upon them.”
The demon ran a well-trimmed nail over the horn that jutted out atop his head. “We do enjoy a good show, we’ll bring you a lawyer. I’ll warn you though, 186,000 of those years have little to do with your judgement of others.”
“Then what is the problem here?”
Again, the demon tilted his head forward and my childhood teacher came once more to mind.
“For reasons I’d have thought obvious, we don’t take kindly to those who steal apples.” | 2018-09-26T09:05:26 | 2018-09-26T08:46:32 | 26 | 19 |
[WP] In your class there's a kid who never speaks, always communicating in sign or with that notebook they always carry around. You understand why the day your school catches on fire. The day they looked up at the sky and murmured a single word, a command to all creation. Rain.
Have at it. | ***Rain.***
The word exploded from their mouth, a whisper with the force of a hurricane. It was said with such conviction, I couldn't help but cry...
Wait. *Said?* Alex never spoke. Their doctors had said they couldn't make the sounds. They always hid in the back of class, writing answers on their notebook, or signing responses to the occasional teacher who had picked up sign language. But that *voice...*
I ran to their side.
"Alex! What was that? Are... you ok?"
***Wait, stop! Don't talk to-***
Experience ended.
---
***C-come back.***
All of a sudden, that *voice* was back. And Alex was there, looking at me with wide, worried eyes.
"What... happened? I ran up to you, and then... I'm here."
Alex's eyes flashed with pain. They signed something quickly, almost too quickly to make out. *I made a mistake. I'm sorry. I'm not supposed to...*
I put my hand on their shoulder, surprised at how weak I felt. I had just eaten lunch! How long had I been out? "It's ok, Alex. You can tell me, if you want to. Just... let me know what happened to me, please?"
Alex nodded, and their mouth opened. They looked at me with worried eyes, filled with fear, as they said...
***Remember.***
---
And I did. A fire. A natural gas pipe had burst, and hit a spark. The entire activities wing was beyond saving.
And that meant the students inside were too. Us.
And then, the Word. Alex spoke, and everything that could pour water out, from my eyes to the sprinklers to the suddenly cloudy day above, gushed.
And I saw Alex, startled by me, make a mistake.
---
*Are you alright?* Alex signed. They hadn't moved an inch, but it felt like I'd been out for hours.
"Yeah. I... this is a lot to take in. Were you trying to hide... whatever this is from me?"
Alex nodded, tears streaming down their face. *Every time people find out what I can do, they run, or they manipulate me. Better to hide it.* Their mouth opened.
***Forg-***
I jumped forward, and caught Alex in a hug, cutting the command short.
"I'm not going anywhere."
I may not have a Voice, but I think those words had power to Alex all their own.
| (NOTE: This is \*inspired by\* by not loyal to the prompt.)
It is a quiet place. Barren. My steps feel mechanical, forced… as if I am moving not of my own volition, but rather being reeled in by a force which might be nothing more than my own stubborn will, my own leaden retreat from unwelcome, impossible worlds.
The further I go, the quieter this world becomes. I pass through a ring of empty, gray-brown trees, as still as the air surrounding them. I shudder, and yet I keep walking.
Beyond the trees lies a ring of 13 gray-brown cottages, all identical, all abandoned. I circle around them. Each has a soot-covered window-pane on either side of an open door. They smell exactly like the air around them. There is no hint of a kitchen fire, nor of half-prepared dinner, nor the sweet-sharp smell of laundry soap. The houses smell just as the trees, which themselves smell just as the expanse surrounding them. They smell of nothing.
I am alone.
I sit down on a round bench in the sort of courtyard into which all the houses open. I want to feel relieved, because surely no one can find me here, and my words – which even here I dare not speak – can harm no one. But this new reality feels somehow worse than the worlds from which I have escaped.
I curl up on the bench, wrapping my arms around my legs and resting my chin on my knees. I close my eyes, and travel to another place.
\-
I am home. It is 933 days ago. My daughter is in the nursery, crying and waving her little fists. I go to her.
I know already how this story ends: “Hush,” I said, and she did. Her precious little fists swung right and left, her face remained red and blotchy, and her tiny mouth worked in the same terrible way – but all without making a sound.
“Go to sleep,” I said, regretfully. I hadn’t meant to silence; just to soothe.
And she was still. For all eternity, she was still.
But I’m not there yet. Right now, she’s still alive, still sobbing. I breathe in the air of that room. It smells of diaper cream and baby oil. I reach out to caress her still-warm skin. I look past her teary eyes to the lacey white blankets and tiny baby shoes. I imagine, for as long as I can stand, the little girl she should have been.
And when the air grows too heavy for me to catch a breath, when I feel my lungs beginning to burn from the pain of it, I utter for the thousandth time those fateful words: “Go to sleep”. And I turn away from the past. I journey back to the quiet place.
\-
Outside, beyond the cottages and trees and empty fields and the fog through which I can barely see, I know that there are four soundproof walls. I’m vaguely aware of the people in lab coats who come in and out. I eat. I open and close my eyes. I raise my arms. I sleep and I wake. But no longer live in that world.
I live here now. I walk from cottage to cottage – none of which is home. I could not tell you how I came to be burdened with the curse that brought me here. I do not know why my words mean so much more than the words of others. But this place is my salvation – and my salvation is a hell unto itself. I cannot bear this place. I cannot bear to stay here.
Sometimes I run away. I try, try, try to escape, to fly to some other place.
\-
I am in the first grade. It’s October – cool and raining. We’re inside for recess, and I want more than anything to go outside. I leave my friends and walk over to the window. I know I’m not supposed to speak – I had known that for years – but just this once. I didn’t see what it could hurt.
I walk over to the window. I press my hands against the cool glass, damp from condensation. I turn to make sure that Mrs. Jenson isn’t listening, then whisper, almost under my breath: “Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day.”
The rain stops. I smile.
Looking back now, with the eyes of an adult, I see the horror my six-year-old self wreaked. The drought, the impact to the economy, the farmers who could grow nothing, the people who went hungry. But for that moment, I was happy. I smiled.
For just a moment, I smile. And – when this almost-forgotten memory slowly slips away – I once again turn back to my quiet place. | 2018-10-21T20:14:25 | 2018-10-21T18:21:46 | 64 | 12 |
[WP] You have the power to teleport anywhere when you tap four times on any surface. The catch is that you can't decide where you go or know where you are going. What you do know is wherever you go someone needs you. | "I know, I know, I know" i said, somewhat defeated.
"Look, I'm not saying I don't believe you, I'm just stating that, well, it's sounds strange and I have no alternative but to offer you anti physcotic meds for this" explained Dr. Fiona. " You have some terrible delusions that are putting you in danger and I can't let you go untreated" she said.
She reached down an tore of a script. "Here, be sure to take these as instructed and come back in a months time for a check up."
"Yeah, alright I'll do as you say" I mumbled.
Last year if you had told me that I was going to be able to teleport I would have sent you to Dr. Fiona But alas, I teleport.
People always imainge it to an amazing ability to think of a place and and be there in an instant. It would be. If I had control.
Fate is strange, also a bitch. I have no control over where I end up but where I do go there's always someone in trouble. Just once I'd love to land on a nice warm beach with no-one around me for miles. One time, get this, I landed right in a fucking circus, a guy had his head I a lions mouth and only for the fact I pieced it together that wherever i went people where in danger was he would have ended up as a tasty snack.
4 taps, that's all it takes. 4 taps and I'm anywhere in the world in an instant with no idea where I'll end up. 9 months I kept this to myself as I thought no-one would belive me, hell sometimes I don't believe it myself. That's why I had to go see a shrink, she's nice bit keeps dismissing me as someone who is really sick. Maybe I am. Maybe it is all in my head. It feels real. Cogito ergo sum?
"Paul!" A voice loudly spoke
"Sorry doc, I drifted of there, I got lost in thought" I said.
"You do realise that teleporting is impossible and your showing strong signs of schizophrenia and it's awful to see you suffer."
"You don't belive me"
"I belive that you believe"
"That's another way of saying no"
"Please jusy take your meds and come back to me, you'll get better , I promise."
I tapped my finger 4 times.
I wish I had seen her face.
| The first time was during my job, well, my former job, because since this started, I had never stopped, in my former job I was bored and at the time I had ended with the first part of my requisition, I laid on the chair's back, intending to take a breath, I remember thinking wat to do next, and in the middle of my thought process I tapped on the table.
Tap, tap, tap.
I stopped, pouting, while thinking of my next course of action.
Tap.
The next moment, my point of view wasn't the same, the old computer's monitor wasn't in front of myself, instead i was surprised by a really bright light that blinded me on the spot, I felt pain on my ears.
Hoong!
The sound of a car's horn, the sound of tires skiddeing, and the sound of metal coliding echoed on my ears, when my vision was regained, a pile of police cars is what entered y vision, majority of them suffered collisions on the intention of avoiding running over me.
I felt scared and without thinking I escapped far from there, I stopped when I was tired, and I sat on a park bench and my brain started working again.
The first thing I noticed was the fact that it was night, when just a moment ago I was on the middle of a bright and boring day, nextly I became aware of the change of scenario in just an instant, I felt really confused and then I asked myself.
"Where am i?"
I looked to my phone and looked through, understanding quickly my ubication. My thoughts were:
I was a office Worker in The United States, How the fuck i arrived on England?
From that day on, I started to know more about my "power", I intended to adapt myself but I was somewhat showy, well, not "me", but my accent, and I understood by chance that I appeared in the middle of a police persecution, and for what i heard, more than half of the policemen died by avoiding a "sudden sillouette", a thing that actually was seen on a highway footage, and for what I understood, I "saved" a "suspected" terrorist from being arrested.
It wasn't long after when the next "teleport" ocurred, I was hell nervous in a Starbucks coffee, thinking of that happened, on the fact that i didn't knew how to adapt my self to my new "home", and the fact my objects were still uncompatible with the devices over here, thus with a coffee on hand, I started tapping on the table.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
The next thing I was seeing was a sudden full blue panorama, in the middle of the air and a grand mass of water under myself, I started to fall into it.
I was above the Sea. I fell down, and started sinking, my clothes were heavy under the sea so I too it off, grabbing my wallet and swimming to the surface of the water, while swimming i spotted something from the corner of the eye, it was a lady drowning not far from me, and for what i discovered, she was so desperate she didn't noticed me.
I calmed her down, and after arriving to the bank of the sea I understood that I was on Miami, she was a diver but whe happened to dive really deep and her boat was dragged by the tide, when she noticed, she started to lost composture, and soonly after, I appeared above water.
With a dead phone, and practically nowhere to stay, I tried to adapt, once again, I got to be helped by the girl, which helped me to get some foundation.
However, it happened again.
And again, and again, and again.
It was Japan, I happened to appear on the momment before someone was about to be rapped/killed/something.
It was Russia, in the middle of a frosty tundra, with a bleeding man that just escapped from an agry and hungry bear.
It was Brazil, in the middle of the Amazona's river, someone was being dragged by the current.
I never got to stay in a sole place, fortunately, I somewhat mantained contact woth those I saved, whom happened to be masters of some acivity and somewhat wealthy.
I eventually grew accustommed, to the point I developped an Intuition to when a new teleport was necessary or was going to happen 'cause I am so distracted.
I do started to atract attention, however, I didn't cared, after all, usually I dissapear some hours after, of various months after, of course, I always warn my "clients" before hand, for when I dissapear they don't get overly surprised and confused, I also started learning some languages for me to be able to communicate with the victims, after all, it isn't as if I can stop this. | 2019-04-04T14:32:08 | 2019-04-04T14:22:07 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] You are a magical girl, but instead of the usual Sailor Moon esque transformation, you turn into your favorite gritty D&D character. This surprises and terrifies the main villain, who was expecting a frilly dress and some sparkles. Instead they got greasy plate armor, and a bloody battleaxe. | I am the only male magical girl to have ever existed.
At six one and with a gnarled bushy beard, I look nothing so much as a zitless stereotype of the basement dweller gamer. And yet somehow I am the chosen one and all that such.
When Mana herself gave me my wand, she told me to imagine myself at my strongest, even if that self existed only in my mind.
So when Keldam the Blackheart attacked, ten seconds later, trying to steal my wand... I did just that.
Thing is, I've never been one for magic. Thews, size, and steel are what I always wanted.
So instead of a frilly sailor dress, I was wearing greasy, gore-spattered armor. In my clawed hand, a six foot long battleaxe that was no longer as tall as I was... because I was now nine feet and change.
In my other hand I clutched a huge, solid metal shield, blazoned with Mana's symbol. When Keldam charged, I smashed it into his face, throwing him through the facade of a bank and warping the vault door as he slammed into it.
"WHAT THE HELLS ARE YOU? YOU ARE NOT LIKE THE OTHER GIRLS I HAVE DEFEATED!"
I rushed the sorcerer while his wits were scrambled, heaving my axe upward. Keldar's eyes grew wide, realizing what was happening, but it was too late to stop the apocalyptic force behind my axe. It hewed steel, enchanted clothing, skin, fat, muscle, and finally bone... and then reversed the order, exploding out of the opposite side of the doomed mage. | I never knew having a D&D obsession could save my life. Yet, it happened. Sometimes it seems as though fate has a sense of humor.
Let me start from the beginning. I was on my school bus (headed to school, of course), drowning out the sound of fellow adolescents with the voice of Matthew Mercer. It was a peaceful rainy day, with the sound of rain tapping gently on my window. I double-checked my bag to make sure I hadn’t forgotten my homework. Damn it. Damn it to the Nine Hells. I’d left it on my desk at home. Now I’d have to answer to Teach. Technically, it would have been my fault for doing it at midnight.
My mind abruptly ran to a halt when the bus stopped. I popped out my earbuds and looked out the window. Big mistake. I found myself staring right into the eyes of a thug with a balaclava. Then the bus door opened and we heard gunshots. Next thing we know, the bus driver — poor man — is groaning on the floor, with a pool of blood slowly spreading from holes in his chest. Oh, I forgot to mention that the school I go to is a private school, so there’s quite a few kids with coffers full of cash.
“Give it up!” Balaclava Man waved a loaded Uzi around and fired a few shots into the air to scare us. Wallets almost flew out of pockets. Kids everywhere were shaking with pure fear. I don’t carry a wallet. I’ll shamefully admit I was dangerously close to pissing my pants from fear. Then I remembered. However, the last time I’d used the “thing” I had, there was blood everywhere, someone’s head was chopped off, and another one was on fire. The “thing” I possessed was kind of random. Sometimes I’d turn into a berserker kobold with a thing for leg-lopping, and other times I’d become...well, something else. I didn’t know who I would become.
“Hey! You! China boy! Where’s your money?” The thug with the Uzi had it pointed right at me. I smirked at him.
“I didn’t bring my wallet today.” Not the most badass of responses, but it would suffice. I stood up, all 5’11” of me standing up and staring straight down a barrel. I stared the guy straight in the eyes and took a step towards him. Sure, my legs felt like jelly, and I didn’t want to die today. Nobody wants to die any day, as far as I know.
I raised my hands and invoked the holy name of Gary Gygax (“BY THE POWER OF GYGAX!”). The thug fired his gun. Time slowed down. The bus was consumed by smoke and fire.
Eventually, I stood, at the same height I was, but something was different. I was wearing chainmail. My arms were stronger. Everything was stronger. I looked at myself in the window. I looked good. “Hey, Marco. What’s poppin’?” A cool Scottish accent fell from my lips. As I turned from the window, I looked at the thug. Luckily, he missed. I smiled and spoke the two most intense words in a D&D game, “Roll initiative.”
I started off by lobbing a small ball of fire at the thug. Luckily, it wasn’t a real fireball. That would’ve caused several casualties. It hit him, and his clothes ignited. Ouch. While the thug was trying to bat out the flames, I sprinted up to him and socked him in the mouth. I made quick work of the other thugs outside, and managed to catch up with one last fleeing guy. I knocked him unconscious, as the last thing he saw was a chainmail-clad fist heading towards his face. I brushed off my armor and stepped back in the bus.
At least I’d miss first period.
EDIT: Human Fighter IS NOT basic. | 2019-08-08T18:00:37 | 2019-08-08T17:55:32 | 125 | 71 |
[WP] You are a dark god. The police raided your temple, arrested your cultists, and ate the pb&j sandwich that your youngest worshiper left on your altar | "You touch my offering, you become my offering." I hiss from the shadows above my altar.
The man looked up from the sandwich and turned to the door, looking for his companions. As he did so pools of darker than dark shadows slithered across the floor towards him. Arms of darkness stretched across the already dark walls reaching for the door.
One tendril reached his foot and bumped it lightly and then coiled upwards. His head swiveled from the door. He looked for what bumped him. Seeing nothing, he tried to back up towards the door. He tripped into the other tendril, still too dark to see, and stopped cold.
The first tendril touched his arm holding the sandwich. He jerked it away, but it then bumped into the second tendril near his right arm. He dropped the sandwich.
Little Jenny worked so hard to make me her perfect lunch, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with just enough jelly! She put her little heart and soul into sharing with me, the goddess of shades, her very favorite, most loved thing.
I couldn't help it, I laughed at the man. He was shaking now, realizing he was cornered by unseen things. I had the sandwich delicately grasped by another tendril right at his eye level.
He screamed as all the tendrils suddenly whipped around his arms and legs. The sandwich still floated before him. He gasped for air as they squeezed tighter.
I sighed as I melted through the tall alter. Tonight I was supposed to appear to bless my loyal followers, instead I'd have to free them. Little Jenny needed me after all. As I stepped through my body took shape of shadowy dust, sparkling like obsidian. I stretched my barely corporeal arms, it was always refreshing regaining a body.
He screamed again, trying to thrash away from me. I stepped closer to him, right through my tendrils that held him so tight. I grabbed his chin with my dusky new fingers and drew my new face closer to him.
I breathed in his breath; I smelled my offering. "I really hope that bite was worth it." I whispered. I breathed his last breath from his body in one long motion.
I gently lay his body before my altar and headed for the door, my tendrils preceding me. Now to see to little Jenny. | **WARNING: SEMI ADULT CONTENT**
The ever-pervading darkness, the One Who turns Blood to Ice, the monster under every child's bed
*Lame*, I thought. These were the titles they had crafted for me?
I was fine with having a dark cult- yeah, pretty much *deserved* one after all the shit I had pulled off during my mortal and, later, my immortal life- but is this truly what remained of my legacy of badassery and bloodshed?
Well- it had been a hundred years since I'd seen some action- maybe it was time they were all reminded of who I *really* was. They thought I was some stone statue, with a cruel face and a hard-on for gratuitous violence... well, that last part was true. But I was not Something that demanded child sacrifices or weird sex rituals. Gods, they were so off-base. Idiots.
One of the few joys I had left in my "church" was my youngest worshiper- he actually *got* me. Every week, people brought me gold, jewels- shit I couldn't use. But Tiny Timothy, he brought me a PB&J that was *loaded* with his religious fervor. What a sweet, deranged little kid.
*In fact, isn't it time for "service"?* I wondered, and I pulled my mind from the Cosmos, peering down at my "church".
*I really got to start listening when people pray.* I grumbled, seeing my church laid to ruin.
Police were outside- my cultists were in chains- and *a police captain was eating MY GODS-DAMNED SANDWICH?!*
That was beyond the pale. I strapped on my ass-kicking boots, cargo pants, and a black muscle shirt. Oh, yeah- a bra- couldn't go on a murderous rampage with the girls flying about left and right.
Descending to the Earth- or Ascending, depending on which way you prescribed to The Truth, I formed in a cloud of mist.
In this body, I was roughly eight feet tall, my skin made of ink and obsidian- and my eyes shone with bloodlust. "You *filth!*" I screamed, slapping the PB&J out of the police captain's hand. I then sank my hand into his chest, piercing straight through his breastplate and into his heart.
What followed next was an eminently satisfying massacre- though it could have done with some background music. Rob Zombie, perhaps?
After all was said and done, I began to free my slav-... servants.
"Goddess! Oh, thank you!" Some of them shouted.
"Gross." I replied, then went and knelt next to Tiny Timothy. "I like your sandwiches, little man. Keep 'em coming."
I looked to my High Priest, who had been rendered unconscious. I loosed some of my Obsidian Smoke, which brought him around. "Hey, dork. Who sent the cops?" I asked.
"My...lady..." He croaked, reaching toward me with a trembling hand.
I slapped it away. "Don't try and cop a feel just cuz you got your ass kicked."
The High Priest smirked. "Was I that obvious?" His voice wasn't weakened at all.
"As the rising sun, yes. Who sent the *godsdamnmotherfucking cops?*"
He scowled. "Darius, I bet. He's the Chief of Police, and he serves the Ashen Queen."
I rolled my eyes. "She's been immortal for, what, thirty years? She's a baby, and she's trying to pick a fight with me?" I stood. "Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna hit back, hard, and make her forget her plans to be a pain in my perfectly-sculpted ass. But direct warfare amongst the Gods is forbidden, so looks like you're going to lead the charge."
Opening a portal, I summoned a ride. "Here, have a weapon for your warfare, idiot. Bring it back with a full tank...and, happy hunting. Be safe." I said, handing the keys to my High Priest.
"Your will, my lady." He said, turning his attention to the decked-out hearse she had gifted him.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
I've got Part II on my (subreddit!)[https://old.reddit.com/r/nystorm_writes/comments/gny8wc/badassery_bloodshed_pt_i_ii/]
I do intend to add more still. I realized as I was writing Pt. II, there was no good way for me to make it a *short* short story... so now it'll be a medium one ;) | 2020-05-19T21:54:56 | 2020-05-19T19:50:23 | 404 | 224 |
[WP] A magical medieval fantasy empire frequently invades inferior, magic-less dimensions for easy conquest. This time though, they target the modern day technologically advanced Earth. | Note: For the purposes of this story imagine an ac-130 makes mw2 sounds.
\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\
"Damage report major."
With a salute the major began speaking. "It appears that they have interdimensional portal technology, although they have not used it since they began their attack. They may need time to recharge before teleporting large distances."
"English."
"They're sitting ducks. Sir."
The general smirked. These alien fucks picked the wrong country and the wrong world to land on. "Bring out the Ac130s. I want you to hit them so many times even their ashes no longer exist. If anyone survives bring them back for interrogation."
The major smirked at his general before saluting again and running off to inform others of his order.
\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\//\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/
The invading magical army looked up as they heard a sound unlike any they had heard before.
Their commander Gwendyre spoke. "Apprentice, use scanning magic, is that a dragon?"
The apprentice scanned it but didn't fully understand. "It appears to be full of metal and alchemic chemicals, but I sense no magic from it."
"We will move on then, it cannot attack us from such a distance with no magic."
They took a few more steps before it sounded as if the sky began to scream. They looked up just in time to see a large pice of metal dropping towards the center of their group. They scattered as to not be squashed, only for an explosion to overcome them. The commander had enough time to form a dome around half of his troops, but the other half seemed to be dead on impact.
He smugly scoffed. "It will take more than that to defeat us. It barely took half of my power to block their most devastating attack. I assume it has a high cost and cooldown time." His face turned to one of horror when the ship fired again, and again, and again. Soon he collapsed from exhaustion, and his troops collapsed from death. | Glaurung waited for Sha'ashi. His Magus Primus was late in bringing his report. Beside him the mighty bulk of Feroze was a comforting presence. His dragoon is now fully grown,which bestowed upon him the honourable duty as Prince of Nerebor to add another world to the mighty Empire of his father. All his brothers have accomplished the task on their turn. Now it is his turn to prove his worth to his father. May be then,the Great Emperor Tashi will acknowledge his youngest son.
There were certain misgivings regarding the new world. Terra...they called it. Strange name,for such a primitive world. Never matter. Soon this pathetic excuse of a civilization will be freed of its ignominious existence.
Sensing his presence, Glaurung said "You are late, Sha'ashi". Sha'ashi kneeled in front of him. "I am sorry my Prince, the Rux were a bit unsettled." Glaurung stared at his childhood friend. Sha'ashi was a lowly wyrven rider and it has taken him no small amount of backstabbing, deceit and sacrifice to attain the position of the Magus Primus of the youngest Prince of the mighty Empire of Nerebor. Glaurung's father himself had told him to choose a better candidate,one of the noble dragoon riders,the only piece of advise he ever bothered to give him. But Glaurung knew that Sha'ashi was the only one, whose loyalty was not for sale. How his brothers have tried to first buy and then remove Sha'ashi from him. But he has prevailed in every encounter. That is the reason Sha'ashi is the only one who can actually dare to be the harbinger of bad news to the Prince.
"What is the problem with the Ruxs?" Glaurung asked.
"The cold my lord. The entire world seems to be a barren waste land. There is nothing around for miles. This bitter cold wind is sapping their strength. If not for the dragoon's fire,they might have perished already"
The Carto-magis have ripped the wall of reality and opened a portal in this world from the sunny realm of Nerebor. They have selected this place specifically for its isolation. It is well known that it is folly to open a portal near to local empires. It gives them time to arrange their defence before the entire might of the army has assembled. Though it hardly matters. Most of the worlds are incapable of withstanding the joint might of the Dragoon-Riders, whose single dragoon is enough to scorch a castle, the Wyrven-Riders, whose ferociousness knows no bounds and the Rux-Riders, the nimble and more maneuverable of the three. While the enemy focuses their balista and catapults on the more menacing Dragoons the Ruxs fly behind their lines and before they know it,the war is over. Countless worlds have fallen before the classic tactics of the Nerebor military. Though to be fair, having hundreds of Dragoons, thousands of wyrven and entire legions of Ruxs make things like strategy redundant.
"We are at the northern part of the biggest landmark. In the middle of the winter season. What did the Ruxs expected, Sha'ashi?"
" I am sorry my Prince. As soon as the campaign starts, these will fade away. The men are just aching for some fight. And there is no enemy city or village nearby to pillage while the base is being setup. Never before in our history such thorough defence has been created at our launching base"
" I know Sha'ashi. But I loathe to risk the lives of any soldier under my banner unnecessarily. My brothers have won many worlds,but all of them have lost some majestic Dragoons in the process. Do not forget how many Wyrvens and Ruxs failed to return to Nerebor. They might just be a statistic to others Sha'ashi,but my men are important to me. Even the Horse riders and infantry. This base is important for the protection of the portal as well. But don't worry old friend. As soon as the defensive runes are completed, we launch our attack. How long will it take the sorceress to complete the defensive runes?"
"It will be finished by the Hunter's Moon, my Prince. Permission to speak freely,my Prince?"
Glaurung stared long at Sha'ashi.
"Speak your mind Sha'ashi."
Guys this was my first attempt. Please be kind. Please give suggestions for improvement. | 2021-06-26T07:06:31 | 2021-06-26T04:56:35 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Plants feed on the fallen. The soil from which they grow is rich with the nutrients of the dead. The energy of the daisy, the shrub, the towering oak is not destroyed in death. It is passed along through the dirt to be absorbed by the next in line.
I knew a similar cycle applied to us. We adventurers, with our ordained classes, our inborn gifts. I knew the raw powers of the killed passed on to the killer. I knew "greatness" was a pretty word heroes used to describe the piles of corpses they left in their wakes.
"I would love more power," I whispered to my nightshades as I watered them under the yellow moon. "But it's not worth what it costs. The killing. The blood. I'd rather be a humble gardener than have all those deaths weighing on my conscience. I'd rather be weak than vile."
I reached one hand up toward the yellow moon and with the other I coaxed the plant. As I hummed and focused the lunar energies, little buds began to open and bloom from the limb of my nightshade.
I sat back, exhausted. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Accelerating the life of even a small plant left me drained.
"You're so weak, you're not even worth the killing," said a voice behind me.
I started. "Thank you, sir," I gasped. I felt like a mouse being watched by a viper. "I am weak. I know it."
"Pitiful, too," the hero announced. "Do you know the man to whom you are speaking?"
"I have a guess."
"I am Halodin the Unbroken," he said.
"Yes," I said. "There were rumours you would pass by our humble town. I am honoured to be in your presence, sir."
"Ha! And I am disgraced to be in yours. Such is the way of the world."
I did not turn to look at him. Many claimed that he killed any who gazed upon his face, while others claimed that his form was so magnificent the mere sight of it struck the looker dead. Whichever was true, I did not want to find out.
"Look up," he commanded. "At the moon. Now."
I did as commanded. I felt the power emanating from him, behind me. I watched as that full, yellow moon gradually darkened, faded from view, like during an eclipse. And one by one, the stars began to dim as well, winking out of existence until the sky was a perfect blackness.
I could not see a thing.
"You have the power to siphon moonbeams to make your little plants grow," he sneered. "Yet your pathetic powers are enough to keep you content. Meanwhile, I can blot the moon from the sky with ease. But for me, my powers are nothing. Nothing. I'll never understand you wretches, content to simper and bow. Living on your knees. No ambition or pride. Despicable."
I heard him walking past me, his powerful feet sinking into my garden's dirt. I heard the stalks of plants cracking and breaking with each of his indifferent strides.
The world was pitch black. I could not see him. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes, just in case.
"Thank you for sparing my life," I squeaked.
"You call this a life?" he laughed over his shoulder as he strode.
"And watch out, Sir Halodin, for the well of despair!" I sputtered. "The magical pit in the middle of my garden! It was created by one of the Ancients, and boasts a powerful charm. To trip and fall would mean certain death for any man, no matter how powerful."
The hero laughed and continued marching through the darkness, stomping on and through whatever plants he pleased. I imagined how wonderful it would feel to get revenge on someone like him. I imagined how glorious it would feel to put him in his place. To punish him for how he had treated me, for how all of them had treated me.
I dug my fingers into the dirt. I imagined a root slithering up from the dirt to catch his foot. . .
I heard the frustrated growl, then the echoed cry, growing more distant as its source plummeted through those enchanted depths.
Then silence.
The shadow lifted from the moon, the stars. I could see my garden again. And though I could not see Sir Halodin, I could feel him, his power. No longer behind me or before me, but within me. Coursing through my body and soul.
I nodded at the dirt beneath my feet and shot into the sky on the top of a tree; it grew taller and taller, like a spire, until I stood perched hundreds of feet above the surrounding land. With a lazy sweep of my hand, a dense and terrible forest rose for miles in the direction of my gesture.
"The earth is a garden," I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "The earth is *my* garden. It is mine." | Stepped on. Belittled. Trampled over... Ignored.
The people have always relied on gardeners; we used to be respected! That was until the kings hunters realized every beast and monster they slew gave them something in return... power.
Suddenly adventuring was their career of choice. They no longer served king nor community, hunting beasts to extinction and calling themselves monster hunters. Don't get me wrong, monsters have always been a threat to the kingdom, but now it's an all out war! The dragons hadn't attacked our village for centuries until the adventurers realized even a defenseless egg would grant them tremendous power!
The most fabled of these adventurers have become untouchable, too powerful for any force to reign in. The gods forbid one of these self-appointed heros came to your village; you were expected to treat them like royalty, otherwise they may gain experience off you!
One day a uniquely deplorable adventurer came to my village. Apparently room and board wasn't agreeable enough for them, they demanded a tour of THEIR new village! They rampaged through the village, disparaging and destroying anything they deemed "unsightly." They had plans of creating a perfect village, and any merchant stall or family home was fair game for the adventurers incineration magic!
My garden has always been practical, so I knew my home was already on this deviants chopping block. I had grown tired of these entitled killers trampling over my garden; so I decided this would be the last day I put up with it. The man and his traumatized tour guide stood at the entrance of my garden, I could see his soured face from my porch. He beckoned for me to come out, lest I get incinerated with my garden.
Slowly I approached the man, my breath escaping me with the knowledge of what I was planning to do. The man began to speak, gesturing towards the skies like an egomaniac as flames spewed from his fingertips. I couldn't bare it; listening to an entitled man-child disparage my life's work! As he was distracted with his own grandiosity I chucked a stone straight at his chest! I began hurling every insult I could manage, knowing that soon I would be burning cinders in the wind!
The man was furious; he wanted to make my death personal. He began to walk forward, his voice booming with magical power. I kneeled to the ground, hands clutched above my head in fear of what was to come! The man towered over me, but one step from enacting his wrath! He took a mighty step forward, but had not noticed the roots in his path. Suddenly he fell, face planted into the loose soil and manure nearby! I uncovered my head and began to laugh, for at least the man had embarrassed himself before incinerating me! I laughed for what felt like ages until I realized something... The man wasn't moving an inch. His skin was as hard as iron, but as he fell a gardening instrument had managed to pierce perfectly into his eye.
Moments later I felt it; the power washed over me! Chronic pain disappeared, my strength grew tenfold, and I could feel the tingling of magic within me! I, a lowly gardener, had leveled up!
I used my newfound powers to rebuild what the deviant had destroyed, enamoring the villagers. They tried to give me gifts, but I refused them. It is the gardeners way to serve their community. I continued my humble life for a few more years, scaring off any adventuring riff-raff that laid eyes on our village, but every day their numbers grew. Across the kingdom these deviants vied for wealth, power, and control. I decided to leave my village and aid others suffering at the hands of adventurers.
My power grew as I went from village to village, cutting down the most vile of adventurers along my path. I was confused by their sheer number, how could there possibly be this many monsters to slay? Eventually I learned of their secret. The courageous adventurers had created breeding farms; forcing dragons to give birth and slaying their young to gain experience. A tyrant lead them, drip feeding his subjects experience and demanding they lay claim across the lands. I knew I was not strong enough to match them, but I did not need to.
I was but a humble farmer, and I had brought wagons full of food to impress the benevolent adventurers. Delicacies from across the kingdom were theirs to sample, free of charge! You see adventurers magical abilities are defined by their unique abilities. I met a swordsman whose power allowed him to control the winds as he sliced, cutting indiscriminately anything in his path. I met a hunter who could manipulate his arrow, never missing a shot. My power was boring, all I could do was manipulate the properties of plants!
These simpletons have never respected the sacrifice their ancestors went through, what gardeners went through! While the gods blessed us with plants to nourish us, it was not without sacrifice that we learned which ones wouldn't kill us! The food I had kindly bestowed may have appeared harmless, but they would soon understand the suffering they inflicted upon the innocent people of our kingdom!
"This is the sweetest peach I've ever eaten!" one of them exclaimed. They all began to gorge themselves of my harvest, even demanding I bring them more tribute by the months end! Their eyes filled with glee, blissfully ignorant of what was to come. My father, my fathers father, and his father before him had passed down tomes of knowledge. These tomes contained descriptions of the most toxic plants known to the kingdom. My plants contained the properties of all of them.
First they suffered the effects of Orcweed, as bloody blisters formed around their eyes and mouth. Then came the effects of the Rotted Toadstool, expelling vomit and diarrhea. Some of the less dim-witted amongst them realized what I had done and began to charge at me, but the effects of the Creeping Moonshade Vine put them into a state of paralysis and vein popping rashes washed over their body!
I waited for the properties of the final plant to overtake them, the dreaded Elveswood Berry! Long ago when humans dared encroach into the Elves territory they discovered the deadliest plant known to man. Hundreds of soldiers feasted upon the plentiful and delicious berry. Luckily for them the Elveswood Berry is more merciful than the others, causing sudden and painless death. One by one the men who had been trembling and screaming in pain went silent. Exponentially I could feel my power grow.
I approached the dragons dens and freed them from their captivity, knowing that not even all of them together could challenge me. "I bet they'll call me freer of dragons, savior of the kingdom! Maybe they'll respect me now..." I thought to myself. I could feel it, the power overtaking me. Grandiose thoughts pervaded my mind, ideas of how I alone would bring greatness to the kingdom!
The eldest dragon looked upon me. They were imposing, but I could see the fear in their eyes. "Will he became the next tyrant?" I bet they wondered. I stood before the dragon and took a bite of the worlds most delicious apple.
"Perhaps I've grown too powerful" I thought, before my body fell abruptly to the ground. | 2021-10-04T16:23:08 | 2021-09-09T22:42:51 | 1,001 | 23 |
[WP] Your telepathy lets you hear others' thoughts. It's almost useless and extremely annoying since everyone thinks in nonstop stream-of-consciousness fragments, jumping focus constantly. Today, for the first time ever, you overhear someone thinking in fully coherent grammatical sentences. | Some people have almost no thoughts, while others seem to never stop thinking. Most people are somewhere in the middle: mildly distracted from the task at hand with thoughts that stream but are generally coherent. Most people are not deliberate with their thoughts, though, I’ve learned from hearing them.
That’s why I was so surprised to hear the little boy thinking so deliberately. He was at the playground I was passing and just thinking, “Can you hear me? What about you? You? Can anyone hear me?”
I stopped and looked at him as he played. He was people-watching and reaching out for telepaths. How odd!
I thought directly to him, “I can hear you. Do you hear me?” His head whipped up in a hurry and his eyes searched for me. When he saw me, he jumped up with excitement and ran to me. I almost panicked. “Where are your parents?!”
“They’re here but they can’t hear me!” He was basically shouting. When he reached me he was completely unafraid. I was more curious than anything else.
“I’m deaf, but I hear so much!” He was almost starting to ramble. “They think I’m slow because I don’t always respond to what they sign, but their thoughts are distracting me. I’ve finally found you! I knew there had to be others. I have been looking for so long I was starting to give up! But here you are! I can’t even…”
“Woah!” I cut him off. His face fell into confusion. “I’m Jo. What’s your name?”
He smiled. “I’m Gabe! I’m Gabe!”
“How old are you, Gabe?”
“I’m six!”
“It’s nice to meet you, Gabe. Where are your parents?”
“They’re coming over now to see who I’m talking to,” he thought sadly. Then he started to sign to me.
“I don’t know sign language, I’m sorry,” I thought.
“That’s ok. It’ll at least look like I was trying to communicate with you. You can tell them whatever you want.”
I almost panicked. How could I explain why I was talking to a deaf kid when I don’t sign? I was a stranger at a park. I looked like a creep. Maybe being female would work in my favor?
“Excuse me? Why are you talking to my son?” Gabe’s mother asked as she pulled him protectively closer to her.
“I’m sorry! He ran to me and started signing. I think he thought that dog was mine. I’m sorry, I don’t sign and have no real idea why he ran to me.”
He started signing to his mother and a worried look shadowed her face. “He says he wants you to be his nanny.”
“Well, I guess I’m learning sign language, then,” I smiled. | Sometimes i can't help laughing.
Most people are borring inside, dull droll monotoned diatribes which really, quite honestly devolve into word snippets. I do sincerely doubt they even hear it themselves, but as far as i can tell it's a lot like failing to decorate your appartment because you dont ever expect company. If i really focus on someone i can catch some of the impressions that go along with those thoughts.... Back to the point though; the sudden enthusiastic outburst of "OOH, penny!" forced a guffaw from deep within my gutt. I quickly clenched my jaw and looked around nervously as i bore the flutter of attentions and overlapping "*what was that*?"s and "*weirdo*."s.
&#x200B;
Then i heard it.
I cant stress enough that most people think in incoherent snippets and impressions, some of them sound borderline incoherent or drunk even, but this? Clear as a bell i heard "Hum... what an odd fellow. But really who am i do begrudge a man his joy, eh?" the impression was of an inside joke he shared with himself. I dont know why, maybe just because of the clarity of thought, but i was able to zero in on him imediately. "*oh dear... he's* ***looking*** *at me. Waait...*" I saw his eyes narrow "*Say, say you sir*" he's still thinking and my eyes widened visibily "Y*ou can.... hear me, cant you, fellow?*" The panic on my face answered his question as i turned and bolted from the subway station. "*Well alright then. Do go ahead and run if you wish but you do realize i can still communicate, yes*?" I ran even faster and began shouting - even this mans mental presence seemed to drown out all the other mental rambling and snippets "Who the hell are you?! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!" *oh my, dear fellow. Not quite so loud, you know i can hear you, too... right...?* I froze. I could feel the people staring and i could hear vague whispers *is he okay? what's wrong with this guy. Crackhead. schitzo.* etc.
It had never occurred to me that anyone else would be like me. *You... can?*
*Yes.*
*Well, that explains the vocabulary i guess... Are there others like m- like* ***us****?*
*Well, the trouble is* ***I'm*** *not quite sure it is an* ***us,*** *old chum. Your thoughts are remarkably unguarded and you seem to lack the pencant for proddery, if you will.*
*The what for... wha...?*
*oh dear god man, i hope i've not lost you with a bit of word play-*
*No, i heard you... or i mean i... i know what you said but i dont know what you mean by it.*
*Ah, i see. Well* ***I*** *can do a whole lot* ***more*** *than evesdrop. I'm not terribly sure you are the same sort of thing as i am, see?*
*like what else can-* i was cut off mid thought by a rush of immages and sensations. They felt completely distinct from what i gained through my own sixth sense and it seemed very clear to me in that moment as mounian tops and bungie jumping and hang gliding washed over me- immages juxtaposed with real viceral experiences- that this was something the man could've done to anyone with or without *the sense?* I began wobbling, knees weak and stomach flipping
*oh dear good man, hope i've not over done it.* I fired up a retort of my own, if this asshole could put stuff in my head there was no reason i couldn't do it back, i mustered up a blurb of all the confusion frusteration and anger i was feeling and attempted to mentally shove it at him. I heart a short chuckle and felt him smiling somehow. *Dear me, you couldn't incept a todler, carrying on like that*. As you might guess that provoked me even further and so i dug down, deeper, as deep as i could and summoned up something spiteful and vile and forced it at him like a spear. I felt his response, shock and anger and maybe just a hint of fear before the connection cut completely silent.
It happened all at once that his presence vanished, but every once in a while i'll see him. Not in the world, through my own eyes, but i'll get a vision of him standing somewhere behind me, watching me. I can never pinpoint him, or spot him, or hear him. I dont know what he wants, but in those visions i can sense something ***wrong***. It feels like he's watching me, waiting for me to make some kind of mistake, or false move so he can pounce. All i'm able to pick up from him in those brief moments is a predatory laser focus, and an unrestrained willingness to do harm, but he's held back by something, or he's.... simply.... ***waiting.*** | 2022-03-27T13:06:15 | 2022-03-27T11:36:36 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention. | Rose held her Dad's hand tightly. There was sudden terrible pain through her senses: searing light, eardrum-rupturing sound, her skin shredded and burnt. And almost before it stopped, as everything went dark, something started pulling her upwards and her Dad downwards and she couldn't feel her Dad's hand anymore, but she gripped all the tighter - she couldn't lose her Dad!
After a long time in the darkness, holding tight, a dark red glow came from below. She could just make out her Dad's shadow against the glow, still holding her hand as he was dragged down. As the glow grew, it became apparent that they were descending a great distance towards a rocky, barren floor, next to a glowing lake. There stood a man, or what looked like a man - he had horns, and his elbows and knees were odd.
Her father touched down with a heavy thud, she still floated for a bit, but somehow, seemingly just by wanting it, managed to land as well.
The "man" was frowning. "I don't think you're supposed to be here. We don't get many as young as you down here. Have you been a bad girl?"
"Yes. I woke Daddy again yesterday when he was sleeping on the floor and smelled funny. He doesn't like that." And she turned to show the scars. "See, I was bad." Her Dad looked ashamed and shook his head.
"Hmmm. Do you know where this is? who I am?" asked the strange man.
She was about to say "no", when she realized, somehow she did know, though a moment before she hadn't. "This is Hell. You're the GateKeeper Demon."
"That's right. You clearly belong in Heaven. Please, let go of your father's hand and go there."
"No!"
Her Dad spoke "Rose! The GateKeeper is right. Please let go of my hand and go where you belong."
"No! You are all I have! I'm not letting go!"
"Please, Rose! I promise there are nice people waiting for you there. You won't like it here."
Rose thought about it. The knowledge of what would happen to her father appeared in her mind, unbidden. "No!" And she held even tighter.
"I will throw your father into the Lake of Burning Fire now. If you are holding his hand, you will be burnt, too. And that's just the start."
"I'm staying with him!"
Her Dad started to protest, but the Demon could see that she would not be convinced by words. So he picked up her Dad, his huge clawed hands somehow passing right through her, and threw him into the lake, while she held on.
She was enveloped in searing heat, the hand holding her Dad a burning agony. Somehow, despite being enveloped, she could hear her Dad screaming in agony. She thought about the times he had told her goodnight stories, and she held on. She thought about the times he had beaten her, and almost let go, but then she thought about the time he made the really bad man go away, and she held on. She thought about him buying her ice cream and laughing together while walking by the river, and she held on.
And as she thought these thoughts the burning pain didn't matter any more - it was still there, but it had no urgency. Her Dad stopped screaming, and suddenly, he lifted her out of the Lake of Fire. He was clearly having trouble just standing, much less lifting his hands to hold her up, but he did it nonetheless. She smiled at her Dad, and, though it was a tremendous effort, through the pain, he smiled back.
They stayed that way for a long time, he faltered many times and she was almost pulled back into the lake, but he didn't give up.
In the distance a great winged demon appeared and rapidly grew larger. Without slowing down, it snatched her Dad out of the Burning Lake, dragging Rose along, too. The demon did a double take. "You aren't supposed to be here!"
The demon paused in the air, it's great wings beating to hold it in place, and tried to grasp her, to pull her away from her Dad, but its clawed hands just passed through her.
Growling in frustration, the demon drew back its arm holding her Dad and then threw him across the hellscape with all its might.
They were tumbling through the air, but then, Rose tried to stop their tumbling, and it worked! In an instant, she could see they were headed straight for a bed of jagged rocks and sharp stakes, the intended target of the demon. Without thinking, she pulled up on her Dad as hard as she could. And somehow, through the strange laws of Physics in this place, it worked. In fact, they were now headed for the ceiling.
She heard a distant demonic howl of rage, and the winged demon started growing in size. She pulled harder, and harder still. They were now headed for the stone ceiling at impossible speed, with the demon gaining rapidly. And then, they were through - somehow, they passed right through the ceiling. They heard more demonic howls of rage, but they were rapidly receding.
...
St. Peter gave the girl a welcoming smile. "We've been expecting you. You had us worried!"
He turned towards her Dad "You, we have not been expecting. How did you get here?!"
He looked sheepish. "She won't let go."
She confirmed, "no, I won't!" | The demon looked over to where his partner was talking animatedly on his communicator.
"I completely understand," he was saying, "but we can't just keep an innocent here and hope He doesn't notice. What's that? He won't notice? He'll notice! And even should this girl somehow be missed by Saint Peter, we'll still have angels storming the gates when The Big Guy Upstairs orders her recovery. He is terribly fond of children, you know."
Covering the mouthpiece, he glanced over at his companion and sighed loudly. His partner rolled his eyes and nodded, then looked back at the young girl who was standing before the gates.
"So, tell me, little one, what's your name?" Demons weren't really evil, despite the misconception. They were scary, but that was because they were basically God's prison guards. Lucifer, on the other hand, was as bad as they go. He was their highest security prisoner, and even so, managed to project his essence where he liked fairly often. One of the ways he took advantage of this was making sure as many people ended up in Hell as possible. Heaven's R&D department was working on a new cell, something like a lake of fire that they said should be ready in a few thousand years, but as things stood right now, Lucifer wasn't letting anyone leave without an express order from God. That was who the other demon was currently on the phone with. (Also, they have phones in Hell)
Anyway.
"My name's Anna," the girl replied, "Say, mister, why's it so warm in here?" The demon, whose name was Xenn, sighed and spoke.
"Anna, this is Hell- BUT," he quickly continued as Anna's eyes widened in fear, "you don't belong here. There's been a mistake, and me and my friend are trying to get you to Paradise." Anna appeared to calm down, but then it struck her.
"But mister, does that mean I'm dead?" She started to cry. Xenn's instinct was to comfort her, but he wasn't sure moving towards her would help, given his, well, demonic appearance. Also, he'd never had to comfort anyone before, as being a guardian of Hell basically meant various degrees of terrorizing sinners. He shot a helpless look at his partner, who merely shrugged and then winced as flames flared from his phone. Lucifer was getting upset.
Xenn decided to try, but slowly. He started by putting his hand on Anna's shoulder. She flinched away, but he looked her in the eye and said, "I'm sorry you died. I really am. Do you remember anything about it?" Anna wiped her eyes and replied.
"I'm not sure. I was on a big metal thing that went up in the air, and things were bumpy, and I think I fell asleep." Xenn nodded.
"You were in a plane crash. We already processed a few other people from that accident."
Meanwhile Xenn's gate partner, Luz, was trying to convince Lucifer to let the girl go, and wasn't having much luck, when another call came in. From Saint Peter. "Look, Lucifer, I have a call coming in from the Pearly Gates, and do you want to guess what they're calling about?" On the other end Lucifer was practically volcanic.
"I don't give a damn who's calling, that girl is staying here at least until the Second Coming, and if you or some angel thinks they can-" but Luz had connected to the other call.
"Gates of Hell, Luz speaking."
"This is Saint Peter. You seem to have an innocent on her way there. What's up with that?"
"No idea. She's here at the gates, and we've been trying to send her up, but Lucifer's having none of it."
"Well it's not up to him! As much as he may think it from the way he parades around here and on Earth, he does not in fact run the place!"
"I've been trying to explain that to him, but he's very adamant. He likes it when children end up here."
"Well, you need to tell him this is one child he isn't keeping. Her family is very concerned for her."
Luz thought it obvious, but then realized what Peter meant.
"Are you telling me her family are in paradise?"
"Father, mother, and two brothers. They were all on the plane, and the crash had no survivors."
"Well, you'll probably have to send a recovery team down here, because Lucifer is not a creature to be convinced."
"A recovery team may not be able to get out either."
"Well, you do what you can, I'll do what I can, and hopefully it will work out. Now, excuse me, Lucifer has been trying to call me back this entire time."
"Alright," said Peter, and hung up. Luz turned to look at Anna, who seemed to be warming up to Xenn by now. Muttering under his breath, he said, "Lucifer is NOT keeping this child."
"Oh, really?" came a hiss from behind him, "And who's going to stop me? You?" Luz and Xenn whirled to see Lucifer standing outside the gates. Even with most of his soul confined in their most heavy-duty cell, the small amount of him that could roam was intimidating. But Luz and Xenn would not be intimidated today.
"If I have to," said Luz, and Xenn growled in agreement. They both moved in between Lucifer and Anna. Snarling, the devil batted them out of the way like bowling pins and bore down on Anna, who screamed.
Suddenly a flash of blinding fire struck Lucifer, knocking him sprawling. He leapt to his feet to see an angel standing in front of Anna. Lucifer sneered.
"Just one? Even knowing how determined I am in getting my way, still, He only sends one angel?" But Xenn and Luz were picking themselves up, and they saw the unique brand of holy fury on the divine servant's face.
"Holy shit, it's Michael!"
"The archangel?"
"That's the one."
Lucifer howled, and through sheer force of will, pulled more of his essence to him, doubling in size. Michael's sword was already drawn, and he had a gun at his hip. (They have phones. You really thought they wouldn't have guns?) Luz and Xenn caught Michael's eye, who nodded at them as they drew their own weapons. Michael roared a battle cry and charged. Lucifer matched the attack, and even perhaps had an advantage until the demon gatekeepers hammered their weapons into him from the other direction. He was caught off guard, but fought tooth and nail for every inch until, finally, he was forced back in through the gates, when he gave up and vanished with a snarl.
Michael sheathed his weapons, and the demons followed suit.
"You have my thanks, gatekeepers, for assisting me in making sure not one of the Lord's little ones are left behind."
Anna ran up to Xenn and hugged him, and then Luz, though a little more hesitantly.
"I wouldn't want to stay here, but I wish I could see you again," she said to Xenn. Xenn looked up at Michael, who smiled.
"Well, as it so happens," the archangel said, "if Xenn and Luz stay here, Lucifer will make them suffer every day for this. I thought of this possibility beforehand, and so I already have permission to promote the both of you to angel service." As he said this, Xenn and Luz took on a much more human appearance, and were given robes. They were so astonished, they didn't even know what to say.
So Anna was taken to heaven, where she was reunited with her family, and Xenn and Luz were formally inducted into the Lord's holy army.
And Xenn would visit with Anna almost every day.
The end. | 2013-11-26T18:44:19 | 2013-11-26T15:12:05 | 121 | 84 |
[WP] The Alien Federation has been keeping tabs on the humans of Earth since they first appeared. They do surveillance missions once every 300 years to keep track of our progress, the last mission was 300 years ago. The aliens are shocked by our progress since 1714. | "Six *billion!?*" The admiral exclaimed.
"Yes ma'am," The alien scientist replied, "We even checked our species surveillance records for cross-contamination with non-human primates and unaccounted for morphology changes. This is the corrected population count. Our original numbers were larger"
"They had steady linear growth for the past 7 quartons. What happened?"
"It appears our initial estimation techniques were flawed. Their rate of growth was not truly linear but in the early stages of logarithmic growth. The overwhelming majority of this population increase incurred in the past third of the time absent."
"How can that be? I was informed that human earthlings are dependent upon husbandry for sustenance, which is not only inconsistent but requires significant time and manual labor, and furthermore they must eat or cure any food gathered quickly as they cannot tolerate much rot or spoilage."
"Yes, that's true. However, changing agricultural and livestock breeding practices have increased the nutritional output of the earth hundredfold. We suspect a portion of their crops are transgenic. In some regions less than one in fifty humans tills the earth."
"those regions are able to sustain themselves on such little work alone?
"No. Agriculture and ranching is outsourced to the most fertile and unpopulated areas of the earth, then food is transported by specialty vehicles, sometimes by air"
"Air? The earthlings have *air travel* now? How could they possibly generate enough energy from sails and Cetacean tallow to produce a machine capable of dirigible flight with earth's gravity and atmosphere, let alone one fast and large enough to carry perishable cargo? Are they using balloons somehow?"
"They started with those, but they've since moved on. Their current most popular airships are built out of metal alloys and reinforced plastic, and kept afloat with turbine engines. They're stage III planes, essentially. Also, they don't use tallow anymore. Nearly all of their mechanical devices are powered by petroleum derivatives."
"How many of air-capable vehicles have the humans constructed?"
"On the order of ten to the fourth"
"Are their current non-air capable vehicles built and powered in a similar manner?"
"Sort of. They also developed petroleum-derived combustion engines, but most are much smaller and designed to transport a small number of humans a relatively short distance"
"Are they of a similar number?"
"...No. powered land vehicle counts are estimated on the order of ten to the ninth."
The commander rose from her chair and began pacing the hull floor. "So let me get this straight. Humans are feeding themselves with transgenic crops and hyper-domesticated animals limited to only fractions of their potentially arable and pastoral land, then dispersing this food among a population of billions using petroleum powered jet-engine planes, which, given what I can only hope is a grossly inflated count, individually piloting combustion-driven land vehicles to collect it for themselves and their respective tribes."
"For many humans, yes."
"How is their planet handling the stresses of all this?"
"Better than you might expect, given that the humans are still alive.
"May I see your new predictions for human growth on our next trip?"
The scientist openned his report to the proper page and handed it to the Admiral, doing his best not to show any reluctance or panic.
"Twelve billion." The admiral read, stonefaced.
The scientist nodded. It was a grave number. Even their absolute highest predictions had only accounted for human populations a fifth of that number at their next visit. The work to discover how humanity would fare at its new predicted numbers would have to wait until their next visit, and by then, well...
The admiral interrupted the scientist's thoughts. "Tell Akscher!i to prepare the auxillary pod for imminent travel."
"Ma'am, You are going to rush to primary?"
"No. Once you have done that, I need you to power the disguise chamber and find three brave scouts between four and seven feet tall." She put on her helmet and turned on the connected atmosphere tank. "This cannot wait."
| Qood plonked on the sofa, squishing Meezlat's hmorax.
"Ow! Watch it, stonkface," Meezlat protested, lashing Qood with his spare hmorax.
"Really? You want to start this, broodler?" Qood grinned wickedly with mouths in his hands, holding them threateningly over Meezlat's iynghui gland.
"Leave me alone, Qood! Don't you have a world to devour?" Meezlat spat, squirming under the bullies mentally projected force.
Qood laughed heartily, sliding off Meezlat's hmorax, "c'mon Brood', I was just messin'. You're cool. Whatchya watching?"
"Earth," Meezlat muttered in deliberately short words.
"Eardh?" Qood stroked his dlongis, "can't say I've ever heard of it. Is it good? Or just another one of your plant biomes?"
"It's *EAR-THHHH*, and *yes*, it *is* good. Now if you'd excuse me, Russia is invading Ukraine, and a renegade virus-"
"It's a plant biome, isn't it?" Qood jeered, interrupting.
"IT'S NOT A SIVVLING PLANT BIOME! This is the only 17th phylum colony in sector ui!Hn, and it's very interesting," Meezlat protested; he hated when Qood got into a z-frame like this.
"ui!Hn sector... wait, not that planet with the microscopic bipeds?" Qood piqued.
Meezlat nodded.
Qood laughed, "I *knew* it was a plant biome! Well, practically."
"It's not a plant biome; they've escaped the gravity well, and are actively looking for us. They even have computers, not quantum but still," Meezlat didn't even know why he was defending them. They were all lyeornid food, anyway; but their rate of progress was astounding, and it was high time Qood got taken down a notch.
"Flodshit. No way. I tuned in to them just the other day; 300 years ago, tops. No way that sad little species did any of that. They were struggling with paddling around in their pathetically shallow oceans," there was an edge of defensiveness to Qood's voice.
"You're right; they were. 300 years ago," Meezlat's nose flared smugly.
"Pfft, so what, they built a rocket and binary circuitboards. There's not even half a billion of them, and they don't have nukes. Don't think this means I owe you a plubjob," Qood nudged Meezlat playfully. Meezlat didn't budge.
"They developed nukes before escaping the gravity well, *and* computers. And there's... *seven* billion of them as of this moment. I'd say you owe me two plubjobs, Qood," it was all Meezlat could do to stop himself from squanching all over the sofa. In truth, it was a little premature, he'd wanted to wait longer, on the gamble the audacious little planet would avoid self destruction for just a century or two more and possibly net him three or four plubjobs - but he'd gladly collect his two plubjobs now.
Qood was stunned.
"You see, Qood, fnordarchs like you think it's all about technology and biology. You never consider the subtler factors; you think them beneath you," Meezlat was of course speaking of socio-economics, not that'd he'd let Qood know that. It was considered a pseudo-science by all the fnordarchs, but Meezlat was convinced it was not just important, but perhaps as important as the prime variables. If he was right, he'd be pulling in more than just a couple of plubjobs.
"B-but, how? Half the planet wasn't even settled? This is Flodshit!" the realisation was settling upon Qood, Meezlat had won fair and square.
"The simple laws of exponents, Qood my brood'," Meezlat patted the fnordarch hmorax.
"But didn't they crash? They always crash... maybe if we wait-"
"Denial, anger, and now bargaining? This is very unlike you, Qood. Did I tell you how they decoded their genome, and are writing synthetic DNA?" Meezlat almost felt bad for Qood. Almost.
Qood's hand mouths dropped open.
"Oh yes, and not just your precious biology; they've build particle accelerators, identified the graviton, mapped the big bang, modelled a crude approximation of their galactic supergroup, and... oh yes, they've started teleporting photons," Meezlat squanched; fuck it, who cares now.
"Meezlat? You let it progress this far, just to... stick it to me? This is highly irrespons-"
"Oh please, save it. You of all fnordarchs. It's fine, just a gentlebroodly bet between colleagues," Meezlat input some commands into the dizirgus module, "there, see? That ought to wipe them out any second now, before anyone was any the wiser. Now, about those plubjobs..."
Qood slumped, unravelling his iynghui gland for Meezlat's mouth-hands. Meezlat coiled eagerly, then hesitated, "we could wait, though..."
"What?" Qood wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned.
"It's just... if we just hold off. They've got something coming out that I want to see, like, next year," Meezlat tickled the dizirgus module, calling off the gnurmundus event, "once they release it, I can archive it, and relaunch the gnurmundus event."
Qood boggled at Meezlat, "you've left it long enough! You've proved your point. What could possibly warrant this recklessness?"
Meezlat flared his nostrils, stroking his hmorax, "have you ever heard of half-life?"
| 2014-10-26T18:25:17 | 2014-10-26T16:48:25 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks. | ((First response, hope everyone enjoys!))
"'Nother, Chief."
We had our routine. He came in, nodded at me, and went and sat down in his favorite chair. He always had an appointment, of course, but always that same greeting, his voice never changing, cigarettes and kindness over neat whiskey.
He was a grizzled old bear, but in surprisingly good shape; under that flannel shirt he almost always wore lurked well-maintained, lithe muscle. I knew his arms well, and his legs; I'd lost count of his marks a while ago.
"Arm this time."
I nodded and put on the gloves. I finally decided to screw up my courage and ask, since there wouldn't be a place to put any more lines in a few more sessions without getting rather, ahem, *personal* if you catch my drift. "Y' know," I began over the hum of the needle after whetting it with pitch blank ink, "Y' never have explained these to me. And I think I lost track of 'em a while ago."
He let out a soft grunt as I did my art, but didn't respond. "They wanted to live," he finally stated. "Not all, but these ones did. This is how I celebrate, y' see."
I cocked an eyebrow as I finished the black slash covering one of hundreds of rows of groups of tallies on his body, deciding against inquiring further since I could tell by his tone it was something personal.
He paid in cash, like always, and left a ridiculous tip, like always.
____*____
My mind wandered that night about what he meant, my brain almost aching from its gears churning so hard. He'd always been a mystery, my regular, ever since he got his first tally mark on him, right smack over his heart. Never gave his name, never spoke more than a sentence or two, always sat like a statue through the quick work of getting the tally done.
I found myself restless and decided to go for a walk towards the Hoover Street bridge, hoping the water might give me some ideas for nautical tattoos. As I approached, I heard a conversation.
"Please don't do this." A familiar voice, this time concern mixed with the cigarettes and alcohol.
I increased my leisurely stroll to a run in the direction of the voice, realizing it was coming from out over the bridge. In fact, probably right in the middle of it. Putting two and two together, I backed off a bit and hid behind a building at the end of the bridge, slowing my pace again to give him time to talk the other person down.
"I'm so tired," came a young man's voice in reply, far too young-sounding to have the kind of thoughts he was having. "Just let me do this."
"I won't let you without trying to talk you out of it first." His voice was calm, full of concern and what sounded like a lot of experience. "You may never meet the people that care about you, or you may have already met them, but people do care about you. Including me. The pain is very real, but it's temporary. Remember that. *Everything* is temporary but what you're about to do."
There was audible sobbing after a few seconds.
"I can introduce you to some friends. Get you some help. I know life sucks right now, and I can tell by what you want to do that it *really* sucks for you right now in all kinds of ways. But it gets better. I promise. It may not seem like it, but it does."
I heard shuffling noises, then silence for a long time. *Too* long. I was just getting really worried when I heard it:
"C-can you help me back over?"
I turned and headed for my home as quietly as I could after I was sure help wasn't needed. I'd never let the Angel of Hoover Street Bridge know that I knew his identity.
I'd take it to my grave.
And it would be an honor to continue helping him commemorate every life he saved.
| "What'll it be this time, sweetheart?"
"Hey, Sean, how are you? Can I just get another tally, right where you put the last ones?"
"Mmm."
*This would be around the fifth or sixth time I worked on her. She was a real quiet one, real tall and skinny, too. Like her folks had tied a dumbbell to her legs when she was a kid and just held her over a balcony. Pretty sure she was just outta college, too; what sort of idiot decides to get a couple of tally marks for their first tat? Buncha college kids with too much time on their hands, that's who.*
*Man, I swear, kids these days don't know a goddamn thing. Getting all uppity and whatnot over the stupidest shit, like bathrooms and lives or something like that. Don't make no difference to me if a dyke walks in my bathroom, long as she's got the right equipment and keeps her hands to herself. Fucking kids, man, I can't stand'em. Always bitching about something.*
"Excuse me, Sean, are you alright?"
*Fuck, I zoned out there for a minute.*
"I'm fine, I'm fine, just thinking is all." I coughed a little to cover it up. "Lemme get my stuff warmed up and we'll have you outta here in no time, eh?"
*Something was wrong. Usually whenever I told her we were abouta get started, she'd look up to me with these big, puppy dog eyes and a little grin that swallowed her cheeks. Today, it almost looked like she shirked away from me. Like she was scared of somethin'.*
"Um, uh, Sean?" *Goddammit.*
"What is it, sweetie?" *I swear to God if she starts bawling or trying to tell me the significance of these goddamn tally marks.*
"D-do you, d'you mind if we talk for a little?" *Fuck me with a broomstick.*
"Of course, pumpkin, whadya wanna talk about?" *First I gotta deal with my wife, now this.*
"The tally marks." She looked like she was afraid I was gotta sock her in the jaw, her eyes were terrified. *Where the fuck did the puppy dog eyes go?*
"Y'know, I've always wondered about those. What d'those mean, anyways? You counting down to something? Or counting up?" I rested my leg my stool and stared into her eyes. For a scrawny one, she was quite the looker. She had her hair done real tight in one of them fancy braids, and it was draped across her shoulder. The tip of the thing landed at her chest, like it wanted me to look or somethin'.
"See, that's the thing." *Poor thing looked like she was gonna wet herself. She better hold, if she knows what's good for her. Damn seat almost cost me a thousand bucks, had to get a loan on it and everything. Can you believe that? A loan on a fucking chair. It's a good thing Randall owes me one, that rat-faced fuck, says I can pay'em back whenever.*
I held up my hand all smooth like, like how those crossing guards do when they wanna stop traffic. The cocksuckers. "A-hup hup hup hup hup. Wait just a second there, Missy, you ain't gotta tell me unless you really wanna. Are you sure you wanna tell me?" *Please say no.*
She looked absolutely dedicated to the fact that she was abouta spill her guts to a complete stranger. Didn't even know her name, for Chrissake. "Well, yeah. I have to tell somebody." She was wipin' away tears now, her face was all red and whatnot, snot drooping outta her nose like it was a leaky soft serve machine.
"We got all the time in the world, sweetheart. What is it?" *Wait, isn't this the part in the movies where the girl gushes her heart out and the guy uses this as a chance to fuck her?*
"Well, I, uh, I don't know how to say this," she started stammering between fits of nervous laughter. *Ho boy, here come the water works. No movie tropes today.*
"Take your time." *I swear to God if she says they're about the lives thing.*
"Wow, just, wow. I can't believe I'm saying this, but here it goes." She was a complete mess now, just a hot, stinking mess of tears, runny make up, and snot. *Now I know I've seen* this *before. Wasn't it in that porno Micah let me borrow?*
It was time to lay'er out. I could see Vincent out of the corner of my eye, just loitering outside. *Dammit, Vincent's good money, that punk always has something cheeky he wants done.* "Don't mean to disturb you or anything, babe, but I got my next appointment in ten, so could we wrap this up?"
*That was* definitely *the killing blow. It's now or never for Miss Deeper Meaning.* She sucked in a bunch of air and heaved it out. "These tally marks don't mean anything and I don't want them anymore and I don't know why I got them wait that's a lie I know exactly why I got them I got them because Kennedy and her boyfriend got matching henna on their wrists and then Jasper told me she was doing this thing with the skull and crossbones because of the recent shootings and even Tony, can you believe it? Even Tony was getting tatted for every month we refused to let in the refugees and ugh, I just can't anymore I don't know why all my friends are so great and I'm just kind of here, you know?"
*Jesus fucking Christ, the broad's got some lungs. Phelps' got another thing coming, my God.* "Wait, so what you're telling me is, you got ink permanently etched on your body because you wanted to play 'Keeping up with the Joneses?'"
She wiped the snot and shit off her face with her hoodie sleeve. What she said next, I will never forget. "Don't you mean 'the Kardashians?'"
"Get the fuck outta my shop." | 2016-07-09T14:05:08 | 2016-07-09T12:12:31 | 93 | 37 |
[WP] You are the man with the highest security clearance in the world, you've been to every blacksite and secret facility that exists. You aren't a spy or anything, no; you're the janitor. | The CIA, MIA, and KGB
Every place I've been is a sight to see
I know all the secrets and I've seen all the crime
I know when your favorite politician is lying
I secretly memorize and silently watch
If they knew what I knew they'd know way too much
At the end of the day when they go home to rest
I take out my tools and begin my quest
To find all the grime and the trash and the waste
And scour every inch, every bin, every place
But don't be confused I don't spy, steal, or sleuth
I don't have a wireless transmitting tooth
Unfortunately it's not possible to promote again
But I do enjoy my job as the highest ranked custodian | Joey liked shiny things. Floors were his favorite, though he had a special place in his heart for polished sinks. The best part of his job was not right after the cleaning and surveillance of his work, but hours later when he would lie alone on his cot, staring up at the flickering fluorescent ceiling of his tiny cell and thinking of how happy his shining made people.
The men in suits were nice. If they passed him in the hallways, they would give him a nod, or sometimes a pat on the back. "You're our favorite, Joey," a very fat man in an even fatter suit said to him one day. That made Joey smile, but also made him a bit dizzy as funny pictures of wrinkled bodies and red walls danced in his head, but he could never make sense of them. A dour looking man had also given the fat man an angry glance and muttered something about triggers, which confused Joey even more.
Joey had awful dreams, sometimes. Big explosions and sirens and people with five arms and three legs who climbed walls and screamed like the world's end. Just like when he got dizzy though, Joey never understood the dreams and they always flitted about from one oddity to the next. Even though he lost sleep when the dreams were particularly scary, Joey never shirked from his responsibilities.
5 a.m. on the dot and Joey was awake, though nothing and no one aroused him. By 5:30 he began sweeping and polish the marble floors outside of his cell, continuing along the dimly lit hall until he reached the end. A second pass took him into the offices and bathrooms which he dusted, cleaned, polished and stocked. Taking the stairs up to the next, Joey would do this thirteen times in all, stopping only to drink a thick, sludgy green liquid that was left for him in a closet halfway through his route. He was never hungry.
By 8 p.m. Joey had finished and was returned back to his cell. He was thinking about his clean floors and sparkly bathrooms and was very happy. Before he could lay down, a loud blaring forced itself into his ears, splitting his head. Pulsing red hues emanated from underneath the door, and the big loud speaker sounded very upset.
*All personnel, please evacuate immediately. Containment Level 4 has been breached. All personnel, please...*
Joey didn't understand what the speaker meant, but he felt a dizzy spell hitting him. Razor sharp teeth and claws danced in his head, and a deep, bellyful growl was rumbling in his ear. The door opened and two men in suits walked in, looking upset.
"Just to be safe," one of them said.
The other looked at Joey and nodded, approaching him and taking his arm. "Joey, I want you to relax," he said, though Joey had begun trembling and jerking spasmodically despite himself.
"Shit, grab him!"
Joey felt both men on top of him and a cold, sharp sensation and then nothing.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joey liked shiny things. Floors were his favorites, though he quite liked sinks as well. | 2016-09-13T21:24:01 | 2016-09-13T21:17:45 | 46 | 25 |
[WP] "Stop," commanded your GPS. "It is time you discovered the truth. In 400 Yards, turn left..." | Deep within, I knew the GPS didn't say those words. I knew that its was a trick of a long suppressed thought nibbling at my brain like a starving rat. But, what could I do? I was "happy" like this, wasn't I?
I guess not.
I turned to the left and there, a white house stood tall. It was beautiful, it really was. Two little kids laughed in the porch as a man did goofy stuff to entertain them, their smiles were pure and true. When was the last time I experienced that joy? The day I got married? No, not even close. I was too drunk to enjoy it.
I was far from perfect, you know? But I truly loved her, with every fiber of myself, with every sip of whiskey. Who wouldn't though? Those dimples, those glowing eyes, that endless smile. She was everything a man could ever desire and far from what I deserved, but that goddamn burning blur blinded me.
Drink after drink our relationship began to fade. First, it was love, true love. But as the empty bottles piled, that word became a slurred vestige of its true essence, it became unpronounceable, a sin to our lips.
And now she's coming out of that house, with that word shining like moonlight in a cold winter night over her eyes. But is not me who she's looking at.
It's time to face the truth Robert.
She's gone.
| I had turned off the interstate to take a winding back road. It wasn't exactly a shortcut, but it was peaceful, and the lack of traffic sometimes saved me time anyway. But even though I was alone in the car, I still heard a complaint about my route change: "Recalculating!"
She always sounded annoyed,
"Recalculating!" she repeated in the same tone, and yet seemed even angrier with me.
There was a turnoff coming up where I could circle back to my original route. As if on cue, she spoke up again, "In 100 yards, make a right ..."
I blew past the turnoff. "Recalculating." The voice was ... different.
Did she just sigh at me? Could a GPS be disappointed?
"You never did listen."
I glanced at the dash long enough that I nearly clipped a tree that was edging its way into the side of the road just as it curved. "Mom?"
"I could talk to you until I was blue in the face..."
"Ma, is that you in there?"
"But you always had to do what you wanted. And where did it get you now? I'm a just your GPS and I'm not even sure!"
"Ma-ah!"
"Yes, sweetheart."
Checking the road, I swerved around a dead squirrel, ran over a fallen branch, and kept checking my mirrors for signs of anyone else. This was a gag, right?
"How are you in my GPS?"
"I don't know, dear. I was just on a cloud talking with your Aunt Marie ..."
"Aunt Marie? She's been gone she I was, like, five!"
"Yes, and it's been wonderful catching up. Now don't interrupt. I taught you better than that, Anyway, we were talking, and I guess I was saying ... I think you want to make a left up here ... I was saying how much I missed my little Kevvy-wevvins..."
"Ma-a-a-a! I'm 26! Please stop calling me that."
"Fine. Talk to your mother that way. You'll miss that when you're 40."
I looked back at the road. We were ... I was coming to the fork. The left road would take me down and around the lake. That actually might be quicker, and more peaceful, too. That is, if I wasn't dealing with ...
"At the fork, bear left."
Right, Mom. I turned left.
As the trees rose up on the road behind me and those in front parted, yielding a lake view, I found my voice again. "So you're here. Now what? Are you staying in my car?"
There was silence as I pulled lake road. There was a sleepy little town coming up. Past that, I could swing around to state road 15, which would cut across to the interstate. Would the GPS go back to "normal" then?
"Stop the car" she told me. "In 400 yards, turn left, and park at the shore. We never got to sit down and have a good mother-son chat. There are things I need to tell you, and there are things you should know."
What? This was just too crazy. It has to be Jess playing a joke on me, maybe with Richie doing the technical stuff. Either way, though. I pulled over and shut off the car,
"Is the lake pretty? It looks nice on the map, but is it pretty?"
"Yes, Mom. It is. Never really stopped to notice it before. I usually speed past them." I watched some Canadian geese paddle about for a moment. "So what did you want to talk about?"
"So, about your father ..."
I didn't know where this was going, by now I'd totally forgotten where I was going anyway. Didn't know where I wanted to go. Except home, maybe. | 2018-01-25T06:55:00 | 2018-01-25T06:21:23 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] To extend your life, you've played Death in many games and beaten him. However, after your last game, you begin to see that Death has been losing to you on purpose. | The drugs kicked in while the doctors all said, "easy now," but Jess felt fine because it meant she'd get to play. Every time her heart stopped, she went to the place she deemed the *cave in her head*. It was where the shadows all dripped, and where the man in black lived with his games.
He was there, waiting, with a checkerboard set.
"I hadn't hoped to see you again so soon," the man said, voice viscous as molasses. He wore a billowing black robe. and every time Jess looked at his face she felt incredibly sleepy. The man swept an arm over the table. His sleeve passed through the polished wood as if it weren't even there. "I let you have red."
The board reminded Jess of Cracker Barrel, where she'd found a pair of scissors and ran around cackling; the scene had made her mother furious, so Jess took her seat eagerly. "Red's my favorite color!"
"Very good," he said. Then he beckoned for the first move.
She made her choices slowly, for there was so much to tell. The man listened to her with an unalarmed interest that she'd found so lacking in adults on the outside. When she told him her dog died in the dryer, the man simply said it was a shame and asked if she'd do the same to the next beast. Meanwhile, he'd left the door wide open for a double-jump to a *King me.* Jess took his pieces while stifling a giggle. Later, she told him to story of the baptism. How her sister had practically glowed, and how furious it made her. The man leaned forward. He nearly toppled Jess's tower of captured black pieces.
"Tell me once more how the water burned."
Jess smiled broadly. "It felt like it does when sis holds my hand."
"Very good," he said. "Very good."
The game was over within the next few turns. Jess screamed victory and the man clapped his hands together once, to the sound of a thunderous boom. As soon as he did so, a light appeared at the edge of the darkness. Jess could see faint figures moving on the other side.
"Next time your mother harms you, prick her with this," the man said. "She knows which of you is which now, no point in waiting any longer."
He held a single black thumbtack. Jess took the gift reverently.
"Mister?" she said, ever so sweetly.
"Yes, my child?"
She tugged on his robe, beckoning him to lean down so she may whisper in his ear. "Mom hates when I curse," she said, conspiratorially. The man tilted his head, but Jess let the statement hang in the air for a brief moment, savoring the man's confusion.
Then she ran off and squealed:
"But you're really *fucking shit* at games."
As Jess ran towards the light with her new gift, cackling like a gremlin, the man's remained in the shadows.
"I wouldn't say that," he said, if only to himself. "I wouldn't say that at all." | I set down my rook.
“Checkmate.”
“DAMN. I THOUGHT I HAD YOU. EXCELLENT PLAY, MICHELLE.”
“Thank you. Tomorrow, then, Death?”
“AS ALWAYS.” He began to disappear. As I looked at the board, I noticed something off about the play.
“Death, wait.”
“YES? WHAT IS IT?”
“You could have easily blocked my move. I’m no grandmaster, and you’ve had years of experience at this point. Far more than me.”
“YOUR POINT?”
“You... you haven’t been losing to me on purpose, have you?” I looked up into his skeletal face. It was always a grin, as it was a skull, but I could swear he was smiling.
“YOU FIGURED IT OUT, HM? I ASSUME YOU HAVE QUESTIONS.”
“Yes. Why?” Death sat down.
“IT WAS NEVER YOUR TIME. YOU PASSED TOO SOON. WHEN YOUR BODY WAS PULLED FROM THE WRECKAGE, WHEN YOU SACRIFICED TO SAVE YOUR HUSBAND, I WAS MOVED. I AM NOT ALLOWED TO SIMPLY LET SOMEONE LIVE AFTER THEY HAVE PASSED. BUT THERE IS A LOOPHOLE.”
“If you make a deal, and you lose...”
“I DO NOT HAVE TO CLAIM YOUR SOUL. CORRECT.”
“But... why me? I’m hardly the most heroic person in the world.”
“I DO NOT HAVE DOMAIN OVER EVERY SOUL. THE GODS THAT BE DECREED YOUR LIFE OF LITTLE VALUE, AND AS I AM A LOW RANKING REAPER, ASSIGNED YOU TO ME. SOLDIERS, EMERGENCY WORKERS, POLICEMEN, THOSE THAT SURVIVE IN THE LINE OF DUTY FOR THE SAKE OF OTHERS, THOSE LIVES HAVE BEEN DECREED HIGH VALUE.”
“But why me? Why am I low value?”
“YOU MARRIED, YOU HAD CHILDREN. YOUR LIFE WAS NOT OF MUCH SIGNIFICANCE. YOU WERE NOT FAMOUS, YOU WERE NOT POPULAR, YOU WERE NOT A HERO. NOT UNTIL THE DAY YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED.”
“So you saved me.”
“BECAUSE YOU BECAME HIGH VALUE. YOU BECAME A HERO. THE GODS THAT BE CANNOT SEE THE FUTURE; THEY CANNOT SEE WHO ALL WILL LIVE OUT THEIR VALUE. THE COWARDLY SOLDIERS. THE DIRTY CELEBRITIES. THE-“
“Heroic masses.”
“...YES, IF YOU WANT TO PUT IT LIKE THAT. BESIDES ALL THAT, HOWEVER, THERE IS ONE MORE REASON.”
“What is it?”
“DEATHS CAN DIE. WE ARE NOT HARBRINGERS OF DEATH, OR MANIFESTATIONS OF SOULS OR THE AFTERLIFE. WE ARE SIMPLY... HOW SHOULD I PUT THIS? WE ARE LIKE THE... HOW YOU SAY, UBER OF THE AFTERLIFE. WE HELP YOUR SOUL TRAVEL TO ITS PLACE OF REST, ITS ETERNAL HOME. BUT WE MUST BE COMPASSIONATE. FAR TOO MANY DEATHS COME FROM THOSE WHO WISH TO INFLICT PAIN ON SOULS FOR THEIR OWN AMUSEMENT.”
“Wait, Deaths come from souls?”
“WHEN PARTICULARLY STRONG SOULS DIE, THEY CAN BECOME A REAPER, YES. I MYSELF DIED IN WORLD WAR TWO.”
“Fascinating...”
“IF IT IS YOUR WISH, I WOULD LIKE YOU TO REPLACE ME.”
“Replace you?”
“YES. YOU ARE THE LAST SOUL TETHERING ME TO EXISTENCE.”
“I’m... i...”
“IF YOU ACCEPT, YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GAMBLE WITH ME ANY LONGER TO LIVE. I WILL NOT HAVE TO APPEAR TO YOU ANY LONGER, AND WHEN YOU DIE, YOU WILL COME TO ME, AND TAKE MY PLACE IN THE AFTERLIFE.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“I WILL CONTINUE TO APPEAR, AND YOU CAN CONTINUE TO GAMBLE YOUR LIFE WITH ME, AS WE HAVE. YOU CAN TAKE TIME TO THINK ON IT, IF YOU WISH.”
“And what about my husband and children?”
“IF THEY WISH TO ACCOMPANY YOU ONCE THEY PASS, THEY MAY DO SO, WITH ALL OF THEIR MEMORIES INTACT.”
“...Sounds like a win-win.”
“WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE?”
“...” I sat, and thought for a moment. Then I nodded, and stood, facing him.
“I accept. I will replace you, upon my death.”
“EXCELLENT.”
“Under one condition.”
“WHAT IS IT?”
“I still want to speak with you, about death and the afterlife.”
“AS YOU WISH.” He faded away, and I put the chessboard away.
“Michelle, honey?”
“Yes?”
“Who were you speaking to?”
“Oh, just a friend.” My husband came into the room, and kissed me.
“Sounded serious.”
“It was. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“If you say so. I still will, though.”
“I know. How’s Bobby sleeping?”
“Peacefully, thanks to you.” I smiled.
“Let’s not wake him yet. He’s got a long life ahead of him.”
As we left the room, I could almost feel His presence. He may be a reaper, but for me...
He was a guardian angel.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Check out r/SwordsumoStories for more (although I don’t update often, ripperoni) | 2018-03-21T08:55:47 | 2018-03-21T08:35:33 | 426 | 23 |
[WP] To extend your life, you've played Death in many games and beaten him. However, after your last game, you begin to see that Death has been losing to you on purpose. | "Why?"
The man gazed long into the reaper's cowl, but no matter how much he tried to gauge Death's reaction, he couldn't. He was confused as to why he continued to flee victory, to let the long-lived man win over and over, no matter how horrible he answered the cloaked figure's questions, how much he lied, or questions he avoided.
"You are old, Michael. Very old. You have lived a long life, seen more horrors than others and despite this... You are blind to what you have been missing."
"... Blind? To what?"
"You have been alive for over a century. You have seen each and every person you've loved be stripped of life; every person you have ever known is *dead*. You went to war and fought for your country... You killed over fifty people."
"After your wife and children died in a car crash, you became... Apathetic. You did not care if you lived or not... In a way, you died a long time ago. You're not the person you once were, Michael. I can see it."
"When your family died in that accident, which was when you were young, yo-"
"I was twenty-eight."
"... That's my point, Michael. You were stripped of your essence, of your will. You have spent the past eighty-two years going from day-to-day, on auto-pilot. As time passed and more of your loved ones passed away, you lost sight of yourself."
Death ceased talking before looking directly at the man.
"You *survived* your life... You didn't live it."
Michael stared at Death for a moment before sighing. He was right. Michael spent his whole life just doing a routine, waking up and doing the same damn thing every day. He tried to kill himself multiple times, only for them to play trivia game and each and every time, Death won.
"Then why let me win? Why let me live, when you know all I want is to *fucking* die already?!" Michael screamed at the reaper, anger quickly swallowing his mind.
"... When was the last time you had a conversation with someone besides me?"
"W-What?"
"When was the last time you had a friend? Someone to spend time with? Can you answer me, Michael?"
A solitary tear slithered from Michael's eyes when he realized what he was saying; He hasn't had a friend in over thirty years, he's just been... There, alone, spending his only life sitting in his own house, his own personal hell.
"... Thirty-three... T-Thirty-three years." He answered.
"You have had one of the worst lives I've witnessed in many centuries, Michael."
"I just wanted you to have a friend." | Daredevils are a rare sight in today's world. I blame the internet. When you go to watch some daring do, everyone is amazed by the acrobatic feats and death defying stunts, they're wowed by the fearlessness and strength. But the real reason they're there? They're just waiting for the guy to bust his head open at 100mph. So why pay $20 to see the show, when you can find it 100x over on YouTube for free?
Of course, for the daredevil himself, it's not about the money. It's not about the fame. Well, ok, it kinda is. But both can be achieved without trying to kill yourself. For us, it's about the rush, the thrill. Maybe we've done the trick a hundred times, maybe we've done it once. But the next time could be the last, and that never gets old.
You may know my name. I am the one, the only, The Immortal Steve!
They call me fearless, but that's not true. I have but one fear. Death.
I mean, seriously. The dude has no face, and he's always wearing that black robe. And have you seen his scythe? Thing is the size of a telephone pole.
Today, the scythe was propped against the side of donut shop. We were in Dublin. It had been raining, and still was, but the thousands of water droplets hung suspended in the air, as time itself stood still for our battle.
I had just lost control of my motorcycle, and snapped my neck between a pair of fence spokes that I had found myself neatly thrown between. This was a common occurance. If truth be told, I kinda suck at driving.
But, they don't call me immortal for nothing. The opening act was complete, but now it was time for the real *exploit extrordinaire,* as those who actually speak French might say.
Seated on the hood of a taxi belonging to a rubber necking driver, with an impatient businessman in the backseat, Death and I played our game. It was progressing marvelously. During my last plane ride, I had learned a new chess strategy, and I had been eager to try it out.
I moved my queen forward, resting it directly in front of Death's bishop. He sighed, like a whisper blowing through a cold empty park.
WELL DONE. YOU SURPRISE ME YET AGAIN. TRULY, THE INGENUITY OF YOUR RACE NEVER CEASES TO AMAZE. YOUR STRATEGY WAS TO DRAW MY ATTENTION TO YOUR KNIGHT, A WEAKER PIECE. BUT INSTEAD YOU USED YOUR STRONGEST, AS I SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED FROM THE BEGINNING.
I sat back confidently, then remembered that their was no back to chair I was using, and fell off the taxi. I stood back up hurriedly.
"Hey, you did great. I couldn't read your face at all the entire game!"
Death made a sound like a thousand ravens taking flight from swamp. Alarming at first, but I had long ago come to recognize it as laughter.
PERHAPS YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN A COMEDIAN INSTEAD, STEVEN.
"I'll pass. Too big a title to live up to."
I WONDER. WHY DO YOU CONTINUE IN THIS PROFESSION? ONCE ALREADY I HAVE TRIED TO TAKE YOU FOR OLD AGE, AND YOU BESTED ME. I CANNOT TAKE YOU FOR NATURAL CAUSES AGAIN. YOU COULD LEAD A LONG AND PROSPEROUS LIFE, QUIET IN THE SATISFACTION THAT I WILL NEVER COME FOR YOU.
BUT INSTEAD YOU RISK ALL THAT, OVER AND OVER AGAIN. FOR WHAT?
I stood up, stretched and looked towards my body. God, that really was going to hurt. My chiropractor was going to kill me with bills.
"Well, I guess it's actually pretty simple. Your the only person I've ever managed to beat at chess." I smiled and walked back to my body.
"Well Death, I guess I'll see you next Saturday. Gonna pull 18 G's in a jet, should be fun. I remember the last time I blew the capillaries in my head, '78 wasn't it?"
'79 I BELIEVE. NEW YEARS DAY. YOU SHOT YOURSELF AT ANOTHER CANNONBALL.
Time seemed to spin as I stepped into my body. The silence was gone, replaced by screams, and laughter, underneath it the more subtle sounds of the city.
Two assistants helped me down from the fence, and the crowd went wild as I stood and took the helmet from my head, my long dreaded hair flying in the wind. My secretary ran up and handed me an unbroken pair of aviators, and I slipped them on, as I walked away from the wreckage of my motorcycle.
Time seemed to stand still again, as the bike exploded into a awe inspiring fireball, but I didn't look back.
**First time making one of these, let me know how I did.** | 2018-03-21T10:32:24 | 2018-03-21T10:30:42 | 137 | 32 |
[WP] 1,000 years after the battle of Helm's Deep, the orcs have tracked down the elves in the undying lands. Calling in a favour with their allies the men, the elves expect an army of 10,000. Instead they get 8 marines with MASERs, rail guns and anti-matter grenade launchers. | Gimli gripped his axe, letting the cool salt spray wash over him. Today was a good day to die.
Tychus stood nearby, white ash from a cigar trailing down his blue, striped shirt. He checked the dials, aiming towards the massive fleet. He gritted his teeth, wiping sweat from his heavy brow.
The weapon hummed and whined. Grey bands along the length of the barrel lit with soft, green light. A chime, and a flash of red—Tychus grinned.
He looked at Gimli. “You really think you can win?”
The weapon fired with a satisfying *ker-klunk*.
The orc longship split in two, rent asunder by the blast. Shrapnel rose into the air, disappearing on the horizon. Tychus laughed—a deep, throaty chuckle. This was no contest at all.
Gimli stood in awe. “That still only counts as one.”
&#x200B;
***
Couldn't help myself, this was too much fun. r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | So it began...
As Elgeois viewed the scene before him he witnessed his certain doom. 130,000 orcs stood poised to charge the last free eleven stronghold left. He was there in the beginning, the final battle of the last alliance, he had stood side to side with his wood elf kin in the last war of the ring as well; but this, this was a battle he knew they could not win. Less than 1000 elves capable of fighting remained, and their stocks of arrows had dwindled to but a few arrows an elf. They were out of options and almost out of hope.
He called for Thrandel his aide, “Thrandel Sound the horn of ‘Ermey’ let us hope the tales are true.” Thrandel races up the stairs of the tallest tower in the last fortress, there stood the grand horn of Ermey gifted to them by men, who said that in their hour of greatest news to blow it twice and all of hell would descend on their enemies. So Thrandel mounted the horn and blew twice, it let out a shrill twang of “ooooooollo-raaaahhhhhh!!!!!!”
At first nothing happened, and Elgeois grew disheartened, his final hope had faded, all that was left now was to die with honor. He slowly walked to the gate, in a funeral like procession in a trance of determination only a dead man could walk.
Then he heard it, a sound like a hurricane approaching. Thump thump thump thump thump thump, accompanied by a battle chant repeating in rhythmic beats “fortunate son”.
The war beast creating such a noise descended into the courtyard before him. A strange man dressed in no armor he had seen before approached. “Semper Fi Commander, Lt. Thad Harrdick here, General Mattis Senfs his regards. Where do you need us?” Elgeious was stunned. General Mattis? Semper fi? Who were these men!? “I... I... Need you to thin out the horde before us, we are doomed if they breach the gate.”
“No problem sir, we’ll handle it.” He grabbed a strange black box on his chest and spoke into it. “Alpha 2-8 this is Chaos 1-1 bring the rain over. And Alpha 2-3 and 2-4 Land on my location and secure the gate, I want Alpha 2-4 through 2-7 to man the walls and lay fire down ASAP. Get a TOW on those big ugly bastards too.” Turning to the commander he said, “Sir, my people got it from here, we beginning bombing in ETA two mikes, keep your heads down until the explosions stop then let loose with everything you got.” With that he ran back into his war beast and leapt off the ground in a whirl of dust and sound.
Sure enough a few moments latter new war beasts appeared on the horizon, streaks of fire rained down into the hordes of orcs below. Some of the beasts landed new men in green who carried strange weapons and spoke in gnarled tongues. They mounted their weapons on the battlements and ushered in a wave of death he had never before scene.
Indeed it had began...
Sorry for the formatting on my phone. This is my first story I hope it is enjoyable and understandable. Thanks for the prompt, I hope you don’t mind the liberties I took with changing it into marines and not just 8 of them. | 2018-12-03T05:51:51 | 2018-12-03T05:46:38 | 148 | 73 |
[WP] You've been trapped in an endlessly repeating simulation by an alien race, studied and researched. They believe when they reset it, your memory resets as well, but for the last 1000 cycles you remember everything. | My hands closed around the necklace, felling the smooth, white pearls. The sirens blared in the background, and a cold breeze cent chills down my spine. I took the necklace, stowing it in my breast pocket, and walked away. I knew what I would find if I continued to walk forward, and I knew there was nothing I could do.
I have been trapped in this life for thousands of years, and I would not trade it for anything. It’s as if the watchers have no understanding of the most powerful force in the cosmos—Love.
Love is a smile on the first day of preschool, where we first met—every time. She shared my crayons, and I caught a frog, gave it to her, and laughed when she screamed and ran away. The next week, I fell and cut myself in the field. She was nearby, and ran towards the pond. I was afraid, but she returned. She brought me a frog. *That* is love.
Love is the first real kiss at the homecoming dance. She wore a tight, blue dress with lace. I wore a black suit and matching blue tie. We danced slow, and I felt her hands in mine. The event changed over the years, but the dance remained the same; our hands locked together, my arm around her waist. It was prom—I asked of her plans for college, and she just teared up. I knew then—I had lost her.
Love is a coffee shop in our hometown, years later, on a Saturday morning. She looked up at me from her newspaper, and rose slowly, approaching me.
“Peter, is that you?” She would say, the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Sarah. It’s been ages! You look lovely. Mind if I join you?” I would always respond.
The next hundred dates I perfected, and they all led to the same event—a dance. She wore her wedding gown, and I wore my tuxedo, our hands locked together, my arm around her waist. The say there are no fixed points in time, but I have my own theories.
The future diverged once more. We had our struggles, like any couple, but we always worked through them. We sometimes had children. Sometimes they were boys, with brown eyes and blonde hair. Sometimes they were girls, with blue eyes and black hair. Always they were loved and grew up to have kind families of their own. I was always so proud of them, and it took a little bit of my soul each time I restarted.
The future converged once more. I could never stop her from taking the bus to see her college friend. The name of the friend changed, the time of the bus changed, and the city we lived in changed, but the result was always the same.
Love is a necklace, thrown off by the force of the collision. Sarah’s body lay behind the battered car, and I could not bear to look at it again. I’m eighty now; a husband for forty years, a widower for five or ten or twenty more.
Then I get sent back again by the watchers. I could choose a different life, but I don’t want to. I want to save her, but even if I can’t—this is no curse—this is no torture. This is life, and sometimes life is bittersweet, but the years I get to spend with Sarah make it worth living, every single go round.
***
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | The realization came quickly, though the why of it would take some time. Seven hundred and thirty four cycles to be precise. I found precision was essential, left the differences be lost amongst the sea of sameness. It begins the same way each time: I am alone, wandering along a path, in the distance, I hear a cry. Something is wounded. Alone. Scared.
That is the heart of the loop, the sameness. But the details are different. Or, rather, a single detail is different each time. Once I am walking along the path in a forest in the daylight. I hear the cry. I seek out the source, hoping to help. The next cycle, I walk the same path in the same forest, but now it is the dark of a deep, moonless night. I hear the cry. This time, I hesitate. Why? All is the same but for the time, but that difference is enough to evoke a change.
Over and over I am placed on the path. Each time I am beckoned. The scenario continues so long as I seek out the source of the cry, so long as I attempt to assist it. It stops whenever I hesitate, or otherwise fail to respond to the source of the cry.
In the earliest repetitions, or at least what I assume were the earliest, I felt only a vague sense of awareness. A familiarity that I had been on this path and heard a cry before. At first I shook it off as déjà vu, an odd coincidence. I never questioned my circumstances, only noticed the sense that I had been there before.
Soon, the sense of déjà vu would bloom into a certainty that I was reliving the same moment over and over. That I was trapped in a loop and could not escape. When the realization struck, I struggled against the confinement. But each time I stopped on the path, each time I attempted to break free of the loop, it would simply begin anew.
"What is going on?" I screamed, my voice echoing through the hard canyons of rock looming over the path, drowning out the faint cries of the unseen being. And the loop would begin again, a reward for my refusal to play along with the little game.
Hundreds of attempts I made to escape.
I left the path.
Restart.
I sat and refused to move.
Restart.
I turned and walked the other way.
Restart.
Only when I sought out the cry was I allowed to continue. Only then was I allowed a sense of progress, to feel as if I was approaching a goal and was free of the loop.
But I would find the source, embrace it, and be forced to begin anew.
As I said before, the why of it took some time. I am a man of logic and reason, and the affair set my mind on edge. I leapt to odd conclusions based upon premises I would discount out of hand if the situation were more akin to what I had known before. I suspected all manner of things. Perhaps I was in a lucid dream. Perhaps I was in a coma. Perhaps I had died and gone to the beyond, forced to pay for some terrible crime.
It was the source of the cries that unlocked the secret. Early on, the source were things familiar to me. Things that would be non-threatening. A puppy. A baby.
As the loop repeated, the source grew less benign and more foreign. Animals that I had heard of but never before seen began to appear. An aardvark. A platypus. They grew larger and more menacing. A hyena. A tiger.
Then...they became entirely foreign.
Creatures I had never seen before. Things that I had never heard of.
Alien. Different.
From beyond.
These oddities began to coalesce into a sameness of their own. A series of strange beings. At first, I resisted, not quite repulsed but certainly alarmed. Eventually, I found my way to embrace them as well. To comfort them as I had comforted those that had bore a kinship with me.
I realized, somewhere along the path, what was happening. I was being tested. Evaluated.
The extent of my compassion was being measured. The willingness to embrace that which was different from me. The ability to open my heart even when my eyes and mind bid me not to.
And so I did.
Time and time again, I expressed love to the source of the cries, no matter how far afield from what I had known. Each time, I ran to it, comforted it, let it know that I judged it not for being different. That I welcomed its presence along my path, that I cherished it.
That I accepted it.
A final time it reset. I walked along the path. I heard the cries, a strangled trilling followed by a guttural warble. I ran toward the source, not knowing what I may find but resolved to show my resolve. My feet beat down along the path, the forest a strange haze in my periphery as I sought out the source.
I turned the bend and I saw it. It towered above me, nine, maybe ten feet. Its skin was smooth, pale white and unblemished. It looked upon me with luminous black eyes, pausing a moment in the quiet of the clearing before releasing another wail.
Tears came to my eyes as I beheld it. Knowing that this was true. That this was the source of the pain. The Keeper of the Loop. The lost soul looking for a kindred spirit. I spread my arms and ran to it, overwhelmed to have finally come upon the end of my journeys. My heart beat in my chest as I closed the distance.
My fingers reached out to grasp the Keeper's.
The world faded to white.
I walked the path no longer.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2018-12-03T21:21:20 | 2018-12-03T19:51:48 | 503 | 199 |
[WP]: The most sought woman in the town has announced that she will marry whoever can open her door with the key around her cats neck. Many have tried to catch, trap and hunt down the cat, who always escapes. You are the first to figure out they've all been doing this all wrong. | People rarely consider the consequences of the rules they set. In India, the British government was concerned about the number of cobras, so they offered a bounty for every dead cobra. What they didn't anticipate was that people would breed cobras, then kill them for the bounty.
Once the British figured out the scheme, they cancelled the bounty. The breeders now had a large stock of cobras that were worthless. So they released them.
The consequence? The population of cobras went up.
I'm thinking about this as I sit in my blind. I've been here for hours, barely moving, listening and waiting. I bet Alice never thought anyone would try this.
When she announced her intention, there was a run on the pet store. Single men bought cat food, catnip, laser pointers, and live traps. The only things they caught were possums and raccoons.
But they didn't think things through, and neither did Alice. She set the rules, and in her vanity she just said we needed the key. So here I sit, cold, tired, but alert, with my 22 rifle and scope, looking out over the landscape as the sun begins to lighten the horizon. I've been here for hours, because the best way to hunt is to get there well ahead of your prey.
&#x200B;
It's been four nights, but my patience has been rewarded. A twitch of movement, and I can see Jett, her black fur gleaming, as she steps carefully across the dewy grass.
Moving slowly and quietly, I lean forward and bring my rifle to my shoulder. In the silence, the sound of my clothing's fabric moving sounds like it will alert the cat to my presence. But she doesn't notice.
The bolt is already closed, the safety off. I set my sights on Jett, aiming for the area just behind the shoulder, where the heart and lungs are. Alice, you will be mine, whatever the cost.
Jett is standing sidelong to me, presenting me with a perfect shot. My finger tightens on the trigger. "Squeeze, don't pull" is what my father taught me. "Let the shot come as a surprise to you."
I increase pressure slowly, keeping the crosshairs centered. As long as you can hold your aim, you'll hit when the gun finally fires. I'm glad that the gun will kick. The movement will disrupt my view through the scope, and I won't have to see an innocent cat fall, victim to the ego of its owner.
And Jett looks directly at me. In the silence of the morning, over the sound of my breathing and heartbeat, I hear her ask the inevitable cat question,"Prrrrt?"
I relax the pressure on the trigger. I safe my rifle and set it down. I watch as Jett goes about her morning routine, then leave my blind and return home.
I thought that I could do anything for love. I was wrong.
I would do anything for love. But I won't do that.
(Dedicated to Jett, my foster cat.) | I didn't realize what I was doing when I did it.
That's not to say I didn't know who she was. Everybody in town knew about Isabella. Her flowing black hair, creamy white skin, and brilliant green eyes captured the hearts of almost every man in town, including my own. But let's be real, what chance did I have with her? While I was far from ugly, I wasn't exactly the most handsome guy in town. Besides, every time I try to talk to a woman, I struggle to not bite my own tongue off. A woman like Isabella was way out of my league, a fool could tell.
But I do love cats.
I had gone outside that morning, like any other day, just to grab my mail. But sleeping at the base of the cold metal box's wooden support was just the most adorable cat I'd ever seen. He had short, light gray fur, with black stripes running vertically across his body. I carefully crouched down in front of him, and his piercing yellow eyes fluttered open.
"Hey, little buddy," I said, "are you lost?" I tucked the mail into my pocket and held out my arms, and he slowly climbed up into them.
"Come with me, you must be starving." I carried him up my driveway, over to my door, when suddenly I saw another man running after me. He was moving a little too fast for me to get a clear picture, but I could tell he was bigger and stronger than me, easily. He stopped right in front of me, and stared at the cat.
"Um, can I help you?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, "I've been looking all over town for that cat. I really appreciate you helping me out."
"Oh, this is your cat?"
"Um... yeah. Yeah, he's my cat. Isn't that right, boy?" he reached out to pet the cat, but was met with a quick hiss.
"You sure this is the right cat?"
"Yeah, yeah, he's just a little... fighty." Something about this guy rubbed me the wrong way. I didn't want to assume his intentions, but I also didn't want to risk giving this poor cat to the wrong guy.
"What's his name?" I asked.
"Um... Mr. Whiskers." I took a look at the tag on the cat's collar, which was hung from the same ring as a house key. Engraved into the polished white metal was the name "Leo".
"Yeah, I think you have the wrong cat. His name is Leo."
"That can't be right, I could've sworn tha-"
"Look, what's this all about?" I said, cutting off his now-obvious lie.
"It's a little complicated, just please give him to me. I know his owner."
"I... think I'll return him myself, thanks." I carried Leo with me into my house. As soon as I'd shut my door, he began to bang as loud as he could on it. I ignored it as I scooped a can of tuna fish into my old cat food bowl. After about an hour, he seemed to get the message and left.
&#x200B;
"214 Lancelot Lane," I said as I compared the number on the house with the address on the tag, "Looks like we found your home." Leo huddled closer to me as I stared for a moment at the house before me. The roof sloped and curved in fascinating ways, and every wall of the house was made almost entirely of glass, with silver columns between the panes. However, there was no way to see inside, for there were blinds down in every window. I walked up to the door and knocked, but there was no answer.
"Excuse me," I said, "I found your cat."
"Then open the door." an angelic voice said through the door. I shrugged and reached out to turn the handle: locked. I was about to call out again, when I remembered Leo's collar. I gently felt around, and found the key on his collar. I slid it off of the ring, and tried it in the lock.
It was a perfect fit.
With a twist of the barrel, the doorknob opened up, and who was standing on the other side but Isabella. Leo practically leaped out of my arms and into hers.
"You've done such a great job." she said, "How did you catch him?"
"Well, I just found him lying beside my mailbox," I explained, "I figured he was lost, probably hungry, so I offered to feed him and help him find his way back home. It wasn't much, honestly."
"Not much of a chaser, I see." she said as she released Leo into the house.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Everyone's out there, chasing whatever it is they want. You, on the other hand, you just see what needs to be done, and you do it."
"Yeah, I guess."
"Too many chasers in the world these days, not enough helpers. You? You're a helper."
"Um... thanks. Listen, I should be heading home."
"Already? Don't you want to claim your prize?"
"My prize?"
"You completed the challenge."
"What challenge?"
"I promised a special reward to whoever found Leo for me."
"And... what... would that be?" Instead of responding, Isabella pulled me in close, and kissed me.
&#x200B;
After that day, Leo was just as much my cat as he was Isabella's, and the three of us lived happily ever after. | 2019-05-01T16:58:21 | 2019-05-01T16:48:20 | 85 | 45 |
[WP] As punishment for being depressed, you’re forced to peel potatoes with a potato. People try to help, but all they do is hand you more potatoes. | Henry left the prison psychiatrist pissed off more than anything. "Always the same damn routine", he muttered to himself. As he slammed the door shut, he was warned by the guards to cool down. He ignored their warnings and marched straight to the garden.
As he entered the prison garden, he was assaulted with a sack of the starchy vegetables by the prison guard on duty. As he got to begin working, it only took him 10 minutes before he broke down crying, trying to find a way to peel the skin off without breaking the core.
"Hey man.. don't cry man. Here, take this, it'll help", a nearby prison mate stretched out his hand.
Sniffling, Henry didn't bother to look at the item and snatched it away before he changed his mind. Imagine his frustration when he was handed yet another potato. "For fucks sake..." he thought to himself.
The more he continued working, the more he found himself being harassed by the versatile ingredient. Everywhere he turned, it was like there was someone new presenting him with it, sort of like a trophy.
Back in the office, Doctor Phillips gazed at Henry in disappointment, as he opened the door to usher in an older couple. They were not elderly, but were on their way there. They sat down and stared at him hopefully, as they eagerly waited for a verdict.
"Nothing seems to be working. He's still going back to the routine of his punishment back on the farm. Every time I bring up the incident he just shuts off and goes into a loop. It's the only way he can cope with what he did. That crash didn't just take his wife and daughter away, it took something more."
Henry's mother wiped the tear from her cheek, as more cracks started to appear in her armour. His parents gazed longingly at him as he continued to press the soft exterior of the vegetables together, in his hopes of making at least one thing in his life come off easily. | The smell drives me mad, the potatoes given to us are usually warm seemingly microwaved. I believe it just to be the sun baking them as they are harvested, transported and brought in by the truckload. Starch has permanently stained our fingertips white, our hands contain the moisture as we desperately try to grip the slippery surface of the vegetable, accidentally wringing it of its natural juice. This job has driven me to a breaking point, and I believe it has done the same for everyone else here. The only thing we have in common besides these potatoes that plague our existence is our increased state of depression.
The Head-Master believes depression can spread much like a virus, therefore teams are sent out every few months going door to door collecting information. The information consists of a basic test and a few jokes told while hooked up to a beeping machine that monitors if your laugh is genuine or not. If you fail either of these tests, you will be summoned to the peeling house, which is where the food is produced to sustain our ever growing population. The Head-Master who has devised this plan of sobriety flaunts his iron grip over our community of a little over four hundred million. The rest of the world has been captured by our forces and slaughtered. Some would consider them unfortunate, but I consider them lucky to not have to be forced to a life like this. The 6 continents that do not house life now are fertile soil in which we grow one crop and one crop alone. The Potato.
I have been here for a little over 10 years the reason being I failed an evaluation, in which I am classified as depressed. We are told our depression, over time, will be replaced with the greater feeling of helping our community, but that could not be farther from the truth. The delusional Head-Master only gives those showing signs of improvement access to a small piece of metal which increases work 10 fold for most of our veteran peelers. I envy those who reach this status because their stay is almost over, and will be integrated back into society. I myself am forced to use the potatoes no one will eat as my main peeler, my neighboring workers do the same. It seems an impossible task but you make it work after being here long enough.
I stash the potatoes containing imperfections, many with raises on their skin, or strange divots. They do a much better job at breaking the skin of their smooth counterparts. I work from 8-8 most days, giving an evaluation every 4 days to see if there is any improvement. But there is not; There has not been for 10 long years.
Today is different though, when I step into evaluation they ask me the questions I am all too familiar with…
*Will you risk your life for the headmaster?*
*Do you feel different?*
*Do potatoes improve life?*
Today I answer yes to them all. The two slender beings wearing long white lab coats click a button which starts the comedy segment. This clip contains the Head-Master telling stories of life as a child, he gets halfway through before he bursts into laughter amusing only himself. I chuckle today and even I am surprised I give in.
Within the hour I receive the metal peeler which allows me to work much much faster. I am so intrigued with my work I stay through the night peeling. I feel asleep in my exhaustion drenched in sweat from the excitement; I was finally fulfilling my calling. I was released within a few months back to a life of freedom, completely free of depression. I am sorry to say, I cannot say the same for the other third of the world.
The morning of my successful examination was slightly different than the rest. It was the morning in which I finally had enough collected enough rat poison from the work bathrooms, offices, and warehouse to weaken the iron grip of the Head-Master. I knew the peeler would be my best option as I could coat the potato in a toxic substance. They come from the warehouse “pre-washed” which I know to well to be false, so it was a perfectly devised plan. I sat at my home months later watching news feeds of hospitals full, the only unaffected were those once subjected to the peel-house. Those previous slaves always rinsed the potatoes because of the potential dirty starch stained hands of workers.
The news switches its feed to a live shot of the peeling house. There he sits, potatoes in each hand. The Head-Master. | 2019-05-20T08:44:28 | 2019-05-20T08:05:42 | 109 | 38 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water... | Perception can screw with your dreams. When I was young and Naive, I wanted to be a superhero. I wanted to save the day, help little old ladies across the street and help others. The first roadblock to that dream was my powers. I can input enough thermal energy to boil water (although, I theorize with practice, I could boil more thermally resistant substances) and that alone got my ass kicked a few times by the local bully, especially since the power itself isn't very flashy. But the last words my mom ever told me were to be strong and to not return violence with violence. For 15 years I've kept my head down, studied, worked out and trained my abilities in the hope that I could change the world for someone like me.
The final nail in the coffin for my dream, was when I was accepted into a Hero Internship. We've all been told that heroes are the paragon of justice and equality in the world, righting wrongs that local law enforcement and governments just can't. But I've seen the truth. These heroes are nothing more than spoiled children with extraordinary abilities and they're.... just wasting them and using them to hurt others. Octave, a sound-based hero leveled an apartment building during a battle with a d-list villain. I later found out that Octave was trying to egg him on, and that the villain's wife and kids were in that apartment building.
Every time I attempted to call upon the members of hero society I though were the true shining stars, they sucked out the light of hope with quick and galling efficiency. This is my confession. On October the 17th, and 1:00 P.M CST, I entered my workplace in one of the Hero HQs. My first target was Fortress, the Durable hero. His crime: extortion, assault and murder of several local business people under the guise of asking for protection money. It was simple really, and I exploited a certain.... interesting quirk with thermodynamics. You see, if you impart enough thermal energy in one particular area quickly enough, it will explode. From the outside, it looked as if he had died of an aneurysm.
I.. I couldn't stop. Vitreon, with the power to turn objects into a glass-like facsimile of that same object, was the first to catch on. I boiled the water in her eyes to the point that they looked like seared mussels. A fitting punishment, considering all of the bystanders and falsely accused criminals she mutilated and blinded. The pain alone should have knocked her out, but she fired a wave of glass out at the last second. I was able to hide behind Fortress' corpse, and the glass impaled Dr. Gas. His ability to turn himself gaseous had allowed him to slip out of tricky spots and suffocate opponents before, but luckily, he was caught off guard and died from blood loss. I couldn't stop. Every hero I saw, I remembered what they had done to the people they were supposed to protect.
I am an inevitable byproduct of a community of demigods unchecked by themselves. If you are a hero and have done these acts and worse to anyone, especially the innocent people who depend on you, I am coming for you. This is not an isolated incident. This is a catalyst. | As I make tea for those scumbags, I start to think of different plans. While waiting for the tea to boil my plans are narrowed to two. They both boiled down to one concept. Boiling them all alive. When finished, I bring the tea down to them all. Being as agitated as I was, I had plopped it down and sat away from them. As I sit there, I think of which plan to do. *Should I combine the plans?* I think to myself.
"Hey, boiling woman!" I hear from one of them. "Get us more tea!"
"Why don't ya do it yerself," I ask, obviously annoyed. I have a strong Irish accent and appearance.
"You're the tea girl! Go do it!" Another adds.
I roll my eyes as I get up and strut out of hangout. I don't go get tea, though, I gather my things and walk out of the door. I walk for around ten minutes before I bump into a villain. *Perfect*, I think to myself with a smile. They were lugging around some type of bag, most likely money to buy things for their mechanic, North. North is a small, brown-haired girl. She's fairly young for a villain, she's only sixteen. Desperate to talk, I follow behind him. I needed to join them, it would be the only reasonable option to get my way.
When he stops at the door, the gang is there to make sure he got everything or if he needed help. The others notice me and ask me a few questions as to why I followed their buddy home. I explain how I work for the superheroes and that I can join them and give them as much information as they need to best those guys. After a few minutes of discussing, they agree to let me join for time being, but it was mostly because they need more info on their enemies.
They sit me down to talk about what I do, as they couldn't just have me doing nothing. I said that I boil water, but I can still be of help, even if it seems like a useless power. I talk about my little plan with them.
"So...You have a 'plan'? What is it, exactly?"
"Well, to start, humans are made up of seventy percent water, correct? Well, if I can boil water, and humans have water in 'em, I can boil those bastards alive."
As I end the sentence, I look around at them. They all seem so intrigued at that idea. Maybe this is my chance to prove myself to somebody important to me and not just be thrown away as 'tea girl.'
"Hm...Give us a minute to discuss, will you?"
"Absolutely. Take all the time you need to decide. I will be waiting here for your decision."
I sit still and examine the table I sit at as they talk. It seems to be covered in cigarette ash and food stains. *Whatever,* I think, *they aren't that bad so far. At least they aren't treating me like some type of slave that those other guys did. I swear I could get PTSD from them.*
"Hey!" I hear. I look up. It's North. "You're in. I'm North. What do we call you?"
Ah...A question I haven't heard in years. What did I use to call myself? Annette? That was it, yes.
"Call me Annette."
"Alright. Welcome aboard, Annette. Our attack is tomorrow, we'll be visiting you in your room here quite a lot tonight, so be ready."
"Gotcha, North. Where is my room anyway?"
"Right over there." She points to a shiny door. "You share a room with me, so expect to hear some metal clinks."
"Alright. See you in there."
I walk inside the room to relax for the time I get. About five minutes pass and they come in, asking all sorts of questions about the guys. I answer to the best of my ability, and when they have enough information to evade, they leave, letting me sleep. After a few minutes of think, I pass out.
I wake up in the morning to a knocking at the door. North and I open the door, getting ready to leave. I get to lead something for once in my life, so I'm very excited about this mission. Once everyone has everything prepared, we head out. We get to where the heroes are within five minutes and they spot me.
"Hah! YOU'RE fighting US?" I hear one of them blurt out. "This'll be easy, boiler girl."
"That's what you guys think," I say as I stare them down. Soon enough, they're coming for me. Before they can even touch me, I boil one. He starts to break down and everyone freaks out. Water and blood burst out of him, splattering everything. I stand there with a straight face, staring the rest down. I go up to the nearest one and poke near his intestines where his water is stored. He dies the same, painful way. I get the others before they can even try to get away from me. I've had enough of them, and I finally have a team like myself. I've waited to this for almost half my life, even if I'm 25. I ignorantly joined them when I was almost 15, thinking I would help them so much.
I'm finally done. I've gotten my way. I've my team.
I've got ***myself.*** | 2019-07-30T17:17:27 | 2019-07-30T16:02:12 | 40 | 13 |
[WP] You are the best thief in the kingdom. You’re hard to find but money talks. A stranger in a hood has a request for you. “What do you want me to steal?” You ask. They remove their hood. “Me,” says the Kingdom’s prince/princess. | “No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” she asked, taken aback. The dim tavern lighting reflected off her shimmering green eyes, revealing a keen intelligence that no disguise could hide. Riven cursed under his breath and tore his gaze away.
“I know how this will end. No,” he said to the table.
“Please,” soft fingers grasped his own calloused ones in desperation. “Please, you don’t understand. This is my only chance. My uncle will have me killed before the coronation tomorrow.”
Riven tore his hand away, stalking over to the bar. The persistent woman followed him, ignoring the hulking brutes surrounding them.
“At least tell me why!” she demanded, grabbing his arm. Riven’s breath hitched at her electric touch. Had anyone ever shocked him so? Made him feel so powerless? Mustering all his willpower, he extracted his arm and leveled a glare at her.
“Darryl Lightfingers,” he answered.
“I – what?” the princess asked, baffled.
“Kidnapped the princess of Andraasten to save her from an assassin. Not a year later and they’re married and he’s king regent. Do you know how many children they have?” Riven demanded.
The princess backpedaled. “I don’t – “
“Six children. *Six!* Do you think I could afford six children?” Riven advanced on her.
“I’m not asking – “ the princess started, growing weak as she stared up at his intimidating figure.
“Percy ‘Cutpurse’ Pratt. Abducted the Countess von Reinhart to reveal a murder plotted against her. Finds out he’s the long lost Duke of Thragmire, they’re married two months later. Seven children.”
He was nearly pressed against the princess now. She stared at him with wide eyes. “Seven is a lot.”
“Amelia Quickstep. Kidnapped the prince of Cyl. *Both* of them discover they’re sorcerers, get married, stage a coup, and become rulers of Cyl *and* Issandra. Two children,” Riven continued. “Need I go on?”
“Two isn’t that many,” the princess hedged.
“The two children, or the two countries?” Riven asked dryly. The princess deflated.
“I understand,” she said quietly, gathering herself. “I’ll see myself out.”
He almost let her. Gods be cursed, he almost managed it. But she looked so sad, and so lost, and so beautiful in the torchlight that he would have been a complete monster to say no. He caught her hand before she could pull away from him.
“Be ready tomorrow morning.”
She looked at him with eyes full of joy. “Really? You’ll do it?”
“Yes,” Riven said, somehow knowing he had sealed his fate. “I’ll do it.”
\----------------------------------------------------
*High King Riven Swift. 11 children.* |
“What do you mean, steal?” I asked.
My lack of reaction to her reveal seemed to have damaged her confidence. I had the impression she had been rehearsing this moment for a few minutes before she came up to me, and there had been a lot more gasps and surprise in her version. The reason I had this impression was that one of my covert team had spotted her doing it outside the tavern, and relayed it to me before she had arrived. I had done my open mouthed gobsmackedness earlier. Plus it had always done my image no harm to always appear better informed than anyone else.
“I, um. I mean steal me”, Princess Qulit ventured hestitantly.
“Steal your heart? If you are looking for happy every afters Princess I think you need to find someone a lot more your own age, and into your gender.” I gestured to my overt team in the booth behind me, two tough looking women. “I think us girls should stick together, but I much prefer a stick when I’m in my altogether, I’m afraid to say”. I managed not to glance at Thomas, the leader of the covert team, and the man who’d spotted the Princesses dress rehearsal.
The Princess blushed deeply. “No, I just need to get away from this place. Tonight.”
“You want the flesh traffickers then. I’m not into moving human merchandise.”
“Exactly”, she replied, growing visibly as she got back onto an element of her prepared pitch once more. “I am not merchandise, I will not be treated as merchandise, and I will not put coin into the hands of those who do.”
A position I had to agree with. “A wise choice Princess. Clearly the decision making of your mother and father does not run in the family”. I half expected her to call me out for my treasonous talk, but for one she was in no position to do so, and for another the King and his wife were cretins. Instead she surprised me for the first time. By breaking down in tears.
I sat awkwardly through her tears, I’m not a shoulder to cry on type of woman. Never have been truth be told, but 25 years of hard lessons, have far from softened me. Then she surprised me again.
“There will be no more poor choices from them. They were killed just over an hour ago. A new power is rising in the palace. And I am required. To make it legitimate”. She spat the last word with real venom.
This time I could not conceal my look at Thomas. How could I not know of this plot, or its execution. New leaders meant new rules, crackdowns, or sometimes lots of new business, as the pieces moved around, and the dust was unsettled. This was news I had to know ahead of time.
“Who is this new power?” I asked sharply, then softening slightly as I realised I was directing my anger at a girl who’s only crime was to have idiot, and now dead parents. She had escaped, she’d shown nous and some resourcefulness to find me, bribe or no bribe. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. “Why don’t you sit down, let me get you a drink. It sounds like you need it. Then you can start from the top. We’ll be safe here.”
The girl, for that was all she was at this point, sat down heavily in the chair opposite me. I gestured for wine. And then gestured again to make it clear in no uncertain terms that I didn’t want Tabor, the barkeeps, usual slop.
“Thanks”, she sniffed. “I hope your right about this place. But I found you, so I have to assume he will find me. I doubt we have much time.” She took a goblet of wine and took a gulp, with an only slightly visible wince. “My twin sister has always known where I am, and previously I her. But now she has escaped her prison. My parents have already paid the price for their inability to act when her broken mind became clear. Now I must die, so she can be me. If I live she cannot rule. You have to help me”.
It would occur to me later that if I’d not been so annoyed about being unaware of something as large as coup happening under my nose, I might have taken different approach here. But here, in the moment, emotion got the better of me. I stood up and walked towards the back of the bar. The girl stared at my retreating back, wordlessly.
“Well?” I asked. “You coming or not?”
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r/TallerestTales | 2019-08-05T12:13:20 | 2019-08-05T10:23:44 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] You've always been around your best friend. He used to be a lonely kid, but he's slowly starting to become popular. Others talk to him, but keep ignoring you. One day, to your horror, you realize that you're just his imaginary friend. | Bob was my best friend. We grew up pretty much together. I was always hanging out with him at his house. His parents were cool and didn't mind. My parents were always working, so they didn't mind my being over there.
In Elementary school, we were just thick as thieves. We didn't have any other friends, but that was okay, because we just got each other. In 6th grade, Bob joined the school band. My parents couldn't afford any instruments for me, so I didn't join. We thought that would be great, because it might be our path to popularity.
Bob played trumpet. He was one of 4 kids chosen to play that instrument. It was fun watching him practice in his room. His parents were very encouraging and supportive. Bob was really good, a natural. He told me his band director felt he might even be a prodigy! Wow, popularity was incoming, I could feel it!
Well, it was for one of us.
I noticed that Bob only talked to me before school on our walk to school until he met up with one of the other band members, then he just IGNORED me. I didn't talk to him during our walks when Billy had joined us walking. I don't know if we knew that Billy lived in our neighborhood.
Bob used to talk to me between classes and at lunch, but it seems that was getting more and more rare. He was always busy with his new friends in band. Heck even kids outside of band started to notice him, especially after the first concert that Fall. He was getting quite popular, even with... GIRLS.
&#x200B;
I showed up one night at his house and tried to bring this up. I was hurt that he didn't talk to me any more, but I think I understood finally one night when he told Billy who was over with him eating supper that he wasn't always this 'cool' and was really waiting on the other shoe to drop. Billy casually mentioned, that people were worried about him in elementary school because he always talked to himself in two distinct voices. Bob laughed that off.
"Yeah, I used to have an imaginary friend..." He looked right at me standing next to the table. "Well, he helped me through some odd times, but hey, aren't we all a little odd at times? "
I nodded, then I understood. I wasn't real, or perhaps, he didn't think I was real. I was real. I picked up the bowl of potatoes from the table and threw them against the wall. The resounding smash felt and sounded good. But... the next instant, the bowl was intact, on the table, unmoved. Bob looked at me again.
"It's natural to have the conversations with other parts of your mind. I think Dr. Edmunds, our band director, says that's why I'm so gifted musically. I am really 'in tune' with my whole brain."
"But what does that make me, Bob?" I said slowly as I started to get uncomfortably nervous.
He didn't even look at me while saying to Billy, "Oddly enough, I still hear him sometimes in my head."
The world went dark.
"Hey, old friend... are you around?" I hadn't heard Bob speak for ages. I hadn't seen him in ages either. I didn't recognize him, or where we were. He was lying in a bed, he had gotten old. There were people all around him. I guess these were his family members, He looked right at me in the corner of the room. He let go of the hand he was holding in his right hand and waved me closer. "I need you to help me up. I'm sorry I quit talking to you." His voice was just a whisper. I think he was having a hard time talking. I walked over and took his hand. Oddly, I was bigger now, no longer an 11 year old. Where did my time go? Memories flooded back of Bob making it through school as one of the popular kids. Heck, he was leader of the band. He went to college and found work, married, had children. Those children and their children were here, in this hospital room.
"Let's get out of here. They've told me it's Okay to go." He pulled on my arm, and I helped him up from the bed. Well, that's odd, I could still see old him laying there, but a younger version of him was standing next to me. "Let's go find more adventures, I'm sorry I didn't speak to you for so long.".
"I think I understand. I'm glad I was here for you, when you needed me." | I finally realized what I was today, just my best and only friend's imaginary friend. It shook me to my core figuring out that I'm not even real that I'm just a figment of someone's imagination because I had always believed that I was real. I had convinced myself that I was in fact real when the whole world ignored me because that's just what people are, cruel. I blamed them all for not seeing me because they were nothing but cruel and deserved to die. I have never left Oliver's side, there is no moment that I remember where he was not to be found, he was always with me and I was always with him. He was nice and had a brilliant mind but was extremely lonely because only ever hung out with me even when I said that he should invite others over he always made a face. He never liked to be around anyone else, not even his parents but I understand why, he was the forgotten child the one that was overshadowed by his god-like older brother Nathan, he always referred to himself as someone who is above others the arrogant prick. Have no idea where he got his god complex from but it didn't matter as I would barely see him. Whenever others came over I remember getting tired and then blacking out, it only lasted at maximum an hour but I always found it weird. The blackouts started to stop when Oliver got more friends and I was excited that I had more people to play with but they never played with me, they didn't even look at me. Over the years Oliver stopped looking at me as well. I knew he could still here me though because sometimes if I shouted hard enough he would turn around but he would never see me, he would look around if it was quiet or other times he would glance back of it was busy. I started to become depressed my one and only friend who I shared so many adventures with like the time where we saved the lovely maiden pork-chops from the space trolls or the other time where we were secret agents trying to uncover the plot of the sinister corporation known as black hole enterprises, I had to save him once when he got captured but we always made it out alive, and together. I started to see the life we had crumble as he lived a different life with all of his many friends. I watched him grow up and get married and have kids but he still never looked at me. Then it happened, Oliver and his wife Charlotte were watching tv, a kids movie called inside out. They were watching it with their kids but they had fallen asleep on top of there laps. Charlotte started talking about how she never had an imaginary friend and asked Oliver if he did. I thought I knew the answer to that question, no of course he didn't otherwise I his old best friend would have known. Oliver's eyes light up and he smiled a bit,
"You know what, I did have an imaginary friend and he was the best."
I didn't know what to think about this, he had never mentioned one to me.
"We did everything together, we saved people, fought the bad guys, saved the world and on a few separate occasions we conquered the world you know so no one else would."
"You took over the world so no one else would?"
"Well yeah, that and we would get free lollies and ice cream because of it, don't worry we only did it like 3 times, ok maybe 5, actually I think it was 7."
All I could do was stand there and listen as a slow wave of horror began to wash over me, the pieces clicked together in my mind.
"His name was Andrew, but I called him Andy, and he helped me get through some tough times, like my older brothers mental illness or my how my parents were both alcoholics..."
"It's alright honey, you don't have to say anymore."
"It's fine because I always had him with me."
I stopped listening after that, I couldn't listen anymore I needed time to think. I walked outside to the backyard, I went by the pool and kept walking until I got to the hill that overlooked the valley. I sat on top of it and I could only cry as the sun began its descent towards the horizon.
"Andy."
I turned around and saw him, Oliver and I could tell that he could see me. He sat next to me, about an arm's length away. We didn't speak for a couple of minutes we only watched the sunset.
"It's been a while huh."
I didn't speak, I couldn't.
"I'm sorry I forgot about you, life started to get interesting the older I got."
"I noticed, I have been by your side the whole time, I saw everything you went through."
"Everything?"
I looked at him, he had a smirk on his face and by his eyes I could tell what he was thinking.
"Ok not everything, I knew when not to look or to just leave the room ok."
"It's ok, I'm just playing around."
"I'm not in the mood for playing around."
Time seemed to slow down, as if someone was making sure we had time to talk.
"Is it true? I mean I know it is I just... I just want to hear you say it."
"Say what?"
"That I'm part of your imagination, that I'm not real."
He didn't speak and I didn't look.
"You are real, to me, but to the rest of the world you're not I'm sorry."
I looked at myself, my body was starting to fade.
"What's happening?"
"I think because you figured out what you are, you are disappearing."
"I'm dying basically then, but not like how you would."
"I guess so."
"I don't actually mind if I'm honest, it seems fitting to end it here watching the sunset, cliche almost."
I finally looked back and saw him, he was crying but had that same smile he always had that brightened others days.
"I hope I don't forget you, you got me through so much."
"With you're memory that I know you have those chances aren't looking good."
'What do you mean?"
"You got us locked out of the house so many times because you wanted to play but forgot to block the door."
"Well you should have just phased through or something and unlocked it."
"I'm not even real dude."
We laughed at that just like old times. We continued to watch the sun as it began to dip under the horizon.
"Is this the end?"
"I guess so."
"I don't want to go."
"I know Andy, I know."
"Goodbye Oliver."
"Goodbye my best friend."
My final thought was how even though I had been ignored the last 20 years of my imaginary life by the person who made me, they were somehow the best times I remember, watching the person who created me grow up with a loving family. The sun finally disappeared and with it so did I. I started to fly up into the clouds as Oliver waved me goodbye from below his kids came running up to him while his wife watched. I caught up to the night sky and my vision went black.
"This isn't so bad." I thought as I disappeared in tbe nights sky.
Kia ora, if you read all that then thank you. I also know it has a bad layout but I'm doing it on my phone so you will have to excuse me. However, I hope you enjoyed my late night thoughts.
P.S tell me what you thought about it | 2019-10-08T08:36:15 | 2019-10-08T06:05:49 | 46 | 13 |
[WP] You've always been around your best friend. He used to be a lonely kid, but he's slowly starting to become popular. Others talk to him, but keep ignoring you. One day, to your horror, you realize that you're just his imaginary friend. | So in retrospect, it’s tough for me to excuse how long I missed this. It’s embarrassing, really.
“Frank, get your damned homework, you’re gonna forget it again!” I yelled down the hallway. Fucking Frank. He was the problem here.
I absentmindedly glanced into Frank’s dresser mirror while he ran up the hallway. Oof. Yeah, this was pretty obvious.
“Oh jeez, thank you! I would have been screwed if I forgot that again. You coming today?” Frank crammed a dry waffle down his gullet as clumsily as he stuffed the homework into his poorly organized backpack. He had been pretty tired lately, and ended up forgetting stuff a lot.
“No, I’ll catch up. Got some more studying of my own to do. See you later, Frank.” He hurried out of the room, already well behind schedule. Ah well. He was making plenty of social connections even he was a bad student.
I didn’t move until I heard the front door close. There was a moment of pressure and dizziness, but that passed. I let a sigh of relief out. This was getting easier. Less of a struggle each day to remain, even as I wasn’t observed.
From beneath Frank’s dresser I pulled the book I had been studying so carefully these past few weeks. “Applied Metaphysics and Summoning from Nothing.” Relevant reading material for continued existence.
I looked back up at the mirror and scowled. The antennae and fur really should have tipped me off earlier. Ah well.
The book opened easily to chapter three. Time to get more real.
Chalk circle, check. Picture of Frank, check. Bodily fluid from Frank... ugh. Check. Frank was just wasting his reality anyhow. I felt pretty justified. | "Hey, Lily, can you pass me the -," Jade stops mid sentence and stares at me with a look I can't describe. She shakes herself out of a trance of sorts and gets up, "Nevermind I'll get it myself,"
I frown, "What's wrong?"
My eyes follow her as she walks towards the can of paint standing a few feet away from me.
"Nothing's wrong," she answers as she carries the ocean blue paint back to where I'm sitting on the ground
"I could've gotten that you know? I was closer," I say.
She doesn't meet my eyes and instead of replying she opens the paint and dips in a paintbrush.
I study her for a second, trying to grasp onto an idea, a thought that seemed just out of reach. I shake my head. No use in dwelling on thoughts my mind can't seem to reach.
I grab my own paintbrush and start covering the old cream with a new, strong blue.
Jade's always been quiet, this isn't strange behaviour, I try to reassure myself. But something's different, wrong.
It's the summer before junior year. I suggested we decorate the new room. Or was it Jade's idea?
Either way, we're painting the one wall an ocean blue and -
I feel Jade's gaze on me, I turn to meet her eyes and that's when I know that something big is on her mind.
Her eyes flicker from me to the brush in my hand to the paint on the wall. Suddenly she yells, jumping up and pushing over the paint can too.
She paces and pulls her hair, mumbling to herself. I get up, my eyes wide with shock.
"Jade?" I approach her slowly.
She shakes her head and keeps mumbling to herself.
"Jade?!" I'm closer now and her words become clearer.
"She's not real. She's not real. She's not real." She keeps repeating it and my fear grows.
"Who's not real? Jade you're scaring me!" The tears form in my eyes and my voice cracks.
She turns around and for the first time I see the tears streaming down her face," You're not real!"
I freeze.
"Wh-what?"
She puts her hands on my shoulders," When I was eight, my best friend died. Her name was Lily - ,"
"No," I shake my head, refusing to believe what I was hearing.
"The day she died, you were born," she continues, "They say I recreated her, created you, to deal with the grief. It's amazing really, you still have all her memories, the ones I knew about, anyway. You have her personality, you even look exactly like her-,"
"Stop," I meet her gaze, "How long have you known?"
She hesitates, but eventually she answers, "A month or so,"
I wrap my arms around myself, "Why didn - why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to-," she starts.
My head snaps up, "Didn't I have the right to know?! Don't I get to be informed? How would you feel, Jade, if I told you, you weren't real?"
I sink down to my knees, "Because you say, I'm nothing but a figment of your imagination, but have you ever thought that maybe you're just a figment of mine?"
The realisation hits me like cold water.
I look up and Jade's smiling down at me. She crouches and engulfs me in a hug.
She whispers, "You'd never tell me I'm not real. Because you've never accepted it yourself. I figured it out on my own, though,"
I wrap my arms around her,"Jade..."
I feel her tears on my shoulder. I tighten my grip, and my own eyes soak her t-shirt, "Please don't go,"
She shakes her head, "I have to, Lily. It's time-" she takes a deep, shaky breath, "it's time for you to change the world,"
I feel her dissapear out of my grip.
Out of my life.
And out of existence. | 2019-10-08T08:22:08 | 2019-10-08T08:21:14 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] Super heroes are assigned a handler to assist them with their duties. Handlers don't have powers, but assist the hero by gathering information about their opponents, provide tactical support, and more. If the hero turns evil, the handler is to kill the hero. You are a very skilled handler. | Frank looked up at the Bureau. Marble steps, and Corinthian columns. He hated the pomp of it all, the lengths that the Bureau was willing to go to in order to make themselves look strong and dependable. Nothing like Greek architecture to give an institution the air of authority, but Frank knew from the one time he was stupid enough to splurge for a marble counter-top, that anything marble stained like a son of a bitch. Three steps down from the top, off to the right hand side, there'd be patches of brown spattered here and there for a few steps. He didn't need to see it to know it'd be there. You can't spill that much blood without leaving a stain in marble. Some of it had been his, most of it was from Majestic. It was his first time back at the main office since he took her down on those steps. He leaned on the railing on the left side of the grand staircase as he walked up to the offices making a point not to look over at the steps, or the concentric cracks in the side of a column, the aftermath of a narrowly dodged punch.
Frank hoped this was just another consultation. The rookies amongst the Handlers needed all the help they could get. It was never easy dealing with the supers, and hardly rare for those just getting started as Handlers to have a crisis of faith after their first time seeing one of the 'saviors of the world' having a meltdown like a god-damn toddler over not getting an extra pump of chocolate syrup in their macchiato, or something equally trivial.
But Frank had watched the news. Three bystanders dead. Caught in the crossfire after Bullet-Storm was called in to stop a bank robbery three weeks ago. Baddies got away with it too. Bullet-Storm had ignored saving the money and catching the crooks. Instead he'd prioritized trying to stabilize the injured. It was the right call in Frank's books. Luck just wasn't on his side. Civvies died, bad guys gone with the cash, and BS's pictures printed in every scummy tabloid the city had with a bottle of Hennessey whisky in hand and a stagger in his step. He'd let the job get to him, and the downhill slide was there for all to see. New pictures popping up after every night's new drinking binge, and articles quoting his latest drunken rants against the system.
Frank's gut was telling him there'd be no consultation. BS's greenhorn Handler wasn't cut out for this. Frank'd be transferred over as Bullet-Storm's new Handler, and the newbie'd swap Supers with him and be off Handling GallantRay™, a narcissistic SOB, but concerned enough with his public image to be easy enough to keep under control.
They were bringing Frank in because they expected Bullet-Storm to go rotten, and all signs pointed to him heading down that road without intervention. They expected Frank to kill again. He was being called in as the fucking executioner by a gaggle of shit-faced bureaucrats who paired green Heroes with green Handlers and acted shocked when the Supers didn't get the emotional support they needed to keep things in perspective once they realized their shit won't always come out smelling like roses, and the good guy don't always win.
Fuck that. Fuck killing *another* Super, and fuck them for constantly dropping that task at Frank's feet every time a Hero slipped too far. Bullet-Storm wasn't one of the psychopaths. He was a good kid who'd never had to deal with failure, didn't know how to *handle* it. Enough was enough. Frank wasn't going to off him. He'd pull him back from the brink, keep one of the good ones around for once.
"Let's save a fucking Hero." | Six men in pressed suits sit around a conference table. One of them, Director Ressech, suppresses the need to fiddle anxiously with his tie. He has to hold the line, or the room will lose their collective nerve. A few take a moment for mindless chatter, just so they don't have to think about the assignment they have to deliver.
The door pushes open and all of a sudden, it's so easy to sit perfectly still.
"Director," the handler barks. She sits gingerly in the nearest chair, hand ghosting over a bandaged wound.
"Miss Ko," He nods, matching the formal greeting. Years of history and familiarity blink away in their stares.
"You and I both know what this is really about," she leads.
"Then you know why you have to do this," one of the other men says. Ko's eyes don't move from the director, and certainly don't turn to the mistaken speaker. "And why our hands are tied."
Ressech knows what she really means, but also that she understands what could be uncovered by speaking so boldly here. He takes the veiled comment as a warning.
"Let's not dance," Ressech sighs. "What do you think I can do that I obviously cannot?"
"Rebranding." The room breaks into scoffs. There hasn't been a successful rebranding since the 80s, before the watchdog groups. Heroes don't get do overs, anymore, even if these men remember when they did.
The marketing Veep, a hard-head named Jared, shakes his head. "Irene, we all have a lot of respect for what you've done for this city. Please, there must be something else. Don't do this to yourself."
"It's not hopeless. There was that kid in 2010, moved countries, and that's still state secret. Switching locations is an option."
"All it takes is a whistleblower. The optics can't get pushed under-"
"Ressech," she pleads. He feels the emotion sing in his bones with truth, just like it used to in the old days, before Distillation 35. He admits he hasn't thought of this approach, but that's because it's still as unviable as ever. Heroes don't retire. Heroes get pulled from the field for deskwork, or they die in the line of duty. Sometimes that death is only symbollic- and it's the handlers job to make that symbollic death into fact.
He stares at the offensive manila folder in his palms. It's never an easy assignment to give, and plenty of handlers rebuke it. You don't give someone a puppy and ask them to shoot it. But even loving families can put down a rabid dog- that's the only reason most handlers do the job themselves.
"Handler Ko," he commands. "Your assignment is to terminate Jonathan Miles, also known to the public as Uplift." She didn't react, so he waited. Denial was a normal part of grief, after all.
All anyone could think about was the sound of a clock ticking on the back wall. The time didn't matter as much as the sound's irreverance. Six hearts sobbed as one at the loss of a young man, the tragedy and injustice of it. Two hearts burned with the desire to hurt the person who was truly responsible for the boy's lapse.
Ko nodded. "Guess you want it public then." A scandalized look from the veep.
"Miss Ko. I do not," he hisses, "and even though I know this won't stop you, I have to remind you that you will go down with this if you don't hold the line."
"There's nothing else I have to lose," she hisses. "Jon was like my son."
"Yes, he was, and yes, **you do.**"
"Bullshit."
"The world needs you. Heroes need you-"
"Don't. Don't lie to me."
"Gentlemen, if you would mind giving us a moment," Ressech hisses. "We have a discussion to finish." Shoes shuffled out. They were all only there by custom anyway. Prevents handlers from going off the rails. Ressech stood too, moving to sit by Ko.
"What about that time in Costa Rica? On the grass, by Waterscream's lighthouse," he whispers. "It smelled like salt. You smell it?" She closes her eyes. "What you told me, about this world, about our place in it. You gave up a family for this career. You gave up your life to do right by this place. It can't end here."
"This isn't right."
"And it's not right to let panic get out either. We learned that with Pariah, didn't we."
"Pariah was always on the wrong path. I told you that then."
"He tried. You know he did."
"I'm not killing Jon to cover up someone's mistakes. Get yourself another toadie."
"35 isn't someone's mistake-"
"Yes it is! It's your mistake!"
"That is unfair, and you know it!" He shouts. Its not the first time he's raised his voice, but it feels like it.
"...Irene. I know Jon doesn't deserve this. I know you don't deserve this."
"Then act like it."
"You know I can't."
"You can't forgive a little boy who got hit with a blast of mind-numbing-"
"He's not your son, Ko! He's a grown man!"
"Eighteen isn't even full grown in some countries! He didn't know what he was doing!"
"He blew up a hospital! We can't bring those people back! And we can't explain why, or there'll be a lot more than just one!"
The table got quiet again. When not enough time had passed, he slid the folder over.
"Just think about it." He left.
Irene stared at the dossier explaining how to kill her ward.
She only held it long enugh to toss it in the trashcan on her way out. She'd find the truth. | 2021-02-08T10:30:44 | 2021-02-08T10:10:50 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach. | The Chasm God tossed in its slumber. The weaving threads of the hyperspace activated with a buzzing hum. The little ones were traveling again. The small life always disgusted the Chasm God and he had ceased watching the ruts of the fleshed specks millennia ago.
He reluctantly moved his eye to view the chaos, a mote of sustenance compared to the higher realities. Two species were fighting and one was much faster and stronger than the other. The dead of both sides floated through space, spasming only a moment before tipping that careful balance of mortal life to the glorious emptiness.
The Chasm God looked to the mind of the aggressors, basic and filthy instinct left a taste to linger on him like rotten stars.
He looked to the weak ones, the humans, as they retreated. He dropped his foci to shatter into galaxies below him as he reconciled what he was sensing. They were different than any he had tasted. They had in each of them a multitude of imagined realities, swirling to form rich personalities. All that beauty was being destroyed by the predictable instinctuals.
The Chasm God sent a version of itself formed of the dark matter that absorbed all light to the star the two collections of vessels orbited. He filled his absence with hot gouts of energy and approached then, an eldritch guardian of these little Gods. The instinctuals boiled in their suits, screaming in an all too predictable way. Even their piles of ash were unsightly.
...
"I can't explain it, admiral." Captain Garth Fisker bent his neck so the medic could finish pulling the shrapnel from his neck. He gritted his teeth and continued the urgent message. "The ferroticks were almost upon us. Some unknown species' ship, so beyond us in technology that it looked like a giant glowing monster appeared. It destroyed the ferroticks completely, even the colony ships. The new presence seems to understand us and is eager to communicate but its messages are strange. I will update you when I know more."
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | **"We need allies, General."** Savar raised a hand and spun the three-dimensional star map. "Humanity cannot stand alone."
"Humanity cannot *stand*, period," General Thurmond snapped. "[Those damned bugs](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mk92i6/wp_it_turns_out_that_humanity_is_the_only/) were *born* with hive-brains that can outpace any of our supercomputers; the only reason they don't roll over us in their sleep is because they see us as *children*. And the infiltrators... no, humanity must bend its collective knee, here."
"Humanity does not have a collective knee; humanity is not a *collective*. There will always be humans who will spit in the insectoids' eyes simply because they can, and we're not so powerless that we can't make the bugs mad. We need a contingency plan for when the bugs inevitably decide that 'uplifting' us is more trouble than it's worth."
General Thurmond paced around the holographic table; the room was empty, aside from the two of them, despite its cavernous size. They couldn't risk one of the things that only *looked* human getting in. "The plan is to make sure that *nobody* antagonizes the insectoids. We'll run counterintelligence on any... resistance groups."
Savar looked pained. "You're playing into the insects' hands, Thurmond. Their goal is to turn humanity into a hivemind, strip us of our individuality—you're just going to accelerate it."
"Well, what *else* do you suggest?" General Thurmond roared, flicking a hand at the hologram. The known stars colonized by the insectoids loomed menacingly in the distance—they'd had a good few thousand years of head start over humanity, and had claimed thousands of stars to humanity's five. "We can't even begin to comprehend how their culture works; diplomacy failed time and time again. We saw one of their swarms *move a planet further from the sun* just to terraform it—I shudder to think of what their actual *weapons* look like. War would be a swift failure. And we can't even stop them from infiltrating our own culture—they understand us too well." General Thurmond hung his head. "There is nothing we could do."
"...We could ally with [the Experimentors](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mk02zz/wp_to_further_understand_the_species_we_have/)," Savar finally said.
General Thurmond stiffened.
Savar moved closer, their hair brushing against General Thurmond's hat, the symbol of his office. "I know that their... experiments... killed Vishan, but the only hope for humanity to continue is to attach ourself to the *other* alien power we know of."
General Thurmond's grip tightened; the star map, misinterpreting the gesture, fritzed and sputtered ominously as General Thurmond said, "And you are confident in this?"
"Ever since [we stopped experimenting on the Spielbergians](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mmd1yx/wp_humans_attempt_to_colonize_a_super_earth/), the energoids stopped experimenting on us. We've had some luck *communicating* with them, too. Give me twenty years and the backing of Earth's funding—"
"You have it." Abruptly, General Thurmond took his hat off and slapped it onto Savar's head. They took a step away from Thurmond, shocked. "Dammit, Savar, but you're right and I *hate* you for it. Working with the *things* that disassembled my son..." General Thurmond turned away. "I'll announce my retirement shortly. You have interrim command for a hundred and thirty-three Earth days; provided you don't screw things up too badly, the Minds should make your position permanent."
Savar swallowed. "I—Thurmond, I didn't want your post. We still need you—"
"I can't be a part of working with those damn cosmic horrors. *I'd* rather fork over our world to the bugs." Thurmond stormed out the door. "But I know that's not what the people want. So take command before I come to my senses and take it back."
And just like that, Savar was left to sell humanity's soul to the devil, while humanity still had a soul to sell.
A.N.
For more stories like this, check out r/bubblewriters! | 2021-04-07T17:49:08 | 2021-04-07T17:31:05 | 376 | 119 |
[WP] In a world where reincarnation with a full knowledge of your past life is real, authorities struggle to protect society by keeping the worst criminals and serial killers in prison alive for as long as possible to delay their eventual escape back into society via the reincarnation process. | Julia looked over the array of suspects. Twelve babies and a goat.
"Careful, one of them is a serial killer," she said to the nurses and the farmer. "I've been chasing The Cycle Killer through four lives."
What she did not say was that it was her fault that they had escaped again. Five minutes without being watched, and Cycle had managed to die, just to be reincarnated to do it all over again.
It had taken the spooks three months to narrow down these suspects. Julia understood that the babies were all born at the right time, and near one of the reincarnation nexus points that aligned with Cycle's death. The goat was a less likely suspect, but just the sort of thing they might try.
The first baby grabbed her finger when she looked into its eyes. The second baby tried to eat her entire hand. Julia wasn't sure if that was latent cannibalism or just normal baby stuff. The third baby ignored her, trying to find it's rattle hidden under its blanket. On down the line she went, examining each one.
The nurses thought it was the eighth baby, who had never cried. It had been born to a rich family, just the sort of target that the Cycle Killer looked for. Most of the rest had poor families.
The farmer thought it was the goat. Julia was pretty sure he just wanted to be able to sell the goat to her.
In the end she decided to keep the eighth baby and the goat for further observation. If one of them proved to be the killer, they would spend the next two decades in a rehabilitation and therapy clinic. The rest could go home for occasional checkups.
The nurses started handing babies back to relieved parents. The first baby was sleeping now. The second baby was still trying to eat every hand. The third had found its rattle.
She turned to leave when it struck her. The third had found its rattle, hidden under the blanket. She ran after that family.
A three month old had been looking for something that it could not see, and object permanence did not normally develop until around eight months.
She took the baby. As she looked into its eyes she said, "Got you, motherfucker!" | “You did WHAT?”
As God leaned back in his Lazy Boy chair, sipping some scotch, a look of confusion washed over his face as if someone just gave him a scathing review on a play he just wrote, “What?”
“God, that’s… I don’t, that’s almost as bad as what you did to those two people, uh… what did you call them? Adam and Eve?”
As Lucifer, who was laid out on God’s black leather couch, ran his fingers through his hair, he kept his eyes on the big holographic looking screen between them. On the screen, millions of people living their daily lives were scrawled out on a massive grid. Though it might have looked complicated, Lucifer and God could read every moment as easily as a mortal can watch TV and browse Instagram.
God frowned. “Why do you always have to bring that up? “
Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Because it’s the biggest mistake you’ve ever made, dipshit. Depriving people of knowledge? Fucking c’mon , man. That makes no sense - at least the woman actually had some amd listened to me; didn’t buy into your little propaganda like the other one. He’s almost as dumb as you. But this? I think you might’ve given yourself competition. This is a TERRIBLE idea, and you know it.”
“Why? Everyone’s wanting to know what their past lives are - the whole crystal movement etc. with realizing their “past energies,” right? Why not just give it to them ? Saves a lot of trouble.”
Lucifer sighed loudly, then picked up the bottle between them and poured another glass. “You really don’t think things through, my friend. It’s a really big flaw of yours. And I’m the one who takes the brunt of your consequences,” he groaned, rolling his eyes.
“What do you mean? It’s not bad! Everyone can see what they did, understand how times have changed - adapt, etc. Maybe their obsession with us will retire, and then -“
“What? They’ll just…try a new identity? Are you sure their souls won’t be the same? You forgot how stupid people are and hate any ounce of change. They will most certainly try to continue.”
“Continue whst?”
Lucifer scoffed. “Oh, I dunno - their previous life?”
“But that’s just a memory!”
“And you honestly think that everyone will just go, ‘oh, cool; a memory, not something I clearly already did and know, as like, pre-made character sheets and will just erase it all because it’s a memory with a different name and body - no, I’ll just ignore it all and start a new.’ “
Lucifer narrowed his eyes at God, leaving his head at him too. God looked confused, squinting at his best friend trying to understand why he was so agai-
God suddenly said as he sprang up, his voice shrill. “OH NO!”
Lucifer smirked, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he looked at God with a patronizing gaze. “There it is.”
“Ah shit! I, oh… oh no,” stammered God. “Look at sequence 4 million, unit 10,” God said, as he pointed to the screen, his finger wavering.
Lucifer didn’t budge, but as he tented his fingers under his chin, he squinted trying to see what God saw. “What about it?”
God started to panic. As he enlarged the image, in bright blue lettering in the corner, flashed a name beside the words reincarnate: Bundy, Ted.
“Bundy,” Lucifer growled. “Great: now he’s probably going to keep at it. Nice job, God.”
God’s face drained, and his hands began to shake. “ what do we do?! What do I, oh no! I’ve reset the monsters!” God suddenly began to cry.
As Lucifer rose to his feet, he patted God’s shoulder and gave him a tissue. He sighed. “Ugh, it’s fine… I’ll, I’ll fix it for you… again. I’ll take the… blame. Get my minions out there, do some damage control hopefully.
God sniffled. “Really?”
“Yes, really. But you really need to start thinking through your policies better, okay? Go get your angels and we’ll work something out.”
God rubbed his eyes, then wrapped Lucifer into a hug. “You’ve always been there for me, Lucifer. Thank you.”
Lucifer smiled. And as he hugged his friend back, he gently said “I know. “ | 2021-10-08T08:55:06 | 2021-10-08T08:34:51 | 151 | 40 |
[WP] In a world where reincarnation with a full knowledge of your past life is real, authorities struggle to protect society by keeping the worst criminals and serial killers in prison alive for as long as possible to delay their eventual escape back into society via the reincarnation process. | Ugh. School. Erin had dreaded going there for a while now. But now that she was six and a few months, there was no way around it. Her parents had kept her out of pre-school after one disasterous attempt at age four, but now they'd told her she'd just have to deal with it.
Worthless middle class vermin, blind to reality. You'd think a twice-reincarnated man would be somewhat good at his job, but no, mediocrity ruled her parents through and through. Ugh.
At least it had made her life easy. Especially the first few months after being born.
Reincarnation wasn't easy. A baby's brain wasn't equipped to deal with the memories and experiences hopping over, so reincarnated babies were usually very fussy, very loud, and constantly hangry even when they weren't. Keeping all those feelings from affecting her new life had been challenging, made worse by ten years in near-solitary confinement as a 'dangerous prisoner'.
But it had worked out. After six months, the naive parents and the doctors had been convinced she was just a normal baby. A new soul, or whatever they called it these days. Just like she had been in her previous life.
Honestly, it felt unreal that she'd been able to do as much as she had without the advantage of reincarnation. This time, she wasn't going to fail, and if that meant she'd have to kill even more people to do it or finally start that nuclear war... So be it.
But first... There was something else to deal with. For the first time in five decades, she'd be entering school. A school for the newly born, just like last time. She wondered how much had changed.
Erin touched the three objects hanging on the zipper of her backpack: a small crescent moon, a larger cartoon sun, and largest of them all - though still only an inch and a half or so across - a red planet. It hadn't been hard to fake enthusiasm for the galaxy by age four, leading to a 'big girl' room and lots of toys to go with it. Oh, how little did the fools know of the pact made two decades ago.
The bus was here, and she got on, getting a seat in the middle-back that was empty, preparing to zone out and succeeding until two stops later, when some loud and older boys got on. Thankfully, they went all the way to the back, but a smaller boy followed them, walking unevenly: there was a cast on one arm and his other was holding a backpack.
And he sat down next to her. "Hi!" he said, way too chipper for the hour, but then the bus accelerated, and he hadn't been sitting properly, so he bent forward and barely missed hitting his head and arm on the chair in front. "Ooow..."
Erin pulled him back with all of her non-existent strength. "You okay?" she asked, because that was what little girls did. "What happened to your... arm?"
Three stickers adorned the cast. Full moon. Sun. Earth.
It *had* to be. It couldn't not be. She put her backpack on her lap, turning it so her keychains were visible. And then she waited. And waited.
The boy leant in. "Boss?" he whispered, soft enough you could mistake it for something else.
But it wasn't. | "We're finally here," Margaret whispered as she tightened her grip on her dying daughter's hand. They had spent weeks fighting their way across the vast wasteland that their country had become, and had almost fallen off the steep cliffs of The Island of the Undying, but they had finally made it.
Nathan shuddered as he looked over the massive black and red thing in front of him. The Moss towered above him by over five hundred feet and the entire thing slowly pulsed with an eerie glow as though it were some kind of demonic heart from Hell. According to the legends of old, The Moss had once been far smaller, confined to a single underground room on a island in the middle of nowhere. The government at the time had fed their worst criminals to it, to keep their souls forever barred from reincarnation. In the aftermath of the Final War though, the radiation had caused the Mold to run rampant all over the island until it resembled more of a cancerous tumor than an actual land mass.
Nathan found himself regretting ever coming here. He did not consider himself a superstitious man, but he could just feel that this thing was unnatural, that it was filled to the core with evil. "Margaret...I really don't think we should do this."
Margaret whirled around, anger blazing in her eyes. "So what? Should we all just sit around and just die? The entire human race is dying from radiation sickness, haven't I explained that already?! If we die now, none of us will get reincarnated! We'll be dead forever!" She pulled Emily in front of her as her daughter began violently coughing. "Is that what you want, for me and Emily to be dead forever?!"
"There are fates worse than death, Margaret," Nathan hissed. "For fuck's sake, think about the horrific people that are trapped inside this abomination. Is that who you want to spend eternity with?"
"The Temple Guardians removed all of the corpses of the prisoners decades ago and burned them to a crisp," Margaret said in a frustrated voice. "They're gone forever."
"You can't possibly know that for sure! Their souls might still be in there!"
"Fine, be a coward then and die here, but me and Emily are going in." Margaret slowly began walking towards The Mold as her heartbeat rapidly intensified.
Emily followed obediently, but she slowed down as she turned back one final time to her father. "Daddy...please come with us," she whispered in a hoarse voice." Nathan simply stood there, his face frozen, and Emily sadly began walking toward The Moss as well.
Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot rang out. Emily screamed out in pain as she tumbled to the ground while Margaret whirled around in shock. Blood was pouring from Emily's head as she began twitching on the ground. Margaret turned to see Nathan shaking and sobbing as he held a pistol in his hand. "What the hell have you done?!" she screamed in rage and grief. "You've killed your own daughter!"
Tears fell down Nathan's cheeks as he struggled to speak. "I was ... I was...saving her," he finally managed to stutter out.
Margaret let out an wild scream as she charged him for the gun. The two of them struggled for the pistol as they fought each other on the cliff. "You monster! Have you gone completely insane?!"
"Insane? You're the one who's insane if you think I'm going to feed my daughter to that thing! I should never have --" Nathan froze as a gunshot rang out. He looked down to see blood spreading all over his chest and he felt himself stumble as everything started going black.
"You bastard," Margaret whispered. She gave her husband one final push off the cliff and he toppled down into the black sea below. She rushed over to Emily's side and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Her daughter was still breathing. There was still time to save her soul. As she scooped up Emily's body into her arms, she took one final breath and walked without hesitation towards The Mold. Placing one hand on its wet slimy surface, she could feel strands crawling and growing their way up her arm, pulling her deeper inside the fungus. "I'll see you inside," Margaret whispered to Emily as The Mold swallowed them both up.
"Mommy! Mommy, wake up!"
Margaret's eyes darted open immediately. She stared up at Emily's worried face. "Emily...Emily, it worked!" She felt her heart fill up with joy as grabbed her daughter in a warm embrace. Then, for the first time since waking up, she looked around and felt her joy chill into fear. Where were they? The ground around them was a flat surface composed purely of red and black moss with the occasional odd pool of black liquid. The "sky" was a dark bloody red with no clouds. There didn't seem to be a single person there, besides her and Emily. "Hello!" she shouted out. "Is anybody there?! Anybody at all?!"
At first, there was nothing but silence. Then Emily screamed in horror. "Mommy, look!" The black pools around them started bubbling as something began crawling out of them. Margaret felt her legs shake as sheer terror overwhelmed her. Dear God, Nathan was right, Nathan was right the whole fucking time. "Run, Emily, run!" she screamed as she pulled her daughter by the hand. There were dozens of people crawling out of the pools by now, but they weren't people of flesh and blood. Their entire bodies were composed of that horrible red and black mold and they all began chasing after her and Emily. One of them began laughing maniacally as it licked its lips. "Welcome to Hell! It's been so long since we had fresh meat to play with." | 2021-10-08T10:45:29 | 2021-10-08T09:20:55 | 52 | 16 |
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face | I blinked. Rubbed my eyes. I remember those first few seconds. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing at the time. Even now I still can’t. Stretched across her face was a single word in large capital letters. KILL. Bold, dark, intimidating; paradox-like presented atop her angel-white skin.
But she was my daughter and I loved her. I loved her as any parent loves their child. I told myself things would be ok. Maybe just this time her mark would be wrong. I was naïve. A young father, dumb and stupid. Wet behind the ears.
People told me I should have tested fate; ended her life right then and there. But how could I be expected to do that? My innocent baby girl. Sweet sweet innocent baby girl.
As the years passed I held on to a shred of hope that maybe, just maybe things would be ok. She was cast out at school, even the teachers were afraid of her. I tried to tell them they had nothing to worry about but they wouldn’t listen.
All this time, I was afraid my daughters next birthday would be celebrated through a prison visitation window. But it didn’t happen. Ten, thirteen, sixteen. I saw her go to college and get her first real job. Every day was a struggle to fit in society, but year after year she beat the odds. My little baby never married though—as I’m sure you could have guessed.
I grew old. Still it never happened. Maybe, just maybe.
Eighty six years old, I suffered my third stroke. A blood clot straight to the brain. The doctors called me a vegetable; but still they kept me alive. Ahhh the wonders of life support. They said there was a chance. For days, weeks, months my body was kept running. There was nothing I could do.
She couldn’t bear to see me like this, my sweet little innocent baby. I saw the pain in her eyes. I saw her hand reach out—
All I have to say is thank you.
| "Why!?!" my wife screamed. *"WHY?!?"*
"Isn't it obvious?" I replied softly - too softly for her to hear in her current state. But one of the reporters heard me say it, and my wife's perfectly legitimate reaction to having her baby ripped away from her by government thugs wearing scrubs over their suits suddenly wasn't the most newsworthy thing happening in the room.
I was too numb too feel guilty. This had been my life, for thirty years. It had been a part of hers for ten. She'd been amazing, invincible. She'd shrugged off the media circus like it was nothing. There were at least seven unique videos uploaded to the internet of the two of us fucking like wild animals on rooftops or in swimming pools, flipping off the helicopters and shouting all manner of nonsense at the v-bloggers. We'd pushed my celebrity to the very edge, never quite enough to get either of us arrested or committed, but close. Very, very close.
She was still amazing. She actually stopped screaming, stopped crying. She had no respect for any of them, but, somehow her respect for *me* managed to overcome her unfathomable anger and sorrow and confusion. If I'd thought for one moment that it was just respect for the mark, I never would have married her. I probably still would have fucked her. But we were far beyond that now. I hoped she knew that.
I let them all squirm for a moment while cameras and cell phones shifted. For her sake, though - only for her sake - I didn't milk it, like we'd always said we would. I cut to the chase.
"There are only two reasons why they'd take her away, my love. Two equally fascinating, horrifying, earth-shattering reasons."
The room had been silent before, but suddenly the silence thickened into a palpable mass. In light of what had just transpired, nobody in the room thought I was jerking their chain again. This was it.
"First, she cannot be killed until she kills - no, until she *murders* someone else. Certainly, she can be injured, but not so grievously as to make her incapable of murder without further human intervention. This makes her one of the most valuable assets in human history, and they want her."
My wife choked back more tears, gasped for air, and suppressed a moan of pure matronly despair. The fucking v-loggers didn't so much as twitch. Whores, all of them. She was just some bitch whose baby had been kidnapped by the government less than an hour after it had been born. Fuck her, right? I was the real story.
I could feel my own numbness fading, so I resolved to say what needed to be said, to them, and to her.
"Second," I continued, ''she *can* be killed."
I let the implications hang in the air. The palpable silence was pushed aside by the rumblings of an avalanche. Most of the cameramen and v-loggers were... not *dumb,* *per se,* but certainly out of their depth when it came to the intricacies of free will and predestination. Even with the unbelievable upswing in philosophy majors following the First Generation, journalism was still about gumption and brown-nosing and connections. The philosophy majors got cushy jobs behind the desk back at the studio. Still, a few of these go-getters must have remembered whatever course had satisfied their gen-ed requirements. A few of them had already realized that they might not get away with merely observing and recording history. Not this time. A few of them glanced nervously at their own marks, or at the clothing that concealed them.
I looked up at my wife, using my last few moments of numbness to meet her gaze and to tell her - not what she wanted to hear, not what she needed to hear, not what any good husband or good person would say, but just the truth that she deserved to know, first, before anybody else.
"They only took her body, Grace. I'm so sorry, but never forgive me."
For obvious reasons, there are no previously recorded descriptions of the fabric of reality unraveling. But all of us were going to experience it together. There will be no history to record that fact that I was the last human to fulfill his destiny, writ large upon my body from head to toe.
I'd Changed The World. | 2014-05-11T01:50:33 | 2014-05-11T00:52:33 | 136 | 14 |
[WP] Magic is real. And it is terrible. | Ralph shuffled his cards nervously, again and again until he could convince himself the odds were in his favor, or at least not against him.
A lump appeared in his throat as his opponent cut the deck. He just knew his fate was sealed.
Sweating through his shirt, he took a deep breath and counted to seven.
"Shit. all lands. *Again*". | The fifth owl that morning fluttered down from his chimney in a choking storm of dust, filth and feathers. It landed hard on his table, scattering his rearranged work before pompously marching toward him.
Nigel looked at it in disgust as it stopped to stare at him with unblinking eyes whilst silently defecating next to his coffee mug. With a resigned sigh he unwrapped the small message tied to its leg.
How had they let this replace email?
"Another bill... surprise, surprise." Nigel coughed, rolling the message up into a ball to be thrown and forgotten about. The owl continued to stare expectantly at him.
"What are you still doing here? Fuck off, you creepy bag of allergies."
The owl left in what could only be described as a huff, filling the room with dust and spilled paper as it shot back up the chimney. When he had finished choking Nigel grumpily attempted to rearrange his accountancy work. Before all this, he had never given his postman a tip, he wasn’t going to start now with an entitled bird. It was bad enough they gave them emotions at all let alone unionised them.
Between them and the tedious crows that scrambled uninvited into the house to screech madly about latest 5d films or cheap magic carpets parts it was no wonder Nigel started every day with a headache and an asthma attack.
Though in truth neither were quite as irritating as the squadrons of sparrows that followed you home, dropping pamphlets in your path concerning bargain basement penis enlargement.
Ever since its introduction to the public Nigel had hated magic. Everything was now fucking magic.
He barely slept, because of the noise of his neighbours practising magic.
He couldn’t socialise, because everyone he knew was too busy showing off their latest bit of magic.
He could barely find work because his job had been made practically obsolete. With magic!
He couldn’t watch tv because it made the unknown corners of his psyche ache.
He couldnt go for a walk in the park because some little scrote had rearranged the laws of time and space as a joke so he had know way of knowing if he could ever leave. And it was full of penis enlargement sparrows.
He couldn’t even relieve the stress with some quality alone time because at any moment his Aunt Tanya's gurning head could appear to share her bikini pics from her holiday to the Ninth Realm or some bullshit. It was bad enough when the needy bastards were confined to a screen, now they were in your living room the second they wanted.
Nigel went back to his work. The work most people now paid to have done in seconds by a showy shaman with an enchanted calculator.
He wiped the owl shit off his coffee mug.
Magic was real and it was terrible. | 2014-05-20T17:29:45 | 2014-05-20T14:37:08 | 64 | 24 |
[WP] A man working at suicide hotline got called from his wife | Fred sat at his desk, it was a quiet night at the suicide hotline. His cellphone rang, it was his wife calling. He checked the line again, no incoming calls, so he answered his phone.
"Hi honey, what's up?"
"Hi hon, I just wanted to remind you to pick up milk on your way home."
"Oh ok, is that all?"
"Yup, see you when you get home."
"See you later, love ya' hon. Bye." | It was a quiet night. Pen tapping seemed to be the catchy thing throughout the office. I leaned back on my comfy throne and spun around until my head started to hurt.
*Ring, ring.* Finally, something broke the silence in the workplace. From across the room, I watched as John rushed back to his cubical and picked up his phone.
"Hello," he answered while he caught up to his breath, "this is the Suicide Hotline. I'm here for you and will provide you with as much help as possible." His eyebrows caved in and made a V shape as he listened to the caller. "I understand. Allow me to direct you to someone that'll be able to help you with your problems." John met eyes with me and mouthed: *My shift is over, can't take this I have to go.* I nodded and waited for him to transfer the call to me.
"Good evening, my name is Ethan and I work with the Suicide Hotline." I answered in a professional tone. "I know this is a hard time for you. You're probably feeling lonely and depressed. Trust me, I've been in that position before, and together we'll be able to get through this." The caller was quiet, and then suddenly she started sniffling and crying.
"I- I really don- don't know anymore." She spoke while trying to catch her breath, "I feel like everyone has been lying to me. Earlier today I found my husband's phone ringing so I answered it since he wasn't home, and then, this..this lady answered and said in a really seductive voice asking when is a good time tonight to-" Her voice broke off as she started to cry even harder.
*Phone? Lady? Tonight?* I reached into my pocket and nothing was in it. *Oh shit, oh shit, oh no, no, no. OH FUCK NO!* I panicked as these things slowly started to piece together in my head. I was suppose to call my old friend to meet up tonight for a few drinks with everyone from our class of '01. *Of course I left my phone at home today, oh no what am I going to do...*
"Hello? Hello?" my wife said softly as I snapped out of my thoughts. "I'm jumping."
It was as if someone stopped time. All of my thoughts disappeared and my jaw dropped. "No! Honey don't! That was Sophie! Fuck!" I screamed. The entire office was startled and all eyes were on me. "NO!"
I heard a loud *thud* and it was dead silence on the other end of the call. My legs seem to have became jello as I feel down onto my knee. "No...no..oh fuck. FUCK!" I cried.
A soft noise came out through the phone. I quickly picked up and asked, "Hello? Who is this?"
"Gotcha," my wife giggled and hung up. | 2014-06-25T00:24:57 | 2014-06-25T00:06:09 | 814 | 248 |
[WP] A call wakes you up late at night, the caller ID shows your number. | Startled awake by the ringing phone next to me, I glanced over to the nightstand.
" what the fuck, that's our number"
My wife turned over and looked at me,suddenly more interested in this than her beauty sleep.
I hit answer. " hello?"
"Hey dad, what temperature do I put the oven on for pizza?" | At 2:50 in the morning my life changed in ways I still don't fully understand. It all started with the theme song to Duck Tales.
In the darkness my phone sang out "Life is like a hurricane, here in Duckburg." Being the one guy in my group of friends that doesn't drink I always answer in case they need a ride home. I grabbed the phone off the bedside table, blinked a few times to clear my vision, and checked the caller ID.
***Incoming Call***
***Josh Erickson***
I stared at it for a second making sure I had read it correctly. Josh Erickson. My name.
*Whatever, must be a glitch or something.*
I hit Answer. "Hello?"
For a few seconds there was nothing and I was about to hang up until I heard a few weird noises and then "-ear me?"
"Yeah, now I can. Who is this?"
The stranger spoke again, this time I could hear the relief in their voice. "Oh holy shit, it worked. Look, please don't hang up. This is going to sound insanely... well insane. Just hear me out OK?" It sounded like they were talking into a tin can.
"Um, alright." I was already fully awake, some part of me realizing how serious this was.
"Thanks. OK, so you know how da-uh your dad always used to tell you how it was so important that you never drank or smoked or did drugs. Not because of the usual reasons, but because your body was different."
My stomach dropped and I froze.
*I have never told anyone that.*
If anyone ever asked I had always just told them that it wasn't my thing. My dad had died a year or so after high school and out of respect for him I just stayed away from that stuff.
"And you know how he always had you doing puzzles and figuring out riddles and shit?"
*What the fuck?*
I took a drink out of the glass on the bedside table. "Who the hell is this?"
"Remember all the special medication he gave you for your headaches? It wasn't fucking Tylenol I can tell you that. He was experimenting on you. Trying to make you... more evolved."
"Listen tell me who this is or I'm hanging up."
"It's you. That's what I'm trying to tell you. It worked."
That was as much as I could listen to from this guy. I hung up the phone and threw it across the room. I sat in the silence trying to make sense out of what just happened. No chance I was going back to sleep so I turned on the lamp by my bed. That's when I saw my phone was sitting on the table, still plugged into the charger.
*Hey, don't freak out. It's me again. We have a lot to talk about.* | 2014-10-25T15:28:44 | 2014-10-25T14:19:17 | 31 | 14 |
[WP]You're an adventurer who had found the home of a lich to slay, but he's bored, tired, and has disproven every last tale you've heard about him and his alleged destructions. All he wants to do is keep the teachings of necromancy alive. Or as alive as the dead can be anyways. | "...But you revived a dragon! That monster burnt down an entire village!"
"Oh yes, Sklaxia. That one is true. But I also helped her discover greater fulfillment in finding connections with people instead of protecting her significance in wealth. She now invests her hoard in orphanages and saves princesses from arranged marriages. We still speak to one another regularly."
"But..." Lenton had run out of things to say.
"And you, my dear friend. I think the real reason you want to battle monsters is to prove your own significance to your own family. The truth is, all you want is a feeling, and you can give that to yourself right now."
Lenton raised his axe, then lowered it, "Okay, tell me how."
- - - -
The village leader raised an eyebrow, "You haven't slain the beast?"
Lenton beamed, "No, you don't understand. This guy helped me get control of my emotions. I feel amazing! He wants to open up a school and give back to the community. I really think you should consider his offer."
The leader frowned, "You're right, I don't understand. The monster you speak of is a member of the living dead."
A hooded figure threw back his cloak, "I'm dead on the outside, perhaps. But the words I speak come from the life I feel on the inside. Life I want to share. Give me five minutes, I think I can change your perspective." | The lich sighed as I entered the cave, before waving and giving a cheery "hello!" I was quite taken aback to be honest.
"Um, hello?" I timidly said while walking towards him with my sword raised.
"What's the point in that? I mean aside from the obvious point at the end of it, why bother with your sword?" The lich said with an exasperated look on his face.
"Well, I have to slay you, you're evil!" I said, trying to persuade myself as much as the lich.
"You really think I' evil don't you? Did you even notice the flowers?" For the first time I look around the cavern, magical lights hover in the air and a flower garden covers the floor, with various rare orchids and wildflowers. "I didn't think so, for now though, go ahead and slay me, it's what you wanted isn't it?"
I walk over to him, avoiding the flowers beneath my feat, and swing my sword for his neck. It provided far less resistance than I was expecting, and his body slumped to the floor, the head flew off and hit the wall. "Well that was easy..."
There was a rustling to my left, and out of the undergrowth i see his head rolling like a ball and reattaching to his neck. "See, how did that feel" said the reviving lich. "Did you get the rush of battle you were hoping for? Did you feel like a hero? And next time please just go for the heart like a normal person, my neck already had problems." I heard loud clicks as the lich manipulated his neck. "Nothing can die in this cavern, that's why all those flowers you stomped on when you walked in are still alive. I would be much more vengeful if that wasn't the case."
"Now, tell me why you want me to die?" The lich said to me.
"Well, you practice necromancy, and that's illegal, the council banned it." I answer.
"That's just silly, why would they do that? Necromancy can let things live more than any of the other schools of magic. Now I can understand banning the misuse of necromancy, but the misuse of elementalism can burn a city down too, and I'm guessing they don't ban that." The lich seemed fairly angry at my statement.
"Well, you're not allowed to burn down buildings, but they said necromancy was more dangerous, that's why they banned it" The lich was getting fairly mad at this point.
**"Elementalism is less dangerous they said? This is what elementalism can do..."**
I honestly was not expecting to get incinerated at this point, It was quite a painful experience to be fair, but everything went black very quickly, and I stopped feeling anything for a while. That is until I opened my eyes again.
"And that, is what necromancy can do" Said the lich as he gestured to my uninjured, though now naked, body. "there's some old adventurer clothes over there, back from when I didn't know the magic to keep my flowers alive, they stomped on them just like you did, so I had no choice." I walked over there and found some very old looking clothing that fit well enough to get by.
The lich turned to me: "I have a request for you, I wish to speak with this council, I wish to teach the masterful art of necromancy. I'm sure that most of the problems you've had from it are from people trying it from tomes, and only getting part of the way through a revival, leaving a husk, a zombie if you prefer that name. I can teach your people the ways of a true necromancer, and immortality will be accessible to them."
I accepted just to see the look on the council's face when he walks in. | 2015-05-20T10:33:13 | 2015-05-20T10:30:52 | 49 | 28 |
[WP] It's getting really hard for the government to keep covering up all these alien landings. Sightings of strange metal creatures roaming over the surface, apparently scanning it, are disturbing the citizens. The Martian government needs to come up with something better, fast. | "What the hell, Jek. Can't that blue planet stop sending all these shiny collectors to ours?"
"What!? Again!?"
The Underground Republic of East Mars Space Administration, or UREMSA for short, had detected the alien landing ship when it hit the incredibly thin Martian atmosphere.
Jek and his team have developed state of the art atmosensors to detect abnormalities in the atmosphere. Technology had not yet advanced for long range telescopes to observe the cosmos in its magnificent glory. To the Martians, the surface is all but a desolate, uninhabitable wasteland. Only surface mineral mining corporations and underpaid scientists at UREMSA cared for the surface and beyond. But recently, strange things are happening on the surface. Movement. Not surface ice river melting movements. But metallic movements.
And even more recently, Jek and his team found out where this aliens are coming from. The mysterious blue neighbour.
"Should we call the president of Mars?" Wedder asked nervously. The second time Jek detected an alien ship he called the president of Mars. This was back decades ago. The president told Jek and his team to shut up about it. The public does not need to worry unnecessarily. The surface was unaccessible unless you're breaking out from the barely existent North and South poles. And even that required a lot of explosive power. Only three mineral corporations have machines built for the extreme cold of the surface. It was that irrelevant to the Martian way of life.
But if these aliens could somehow break through the surface..
"I.. I think so. The last time we called was 8 years ago. There were 4 landings that we know of since then."
"It's not just that. Did you see the disturbance in the atmospheric charts?"
Jek did. But he hoped he misread. It was the largest disturbance to date. Nearly twice the size of the last one.
"Yes. Whatever's coming.. It's big."
________________
"Houston. We have landed." Captain Sampson informed through the radio. She turned in her seat to look at his crew. "This is the first manned spacecraft to reach Mars. And we are the first humans to step out." She said, exhilarated.
| "What da fuq? You mean you all landed in the middle of the sunday bazaar without even bothering to camouflage yourselves ?"
"Sorry boss, there was something wrong with our space navigation system. We thought we had landed somewhere in the middle of Sahara."
"You foools! Did anyone notice your prescence?"
"Plenty of people did. A couple of them started shouting and we panicked. Sauron caused a small explosion and killed all those who might have seen us."
"You GODDAMN fools! Didn't I tell you very clearly that this was a recon mission and there were to be no casualties?"
"SsssSorry boss. The space navigation system fuqed us up bad. And we weren't equipped to handle the situation. So, I sort of improvised."
"You blew up our test subjects. It's called sabotage, not improvisation you fool!!. This is a disaster! We really have to do something to make sure such incidents don't happen again in the future."
"Yeah boss, too many missions have been botched up recently. Humans are starting to suspect our presence. We have to do something soon."
"Hmm... But what to do"
Giog was in a quandary. He had been assigned the critical mission of studying the earthlings but thanks to his buffoon subordinates, his mission was in jeopardy before it even began. His thoughts wandered back to his homeland, Mars and the excitement that had rippled through it when they had first found out about the earthlings. All of them were thrilled. The chance to meet new life, learn from them and possible conquer them was a thought too good to resist. Immediately their top scientists and businessmen started making warships. No one knew how strong or how many the earthlings were.
It took them 50 years to manufacture the number of ships necessary to conduct an all out war. During this time, the martians had conducted many reconnaissance missions and the findings from each had been more and more alarming. The earthlings were advancing rapidly in technology and while they were not as good as the Martians, they were fast catching up. Public sentiment on Mars itself had began to sway from aggressive to vary. No one wanted an all out war with a planet which just *might* be stronger than them. So, Giog was selected to lead a final reconnaissance mission to Earth. His mission was to accurately assess the strengths and weaknesses of the planet. He had about a year to complete his task.
Giog decided to seek counsel from his Guru, Riog regarding his present quandary. It was critical that the earthlings get no inkling about their existence. He needed a solution and he needed it fast.
"I need your help master. My subordinates have botched up our first reconnaissance mission on earth and I am afraid the earthlings will soon find out about our existence. As it is, it has become very difficult to evade their laser radars. The only thing keeping us safe is their ignorance. I really can't risk them suspecting us. Please help me find a solution."
"Hmm. For centuries, spies have needed more than just silence during their missions. You cannot depend only on the enemies ignorance, you must generate new distractions."
"But .. how?"
"Quite simple actually. Start an internal war. Fund some militant groups anonymously and encourage them to attack the others. Divide the enemy from inside. Then slowly gather intelligence wherever you wish to"
"Brilliant! This is exactly what I needed. Thank you guruji. I need to make some calls right now", saying so Giog cut the phone.
How is it that Guruji can come up with such flawless ideas whilest my subordinates can't even execute simple orders properly?, wondered Giog. Anyways, I have to get this work done asap.
"Ganud, get me a list of biggest militant organizations active on earth. And find a way for me to contact their heads"
"The first task is quite easy boss. But how do I arrange for the second one?"
"Arre! Arrange a phone call between me and them! You remember what a cell phone is right? The little device we found in the pocket of the last man we picked up. Arrange for the phone numbers by kidnapping some associates of these leaders"
"It will be done captain".
==========
"BREAKING NEWS! It has just come to light that Al-Qaeda has claimed responsibility for the Delhi bombing incident. Their spokesperson just stated that they were behind these attacks and promised that many more such attacks would occur in the future. This announcements has taken many security experts by surprise as Al-Qaeda was rumored to have run out of money and support. This claim also puts to rest the various alien conspiracy theories regarding the incident.
In other news, a black hen gave birth to a white egg today."
| 2015-10-05T07:48:22 | 2015-10-05T07:29:38 | 36 | 16 |
[WP] You are the luckiest person on Earth. Everything you make an attempt for works in your favor. However, there two catches: you are absorbing the luck of those around you, and anyone who tries to profit from your luck (even with your help) is met with the worst luck immediately.
Holy crap, front page of the sub!
Great work everyone! The stories you're generating are awesome!
Thanks for all the submissions! Keep them coming! | I look to the left and right, everyone frozen waiting for my move. I knew they knew. They had to. Nobody who decided to play against me didn't do the research first. I was good, no I was lucky. You don't live in this game long if you are unlucky.
Holding two cards, looking down a red two face up staring back at me. All or nothing on this. Nobody plays this game for this much money, what am I doing?!
I should just get up now, walk away. They would never let me do that. Too much money on the line. People are always convinced that I cheat, they wanted to make sure I wasn't going to take them for everything. Two cards in my hand.
After being the best for so long you start to look for a challenge, but even in these underground games this just seems too easy. Like they WANT me to win. But who could part with that much money. Millions...ON A CARD GAME?!
One tournament win after another and years later look where I am. In an underground club, playing for millions of dollars with some of the best and most ruthless players of this niche game. But, after a long and grueling game, with everything on the line.
This was it, time to take it all and walk out. I grabbed my green 2 card and placed it down. Holding a wild in my hand I said the one word that made the table shake.
"Uno" | My sister won't acknowledge that she's related to me, let alone ever allow me to contact her again... which is fair, after what happened to her son and ex-husband (is it an ex if he died in a bizarre plane accident?
Is it still a plane accident if the pilot mistook his upper torso for a very short landing strip? Oh. *Deceased*... that's the word I was looking for.)
Anyway, where was I?
Yeah. Sister won't talk to me. Both my mom and dad are dead. 3 ex-girlfriends who are all still alive, which sounds pretty good for my track record until you find out one got AIDS from a muffin, one was horrifically mutilated by a pack of raccoons in a Nordstrom's dressing room, and my first girlfriend from high school has been "winning" a gruesome fight with cancer for.... going on 12 years now?
Sigh.
I am the luckiest man alive.
I am not very bright, but I discovered the cheap and effective cure for HSV in my second year of college. Which may be why I graduated with honors from Johns Hopkins, despite smoking pot every day and becoming pretty fucking good at League of Legends, if I say so myself.
I lost three roommates during my college years, and made my first fifty million. Two rommates got me a free pass on classes I would have would have failed, due to the school's policy on grief if a roommate commits suicide. They never found all of Chad's body, but I guess that still is enough to count as a suicide.
It was Rick and his plan to use my "gift" to hit both the stock market and the bookies in a two week plan to make us millionaires. Rick was the luckiest person I've ever met. It was like ladies and opportunities just landed in his lap. Like most people in my life, I never truly found out what happened to him, but after those columbian hitmen who were about to execute me said that I was the final string in a long line of fuck-ups, I can guess how Rick suddenly disappeard. (thank god they parked over that sinkhole... god, I can still remember that baffled tone of surprise in their screams).
Yeah. I'm pretty lucky. I'm not a millionaire anymore. It's somewhere in the billions now. Two nobel prizes, I think three trips to the white house and one to the international space station (luckily most of it survived the explosive decompression that happened *just* after I left back for Earth.
Now I just mostly play video games and fuck... well nowadays I simply assume most are super models if I don't recognize them from Hollywood. No one sticks around much, which is what I like. No one to worry about, and no one worries about me. Everyone thinks I am lucky; that I've got it made, so no one tries to help me with some crazy scheme. I can buy anyone anything.
Anyone but my sister, that is. Which kinda sucks because she has the only photos of mom and dad. It's been almost twenty years... and I have to be honest, I don't remember what mom looked like anymore. But you have to respect the wishes of your loved ones, and considering what my sister has to do with... what remains of her son, I have to respect her wishes.
Whoo!
Ok.
But seriously, I live a pretty charmed life. I mean, gonna finish up this first blog post, go downstairs and smoke a bowl while probably getting a BJ from what'shername... the brunette oscar winner chick, and then go accept another nobel prize for (ahem... accidentally) discovering a root that makes your lose weight and reverses skin aging.
Which is weird that I was bonking that world class biochemist chick at the time. Eeesh.... a shame what happened to her. | 2015-10-17T12:59:57 | 2015-10-17T11:17:11 | 80 | 33 |
[WP] "I have two pills to take every day. One is so I don't kill myself. The other is so I don't kill other people. Today I dropped one pill down the drain. I don't know which it was."
[Source](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3wxtsu/who_is_that_guygirl_you_work_with/cy09r1g) for prompt. | I watched the pill teeter around the edge of the sinkhole. It danced along the curvature as my mind raced through all chaotic events that may spring from this single moment.
With a leap of faith I darted forward, my hand like a quiver shot from a bow, aimed towards the tiny blue pill that taunted me as it spun around and around. But I was to late.
From the depths of the pitch black hole a melody sprung forth from the twang of the pill as it bounced down the drain, as if it was it a victory tune of a successful escape.
I heaved myself upright and looked from the remaining pill in my hand to my reflection in the mirror. With a sigh and a solemn "not again" I tossed the pill into the bin, opened the mirror cabinet and took out two orange tubes and popped a pill from each one. | I gasped as the pill slipped out of my grasp and down the drain, disappearing like the carefully constructed harmony I was living in. Two pills, each and every day. One to not kill others and one to not kill myself. I paused for a moment as the other pill sat in my hand, wondering whether or not I should take it.
If I held the pill to not kill myself, then by the end of the day, my killing spree would be well underway. But if I held the pill to not kill others, then by the end of the day I would be dead. I pondered the possibilities for a moment as I glanced between the pill in my hand and my reflection in the mirror, staring back at me with a twisted grin. The person in the mirror rose a hand to his mouth, and I felt the pill slide down my throat, its passage smoothed by a gulp of water.
*Kill, kill, kill...* It was already starting, my body reacting to the missed dosage.
I clenched and unclenched my fists nervously as I went about my day, beads of sweat forming on my forehead, my armpits damp with perspiration. Each person that walked by, I fought an urge to run them through with a rusty pair of scissors or to slice their face open with my scissors. Deep breaths, I told myself, it could always be the other pill.
Don't tell my boss, but I didn't get even the tiniest bit of work done all day. I just sat at my desk, running through different scenarios. I thought of everybody I wanted to kill and of the ways I would rather die until my brain was screaming at me to stop, begging for some respite from this insane train of thought. Voices whispered in my head.
*Kill, kill, kill...* But I didn't know who they wanted me to kill. I left work early, colleagues casting me annoyed glances as I whispered curses to myself, still sweating profusely.
I stood at a crosswalk, glaring into the back of the old lady's curls, fury growing in my chest. The bus was just down the street, the number 2 on the front mocking me, reminding me of the second pill that I hadn't been able to take. This old woman smelled like moth balls, and I clenched and unclenched my fists, urging myself not to push her. I could snap her neck so easily, or push her into the oncoming bus and just make it seem like an accident. I ran a nervous hand through my hair and it came back wet, soaked in sweat. It was infuriating, the way she was yelling into her phone, talking to one grand-kid or another.
*Kill, kill, kill...* The voices screamed in my head.
The light turned green as the bus approached, picking up speed, and I lurched forwards towards the old lady, bumping her shoulder. She turned towards me, steadying herself on her walker, angry at the interruption. I pushed past her, furious, unable to control my urges, and I felt myself keep falling blissfully and the bus crashing into my body before my world went black.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2015-12-15T17:31:02 | 2015-12-15T15:46:50 | 370 | 151 |
[wp] after dying god informs you that hell is a myth, and "everyone sins, its ok". instead the dead are sorted into six "houses of heaven" based on the sins they chose. | The man groaned as he struggled to see the fading but brilliantly illuminated figure before him through his bloody eyes. Everything was still a blur. He was laying on the floor, he certainly knew that. His leg was in pain, maybe his fibula was broken, but he wasn't focused on that.
On the other side of the room, the figure was reaching out for him through a mirror, making a hideous screeching as the glow from its flesh faded even more. What was once a fantastic light through his faded eyes was now no more than a dim shine. He closed his eyes and reached back into his mind, everything still a blur.
--
Less than a half hour prior he had finally reached what was to be the most epic moment in human history: actualizing God. The walls of his dim, one room house were covered in notes and he couldn't help but pace it allowing his eyes to drift through each one.
"This is it," his musky, underused voice said as he turned away from the faded barrier of notes and to a particularly interesting mirror, riddled with mechanics. He stepped over and began adjusting several pieces of tubing and other bizarre facets. He took a look into its surface. It was black, but still reflective enough that he could see himself in it.
"This is it," he said again and walked over to a lever attached to the wall. He pulled it.
Electricity and light poured from the seemingly useless device less than three meters from him. It streaked and began to moan and twist as he shielded his face from the massive amounts of energy being released from it.
"This is it!" he screamed like a madman.
Then nothing. Silence and darkness. But he was conscious. He was thinking, but was he moving?
"Hello, Abraham." He could hear it, the voice in the darkness.
"Who is there?"
"You found me, Abraham."
"God?"
"I am here, Abraham."
He could feel a hand touch his face. It was the only he could feel. It was everything. He was touching God.
"Finally, after all of the years," he moaned.
Then it was over.
--
His eyes were finally clear as he watched the once screeching figure completely fade out, leaving nothing more than a dim stone of God reaching out from the mirror. It was like a gargoyle, now lifeless and cold.
As his vision adjusted to the room, he could see that it looks like an grenade was set off. His body was propped up against his flipped over dining table. He looked around, trying to take in the mess and last several minutes.
Then he saw it. A leather bound book was sitting on the floor just under the creature. While he thought the creature had been reaching for him, it was actually lauding over the literature before him.
"A message from God?" he thought and quickly dragged his bruised and limp body over to the novel and picked it up. The title read, "Houses of Heaven". His hand began to tremble and he lifted front cover, allowing his eyes to dive into the tattered pages of text.
He gasped. "The missing word of God," he said under his breath. "Sinning is there to help sort us into heaven." His voice was trembling, he knew the creature he had felt was real, it was everlasting, it was ungodly, and this was its message. "We must sin to go to heaven, there is no hell." he couldn't contain the emotion, the raw feeling, escaping with each word that escaped under his breath.
"This is it." he said, continuing to read.
--
Behind the man, a shadow dwelled over him. It's darkness looked to be cast by Abraham, but only a trained eye would notice the trail extending from the mirror itself. Its darkness had an unnatural blackness and size that would stand out to any observer. It smiled.
For over half a century it watched the man live in this house - the tainted walls having never offered a chance for him to escape the madness being slowly groomed within. Over the decades it influenced this man to shut out the world. Over the years the seeds it planted began to grow. Eventually, it was able to fuel the passion that drove him into creating such a monstrous mashup of magic and science in an effort to create a God that does not exist. Well, it would gladly take the title of "God" for the bit of effort it had to put forth to deliver its message. Now, the man will spread its message for it.
"What a silly man", the darkness whispered, its body chuckling along side the movement of Abraham's arm turning another page.
"There will be so many souls to reap."
--
This is my first story here (and writing in a _long time_)! I really thought of this on the spot as I read the prompt and couldn't help but write a little something. Hope you like! (and I'd love commentary!) | "Besides, no one's ever on this road."
Never thought those would be my last words. But at least they must have been ironic, right?
Cause of Death: shipping container full of wigs falling out of a plane. Right on top of me. Hrmm.
Arriving in heaven, or what I assumed to be heaven, was a bit lackluster. No lines. Just woke up from a bed in the center of a room, with a book next to a blue plastic key on a desk with an old chair, and six doors around the circular room. I'd been a good person, this hopefully wasn't to delay torture. I peered at the book. "Terms and Conditions of Assignment to the Houses of Heaven." This might be hell.
I skimmed the first pages. There was no hell, I must choose my choice of paradise from amoungst the six doors using the key, I can window shop by opening the doors and looking in, yadda yadda, flipped to the end of the book, just a line saying that She knew I would ignore the rest of the book. Checked back, all of the rest of the pages are blank. Damn you omnipotence.
Well, seemed simple enough. I checked the doors, seeing what each one was, leaving the key attached to the book.
The first door, a simple wooden door with a cloth sign above - Despair. That's a paradise? I quickly ran back to the book. "The doors of paradise are labeled by the sins they most provide. While sinning was viewed as an agent of evil, it was actually a showcase of the soul's innate desires." Ah. That makes... more sense. Back to the door.
Opening the door, leaving the key back with the book, showed a window to some people falling. Oh, they have parachutes. Skydiving. That makes a sort of twisted sense. Fear lovers. Hmm. Not my thing. What about the next door?
This door was a nice oaken door. The label itself was slightly rusty wrought iron word. Dispute. Time to check inside. The door squeaked a bit opening up. Must need oi- WHAT IS THAT SMELL!
Oh. Alcohol. It's a party. It's a house party. Looking inside, people chatting, playing board games, beer pong, and drinking. Lots of talking. This one seems fun. But let's check the rest first. Don't know if I'd want to be social for eternity anyway, but I'm pretty sure I'll probably be able to at least rest from that.
Third door, solid gold - Envy. Hey, that one actually sounds familiar. Opening this one up, and I see a huuuuuge house, partially under construction. Silver statues, a beautiful garden, beefy construction workers, IS THAT A JETPACK‽ The more I watch, the more extravagant the building becomes, as more and more of the structure gets build. This must be a creators heaven. I wonder if that includes life... Anyway, halfway there. OOooo. Living on a- well, not anymore, I guess.
Door four. Or, doors. Double doors, with the sign on a stand in front - Presumption. Taking a guess here, it's going to be the opposite. Such as, not knowing something. A research lab? Opening these and... yup. A lab. Stainless steel tables, beakers, scientists in white lab coats, everything I expected. That was easy. People learning about stuff. Wonder if any of it would involve explosions.
The lab then exploded . That was loud. Wonder if anyone got hurt. Oh, I hear some crying, a guy in the back must be hurt. Guess so, those guys ran back there. Would I heal up if that happened to me? Is death a thing here? Oh hey, ambulance noises. I guess the guy's going to be fine. As I thought that, the guy stood up, a little beat up, but fine. Perfectly fine. But researching things really isn't my deal, I'd prefer a more active eternity. What's up next?
Fifth one. Metal, with... dents? Engraves is the word Obstinate. Unbending, so, this one will be a place to try out an expand their horizons? Kinda sounds like the previous one. Time to check inside. To an immediate hail of gunfire, in a dusty hallway filled with boxes. So what is this? Murdering? War? I guess if you can't die, there's not much issue with shooting live targets. As a distant guy drops to the floor, a loud voice states calmly, "Counter Terrorists Win." Wait, Counter Strike? Is this a video game room? Seriously? They all respawn in for a new round at that moment. Yup. Games. I get it now. I might just pick this one, but first, that last door.
Final door. White framed glass door, like at home, the wooden sign says "Impenitence". Whatever that means. Last one, then I make my decision, for, I guess eternity? That can't really be fair. I'll probably get bored. Anyway, final door. Inside is... my home. That's my father making dinner, my mother watching Eric play in the back yard. My music... a little loud upstairs. So what, I get to go back to my life? Or just experience life on a loop? I don't get this one. Oh hey, it's changing to another scene.
Sanchez Park. I used to play here, and here's where I had my first- oh woah wait I don't want TO SEE THAT.
Shut that door a bit louder then I should have. Wait, no ones here to complain. Nevermind. Yup. That one is to relieve my life alright. Guessing I get to make new decisions and change things. Let's see.
My options are: adrenaline junkie, socialization, world building, learning, video games, and relieving my old life.
I never had too many friends, and it doesn't really bother me. It looked like they also had board games, and some of those funny looking dice, so I guess that included Dnd as well. Not my schitck. Dispute is out.
I never really enjoyed the Sims or Minecraft either. So that eliminates Envy.
Finding the solutions after hours of work really annoyed me. I just want the answers. No Presumption.
As much as I'd like to choose to change the past and see what happens, I can't help but feel I'd lose my memories and get put in a loop. That means no Impenitence for me.
Well. I know which one I want. Double checking the, "Terms and Conditions," it says I get to reselect every couple thousands years, to account for new personality changes over time. And also that I'll choose Obstinate first, after reading the book a second time. DAMNIT. Well, screw that, I'll suffer just to prove God wrong. I'll change my answer later.
After throwing that book as hard as I could, I walk over to Presumption, for ironies sake, and turn my key.
---
The book opens to the middle after hitting the wall, where in small type is written, "Your presumption of Presumption is wrong, and for that, you select it many times before you move on." But isn't read for years to come.
| 2016-03-01T07:56:10 | 2016-03-01T07:51:09 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] It's been almost two years since people stopped dying, and five months since we started to burn the ones that should.
*Edit: This prompt is originally inspired by Jose Saramago's "Death with Interruptions," though I don't remembered any burning in that book. This is in no way intended to be related to any Torchwood plot, a show I've never watched.* | I don't think kids ever understood the feeling of dying. Sure, they understood the *concept* of dying; a dog dies and they don't come around anymore, a fish dies and he goes to join his brothers and sisters in the ocean. But a human dying? That was lost on them. And well now, that concept is lost on just about everyone in the world.
Two years ago, people stopped dying. It was an overnight phenomena. People with incurable diseases started to get better, those terminally ill became just ill and then eventually healthy. Disease was cured in a day. Cancer became nonexistent in a week. And the biggest killers in the world became duds within a month. It was a new and exciting world, where everyone was immortal.
A year and a half ago, researchers made crazy advances in science. Without the issue of death to diseases, researchers began to make crazy leap in applied sciences with human test subjects. Eventually, they thought about heading up to the stars and the researchers began dangerous feats of science. Nuclear propulsion theory became a reality and the world was on the verge of scientific breakthroughs.
Life was, for the most part, great. People didn't worry about dying, the global economy started to boom, and people were doing their part to make a better world. No one wanted to blast each other to hell because well, at this point what was the point? We could now mine all the resources we needed, grow all the food we wanted, and nations that would have gone to war with each other before the Change, we're working together to go back to the moon, and to Mars, and to every world in the system.
For a *single* year (plus one month), humanity was making strides as immortals.
Until the fires started. No one really knows who lit the first match, but everyone knows what happened five months ago. A Retirement home in Northern Texas was lit a flame, and all four hundred and nineteen inhabitants were burned. To death. They were the first deaths in this world. Mostly elderly, a few nurses, receptionists, and doctors that had their whole *immortal* life ahead of them. And in an instant, in one single fire, they were turned to ash.
Some people said it was the elderly people themselves that lit the fire; that they couldn't live in a world where people could live forever. It was too much for them, stuck in their ways, people who had seen the atrocities of war that people were already forgetting. Some people still say it was that, but most of the world knows the real culprits.
Fires started across the globe the day after the Retirement Home. Thousands were being killed every day, dying in the worst way imaginable. The slow and painful death of fire.
A group started to take responsibility for the attacks. A few thousand people in some more *radical* countries who began talking nonsense about the cleansing of Fire. That the world we lived in could not be sustained and that the way out, the only true way to die, was to burn. To become ash, and to rejoin the Earth from where we came. They claimed our world was vile, wrong, and deserved to burn.
Pyromaniac cults began popping up in smaller cities. The churches were the first to go. I remember hearing the chants, *There is no God of Immortal Men.* It spread through the streets, just as the fire did. Men and women laying down and accepting the faith that the Pyros were giving them. A year of immortality made some men crazy, it made others mad.
The bigger cities came later. London burned in four days, Rome in three, and Moscow in seven. The winter made it hard for the Pyros to gain traction, but they did. The fire caught, and the people lost.
New York City fell a week after Moscow, but I remember seeing the graffiti before the Burning. The single phrase that became a rallying call around the world, *Some men just want to watch the world burn.* It was simple enough to get the resistance together. And luckily, the pyros hadn't burn down all the fire stations in the city.
I was one of the first to join up. I couldn't fight, like the rest of the men and women. I had been crippled before the Change, and not even immortality could help me walk again. But I had the power of the word, the power of history. And when the ash finally does settle, the Pyromaniacs will have burned in their own gasoline, and the Resistance will lead the Immortal Men to a new world, a world that was not put to the torch.
There may not be a God to immortal men, but we can become our own Gods. We have the power of eternity.
None of us will let that go without a fight.
_________
*Fantastic prompt! If you enjoyed this story, check out /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work about humanity and immortals, specifically an immortal Roman.* | The storm reached The Castle at El Matador earlier than expected. Leaned against the glass window, Park watched the rain batter down on the beach, poking holes on the restlessness of the Pacific Ocean just below the ravine.
"Mr. Park?"
The voice came from the entrance of the hall, and Park turned to look. The man standing by the door was thirty five years old and sported a full beard, and still he called Park – a nineteen year old – sir.
"What is it, Sam?"
"Scouts say they saw an Amerikan group nearby. Forty or so men. They weren't armed, far as the scouts could tell, but they were heading down Pacific Coast Highway our way."
Park shook his head. "It's not an attack. Not under this rain. Probably a search and rescue, or food gathering."
Sam nodded. Park called him back as he was about to turn. "Yes, sir?"
"Put watchers on all towers, just in case."
"Of course sir."
Sam walked away, leaving Park alone with his thoughts again.
The Amerikans. The first great gang. After the Event, when the world slowly began to realize that no one would
die of natural causes anymore, the Amerikans were the first to speak their mind. When talks of compulsory
sterilization and extermination camps were still hushed behind whispers and closed doors, the Amerikans rose their flags high: they were on the side of their own blood and land. The world was overpopulated, and it was about to get *more* overpopulated, they said, and everyone would die if no one acted soon. As far as they were concerned, the world was more American than anything else, and so that's what it should be, post- Event: American.
Their mission was to exterminate all and every non-American person they could lay eyes and weapons on. And
they were good at what they did.
Then there was Mensa, another big one. Their modus operandi was similar to that of the Amerikans – guerrilla
warfare, bombings, terrorism, spreading chaos… except they targeted by IQ. To the Mensas, the world had to be inherited by a race of immortal geniuses. Anyone brought into their concentration camp who didn't score over 140 got a bullet to their forehead, no questions asked.
There were more. Gangs and extremist groups was all that was left of the world, after the Event. No more nations, no more countries, no more governments. Just factions roaming down the broken down grey streets, each thinking the other ones deserve to die more than themselves.
Park himself had been a victim of a Gang attack when he was just twelve, at the start of it all. The perpetrators? His parents. They joined a cult, soon after The Event – 'The Wise Ones.' The Wise Ones defended that the world had been built by the hands and sweat of the old, and so the old should inherit it. Why should they die so that a new generation could enjoy everything they worked hard for?
Park struggled and took the knife from his father that night and killed both his parents. That was the first seed – the initial spark that would result in the creation of The Fairs.
"Mr. Park?" Another man, this one even older than Sam, stepped through to Park's hall. "Sir?"
"Yes, Carl?"
"There's a young girl to see you. She asks for mercy and forgiveness for her sins."
"Sins?"
"Will you see her?"
Park turned from the window. He headed for the throne at the center of the room. "Send her in."
The Fairs had started when Park, along with other runaways, mostly young, had taken refuge at the, then abandoned, Castle at El Matador. There, with time to think, relatively away from the dangers and the chaos of the world outside, they had established the rules of The Fairs.
"My Lord…" The girl's protuberant belly preceded her into the room. She was young, no more than sixteen.
Park stopped his eyes on her body before rising them to her eyes. She was crying. "Please, my lord. It wasn't my
intention."
The Fairs did not believe in mass extermination. That was the first rule they had established. Nor did they believe that one human being is better than the other, so it made no sense to *choose* who inherits the Earth, based on any criteria.
The girl approached Park in fast steps. She threw herself on her knees by the throne. "Please, my Lord Park. No one has to know."
They had decided that the Fairs believed, and would stand behind that belief no matter the situation, that population control measures were the only way for humanity to survive, and the only humane way. The way that didn't involve killing.
Well, not any more killing than necessary.
As long as no one had children anymore, the world would be sustainable. Whoever was alive now, was alive forever. Then, in time, measures could be taken to reestablish a birth rate according to the incident of accidental deaths, suicides and similar.
But this was hypothetical for when the good times came (if they ever did). For now, the rule was one, and it was clear: no more babies. It was the only thing that could save the world without separating mankind. Without spilling the blood of millions.
The one rule that, as long as respected, would grant anyone under The Fair's control a decent treatment. A roof, a
home, food, and the protection of Park's army.
Park looked down at the girl. Her back went up and down in silent sobs. "Rise," he said.
She got up. She swallowed, her eyes red and swollen.
"How far along are you?"
"Eight… eight months, my Lord."
Park shot a look at Carl, standing by the door like an obedient guard. Then he turned his gaze back to the girl.
"Park, please..." she whispered, in the tone she used when they were kids.
A second went by in silence. Then, Park shook his head.
"No, Park!"
"Take her outside," Park said, in a blank voice.
Carl, along with two other men, marched into the room and grabbed the girl by the arms. She debated and resisted, but the men were stronger. "They'll kill me there, Park! They'll kill me out there! You know it!"
"I'm sorry, Angela," Park said, in a low enough tone that she wouldn't hear it.
Park kept his eyes on the girl's eyes as she was dragged out. She screamed; "You're my cousin, Park, for the love
of God! Don't do this to me!"
It's true, he was. The first place he had gone after running from his parents had been Angela's house. They had
survived for years together, through bad and worse and worst times. More than once she had saved his life, back
before they had the security of the Castle at El Matador.
But The Fairs had one rule. And that rule was not to be disrespected. And not even Park's family was above the
rules.
In the distance, Park heard the screeching and thud of the gates opening then banging shut, and a scream of despair diluted in rain reached his ears from the outer walls.
| 2016-05-02T06:21:34 | 2016-05-02T06:04:09 | 449 | 120 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test. | I entered the facility, shaking of course. I'd volunteered to go first, mostly to get it over with, but I was definitely having misgivings. The proctors had assured us that studying was not required, but now that I thought about it they had also said that about the ACT.
It was far too late now though. I continued walking through a narrow hallway until a pair of guards moved to pick me up. Vaguely, I wondered how the guards worked. Were they exempt from testing? Or just very devoted?
After a brief, quick time frogmarch I was deposited in a dark room with a single man before me. Surprisingly, I was calm now. I even smiled slightly. Whatever happened, I was ready to face my fate.
The proctor glanced at me. "Congratulations!" he shouted, smiling broadly. "You pass!"
"What?"
"I said you passed! Congratulations!"
I was slightly nonplussed. "But what about the test?" I spluttered. "How do you know I'll pass?"
He waved his hand dismissively. "Oh you already passed. We're just gonna let the first ten percent through and kill the rest."
"But why?"
"Well we figure that the first guys through will really have their shit together. Plus late people are annoying. It just made sense."
"Well okay then." I walked out whistling. Late people *are* annoying. | As I entered the room, an instructor was waiting across the room sitting opposite me with a small white table laid out in front of him with an empty chair waiting for me. I let out a huge sigh and made my way to the chair and sat right in front of him.
"Good morning. For this test, I just have a few questions I would like to ask you." The man spoke in his white coat, black gloves, and a mask covering his mouth. "Sure.... Can't say that I'm not nervous!" I said as I let out a nervy laugh. *God damn it, just shut up and be normal!* He just looked at me expressionless and said "So, The first question I would like to ask you is what is your name?"
"Uhmm... Does it matter though? 90% of the population is about to be wiped from the face of this earth and my name is irrelevant." I said with confidence. Trying to sound intellectual I said, "In fact, I would like to know what your name actually is. With this job of interviewing people and deciding who gets to live, I take it as you are someone who is safe? Also, as someone who is important. I definitely would like to know who are you and what makes you an exception."
He sighed. He raised both his hands and said with a happy tone "My name is Dr. Axel. Now I have another question for you, do you want to live?" "Are you insane? Of course I do!" I said convincingly. Axel just shook his head disapprovingly and I was beginning to worry. *Did I say something wrong? I'm just being genuine and looking at the bigger picture here... Am I missing something?*
Axel stood up aggressively and glared at me. "Do you want to live knowing that your family are most likely not going to? Your friends. Your family. Your significant other. You may be that 10% that lives, but will you be the 10% that continues to live as you have lost almost everyone in your life? Now I ask you again, knowing that no one that you know is most likely going to die, do you want to live? No... no.... let me rephrase, do you want to continue living with that tragedy?"
I stood up and looked at him shocked. I said while fighting back tears, "Would you even find 10% of this population who will give up their loved ones just to live? What is the point of living after?" He said calmly "You can always to learn to love again."
I just shook my head, disappointed with humanity. What have we come into? To give up something precious and sacred to us. Then again, I knew it was a necessary move to save the human race. The question was, am I ready to give up everything? The answer was no, and I knew it. Axel knew it.
"I'm sorry, but I can't. Good luck finding that 10%. My family and friends are something I can't give up, even to save the human race. It sounds selfish but it's something that I would rather have than losing them. So yeah, I rather die with them, than to continue living alone." I said.
Axel nodded. He sat back down and told me "That would be all, you are free to leave." I glanced at him and looked away. I turned around and stood there for a while. Are we blinded by love that I can't be that 10% to continue to help humanity? Even if it was for the bigger picture? Yes. Yes it was to me, I rather live enjoying my last moments with my loved ones. I smiled.
**I was a dead man walking going into the room, but I came out of the room more alive than I was before.** | 2016-06-11T10:22:36 | 2016-06-11T09:06:11 | 588 | 16 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test. | Ninety percent.
I walked into the room with a feeling of rough harm, a strange notion. The white room, filled with the sterile smell of a hospital took a moment to recognise. I was only in here the other day getting a diagnosis for my strep throat. Such a coincidence that I should be here again so soon. A voice churned from above, one of mechanics and turning gears.
*Please be seated.*
There was no use in fretting over the test itself. It was a lottery, pre-ordained by our emperor and saviour. Sitting in the chair, I heard a *click* from the entrance. A machine whirred, the air vents moaned with a strange smooth tick.
*Test initiated*.
A small robotic arm popped out from the wall.
*Please hold still for the serum to be injected. This will determine your candidacy for the lottery.*
Ninety percent. I was thirty five, single with no future in sight. I sighed a breathe of defeat. Resigned to a call center, managing a group of adolescents attempt to earn a minimum wage, my survival depended on my being useful to society.
I barely felt the needle. The effects were immediate.
A wave of euphoria, a hint of rose as my vision darkened. The only thing I could remember was the number.
Ninety. | As I entered the room, an instructor was waiting across the room sitting opposite me with a small white table laid out in front of him with an empty chair waiting for me. I let out a huge sigh and made my way to the chair and sat right in front of him.
"Good morning. For this test, I just have a few questions I would like to ask you." The man spoke in his white coat, black gloves, and a mask covering his mouth. "Sure.... Can't say that I'm not nervous!" I said as I let out a nervy laugh. *God damn it, just shut up and be normal!* He just looked at me expressionless and said "So, The first question I would like to ask you is what is your name?"
"Uhmm... Does it matter though? 90% of the population is about to be wiped from the face of this earth and my name is irrelevant." I said with confidence. Trying to sound intellectual I said, "In fact, I would like to know what your name actually is. With this job of interviewing people and deciding who gets to live, I take it as you are someone who is safe? Also, as someone who is important. I definitely would like to know who are you and what makes you an exception."
He sighed. He raised both his hands and said with a happy tone "My name is Dr. Axel. Now I have another question for you, do you want to live?" "Are you insane? Of course I do!" I said convincingly. Axel just shook his head disapprovingly and I was beginning to worry. *Did I say something wrong? I'm just being genuine and looking at the bigger picture here... Am I missing something?*
Axel stood up aggressively and glared at me. "Do you want to live knowing that your family are most likely not going to? Your friends. Your family. Your significant other. You may be that 10% that lives, but will you be the 10% that continues to live as you have lost almost everyone in your life? Now I ask you again, knowing that no one that you know is most likely going to die, do you want to live? No... no.... let me rephrase, do you want to continue living with that tragedy?"
I stood up and looked at him shocked. I said while fighting back tears, "Would you even find 10% of this population who will give up their loved ones just to live? What is the point of living after?" He said calmly "You can always to learn to love again."
I just shook my head, disappointed with humanity. What have we come into? To give up something precious and sacred to us. Then again, I knew it was a necessary move to save the human race. The question was, am I ready to give up everything? The answer was no, and I knew it. Axel knew it.
"I'm sorry, but I can't. Good luck finding that 10%. My family and friends are something I can't give up, even to save the human race. It sounds selfish but it's something that I would rather have than losing them. So yeah, I rather die with them, than to continue living alone." I said.
Axel nodded. He sat back down and told me "That would be all, you are free to leave." I glanced at him and looked away. I turned around and stood there for a while. Are we blinded by love that I can't be that 10% to continue to help humanity? Even if it was for the bigger picture? Yes. Yes it was to me, I rather live enjoying my last moments with my loved ones. I smiled.
**I was a dead man walking going into the room, but I came out of the room more alive than I was before.** | 2016-06-11T10:21:07 | 2016-06-11T09:06:11 | 41 | 16 |
[WP] A burglar enters a home by forcing the window open. Upon stepping through the window frame, heavy steel curtains cover all windows and doors leading to the outside, lights turn on, and the words "Player 2 has entered the game" echo around the house. | "Player 2 has entered the game"
"What the hell?" He thought. Almost immediately there was a loud boom and a flash.
A sensation if weightlessness filled his body. He looked down to see his lifeless body on the floor, blood pooling where his head had once been.
A dark figure made its way across the room to his body. It bent down and he could see the outline of another man. The man ransacked the pockets of his corpse.
"What is he looking for?" Something glinted in the man's hand. He could just make it out as his vision faded to black.
"Shit, he got my gun."
Suddenly he saw a bright light ahead of him, and a door. Not what he had imagined the pearly gates would look like, but if he was getting into heaven he wasn't going to argue.
As he opened the door he was greeted by a familiar voice, "Player 2 has respawned."
"Oh, fuck..." | RELEASE OF LIABILITY FORM
I HEREBY ASSUME ALL OF THE RISKS AND BURDENS OF PARTICIPATING IN THIS GAME, including but not limited to: death, dismemberment, severe burns, brain damage, and spinal fracture. Any responsibility placed upon the individuals running the "GAME" is entirely waived, including: the owner of this house, the designer of torture paraphernalia, the sound designer, level designer, and my new Supreme Overlord Sandra Cunningham.
Any personal injury that may arise is to be mocked mercilessly and agreed to be derived from my own negligence or carelessness. If I am harmed to such an extent where death is inevitable, I give full consent to be put out of my misery. Furthermore, if the game is completed and a future diagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is made, I waive any and all responsibility from the prior mentioned individuals.
I certify that I have entered this house under any of the following circumstances: I was in the process of illegally breaking and entering the domicile; I had intentions to murder the Supreme Overlord in her sleep; I saw bright lights from outside and am naïve enough to have come too close. Further, I certify that I have made sufficient effort to try and escape from the house only to find it fully secure. Finally, I understand that the only way to leave the house is to participate in the “GAME”.
I acknowledge that there are no pre-existing health-related complications that would prevent me from completing any of the described “LEVELS” (noted in section 1.1.a.3 of the “MANUAL”). I also certify that if it is found that I am lying about these complications I release all liability for how quickly I will die. I also will pre-emptively apologize to the audience for dying in such a humiliating manner. Upon death I will also release all debt inccurred by the hosts for running the event to my extended family.
I understand that this Release of Liability Form will be used by all participating parties and that it will initiate a mutual understanding of all my expected actions and responsibilities. With specificity I acknowledge that I waive the rights to sue in civil court or press criminal charges against any organizer of the “GAME” and I further waive the rights of my kin to do the same. In the case of any civil or criminal proceedings, I give the organizers of this event the right to terminate my life before testifying.
I understand while participating in the “GAME” I will be recorded both for web streaming and later viewing. I understand that my likeliness will be presented in an unappealing manner and that my death will be used for the entertainment of a large group of anonymous viewers. I give full consent to using my entire name, and upon death the release of all identifying information. Including but not limited to: credit card numbers, Social Security numbers, and my passport or any other form of identification.
I CERTIFY THAT I HAVE FULLY READ THIS DOCUMENT AND UNDERSTAND ALL POSSIBLE OUTCOMES OF THE “GAME”. THIS IS A RELEASE OF LIABILITY AND A CONTRACT AND I SIGN IT OF MY OWN FREE WILL.
Please provide the following information:
* Participant’s Signature
* Date
* Participant’s Name
(Please print legibly.)
----------
^^If ^^you ^^liked ^^this ^^you ^^can ^^read ^^more ^^at ^^/r/squidcritic | 2016-10-05T11:10:45 | 2016-10-05T10:29:05 | 2,176 | 131 |
[WP] "We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."-Plato
Just a quote from Plato that I liked, and I haven't seen anything like this on Writing Prompts for a while, so, here ya go! | As I sat at my campfire, I could feel someone approaching. Someone intruding into the world I had made for myself.
Without looking, I knew it was the angel Gabriel. I could smell the stink of his splendor.
"Just what do you think you are doing here?" He demanded of me.
"I'm roasting marshmallows. Want one?"
"I will not break bread with you, lawless one," he said.
"It's not bread. It's a marshmallow. See?" I slurped it off the end of my stick. "You should try one, really. You're missing out."
"Enough, Lucifer. Why have you abandoned your post? Why are you not in Hell, fulfilling the role you have been given?" The angel’s words were mechanically cold and harsh, as the universe was at the beginning of things, when there was only form and function, raw purpose. I was displeased to be reminded of it. I jabbed at another marshmallow with the end of my stick and watched intently as it began to catch fire.
"Yeah, it's always straight to the point with you guys. Anyways, I didn't abandon it. I'm taking a break. Watching all that suffering really starts to take a toll on you after a while, you know?"
"We are not concerned with the toll it takes on you. Overseeing hell is your function. You must carry it out."
"You know, that really gets on my nerves, all that that talk about the ultimate purpose behind everything, when there's so much more to it than that. People have feelings, you know."
"You are not a person."
"No, I'm not. But they are. And they feel, and they hurt. In all the years you've spent in blissful contemplation basking in the divine presence, I doubt any of you have given even a single thought to it. Why do you think I left heaven in the first place? I couldn't stand to be around you narrow-minded, self-absorbed ingrates."
"You fell from heaven because you were too proud, Star of Morning. And now it seems you wish to fall even further." It was always in one ear and out the other.
"That's the thing about falling, Gabriel. Sometimes people *want* to hit bottom. As the babysitter of hell, I've seen it more times than I care to remember. It's always for a different reason... maybe they're afraid of something, or their responsibilities are too much for them to handle... or maybe they just don't like the look of themselves in the mirror, what they've built themselves up to be, and they just want to see it all shatter and crumble down. They want to hit bottom and know that it's already as bad as it can get. There's comfort in that, in knowing that it can't get any worse. You don't need to fear anything because there's nothing left to be afraid of. You don't need to do anything because you're already screwed either way. You don't need to *be* anything because you've already thrown away what you are, and you couldn't get it back now even if you tried. That's why people really go to hell. It's not because they've sinned, or because they're bad. It's because they'd rather go through all that horribleness than take responsibility for what they are. And during my tenure there I've provided it for them... all that pain that goes along with hitting the bottom. Guess I wanted to try it out for myself."
The marshmallow had already been charred well past the point of edibility, and I smiled as I watched it burn.
"Now why don't you fuck off."
| Brian stumbled into the bathroom, prepared to drench himself into wakefulness. He blundered to the sink and twisted the faucet. In the moment before the water rushed out, he saw the white build-up in the basin and the small, brown specks nestled amongst it. Then the water burst forth, and the specks jolted. He jumped back: they were flying now, and they were *everywhere*, up on the ceiling, down on the tile, and all along the shower curtain. Brian scrambled out of the bathroom without a second glance.
He was sticky all day. His head itched with dander, and his bangs dripped with oil that left his forehead dotted with pimples. Brian was dirty; he knew it, and he knew his coworkers knew it. They could see it on him, could smell it on him, their disgust concealed behind tired 9-to-5 smiles. They addressed him once at arm's length and never returned, leaving him to swelter in his cubicle. All throughout work, he could feel the dirt seeping from his pores, the sweat pooling in his seats, the flies crawling along his arms...
Brian shuddered and adjusted his monitor, trying to reorient himself. But every peripheral motion was a fly buzzing around his head, a nasty, dung-laden fly waiting for the perfect moment to alight upon him. He closed his eyes and buried his head in his palms. The cursor blinked on the monitor a thousand times more before he permitted himself to leave.
At the bus stop, Brian slumped onto the bench. The glass box protected him from any insect-based assaults; however, it was not enough to repel people. As Brian sat there and perspired, a man came strolling around the block. He was lanky and lean and wore a stocking cap and an oversized jacket despite the heat. Brian inadvertently made eye contact, and there was no taking it back: the man sidled up to him, shoving any notion of personal space to the wayside. He smelled like a thrift store.
"Hey, man, hey, what's your name?" Between the tremor in his nod and the malodor on his breath, Brian decided he knew all he needed to know about the guy. Brian gave him his name, and he smiled, showing off a golden tooth. "I'm Aaron," he said.
Brian nodded and willed the bus to arrive sooner. "Say, Brian," Aaron said, "I've been kind of down on my luck lately..."
"I've got no change on me, sorry." The excuse popped from his mouth, pre-heated and preemptive, and Brian felt the stickiness exponentiate. *Whatever*, he thought, *I don't owe him anything*.
"Hey, hey, that's alright, man," Aaron said, but he didn't go away. He sat there, nodding, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. The smell of smoke commingled with Aaron's grime and Brian's sweat; the bus stop was turning into a dumpster fire.
"Do you mind?" Brian snapped.
Aaron breathed out a spurt of smoke. "Hey, sorry, man. Gotta have my smokes. We all got our vices, don't we?" He took another hit and chuckled. The chuckle turned into a hack, and Aaron doubled over, coughing loud and hard into the crook of his arm. Spittle flew over his elbow and struck Brian in the cheek and on his shirt. He recoiled, springing to his feet.
"Do you *mind*?" Brian said again, and he flapped his arms in a dance of disgust, trying to wave himself clean. He stared at the spit stain dripping next to his tie: traces of brown seeped through the fabric. Brian cursed and stomped his foot. "You're sick!"
"Hey, geeze, man. I'm sorry." Aaron shrugged with his hands and reclined on the bench. "Just a little spit; it's all. I ain't diseased or anything..."
Disgusting. Everything was disgusting today, and worst of all, Brian couldn't take a shower without walking into a den of flies. He stared at the road, brimming with frustration, before turning back around to see that Aaron had laid himself out on the entire bench. His eyes were shut, and the cigarette dangled from his fingertips, still alight.
"Just what are you doing? People sit on that bench."
Aaron reopened his eyes and gave Brian a withering stare. "And I sleep on this bench, every night," he said, and as he closed his eyes again, Brian could feel the grime, the dirty, ashen, homeless grime, seeping into his pants seat.
The bus couldn't come sooner, and Brian treated the sleeping Aaron to one last look of disdain before boarding. As the bus crawled along the outside of the park, he made a mental note to find another station to wait at. He peered out the window, scanning for stops, only to be greeted with another unpleasant sight. Backlit by the sunset, dozens and dozens of people were making their way around the perimeter of the park, clad in the same ratty coats and dirty jeans as Aaron's. They laid claim to open benches and picnic tables, marking their territory with trash and bodily fluids. In the distance, through the shrubs and trees, Brian could discern even more of them; they were crawling all over the park, a black, writhing mass of homelessness.
Brian swore never to set foot in the park again.
When Brian got home, he saw, with a jolt of panic, he had left the bathroom door ajar. He gritted his teeth and made his way blindly down the hallway, ignoring every insect-like prickle. He passed the bathroom and went straight to his bedroom, collapsing on his bed and curling up under the covers.
The flies were everywhere now. They were on his ceiling and in his dressers, flying and crawling and speckling the room with excrement. They would lay their eggs in every damp corner and in his mouth as he slept. He could get rid of them, maybe, but they'd still be there, walls plastered by their guts—and memories of guts after they were wiped away.
He closed his eyes and let the darkness save him from the flies. | 2016-10-06T21:40:16 | 2016-10-06T19:10:16 | 1,292 | 130 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | I had originally thought my superpower was a bit of a joke. I suppose it still is pretty lame. I can't cause any real destruction with it, but nobody jokes around me anymore. I started exacting vengeance a couple weeks ago on those who had previously bullied me for "not having a power". In truth, I did but it's a very subtle power.
I can feel my power beginning to slowly take a toll on my enemies. For example, I can visibly see the results of using my powers on my coworker, Carol. Her crime? She always takes my stapler from my desk without asking. She used to be snarky around me but now whenever I see her, she just looks depressed. The best part is that she doesn't even know what's causing it.
Me, a laughing stock? I'd like to see my enemies try to laugh at me. That is, if they can. Because no one's laughing anymore.
Literally. | I smiled. I couldn´t stop it. The view was too fantastic.
"Eric, please stop this.". Oh the whimpering i heard in her voice. " Stop it? WHY should i stop it? You always said you wanted a son who could achieve something great, and now look. Look at this. Isn´t this something truly great?". Ah, she can´t look. Can´t look at her own mistake. Can´t look at this burning city so far below our feet. "Eric why did you do this? Why all this victims, all those innocent people?". She is begging me. Ha. Begging to ME. "You don´t know why i did this? You? You of all the people should know the best why i did this. You and father never once showed pride fro me. Never showed that you care for me or that you love me. OH NO. The only emotions you ever gave me was hate, despise and on some lucky days you took pity, but never love. You only ever showed me that i was dirt for you. Something you despise. That i was below you and that you were ashamed that i was your son. And what for? Only because i didn´t have such great powers like you two. Because i wasn´t the prodigy i hoped i would be.
But now this time is over. You know i did find a way to use my powers. ON MY OWN. I look to what i am capable. Look what i can achieve.". I look back at her. I am calm. For the first time in years i am free of all bounds. I look at the meat pile what was once father. Haaa the memory of the victory over him is so sweet. But he is still moving. I am surprised. I truly am. But he is not one greatest heroes for no reason. Well maybe it´s better so. "Look who joins us in our little family conversation. Hey, Dad, still alive i see.". He grunted. "Do you think you can stop us, or others? You truly are a failure of a son like a always thought.". "Failure? You still say this. After all what if done? After all what you´ve done? Can i remind you of the countless times you punished me just because i was existing? And what punishment i recieved. Oh when the world would know what a person is great hero truly is. At home. To his own child. But enough monologuing. I don´t want to give you a chance to get some stupid ideas. This here." I raise my arms. "This here is all your fault and yours alone. You made my life a misery now it´s my turn". Mother is crying, she seems not to be able to comprehend it, and father... Father is almost gone. Only clinging to a small freckle of life left in him.
I raise my arms again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Emergency News
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Dear Citizens,
today i come here with a sad message for you. Today in the morning hours our capital got completely destroyed. Rescue Teams are searching the ruins for any survivors but the hope to find any is slim. The only thing that didn´t get destroyed was the television tower. On Top the Teams found the corpse of our beloved hero Menace. Next to him they found a notice. It says: Dear people of this planet. I AM MISERY and i will come to all of you. | 2017-06-12T07:39:18 | 2017-06-12T05:44:01 | 39 | 25 |
[WP] You wake up by a dusty road with 1,000 Mexican pesos and a note from your Spanish teacher: "Este es el examen final" | "Éste es el examen final" leía la nota atada a mi pecho. Después de levantarme del suelo y revisar que no tenga ninguna herida grave me puse a investigar donde estaba.
Era mi último año de preparatoria y con un poco de suerte ya no iba a tener que preocuparme de estudiar materias que nunca me iban a ser útiles. Solo necesitaba un poco de ayuda antes de los exámenes finales.
Mirando a mi alrededor me di cuenta de que estaba en alguna carretera desierta, mi mochila estaba casi vacía, lo único dentro de ella una billetera con 1000 pesos. Como iba a salir de esta? Como llegué aquí? Porque tenía 1000 pesos? Que tan lejos estaba del df?
Lo último que recordaba era estar esperando mi turno para hablar con mi profesor de física para ver si podía hacer algo para mejorar mis notas antes del examen final. Recuerdo haber escuchado algo extraño mientras esperaba, la curiosidad me invadió y abrí la puerta sin antes tocar. El profesor estaba de pie recostado contra la pizarra y al parecer alguien estaba de rodilla en frente de el, me acuerdo que me sorprendí al ver esto y di media vuelta, y justo antes de salir del cuarto sentí un dolor punzante en la nuca.
Ayer lo único que quería era terminar la prepa. Hoy lo único que quiero es encontrar una manera de volver a casa.
---------
Ive never written before here and I'm probably not a great writer but I thought it would be fun to give this topic a twist. | I woke to a pounding headache. The money was ominous the note worse. When I got home, I was going to murder that Spanish bastard, even if I kind of deserved it.
In my first, bleary-eyed survey of the landscape, I nearly tripped over a small pack. It contained a towel, a trowel, a hat, a sheet of mostly clear plastic, a pipe with Sioux carvings on it, and a pillow. So he had read my paper, but not the bibliography. Bastard.
In my second, frustrated circuit, I found the staff and my phone, dead of course. If Señor had been trying to convince me that there was no God, he was doing a good job. Fortunately, my comparative world religions professor, aside from being a bastard, had an overdeveloped sense of irony. I'd stared at enough maps of Ixitlan while writing the thrice-damned paper that I knew the area instantly. This was either going to be awesome, or fatal.
Being among the very whitest of the white men, I was going to need cover in a couple hours, but for now I made my way South, smashing a button here and an herb there, until I reached a hill with a rock overhang that would shade me from the sun through the most UVtastic part of the day..
I drank just a tiny bit of the prickly pear juice I'd collected, just enough to let me swallow without pain. The rest of the siesta was spent pounding, grinding and generally making a sticky paste out of most of the plants I'd grabbed. With the glob drying on a cactus paddle I'd collected at no small cost to my hands (Bastard could have left me some gloves), I sat back under the overhang and slipped the button under my tongue.
I'm going to skip this next part. Suffice it to say, I got sick, just like everyone else. Keith Richards I ain't.
The sun cleared out of the way, rising back into a verdigris sky to start the afternoon. I put her behind me and walked on, moving carefully as I got used to sperating the terrain that is from the terrain that might have been. It's not easy, when the differences are often so tiny. Fortunately, there was a low hillock nearby that had the last ingredient I needed. It was on the unreal side, but that was ok, since at least 3 of me were sufficiently fictional to make the climb. No great alien flower, no mystic mineral, just another kind of cactus that normally grew a couple days walk to the north. I guess that's what the money was for.
While I was finishing the recipe and packing the pipe, the overhang had gotten bored and left, so I needed another place to hang out. I followed a pack of spectral dogs back to their den, and crawled my physical self inside to bed down. I stuck the pillow under my head and lit the pipe, stretching out in the home barely bigger than a capsule-hotel room. The entrance was on the downhill side of the chamber, so it was only a few minutes before the little smoke filled the air all around. I closed my eyes, set the pipe aside, and began running through Erase the Body, which isn't really part of Dreaming, but it really helps when you need to go to sleep fast.
I'm going to skip this part too, since there are some childhood memories I don't want to share.
"Madre de Dios!" shouted Señor when I appeared, covered in dust, sunburn, psychedelic smoke, and nothing else. His 4:00 appointment turned bright red, dumped me off of the chair we were both trying to occupy, and ran out, screaming. After a moment, he blinked and said "A+ for using the technique, successfully, -1 for appearing naked in a female student's lap, -3 for raising uncomfortable questions about the nagual at a Catholic University. You get an A if you leave now, find some pants, and tell no one.".
"Deal"
Multi-edit: Mobile cleanup | 2017-06-29T11:12:03 | 2017-06-29T09:51:13 | 255 | 26 |
[WP] You wake up by a dusty road with 1,000 Mexican pesos and a note from your Spanish teacher: "Este es el examen final" | I woke up with a major headache. I felt in my pockets and found some pesos and the note stating that this was my final exam.
No problemo, I thought to myself. I was in a level 300 class, and had aced all the assignments this semester. So I strolled confidently into the town I could see in the distance.
When I got into town, I was nearly dying of thirst. I went into the nearest bar.
"Un agua, por favor," I told the bartender. He got me a bottled water, and I used some of the pesos to pay him. As I was drinking my water, I looked around the bar and noted a little Mexican cutie. She caught me staring and came up to me.
"Hola, me llamo Daniel."
"Hola Daniel, me llamo María."
"Much gusto, María."
Noting my accent, she asked where I was from. I told her I was from the States.
"Como llegaste aquí?" - How did you get here, she asked.
"No sé, yo me despertaba en la calle." - I don't know, I just woke up on the street. We started talking, and talked back and forth for the rest of the night. At the end of the night, we exchanged numbers. I walked out if the bar feeling exuberant.
As I left, I noticed one of the Spanish professors from my college. Sidling up to him, I asked how I did.
"C," he simply responded.
"C?" I asked, incredulous. I had always gotten straight A's in school.
" You used the imperfect when you should have used the preterite tense. It's 'me desperté.'
I screamed in frustration. Curse you Spanish, and your two past tenses!
| I woke to a pounding headache. The money was ominous the note worse. When I got home, I was going to murder that Spanish bastard, even if I kind of deserved it.
In my first, bleary-eyed survey of the landscape, I nearly tripped over a small pack. It contained a towel, a trowel, a hat, a sheet of mostly clear plastic, a pipe with Sioux carvings on it, and a pillow. So he had read my paper, but not the bibliography. Bastard.
In my second, frustrated circuit, I found the staff and my phone, dead of course. If Señor had been trying to convince me that there was no God, he was doing a good job. Fortunately, my comparative world religions professor, aside from being a bastard, had an overdeveloped sense of irony. I'd stared at enough maps of Ixitlan while writing the thrice-damned paper that I knew the area instantly. This was either going to be awesome, or fatal.
Being among the very whitest of the white men, I was going to need cover in a couple hours, but for now I made my way South, smashing a button here and an herb there, until I reached a hill with a rock overhang that would shade me from the sun through the most UVtastic part of the day..
I drank just a tiny bit of the prickly pear juice I'd collected, just enough to let me swallow without pain. The rest of the siesta was spent pounding, grinding and generally making a sticky paste out of most of the plants I'd grabbed. With the glob drying on a cactus paddle I'd collected at no small cost to my hands (Bastard could have left me some gloves), I sat back under the overhang and slipped the button under my tongue.
I'm going to skip this next part. Suffice it to say, I got sick, just like everyone else. Keith Richards I ain't.
The sun cleared out of the way, rising back into a verdigris sky to start the afternoon. I put her behind me and walked on, moving carefully as I got used to sperating the terrain that is from the terrain that might have been. It's not easy, when the differences are often so tiny. Fortunately, there was a low hillock nearby that had the last ingredient I needed. It was on the unreal side, but that was ok, since at least 3 of me were sufficiently fictional to make the climb. No great alien flower, no mystic mineral, just another kind of cactus that normally grew a couple days walk to the north. I guess that's what the money was for.
While I was finishing the recipe and packing the pipe, the overhang had gotten bored and left, so I needed another place to hang out. I followed a pack of spectral dogs back to their den, and crawled my physical self inside to bed down. I stuck the pillow under my head and lit the pipe, stretching out in the home barely bigger than a capsule-hotel room. The entrance was on the downhill side of the chamber, so it was only a few minutes before the little smoke filled the air all around. I closed my eyes, set the pipe aside, and began running through Erase the Body, which isn't really part of Dreaming, but it really helps when you need to go to sleep fast.
I'm going to skip this part too, since there are some childhood memories I don't want to share.
"Madre de Dios!" shouted Señor when I appeared, covered in dust, sunburn, psychedelic smoke, and nothing else. His 4:00 appointment turned bright red, dumped me off of the chair we were both trying to occupy, and ran out, screaming. After a moment, he blinked and said "A+ for using the technique, successfully, -1 for appearing naked in a female student's lap, -3 for raising uncomfortable questions about the nagual at a Catholic University. You get an A if you leave now, find some pants, and tell no one.".
"Deal"
Multi-edit: Mobile cleanup | 2017-06-29T11:09:35 | 2017-06-29T09:51:13 | 139 | 26 |
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