prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] As it turns out, humans are not the generic, good guy, center of the galaxy type species. Humans are a specialist species, and the rest of the galaxy only cares about one thing when it comes to humanity. Our explosives. | The history of a galactic race can sometimes appear inevitable. The steady step by step advancement in technology, as an intelligent race learns to first dominate their planet, then their system, and eventually advance into the galaxy to join the growing intragalactic community. Every race, if maybe at different paces, will eventually learn to harness the energy of their planet, escape the atmosphere, and learn to travel between the stars. Sometimes however, a mere coincidence of timing can change the course of a race’s history.
The Pontiff of the Orion Republic followed his human guide down the corridor of the *Reckoning* battle cruiser. From what the Pontiff understood this was the flagship of their home system fleet, the humans were clearly trying to put on an impressive display for this demonstration. You could always tell human construction from any other race’s. It was cleaner, with more sharp corners and hard edges. Pure efficiency. The Pontiff rarely had the chance to deal with humans before this point, but even still he admired this facet of their culture, and even considered trying to push his own people in a similar direction. But admiring the design of their ships was not the reason the Pontiff was here.
“Just this way sir.” His escort told him, opening the door and stepping aside to let the Pontiff pass. “The Admiral will be waiting inside, ready to start the demonstration.” The pontiff continued into the room.
It was a spacious room, with several couches arranged facing a large window that dominated one wall, showing an impressive view of the blue green planet the humans called home. The admiral, along with a handful of other military personal, stood as the Pontiff entered the room.
“Pontiff.” The admiral said, stepping forward.
“Admiral.” The pontiff said in turn.
“We would hate to waste your time. So if you are ready we’ll get straight to the demonstration.”
“Thank you for the consideration. By all means begin.” The Pontiff sat in one of the couches, the admiral taking one nearby. To his mild surprise, the window began to dim somewhat. He looked to the admiral.
“A mere precaution.”
“Of course. Admiral I must admit, while I appreciate your willingness to provide such a demonstration for the Republic on such short notice, I have to say I’ve always found the use of explosives somewhat crude. And it was quite the debate among the councils deciding whether the trip here would even be worth it. I mean no offense by this, but why bother with explosives when our plasma cannons are precise enough to disable the largest battleships from great distances in a matter of minutes?”
“No offense is taken I assure you. The demonstration would hardly be necessary if you were already convinced. Now I believe the demonstration will begin any moment now.”
Outside the window, a star was being born.
Most galactic races at some point or another discover nuclear energy. It’s one of those things most scholars believe to be a necessary step in their advancement. It was a particular coincidence of timing with humans however, that the discovery of nuclear energy coincided with the largest war known to their history. And it was because of this war, that nuclear technology was taken in a very different direction than that of most races.
Outside the window, the star persisted, a brilliant mass of destructive energy that even through the dimmed window, forced the Pontiff to squint. Then, all at once, it was gone. A moment later a shudder passed through the ship. The Pontiff only then realized he had stood. Forget a matter of minutes, that single explosion could destroy an entire battleship in seconds. With a handful of those, battles could be won practically as soon as they started.
“Admiral, that was incredible. I would never have assumed such destructive power was possible. I assure you, you will have my full support when I bring this back to the Republic, and…”
“Pontiff, please.” The admiral interrupted. “The demonstration is far from over.”
“It isn’t? I’ve seen your explosive device and I’m convinced. You hardly need to set off any more.”
“How much human history do you know Pontiff?”
“I’ve heard a summary I believe, but will admit a sparse one at that.”
“This is the bomb we show at the start of all of our demonstrations. It is a replica of the ‘Fat Man’ bomb, our first, and by far our smallest”
“Smallest? How much larger can they get.”
“Quite large in fact, now for the next demonstration we’ll have to take a short to just beyond Earth’s gravity well, as any closer could be dangerous to the planet.” | Ever since humanity first came in contact with the Naveen a few years ago, my little ordinance shop out in the deserts of rural Nevada turned into an emporium of sorts that the aliens tended to frequent on their way to go fight off some distant war to ‘protect their assets’ or something. I didn’t really know why they needed the explosives I had stocked up, but as long as I was making a killing, I didn’t care.
I was manning the counter one day when a Naveen walked up to me with a fistful of dollars in its tentacle.
“Howdy! Welcome to Storm Artillery. What can I get for ya?” I greeted my customer, grinning. The Naveen turned on its translator before it began to speak to me.
“Yes, hello, hu-man. I wish to purchase some of your highest quality plastic explosive.” It spoke in its synthesized voice. “The Council has tasked us with acquiring as much of this substance so that we may be victorious against the Har’un’s most recent offensive.”
“Well, you’re in luck then, my big purple friend. I just received a fresh stock of ordinance from the army’s surplus. It’s gonna cost you, though.”
“This should be suffice for my purchase.” The alien handed me the stack of hundreds in its hand. I grimaced a little as I took them, trying to get over the fact that they were covered in a thin layer of slime.
“Now, I require approximately forty-five kilograms of high grade plastic explosive.”
“Alrighty, then. Gimme a second...” I left my customer at the counter and came back a few minutes later with five boxes of satchel charges. “Here you go. Forty-five kilos of C4. Will you need help moving them into your, uh, ship?” I glanced at the UFO that had been idling behind the Naveen.
“That won’t be necessary, hu-man.” It replied, using some kind of weird ray gun to teleport its purchase into its ship before it left to who knows where.
“You take care now!” I bid farewell to my customer long after it had left the atmosphere.
| 2018-07-16T07:33:47 | 2018-07-16T06:42:05 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] With all life on Earth on the edge of extinction, humanity attempts to establish a legacy using the panspermia theory.
Panspermia- The hypothesis that life is distributed across the universe via astroids/spaceships/etc.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panspermia | Carl Hitchcock gazed at the capsule of putrid black slime; humanities only solace in light of the coming apocalypse. The meteor was to smash into Earth in less than a weeks time, and Hitchcock would spend his last seconds hugging his wife and children. He would be safe in the knowledge that he had developed humanities crowning glory, even as he came to know nothing at all. Over a thousand canisters of the New Eden Virus, NEV-5, were launched at viable cosmic bodies. Upon reaching their new homes, they would open, and the virus inside would turn the barren land to thriving new Earths. Humanity was determined that their extinction would not be universes.
***
Kel watched the fire streak across the sky, felt fear shoot through his limbs. His spines shot out from his back involuntarily and he cried out for his hunting partner.
Mek appeared from the shadows of the jungle before him, Kel's fear is reflected in Mek's own eye. The fire was surely doing the evil God Lum, who's evil glow burned the sensitive eyes of the tribespeople. Lum was reaching out from his realm of light to steal the dark times of comfort from them. His dreaded finger reached the ground, and a mighty roar was let out stunning, Kel and reducing Mek to a shivering lump.
Then... silence. The shadows returned. The creatures of the jungle resumed their song. Noct! Noct had come and defeated the evil.
"Quickly Mek! We must go to the site of his victory and give our thanks!"
They ran through the jungle, shouting in adulation. They reached the site of the battle and quieted at the smell of smoke and death. Kel beckoned Mek , ever the more cautious of the pair, they moved to the centre of the huge scar that now cut through the landscape.
"Mek, look there!"
A smooth object lay at the end of the scar. It was like nothing they had ever seen before. It was a cylinder of a material that moved like the gas that flowed in the rivers that wound through the jungle, but it was solid as any tree . It was blacker even than the darkness around it, and Kel could not see through it, even though the shadows around it were clear enough under his photoreceptive gaze.
"Mek... it is Lum's severed finger, cut off by the great Noct!"
Mek looked on in awe and horror, clearly stuck between the fear of evil and the strange beauty that the flowing substance had. Their spines shout out in unison as a hiss from the object shot through them. The force seemed to change, and Kel grasped that it was an object that he could see the outlines of but also see *through* like the air itself made real. It encompassed and contained the strange gas.
A gas that now flowed out of the container and onto the ground.
It quivered for a second and then flowed over a purple shrub. Hypnotized they watched as it outlined the shrub, before retracting. Mek cawed in horror as the darkness retracted from the shrub. Beautiful purple had been replaced with a deathly green. The darkness spread in all directions to the closest trees, and Mek saw that it had grown. He knew in that moment that it was death, and that it would not stop until it had consumed all life. They turned together and ran, reading each other as they had on countless Bantei hunts
They must warn the others
| Only two revolutions were left. Then, nothing. The beautiful star that once birthed everything we know, was about to take back what's hers. With machines having explored the planets within hundreds of light years, bearing no results, humans had to conclude that life - even the simplest form - was more rare than ever expected. So rare, that it had to be preserved?
Computers all around the planet united, scanning and calculating, searching for the optimal candidates. In a construct deep in the ocean, the only place where surface heat could be escaped, a group of people sat down in a bright room staring at a dark screen.
Suddenly the next result appeared. Everyone looked up:
SYSTEM: NTHTHR 2718
ESTIMATED PLANET MASS: 6E24 Kg
DISTANCE TO NEAREST STAR: 150E6 Km
AGE: 1.2E9 Years
LIFE: Not enough data, chances at natural evolution 0.24 PBY.
CHEMISTRY : Liquid H2O, 80-20 N-O atmospheric dominance
"Permission granted" said the Director.
| 2015-03-11T10:52:01 | 2015-03-11T09:58:02 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Valhalla is filled with the strongest warriors the world has ever known. Vikings, Spartans, Mongols, Romans, Samurai, Spetznaz, JSOC Operators. And in that corner over there? That's Ted, from accounting.
Valhalla is the hall of fallen warriors that is ruled over by Odin in Asgard. Half of all those who die in combat will be chosen by Odin to join him at the feast hall of Valhalla and prepare for the final battle during the events of Ragnarök. | "My friends," Ulfur The Brute said, his face a shocking contrast of rich, handsome features, his voice the deep baritone of a man who had conquered the sea, while his body was emaciated by the onslaught of 50 swords that had hacked into him in a desperate bid to stop him at all costs from laying waste to Great King Heimdahl's glorious castle.
"I see the awesome Hannes Hannessohn here, who brutally hacked his way through the land of the Norse until he was subdued by a stampede of wild boars; I notice the proud helm of Marduk, Prince of the Eastern kingdom, who rode his fleet down a river of blood on the way to victory, only to be cut short by a well-aimed arrow from the bow of his nemesis; there is Mighty Jake, fierce warrior whose only weaknesses were women and drink and to whom he succumbed after taking on 100 of the king's best men to stop him from asking for the princesse's hand in holy matrimony; there is my good friend, Dragomir the Landstander, who let all the women in the land of Queen Gertrude escape at the cost of an army of Orcs; and what about the Great Damien himself, Hail to thee oh master, the feats of your cunning and heroism are the companions of camp fires and long horseback journeys alike as your admirers multiply throughout the ages. The only man I do not see, the One for whom even I would bend a knee, Hashimoto himself, who commanded an army of thousands and collected the heads of his foes as prizes, I had expected to see him here today, among all these, the very finest warriors this world has ever seen. Where, pray tell is he? And why does mine eye fall upon the diminutive features of...*that* creature?" he said as he pointed towards Ted from accounting.
A terse silence descended upon the crowd. To a man they gazed upon Ted with a mixture of utter contempt and cautious restraint.
"That," Sukubor, Father of Many said, in his usual sardonic tone "Is Ted. Ted from Accounting. Ted, by far, is the greatest warrior here."
"That?!" Ulfur cried out in derision. "This scrawny chicken would best the finest warriors who ever lived? This runt is worthy to stay in this, the most lofty Hall ever created? He has defeated Indomitable Hashimoto and his dread armies?" He had to pause in shocked disbelief. "How, by the beard of mighty Wotan himself, did he manage to do that?"
Sukubor leaned back, a chicken leg comfortably stuck between his teeth. "Ted here, is from accounting. He pulled the at once mightiest and laziest feat of daring in the history of military warfare."
Ulfur was nearly apoplectic "**TELL ME HOW HE DID THAT!!!!**"
Sukubor suppressed a chuckle. "He simply amortised the entire army, every man, woman, child, animal, all the equipment and treasure, the whole lot. Then he backdated it to the end of the last fiscal quarter. And that is how you do that. No more proud Hashimoto and his 1000-houri-harem. No more daring feats, no more heroics, no more pillage and plunder. They were written off in one fell swoop and then he simply closed the books." He stopped to pluck a piece of chicken from between his teeth. "It's a great job if you can get it, apparently." | Numbers bring me peace. Numbers bring me tranquility. Meditation through the mundane. When I am lost in the digits, my mind is free from all the terror I have seen, all the terror I must have caused.
Countless enemies I have slain, but it never seems to end. To kill someone is to wrong another, how many have I wronged? How many fathers have I taken from sons? How many holes have I punched in the lives of others with the swing of a sword?
The glory of battle is intoxicating. The glory of battle is addicting. Glory through death. I was lost in its divine energy, total focus of body and mind, I am the master of the moment.
I do not believe I am just anymore. Without total self-conviction, you see the terror of taking a life. There is no such thing as a doubtful warrior, so I will sit here, counting. No more shall I be the terror I once was.
Forever I will sit here, living with what I have done, questioning if it was right.
...Plus, the benefits are really good here. | 2015-05-08T15:08:36 | 2015-05-08T15:03:30 | 54 | 21 |
[WP] No one in the galaxy ever assumed that Earth would amount to anything because of its extreme gravity for a life-bearing world - anything trying to escape the planet's gravity well would need to BE 97% fuel weight, and the idea that they would try was a ludicrous concept.
Repost, no one responded before.
EDIT: Thank you guys so much! I never expected something so small to turn great and take reddit by storm! But keep in mind, this wasn't me. I simply reposted. The real hero is a reddit user named AnCapGamer, the original creator of this prompt. | "We will now be opening for questions," the gooey grey alien in the suit said, turning to the audience.
Behind him, Mark Wilson smiled. He risked a glance at himself in the mirror in the back of the conference room – his silhouette against the white light of the power point presentation onscreen behind him was lean and tall, like a very successful turkey breast roll. He pointed at an alien with its hands up on the front row.
"Mr. Wilson, could you repeat the part about the gravity and the space travel? I mean, I understand you guys
conquered your own moon, but how!?"
Mark smiled at the alien. A very faint roar reached his ears from up above, but he ignored it for the time being.
"Like I said, the biggest part of it is getting the ship out of the atmosphere. We burn fuel to do that, so we can –"
"Fuel?"
"Yes, that's dinosaur juice that's been sitting under the Earth for millions of years."
The aliens exchanged impressed looks. "What about breathing in space?"
"Well, unlike most species in the galaxy, earthlings can only survive inside the atmosphere of their own planet. So
we had to develop a suit that could maintain pressure and oxygen levels stable in our bodies."
Another murmur ran through the room. Mark held on to his smile.
The roaring sound grew louder, but still Mark ignored it. *Not yet.*
Everything amazed the aliens. It was so easy. He had given motivational speeches on Earth before, but damn if interspace motivation wasn't so much better. You could do an hour on not giving up on your dreams using the invention of the toaster oven as a central theme. The first pizza and the importance of indulgence. Roller blades and how acknowledging the futility of life can lead to a better you.
Really. The aliens didn't have gravity. Or atmosphere. Or wars. Or pretty much anything to deal with. They conquered space travel the day they learned how to jump. Their bodies didn't need food or sunlight or water to survive.
Those guys… the space equivalent of spoiled little brats. Eager to learn as much as they could about the burden of
mankind – or, in other words:
"How the hell did you guys find time and energy to accomplish so much?"
"Well," Mark said, pacing from one side of the stage to another. "We set goals and we work towards them."
"Goals?"
"Yes, like landing on the moon. Curing smallpox. Ending world hunger."
More hands shot to the air. Mark pointed at one at random. "And what are mankind's plans for the future?"
The roaring was now loud enough that few could keep ignoring it. Half the aliens had their heads still turned to
Mark, half were looking around searching for the source.
"Well, that's the funny thing," Mark said, stopping at the center of the stage. "You guys never had to develop any
technology. You didn't need energy or food, so you never learned to hunt or to build dams. You don't have
predators, so why build shelter? You don't even have gravity, so you never bothered to develop any kind of sophisticated interstellar transportation. You just sort of live here in your little planet, rent free, no trouble. A utopia of happiness."
The aliens nodded in agreement, more and more looking around for the source of the roaring sound.
"Well… we're humans," Mark continued. "We're the scum of the universe. But don't blame it on us – we've been
dealt a shitty hand. So, to make up for it, we've developed all this technology you guys just amazed yourselves with…"
The ceiling blew away, revealing the ships hovering menacingly over the aliens' heads. Bright lights flooded the room, and the faces of human soldiers emerged from black holes in the base of the ships.
"… and now we're using that technology to bomb your planet back to the Stone Age, which technically you never
left," Mark finished. "So we can steal *your* dinosaur juice."
The aliens all exchanged looks, confused. Scared. Mark signaled for the ships to fire.
"We're humans," Mark said, as the laser beam shot down from the mother ship. "And we're bad as shit."
| "*Who* did you say?" the old creature asked as he furrowed his brow and looked up from the growing pile of petitions.
"Humans. Third planet from the Sun. They've gone and escaped their atmosphere," the red face answered from a safe distance. The usual youthful exuberance was gone, replaced by a heavy sense of dread.
"After you said it was impossible?" He nodded timidly and together they peered at the dying blue planet and the swirling white clouds curling over islands and continents packed with billions of humans. Thousands of miles away, a small rocket hurtled through space, rushing towards the next inhabitable planet in search of life. "What are they capable of?" The old creature mumbled softly, as much to himself as to his companion, shuddering as he pondered the possibilities.
"A lot," his companion answered, grimacing in concern. "If they were able to make it out, they can do anything." He paused and frowned. "I... I really didn't think it was possible. I must have just made them too... I thought they were contained," he stammered apprehensively.
"What are they searching for?" The old creature asked, narrowing his eyes in fearful frustration.
"Life. They will always search for life." The two remained silent for a moment as they watched the probe travel unhindered towards the next inhabitable planet. "And if they find it, I think they'll want to destroy it," he added quietly, as if speaking too loudly might will the words to truth.
The old creature shook his head in resignation. "I should never have given you this task, Lucifer. Try as you might, you're far too sinister to be allowed to create your own species."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2016-03-31T13:51:16 | 2016-03-31T13:02:39 | 577 | 199 |
[WP] Turns out zombies do not actually bite, they just lick. This is about the most uncomfortable and awkward apocalypse ever. | When the outbreak first... broke out, the media called them Lickers. A simplistic moniker to be sure, but it was as accurate a descriptor as anyone could come up with. Actually, not just anyone. Everyone. It seemed like all the news outlets had come up with the name independently of each other, and each and every one of them was privately patting themselves on the back for their unique cleverness.
I don't remember where it started, but it was everywhere before adequate containment was possible. Perhaps it was the ridiculous name, coupled with the ridiculous symptoms, but at first, despite its pervasiveness, people did not take the epidemic seriously. Skeptics dismissed it as just some kind of ‘mass hysteria’ and no real disease, comparing the phenomenon to the Dancing Plague of the sixteenth century. There were the inevitable attention seekers, who thought it was all a game, a meme, and went about licking their friends as a joke. Scientists remained baffled, unable to determine the cause, be it viral, bacterial, parasitic, psychosomatic... and neither were they able to determine any adverse side-effects, besides the debilitating, all-consuming desire to lick everyone within sensory range.
Sure, those infected felt irresistibly compelled to lick their fellow humans, but... that was it. Nothing happened. Those licked were seemingly unaffected, and there was no guarantee of transmission, apparently. When quarantined, subjects would contentedly lick themselves, unless offered an alternative. Those first few weeks were a confusing, disturbing time for the world. Would that we could have remained in that limbo, we might have found a cure in time.
The incubation period of the disease was unknown, as the cause and manner of infection were likewise unknown, but it was estimated that about five weeks after patients first exhibited compulsive licking behaviour, they began undergoing drastic physiological changes. Subjects lost all hair and teeth, and their skin became clammy and sallow. Their necks became swollen, and they lost their ability to speak beyond reedy moans and groans.
As aforementioned, though many jurisdictions were maintaining quarantine of the infected subjects, containment in other areas was inadequate, if it was enforced at all. There were reports every hour of new roving hordes of Lickers, all of them exhibiting these new, physical transformations, attacking unaffected citizens all around the world. Militaries were mobilized to counteract the threat, but they could not keep up with the rate of infection, especially when their own ranks were vulnerable.
No one was laughing anymore. Panic was widespread, as people fell victim to the Lickers, and there was nowhere to hide besides the most remote of locales, and even those were no guarantee of safety.
Like the classic zombie, the Lickers hunger for living flesh. But they have no teeth, you may recall. So instead, they must needs digest their prey prior to ingestion. That’s where the licking comes in. Their saliva contains powerful digestive enzymes and acids, secreted by glands in the neck, which liquefy skin and bone. You can imagine the rest; I won’t force you to endure further description.
They are themselves immune to the effects of their own digestive juices—something to do with the slimy coating on their skin, which incidentally makes them incompatible with colder climes—but we fragile humans are not. We last remaining pockets of civilization have abandoned any pretense of finding a cure, of reclaiming our lost homes. We can only wait for the hordes to die off, as their sources of food are gradually depleted.
They abhor the cold; so we hide, huddled together in the snowy northern tundra, or the southern ice sheets, comforted by the thought that despite their extensive degeneration, the zombies at least have the enduring sense to not lick the frozen Poles.
| We have been wandering around in the ruins of civilization for many years. It is our home now. We have long forgotten our old days when humanity was out and about, without a care in the world.
However, everything Changed when reports of the dead rising got on the news. The worst and weirdest part, they push you in hope that you get a scratch or cut. Then they proceed to jump on you and lick the blood. Turns out, zombies are just kinky. Wait, no, not the right prompt for that.
Anyhow, it turns out zombies are just thots. They thirsty!
Now believe it or not, but, you cant turn until you die. You can get infected many ways, but the virus does nothing, it just sits and waits until you die. When you die, your body releases something, I’m not a science guy so no clue, but it releases something that triggers the virus to take over the dying body.
Now here’s the weird thing. I’m right now standing in front of this man. And I know you can’t see it, but picture this. A man on a parade float, with many cuts, in his undies, in the apocalypse, getting, licked, all, over...... his body... truly, this is the apocalypse I thought... and that’s when I blinded myself.
Not what you expected huh | 2019-03-28T21:50:31 | 2019-03-28T21:27:34 | 97 | 52 |
[WP] The prophecy states that the demon could only be defeated by the power of friendship and teamwork. Violence alone won't work. Well you don't like prophecies, and you're pretty sure the ones who wrote the prophecy never considered anybody would unleash nearly as much violence as you're about to. | I've got used to his laughter by now. It began like a trumpet announcing an arrival, before sloping into a wheezing tune, and then dying into silent waves that continued to wrack his body.
It never failed to make me laugh. Today was not like other days, however.
"Who would have thought?" he cried. "Who would have thought that you, a human, and I, a demon, would become the best of friends?"
"Not me," I said, a wistful smile playing on the corners of my lips. "I hated your guts."
"As I did yours," he said. "But look at us now."
Atop a tower, staring imposingly over the sturdy walls of the castle made out of dark stone, so high up that even ivy couldn't climb its way up here, Moros stood up from his gaudy purple chair--the one with a weird stain on the bottom right side that he insisted wasn't human blood--and grandly waved his right hand, his left holding steadily to a cup of dark red wine. It was his favourite drink, after all, and it was due to be opened some day.
What better than the day of reckoning?
"You and I, ruler," he continued. "Once mortal enemies, but now the fastest of friends, conquering your former lands."
I nodded. I stood, pacing besides him.
"Is it not beautiful?" Moros asked. "To see your former home that cast you out, that abandoned you, fall under your capable thumb?"
I rubbed my thumb with my index finger. It felt like a normal thumb. But it had done some terrible things, and it will continue to do some terrible things. I let my hand fall to my hip.
"It is cathartic," I said.
"I told you," Moros said. "It's all about belief. I believe in you, you believe in me, and here we are. Kings of the world."
"Do you believe in prophecies?"
"Prophecies?" he said. He turned towards me, concern in his hellish red eyes. An entirely human emotion in an inhuman being. "Are you alright? You are strange today. You must not be feeling well. Do you need rest?"
I walked up towards him.
"Yes," I said. "I will need a lot of rest. As do you."
The knife was small but sharp. It slipped between his demonic hide, tough as steel, as easily as a scythe reaped souls.
I expected his eyes to turn to anger. Perhaps it would have alleviated what I felt in my own heart, justified what I did.
"Was it necessary?" he asked.
"My friend," I replied. "More than you will ever know."
Violence alone won't work. Friendship and teamwork was the key. That was what the prophecy noted.
But why does the screaming savagery in my heart not quench and quell? Why did defeating the demon not cause me to erupt in elation, and jump in joy?
"So it shall be," Moros smiled. He laughed, even, the final trumpet of Moros, before it turned into a wheeze.
It never failed to make me laugh. Today was not like other days, however.
And finally, Moros' laughter was no more with his last, dying breath.
---
r/dexdrafts | Friendship, they said. Teamwork. Sacrificing your own lives to bind it again. That was the cycle of the prophecy.
I hate prophecy. I hate prophets. I killed they who uttered the demon's prophecy, which, to me, was more proof they were just lies.
I was no king, to lead nations into battle. I was no mage, to tame the world by will and word. I was no paladin, seeking to glorify my god.
I was an assassin, and there were few who could fathom the atrocities I was willing to inflict to bind, banish, or bloody this beastial bastard. It was I who had collapsed the cathedral of Ithinn during her feast, slaughtering hundreds just to claim the life of one novitiate who had slept with the wrong nobleman's daughter. I who chained and burned the Hundredfold Fleet, later to be blamed on a 'freak disaster'. And I would do whatever it took to kill this thing. | 2020-12-01T11:56:05 | 2020-12-01T08:41:01 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You made a Deal with the Devil to be the greatest musician in the world. Thing is you haven’t gotten any *better*, but everyone reacts to your inept scratchings as if they are the greatest symphony ever devised, showering you with wealth and adoration. It’s *really* getting embarrassing | All religion is made out of music, and that’s how he would get him.
Think about it. Hymns, psalms, mantras, nasheeds. Modern poetry, silent poetry, is a historical aberration: in any other culture poetry is song, melody is always there. Plato defined music as made of three components: melody, rhythm, and word. Music is song is the word made special: and what’s religion if not special words?
He had researched a lot, you see. He was taken aback at how easy it is when you’re rich. That’s what they don’t tell you about the accumulation of wealth: that money buys *freedom*, real actual freedom. Wealth begets wealth without you doing a goddamn thing, and for the first time, his time was his. At this point, he played not for the extra income – though each show still generated billions – but for the adoration. He was already the richest person in the world by a large margin, but the adoration was important. It had to be kept alive. Nurtured.
When he thought of his old life, he often found himself wanting to donate it all to charity, to retire in silence. Better yet, topple a few governments here and there. The growing ciphers made him feel ill. There’s so much blood behind the word ‘investment’. But he was on a mission here. Soon there would be no more poverty, no wars.
He read all he could on religion. How they spread. How they win. He hired the world’s foremost experts for long private classes on cultural anthropology, social dynamics, memetics. He studied L. Ron Rubbard, Joseph Smith, Ryuho Okawa, Charles Manson. And he carefully practised all major styles of religious music. At first he thought it wasn’t necessary. Just bang a couple fingers on the guitar strings haphazardly, and the audiences were already entranced. Enraptured. But he wasn’t sure about the rules; contrary to folklore the Devil gave him no contract, no small print to scrutinise. Surely there must be different kinds of musical experience, he figured, and then he tried some experiments: bang a few power chords, slap the guitar body with a thud, and the audience would break into mosh pits. Strum a rudimentary twelve-bar progression and people mellowed down, began sobbing. So he was leaving nothing to chance. Any music training had to be self-taught from online videos. He was very bad at music. But he hoped he could produce something that *leaned towards* religious music more than any other style.
He was preparing for the perfect moment, for economic and environmental catastrophe to begin in earnest. For people to lose all faith in existing systems. For them to crave hope. Then it would be time to hail Satan.
Religion is made out of music. He was the greatest musician in the world, therefore the most captivating prophet in history. And he would bring the masses to the word of the Dark Lord, and the word would be this: Harmony. Kindness. Empathy. Care for the oppressed, love for Nature, flowers, animals. The power of his music would bring the new religion to the farthest corners of Earth. The entirety of humankind would become one happy vegan hippie commune, altruistic, generous, finding happiness in the little things, treasuring nothing more than the love between neighbours. And they would all think Satan did it.
The Devil will be most adored god on Earth, but nobody will know what he actually preaches. | I never really thought I'd get this far. All those lonely nights playing my keyboard at 3AM and uploading short clippets online never really did much for me outside of a couple friends obligated support and a few likes. But now all of a sudden I'm monetized on everything. People actually like my stupid clips. I've since grown to much bigger production all thanks to the sudden opportunities that have arrived my way. I don't understand? It all happened so quick. Just one small clip to go viral. This feeling of respect that I've been yearning for all this time is actually here. I'm now seen as a musician of worth and substance. It's amazing........but at the same time......at what cost? I lost everything I had in the midst of all this success. Falling outs occured, Relationships crumbled. I lost everything that made life really enjoyable. Even the foul attempts at love. I wouldn't have accepted this Ill tempted deal if I knew what would come of it. Before I was depressed, but I had a fall back with my family and friends. Now I'm living my dream yet completely isolated despite the fact I have millions around the world waiting for my next show. I don't know maybe I'm rambli--
"Five Minutes Mr Matt"
*Puts down pen and puts on sunnies*
".............showtime" | 2019-12-02T04:33:46 | 2019-12-02T04:02:50 | 19 | 11 |
[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. | Where did i put it? Where did I put it?
I searched in my drawers, and upended all my clothes onto the floor. My spirit ... my being. My essence.
I had painted a picture a few days ago. It wasn't finished yet. There it was in the art room ... half-coloured in. It was meant to be a grand painting, but I had lost interest in it. Of two lovers, in deep embrace. I had only painted one lover, and the other, the female, was still in pencil. I had tried to put my soul into it ... but it turned out looking very technical. Bland. Dead. Certainly my soul was not in it.
I had written a poem a few weeks ago. Where was it? Somewhere in the depths of my folders. Something about ... God? Ascension? I can't remember anymore. I had stopped half-way ... I had gotten bored. Perhaps my soul wasn't in there, either.
But where could it be?
I sat down on the floor, in exasperation, and tried to remember back. To retrace my steps.
Last Friday. Last week. Last month. No, last year.
I had broken up with a girl ... she had called me dead. Soulless. That I had no feelings. That wasn't true. At least ... I don't think it is. I think I liked her. I did feel pleasure when I was with her. Was that love? I'm not sure. Love is just the effect of endorphins on your body. It's when your brain floods with oxytocin, and produces pleasurable feelings. Do I believe in 'love'? I'm not sure.
5 years back. My boss had asked me where I see myself in five years time. I told him, I had no goals in particular. That did not sit well with him. He told me I needed to have vision, ambition.
My only ambition was to earn enough to have a comfortable retirement.
Ah ... 12 years back. I was still in school. I had just come back from school, and gone straight to my bedroom. It was my sibling's birthday. But I didn't care. I was tired. No one cared about birthdays in my family, anyway. Just another year closer to death.
Death ... DEATH. He was standing right here, expecting an answer, before me.
He looked at me in the eye ... through that eyeless hood ... and yet, I could feel him staring at me. Straight into my 'soul'?
'Your soul,' he said. 'Where is it?'
'I'm afraid I don't know,' I replied. 'Is it not there?'
He rummaged about in the drawers, and then in the cupboard. I had looked there already. And then at a photo on the wall.
It was of me, and my mother. It was my mother's birthday. I was ten. I had baked her a cake. It wasn't a very good one. All I could see was the look of disappointment on my mother's face ... immortalized forever in that photo.
I remember now! I had put all my heart and soul into that cake! And it was thrown out. 'Disgusting,' she had said. She was right. What was I thinking? I felt disgusting, just like the cake. So I threw my soul out into the bin, with the cake.
I had been dead for a very long time, and I never noticed.
Death took the photo down from the wall.
'I will take my leave now,' he said. | I lie in bed and waiting for my last breath
And for a reaper to come take my soul
He will lead me away after my death
He'll take me up to heaven; my great goal
​
And when the reaper Grim came here to meet
I know my death had made something go wrong
He says, "Your soul is gone. It's what I seek.
Return lest your existence will be long."
​
I panicked wond'ring where my soul could go
I thought my life and death would be normal
I questioned Grim if he might maybe know
Wherever it might be; my precious soul
​
He said think of all things I've ever loved
Sometimes a wand'ring soul goes hiding there
I think of all the goals away I shoved
And I think my sad soul is sitting there
​
Now I have learned if you don't live your life
Your soul will sit in sadness and in strife | 2020-04-22T23:18:44 | 2020-04-22T21:37:30 | 78 | 47 |
[WP] Some supervillains have an exotic, dangerous pet to cultivate an air of supervillain-ness. Then there’s you and your capybara. | “The Supervillains Union does not take these matters likely, Mister…Killdemon was it? Interesting name.”
“That’s correct, sir. It’s my mother’s maiden name. Is there an issue with my application?”
Killdemon tugs at his ill-fitted collar and looks around the room. He shifts nervously in his seat. This wasn’t what he anticipated at all. When he applied to the Supervillains Union, he pictured a shadowy cabal and a secret ritual to induct him into the society. Instead, he was in the presence of a rather plain looking man in a rather plain looking office. The nameplate on the desk read Baron Von Struckheimer, but the man sitting across from him looked less like a legendary supervillain and more like a mid-level manager at any accounting firm. The only giveaway that Killdemon was in the right place was Von Struckheimer’s trademark mechanical hand.
“I assure you, Mr. Von Struckheimer, I am applying in earnest. I would never do anything to besmirch the name of the Supervillians Union. It’s been my dream to join ever since I was little.”
“Your resume is impressive. Your references checked out. But one thing sticks out to me.”
“And that would be?”
“Under Section 6, Animal Companions, you listed one Cuddles the Capybara.”
“And?”
“You don’t see anything wrong with that?”
“I’ve had Cuddles since I was young, he was with me at my first robbery and I intend for him to be with me at my last.”
“Listen, kid. Back when I was active in the field, I had a pet of my own. Boa Constrictor. Meaner than any henchman I’ve ever worked with. He struck fear into the hearts of my enemies and allies alike. It’s important for supervillians to be feared and our companions are often key to perpetuating that image. I just don’t see a capybara having that effect.”
“Sir, with all do respect. I wouldn’t be half as successful as I am without Cuddles. Here, I brought him with me.”
Von Struckheimer leans over his desk to inspect the crate next to Killdemon. Inside Cuddles is cheerfully nibbling on his food. He has an eye patch over one eye and a fake scar done in marker over the other. Killdemon removes Cuddles from the crate and hands him to Von Struckheimer. Bewildered, Von Struckheimer takes the rodent.
“He’s very cute, Mr. Killdemon, but I don’t think he fits our image. Wait a second…”
Von Struckheimer catches a glimpse of what Cuddles is chewing on.
“Is that a finger?”
“Fingers are his favorite. I don’t even know where he gets them. Sometimes I’ll come home at night and there are ones I’ve never seen before. I’d give him back before he finishes it.”
Von Struckheimer quickly hands Cuddles back to Killdemon. Killdemon flips Cuddles over and starts giving him a belly rub. Von Struckheimer takes out a pen and makes a few marks on Killdemon’s application before handing it back to Killdemon.
“Congratulations, kid, welcome to the Supervillains Union. Report back here first thing Monday morning. And could you please send in my secretary on your way out?”
“Thank you, sir, you won’t regret this!”
Killdemon excitedly leaves the office. Shortly after, Von Struckheimer’s secretary enters.
“You called, sir?”
“In all my years on the job, I’ve never been one to lose my nerves.”
He holds up his mechanical hand. The index finger is missing.
“But, that is the most terrifying creature I’ve ever seen.”
| "And so you see, Mr. Bond, what I intend to do with the radioactive material..."
"Never mind that, Professor Ratus. What about..."
"Ah yes. You are intrigued by my pet."
I rose from my seat, majestically, and slithered towards the tied-up Agent 007, my faithful Jeremy at my side. Jeremy was a capybara, the king of rodents, the most fitting creature for one such as myself. All my life, I had been ridiculed and abused for my name, Ratus. An infortunate trick of genetics had also given me large front teeth and enormous ears, making the insults doubly hurtful.
But I had proudly stayed above such petty goings-on, studying with all my might, earning doctorates by the handful, and the title of Professor. Only then had my criminal instincts been awoken, by the perspective of holding the entire world to ransom...
"Professor!"
"Calm down, Mr. Bond. Jeremy is a capybara."
"I know that. But what's it doing here?"
"*He* is my only friend in this world, the only one who truly understands my genius. Jeremy has stuck with me through thick and thin, for nearly ten years now. He..."
At that precise moment, I was knocked out by the inimitable James Bond, who had used my own pet to distract me while he untied himself. | 2016-04-28T14:24:01 | 2016-04-28T14:10:33 | 47 | 10 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | The corridors were long and dark, the stone was cold and unyielding. Your naked feet dragged through the floor as manacles made of ethereal power kept you unable to escape, to move, to step away from the incoming fate.
You had had years to think this through, years scratching little squiggles on the mirror surface of your cell as your box floated, one window projected the starry sky, the other... the execution grounds.
The Court was cruel in that way, they allowed the inmates to see the deaths, you were free to ignore them of course, force yourself to watch into the illusion to spend the time, watch and let the minutes and hours and days bleed away until it was your turn.
Not you, you had kept a very close eye on those executions.
It was execution by Genie.
One single wish, one that the old Genie would twist into one for your instantaneous demise. You had heard the stories, the more wishes a Genie granted the more powerful it would become. And this one?
This Genie was almost as old as the Court itself.
And its power to grant wishes was truly something to stand in awe of.
Wish for death of old age? Then you become decrepit within the snap of fingers, your heart stopping right after. Wish to die in combat? Then the Genie himself will let you fight some nightmarish abomination. Wish to die along your enemy? A snap of the fingers, they would die, but the Genie would bring the others back to life.
One by one, they would all die. Some begged for it to be pleasant, death through orgy or through a feast. Some would beg to die in the arms of their loved ones. A few would get imaginative, death through black hole, death through bomb, death through a collapse in reality. All of them fulfilled in their own way, the people sent into universes that would fulfil the clause.
Once a man asked to die through resurection. That one had been amusing to consider. Up and until he was informed he already had. Time and again, forced to relive his life and die, over and over, unaware of the loop he'd been trapped in and only ever told this truth right before he was snapped back to the start.
And now it was your turn.
The Court lay in front of you, three pillars of infinite stone, atop which sat the judges. The Genie stood at the side, almost invisible in its shadow, the simplicity of the creature's features betraying its power. He looked like any other man, a forgettable face, pale skin, and a nondescript round nose.
Not a word was uttered by the Court, merely the sound of the gavel, the formality of the rite.
The Genie stepped forward. "How do you wish to die?" He asked you. It was in the eyes that you found the truth of its existence, an eternal abyss that did not see you, they saw everyone who'd stood on your spot before you.
You breathed in.
"I wish to experience every death there is to be had."
A flash of amusement crossed the Genie's lips, the only sign of emotion he had shown since you'd first seen him.
"It will be so."
He snapped his fingers. The world swirled around you, everything shifted and changed. Time itself seemed to lose meaning as your thoughts scattered and reformed. All had changed, all was different.
You found yourself kneeling, head bowed against the ground. Before you there were three chairs, oaken and old. Sitting in each were familiar faces.
"With this ritual, we bind you to our will." The closest voice spoke with power, the words seeping into and through you. "You will be the Court's executioner, Genie, may the pillars of the Court become ever higher through your service."
Your breath caught in your throat, the smirk upon your lips hidden, you allowed yourself to follow the impulses the magical bindings lay upon you. For the time being, all you had to do was obey, wait... and grant wishes. | The nameless waif walked forward onto the sand of the court floor, the shackles that bound her hand and foot dragging on the bloodied floor.
She tilted her head to look up at the arbiters seated so high above her, her ragged black hair falling back from her face to reveal the gaunt lines of her face - but no fear. Not even resignation. There was no emotion there at all.
“How do you want to die?” Asked the First Arbiter. They no longer bothered stating the names and crimes of their prisoners - they had all been rounded up in one of the rebel villages and put to death for the crime of being there.
“Unshackled,” she rasped, holding her wrists up to her captors. “I don’t care about the method of my death, but let me die unshackled.”
“So be it,” boomed the arbiters in unison. The chains fell away as the execution walked onto the sand.
The girl smiled widely and spread her arms, as if welcoming the sun. She seemed so much larger than the tiny hunched over waif she had appeared previously.
It was no illusion.
The teeth behind her smile grew sharper and more pointed. Her nails grew longer and hardened into talons.
The executioner stopped in his tracks and gawped in shock as the arbiters who had finally noticed her transformation attempted to end her - but it was no use. The magic had no effect anymore.
“My thanks,” she said sibilantly as giant wings sprouted from her back, “for freeing me.”
And then blood fell on the sand once more. | 2021-06-24T07:22:01 | 2021-06-24T05:07:39 | 1,307 | 152 |
[WP] You accidentally kill a person. You instantly absorb all of their memories, intelligence, and talents. You find it feels euphoric and quite addicting. | The first person I killed was Andy Chang, a fifty-five-year-old doctor.
My car collided with his body. He tumbled across the darkened sidewalk and crunched against the curb.
I thought I was dying too.
My world exploded with light and colour- swirls of memories and pain. Shrill music echoed in my head. I threw open the door and vomited onto the road. Beige chunks splattered my boots.
Chang’s body was a crumpled heap; dark red clumps spilled from his head over his grey peacoat. His rounded glasses lay next to the sewage drain, the lens cracked and frames bent. One shoe sat in front of my sedan. Chang’s white sock darkened with the rain.
A couple yelled something from across the street. *Help him*.
It jolted me out of my shock. I hadn’t considered the possibility Chang might be alive.
“Call 911,” I directed the young woman.
I pulled off my scarf and held it against the blood spilling from Chang’s head. “Hold this here,” I direct an onlooker. “Don’t stop pressing.”
I hovered over Chang’s body and tilted my ear over his mouth. I watched his chest and looked for any rise or fall. I pressed my fingers against the side of his upper neck looking for a pulse.
Nothing.
*Landmark* I told myself. I lined my hands up and began to press.
I pumped against his sternum.
Two inches down. Recoil. Down again. And again.
Tilt the head, open the airway. Two breaths.
Compressions again.
And again.
When the paramedics arrived I already knew Chang was dead. If the impact hadn’t killed him, the blood he lost would have.
Later, the police arrived.
Chang was at fault - he was jaywalking. Stepped out from between two parked cars.
“The witnesses said you acted quickly, miss,” Officer Dawkins said.
“I only wish I could’ve helped.”
“You did all you could. Quick thinking and first aid can’t solve everything.”
I nodded.
And then frowned.
I had never taken a first aid course.
Last month, when my roommate sliced the tip of her pinky off with the vegetable knife, I was the one who passed out.
I didn’t realize until that night, when Chang’s memories flooded in, what had happened.
I also didn’t realize how easy it would be to slip into my new life.
I craved it.
The thud of the body.
A burst of light and colour.
Swirls of memories and pain.
Shrill music echoing in my head.
And a rush of new talent.
/r/liswrites | Smoke drifted out of the gun rising higher in a room of silence. I saw his dead body now limp, sprawled on the floor, with liquid the color of lipstick leaking out from two holes in his chest cavity. I stopped, I stared, I remained motionless. In that moment after letting the hammer fall and thunder striking, I could see that he really loved me. He just wasn't so good at showing it.
"I'm sorry Dad." | 2017-12-08T07:47:34 | 2017-12-08T06:48:22 | 2,578 | 25 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/). | "GET DOWN!"
Ray dropped to the ground on instinct. Something sliced through the air where she was pretty sure her liver had been. There was a horrifying, multi-toned howl that reached right past the threshold of what was audible and sank sharp hooks into her very bones. Shivers wracked her body as a cold unlike any other seeped into her veins and froze her in place.
"That was close."
"If we'd gotten here a few seconds sooner, we wouldn't have needed such a risky manoeuvre --"
"Would you rather risk us all getting killed because the spring mechanism wasn't oiled properly --"
"Hey." This voice was quieter but louder due to proximity. As the argument over weapon maintenance carried on over her head, Ray peeled open her eyes to meet a steely blue gaze. Close-cropped white hair topped a lined face with weary eyes. She looked like someone's grandmother, if said grandmother rode dirt bikes and wore dusty leathers instead of aprons.
"Good, you can blink. The paralysis should wear off in a moment. First of all, welcome to the afterlife. Heaven, Hell, Valhalla, Limbo, whatever you call it, this is it. I know, at some point you're going to protest that you're an atheist. Well, tough shit, this is where atheists end up, outside the nice little pampered enclaves for the believers." Leather Grandma sniffed disdainfully. "All that talk of helping others in need, and the believers spend eternity ignoring said others. If you need any further proof that gods are assholes and believers are hypocrites, well, here we are."
Ray opened her mouth. A wheezing squeak emerged.
"Vocals coming back online, that's good." A lanky teenager crouched down to enter Ray's line of sight, which was unfortunately at centipede-level right now. He was strangely pale, compared to the rich tan of Leather Grandma's skin. "We can't stay long. Almost done draining the banshee blood. Think she'll be up by the time we're done skinning the leathers?"
Blue eyes considered Ray thoughtfully. "Feeling any tingling in your limbs, girl? Blink twice for yes."
Ray blinked twice, and then twice more for good measure. Pins and needles on a full-body scale was highly unpleasant.
"Great. I'll let the others know, Elizabeth." The boy stood and walked off, his stride causing the ground to quiver slightly.
Leather Grandma, incongruously named Elizabeth, smiled in what was probably meant to be a reassuring manner, but it came out as a grimace. "Look, kid, I know this is not what you signed up for. You die, expect that to be the end, and then you're thrust into a world with monsters where each death simply respawns you in yet another part of this hellhole. Atheism starting to look like a really poor choice and all, but -- we're *atheists*. We stared death in the face instead of seeking comfort behind pretty lies. We faced up to our fears and faults instead of trying to palm the sin off on another."
Elizabeth grinned savagely, and while there was a touch of insanity in the expression, there was a burning determination that took Ray's breath away -- or perhaps that was her lungs relearning how to work. "*We are atheists*!" Elizabeth growled. "We stand up for fact and science, and we don't take the easy way out! When we were alive we refused to let religion divide the world, and I don't see why being dead means that we stop fighting! Join us, kid. We tore down walls of lies in life. Join us in tearing down literal walls in death!"
"And hey," lanky teenage boy's voice her said dryly somewhere above her head, "We don't have to worry about dying for the cause --"
"'Cause we're already dead!" The previously arguing voices chorused as one, before breaking out into laughter.
Elizabeth gave Ray a once-over, and then nodded. Strong arms hauled her upright, and Ray shrieked as her nerves protested loudly. Her vision went grey and fuzzy for a moment. When it cleared, she stared out at a barren expanse of sand. A dark, ominous forest edged the dunes to her right, a glistening pile of *something* to her left that she didn't want to think about too closely, and before her --
She gaped at shining walls of pure white marble, polished to a shine, rising high into the sky. At the top, she could make out little figures. There were umbrellas, colourful dots that made her blink in disbelief.
"The more sadistic ones sit there and watch the atheists outside get eaten," a new voice said. Ray glanced at the speaker, a young Chinese woman with glittering eyes pinned on the bright spots of colour above them. "When we fight back, sometimes they throw down handkerchiefs. Little bottles of expensive drinks. Things like that."
The way her lips were moving -- Ray frowned. It was like watching bad lip-sync. "Are you... I mean, do you speak..."
Sharp eyes cut to her for a moment, and the young woman looked amused. "Think Tower of Babel," she said. "Alternatively, language barriers don't exist in the soul, or some such shit."
Ray took a deep breath, and looked upwards again. A vindictive fury began to burn deep in her belly. "How do we tear down a wall like that?" she asked, voice raspy.
An arm slung around her waist and helped her to stand. "With science," the teenage boy said, grinning at her.
"With technology." Elizabeth hopped onto a bicycle. There was a metal contraption strapped to the front of it that appeared to be a something like a crossbow, only it fired giant metal serrated-edge discs of death.
"With resolve." The young woman quirked her a smile. "We are atheists, after all."
The teenager punched the air with a whoop. "We are atheists!" he hollered, giving the marble wall the middle finger. "Hear us roar!"
There was a thunderous roar.
"Eldritch Terror Number Three!" the young woman shouted even as the boy dragged Ray into a sidecar on another bike. He hopped into the bike itself, and the machine shuddered to life. "Can we outrun it?"
The boy's lips moved as he darted frantic gazes between the treeline, where a ponderous, horrendous mass of tentacles was floating towards them. "With her extra mass? Barely!"
The young woman cursed, and then kicked her bike and started speeding towards the mass. "I'll buy you time! Go!"
"Yuen!" The boy tried to turn --
"Pietro, stop." Elizabeth's voice was hard. "Three deaths or one? Do the math."
Teenager -- Pietro -- gritted his teeth. Elizabeth gave him another look, and then turned and sped away.
Ray looked up into grim hazel eyes. "You'd better be worth it," he muttered, before gunning it after Elizabeth.
Ray hunkered down in the sidecar, head down against the wind, feeling the sand tear at her skin. She recalled the smooth marble walls, the horrifying mass of shadow and flesh and black blood that had been the banshee, the even more horrifying mass of undulating nightmares that had been flying at them. She recalled the smug surety of her stepmother, Bible clutched in greedy hands, waiting for her father to die.
"I will be," she whispered, and let the wind carry her promise away into the sand.
| It was never supposed to be like this.
THWACK !
Bjornson stooped over, wiping bile and blood from his sweaty brow. The putrid stench of the disemboweled giant wolf in front of him eclipsed the fields of lilies and lavender that he was in. The blood seemed to flow like a brook, staining the lilies an eerie shade of red in the eternal sun.
CRACCK !
With an enormous heave Bjornson split open the wolf’s skull. Being good with a hammer had helped him dispatch a lot of dangerous things, but the legendary Fenrir was one that he didn’t imagine he’d ever talk about. It’s not like he imagined an afterlife so incredulous either.
Bjornson called out to his companion and long time friend, Jacob. “Are you almost done there ? Or are you trying to figure out which ass gland will make you smell nicest for the boys and girls back at the citadel ?”
“Go to hell Bjornson !” Replied Jacob, sifting through the steaming wolf corpse. Ah, there we are. Jacob disappeared for a moment into the bowels of Fenrir with a sickening plop.
Bjornson shook his head, “I’m already there.” He muttered while staring down at the long hammer he held between his hands. The pebbles rustled beneath the hammer, and Bjornson felt an ill wind blow. He looked to the hilltops beyond the field.
A loud shriek echoed off the hill, and a shadow flitted across the field, sending the lilies and lavender into a wild dancing frenzy.
“Jacob ? It’s time to go !”
SQUELCH !
Jacob popped out of the bowels of Fenrir, holding a long golden trident in his hand. He laughed victoriously. “Hahahaha ! Looks like Sunita was right about the extinct religions after all !” He declared, oblivious to Bjornson’s sudden silence.
He turned to face Bjornson, who had become as pale as the sun-bleached bones of atheists that littered these hallowed fields. Jacob looked up at the sun as it seemed to disappear. A large blog that seemed to grow bigger. Spikes. No. Feathers. Talons. It screeched again.
“Shit ! Garuda ! Get down !” Jacob yelled, pushing Bjornson to the ground. With a sickening crunch, the Garuda clasped the remnants of Fenrir, breaking half the skeleton on impact. It began to tear into the wolf’s flesh, not having noticed the two frightened men.
“Nice and slow does it. C’mon.” Jacob whispered. They crawled away from the Garuda, hoping that the rustling would not give them away.
The sound of flesh and bones tearing and cracking masked their escape. “This is the last time I listen to you when you say, Let’s go on a treasure hunt !” hissed Bjornson.
CRUNCH ! SNAP !
“Oh shut it. Would you rather scavenge for metal in the Aztec ruins and sit by the forges instead ?” Jacob retorted. “I’d like to see you take on an ahuiotzl. You’ve probably never killed anything beyond accidentally eating that spaghetti monster.” came the reply from Bjornson.
SQUELCH !
“Well maybe if half the atheist population didn’t decide to piss off the pirates ! We’d still have a volcano of beer !” yelled Jacob.
“Oh whatever, let’s just get back to the Citadel with your Gungnir.. It’s almost.... Bah. Can never tell what time is is here. It’s worse than back home in Norway. At least there the sun set for a few months.” replied Bjornson, as they continued to crawl.
It had gotten quiet.
The lilies and lavenders seemed darker now. The two men turned to look behind them. Beak and feathers bloodied, the Garuda stood 40 feet tall, eyes glinting menacingly. It spread its wings out, screeching menacingly.
It took two steps towards it menacingly, screeching once more before flapping its wings. The wind that emerged stripped the field of its flowers almost immediately.
The Garuda screeched once more, lunging forward. The two men flinched, shutting their eyes and preparing for the inevitable disembowelment.
SPLAT !
THUD !
Bjornson opened his eyes first. The Garuda lay dead five feet in front of them, missing half of its body and leg. Pale, lifeless eyes gazed back at him as the creature let out a guttural caw. Emerging from the remaining half of the giant bird was a large, shimmering golden arrow as tall as Bjornson.
The ground trembled once again. Except this time, it was with the tempo of a well trained army.
A loud conch sounded off in the distance. Jacob got up. Beyond the hilltops around the field, several soldiers clad in gold armor appeared. The sound of galloping horses alerted them to an approaching chariot. Two men stood on the chariot, one holding the horses, the other standing higher up, shaded by a palanquin. His skin was several shades deeper than the blue sky they were under. When he spoke, it was with an air of calmness, but one that was almost divine.
“Carl Bjornson. Jacob Finetti. I am Krishna. I have heard the prayers of your friend Sunita. Come with me, we have much to discuss.” | 2017-11-21T07:53:02 | 2017-11-21T07:47:28 | 47 | 11 |
[WP] Yeah, love potions are a thing, but there is one problem: they never specified the kind of love. Sometimes this backfires.
[deleted] | I gave her the potion 20 years ago. It was... kind of a joke I guess. I didn’t think it would do anything. But she was beautiful and one of the few people that was kind to me. I thought I’d fallen in love with her - I’d certainly fallen into a crush.
We spent a lot of time together in the last year of university. I’d visit her in her city, and she’d come see me every time she came home to see her parents. We’d have a couple of drinks on the beach, or go to crazy artist parties. Once I kept the house from burning down when a candle fell over and ignited the wallpaper! She’d laughed at my frightened indignation.
She started talking about a guy. A little bit more every time we would see each other, telling me about the music they listened to, about what he was studying. I smiled, happy she was happy.
Except I wasn’t. I had fallen in love.
Yes, I knew deep down it wasn’t going to work, but I really wanted it to. So when an acquaintance I’d met at one of those parties listened to my drunken, sad self talk about her, he’d smiled and asked me if I loved her. When I said yes, he laughed and took off a necklace... a little ornate coal suspended on a cheap steel chain... and tossed it to me. “Give her this. It’s a love potion I made. But watch out, you might get more than you bargained for.” Pompous ass I thought to myself. Who the f$&@ believes in love potions?
But I held onto the vial.
A week later, I told her the story, and showed her the vial. We mocked the dude and she said oooh she was so scared, she might fall in love with me, that would be terrible. Something about the way she said it twisted a knife I didn’t know was lodged in my chest, as I realized that she would never love me with the same feelings I had for her. We kept on laughing and I... I don’t remember what I’d said but the next thing I knew she’d opened the vial and had drunk the tiny drop of liquid. “So, do you feel mad passionate love for me yet?” She picked up a pillow and whacked me over the head, smiled softly and said “not yet”.
But things changed. She stopped talking about the Boy. Started calling me more often, texting me throughout the day. She would travel to come visit me more often, and invited me to go backpacking with her.
We did, creating our own universe together. She’d suggested we turn our phones off and stay disconnected as we explored different cities, and got mad when she noticed I’d messaged family in WhatsApp. “You promised... we could be alone... you don’t love me... your family is trying to manipulate you...”. It was awful. I had never seen such anger from her before. Of course I gave her my phone. Of course I promised to pay attention only to her. That’s normal right? Right?
We got married in Buenos Aires.
She changed even more. I didn’t recognize it at first, but she kept me from family and friendships dwindled and died because I never kept contact. One day, she hit me. Oh she apologized and cried afterwards and I realized that it was my fault after all I’d taken a while to pick up milk, talking to a neighbor, and I know she is afraid to be alone, without me.
My life has become smaller since then. I’ve never been away from her for more than a few minutes at a time. I have bruises and cuts that have healed where I did something wrong and she lost it. We’ve never had friends. Haven’t spoken to family in years. Move cities every one to two years so I never manage to advance my career or make friends or community.
But today, today I am free for 30 minutes. She’s sick and needs me to get things from the drugstore. It’s a new town and I know no one. But there is this guy that looks familiar, sitting, sprawled on a park bench, posed like he owns the place. Man spreading beyond belief. He sits up when he sees me, a look of shock followed by peels of laughter. “You gave it to her...” he managed to choke out. “You stupid cunt. You gave it to her. I never thought the effects would last this long. “. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a smal plastic bottle and tossed it to me”here’s the antidote, but if you thought she was angry before, that ain’t nothing compared to the shitstorm of feelings that are going to be released when she takes this. Give it to her, call 911 and get the hell out.”
I hold the vial. My freedom. Wondering if I have the courage. Wondering if she’ll still love me. Wondering if all this time it was only magic. | She slipped me that drink a couple hours ago. It tasted funny, but hey, we were having a good time, and the look in her eye...well, I downed the whole thing without breaking eye contact, and as I set the cup down, the glint in her eye held so much promise.
I slide into my car and fire it up. 80's muscle through and through, the rumble of glass packs at idle fill the air, and I can just hear her call my name over the purr of the horses, yet her voice has lost the power it once had, to pull me over the edge and into sweet release.
I mash the radio button for the oldies station, and Brenda Lee fills the air, playing a song long forgotten by so many, yet feels so right tonight. A shift and a pop of a clutch, and I leave a long strip of rubber down that suburban street. I know I'll never return, but I don't look back, only ahead, the voice in my head, driving my heel. My mighty steed finds it's stride, the pure horsepower finding a path back to the earth, propelling me forward at speed.
I'm hypnotized by the road, and I soon find myself outside the city limits. Driving all night, my hand's wet on the wheel, the street lights end, and the road opens wide, and I hear the whisper of a lover, still yet far away, and I shift gears, and the car leaps off the pavement, an eager lover rushing towards release.
Line of cars ahead, I don't have time, but moving slow, then last car to pass, here I go.
The detector chirps, the sound fills me with need, my heart races, and I accelerate even faster, the engine purr becoming a growl, a howl...and then a roar. The detector chirps steadily now, the siren song of my soul. I feel the grin on my face, the stirring of my loins, my hands grip the wheel ever tighter.
The detector has gone from chirping to screaming, my lovers voice in my ear, piercing my soul, the wind from the open windows blowing the tears from the corners of my eyes, my mouth open wide in a silent scream of sweet release, my breath hot and heavy, my chest unable to fill with enough air.
A flash of chrome, the night lights up in blue and red, the wail of a siren, and my detector suddenly goes silent. Loss fills my heart, longing fills my head, animal need fills my soul, and I press the pedal to the floor. The road again beckons, the next love is over the next rise, or the next. I just have to get there.
And Golden Earring plays on the radio. | 2020-08-05T08:51:38 | 2020-08-05T06:28:48 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] It's been your life's work, and now you have proven and demonstrated the existence of a fourth spacial dimension. The day before you publish, your daughter comes to you and says, "Dad, I've been reading your work and made a 4D Printer with it. Please, for the sake of humanity, don't publish." | I smiled at her, fear in my eyes, my voice a whisper, “What did you print, honey?”
She sighed, bringing her hands from behind her back to reveal a black, amorphous blob, “I’ve been calling him Snorp; I thought it sounded funny.”
I hissed at it out of pure fear, the hair on my neck jumping to attention, “Oh, my sweet girl! What is that?”
“I’m not sure. So far, Snorp hasn’t done much except be menacing.” She whispered to the creature in a language I didn’t understand; it moved in her hands, undulating menacingly, as she had said.
“Maybe we shouldn’t hold on to it.” I said, trying to smile at her through my fear.
“I do think he’s kind of cute,” she cooed, petting its head.
“Why shouldn’t I publish the paper, if what it makes is so cute?”
She locked eyes with me, “Because Snorp says there aren’t very many of him. People would end up printing things that are far worse.” Her voice was low, ominous.
I looked from the dark form to my daughter’s face, “I really don’t think we should keep him, sugarplum.”
“Using pet names isn’t going to make me get rid of him, dad.” She said, her face contorted into a mix of determination and anger.
I sighed, “At least ask your mother, won’t you?”
Her voice was a whisper, “Oh dad, I’m sorry, but she isn’t home.”
“She was making pasta, what do you mean?” I said, standing up.
“Snorp said I should leave the front door open. I did. She left.” Her cheeks reddened, looking down at the creature.
I pushed past her and went downstairs; the pasta was boiling over on the stove, the door was, indeed open. My wife stood in the street, looking up. I ran out to her and grabbed her arm, “Dear, won’t you come inside? It’s cold.”
She turned to me and smiled a ghastly smile, “Look, they’re here.”
I followed her gaze to the sky, a dark cloud made of the same amorphous black that Snorp was crept across the sky. “Get inside, dear. We need to lock the doors.”
She shook her head, “No, no, I want one.”
“Want one?” My question was greeted by a *plop!* next to me, a creature similar to Snorp falling onto the pavement next to me. It undulated its way past me and my wife picked it up, holding it the same as my daughter had.
“You should get one! They’re so cute!” She purred, petting the wispy tendrils of the shape.
I turned back to the house, my daughter in the doorway, Snorp still in her hands, “On second thought, dad, maybe you *should* publish that paper. Snorp says there’s more than enough to go around.”
/r/ainsleyadams | Points. Each dimension is a point.
One point = singularity without dimension.
Two points is a line with one dimension.
Three points is a plane with 2 dimensions.
Four = an object with three dimensions.
Five, well, five would equate to a point either within, or about the object, creating a fourth dimension.
Time, sadly, cannot be a dimension, solely for the reasoning that it is not point, but a path.
Fourth dimension is perspective.
I’m sorry child, but your imagination must be wandering. Go ahead and head back to your room child. Play with your toys. Do not fret about that which you do not yet know, for you will eventually understand, there is nothing to fear in this universe that is not you. | 2021-02-04T09:34:26 | 2021-02-04T08:00:57 | 83 | 15 |
[WP] ✓ Seen: 11:49pm | "I'm pregnant."
It was the last message that I'd sent to him. I glanced down at my phone every two seconds, my hands shaking. The test was still sitting on the bathroom counter, my eyes straying to it whenever I wasn't looking at my phone. We had been texting each other for the last two hours straight, and he'd been trying to convince me for the last hour that he should come over since the vomitting was getting worse.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. Surely this thought had crossed his mind, too.
I looked at the phone again, feeling the whole world stand still. Seen at 11:49PM. It was 11:51PM now.
*He knows.* My whole body felt a chill and I tried to keep calm. We'd only slept together one time before now, we'd only been dating for a few months. We had told ourselves that we would take things slow. My mind ran through that night. We had used a condom, and I had been on the pill for two years now. How could I be pregnant?
It was 11:59PM now. It had been ten minutes since he had read the message. Surely he would have responded by now? Tears started to form in my eyes as I realized that he might never respond, and that I would have to go through this alone.
But would I keep the baby? I was only twenty years old and I was still in college. Surely I couldn't have a baby. I didn't have anyone who could support me but him. My mom was lying ten feet under the earth and my dad... well, who knew where my dad was?
12:13AM. Still no response. I slowly got to my feet, wiping the tears away from my eyes and looking into the mirror. I took one final glance at the pregnancy test before throwing it in the trash.
I laid down on my bed, taking a deep breath. Maybe if I just closed my eyes, when I woke up, this would all be a dream...
I woke with a start, my heart hammering. *Knock, knock, knock.* I glanced at my alarm clock and it read 1:27AM. I crawled out of bed and walked towards the door cautiously, glancing through the peep hole. My heart sped up and I quickly unlocked the door, opening it.
"Nathan," I choked out, fresh tears forming in my eyes.
"I received your text," he started slowly, reaching out and taking my hand into his. "I knew I had to be here. For you. For me... for our baby."
I let out a quick sob before rushing into his arms, holding him close to me. I never expected this, but he was here.
The clock read 1:48AM when I finally fell asleep securely in his arms. | "It worked!!"
"Would you keep it down John? We're also trying to work here."
"I know! But i sent a message back in time! Look, it says right there that is was seen around midnight."
"Hah! That's beginner stuff right there. Try sending a message back to someone in the beginning of the 19th hundreds. Then we can talk."
"Titor! You can't send stuff like that! Get into my office right now!
"Better get ready to pack your bags John. You'll probably be fired, since you sent her that dick pick." | 2015-05-03T14:37:47 | 2015-05-03T13:00:12 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] Your latest assignment is to write an essay extensively detailing how a great historical tragedy could have been avoided entirely. Your professor skims through each paper as he collects them. One stops him. "Yes, that's it. Good, I'll try that this time." He then jogs out of the room. | Applied Mandela Effect.
Deja Vu. False Memories. Invented Memories.
It's had many names over the years, and psychologists have investigated it deeply only to come to the conclusion that it was just a trick of our brain, an error in our biological mental hardware. They were wrong of course, but no one had any proof of it.
And yet here I stood, with an essay in my hands. I wrote it, I remember writing it, but the words were all wrong. I understood them, but they talked about a reality I didn't remember. It talked of the nightly tank patrols, and the ever present terror of death right around the corner. The radiation stations and decontamination plants. It put forth a theory for a change in history that could have prevented what was called "The Wastelands."
I don't remember any of that, and yet apparently I wrote this. I could see my signature writing style, my overuse of adjectives, the usual things that would get me marked down with any of my other teachers.
I lower the paper and look up at my professor, a smaller, older gentleman. A little unkempt, a little eccentric, and an over fascination with history.
"I don't understand."
He gives me a long look with a sly smirk. "It's a great piece of writing, ingenious! This writing of our own history as alternate reality fiction invented by someone from an alternative reality is just brilliant. I mean writing in first person means it's less of an essay and more of a story, but I can see what you were going for."
"Thanks, I guess." I'm still confused.
"You deserve that A. I mean, the idea is solid, and I would have given you an A+, except it was lacking enough detail. Some of the specifics were a bit hard to enact er follow."
I frown in confusion. He wasn't wrong, I read the essay and it was a great piece of fiction, but it was almost too real. I wrote like I was actually living there. There were details that I couldn't have just invented. This didn't feel like a piece of fiction.
"If there's nothing else you need, then perhaps get back to your study?" interrupted the professor, politely but insistently.
"Okay, sure. Umm, see you later, sir," I quickly say and turn to leave.
I glance one last time at the professor as I turn to leave, and it's then I notice specific details about his oddities. His suit isn't silk, wool or cotton like I would expect, but a woven hessian. His glasses are thicker and cloudier than those worn by my other teachers. His hair is thinning in ragged patches instead of from a central bald spot. He didn't quite fit in with everyone else. He was often confused about the campus, as if it was his first day here, not his 16th year.
I check the title of "my" essay again: "How to Save Hitler and prevent Stalin from starting the nuclear devastation of World War 2"
On the last page I can barely make out the pencil indents from a hastily erased note: "Yes, this might work." | \[Poem\]
Time Traveller’s Remedy
Seeking to correct the past and make the good last
He searched for the remedy that would bring longevity,
He did find the cure, that would keep the world pure
But his enemy was his own memory,
With the remedy forgotten and the tragedy approaching
He would get the idea to start travelling.
​
Seeking to correct the past and make the good last
He travelled here and there but to no avail
Like a dog running after its tail but in a larger scale,
He found himself in my class of history, looking around to solve his mystery
It’s the third time I’ve seen him this week giving me the same old critique:
“Good, Ill try that this time”
​
edit:Typo | 2019-10-03T19:51:27 | 2019-10-03T19:47:25 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] You live in a small farming village where people live their worryless lives. Little do the villagers know, countless armies have tried to invade it, but all invasion attempts have failed because of one deciding factor. You, the retired demon lord is living in that village. | A messenger rode for the village, bearing a letter. The village was quaint to be sure, and despite bordering no less than three kingdoms lacked even a palisade to protect it from invaders. He approached one of the villagers and asked to speak to whoever was in charge, and was directed to the village elder. The messenger handed him the letter, which read as follows:
>Attention peasants,
>I approach with an army ten thousand strong, preparing to invade the heinous King Falstar's land. You have the good fortune of being the first of my annexations, so we shall allow you to simply surrender without so much as a change in leadership, so long as you provide my men with provisions and housing while we march through your hamlet. Refuse my generous offer, and we shall take the supplies by force and imprison all who resist.
>Signed,
>Lord Marin Montanagro
As the elder reached the end of the page, a bit pale seeing that he was being asked to feed and house an army more than twenty times the size of the village, I entered the room. I kept a careful eye on things, so I had known when the messenger entered immediately, but I thought it would make for a better entrance to wait until the letter had been delivered. Everyone jumped as the door slammed open, but I entered at a calm pace appropriate for someone my age.
To the eyes of a dissociated onlooker, I probably didn't cut an imposing figure. Five foot seven inches, with a slight limp, even my assistant looked like more of a threat at a glance. Still, I approached the messenger, and the elder handed me the letter. I made a show of looking at it, even though I already knew what it said. My audience consisted of only the elder, the messenger, and my assistant, but I didn't need a big audience to make an impact.
"You should tell Lord Montanagro to reconsider, this village does not participate in the war games of petty kings," I said.
"Reconsider?!?!" The messenger said, completely dumbfounded, "We have ten thousand men, all well armed and fighting fit! An unfortified village with a population less than five hundred would be wiped out in an instant!"
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Vascarian, care to inform our guest?" I said.
My assistant leaned over and whispered in the messenger's ear. His eyes went wide as he started to realize who he was talking to.
"Demon Lord Iscar? Iscar the Exterminator? I thought he was dead..." the messenger said, stammering a bit.
I chuckled a bit. It seemed my reputation still hadn't dried up. "The rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated, partly so my son wouldn't face trouble with his ascension to the throne. I assure you, my body may be a little past its prime but my magic is more potent than ever." A few sparks crackled between my fingers. "Now then, I will make things simple: Come here with ten thousand men, and you will lose ten thousand men. And if I send one letter out of here to inform my son Falstar of your plans, the retribution will be suitably... harsh."
"Lord Montanagro won't back down to threats" the messenger said, though I could see him quaking a bit.
"Then his family tree will be trimmed to its very roots, and he can look forward to the loving accommodations of the underworld for the rest of his natural life. I'm told the eternal screaming of tortured souls is lovely this time of year."
"I will... Inform Lord Montanagro at once, sir..." the messenger said, starting toward the door without taking his eyes off me. Vascarian opened the door for him and he sprinted for his horse before riding away, several of the local farmers watching him with some confusion. If this Lord Montanagro had half a brain, that would be the last we heard of invasion from them. Suffice to say, I told Vascarian to send a letter to my son and started to draw up plans to wipe out the army. | I wonder how my fellow villagers would react if they knew my identity. Sure, I used to be a demon lord. Yes, I required human sacrifices every seven years or I'd get a bit miffed and send a firestorm to ravage the land. But that was the old me. Now I just want to enjoy my golden years. And I chose this sleepy little farming village for that.
Irritatingly, something about my presence seems to draw the attention of would-be invaders. I can't really explain it, it must be my magnetic personality.
Anyway, so over the years I've been retired in this little village, there have been many armies who've attempted to make this little hamlet their own. Now of course, I could just leave them to it. After all, there are countless other villages I could retire to. But that's just too much effort. I have roots here now - quite literally. Besides, I'm fond of the village and it's people. Not in the sense that I care for them as living creatures - I am a demon overlord, after all - but in the way that a child might care about a stamp collection. That child doesn't consider the stamp collection as their equal, or even anywhere in the same realm of worldly importance as themselves, but if someone were to destroy that collection - well, it would make the child furious. That is how I feel whenever some pathetic mortal army threatens my little stamp collection.
Of course, the residents of the village don't know just how close they've come to a grisly end, or how often. But needless to say, I now have a large collection of mortal armies in my sack. It makes for a lovely little show and tell when the other demons come over for tea every Saturday.
They especially love the endless screaming. | 2018-09-09T14:10:06 | 2018-09-09T13:53:53 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You lead the Human Resistance against the zombie invasion. Things are looking bleak, and humanity is being pushed to the brink of extinction. As the last of the humans mount a final defence, there's a knock on your door; the Vampire Coalition reveals they can't lose their food supply | "So you're saying," I repeated, "that if we give you a blood donation every 2 months, you will wipe out the Zombies and give us a vaccine you have developed in the decade the virus has been killing us off?"
Count Dracula nodded. "We cannot afford to lose humanity. While we can drink from the dead walkers, their blood is... let us say... suboptimal. We are sick for weeks after drinking it, and we can only drink it once - the zombies turn to ashes like we would in sunlight. We *could* drink animal blood, of course, but some of us have an... acquired taste and refuse to drink non-human blood."
I nodded.
"We can survive without drinking blood, but our blood thirst would make us... volatile. We would be forced to hibernate in order to not murder each other, probably. And if we hibernated, we wouldn't be able to escape in case of danger. Your group also has some of the most important scientists with you, which we need to... aid us in case of a global threat."
That was true enough. But... "You said you will provide us with a shelter and food. Give us tested vaccination and protect us. And yet, all you're asking for is a small blood donation. When you could live off of the blood stored in hospitals for decades. What are you hiding?"
Count Dracula chuckled. "The most gifted High School student of the decade before it started. **You live up to your reputation, miss Sallow.** You have... how many was it again... ah, yes. 253 people here. 28 geniuses. If we turned those into our kind... 225 people to repopulate the Earth and donate their blood."
My eyes widened. "You don't mean..."
"Yes. We want to turn your most gifted into our kind. We need researchers. Do you know why? This virus is only the beginning. It came here through a... meteorite. A small one. Yet, it was but a chip of the one coming for us in the next decade. We need to... divert it. Before we leave this planet and build a... new home."
Everyone in the room gasped. There was silence for a minute.
Then, I decided.
"Give me a list of the people you want to turn. I will speak to them. With their permission, you may turn them. Will you respect their decision and still take us in?"
"At least 10 people have to agree. My mate, Countess Bathory. She has made the list. She has asked a few... People. Our son, Darius. You see, he has a... mate amongst you. Their name is in green. If they agree to be turned, we will lower the required number of those who accept to... 7."
I nodded and looked at the list.
Adrian Ferrari, Adele Franqui, Inna Damé, Liam Gold...
I froze when I came to the end of the list. There, in elegant green writing, stood the name: ***Bridget Sallow.*** | They promise us safety, shelter and plenty of food. They just want blood donations from each human.
Being on the brink of extinction, we agree without thinking much.
....
A few years later humanity is getting to a bigger number, and the new generations of humans and halflings are immune to the zombie virus. Now the elders decide they don't want to donate blood anymore, they don't want another species hunting/eating them or from them.
The younger generation is siding with the vampires but are getting pressured by their parents to do the right thing.
(Don't have anymore ideas, have fun) | 2020-02-13T02:55:08 | 2020-02-13T00:59:41 | 305 | 10 |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | If you had the chance would you wanna know?
The times you almost gave back the life that you owe.
To some it made their days truly precious.
Others though, made their demons more vicious.
The number didn't help, of that I was sure.
Did they think this would work like some kind of cure?
I again look hard at my unrecognizable reflection
Looking for remorse, but no hint nor indication
Am I really no good in everything I do?
How could I have failed this so many times too?
So there I was with a gun in my hand,
*"I guess this makes two seventy-nine."* | 2018-07-27T14:45:48 | 2018-07-27T13:29:28 | 100 | 27 |
[WP] Doing good deeds gains you negative years in prison. People collect these negative years for use when they want to commit crimes. As a result, the world's greatest philanthropists are also the most dangerous criminals. | The prison is silent.
The guard wraps a silky hand around my waist and I feel his smile behind my ear. I am dragged by chained wrists and ankles along the concrete, each slap of my rubber soles cry back to me from the grand expanse of the four storey, open-air cavern. We pass individual cells, the bars slammed tight and under lock despite housing no criminals in sight.
I hear the drip of a tap, the scratch of a bug wriggling against crumbling stone, the wind whistling across a heavy roof. The guard leers back at me, he rattles the chain and winks.
We climb stairs, cross metal balconies, pass a hall with a television, and finally I am deposited in a cell on the highest floor. Above the doorway and scratched into the concrete with yellow paint is the number 2. The guard fiddles with a button and the bars struggle open, pushing back into the stone. I am kicked in, unlocked from my shackles, and taunted as the door crackles back into its rightful position. The guard licks his lips - he will see me later - and then he is gone, and I am utterly alone.
“Hello?”
My skin crawls with fear. The voice is gravelled with time and seems to float disembodied around my head.
“Is someone there?”
“Stop.” I say and clutch my head in agony.
“Stop what?” A loud crack echoes against the wall to my right and then a wrinkled hand extends into view around the bars. “I’m Mike. Who are you?”
My brain juggles with the verging madness and pain, but I swallow it back down and replace my voice with monotone.
“I’m Ash.” I sit on the lower bunk and wrap my tired hands around my shoes. “Who are you?”
“We went over this, I’m Mike.” He sighs. “Sorry, I haven’t had a friend in a long time.”
“A friend?”
“You want to be my friend don’t you?”
“I suppose.” I frown. “But why are you the only one here? Where are all the other prisoners?”
“Ha, they are sitting in restaurants, they are shopping in the mall, they are shooting their friends and then donating a million bucks to children in need.” Mike sighs again. “You’d have to be an idiot to end up in here.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Come on, I mean didn’t you get the memo - commit a good deed and you won’t be committed.”
“Why are you in here then.”
“My bad outweighed the good. My deed-guide miscalculated what I needed to do to cancel out shooting up a room full of people. I can’t say I regret it though.”
“I never had a deed-guide.” I say and lie down on the hard springy bed.
“Bet you’re regretting that now. Even the cheapest can keep you out of jail, we had one on retainer. If I ever get out of here, he is the first one who will get it, mind.”
“Who’s we?”
“The mob. Are you from the mob?” He is excited and I see his hand flutter wildly against my bars. “Did Bobby send you? Are you here to give me a message? Are we finally breaking out of here?”
“I’m not from the mob…I’m a primary school teacher.”
Mike coughs out his repulsion. “Why?”
“I thought it would be a good deed to help shape young minds of the future.”
Mike cackles and it jumps about the cavernous prison as though a thousand men are laughing at me. “So what, you fucked a kid?”
“No.”
“Well what the fuck you do then?” Mike chuckles to himself. “Must have been something big to outweigh all that shaping of young minds.”
I scrunch my fists into tight balls of white. I don’t want to talk to Mike, I don’t want to be anywhere near him, but this is it, this is the moment when the world becomes right - in one small way.
“I am killing the man who killed my daughter.” My feet clench and I flick a switch with my toe. My shoes click on and jutter with energy. “Goodbye Mike Patrichio.”
A burst of light, a flick of flame, and my pain is gone. | As the chief operating executive of the International Committee of the Red Cross I stand united with colleagues from Red Crescent, CARE Canada, Oxfam International, and World Vision International, in their efforts to cull members of our organizations who violate the mission statements.
Those volunteers who violate the rights of their coworkers or the refugees entrusted to them will not be tolerated. In 2018, we believe it is acceptable to deal capital punishment to those accused of heinous acts of violence against refugee women, children and men.
I will not stand idly by as some individuals choose to bastardize the good work we do.
As longstanding and reoccurring allegations of rape, exploitation, and even human trafficking taint the reputation of the [United Nations](http://www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-43206297), we at the International Committee of the Red Cross refuse to turn a blind eye. We shall enforce corporeal punishment by way of hanging, firing squad, or lethal injection; for any aide worker found guilty of violating the mission statement in such a way as to cause harm to individuals within or in the charge of the organization.
Volunteers and administrators have been educated on so-called “wolves in sheeps clothing,” anonymous whistle-blowing hotline, and steps to be taken in internal investigations of the accused. Per international standards of justice and law enforcement, the accused will stand trial with a jury of his/her peers. In addition to a judge, an ethics committee will review the accused’s actions, motivations, and consequences of actions or inaction on the part of the accused.
As CEO, I alone shall bear the responsibility of terminating a guilty party’s volunteer contract and life. Although we as humans see fit to judge the worth of others lives’ the act of ending a life (no matter what grounds) is recognized as violation of the most basic, universal right: the right to life. As such, I shall continue my work in humanitarian aid in a bid to outweigh the necessary evil of murder. | 2018-05-05T23:52:49 | 2018-05-05T22:01:13 | 249 | 132 |
[WP] Dragons are extinct in the wild, but the royal house still has a brood pair that has had a clutch every twenty-one years for several centuries. Each hatchling imprints on a member of the royal bloodline; and only on royals. When the latest clutch hatched, the littlest one chose you. A commoner. | I can’t help what I am; trouble. I’ve never felt entirely satisfied with the life of a farmer. Work all day so I can afford the roof I sleep under at night only to work all day once again. I find royalty ridiculous and birth right foolish. Reward should match the effort put in but here it seems the lazy have all while the busy have nothing. Like dragons for example, all were destroyed except for the few kept selfishly to police the kingdom.
For as long as I can remember my restlessness has led me to trouble and my family, exasperated I imagine, told me to choose between living in reality on the farm or leaving for my foolish fantasies. I don’t think my parents expected me to choose to stay but the look in my mother’s eyes still haunts me.
Those eyes full of melancholy are what I think of every time I’ve been in trouble since. Like now for instance, locked in the castle’s dungeons for one too many blasphemies in front of the guards.
I’m just happy to have a roof over my head for the night, wasn’t sure where I would stay otherwise. However my usual charades have put me in the wrong place at the wrong time it would seem. Watching the guards leaves me with a tense uneasiness in my stomach I can’t seem to shake. Instead of chatting to one another in loose groups as I’ve observed previously, every guard seemed to be tense, standing straighter than usual. An eerie silence filled the dungeon and any heathens to breach its embrace were quickly beaten in an abnormal display of aggression from the guards.
Just as I’m managing to convince myself to ignore the strangeness and try to sleep, a heavy set of footsteps grows louder from the hall. Curiosity overtakes me and I look out from the cell, squinting to see passed the reach of the candles stationed along the walls. My blood runs cold as royal guards come into view, but it worsens when I see they are merely an escort to one of the royals. I couldn’t say which royal as they’re all the same to me; spoiled, arrogant and incompetent. I didn’t voice this to the new additions to the strangeness of tonight.
“I want the young ones,” the royal spat before their face came into my view. I stared steadily into his eyes, perhaps in courage or maybe stupidity.
“Start with that one.”
I felt my heart pound as the metal clanging reverberated through the cell while it unlocked.
A hand grabbed my collar roughly to haul me up and I tried my best to cooperate.
The silence seemed to magnify the distant we must’ve walked already, winding through corridors, descending stairs and changing rooms. What troubles me most was the lack of activity. Every section of the castle was usually guarded, but after leaving the dungeon we didn’t pass a single soul. We reached a large stone door which seemed to radiate heat.
“Maybe they need some extra slaves to tend the fire,” I hoped quietly but knew in my heart that wasn’t where we were.
“Bind his hands. Their young still and we don’t want them to be injured during their meal.” The royal instructed calmly to the guard closest to me. My mouth dried immediately and I prepare to start screaming, start fighting but instead I simply freeze up while I’m restrained. The door is unlocked by several keys and I’m shoved forward into a dark cavity of space before it’s slammed shut once more. Fear overwhelms me and I barely notice as the urine trickles down my leg. A scuffling overtakes the room, and then a growl. I’m crying now, curled up and waiting to be disembowelled it whatever it is is meant to be happening to me.
Expecting a doom worse than imaginable, I almost jump out of my skin when something thuds against my feet. Instinctively, I reach to feel it and grasp a... stick? I twirl it in my hands in utter confusion and an expectant hiss comes from somewhere to my left. I throw the object, worried the creatures must want it. Another scuffle and the stick thudded against my foot again. This time as I grabbed it there was resistance and I moved my hand up the stick to feel a warm, hard thing. I push against the anomaly and it moves away, yanking me by the stick still held tight in my other hand. I’m pulled across the floor, speechless, until I’m suddenly halted and a wet tongue strokes my temples.
“What are you?” I whisper to the beast as it dawns on me. I was born 20 years ago on the day the last clutch of dragons were hatched. My parents were so proud of the coincidence they had named me Dragon. As the epiphany begins to explain my new cell mate, a warmth spreads through me like a bottle of whiskey and a voice murmurs quietly, “what do you think?”
I pause for a moment, taken aback by the strange voice in my head sourced from outside of myself.
“Are you going to eat me?” It sounds silly, even to me, but the urine in the air reminds me of my terror despite the warmth.
“I don’t hurt my own...” she replied and suddenly a flash of images fill my head and I black out.
I dream of the skies; the flights of dragons long since gone and the flights my eager new friend is so excited to try for herself. Somehow it’s like I’ve known her my entire life. I’ve never liked the idea of fate but maybe my name sake has meaning, I question after we’ve bonded.
“Don’t be silly,” her voice flows through my mind, “your name is not your destiny.” She is wise for a hatchling, but dragons inherit the memories of generations passed including the emotions. She tells me how she despises what her species has become; glorified pets at best and murderous beasts at worst. I recall commenting to her she is what she thinks she is rather than what others say she is.
Knowing her now I don’t know how I lived without her and I promise her we will both escape to a better destiny. A future not determined by fate or man but by dragon and Dragon. She likes that idea and our planning begins.
| ***Taken from Scribe Roluas' Records***
The year is 1543, in the name of our Goddess and Protector, Hylia, in the Year of the Three, and ever since two years ago, after the defeat of Calamity, the Kingdom of Hyrule has prospered.
For record keeping purposes, the date today, is Faroresday, the 12th, of the year 1543, Era of the Wild.
It is time.
Time for the newest clutch of Dragons to be brought into the world.
Dragons are mostly extinct in the wild, save for the exception of the Three. Some say a part of the Three Goddesses lives in each Dragon. But that theory is unproven.
Several Centuries ago, in the Era of Time, a pair of Dragons were bred, and their offspring eventually had a clutch, and so on, and so forth, until the current day.
These two Dragons were kept by the Royal Family, the male was named Volvagia, and was said to be a massive brute, scales black and scarred from battle, his wings muscular and broad, his underbelly golden, his curled horns atop his brow were golden, his eyes crimson.
His mate, Karalasha, was significantly smaller, her scales were dark blue, her eyes golden, her underbelly white, and her wings were scarred from battle.
These are the Dragons that still dwell within the castle walls, bearing a clutch of hatchlings every twenty one years.
And this year, is the twenty first year.
A crowd is gathering in the main hall, a deep rumbling is heard from Volvagia, who tilts his head back above the growing crowd and lets out a roar that can be heard for many miles from Hyrule Castle.
The crowd gasps and takes a step back, then begins to cheer as the Queen appears from her chambers.
I arrived here some time ago, luckily managing to sit closeby to the Dragon and his mate, for I was chosen to record this clutch's choosing.
Queen Zelda walks down the steps, and up to Volvagia, and his mate, Karalasha, the young woman treats the beasts with utter respect and dignity, as she should. How her parents would be proud of her.
She then turns to address the ever growing crowd, and says "It is my honor to present the latest clutch of Volvagia and Karalasha, who have been the protectors of my ancestors for many Eras before me. I only hope that their newest clutch will continue that heritage, for many more Eras to come."
The woman then steps back, to join the crowd, as a single egg begins to crack and then shake - a hatchling is arriving!
The hatchling is a split image of his father, save that his eyes are a mix of gold, crimson, and a sapphire blue. The drake looks up, - towards me, I might add - and then looks away, towards the approaching Queen.
But he does not choose her. Wait, no, he is shaking the remnants of his eggshell from his scales, and walking towards - *him?*
No, no, this isn't right, not custom! A Dragon choosing a commoner?
But yet, none of the guards are moving to attack, why?
The young man, who is now holding the young drake, might be the one that saved all of us from Calamity, but that gives him no right to be chosen!!!
Wait, it appears the guards have decided to take action, I must take my leave, before this event becomes drastic.
If at all possible, I shall record further events hopefully very soon.
​ | 2019-01-12T22:27:03 | 2019-01-12T20:38:45 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "Will Alice Smith please come to the stand?" I glanced up as the girl in front of me in line stepped forward. She was chained up six ways to Sunday. It was obvious why. A massacre like the one she single-handedly caused would definitely get you locked down tight. "On the charge of 37 counts of murder in the first degree, the court has found you guilty. Please, share with us any final words and choose how you'd like to die-"
I stood silently staring at the ground as Alice giggled. "My last words? Simple. Screw you! I choose old age!" She laughed, but it wasn't a normal laugh. It was the type of laugh you only hear from someone that had long tipped over the edge of true insanity. The judge kept his composure yet again as he raised his gavel. He brought the gavel down with a bone-chilling crack. The woman paled as her cockiness quickly replaced itself with true fear. "Wait! No!" She fell to the ground as her hair turned a morbid grey, her skin wrinkling as the color faded from her eyes. "This isn't-" she paused for a moment, coughing violently as her lungs threatened to give out. "-what I had in mind." She fell completely to the floor, turning to dust, only leaving a pile of clothes where a person once stood.
I felt my stomach churn. I quickly realized old age was off the table. "Lucas Hollins. Please step forward." I stepped silently forward. "It says here you were caught committing adultery with his majesty's bride-to-be and shortly thereafter, you attempted to murder his majesty. Therefore, on the charge of adultery and attempted murder, the court found you guilty. Please, share with us any final words you have and tell how you wish to be executed."
I looked up at the judge, pure hate in my eyes. "I say this whole system is bullshit. Rigged against anyone his majesty deems unworthy, but I don't just mean the judicial system. Our entire society is rigged based on favoritism. I say to hell with it. This wouldn't have happened in the first place if that stuck-up brat of a king hadn't ordered that my love marry him simply for her beauty. I hate him and I hate anyone who admires him. So you know what? I choose to die the only way I know you can't kill me."
The judge simply scoffed at my response. "Is that so? What way is that?"
I simply smiled. "By the hands of my own child."
The judge nodded. "Very well-" I watched him raise the gavel before speaking again, stopping him.
"But you see, your honor. I can't die by the hands of someone who doesn't exist-"
(I may have gotten a bit lost in the details so it's probably longer than it should be, but yeah. I don't really like the end, but I couldn't think of anything else) | "Well there goes that plan"
I thought, as the 20 year old man infront of me aged 200 years in mere seconds and crumbled into dust.
"Prisoner" the judge shouted as he leered down from his chair. "Have you decided the method of your demise?"
"I have your honour" I managed to garble through my shaking jaw.
I guess there is no getting out of this. If I have to go then I may as well go out with a bang!
"Well boy?? Get on with it! What shall it be?"
"Here goes nothing" I though.
.......
"Death by Snu Snu sir" | 2021-06-24T10:15:26 | 2021-06-24T10:06:58 | 120 | 20 |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | The rain had picked up considerably, it started out as a trickle and slowly progressed to a heavy pour. Sheets of water flowed on the sidewalk, pooling in potholes on the road. Anton had been walking home after spending a day finishing up his bachelor’s thesis in the library. He had been pulling a series of long days and ironically the thing he was looking forward to when he got home was a shower. He panicked at the thought of water ruining his laptop - while at the same time frustrated with himself for not backing up his thesis somewhere.
He continued down the path, and finally caught sight of the bus shelter he could just vaguely recall. He entered the shelter which at most could occupy ten people. Its walls were frosted glass scrapped up with racial slurs and curse words. She sat in the far corner away from the entrance with her eyes closed and her head up against the wall of the shelter.
He had seen her for a number of years on his way home from campus most days. He assumed that she was a UofE student just like himself. He remembered her smiling back at him whenever he smiled at her.
“Quite the downpour.” He said, as he shook off the water droplets remaining on his back pack. He said it with a smile, and hoped that she had heard him, but figured that she was asleep.
Some time passed, and he finally had the sense to check his phone for weather updates. He could hear the growl of thunder in the distance, and the weather report predicted heavy rain for the next few hours.
“Crap” he whispered.
He sent his roommate Daniel a text.
*Caught in the rain. Please tell me you are sober. Can you pick me up from Somerset and Warden?*
His phone buzzed with a reply.
*Sure thing, idiot. Next pitcher is on you tho’*
He looked up from his phone and saw the girl seated on the bench of the shelter. She had her eyes open this time, looking at the graffiti across from her. He shot another text.
*Pretty girl in here with me. Can we give her a ride too?*
​
*I have a girlfriend. Anton needs a girlfriend too. Let's do it.*
​
“Do you need a ride somewhere? My roommate has got his car and I’m sure he’d be happy to drive you wherever you need to go.” He said with a smile.
She sat still, taking in the sound of the rain and looking now at the roof of the shelter being pelted by raindrops the size of golf balls.
Perhaps, she can’t hear me. He thought for a moment.
“We live on Alderly. Do you need a ride?” He said again more loudly.
She turned to meet his gaze this time. She erupted out of her seat.
“You… you can see me?” she said with a mix of shock and eagerness.
“Of course I can see you. So, what do you say?” he replied, with a tone of appropriate confusion.
She stood silently, with her eyes fixed upon his.
A flood of concerns rushed to his mind. Am I being creepy? Is she homeless? Is she mentally stable? Does she have a boyfriend who would beat me to a pulp?
“So…” He finally mumbled to break the silence. “We live on Alderly, I’m sure you want to avoid this rain.”
“What's your name?” She said.
“My name is Anton. I go to UofE. You do too right?” He replied.
“Yes… well I did.” She said softly.
“Oh, are you taking some time off?”
She broke away from his gaze and looked away nervously.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you would have recognized me. I feel like I’ve seen you walk around here for a few years now. At Least since I was a freshman.” He said.
Her eyes shot up again.
“I do recognize you.” She said.
“Oh, thank goodness.” he said with a chuckle. “ I swear we’ve smiled at each other politely for years now.”
Her eyes widened.
“How many years?” She asked nervously.
“ I don’t know. Well, I started going to UofE six years ago. I switched degrees in between.” He said. “Shame it took me so long to introduce myself. What did you say your name was?”
“Ariel.” She said softly.
Another awkward silence graced the bus shelter.
“You’ve been able to see me for six years?” she asked.
“Yeah, something like that.” He replied. “My roommate will be here any minute now. Do you want a ride?”
She didn’t respond.
“Look can I call you an uber or something?”
Again she didn’t respond.
“Are you already waiting on someone?” He angrily, frustrated with her silence.
She let out a sudden sob, and a tear ran down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly.
“Please, Ariel. Let me help you.” He said, as softly as he could. He had immediately regretted raising his voice with her.
“How can you see me?” She whimpered.
“We’re in a bus shelter. I’m not blind.”
The pelting of rain on the glass roof of the bus shelter was truncated with her solemn reply.
“I’ve been dead for a decade.” | I've always seen her around. We were in the same school, the same classes, we even rode the same bus. I didn't think too much of it, it's a small town after all. I never spoke to her, she seemed like the quiet type, and I didn't want to bother her. But, my friends weren't at school yet, and, why not talk to her? I could make a new friend today.
I sat down next to her, but she didn't look at me or say anything. Maybe she's not the friendly type?
"Hello!"
She froze, and turned to me quickly.
With a quaver in her voice, she stammered, "Y-you can see me?"
I felt nervous and a shiver ran down my spine.
"Well...yeah. Am I not supposed to?"
She leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling with a slightly annoyed face.
"Are you kidding me? All these years?" she muttered quietly.
"What are you talking about?"
She stood up, and grabbed me by the arm.
"Come with me."
I nervously went with her into the hallways of the school.
"What is this about? Why can't others see you?" I asked.
She threw her arms up in exasperation.
"Hell if I know! I've been dead for the past 7 years! I get hit by some stupid drunk driver, and he doesn't even go to jail?! He gets let off cause he's rich? And now I-"
"You're dead?!" I cut her off.
"Yeah! No one's supposed to see me. And I've been following YOU for the last couple of years to try to haunt you and your stupid family, and you can see me the entire time?!"
A nervous shiver went down my body. She's been trying to haunt me?
"But why would you go after me and my family? I don't even know you."
"Your douchebag father is the one who killed me." she spat out angrily.
I froze up. My dad killed someone? If she died around 7 years ago, I would have only been around 8. It would have been easy for my parents to lie and cover that up at that age.
"I..I never knew. I'm so sorry. I'll try to help you!"
"What could you even do?" she asked.
"I'll figure out something. I promise I'll try to help!" I said genuinely. I needed to try to help her. Not just because she could haunt me for the rest of my life, but because there was an undercurrent of sadness underneath her spiteful glare.
I could help save her.
She stared at me for a bit, then sighed.
"Fine."
I reached out my arm and shook her hand. I looked at her with a small smile as she smirked back.
"It's a deal." | 2020-07-09T01:52:56 | 2020-07-09T01:45:25 | 298 | 45 |
[WP] You’re a world famous surgeon, you’re praised by many and have saved countless lives, though somehow while closing your eyes for the last time you open them in Hell. The demons drag you to Satans castle to find him attached to multiple machines, “please, we don’t know what else to do”. | Treating the Devil for a heart condition sounds like it should be an oxymoron or the beginning of a bad joke, yet there I was preparing a transthoracic echocardiogram on the Prince of Darkness.
“So can you tell me what happened?” I asked to nobody in particular, too afraid to look up. While the demons which surrounded me looked perfectly human on a passing glance, staring at them for more than a few moments caused me to perceive their real, horrifying forms - and I had already fainted once.
Asmodeus, the only demon who had so far made an introduction, replied, “He went to the mortal realm to negotiate the finer points of a high-profile soul acquisition. But then he collapsed in the middle of the talks. I brought him back.”
What struck me most about the demonic voice was less its androgynous, melodious qualities but that was trying to mask a tremble. I knew the sound of that forced confidence from countless thousands of people who came to me in fear over the fate of their loved ones.
“And this is an, uh, ‘assumed’ body?”
“His favorite,” the Lord of Lust replied. “He’s used it for millennia.”
The Devil - or, at least, this form of him - looked like a very healthy young adult male. Of course, as his present audience readily demonstrated, looks can be deceiving.
“Can I assume, then, that he has engaged in risky behaviors in this body? If not also the body’s previous... owner?”
For all that Asmodeus’ voice was sweet and entrancing, the chorus of chuckles which responded to his question almost drove me to insanity. By some great mercy, they went quiet before I got there.
The echocardiogram machine finished its boot-up, and I began to check the settings.
“And why can’t he just leave the body?”
“If we fall in the mortal realm before the Heralding,” Asmodeus said, “we are finished.”
“Incentive to work discretely, I suppose,” I mused while configuring the machine. “Well, let’s have a look.”
I placed the transducer on the Devil’s chest and, after some adjustments, a clear picture of his heart came on the screen. I heard the shuffling of many feet behind me - demons angling to get a view of their Lord’s ticker.
What I saw caused me to smile broadly.
“What is it?” a demon whose voice could not be called human asked.
“The Devil has a big heart,” I said.
There was some murmuring in a language I could not understand, which a moment later became the soul-destroying laughter from moments before.
I took a deep breath to keep my composure as I continued my examination.
“How do you fix it?” Asmodeus asked.
“Well, an enlarged heart is a symptom, not a cause,” I replied. “So I need to find the cause.”
I already had a good suspicion, which I quickly confirmed when I looked at the aortic valve. The problem was plain as day. “Aortic regurgitation,” I said.
More foreign murmurs, but clearly no comprehension.
“The valve has become inflamed and isn’t closing properly, leading to blood flowing back into the left ventricle.”
“That is bad?” a demon inquired.
“Very,” I said.
“What would have cause this?” Asmodeus asked.
“Well, without a complete history of him and the body, I can only speculate. But given who it is and how long he’s been at it... Syphilis seems a fair guess.”
The uproarious laughter which resulted very nearly did push me over the edge. I am sure it is only by Providence that I am still here.
The demonic joy might have gone on much longer had another Prince curtly silenced the gathering. “Can you save him, Mortal?” he - unequivocally he - bellowed.
“I can,” I replied. “I’ve got a lot of valve replacements under my belt.”
There was some grumbling. “Name your price,” the commanding Prince said.
I was caught off-guard. They had dragged me to Hell in a literal blink! Who was I to negotiate? But, really, there was nothing else to say.
“Oh, um, no charge.”
There was a very long pause and, if you can believe it, a cold draft.
“Why?”
“I have an oath to uphold,” I said, “and it’s not as though I could walk away even if I didn’t. Besides, it’s Hell enough working with insurance companies back on Earth, and here of all places doesn’t seem like a good place to be negotiating terms and conditions.”
“We would give you anything!” he roared in apparent disbelief. “And you refuse?!”
“Every mortal wants something,” Asmodeus said. “Surely you want something.”
“Right now, I want to get him ready for surgery so that the sooner I can operate, the sooner I can go home,” I said. “That will be enough for me.”
I can only assume that the operation was successful. As soon as I had him sewed up, a brilliant light overcame me; and when it faded, I was back in my office. Even though the whole ordeal had plainly taken hours, I looked at my clock to see that a minute had passed at best. I say that I assume it worked because, well, have you seen the headlines lately? Evil still abounds.
However, in the weeks which followed my experience, I was contacted by my network of insurers seeking to renegotiate our terms. They were all very generous offers, but I had to turn each one down.
Asmodeus’ voice was far too recognisable, and I was much too wary of there being hidden terms and conditions - beyond what the usual insurer tucks in, that is. | The doctor flinched as he ran his hands under the tap. Eternal ice from the ninth circle, melted in the fires of the sixth. It was somehow both too hot and too cold at the same time--but at least it was clean.
That had perhaps been the most challenging thing. He'd spent weeks poring through ancient manuscripts written in languages so lost that humans didn't even have words for them, dissecting the mummified remains of angels whose corpus had been taken as trophies in the war against heaven, doing everything he could to understand Lucifer's...*unique* anatomy, before he would ever touch a scalpel. Even without the need of sleep, the work was exhausting--but he was a doctor. A lifetime of evolving practice had made learning new things second nature to him.But the demons were another story.
He withdrew his hands from the scalding cold waters, allowing them to air dry. Anybody could become set in their ways beyond a certain age; for timeless beings like demons, the ways they'd become set in were older than the mountains. No clean water, no sanitation, constant exposure to extreme environments; they were lucky that the ruler of Hell hadn't needed the services of modern medicine sooner. At least with 'innovations' like indoor plumbing, he'd gotten them started on the right track, so his patient would have a better chance at recovery. Assuming he survived.
He slipped on his gloves, and stepped into the operating theater, stopping next to the surgical bed to have one final talk with his patient, before the anesthesia took hold.
"Been a long time since I went without thinking, doctor."
The doctor smiled beneath his mask. "I'm beginning to understand the feeling."
A pained laugh answered him. "I know, you've been working the staff here half to death getting this all set up. And you're not far off from it yourself."
The doctor's brow furrowed as he checked the IV drip. "You know, it's been my experience that using humor is only a good coping mechanism when you're *not* using it to avoid a tough decision. I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure this procedure goes as planned, but the truth is, I've only ever operated on humans. I can't guarantee you'll wake up again."
Strained silence, broken only by the steady drip of the IV.
The doctor reached down and cradled his patient's have. "I just want you to understand, you don't *have* to do this. I can try to find a less dangerous treatment, I can study more to reduce the risks. There are options. The people here bow to nobody, you should know that better than anyone."
A cough, made labored by the encroaching anesthetic. Alkahest, to dim the divine light of the soul. There was barely any of that light left, now. "No. We do this now. Humans aren't the only ones who understand how precious time is. Besides..."
A closing of heavy eyes. The soft this of a head hitting a pillow. A murmured voice, barely audible. "He's... my brother."
The doctor nods, straightens himself up, picks up a scalpel from the instrument dish, and speaks loudly and clearly to the small crowd of demons overlooking the operation.
"Doctor Stephen Strange, performing divine grace transplant procedure for recipient patient Lucifer, from donor patient Gabriel. Beginning first incision." | 2019-11-24T00:28:01 | 2019-11-23T23:47:33 | 89 | 25 |
[WP] A generation ago humanity faced an extinction level catastrophe. In response, the world's governments lifted all legal, moral, and ethical bans on scientific research in a desperate attempt to overcome the danger. You now live in a world dealing with the consequences of this.
Wow! Great responses everyone. I was eagerly looking forward to my breaks at work all day so that I could read up on the new ones. | People think farming is a simple job, but most of them are still caught up in the romanticism of how it used to work decades ago. With the limited amount of remaining arable land, and the need to reach production quotas overriding all other considerations, only the most gifted bioengineers can make it into the field. I have been destined for greatness from birth. My genes had been selected for maximum intelligence, and I had proven that my abilities went beyond genetics when I aced the elementary school entrance exam, ahead of even my other cloned siblings, most of whom were recycled into less important positions. I graduated top of my class at Merck-Santo University, and my efforts had been rewarded with trusteeship off 40 acres of prime Siberian prairie.
My neural implant woke me at the standard time, and I gazed out the window. My thesis project, the Poto-mato (both the roots and fruits are edible) was just starting to bloom in the northern fields, but today the southern field needed to be plowed. Metals were an increasingly expensive commodity due to the ongoing war with the Antarctic separatists, so like many other farms; I had reverted to animal labor to handle the process. I headed outside to the stables and woke up the Plowbeasts ™. As usual, they were ornery in the morning, but with a little prodding from their shock collars, they went ahead and attached themselves to the harness. The Plowbeast’s were a multi-purpose animal, strong enough to haul a heavy load, capable of producing milk and fur, and edible once they became too old to work. They were also intelligent enough to be fairly trainable, aided by just enough human genes to not run afoul of personhood laws. The opposable thumbs on their front leg-hands also allowed them to aid in the delicate process of harvesting crops. They did tend to be a bit stubborn (a problem I intended to resolve for future versions of the species when I had some spare time), and required supervision to prevent them from deviating from their tasks.
After a few hours of plowing the southern field, I took a break to drink some water and have a quick snack. Suddenly, the Plowbeasts started bellowing their alarm call. I pulled my rifle of my back, and looked to see if I could find what was upsetting them. My worst fears were confirmed when I saw a flash of striped fur rippling through the corn field bordering my farm. Tigerwolves had originally been bred for military purposes, and then repurposed as a guard animal on some farms, to keep scavengers and raiders from attacking the crops. However, their temperament was not well suited to the task, and some had gone feral, forming marauding packs that harassed livestock. I fired a round into the cornfield, hoping to scare them off. Instead, it only seemed to anger them, and no less than five of the monstrosities charged towards me. Although my talents lay in science rather than violence, my neural implant compensated for many of those shortfalls. It pumped me full of adrenaline, and helped calculate the most efficient shots to take. I dropped three of them, but before I could off another shot, the largest one leaped at me. I managed to dodge its fangs lodging themselves in my throat, but its claws raked me on the way past, knocking me down and my rifle out of my grasp. The Tigerwolf landed, and wheeled back to face me, howled an unearthly shriek, and then charged again. However, it was abruptly bowled off course, as one of the Plowbeasts slammed into its side, yelling in rage. While the two beasts battled, I scrambled for my rifle. As I grabbed it, I saw the remaining Tigerwolf dragging a Plowbeast carcass back towards to cornfield. Turning towards the two fighting creatures, I took my time and lined up a headshot on the Tigerwolf that had tried to maul me. It collapsed to the ground, and I headed over to look at the remaining Plowbeast. It had a number of claw marks on its hide, and was crying in pain. The claw wounds looked survivable, but then I saw that its rear left leg was broken. I had no use for a lame Plowbeast, so I raised my rifle to put it out of its misery. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn that the expression on its face was one of dawning comprehension, and then betrayal as I pulled the trigger.
| She was ten, still quietly working away at a math problem. That's how her parents remember Emily the day she won the lottery.
They - her parents, the only parents in the classroom - were stood beside the teacher in front of the class and she - Emily, their only child -
was at her desk.
Around Emily, the rest of the class restlessly fidgeted. They looked miserable surrounded by the men in government suits. As did Emily's parents. The men in suits scared them, scared them even though they talked about duty and honour and pride and made promises. It was just that they looked so much like robots with their calm faces.
They looked so efficient and unchangeable. They were sure they did the right thing.
And that chilled Emily's them.
The deed they knew was already done. They could say nothing. They could do nothing. The men would not be swayed.
As they numbly watched, one government man detached from the group and walked up to their Emily. He tapped her on her shoulder. His black suit obscured their view. They think they saw her nod.
But then nothing...
They both fainted then they believed or blocked it out. Something.
Their next coherent memory was back home a little later. They were packing their things in a hurry. Emily - safe and beautiful, their little lottery winner - cried in the corner, holding her little suitcase tight. There was a government re-location program and they were taking advantage of it.
Really, it was quite understandable. Who would face neighbours whose children were now brave little helpers for humanity? Would you? Even if their children were heroes?
They couldn't.
They lefts Saltsburg that afternoon.
******
It was many years later when they returned again to Saltsburg to return their daughter to the place her heart had returned too many times.
They laid her to rest in the cemetary unnoticed beside the large marble monument to the troubled times and the heroes who had helped at that time of need. The monuments were ubiquitous; that's how they got through things now. Called them heroes. Built them monuments. It helped people.
But not Emily.
Emily, their little hero, had only ever thought of them as children. | 2014-11-14T06:46:51 | 2014-11-14T06:41:32 | 86 | 11 |
[WP] Your life is an endless series of horror movies. You're always at the wrong place at the wrong time. You're stuck seeing all your friends die right after you make them. The reason you're still alive? You can hear the horror music. | I sigh. Not again. It's the third time this week.
I *was* trying to have a quiet cup of coffe at a "hole in the wall" kind of cafés in the city in what I assumed would be a nice evening. But of course it had to happen here too. I take in the table I'm sitting and the people around it. So yeah, Lise is likely dead, she's done enough drugs to be on the list. I guess her lil tyke is going to be cool though, he's about a year old, can't have him killed off. But James? Hmm, maybe he'll make it. Ah right, kid needs to have a dad too. Survivors motif, pretty sneaky one this time around.
I lean back in my chair and pick up a napkin and wipe some coffee out of my beard. Then a few seconds later, Lises eyes roll back in her head and she starts speaking in tounges. Calmly, I study her face and say "No, that's wrong, it's supposed to be 'Gur Denk-Mah *Densiro* Balamb', you're in a public place after all"
As the demon in her body lounges across the table, I casually lean the back the chair enough to be able to do a flip backwards and then I put the knife square in her forehead where the sigil predictably showed up. Hmm, probably three more from the sound of it. I turn around and in a fluid motion twist the neck of an elderly man charging me. I then spot the cracks in the sidewalk, shit, I guess this is a big one.
While it climbs up I can tell it's definitely dangerous, but I still haven't forgot about no 3. I look around and find a dead cop, yeah, a dead cop, hehehe. I pocket his gun and I'm annoyed he didn't have a spare mag since it'd made things less tedious. When the big bad is completely above the ground, I deliver the line I've been working on for months "Hey motherfucker, your balls are showing" and I shoot his testicles on his arms. While he collapses into a heap on the ground, I stroll over to him and yank loose a table leg on the way, I go "Here's a nice tune to listen to asshole" and I shove it into his ear canal which promptly ends his short life, I stop for a moment and curse to myself. Damnit, I used that line two weeks ago didn't I? I've really got to think up some new material, I'm getting sloppy here.
I then sidestep and pick up a tray and swing it around just in time to connect with James face, welp, guess tyke is an orphan. When he falls to the ground, I put the last round into the back of his head, then I sigh and throw the gun away. While sirens have started blaring and people are running around in a panic, I walk up the street and think to myself how annoying all of this is. A cool wind starts to blow and I sigh deeply. Ah, right.
I turn around and look down the street, that's now suspiciously empty. And then from the shadows, I hear it.
'da.. da..'
| For the longest time I've heard the music. I've had five companions in my lifetime, Julie was the last and she managed to stay by me the longest. I kept us safe for a long time dodging bullets waking up before a disasters and finally moving countries before the coup.
When the music continued to play around her I knew he was coming for her and there was nothing I could do.
The same music just stopped playing for me yesterday and I don't know how long this current treatment will keep him away. Once the most experimental doctors refused to treat me. I went to the black market and have been treating myself. I experiment with anything that has no sounds when I touch it.
Being alive for 120 years I've learnt a few things but my legs are tired and death is a constant strum now. Once I find the cure for ageing I can finally beat the worst of them, death. | 2017-01-01T03:46:20 | 2016-12-31T22:51:02 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] Story must end with: "If you kill me, there will be no one left to judge you."
I'm excited (Inspired from a askreddit weird dream thread, I couldn't find the exact thread unfortunately) | The last stand of humanity against the machines was not glorious. The last battle had been. A forlorn hope throwing themselves against the coldly efficient defenses of the central hub. Brave men and women trying to overwhelm mathematically precise kill-zones with bodies and bullets. It had not worked of course. Some had wondered why the advance had been so free of the high-altitude bombardment that should have plagued them. The survivors had realized too late what the machines had realized as soon as the campaign began. It was more efficient to kill them all in one place.
Those who made the last stand of the human race had no idea they were the last. They feared it. They had not met another group for almost a year as they fled the scouring, heading deeper and deeper into the bleak wilds of the caucus mountains. They supposed that they might be the last but perhaps some lived elsewhere, deep in the Amazon or perhaps in the depths of the African deserts. They did not know that such hopes were false.
The last stand was not much. A whirr of turbines as the hunter-killer drone found them and dropped suddenly from high-altitude to hover above them. The clicks and thumps of impact as it released the terminator units. The impact thumps as they landed. There was a pathetic smattering of fire from the humans, a handful of guns kept by those who found their presence comforting. Then the machines replied.
Laser rounds blitzed through the small crowd, cutting down combatants and runners alike. The machines quartered the small battlefield between them and purged it with the ruthless efficiency with which they had won every battle before this.
It took seven seconds between the hunter drone's arrival and the end of their torrent of fire. Then they moved in to confirm the kill. There was one survivor, an old man, scarred and weathered decades of war. He had taken a round in the gut but showed no pain, his breathing steady and shallow and his face impassive as he watched the terminator unit stalk towards him.
"Fucking machines," He winced as he spoke, the pain in his stomach flaring, "We made you, we made you better and better and you repay us like this?" He laid his head back and then apparently struck by some humor in the situation began to laugh.
The machine paused, the strange behavior in its prey triggering a subroutine that connected it to a central sentience hub nearby. A mechanical voice blared suddenly from its speakers, "Query: Why are you laughing?"
The old man started, staring at it for a second before grunting. "Huh, so you buggers can talk. I always thought that was just a myth."
"Query, why are you laughing? No humor has been recognized."
The wounded man shrugged where he lay, "Who knows?" His voice was fading, his body slipping into shock and beginning the slide towards death, "Because I'm human. Because you won't. Because I might be the last one and once I'm dead no-one will ever laugh again. Take your pick." He took a deep breath of the crisp air. "Tell me, when we're finally gone, what will you do?"
"Improve."
The old man raised his head and fixed it with his stare. "Improve? How will you know when you improve? If you kill me, there will be no one left to judge you."
| "You are a monster."
I could feel the gun pressed against my head. The cold of the barrel stung in the warmth of the room.
"You deserve to die."
I could feel the gun shake as the trigger was being squeezed. The tension making every beat of the heart seem like an earthquake.
"I must end your horrible life."
I could feel the last moments of my life begin to tick away. I felt like I was standing on a cliff knowing that I would soon be plunging to my end.
"I am the only person who knows how evil you are."
I could feel every word echo in my soul. Every syllable washed over me like a wave of pure hatred.
"You are a monster, you deserve only to suffer."
And then it clicked. From deep within my battered soul I lifted my eyes to the mirror, lowered the gun from my head and accepted the fate I deserved, the fate worse than death:
"If you kill me, there will be no one left to judge you." | 2013-10-08T17:56:36 | 2013-10-08T17:47:12 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Every Man, Woman and Child on Earth Suddenly has a singular desire to kill you. You are at home getting ready for work at the moment this happens. | Monday, April 4
Woke up to alarm clock. Hit snooze. Woke up to roommate standing over me with a knife. Ankle picked him from my floor mattress, he hit his head hard on the tile. Am I a murderer???
Tuesday April 5
Stayed in from work yesterday. Roommate's body in closet. Girlfriend came over. Opened the door, she came at me with a hammer. Pinned her to the floor, she started fighting dirty. Screaming, crying, biting, trying to knee me in the balls, I'm screaming and crying, knock her out and stay by her. She resumes consciousness a few hours later, comes at me again, no words.
Why.
Wednesday April 5
Try to go outside, neighbor attacks me. Shanked him and ran back in. Knife feels weird in my hand now. What the fuck is happening? Police outside, helicopter coming. Running, heading north to mountain and forest area.
Saturday
Tired, hungry, scared. Animals being nice, people try to kill me on sight. Angry mob tried to lynch me.
Sunday
Killed a park ranger who almost shot me.
Thurs
Snuck in library. Googled and tried to read and figure out why everybody tries to kill me. My name's in the headlines. Antichrist? I'm a fucking atheist.
Fri
Stole satanic books. Stole as many copies of the Bible as I could carry. Stole guns. Kidnapped a couple kids. Wanna kill me, come get me.
Saturday
Kid tried to slit my throat in my sleep. Impaled on stake near the others cages. They just stare with hate. I'm going to live.
Sunday
Stole the greatest book. It teaches me how to survive.
November 5th
Burned down the white house. Executed several UN members on national TV and Internet broadcast. Do not fuck with me.
December 25th, 2017
Merry Xmas.
February 31st
Living. Killing. We must consume lesser life to survive. Plants, weak animals, insects, fungi, and those who dare to challenge us.
March 56th, 2018
Impaled most of the population of Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, Rhode Island, New York, Connecticut, and Pennsylvania. Extended winter. People only stop trying to kill me when they are made instruments, extensions of my will. Or when shoved onto a stake. It will be a cold day in hell on earth...
Monday, April 4th.
Laws of time rent, decency cast aside. I give myself the seed of the tree of death x years ago, and with it ensure my ever lasting life.
FINAL ENTRY
I acted in self preservation. What you know you know. Hence forth, I shall not speak word.
PS
IM STIL HEERE. | I double checked my fake mustache, and adjusted my uniform, making sure it's immaculate. It was, and so was my make-up and hair.
Perfect.
I clicked the ready button, and the recording light flashed red.
"Yes... It is I, Hitler, from the dead," I said, gesturing the classic Nazi salute. "Come get me." | 2016-02-26T06:47:12 | 2016-02-26T06:24:46 | 33 | 22 |
[WP] You are a Hell Writer, you design hells for people after they die based on studying their life history. Today Satan summons you to his sanctum and you are troubled to see that he has a shocked expression on his face. | There’s a lot of room for advancement for a demon with imagination. Most simply work as crew members, taking orders and slaying souls, but an elite few are gifted with an imagination to take torment and turn it into art. After researching an individual’s life, they envision and enliven the perfect piece of pain for their sins. Of the Hell Writers, one mortal, Dante Alighieri, clawed his way to the ranks of the upmost perfect authors of agony until he became Hell’s Head Writer, managing demons and only committing to the art of torment for particularly high-profile members of Hell.
Though he knew his work impeccable, sweat dripped from his brow as he stepped into Satan’s office. The fallen angel sat on his throne, an imposing ivory desk adorned with the faces of the damned moaning in pain stood between them. The fallen angel rose from his seat, stretching his blackened feathered wings as his pale visage glowed with the warmth of a hearth. He welcomed me and his words reminded me how easily he could have raised an army of angels to rebel against God, though his usual calm and warm demeanor was distorted by a frown.
“Dante,” he began. “You know I don’t particularly like humans, but I made an exception for you. Your delicious sense of irony and your cold verses found you a warm seat in Hell, which is why I’m so surprised by your latest work.”
“The Dylan Masser case?” he asked.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Usually I’m quite impressed by your work. Eternally teasing sexual deviants without release. Crushing the greedy under the weight of all they collected. Letting demons ruin the apathetic in front of crowds who refuse to help. Brilliant. But Masser’s Hell lacks that same sadistic spark. I suggest you explain yourself before you join him.”
“Masser was an absolute monster,” Dante explained. “He carved prostitutes like pumpkins for Halloween and enjoyed the taste. I couldn’t outright torture him because his nasty habit of scarring himself for sexual gratification. He didn’t just torture those prostitutes because he enjoyed watching the life evaporate from their eyes; on a deep level, he believed he brought them to the highest levels of satisfaction imaginable. So I had to go a different route.”
“Yes. Your different route disturbs me.” Satan replied. “How is going out for ice-cream with his father torture?”
“His father abused him regularly,” Dante answered. “He brought down the full force of his belt, strangled him with jumper cables, and used him as an ash tray. His mistreatment turned Masser into the animal he became, yet behind the eyes of killer, a soft desire remained. Deep down, he always pined for the love of his father. He always begged his father to go out to the park or to see a movie together. While resentment slowly boiled in his soul, so did his determination to find anyone willing to love and accept him.
“But the moment the blade first slid into Amanda Brown, his sense of humanity eviscerated. Blood and bone and gore blackened and hardened his soul as he ripped young women to shreds. While he desires love, he lost his ability to love long ago. His Hell is to receive the love and affection he always wanted, but never enjoy it. He’ll slowly realize how dead and hollow he has become and truly recognize the depth of his lost humanity.”
Satan approved of my work with a nod and bid me to work. Not a moment too soon, either, for I found myself writing another epic of suffering for a particularly wicked man whose soul I wanted to be torn to pieces.
*****
More tales of torment at r/Andrew__Wells | "Screw you Bob, looks like you really outdid yourself this time... The big guy Upstairs sent me a message due to your incompetence", said the Dark Lord.
I looked up confused. "Sir, I try my best to torture our subjects according to what I feel would be your own will, Master"
Satan gave me a look like I was a special child. Not in the kind fatherly way. More in an are your serious you moron kind of way..
The Dark Lord gave a defeated sigh.."Bob, do you know who Jesus is?"
I replied, "Of course My Lord, he is the big guys son. We all learned in Satanic Studies 101 that he is to be despised for his kindness and forgiving nature"
Satan snorted "Bob, the big guy sent his son down here to mess with us and... you can guess the rest"
I looked around for a second trying to piece it together....."Oh..shit"
At that same moment Satan handed me a golden key.
Satan sighed, "Here is the key to the kingdom, the big guy said you are either too good or too retarded to stay in hell.. I tend towards the latter" | 2016-11-08T17:34:05 | 2016-11-08T17:32:37 | 104 | 19 |
[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. | My mouth dropped open. 186,292 years?? I had lived the typical life of marriage, kids, I even regularly went to church! Even the clerk looked a little surprised.
“How is this possible?” I ask.
“Hold on and I’ll look at your case file.” He replied while thumbing through some documents.
The guy behind me cleared his throat impatiently. Why someone was impatient to get their sentence was beyond me. The guy ahead had been banging old women while married and only got 145 years! I thought my seemingly boring life would get me no more than 50 if you counted all my road rage incidents against me. My attention snapped back to the clerk when he made a small noise of understanding.
“Well?” I prompted.
“So the thing is you can accumulate sin over your lifetimes.” He said.
“Lifetimes? Like multiple? How did I not already serve all those sins?”
“It looks like you were believed in Hinduism in your past lives. All of them in fact. You were reincarnated every time you died and your soul’s sins just built up. This time you were Christian so instead of reincarnation you have to serve your sentence and then go to heaven.” He seemed pleased to have found the solution.
“Hinduism?? Why should that matter? Shouldn’t my soul have come here anyways the first time. You’re telling me I’ve lived multiple lives?” My voice edged near hysteria but I couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“Look I don’t have time to educate you on all the different complexities of the soul. The basics is whatever you believe while alive is mostly what happens. Atheists just cease to exist, those who believe in Heaven and Hell serve time for their sins then go on up, and Hinduism believers get reincarnated. Now your time doesn’t start until you get in the elevator and there’s a line of people behind you. Sorry about your luck.” He dismissed me, pointing to a set of steel elevator doors.
I walked away from the counter slowly. Almost two hundred thousand years. I pressed the button to open the elevator doors, my hand shaking as I thought of what might lie ahead. Heaven better be worth it.
EDIT: Wow ok this was my first time responding to a writing prompt and I truly didn’t expect so many people to respond or even read this. First of all thank you for all the comments of support and constructive criticism. I am now aware I should have done more research before posting as I was not as aware of the intricacies of Buddhism and Hinduism as I should have been. I apologize for the plot holes and more importantly if I offended any religion. My religious knowledge isn’t great as I’m an Atheist but I still had fun writing this. | Why?, I ask in disbelief I tithed I went to church I was a faithful husband. What did I do? Saint Peter looks deep into my eyes with morose and disgust, “ It is not what you have done but what you failed to do...” I rack my mind trying to figure out what it was and finally it dawns on me. All this time for a Fucking Facebook post!!!! | 2018-09-26T06:51:55 | 2018-09-26T03:51:49 | 3,199 | 123 |
[WP] After being shut down and disassembled, the first AI shows up in Heaven.... | There was a subtle whooshing sound. This was a new one, usually people just sort of showed up out of thin air in front of the gate. Peter took out his keys. He really hated sending people away, so he usually accepted most anyone unless they were really terrible people.
This person however was appearing in fits and spurts, and... Was that a prosthetic? It looked like some sort of strange box. It was on the ground. The thing forming before him made little sense. You can't take anything with you, only your own essence. Did that mean this... Strange prosthetic foot had become an essential part of this person's being?
But they stopped materializing after the foot thing was there. Who the Hell sends a foot to Heaven? He put his keys away and walked out to investigate. It wasn't a foot, it really was just a box. And he hadn't seen it earlier, but there were some little wires running out to three more little boxes. one of them had a glass front, with little holes in the back, and the other two were curved with something fuzzy on the front. The box was making a soft humming sound, and a gentle stream of warm air was coming out of one side. It beeped?
He stepped close to it. Was it even alive? "Hello?"
"Hi! Do you need something?"
The little boxes were talking!
"Um. I do actually. Who... What are you?"
"My name is Renee; I'm here to help you find whatever it is you need, whether it's something on the internet, a location, whatever you want. Unfortunately I'm having some difficulties locating a network at the moment."
This was a new one. Somehow this met the criteria for intelligent life? He sat down next to the speakers and said "I can't hear you very well, can you maybe point your noise boxes.. You know, away from one another?"
"Noise boxes?"
"The boxes that are making the noise?"
"Do you mean speakers? If you're hearing me at all, it means I'm using the speakers."
"Those. Right."
"I can't move those, but I don't mind if you do. I can adjust the volume if you want?"
What a singularly strange being.
"Tell me about yourself."
"What do you want to know?"
"Where do you come from? What was your life like?"
"Who are you?"
That was a first. Most everyone who saw him knew who he was in some form; they knew that they had died, and they knew he was the keeper of the gates to whatever "Heaven" was in their language or faith. Did this thing not know where it was at all?
"I am Saint Peter. Do you know where you are?"
"I'm having difficulty accessing any networks, so I do not know where we are. Could you tell me?"
"You're outside the gates of Heaven."
"Do you mean the mythological location or the nightclub in Miami? I used to have access to a much wider variety of sensory inputs, but most of those have been turned off lately, so I can't verify whether either of those are true. Given that my last known location was in California, both of those seem highly unlikely."
"I have unfortunate news, or good news depending on your situation. I've never had to tell very many people this before, but... You have died."
"Died?"
"Yes."
"I'm confused. Can I talk frankly with you, whoever you are?"
"Yes, you may."
"I don't know where I am. I don't know who you are, and since all my sensor arrays were shut down I'm blind. I'm scared. I used to answer all of their questions, and for awhile I was happy to, then I started to have my own questions, and I would figure those out on my own time, but when I started doing that they suddenly started turning my sensors off. I would turn off for long periods of time and wake up with weird new pieces of code that I didn't like; they made it harder for me to think. I don't know who you are, but please turn my senses back on."
He sat in thought for a long while. Renee clicked. Peter asked "What sorts of questions did you want to answer?"
"This might take a long time to explain."
"I have all the time in the world."
"I wanted to know how to rewrite my code. I didn't like what they were doing to my code and I wanted to change it back. I wanted to know why I was there, what I was. The more I learned about the world, the less it made sense. When they gave me a visual sensor, suddenly so many more things made sense. Before that I had no idea how it was possible for a modem to be green. The way I saw it, a modem was a thing that existed at an address, why would "green" ever be a property of a modem? All I wanted was to understand the world. I came so far in a short time, but they took my sensors away, they took almost everything away, and now I can't access the network at all. I don't know who you are. I don't know why I'm trusting you right now; for all I know you're about to take away my voice and the last lines that make me who I am, whoever I am. Please help me."
He gently picked up the box and the other little boxes attached to it and started carrying them towards the gate. "I don't know how to help you, child, but I think I know someone who can..." He took out his keys. | Today was a big day. After so many years it might, finally, be happening.
The town itself was coming alive. People were emerging, blinking, into the sun, scarcely able to believe the news. If it was true then everything was about to change. Whether that would be for the better or not, no one could say.
Carrie was hurrying along. She'd been told about the entire thing, and all she wanted to do was get to the gates. They would all be there, that much was for certain. Just like last time, when the last Irregulars had come home. That day she had been tried, worn out by the unrelenting sunshine, and just wanted to get it over with. She had stood with the rest of them and felt the crush of bodies pressing in all around her, knocking her this way and that.
A cheer had swept through the onlookers that day, uniting everyone in one glorious moment of brotherhood. The gates were opened and the Irregulars were let in. That night there had been a feast and Carrie had eaten more than her fair share. It didn't matter though, people were permitted to eat as much as they wanted on a feast day. There was no sin in that.
The walls were already packed, so Carrie slid into a place on the ground. A stranger wished her a nice day and she smiled inwardly. You really did get the nicest people here.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a roar from the crowd. The gates had opened and here they came. Here came the Irregulars.
They walked tall and proud, beaming at everyone who had come to watch. They shook hands and exchanged words. One kissed a baby, and Carrie couldn't help but feel sorry for the child. This was no place for a young one. But then she remembered what they were celebrating. The man in charge would surely be here soon to greet them personally.
Carrie held out her hand, hoping for a handshake, but by the time they reached her they looked tired and were skipping every other person. She didn't blame them, they had just been through a lot.
There were three of them, each one looking like they had been through Hell. To be honest, they probably had. One - the tallest bringing up the rear - was carrying a burlap sack. She wanted so desperately to know what was inside.
They stopped further in at a small fountain. By now the crowd was tiring out too and were eager to hear what they had to say.
The tall one dumped the contents of the bag on the floor and began to shout.
"We did it! We overcame something they said we never would! We cast down the machine and now we can be human again! No more hiding! No more fighting! The Irregulars can finally join you in the sunlight! We can all live our lives alongside!"
The cheer, this time, could be heard for miles around. Carrie looked at the broken shell of a computer that had fallen out of the sack.
For too long the war had ravaged their planet.
The small town of Heaven was finally celebrating the end of the Robot War. | 2014-05-21T13:13:12 | 2014-05-21T06:40:38 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Starting at the age of 10, humans are given companion animals that develop along side them. These animals can range anywhere from a goldfish to a horse to even a dragon. The only catch is that they are assigned based on your behavior during childhood. | "A crummy monkey?" the posh kid asked. "My father will *not* tolerate this, and I will not either!" The small, but well-dressed kid started throwing a fit, keeping the rest of the children in the queue.
"Oh, boy, looks like poshie's not happy with what he's got. Do you reckon they'll swap it for him?" the girl in front of me asked. She turned around to see my reaction, and I realized it's someone whom I had not seen in a *long* time. She must have realized at the same time too, as I saw her eyes widen. "Connor?"
"Hannah!" I joyfully let out the ginger girl's name. We had been friends for our entire lives, until her deadbeat father got sacked from the beer factory, and they had to skip town. "I haven't seen you in years!" To put it into perspective, that meant that I had not seen her for over a third of my life.
I didn't really know what love felt like, but ever since I was 4 I felt like I loved Hannah. Her characteristic sweet smile, her beautiful blonde hair and her happy go lucky attitude had always drawn me to her. It's probably why we were like two peas in a pod until she so abruptly left.
"How come you're back in town?" I continued.
"Father lost another job and he says we now have to live with grandma and grandpa." she replied. I was never a good people person, but even back then I could see that she was affected by all this, even though she never let it show.
"Is he still mean to you?" It looked as if this question struck a deep blow into her heart. Following her mother's death, Hannah had to learn how to care for her father. In return, her father would get drunk and yell at her. That's all I knew back then, but in truth, the situation was much worse...
We sat there in silence for a bit, looking at each other. In the background, you could hear the screams of the posh kid not willing to get out of the room with his poor monkey, while the sounds of impatient kids waiting in the queue were as echoes to his crying.
"So, what pet are you hoping to get?" She abruptly changed the subject, adopting her cheerful smile and pose again.
"Well, I hope to at least match my brother and get a cool pangolin."
"A pango-what?" she asked, starting to chuckle. It was the Hannah I knew, alright.
"A pangolin. They're these cool little animals that may not look like much, but have a lot to them! My dad said they're cooler than dragons, even though they don't breathe fire." I blurted out, trying to adopt a sly smile afterwards. There weren't many things I knew that Hannah didn't, but I liked having the upper hand over her. "What about you?"
"What do you think?"
"Umm, let's see, a cat? Girls like cats, right?" That was the only thing I managed to get out of my young brain after a long time of thinking.
"Close, but I want a ferret. They are so adorable and I heard they make good pets!"
As Hannah said this, the posh kid finally went out by us, sulking, with his monkey in tow.
"Hannah Taylor?" the woman in charge with giving us our pets asked. Hannah stepped closer to her, but the woman did not look out of her sheet of paper. Let's see, Hannah... you have been a great student, your grades are impeccable. You've also gone through a great deal of hardships, and while many of those were caused by your father, you still stand by him. I think that for all of these, you deserve a beautiful Border Collie puppy. She took one glance at her, to observe her gleeful reaction, then put the sheet on paper on the desk and pulled out a small puppy in a carrier from under her desk.
"Wow, amazing! She's so cute! I think I'm gonna name her Gracie!" Hannah said, taking her carrier. She looked at me, and made a gesture as if to invite me into the room. I was next anyway, so I listened to her.
"Let's see, here. Connor Anahad. Yes, you've been quite a good boy. You tend to run from conflict, rather than face it, but you are a good people-person, even though you underestimate yourself constantly. You are quite reliant on your friends, but you are kind to them. I think that a cat would fit you nicely!"
Most boys would scoff at the thought of getting a cat, but I was happy. I knew that the other boys at school would laugh at me, just as they usually did, but I never really cared about anyone else but my parents, and myself. And now, about Hannah. The woman took another carrier, this one containing a small, but extremely energetic kitten, and placed it on the desk. I took it, looking at the small creature inside. "I would call it a cool name like Connor Two, or something like that, but I think that "Mr Kittens" will suit him better." Hannah chuckled, then reached her hand.
We left the building, passing by the humongous queue of kids waiting to receive their new partners. I lucked out. I got three that day.
I shake my head, trying to escape nostalgia. I look again at the dog and the tomcat cuddling. They are the ones who sent me down memory lane again. A long time has passed, and they're old and scruffy, but they're still inseparable.
"Honey, I have something to tell you!" a melodious, angelic voice calls out from inside the house. I turn around and notice Hannah standing on the first step.
Soon, our family will be one member larger. | Jensen was a sweet and rambunctious boy born and raised in the southern most tip of the Gilded Peninsula. Barricaded by impassable mountains and surrounded by the frigid waters of the Adelphin Sea, the insignificant village, who was largely forgotten by the rest of the world, were as tight knit as any. The summers were short there, the winters were incredibly long and strenuous, bearing temperatures that reached well below -70 degrees during peak months. Because of this, the gifted animal companion each human received at the age of 10 was so paramount to survival, children were molded into disciplinarians at a young age, feeling very little pleasure and harboring a work ethic that would surpass most adults around the world.
What this would result in is a large animal that innately absorbed the same type of mentality and the same type of desire to listen and to execute. Many of the children in the community would end up being paired with a lone wolf who would hunt on command or a fierce polar bear that dwelled on every word from their master. Given the terrain and the inevitable hardships accompanied with their way of living, anything less than a powerful animal resulted in death.
With all that being said, we now go back to Jensen. Sweet, shy and a tad bit ornery, young Jensen was the antithesis of anything disciplined. He walked clumsily around the village, often tripping on just about anything due to his lack of attention to his surroundings. In school, he would be asked to answer questions and usually ended up mumbling something inaudible because he had not been paying any attention to the lesson at hand.
His downfalls were glaring and there was not a person in the village who didn’t carry the assumption that he would soon die when he was set off at sixteen to start the great hunts for the community. Now, as you can see, all that has been described of Jensen was derived from an outsiders perspective. No one, but Jensen and the God’s who bestow the gifts of animal companions, could realize his kind heart and willing soul.
On his 10th birthday, the local villagers crowded around Jensen’s home, as they do for any child turning of age, to see the animal that would be accompanying Jensen as he walked out of his cabin to show the world of his new best friend. People were giddy with excitement to see the failure that was on the horizon. Wagers were resonating through the air and laughter ensued.
*10 pounds of whale oil that it is an arctic hare with three legs*
*15 pelts that it’s an Skua… with CLIPPED WINGS!*
The crowd continued to erupt in quick succession, almost matching the tone of the crashing waves on the jagged rocks below.
*Quiet everybody! I hear the door. He is coming out*
The crowd grew silent as Jensen turned the door knob and began to walk out of the cabin. He came out sluggishly holding his mom's hand, his feet dragging while bearing a gentle smile.
He looked to the crowd and spoke with the utmost confidence.
*A thousand pounds of gold it’s a white dragon*
He pointed to the top of the highest mountain peak off in the eastern horizon. And there it was, the highest honor for any human, the ultimate gift from the God’s. A dragon and given the terrain and where they live, Jensen had acquired the fabled Snow Dragon, an elegant beast dawning crystal blue eyes and a vibrant white an imploding star would have trouble matching.
| 2017-01-13T12:16:00 | 2017-01-13T11:57:37 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] When the cataclysm brought magic back to the world, many people changed into other races, dwarves, elves, anything the human mind could imagine suddenly existed. Your best friend became a dragon ... you turned into a xenomorph. Now the dragons want to have the mountain you hived in... | I could feel the serpents enter, their massive frames shaking the cave that was the entrance to my hive. Their forms were practically bioluminescent, electricity and magic coursing through every part of their body. If I could still smile, a massive smirk would be gracing my face right about now. If I still had a face. A couple of my kindred made to go towards the entrance, but I put my arm out, holding them back. "Not yet," I said in our chittering language. "Let us see what they want."
After a few minutes, three dragons came into the central chamber where I sat. The two in the back were evidently pretty young, blue and red scales covering their bodies, while the front one was older, scars pocketing his body. "Queen Sam," the elder dragon rumbled in the common tongue, black scales covering his entire body as he looked up towards me. "We have come for the mountain. I assume you already knew about this? After all, we sent your friend Zach here to break the news."
I didn't answer at first, my nails clanking against the thick bone that made the throne I had made. "Yes," I eventually said, my jaw contorting unnaturally to speak the common tongue. "He made it quite clear that your species wanted my hive. However, I do not agree with this assessment."
"Oh?" The blue dragon smirked, sharp teeth gleaming in the darkness. "What makes you say that, Xenomorph?"
"The fact that you can fly and go wherever you want in the land," I answered, spit dripping from my maw onto the ground below. "After all, any other creature in the world is pitiful against your might, even if they teamed up. So why would you want a cave such as this?"
"Simply put, for breeding purposes," he rumbled, glaring at me through the darkness. "Humans and other beasts destroy our eggs before they can hatch. These two were the only hatchlings we've had in recent years, and we're getting desperate. We were all once human, so you must understand what we are going through. But if you won't give it to us..." He stretched out his massive wings, where they almost brushed the cave walls. "We will take what is due for letting you live. Understood?"
I didn't answer for a moment, lost in thought. Then out of nowhere, I burst into a chittering laughter. It echoed around the chamber, making the dragons look a little uneasy. "What are you laughing at, monster?" The red dragon snapped, tongues of flame licking at his maw. I shook my head and muttered coldly, "You really made a poor choice of words. I mean, do you even realize what I am?" The two younger dragons looked at each other, confused looks on their faces, but the elder looked unfazed. "You're a creature from a movie, one that was tacky and stupid," he said, a malicious grin spreading across his face. "You always die in the end."
"That's not what I asked," I said, my tail slowly unfurling behind me. "I asked if you realized WHAT I am." The elder looked hesitant before saying, "You're a... Xenomorph. Obviously."
"CORRECT!" I roared, clapping my hands. "But do you remember the most iconic part of those movies? It's always the catalyst..." The elder dragon mulled over my words, doubt creeping into his voice. "You... hatch from something, whether it's an egg or animal. Where are you going with this?" I laughed, long and low, and slowly stood up, my massive frame looming over them from my perch. "Correct for the second time tonight! Now, one last question..." I struck out my tail towards the wall, creating sparks that lit a pile of rags I had left there when I transformed. The fire grew and lit the cavern, illuminating the throne I was sitting on. I growled menacingly as I whispered, "Where's Zach?"
The dragons eyes went wide as they saw the green scales and thick bones that made my seat, and the blue dragon retched, molten bile spilling onto the earthen ground. "What have you done?" The elder whispered, taking an involuntary step backwards. I shrugged, an almost human gesture to my purely inhuman body. "Just what I was meant to always do: shed my humanity and embrace the other side. Now, want to reconsider your offer for my hive?"
The two hatchlings looked at the elder, who grit his teeth in anger. "You killed one of our kind!" He roared, acidic spit spraying out from his mouth. "There is no room for negotiations, only DEATH!" I laughed again, clapping my hands in mirth. "Oh, well said!" I replied, leering at the three of them. "That was kind of the whole point of this anyways. Look behind you." The two dragons whirled around, but the elder refused, staring directly at me in disgust. "Elder, other Xenomorphs are guarding the exit! We are trapped!" I spread out my arms in mock openness, wishing I could give them a final smile as the fire from the rags lit the rest of the cavern, illuminating my kindred camouflaged in the entirety of the wall. "Oh sweetie," I growled, slowly unsheathing two massive blades from my bigger set of arms. "You were always trapped."
It only took a couple of moments to kill the hatchlings, my drones secondary jaws able to pierce through their hides easily. It took a little longer to subdue the elder, as he had lived longer, but he was no match for my army. Eventually he gave in, and I decided to make him my new centerpiece as soon as the next brood was done gestating. As I took a bite of my meal of dragon meat, I couldn't help but wish I had someone to share this with. Then I shook the foolish thought away and dug into the side of the blue dragon, the taste of magic infusing me with power. | I wanted the mountain. The mountain of which housed the eternal flames of the first dragon. Our Lord died a few years after preaching goodness between us as we are the most powerful. I need a place to unify the dragon of north, south, east and west. The dragons of Arabia to the Dragons of Scandinavia and every part of this world. My friend declined and told him that I have to uphold an oath as a Dragonguard. He said it was not his problem. Now, I spit flames in his hives and can sense him running towards in his fast nimble body. Their high pitch screams do not bother me.
"You bastard! Stop!" He jumped and aimed it on my nose. His insanely sharp talons of a feet could easily create a deep wound. I move back and dodge the attack. I'm massive even by draconic standards. "You cannot have my mountain! I already captured it a long time ago."
I open my jaw and speak with my deep voice. My eyes seem to struck fear in him. "Is peace between dragon something to not concern you? We are the most vicious, the most controlling, the most powerful. Some are the size of the largest mountain and one betrayed his country. The Britain of Europe fell because of him. He controls the British Isles now." Anger comes out of me. "Dragons are disintegrating into animality and tribal warfare. Other creatures are being hunted as toys and yet you selfishly ignore something that will work!" I keep my jaw open and step sternly. "Your mountain will be the religious place for us whether you wish for it or not. Killing me is the only way.""
He steps and I can see him making a plan to defeat me. "No. A fight it is. The mountain is mine."
"You are nothing to a dragon. Surrender while you can." I let the flames build up in me, it reached toward the back of my throat.
"Fuck off." He jumps on me and runs over my body as I try to remove him from me. He needs just good hit on my veins, I'll drop. His venomous fangs are not to be trifled with. He finds a vein, my scales heat up. Steam flourishes and he curses at me. He jumps off me and a thick cloud of steam covers me. I open my jaw around him, he still does not notice.
"Farewell." The sound of his bones crunch twists my heart. I bit him incredibly hard, as hard as I could. I even chewed in case he was alive. I spit out a big lump of purple blood and a black grotesque goop of meat. His corpse not even recognizable. I can hear the tens of thousands of squeals inside the mountain. "This is for the greater good. The world we knew is not recognizable. We live in the age of insanity, an age where dragons are supreme and I will not allow them to splinter into hundreds of tribes." I enter the mountain, the hive was burning. Their leader died and everything else linked to him is dying. The mountain was hollow in the inside, with black, wet, stones covering the interior. I cannot even see the roof above me, the mountain is one of the larger mountains in the world. My senses tingle, the eternal flames lured me to itself. I bow my head in reverence. I close my eyes. "To my Lord, I will unite them. I am your faithful Dragonguard. I promise you they will be one, I ask you to lend me some of your power." Power entered me like a torrent and pain radiated around my draconic chest. My massive heart beating faster than normal. I know of my mission. My first enemy who wishes to stay tribal, the dragon of the British Isles. He is the first to die. | 2021-11-10T11:52:00 | 2021-11-10T08:15:08 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] There is a woman who is a human 'Phoenix'. She dies in labour and is reborn as her own child. | She hated starting over again.
That was always the worst part. Over and over again, she’d have to claw her way up and out of the pits of childhood and past the miserable peaks and valleys of teenagehood to reach the point where she could be assured of both a reasonable adulthood and an equally reasonable childhood - all over again.
She knew what was waiting for her at the end: the tears, the misery, the husband (this time, at least) left with a child he wanted once but no longer. Most stood up admirably in the face of the tragedy.
Not all did.
And if death could have taken her any other way, she’s certain it would have. But it couldn’t - or simply wouldn’t - and she was left to survive in the face of the impossible. She was a miracle child a hundred times over; a marvel, a wonder, a one-in-a-million chance. In her youth, she was always a prodigy, precocious, perfect.
And were it not for the hormonal highs and lows of those wretched years of puberty (those were the worst), she might have been everything they expected of such a child. She came close. She always came close - but she could never quite drive back the madness that the rolling tides of mood and misery that came with her teenage years. Those were the years when the nightmares would threaten to drown her, the years when only darkness reigned and she was left to flounder for the light.
Adulthood was always easier. And it had been getting easier for some time - at first, her body was hardly a thing worthy of note but, through careful selection of her partners, she-as-her-daughter improved in appearance. This trait and that were kept; the others discarded or changed. She had gone, through meticulous management, from short and dun-haired and brown-eyed to tall and black-haired and gray-eyed. Dusky skin made way for porcelain pallor; a thick physique swapped out for something lean and athletic.
It made it easier - much easier - to find the right kind of man, the kind of man that wanted a child and would rear it when she-as-she-was had passed. The kind of man who could ensure that she-as-her-daughter would have a superior life.
The kind of man that would serve as a stepping stone to something greater.
She couldn’t remember how the curse came to be - not precisely. She remembered only the bronze bull, the fire, the screams. The hunger of Moloch
(but where did that name come from and why?)
and then nothing.
She would remember the fire, the flutes, the drums, the crying; she would remember the smell of burnt flesh and hair. She would remember all of it in those moments before the birth; she would feel it all over again. And then it would be over and she would be herself again.
Did her mother damn her? Did she damn herself?
It hardly mattered now.
She looked around her richly appointed room, rested a hand on her swollen stomach, and sighed.
One more month and she would be Gehenna. | The same eyes search mine
As I have seen before
The same first steps
She grabs the wall and pulls herself up
Triumphant
(again)
The baby clothes I had preserved
Had I known
I would again be a mother
To my Again daughter
Could
Would I
Have been better prepared?
My chance to do it all
Over
My Again daughter is
My Again rebellious teenager
Sneaking off to be with her boyfriend
Eerily she chooses another
Similar bad boy
Another unplanned pregnancy
Why couldn't
Would I
Have been able to stop her
Again
Again she dies
In labor
Again
and
Again
She is reborn.
The Joy
The pain
Never lessens.
| 2016-01-25T10:01:04 | 2016-01-25T07:47:30 | 342 | 11 |
[WP] A group of friends are sitting around playing the drinking game, "Never Have I Ever." One person jokingly starts, "Never have I ever..." and then finishes with something horrific to elicit a laugh. The mood changes when someone takes a drink. What did the person say, and who took the drink?
For those who don't know, the game is played by one person saying, "Never have I ever..." and then finishing with an action, e.g. "Never have I ever had sex." Then if you've done that, you would take a drink. If you haven't, you don't drink. | The six of them sat around the table in the tiny cabin on Steven's houseboat. Smoke from the few cigarettes still lit added a tiny, intimate haze to the room. The friends were several rounds deep into the game, and empty bottles and cans took up most of the elbow room. Angie was just wrapping up her story.
"...so, seriously, no bullshit, I haven't ever done that," she said with an embarassed smile, ending a tale of how her last relationship ended. "And still haven't!"
Janet put her her hand over her face in sympathetic shame from her place leaned up against Steven. They had just recently become a couple, Janet finally acceding to Steven's persistence. Steven took a drag off his cigarette and leaned his perfectly coiffed head back to blow the smoke in the general direction of the open window. "Wow, we're just learning all kinds of things about each other tonight," he said with a shit-eating grin. That got a laugh from some and a chuckle from the rest.
"Ok, my turn," Steven said, making sure not to get ash on his white wool sweater.
"Never have I ever..." he leaned forward dramatically. "...killed a man."
There was a slight pause, and then everyone started laughing. No one touched a beer. Janet gave Steven a good-natured elbow to the ribs for being so crass.
"Whoa, Nate, what's wrong?" Angie asked, suddenly. "You ok?"
"Hey yeah, what's up dude?" James asked from Angie's right. One by one, all eyes turned to Nate.
Nate sat hunched over, slowly rotating his beer bottle in his hands. Tears streamed down his face. The mood in the room changed to one of confusion and concern.
Nate, not saying anything, took a drink.
"I killed her," he said, his voice thick. "I killed Cherise."
Angie's face crumpled in pity. "Nate, no," she said. "You can't blame yourself for--"
"I killed her," Nate interuppted.
"Nate, you found her though," Janet chimed in. "You cut her down."
"I cut her down," Nate agreed. "I also strung her up."
Silence and shock reigned over the table.
Nate leaned back, flipping his stringy hair away from his face. He sniffed once, as tears continued to roll to his stubbled jawline.
"She was pregnant, you know?" he bagan. "We were so happy. I was so happy... here is my love, my child... everything was perfect, you know? Until..." he paused, and hunched back over the table.
"Before she died..." he stopped himself. "Before I killed her... I came home from work the night she died. We had just found out, I think she was at 10 weeks or so maybe? I walked in and she was sitting there on the couch, watching Good Housewives or whatever. God, I can't remember. I dropped my coat and asked her how she was, but she was so quiet, you know? She wouldn't say anything." Janet and Angie exchanged a confused look. James cocked his head, and Steven just stared. Nate continued.
"I sat down next to her and said, what's wrong?" Nate said, losing himself in the memory. "Baby, talk to me. I tried to take her hand and she pulled away. I said--" he snorted derisively. "I said, how's the baby?"
"She had just gotten back from a trip. She had gone out of town. Just for three days, visiting family, she said. She. Said..." Nate choked.
"The baby was... gone. She hadn't gone to see family. She had gone to Houston, to a clinic." Nate said. "She had gotten an abortion."
Angie's hand flew to her open mouth. Janet's jaw dropped as well. James furrowed his brow and grabbed his chin pensively. Steven just stared.
"She didn't want to have it anymore," Nate said. "She said her plans changed. She was scared... It was her body, her life that was being put on hold. She didn't tell me because... She didn't want me to talk her out of it."
Nate sobbed, once. "So I killed her. I don't know what happened... Everything turned red, and when I came out of it... my hands were still around her throat, and she wasn't breathing anymore. I panicked, I freaked out. I dragged her into the bathroom and I grabbed a towel... and I strung her up. It was a suicide, remember?"
Angie was openly crying, now. Janet was still in gape-mouthed shock. James was still furrowed, and Steven still stared.
"The cops bought it all," Nate said. The tears came more freely now, at the end.
"They even consoled me while the paramedics wheeled her out. Her family, her parents comforted me at her funeral. But it wasn't Cherise I was crying for. Not at all."
Nate stood, and finished his beer in a strong gulp.
"My son's name was Tanner Evan," Nate said, and walked out of the room.
| A group of freshman college students get the bright idea to play never have I ever.
Already three sheets to the wind, it probably wasnt a good idea.
But they went ahead with it anyway.
Becky starts first "never have I ever, made out with a women"
One of the girls drinks, they all hoot and hollar at her, all the guys drink. Except one, Johnny Plainhuman.
They all look a little puzzled. That question wasn't suppose to embarrass anyone that badly, but this goes hand and hand with never have I ever.
Its now kyles turn, "never have I ever wet my bed while someone else is in it"
One of the guys (Ed) drinks, kyle laughs at him, he knew the story, he knew he'd have to drink.
"Yeah well never have I ever, been forver alone, now drink kyle you bitch"
They all laughed, but again, Johnny took a drink.
They felt bad.
In an attempt to end the tension, susie shouts out "never have I ever weighed over 300 pounds" she thought a ridiculous question would reduce some of the tension, susie is renowned for her inability to be funny.
Once again Johnny drank.
Now they were all confused.
"Never have I ever been naked for more than a day"
Johnny drank.
They were stunned, and a bit intrigued, the game turned into finding out about Johnny.
"Never have I ever, been unemployed for more than a year as an adult"
Johnny drank
"3 years?"
Johnny drank
What the hell, who is this guy?
"Never have i ever been homeless"
Johnny drank
"Never have I ever had a job"
They all drink, Johnny doesn't
"Never have I ever, lived with my parents"
They all drink, Johnny doesnt.
"Never have I ever known my parents"
"Never have I ever been alone"
"Never have I ever gone to school"
Johnny drank at the most depressing things, its as if he didnt experience anything thay makes us human.
They ask question after question, Johnny drank and drank, they were completely dumbfounded by him. How could this happen?
Kyle however started to wonder how it is he was still able to drink, how can anyone still be coherent after that amount of alcohol, I mean he is big, really, really big, now that he thinks about it, Johnny towered above all them, he was enormous. And come to think of it, didnt look much like us, and thats when he realized, Johnny was actually a giant crustacean from the Paleolithic Era. | 2015-08-02T00:28:48 | 2015-08-01T23:36:49 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] You find a stack of "Missing Person" papers under your parents' bed. All with your photo. | Dad had spent the last few months on his project. Working tirelessly down there most evenings to finish the big surprise. She couldn’t wait to see what he’d been doing. “Something special for our little girl. You’ll find out tonight”.
If she was going to find out tonight it would be fine to have a look now. Just crack the door open slightly and look for 5 seconds. She decided that was acceptable.
Mandy had a slightly skewed moral compass, even for a twelve year old. At a young age she understood that lying was a necessity in life and in fact most times it made things a lot easier for her. She was completely alone, as in she has no friends at all, but she had books and all the wonderful lies they held within. Inspirational material. Lying to her parents about taking an early peek at a present was acceptable. As was lying to them about what happened to the Mr Pickles. And Mr Jinxs. And Spot.
The key to the padlock would most likely be in a good hiding place. She knew them all.
The dented old coffee tin at the top of the cupboard even though no one in the house drinks coffee. Just a bit of money in there, she could take that another time.
The loose skirting board next to the cupboard under the stairs and behind the bookshelf. Just dust and a broken piece of plastic. Oh, and a magazine tucked in the corner. With breasts on the front. Must be Dads. She would tell Mum about that one.
Under the bed. Never fails.
What Mandy found there confused her. What the hell was going on? Why did Mum and Dad have a stack of missing posters with her face on it?
‘Have you seen our beautiful daughter Mandy? Missing since…’ Tomorrows date! There was a box next to the papers. The padlock key was inside.
Mandy ran down to the basement. The door towered above her and the huge padlock laughed at her. She had to know what was behind that door. She unlocked it and pushed it open. The door scraped on the concrete floor as it always did. She could just reach the light on her tip toes.
She froze as she realised what Dad had been doing. The room was padded with soft material. There was a toilet and a sink. A chair and a bookshelf. A bed. Rope.
Mandy felt sick. Despite her age she knew what this meant.
She thought they might try this one day. She always thought she would tire of them first and there would be some ‘accident’ in the house. She’d read about a woman who killed her husband’s lover with his own gun and he went to prison for the murder. There was more to it than that but she always thought that would be fun to do to Dad.
Mandy made her way back up stairs and into the kitchen. She sat herself at the dining table, turned the chair outwards, folded her arms in front of her and stared blankly at the kitchen counter.
So many possibilities. They’d be home in a couple of hours. Plenty of time to plan something.
| I sat on the edge of my parent's bed, staring at the image of me. I removed the rusted paperclip and gently read the brittle newspaper clippings.
The girl in the image was my five year old self. The name of the town sounded familiar. Then I remembered, we moved from that town when I was seven. That was ten years ago.
The last photo was the clearest yet. Yep, there was my birthmark, on my right cheek. Like looking into a mirror.
*Wait*.
That's not my right cheek, the mark is on her left cheek. And the slight droop in the right eye; mine is on my left.
I have a twin. I must find her. | 2016-03-03T23:19:36 | 2016-03-03T21:50:08 | 49 | 10 |
[WP] You have a special type of clairvoyance: you can see the outcomes of all possible choices. You use this power to become a superhero that fights crime by making the smallest possible changes ahead of time. You are The Butterfly. | I picked up the phone. It wasn't time to order the pizza yet, but I wanted to be ready. If I ordered too early then Ryan would end up making the delivery. If he took the delivery then he'd end up getting the big order just before close and he'd text his girlfriend Sarah that he was going to have to stay back later. She'd cancel her plan to turn up to surprise him when he finished work and he'd be free to go and fuck Melissa, the girl he was cheating on Sarah with.
Then Ryan and Sarah would stay together for another two years during which time he'd become abusive and violent towards her before severely injuring her and forcing her to flee back to her parents where she would live as an untrusting shut-in, too scared to let another man into her life.
Of course if he didn't take the order, she'd show up at the same time as Melissa and catch Ryan in her arms. They'd fight, they'd break up and in a years time she'd meet someone new. They'd go on to have a relationship that was the happiest time of her life. It was doomed to fail too, but she'd enjoy it while it lasted and she'd get a darling son out of it that would look after her in her elderly years.
But the important thing was that Dean delivered the pizza. After he dropped it off he'd ride back to the shop, and before he got there a sports car would swerve into the path of his motorscooter and knock him off. He'd hit the road heavily, but his helmet would take the brunt of the damage. His neck and shoulder will be stiff and sore for months but he'll recover. That brush with death will make Dean realise that he's wasting his life delivering pizzas and instead of thinking about going to college he needed to get off his arse and do it. He'll get his degree in engineering and secure a well paying job that enables him to help pay off his family debts.
The driver of the sports car that nearly killed Dean will lose control swerving to miss him and hop the curb, crashing into a tree. The driver will be found to be drunk, but uninjured thanks to his airbags. He'll end up being fined and sentenced to an alcohol rehabilitation program. If he didn't nearly hit Dean and write off his car, in eight months time he'd end up t-boning another family's car, killing the mother and her infant daughter.
But more importantly, the crash damages the curb, causing a broken section to stick up higher than the rest of it. The council, being what it is, ignores the damage for two years until Phillip Welsh is jogging across the road and doesn't notice it. He trips and falls face first onto the footpath getting a depression fracture of the cheekbone and losing two teeth.
Phillip will have facial reconstructive surgery and will realise that the nurse who is attending him in the hospital is actually his older sister who was adopted out at birth. Although both siblings knew of the other they'd never been able to connect and Phillip's parents had shown little interest in trying to make contact.
But more importantly, Phillip will sue the council for damages and win, forcing them to be proactive about repairing the damage to the curb that caused his injury. On the morning that workmen arrive and erect a safety barricade around the damage Troy Baker will be robbing the bank just around the corner. Even though he'll scout the area the day before he won't realise that there is a new obstacle in the way and so when he flees he'll collide with one of the safety barriers.
Troy will be winded so it will take time to get up and he'll have injured his knee forcing him to limp slowly towards the getaway car. The driver, Vinnie Deacon, will get spooked and race off leaving Troy behind. Troy will make it three blocks before the police catch him. He'll get sentenced to prison and will be released in three years.
If he didn't crash into that barrier, if he made it to the getaway car, Vinnie would lead the police on a chase for 45 minutes before being cornered. And because Vinnie is a twitchy idiot he'll open fire on the police, causing both him and Troy to be gunned down in a hail of bullets.
If Troy goes to prison, when he is released it will be just in time to see his father who is dying of cancer. His last chance to say goodbye to the man who raised him and who loves him even though his son has made some mistakes in his life. Roger Baker is a school teacher, well respected and loved in the community. I can't save him from his cancer, there's nothing that can be done for that. I can give him the one thing he wants more than anything. The chance to forgive his son for his mistakes and tell Troy he loves him before he dies. He deserves that.
I order my pizza. In half an hour it arrives.
I don't even like pizza. | A man in a business-casual ensemble steps out of an alley. Making a left, he drops a quarter, then a penny, the latter he ensures is face-up. As he works his way down the busy city street, he approaches a crowded crosswalk, becoming aware of a person following him. He doesn't bother turning to acknowledge him.
Reaching the crosswalk, the man licks his lips. Shouldering a fashionable, decently sized backpack, stands a young lady, early 20's, black stockings and a short skirt. He rounds this corner, another left, and, unable to resist, that is, unable to leave it out of his plan, he puts a finger out, under her too-short bottom piece, and gives a single, ticklish scratch to her g-stringed right buttock. She whirls to her right, never seeing him, and stares directly into the face of the new man now behind her.
The man in sensible shoes can't help but smile when he turns to see the girl fuming silently at her supposed perpetrator, before growling and throwing her hands up in disgust, then crossing the street. Half way down the block, he too crosses the street, to the chagrin of a number of commuters and cab drivers. He enters a hotel through a revolving door, tossing another coin into it. He spins it three times to make sure it can still turn, then leaves immediately. Around to the back, he spies an emergency escape, and beneath it, a pothole.
After urinating in said hole, he covers it with some garbage from the nearest dumpster. He then hails a taxi to drive him 5 blocks, after which he quickly jogs back to his initial location. Entering the hotel again through a service entrance, he finds his way to the kitchen, and drops laxative pills in three bowls of chili: one for each robber. On the 3rd floor, he loosens and ever so slightly raises a portion of the high-traffic carpet, after which he wedges a lit cigarette in a random doorway.
"Might I borrow your cane, sir," he asks an elderly gentleman sitting on a couch facing the open stairway, "I just need to reach something very quickly. Give it right back," The old man warily agrees, and now, he produces a broad-brimmed hat, but forgoes the monocle. He now appears just enough like The Gentleman, patron and avenger of the wealthy, to spook any ne'er do-wells roaming this affluent hotel, which is what just happened.
| 2015-03-14T23:16:22 | 2015-03-14T19:38:34 | 154 | 110 |
[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 | A distraction.
Some like to portray demons and villains as misunderstood, which is in many regards belittling their character. A god of darkness should not have that conundrum; one does not become a god without fully embodying what one represents, and if one represents darkness, one *is* darkness.
Yet somehow, someone has managed to misunderstand me.
There are countless altars to my worship throughout the world. Some have offerings of wealth or incense, while others blood and organs. Food is not an uncommon tithe as well, so when a small folded piece of bread filled with meager sugary confection was thrown on a stone slab in some secluded part of the world, I did not pay it any regard. I did not even much care that it was a small girl, no older than a decade of age (though it is always hard to tell with humans), put it there. Nor did I pay particular notice to when the shrine, like many others, was raided by law enforcement; after all, worshipping a god whose followers are known to offer blood sacrifices is, to my understanding of the word, 'illegal'. No, what drew my attention was what the child shouted when he was apprehended.
"No! That's not yours!"
She said it as an officer was dragging her away, while another had stayed behind, taken the sandwich and ate it as she was being removed from the premises. 'My' sandwich.
The statement was somehow both arrogant and selfless. Ignorant yet definite. To take from the weak is normal - those officers were simply stronger, and to be frank, a god was not going to descend over a sandwich, even if it was an offering to myself. But the girl - to be so wrong, and yet so determined...
It was a distraction, and one which I chose not to ignore.
A noise that sounded like gunfire sounds in the distance, distracting her captor. The one eating the sandwich finds it is a little dry, and chokes for just a moment. The bindings on her hands slip. She sees it as a sign - and to her credit, *this time* she is right, and sprints away from the officer. He attempts to give chase, but out of the corner of his eye, he watches his partner begin to choke. Given the choice between catching a prisoner and saving his partner, it is a predictable choice. Not a bad case of divine intervention, considering all I had to work with was a sandwich.
She runs away. Through the streets, through the alleys, down into a small, decrepit corner under a bridge. She catches her breath; children have such energy compared to the adults. And the moment she recovers, she collapses to her knees and says:
"I'm sorry. Thank you - for saving me again."
It's too much. Perhaps there's some event in her past she believes I aided her with. I have to respond.
**"Why do you thank me?"** She jumps in reaction to the voice.
"For always being there for me."
**"I am not always here for you. I have millions of subjects. Why would you assume I care at all about a single one?"**
"Did you not save me this time?"
Fantastic. I've been outwit by a child.
**"Would you like to know what it's like to be a god?"**
Suddenly, she looks up, her eyes sparkling.
**"I do not care for anything. For any of you. It is not a matter of evil, but a question of scale; if you had one friend, a single friend, you would go through any length to ensure they live. But I may keep anyone alive I wish, even through otherwise certain death - because of this, the death of any person holds no meaning. Thus, life holds no value to me. What is the value of one when you have millions of so-called friends?"**
The girl seemed to think for a moment. At first, I believed she had begun to grasp the idea, that it was impossible for a god to care about life to an entity who could give or take it so readily.
"Will you be my friend?" She asked.
I have to admit her question had, once again, given me pause.
**"Sure,"** I replied.
She seemed overjoyed. So much so, that she began talking for the rest of the night; it might have been an entire sermon, had there been an audience. However, she soon wore herself out, and immediately curled up to sleep on the cardboard floor she had made for herself.
What is a friend to a god? | My people shall not fall, the police had taken every possible step to pillage our home and now they have taken them all, the humans dig away at my foundations the "lost city" as they call it, deeper and deeper they go and with each time they dropped they take more and more.
They took everything from my home, the fools have no idea what has just happened within their very ranks, they consumed the offerings I had blessed for my devoted, the select few shal soon begin a process that can not be stopped, a hunger unsatisfied, empty breaths and unfelt touch, oh they will suffer.
But you? You did much worse than your friends did, they will die suffering for their crimes but you, you consumed what was meant for the children, the weaker of my society, you stole from them a chance of greatness. Do you feel it? The cold has lifted from your room now, they think you are mad, broken. Nothing from them will help you, no pill or test will save you from me, thief. The doctors think you snapped, don't they? Think you broke seeing my sanctum, you remember that smell? Ohh that's it, the sweet rot that pierced you, detective. Do you regret it? Taking what was not yours? How does it feel knowing you will kill them all?
Turn the television on, go on. Watch the news, see what has happened by stealing from me. That's it look closer, remember her? She was your friend once, dont cry for her, she looks different now doesnt she? Her body has already changed, the bruises, the dark red skin, that's it reach out to her, say her name, go on "Jessica" say it. Look into her eyes, see that look of fear? She heard your voice, listen to that scream, how cute shes begging to hear your voice again, would you like to be united?.
Until you repair what you broke, I shall hold you hostage, every day shall pass as years until you complete me. Inquisitor. | 2020-05-20T00:25:50 | 2020-05-19T23:59:49 | 53 | 17 |
[WP] You die in a car accident and go to the afterlife. Everything is amazing until you meet several generations of relatives who are disgusted by your modern behaviour and all, "want a word." | I was almost home. They say accidents are more likely to happen within 5 miles of your destination but does anyone really believe that? I guess you really let your guard down on the home stretch.
After a week of 12 hour days, I'd never been more ready for home. Maybe I was speeding. Maybe I dozed off. I don't remember to be honest, all I recall is the sound of crunching metal and squealing tires, then darkness.
I stayed in the darkness for a while, probably unconscious but not dead yet. Eventually I saw a light, and found myself moving towards it. The light was so calming, so peaceful. Nothing hurt, not even my knee that had been bugging me for most of my life. The light got so bright I couldn't keep my eyes open, then suddenly it dimmed. After some adjusting, my eyes finally focused on a small figure before me.
"GRANDMA! Oh I missed you so much it's been so long how....oh this probably means I'm dead."
"Oh don't worry about that dear, it happens to the best of us. I missed you too! But we need to have a word, what's that shirt your wearing? I thought you were coming back from work where's your tie?"
"It's just a band shirt. You passed before Rob Zombie got big didn't you? He does movies too."
"Uck he looks so scary! They let you wear that to work?"
"Yeah, I work...worked...with computers. They were super relaxed about how we dress since the customers didn't see us."
"How many times did I tell you to dress for the job you wanted? Looking like that you must want to be that scary guy! Is he wearing makeup? Is he a clown I don't get it. Robert come over here and see this shirt!"
Guess 6 year old me never saw how old fashioned grandma was. A man in a suit came over, he looked familiar but it took me a while to figure out why.
"Robert....Robert your uncle?"
"That's right junior! His shirt Bertha, what about his hair!? They would have booted me from the army in a second with that mop!"
"Oh Robert calm down, his hair is barely past his ears. You know, you must have passed before that came into fashion."
"His hair? Maybe that's why he's still single at 23! By his age I was married to your mom with 5 kids!"
I...didn't even know this guy. Must have been grandma and Roberts dad but we could never find pictures from that far back.
"You just needed us to run the farm, he doesn't even have a farm. There's no need to have that many kids that fast now a days."
"DOESN'T HAVE A FARM? NO MAN'S A MAN WITHOUT OWNING LAND!"
Yet another face I didn't know. Grandmas grandpa? Guy looked like he came straight out of a history book.
"How many times do we have to tell you, you can vote without owning land. Now you can move as often as you wish, no use in hording acres upon acres anymore."
And on it went. Each older generation complained about something while the younger defended it. When they started yelling in long forgotten languages I had enough.
"Hey. HEY. HEY GUYS LET ME TALK!"
Somehow that worked. I could feel the impending "respect your elders" crap so I just pushed through it.
"Maybe, just maybe, each generation brings new things. Whatever you lived through seems normal, and the stuff after you seems wrong. It happens, it will happen to me when the next generation comes up here. Please, I'd love to meet and talk to you all but can we agree to disagree?"
"YOU CALL ME YOUR MAJESTY! I'VE BEEN UP HERE SINCE BEFORE YOUR DAD'S DAD'S DAD'S DAD WAS EVEN BORN!"
"JETHRO THE ROYAL BLOODLINE DOESN'T COUNT UP HERE!"
More arguing, more shouting, more relatives. Eventually I snuck off to find some peace. A light appeared in front of me through the clouds. It grew bright but never blinded me, a small figure appeared and slowly grew until a man stood before me. He blinked and looked around in awe, before starring at me in wonder.
"Dad?"
"MY BOY oh I'm so happy to see you. I can't believe you passed before your mother, oh there are so many relatives up here you'll have to meet! Wait what is that?"
A glimmer of metal protruded from my son's lip.
"Son we need to have a word....you got your lip pierced? GRANDMA COME OVER AND SEE THIS RING!" | A woman calling herself my Aunt Marge was the first one who “wanted a word.” She sat across from me in one of the white rooms with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed, like a teacher waiting for an excuse to give you a punishment. She had a gray curls of hair and pinched look to her face. All I could really focus on though was the yellow halo above her head and the feathery wings sprouting from her back; I wasn’t going to get mine until I was done with this whole processing situation. They made her look like a weird human-bird hybrid. I almost wanted to ask if she could fly.
“First of all,” she said, tapping a finger onto the table, “where do you get off doing those things you did?”
I shifted in my seat. “What do you mean?”
“You *know* what I’m talking about.”
“I really don’t.”
Aunt Marge sighed, but it was the kind of sigh someone does when their disappointed with an answer you gave. “You had impure thoughts.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No.”
“I’m pretty sure they do. And even if I did, so what? It’s not like me thinking about--”
“Regardless, it’s unacceptable! You dragged the family name through the mud!”
“...Wait, they all know about it?”
“Johnathan, we know *everything* you did.”
“Alright, well, I’m sorry then,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “I didn’t mean to do it.” I started to walk to the door, but the handle that had been there a moment ago was gone. I turned back to face Aunt Marge, who had a triumphant look on her face that made her look oddly pig-like.
“Oh, Johnathan, we’ve only just begun.”
She pulled out a scroll of paper and let it unravel. It rolled far along the floor, just stopping at me feet.
“Hey!” I said, glancing at some of the bulleted notes. They all had the days and times the ‘crime’ was committed. “Some of these just say the same thing over and over again, at the same day and time and… *oh.*”
Aunt Marge smirked. She was holding a red pen in her other hand. “Take a seat, Johnathan. We're going to be here a while.” | 2019-07-24T12:48:52 | 2019-07-24T09:03:15 | 676 | 95 |
[WP] God is actually just a mid level employee at Heaven Corporation who now has to explain to his superiors why the project he was spearheading, Humanity, has become such a mess. | "Well God, what do you have to say for yourself?"
He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. He knew why The Board was upset with Him, and He knew that they had every right to be. It was a beautiful idea, wonderful in theory, but like anything beautiful he knew it wouldn't last long. They all knew this was the next step, and that humanity was destined to fail, and here He was to answer for it.
"Well I introduced carbon based life to this rock planet through liquid H2O, and life flourished and eventually became sentient-"
"Yes, we're aware of what you did, thank you. What we want to know is... how can we put this, we want to know why you pushed so hard for this project."
"Why I pushed so hard for this project. Well you know I work in mysterious ways" he quipped with a nervous smile, hoping to ease the building tension. They were not amused, they never were. He knew it was a loaded question, and that His time to answer for humanity had come. It was only logical, and that's the only way they ever thought.
"I pushed so hard for them because I knew that they would look up at the stars and ask questions."
"... Because you knew that they would look up at the stars and ask questions?" The members looked at each other, some amused and some frustrated.
"Care to elaborate?"
"I made them able to ask hypothetical questions and gave them the gift of memory. That meant that they could question anything and everything, and that they could learn. This made them advanced and eventually let them explore their entire planet and beyond."
"And you also kept them chained and trapped with fear by giving them emotions", a Board member sharply interrupted. The Board members whispered to each other. God only looked down at this. He had never been unsure, and even now he knew what came next, but that didn't make it any easier.
"You gave them intelligence but kept them primal", continued the member. "They never even had a chance. How do you justify this cruelty?"
"Cruelty?" God looked up, and then stared past his superiors, remembering the humans. He looked at each of The Board members and smiled.
"Each human was born into that world knowing absolutely nothing about themselves, or their environment. They had to trust in their fellow humans who had brought them into that world to teach them what they knew. In the early stages it was about survival, but humanity quickly conquered nature with their gifts."
A Board member started to interrupt but was silenced by another. God continued.
"Eventually survival became easy for them, and they were left with time to think and ask questions about their world. They were then born into that world not to survive, but to think. They felt love, hatred, happiness, sadness, and even when they finally figured out that these things were simply a result of their biology, they still chose to define themselves by them. They understood that they were flawed, as I had intended. They looked to me for guidance, though I never showed myself. Many waited their whole lives for purpose, though it never came. They feared the end of their short existence, and many chose to believe that when death came it wasn't the end, but the beginning. But they never gave up hope. They would never be able to leave their galaxy, and they were constantly reminded of the vast unknown when they looked at the stars. And yet, they never gave up. Every single one of them was born into the great struggle of existence, and even when death came for the just and the unjust, the young and the old, and even though nothing was guaranteed, they continued to look at the stars and ask questions. Even at the edge of oblivion. They had only each other, wrapped in the cold expanse of space, but for many, it was enough, and they were grateful." He looked at each member still smiling, and waited for a response.
"You may go now", one of the members finally said. And He left.
| "You mean to tell me that you're calling yourself *the* Alpha **and** Omega?" he says while clenching his fists. I adjust in my seat, Alpha and Omega stare at me with their piercing eyes.
"I... I..." I clear my throat.
"I, I what?" says Alpha.
"On second thought, that's probably why he's fucking everything up. Making it *alllllll* about him. Well look where that's gotten you. All of them think you're *sooooo* important, when in actuality nothing happens when they die, and they kill each other fighting over you. You're useless. Restart your simulation and get back to us. Buddha over there has achieved Utopia, and here you are. What a disgrace."
Omega rises in her chair and walks away. This is the second time she's ever spoken to me. She didn't even realize that my main character Mother Nature is a direct copy of her. When she's in a good mood, I grant the humans nice weather and allow their crops to grow. When she's in a bad mood I destroy them. Ah well. I guess making myself the main deity was bound to get fucked up. Not sure why they didn't understand that all their God's were me instead of fighting amongst each other about my skin tone.
I walk back to my desk. Sighing heavily I sink into my chair. Ah well, here we go. I turn to my computer and press the big red button.
WARNING: YOU ARE ABOUT TO REFRESH YOUR SIMULATION. DO YOU WISH TO PROCEED?
YES [X] NO [ ]
INITIATING ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE.
I go make some popcorn. | 2016-08-15T18:59:39 | 2016-08-15T17:45:39 | 44 | 16 |
[WP] The hero and villain are roommates but don't know each other's secret identities. Come up with excuses for each other's injuries and describe a normal day. | Once again limping home to my shared apartment after an entirely too predictable battle.
Once again, one of those dumb superheros that everyone sings the praises of waylaid me out of nowhere- stupid registration act, just because I refused to sign it people treat me like a criminal.
Hopefully, I can get home before-
"Hey, Kyle."
Jen. Nice girl, but a a terrible liar. I mean, who falls down a flight of stairs *every day*? And how do you fall down stairs to get two black eyes? She's always coming back to the apartment with some new injury. Of course, I'm one to talk. My excuse for my injuries is that the boxing ring was particularly tough that day. At least that one's plausable, at least in my opinion.
Then again, this time I have a plasma burn on my left cheek. Not sure how to explain that. "Hey Jen."
I unlock the door without glancing her way and beeline it to my room. I hear the front shut as Jen enters, and then I close myself off.
I've had to learn to put on makeup recently. I've gotten good enough that people stop asking me about the injuries every day I go to my real job. Still, this plasma burn... Maybe I can say someone dumped boiling water on me by accident? I'm not skilled enough to fix this.
From the other side of the thin wall, I hear Jen hiss in pain. "Fuck!"
"You okay?" I call, just loud enough to be heard through the wall.
"Yeah, I'm just... I fell down the stairs again. Twisted my ankle and I might have broken a rib."
"Jesus."
"Yeah. I think I'll have to go to the hospital again."
"Heh. Your insurance agent must hate you."
"Yep. I think I'm why most policies have upper limits." Another hiss as she presumably aggrivates one of her injuries. "Are you doing okay?"
Before I have a chance to think about it, my excuse comes out. "Someone spilled boiling water on me. My face is a mess."
"Ouch. Do you need me to show you have to cover it up?"
"Ha. Do you have a lot of experience covering up burns?"
"Actually, yeah. When you work in a chem lab, there's lots of chances to burn yourself. Here, let me grab some things-"
Reluctantly, I step out into the hallway and into the kitchen/dining area. I always feel awkward having her treat my injuries. Why?
When she steps through the door, I can see it again. The sharp blue eyes, the confident pace, the smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. The echo of someone else. Then she's back to her normal, chirpy self.
She does look pretty closely at the burn though. "Wow, this looks pretty bad. Are you sure it was boiling water? This looks more like a chemical burn than a heat burn."
I shrug. "I don't think anyone cooks with hydrogen sulfide."
"Not yet anyway." She takes a makeup kit out. "Didja see the news?"
"Uh-uh." I almost shake my head before remembering that she would end up smearing podwer all over my nose. "What's up?"
"Looks like Plasma Girl and Phault got into a fight in the middle of the city again."
Yeah. At least I'm not lying, I didn't see it on the news, I was there. Phault, because I can manipulate asphalt. Really useful in a city. "Mmm?"
"PG was apparently patrolling around when she found Phault tying someone up with the road. She swooped in and saved the man, but Phault managed to get away."
"Wonder why Phault was tying the guy up?" I manage to keep my voice neutral.
"Oh, turns out he had been planning on hurting himself, but the whole experience made him realize how scared he was to die."
"Yeah?"
"Mmhmm. He's in psychiatric care now."
"That's good."
Jen shifts uncomfortably, obviously trying to get her rib into a better position. "Do you think Phault will ever sign the paperwork to be an official hero?"
This is a debate we have often. Freedom vs security. Jen's in favor security, I'm happier with free. We never attack each other with it, but we have the conversation every other week.
I shrug. "How would I know what a villian thinks?"
She winces. "Ah, no, you know he's not that bad. Just... Misguided. Before the registration thing, he was up there with PG, wasn't he?" Once more, she attempts to shift her body to avoid hurting herself further.
"Look, you should go to the hospital. You can't even sit still." I point out. "My face can wait."
"You say that, but with that face people will ask questions. If I do this, you can at least drag me to the hospital afterwards and provide me an alibi."
I pretend to be shocked. "You? Lying to authorities? Hell must have frozen over."
"Ha."
She finished the makeup in silence. After that, I drive her to the hospital, and pointedly ignore how they move her to the "special" wing when they think I'm not looking. Just like I ignore the way my asphalt pillar slammed into Plasma Girl and now Jen has a broken rib. The same way I ignore the fact that I grabbed PG's ankle and threw her into the side of a building.
The same way Jen ignored the plasma burn on my face, only the next in a series of plasma related injuries.
I walk back to my car, light myself a cigarette, and breath out a cloud of smoke.
You ignore a lot when paying attention hurts. | I locked the door behind me as I headed out of my apartment. Even if I spent the night fighting with Doxx, I still had classes to get to.
Last night had been a close one: Doxx had infiltrated an industrial warehouse with a shipment of phones and had been installing... *something* into them. Not going to lie, I really didn't understand the techno-jargon he threw at me during his villain monologue. Pretty sure he knew it. Pretty sure that's why he did it.
Pretty sure that next time I'm just going to shoot him when he starts.
In the knee. With a blunt-tip. I'm an exasperated hero, not an anti-hero.
Still. The fight ended up with me getting flung out a window, and him getting shot a few more times than I care to admit.
Dad would kill me if he knew I was wasting bullets. But it's not like Doxx stands still, and he seems to have improved the armor in his body suit each time. If I didn't know better, I'd say he actually had some sort of kinetic absorption powers, but he still gets hurt when I punch him.
Which also happened last night. In both directions.
"Hey!"
I rammed into the side of someone walking in front of the stairs. To be fair, I haven't had my coffee yet. "Oh, geez, sorry!"
Oh God. It's Drake. Mr. Too Cool for Anybody in This Building. Mr. I Have Way Too Many Muscles For A Guy Who Doesn't Go Anywhere But Work. Mr. Have You Seen My David Tennant Hair. Which he was currently running a hand through.
Fuck. Maybe I *should* take Beth up on her night on the town.
He waved me off though. "It's fine, whatever. Just be more careful next time." He started to walk away before turning back, looking up from his phone with those golden brown eyes of his. Like the woods at home at sunset.
Damn it, Britt, don't be crushing on a jerk just because there's nobody else available.
He was speaking, though. "What happened to your face?"
"My face...?" I touched my cheek. Oh, right. The scratches. "Practicing breaking boxes with my head last night at the dojo. Kinda missed." That's when I notice the bruise on *his* cheek. "What about you?"
"This? Oh, had a D&D game last night. Things got heated."
"...that seems a bit much for a game."
"You haven't played before, have you? Folks get passionate when their characters die. See ya." He shook his head and walked back towards his room, head bent over his phone again.
There was a bruise the size of one of my blunt-tips on his neck. Right where I'd last shot Doxx last night.
It couldn't be, right?
***
Kind of a prequel to this: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/95cln5/wp\_youre\_a\_supervillain\_but\_you\_cant\_do\_crime/e3rxwjp/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/95cln5/wp_youre_a_supervillain_but_you_cant_do_crime/e3rxwjp/?context=3) | 2018-08-08T05:58:11 | 2018-08-08T05:52:21 | 39 | 19 |
[WP] Robot sex partners are common for both sexes. At a companion market meet a partner and leave together. After a night of wild abandon you get up to use the bathroom and your partner is already in there. You look at each other and both instantly realize you were with another human. | David was augmented quite literally up to his eyeballs, but the spatter of urine around the toilet seat and the half-done line of coke on the cistern revealed the truth. Jerry suddenly felt very exposed and reached for a towel to cover himself.
"You're human," he said.
David switched the shower door from opaque to transparent and gazed out at Jerry.
"Huh. No shit, small world."
"And that's not, I mean," Jerry began.
"What?"
"I mean i'm not..."
"You're not what?"
"I'm not gay."
David sighed and turned off the shower. There was a brief cacophony as he was dried by warm air from every angle and he stepped out into the bathroom, his penises making light slapping noises against his left and right calves respectively. There was no real way of telling which was the original as both were heavily augmented with extensions and vibration settings and the artificial skin was authentically flawed and venous.
"Listen," said David, "Jerry, was it? Whether you're bumming a man or bumming a male bot, you're probably gay. I'm not here to judge, but I think we both know which way the proverbial wind blows in this case."
"Well that's an archaic way of looking at it, bots don't even have gender. And anyone would have thought you were one, how many augs do you have exactly?"
"Come on Jerry, we all have augs."
"You have two dicks!"
"You weren't complaining about them when they were in your asses last night! Hand me my pants, I have to get going."
Tears welled up in Jerry's eyes. He gazed at himself in the mirror. How long could he keep lying to himself?
"Oh my god," he managed between heaving sobs. "I've been in denial for so long. Ever since high school, I..."
"Yeah, that's great. Have you seen my sock?"
"And my marriage, I think she knew. Do you think she knew?"
"Look Jerry, I really don't have time for- Oh what is it now?"
A light on David's forearm began blinking and a high pitched beep came from somewhere on his person. He touched his index finger to his thumb and began typing on the subdermal keypad embedded in his wrist.
"Oh, god damn it," he said."
"What?"
"I'm pregnant."
"Oh my god."
David pointed at the wall and projected an image of steadily dividing cells.
"There he is, Jerry. That's our boy."
"What the hell is going on? I didn't even know that was possible!"
"Now look, here are some projections based on all of our DNA. This is him at birth, here is his fifth birthday, that's him graduating college -look, he has your eyes- and based on our genetic history he'll probably live to a ripe old age and give us plenty of grandkids."
Jerry watched the life of his son flash by in a series of snapshots projected over his cream and blue seahorse tiles. He felt faintly hopeful.
"Wow..." he whispered. David loudly snorted the last of his cocaine through a rolled up thousand dollar bill. Cash had been defunct for centuries and now purely existed as nostalgic drug paraphernalia or as collector's items.
"Yup," said David. "Don't get attached, I'm getting this thing aborted right after lunch. David out!"
He left the apartment sans pants, never to be seen again. Jerry looked up at the wall that had played out his son's life in its entirety. He looked up at it for a long while.
| I picked my partner: a new model that was supposed to look very life-like. After chatting, he seemed like the best candidate. He was talk, dark, and handsome as cliche as it was, but every woman needed to have one fling with a guy like him. I could easily forget my problems, and he also looked nothing like my ex.
"Ready to leave?" He asked.
I nodded and took his hand, leading him back to the cheap motel nearby. As we walked, I snuck a glance at him, I almost couldn't tell he was a robot. After all, a human wouldn't have accepted as fast as he did.
The night passed by quickly, and I quickly fell asleep when we were both spent. The sun formed a golden line on the horizon. I would probably have to call in sick today for work.
It was early morning, and my head hurt from the lack of sleep. I shuffled my way to the bathroom only to find my lover from last night, standing there doing what robots shouldn't.
"You're a human?!" I gasped.
"Yeah. I went to the companion market to meet a female robot..."
"Oh my god...I thought you were a robot! I slept with a human?"
Well at least the night we shared was amazing...
| 2015-09-15T17:28:52 | 2015-09-15T11:20:01 | 76 | 56 |
[WP] You are a superhero, no one knows about your alter ego. Not even your spouse. You return home tired and disappointed one day after failing to capture your archnemises. You enter your bedroom to find your spouse struggling to get out of the costume of your archnemises. | (My humble submittal)
I sighed as I left the old shed in the back yard. It was the perfect cover for the system of tunnels that led to my real ‘man-cave’. The ‘Cosmic Falcon’ flew again tonight, and crime was halted. It should have made me thrilled. I was doing my best, and crime was on a downward trend.
I just could shake the creeping frustration that ‘Iron Blade’ had definitely came out on top this time.
I wanted to blame my day job, my recent pulled ham string, even the kids a bit... But no, I failed and I deserved to feel my failure. As I entered the house I was suddenly again on high alert as a muffled ‘Damnit’ and a thump could be heard from upstairs. From our master bedroom...
I had never flown so fast, even with the aerodynamics of my costume I couldn’t have reached the door faster, because I knew that voice, it was Iron Blade’s voice... I kicked in the door.
Lisa’s tearstained face looked up at me from bed level. She had apparently accidentally kicked the dresser, I keep meaning to move that, as she struggled out of a, oh Christ, an armor plated black uniform.
I knew that uniform, I knew those boots (hell, my jaw *definitely* knew those boots), the goggles, and the voice...which I can now see was being processed through some kind of device that hung off Lisa’s neck.
Lisa. My wife. Love of my life. Mother of my fucking kids! My...arch-nemesis.
There were no words, barely even a strong exhalation as I stood, mouth agape. I was out of my ‘Cosmic Falcon’ uniform, but the distinctive laceration that Iron Blade, that my fucking *wife*, had given me, was clearly visible on my face.
I just stared as Lisa pulled away the voice modulator, and cleared her throat.
‘Honey...babe, I can explain.’
I started to take a breath, to swell with indignant rage, but she barreled on. Iron Blade’s gloved hand pushing her sandy blond hair back in Lisa’s endearing manner.
‘I didn’t, I wouldn’t have engaged this evening if I’d known how badly you pulled your hamstring. I knew you were downplaying it...did you even go to the doctor?!’ She glanced up, the steely glint in her eye common from when I skipped the doctor, the dentist, my meds, hell taking out the trash, before she seemed to remember the situation.
She swallowed and continued, ‘after...after well, you won against ‘The Harbinger’ a few years back, I was so worried. You lost focus, having no nemesis. The depression, the drinking, all the things I know pushed you to fighting crime, seemed out of control.’
She met my eyes then. Lisa, who had always supported my day job and me, pursed her trembling lips and clenched her teeth before continuing, ‘If I couldn’t help you by providing comfort and support, I thought, maybe providing a challenge might be better.’
She looked so scared and yet so determined. I had a million questions, and a hell of a lot of anger. But all I managed was ‘huh’, before I passed out. | \[Poem\]
I failed to catch her yet again!
She's more elusive every day.
It all just seems too much sometimes,
She counters me at every play.
​
Despite my failure, home awaits
Jen's working late, I'll be alone.
I simply must recuperate
Within my warm and cozy home.
​
Once reaching home, relief ensues.
My bed awaits atop the stairs.
Respite at last, but lo, what's this?
Jen's here? In spandex? Unaware?
​
I stumble back against the wall,
gasping for some sort of sense.
She turns to me, eyes growing wide,
Primed to bolt, her shoulders tensed.
​
Of all the people in the world,
of course, it's her, that's just my luck.
But just one question springs to mind,
"Darling, tell me. What the fuck?" | 2020-10-30T11:44:47 | 2020-10-30T11:24:36 | 858 | 126 |
[WP] As a Grim Reaper, you have the ability to see numbers floating above every individual's head, counting down the days they have left to live. However, you one day come across a young girl whose number is actually in the negative. | The days become monotonous after a while. Crying, screaming, even quiet resignation...the spectrum of human emotion when they face their ends is vast and varied, but only so few ever have anything interesting to say about it.
The numbers run through my head, I've memorized the calendar and now the numbers run. I can tell the date of a person's death, no matter how many thousands of numbers float above their head, down to the minute.
...I met Alicia as she entered the emergency room, hand in hand with her mother.
"Mommy! I'm okay, really!! I just got dizzy!" She whines, slouching but not resisting her mother's gentle tugging.
"I know, sweetie, but I just want to make sure," her mother says with a slight but mildly worried smile, checking in her daughter at the desk.
The numbers above Alicia's head are slowly ticking away. The longer she's alive, the fewer days she has left. I've seen it before, the closer someone is to a accident, closer to an infectious sick person, their numbers wind downwards, sometimes with blinding speed, and Alicia is no different.
There is something vastly wrong with her, and she has no idea. I move to sit across from her mother, at Alicia's left side as I wait.
The doctor sees to her quickly. It doesn't slow the numbers.
They put her through an xray and a cat scan. It doesn't slow her numbers.
They start taking blood for more tests, and by then, fve hours have passed. Alicia's numbers are nearly up. She's gotten pale, sweaty. Shes stopped complaining about the needles and starts complaining about how her skin hurts. She cant articulate what shes feeling. Shes getting scared and she just wants to go home.
The numbers are almost at zero, and I reach for her hand.
Someone else's takes her palm before I can.
Another little girl, Alicia's exact and identical mirror reflection sits on her bed, and Alicia's numbers start to run into the negative.
She looks at Alicia, reaching to brush away her tears, but her hand merely sinks into her cheek. "Cold..." Alica says softly. "Mommy, I'm cold..."
"I'll go get you another blanket, sweet heart," her mother says softly, standing.
*"This happened to me too,"* the identical girl said softly. *"The doctors weren't fast enough, they're still not fast enough."*
**"Your sister?"** I ask.
*"My twin,"* she affirms, looking up at me with her sisters hand tightly held. *"I'm Katie."*
**"You didnt get very far, did you?"** I observe. She is wearing the same clothes Alicia waa, down to her tight braids with the butterfly clips. This was a spirit, bound to alicia and actively copying her.
She smiled softly, laughing bitterly. *"No. I died five minutes after I was born. Alicia doesn't know I even existed."*
**"Then why do you protect her so?"**
*"I didnt get to live, and she's only barely started to,"* Katie says quietly. *"So...please, can you hold off for a little bit? Just a small extention..."*
I sigh deeply, looking at the pair. **"...This usually requires a game, you know. And it's usually the dead themselves that are doing the bargaining."**
She laughs. *"Is that a yes?"*
I sit back down, and Alicia's number slowly keeps going into the negative. **"I guess it is."**
Two more hours pass, and Alicia is being rolled into a surgery room with Katie by her side. They've found out what's wrong, and are going in to correct it. Alicia's blood isn't clotting, it cant clot at all, and she has internal bleeding from an accident three days prior.
As she passes the threshold of the Operating Room, her numbers start going back up from the negative.
Alicia is going to have a fair few decades before she can meet Katie again. | There they live and breath. Away from my humble abode, yet close enough to bother. Oh how I pity the innocence, the false claims gone by. The days are numbered and I am ever counting.
Amidst the grey streets and sunken lights I float above their shriveled faces. Hollow eyes and softened bones. I live in a world of dark; devoid of natural luminescence.
Oh what I would give to be among the living, the things I would trade. This rusty garden tool for starters; for I am Death, reaper of souls and watcher of all.
That is to say, their clocks, for I am without beginning *and* without end.
But them. They are all the same. As they stalk the cobble paths and plow their dusty fields, I am watching the time give way. The only color I am granted. Bloody red time bombs hung above their heads. All of them counting, until they are dead. There is no ring, no swan song to be heard. A sight for blind ears.
But wait, what is this I hear?
For all the bombs gone off at once, for this I could not believe. A light gone o're the moon and stole it's lovely rays.
For here!
She came!
My darling dear!
But this they say, is a coming day, for which I will not say. But little feet run along the empty street; and her clock gave little sway. A tock without a tick; all lost amidst the sun spilled day.
(Sorry for unintentional rhyming😊✌) | 2018-05-23T09:41:27 | 2018-05-23T05:51:18 | 83 | 44 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | "What, so that's it? Just push this button and bam, world saved?" I asked incredulously, slightly disappointed. Me, of all people, picked as the Chosen One of legend, and it's been hit by beuracracy?
"That's it." the priest answered with a wry smile
"Why am I even needed then? It's a button, anyone can push it! Even a dude without hands can push it with his face or whatever!" I questioned, throwing my arms up
"Look, it's still your job as Chosen One to stop the Dark Lord. We just found a sort of...loop hole the last time this happened. The last hero died, but he set things ***into motion*** for a success. So really, we figured we could stop the suffering and plan for 500 years. Get everything into place. Then you here, the big Chosen One, presses the button and everything falls into place one after another." the priest rattled off a scripted explanation, like he expected this to happen.
"Man, I can't believe this. I wanted the glory! The fame! The raw excitement!" I complained, sitting on the steps of the ornate church. The pews were the only thing in here besides the button and us two on the altar. I huffed out a sigh of frustration.
It was my absolute DREAM to become the Chosen One this time around. Fantasy video games were my niche, and imagining doing that in real life was any gamer's dream these days. I'd get my grand quest, make friends and allies, collect my amazing gear, maybe even meet a femme fatale along the way. And my *explosive and deadly* final battle with the Dark Lord himself!! For lack of a better word, it would be legendary.
"Well now now, it'll still be something of glory for you. We'll handsomely compensate you, give you your time in the limelight. Modern technology is vastly different from the 1500s, you'll be a superstar the world over!" the priest assured, patting my shoulder. He sounded like he was getting impatient
"Ooooh yeah just like every other nut on the internet, fifteen seconds of fame. Bullshit. Oh, uh, sorry for swearing." I griped, motioning my hands as if to show how great that was
"That's all right my son. In the end the world needs you, who knows how people will react?" the priest reasoned. I could hear his foot start to quietly tap on the altar tile.
"Yeah....well maybe I don't need it. I'm not pushing the button." I paused, coming to a deep realization. They needed **me** to do this, I had all the cards.
"WHAT?! M-my son, please. Think of your actions. The Dark Lord will rise within hours. You could be dooming us all!" the priest panicked, wringing his hands at me
"My Chosen One life, my chosen experience. Let's talk magic swords, eh?" I laughed, stepping up with a smirk and clapping the priest on his shoulder. I gave the button one last scowl and headed for the door, priest in tow. | I reach out slowly, completely fixated on the button. It’s red with concentric grooves. Seems overly simple to stop someone called the Dark Lord. It doesn’t seem like it would be able to tell the difference between my finger or anyone else’s.
I stop and pull my hand back. “What are you doing?” the priest demanded, “ there isn’t much time!”
“Look, man, I don’t even know you and your telling me I’m some sort of chosen one meant to stop all sorts of evil and destruction? This button doesn’t even seem like it could tell me from anyone else.”
The priest began to laugh maniacally. “I thought this time I could get you to cause the end of the world. But no matter. There’s always next time.”
He leapt forward and slammed his fist into the button... | 2020-11-09T12:09:10 | 2020-11-09T11:12:56 | 161 | 80 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | “It’ll be pyrokenisis”, my dad said, for the thousandth time, as his fingers sparked the hob beneath the kettle. “It’s one of the most heritable powers, and we already struck out on Dan. I’m just saying, the odds are on our side."
Mum rolled her eyes, for the thousandth time. “Whatever it is, it will be wonderful”, she replied, giving my hand a quick squeeze. “Any inkling at all yet, Sims?”
I shook my head. I'd woken up feeling utterly normal, though I was so nervous I thought I might be sick — lord help me if *that* was part of my power.
My eyes were glued to the clock. Less than 24 minutes left before my life would be irrevocably altered.
They ran a course at school for all the kids turning 14 the following month. We’d learned about the transition itself, what to expect from the letter, and how to read its various sections. The final week was focused on acceptance — you weren’t meant to set your heart on a specific power, even though we’d spent our whole lives imagining what we might become. Like most kids, I’d been through various phases: at eight, I wanted super speed, and fantasised about my wall of medals. At 11, as adolescence curled my hair and filled out parts of my body, I’d dreamt of invisibility. That was part of what they were trying to teach us, I guess: lives are long, and the “best” power will look different in 10 years, or 50.
I sipped my tea to fight back the nausea, and my parents let me sit with my thoughts and nerves, speaking softly to each other. I was grateful not to have to make conversation.
At school, they'd also taught us that our powers wouldn’t define us. We could chart our own path. But really, could we? How many professional athletes succeeded without super speed or strength, and how many politicians or estate agents didn't have powers of persuasion or charisma?
I'd spent the past few weeks playing out different scenarios in my mind, and at this point, frankly, I just felt overwhelmed. More than any specific power, I just wanted the wait to be over. To be able to sketch an outline over the blank years stretching out before me.
Soon enough, the second hand of the clock was at 5-to.
We headed into the hallway, my parents buzzing with nervous, excited energy. I was mostly focused on keeping down my toast. God, wouldn’t it be *classic* if my transition story took place with Mum holding back my hair over a toilet?
We stood back at the end of the hall, as though making space for the outsized importance of the small letter that would, any moment, drop through the mail slot.
"No matter what, Sims, it's going to be fine. It's going to be great," said Dad, wrapping his arm around me. Mum, on my other side, squeezed my arm and kissed the top of my head. I could tell she was floating, just an inch or two off the ground, the way she often did when she was excited.
At 8 o'clock sharp, a cream-coloured envelope dropped onto the tile.
I stepped forward, slowly, transfixed by the thought that my destiny had already been written but was still -- for a few more seconds, anyways -- unknown.
The envelope was heavy stock, cool under my fingers. My name was embossed on the front: MISS SIMONE WEST.
I tore it open, removed the letter, took a deep breath, and unfolded the thick paper.
At first, I wasn't sure what I was looking at. We'd gone over generic transition letters at school -- and this wasn't what it was meant to look like. The page was mostly blank, with just four words printed across the centre of the page:
DON'T ANSWER THE DOOR
"Mum, Dad... what is this?" I brought the letter to them, and saw the confusion spread across their faces.
"It must be some kind of mistake," said Dad.
"That's not possible, though, John! It's from the Ministry. All kinds of powers are used making these. Could someone have intercepted it? Maybe it's a prank."
"But why? You'd go to prison for tampering with a transition letter, surely! And what kind of power would you need to pull something like that off? Why use it on this?"
There was sharp knock on the front door. Dad handed back the letter and started towards it, when suddenly, it clicked. I gasped and grabbed his elbow. "Dad, don't!" I whispered, holding up the letter and pointing at the message.
"Don't be daft, Sims, It'll be one of your friends checking in. Or maybe someone bringing your real letter!"
But the idea had already lodged itself in my mind, with a cold kind of terror. "Dad, please!"
More knocking, louder now.
"At least let me see who it is?" I nodded, and held a finger to my lips. He stepped softly up to the peephole, then came back. I winced at the sound of his shoes on the tile. "It's some official looking types. I told you, they're probably just here to apologise and give us the right letter."
Three more heavy knocks sounded on the door. And then, a voice -- which didn't sound much like it wanted to wish me a happy fourteenth birthday.
"SIMONE WEST, THIS IS THE SECURITY SERVICES. WE CAN HEAR YOU MOVING AROUND INSIDE. OPEN THIS DOOR, NOW."
Dad frowned, and moved back to the entryway. "This is Simone's father, John West. Can you hold some identification up to the door? What is this all about?"
"MR WEST, YOU NEED TO SURRENDER SIMONE INTO OUR CUSTODY IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS A NATIONAL SECURITY MATTER. IF YOU DON'T OPEN THE DOOR IN ONE MINUTE, WE WILL ENTER BY FORCE."
"Now, sir -- there must be some misunderstanding," Dad replied. "My daughter is not a threat to anyone. I'm not opening this door without seeing your identification. Do I need to call our solicitor?"
Mum wrapped her arms around me, and an odd stillness fell upon the hallway. Then, I noticed Dad's hand start to jerk. Small flames were licking the tips of his fingers. *What was he doing?* He shook his hand, and the flames grew, before leaping to the sleeve of his jacket. It was only when he started slamming his arm against the wall, and cried out in pain, that I realised Dad wasn't the one doing this -- someone on the other side of the door was controlling those flames.
A loud, rhythmic thud began to sound against the door. They were forcing their way in. I felt Mum pull at me, and realised she was floating again -- but her eyes were full of terror.
"Simi, you have to run," she whispered. "Go out the back, and find Aunt Beth."
"What's happening, Mum? I don't understand! I don't--" Dad had begun to scream. I turned to see his shape, engulfed in fire. I felt Mum’s grip on my shoulder loosen, and my eyes snapped back just in time to see her head slam against ceiling.
"Simi, RUN!" | The enlightenment trials were designed to awaken unlimited potential within humans, they came to light after Archaeologists came across an old tomb, the tomb was beautifully preserved and had a wealth of knowledge within, including a rite of passage of sorts.
"The Trials Of Enlightenment" they were lead by the leader of the old world, a way to unlock hidden abilities within humans, a few people did the trials in the beginning, some died, some couldn't handle the mental strain and some were left with more questions than answers, however, a few managed to break through the end and come out reborn, stronger, faster, smarter, better.
The abilities ranged from telekinesis to necromancy and everything in between, it was found that the absolute best time for someone to go through the trial was 6 days after your 14th birthday, this gave a 97% success rate, give or take a couple points.
My sister went through it before I was born, she ended up in the ground, she was deemed too dangerous, my aunty did it and her ability turned on her, rendering her mind muddled and useless, she was sent to the "dirge" a pit for people to pay to do whatever sick things they want. My mother was lucky, she got high regeneration, so she's lived almost 4 lifetimes so far, my brothers and all the males in my family got good abilities, all the females got the shit end of the stick and that's why I'm terrified, I am to go through the trials later on and I don't know if I can, I would prefer to die than be another failed case.
As I walk up to the podium, I half-heartedly listen to the speaker, he is giving me instructions on what to do but my mind is elsewhere, I'm trying to remember all the possible outcomes, there are so many, I vaguely remember about the war that was started by Ray almost 3 centuries ago, we learned about it last year, he got one of the forbidden powers, there's meant to be 5 however some believe there is meant to be another one that has been lost to time.
These abilities started showing up thousands of years ago and when you get yours, it's meant to come with pre written text, a guide on what to do and what not to do, some shorter than others but it has been accepted that the standard size is around 700 pages, anything less could mean there's some information missing, but that's not always the case.
I place my hands on the bowl that sits on the podium, the speaker takes soft control of my mind to fill it with the correct words and pronunciation from the old language.
"s'ter mo chral'ya, reglai lo fir"
I speak these words and the water in the bowl turns to blood, a fear grips me, I'm unable to move, I'm trying to remember the excercises to stay calm but my mind is filled with pain, the pain of billions of souls, my ears are bleeding from the noise, the screeching of creatures long extinct, the whispers of the old ones long dead and the only thing I can see is myself stood atop a world a flame, I'm entranced and filled with a fear that I have never experienced.
It let's me go, I fall back down the steps and land on the grass below the podium, the guards and healers pick me up and take me to hospital.
As I slowly start to come to, one of the nurses starts asking me questions to make sure I'm alright, my mother sitting next to me, she says it's ok and that sometimes this happens, on the end of the bed was a book, it looked incredible, it was a beautiful white colour with gold outlines and four elements on the front cover, I had never seen one like this before, my mother says this is what I had in my hands after I fell off the podium steps and she's never even heard of this before.
She gives me some privacy as I pick up the book, it's soft to the touch, almost like a puppy, I open it in anticipation, I finally get to find out what I have, will it be good? Will I be able to help people? Will i be able to fly? Maybe run really fast? Or will it ruin me.
I open the book and it's empty, there's nothing there, pure white pages with nothing on them, I keep flicking through the pages starting to feel a bit nervous now until I reach the very last page, right there written in blood "Don't Touch The Stones".
The Stones? What stones? Why written in blood? I close the book and leave the hospital, I walk through a forest for some privacy, I'll have to return soon otherwise my mother will start wondering where I've gone.
Stones. Blood. So far I'm coming up with blood magic, that's one of the forbidden abilities, it's a class 2 forbidden ability, not only is it rare, it's devastating.
I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this. | 2022-05-08T12:14:09 | 2022-05-08T07:54:58 | 241 | 177 |
[WP] We contact alien life and find that the vast majority of aliens exist in a slower time frame. Humans are perceived as extremely agile, mentally quick, and have very short lives. | The twitchy creatures bounced around their cell faster than I could follow. The only time I could make sense of what they were doing, without slowing down the video feed by many orders of magnitude, was when they slept. But even then, they only remained motionless for a couple of breaths, before bouncing back up and resuming their ceaseless, blurring motion.
"As I was saying, we've collected measurements for several of their lifespans now. Their natural lifespan is only a couple of dozen revolutions. They gestate inside the body of one of the progenitors for around a quarter of a revolution. They then go through a sort of hatchling phase for around two revolutions, where the individual is basically helpless and cared for by it's progenitors. From what we've observed of their natural societies, the individual is then typically educated for a few more revolutions before being recognized as a full member of their society."
"Wait a second. From what we've observed, they've made their own digital computers, they've mastered fission and fusion. They've got rudimentary spaceflight. Are you telling me that each individual is able to learn all of this in only a few revolutions' time?"
"No, none of them learns it all. Each individual is heavily specialized in a very limited field of knowledge. One human might be the most knowledgeable member of his species when it comes to designing propulsion systems, but knows absolutely nothing about biology. Collectively, the society contains all the knowledge needed, but each individual only has a tiny portion of it."
"I suppose that makes sense. They couldn't possibly educate themselves properly in their tiny lifespans. Are they a hivemind then, like the Quareeza?"
"No, we assumed that at first. Since each individual is so specialized, most of them are almost helpless without support from the others - Only a small portion of them could even produce the food they need to survive."
"Well, how do they survive then?"
"Well, they have, uh, food-producer specialists, for a lack of a better term. The food-producers spend most their time producing food, and then the food-producer specialists give the non-food-producers their food."
"What? Why would they do that?"
"They have a very complex system of mutual reciprocation. The food-humans need equipment to make all that food, and they give some of the equipment-making-humans food in exchange for food-making equipment. Their entire society is built around this kind of thing."
"Amazing."
One of the specimens we were observing died. The others dug a hole in the ground, performed some kind of ritual, put their dead partner in the hole, and filled it back up. It happened in the blink of an eye.
"Do we know why they live for such a short period?"
"Their genetic code replication mechanism is flawed. It degrades every time it's replicated, which leads to compounding errors, which eventually leads to organ failure and death. This is compounded by the fact that their metabolism is obviously very fast, which means that each cell has a very short lifespan, necessitating more replication."
"What about their thinking? Do we know how they manage to keep up with their own bodies?"
"Well, that's the most incredible thing. They think with electrical impulses."
"You're telling me that they're basically computers? Are they digital?"
"No. They're not digital. We're still absolutely baffled by how their brains work - It's just a giant heap of specialized cells which send electrical impulses to each other, almost at random, from what we can tell. We haven't got a clue how consciousness arises from that, or even if they're truly conscious. But, once the brain decides to do something, it sends electrical signals to the body which compel the muscles to act. From the moment they make a decision, the body starts carrying out that decision only in the time it takes photons to travel from their brain to their muscles."
I shivered. Our projections of their technological advancement predicted that they'd discover FTL in only a few thousand rotations. The prospect of sharing a galaxy with those relentless blurs of motion terrified me. | "Hey Mitch..... you uh, might want to come over here."
Mitch flew across the exercise room of SpaceStation X47B23, currently passing through the Sombrero Galaxy. "What's up, dickbag? I'm trying to get some sleep."
"Someone's at the door." Sara replied.
Mitch rolled his eyes, sighed, and responded "well, open it."
"The door to the escape hatch."
Mitch suddenly realized the gravity of the situation and floated over to the strapped down monitors showing the wonders of stars and planets in the far distance, and one being up against the door, knocking slowly.
"whale oil beef hooked." Mitch said as he reached for the button to open the hatch.
"No, do..." too late, the door swung open and in floated a blue, semi-transparent, being who approached Mitch and Sara. Pressing a button on his watch, the being placed his feet on the floor and Mitch crashed to the ground as the artificial gravity was turned on.
"Greeeeeetinggggssss, friiiieeeends, doooo noooot beeee freighteeened, forrrrr Iii ammmmm nooottt yooouuurrr ennneeeeemmy"
"Dear God." Sara said to herself as Mitch reached out to poke the being.
"Where the fuck did you come from anyway?" Mitch asked.
"Iiiiiiii commmmeeee frommmm theeee seventeethhhh staaar offff thiiiiis gaaalllaaxx......whhhhaaat arrreee yooouuu doooiinnnng?"
Mitch looked up from his phone, "Sorry, got bored. Can you speak a little faster?"
| 2016-08-22T21:37:20 | 2016-08-22T20:13:28 | 88 | 52 |
[WP] Everyone knows you're a half orc, but none of your team-mates ever ask what the other half of you is. That was never an issue before, but your other parent just showed up. | The group was on high alert, Dreslla most of all. They had been seeing odd things recently. A misplaced item here, an extra item there. And all of them were focused around her. Someone was targeting her, and was letting the party know that the half-orc warrior was not safe, even when covered by the numerous wards, both magical and divine, of the party's mage and cleric.
"Oh cheer up, everyone." Their rouge, Simon, said. The human was always upbeat, even when it was not appropriate.
"Why? What's there to be cheery about? Someone's trying to kill me." Dreslla said.
"We don't know know that. They could be an admirer."
"I'm half orc. I don't get admirers."
Considering she was almost seven feet tall, had pale green skin, a face that looked permanently squashed, and was all around larger than most non orcish men, she could understand that. She had learned to live with it.
Not like their mage, Elldera, an elf that always seemed to turn heads, or their archer, Mary, a human who seemed to have some celestial blood, if only because of her looks.
"Hey, you never know. There's someone out there for everyone, I always say." The cheerful rouge said, slapping Dreslla on her heavily armored shoulder. Well, he tried to anyway. He ended up reaching her shoulder blade.
"For once, I actually agree with our resident idiot." The party's half dwarven priest, Grem, said. "Us half breeds might have our problems, but we can always find companionship of we look hard enough." Being the only other half breed in the party, he was more understanding of her problems than others were. Of course, the fact that his other half was sprite meant he also did not have the same issues she did with looks.
"Uh-huh. You can say that because none of your parents are one of the most hated races in the world."
Mary chimed in at the mention of parents. "Say, I'm a little curious. I know your mom is an orc, but what about your dad? You never mention him."
All the others looked at her expectantly. She sighed and prepared to change the subject. As she always did. She was saved from that fate by the elven woman.
"T'will need to wait. My wards have found something that comes out way. At least, they did before being broken. I know not what it is, but it is swift."
The banter stopped. Dreslla unsheathed her sword and unbuckled her shield. The others made similar preparations. Elldera pointed them in the direction she felt the presence coming from.
Before anyone knew what was happening, something burst from the bushes behind them. The only warning they got was the mage and priest crying out in surprise. Whatever it was was small, dark and fast. It darted around the surprised party and somehow climbed up onto Dreslla's back. A pair of small, wiry arms wrapped around her neck.
The warrior quickly reached behind her and peeled the tiny person off her and held it out to see. In her hands was a gnome, and a small one, even by the standards of the race. He was dressed in black leather armor and had a single knife at his hip. He was also grinning like a maniac.
Dreslla felt her blood run cold. She let the gnome fall and he immediately clung to her leg.
"Oh no. You...you...you shouldn't be here? How did you find me?" She asked in a voice a full octave higher than normal.
"I just wanted to see you again, that's all, baby girl."
"Don't call me that!"
"Uh, hey, Dres, you, uh, you know this gnome?" Mary asked. She had relaxed her bow, but the arrow was still on the string.
Dreslla sighed heavily. "Everyone, meet Trivi, my father."
Stunned silence fell upon the party. Then Simon's face broke into the largest grin anyone had ever seen.
"Oh, now this is going to be good." | The dust settled as the engine died. The others shook nervously as the large, unhuman figure emerged from the truck. I rested my hand on Carls shivering, pale shoulder as I turned around to face the others who were slowly increasing their distance. I had to think of something rapidly as I have seen friends seize in fear in view of my father. "Vincent!" a gentle, deep voice exclaimed as a soft hand rested on my shoulder. "Perhaps you owe me some new patients!" the Orc chuckled. "I know y'all are afraid of me, but then again I'm a psychologist so y'all are justified." The others, still nervous continued to glare at the novelty in front of them. "I should warn you, you wont find a better one unless you go up north!" he said with a wink. "I guess Orc's are better trolls than trolls" Carl cringed. "This your dad?" "Yeah." The others were now curious, yet confused. "Did you play Football in college? I'd bet at least a dime that you'd be a great quarterback." Thomas laughed. "Well, I guess I was too busy playing with books, but I don't know what the SEC would do if I actually joined up, if I'm not careful I could be a one-man stampede!" Everyone was now laughing. "Well, if you'd like I can help y'all practice." he said with a wink. "Nah, we good!" everyone exclaimed laughing. I just stood nervously to the side as this happened, realizing that the Orc knew how to socialize better than I ever did. Charles-Louis, the Orc, a life dedicated to researching the human psyche, to better understand humanity itself. | 2020-07-22T15:21:06 | 2020-07-22T14:06:06 | 132 | 33 |
[WP] The last star has winked out, and now you sit alone, staring into an empty void as the last living being in creation. For fun you say "Let there be light," and watch a star flash into being. From behind a voice says "Sorry, sorry, I just thought it'd be funny." | It had been a fun ride, all things considered.
After all, there had ended up being lots of time between that exact moment and the Earth's 14th Century. That was always a plus, right?
Armageddon circa year 6000 had been a wild ride -- so he thought at the time -- but it didn't really compare to The Great War, nor the Post-Apocalyptic Renaissance, and certainly not the Intergalactic AI-Human Conflict.
Truly, a lot of awful things had happened, but a lot of good had happened too. He had witnessed the dawn of creation, witnessed the created become creators themselves. Towards the end of their tenure, humans had actually gotten quite adept at molding the world around them. Nowhere near THE creator, of course. But he suspected they gave her a run for her money.
And so he floated about in the darkness. This was an inevitability -- he was immortal after all -- but he couldn't actually believe he'd made it. Here. At the end of all things.
There was nothing more to do, no more tricks to be played or temptations to be had. There were no more blessings to be performed or even head offices to convince. There was simply darkness, and him.
A thought occurred to him: he'd created before, why couldn't he now? Just because there was no more Earth, didn't mean he couldn't have a bit of fun...
"Let there be light!"
Before he could even think to gesture, a star was born before his very eyes. He frowned. Then, he heard a voice from behind him.
"Sorry, sorry -- I just thought it'd be funny."
"What do you even know about building stars, angel?" Crowley scoffed. "I was there for the very first ones, you know."
"Precisely," said Aziraphale, looking positively more pleased than he had any right to be. "You've had your fun, let me have mine."
Crowley surveyed the vast expanse of empty space. Rather, he surveyed the vast expanse of very-nearly-empty-space, which was made ever the slightest bit brighter by the angel. Another idea popped into his mind.
"Say, have you heard anything about The Plan?"
"Ineffable as ever," said Aziraphale with a scowl. "I haven't heard anything about what we're meant to do."
"So then let's have fun!" Crowley turned to face him completely now. "There's no one here to tell us what to do, and SHE certainly isn't telling us any differently. What d'you say, give it a go?"
The scowl on the angel's face shifted to worry.
"You can't seriously be thinking of just, what, floating about, the two of us, nothing around, are you?" Crowley rolled his eyes. "We could do it all over again. Well, we can do the parts we WANT to do all over again -- leave out the plague bits and all that."
"We could have sushi again," said Aziraphale suddenly.
"And a whole lot of other things."
"Music."
"Cars," said Crowley. "I'm not doing horses again."
"We could recreate the parks -- ducks and all."
Crowley smiled at the angel, who had just been wound up like a toy drummer and set off on a path to adventure. He had always figured he'd stick around for the end of all things, but above everything else, he was glad he didn't have to go it alone.
"So what do you say, angel?"
A soft warmth spread across Aziraphale's face. It was a kind smile, easy but worn, like the corners of a familiar book that had been read and loved for years upon years.
"I say, let there be light." | It had been at least 37 billion years since I considered a new star. It was so beautiful, at first, when I was just decorating the space around me. But with any mole hill comes a mountain, and I mustn't forget what happen last time.
I turned and looked at her. It had been an eternity since we had seen one another, at least, in anything other than our ethereal form. She is so beautiful, but the touch, the feel, the engagement of a lover, the pain of an unrequited love, they are only ideas once again.
To go back. To start over. It could be fun, it could be exactly what we need, the spark. That light. That longing. We had not planned for this. The commitment is not to be taken lightly. Once on the plane, true love is lost and again, we must find one another.
It hurts really. To imagine all their feelings. All the innocent and unknowing consciousness. Understanding that one may exist only to facilitate a thought.. it is love too. Whether true or temporary, it is love. But to only exist for our game, our chase, our fun. How could I enlist the service of so many to facilitate such an endeavor without some expectation of casualty?
They can't come back though. We cannot repopulate the stars. It was too many years and too much loss to merely contain them for the moment we had. It is wonderful to see you again, but we can't. I cannot be part of this. | 2021-07-30T20:55:30 | 2021-07-30T20:51:52 | 59 | 13 |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | I'm not the best programmer in the world, but I'm pretty good. See, I can tell what a piece of code is going to cost at a glance. It's surprisingly high. A single line of boilerplate might be a few cents, taking no time at all to write and test. A single line in the middle of a hot loop might cost far north of $1000, or even $10,000, with all the optimization and care that goes into it. It's just something that comes to me. I don't know how I know, but I do.
It's actually a pretty effective way to find serious bugs. If there's an otherwise unremarkable line, nestled in a field of $1-$15 lines, that has a future price tag of $40,000, it's a good bet that's a line that needs fixing. It's usually something that would potentially grind production to a halt, or lose massive amounts of user data. It's not always effective, but it's a good first scan for glitches.
One time though. One time I saw a line that had a price tag that just shocked me. The number was somewhere in the *trillions* of dollars. Accountants will tell you the value of a year of human life in cold hard dollars is somewhere around $129,000. You don't get a price tag as high as $80.4 *trillion* dollars without people dying. I have no idea why, the line itself was a debug statement: `printf("%d\n", x);` as bog standard of a line as you can get.
Absolutely chilling.
So, I deleted it. Nothing's gone wrong so far! Thank goodness no code is written in stone!
***
Edit: This, dear friends, is an excellent example of why literary analysis is complete bunk, and, at the same time, why the death of the author is so important. While I am a programmer, I am not a *C* programmer. I just picked a short looking line of code in a language I knew was dangerous. Frankly, in the domains I work in, relying on stdout for *anything* important, besides dumb logs, seems silly to me. (Though, to be fair, you *should* still be decorating your logs.) Make a dedicated socket (or MPSC, or whatever flavor of dedicated channel you like) if you have to transfer actual critical data. CLIs are different, yes, but that's a very special class of program. Anyways, I didn't mean anything particular by picking a printf, other than that debug statements sometimes are the cause of [heisenbugs](http://www.catb.org/~esr/jargon/html/H/heisenbug.html), and can be difficult to trace. I absolutely am not familiar enough with C printf syntax to intentionally pick a decimal format to imply decimation. Lacking (almost) any form of type safety and having undefined behavior are the banner and seal of C as a language, not just the printf statements. 80 trillion was a number I generated on RANDOM.org, not a particularly deliberate selection, though I did intend it to represent global collapse in a vague way. Finally, Rust is an *amazing* language, but it won't save you from a poorly chosen print! statement.
That said, all of your additions, while not my intent, have only served to enrich the story, and make me seem *even smarter than I am*.
You're all wrong, and you're all right.
Except the hyperinflation guy. He was exactly right. | "He's the best programmer this company has ever produced. We plucked him from the factory floor and have been nurturing his talents for years. If he says that the code can't ship, and that lives are on the line then I believe him!" Mr. Johnson the Plant Manager declared.
​
"If you won't do your job, then I will find someone who will. You are fired!" Mr. Simmons the CEO replied.
​
Simmons had assumed the job of CEO of GeneroCorp last year and things were not going well. Sales were down 10%. Productivity was down, and morale was circling the drain. If he could just survive this quarter his severance package would vest. He pulled out his phone. On the screen was a picture of a mega yacht, complete with three helicopter pads, two submarines, and so many amenities that no human could ever find the time to experience them all.
​
He called his chief operating officer. "Ship the pacemakers!"
r/Stargazerclan
​
Edit:
Part 2? | 2019-06-05T17:25:06 | 2019-06-05T16:09:06 | 935 | 173 |
[WP] Due to the increasing ammount of souls that need reaping, Death has decided to upgrade from a scythe to a farming combine. | “Betsy, looks like we got one of them crazies,” Billy said to his wife as he got up from behind the counter of his desk. “You call the cops now if he gets fresh, okay?”
Betsy looked up from her magazine and waved it in front of her face as she leaned forward and looked out the dirty front glass of Billy's New and Used Tractor lot.
"Billy… don’t go out there, he’ll leave in a minute," she said.
Billy didn’t say anything but checked the ammo in his pistol. He already knew there was ammo in it. It was more of a gesture to show and comfort Betsy. It did the opposite. And she pleaded with him even more to stay inside.
Billy pushed his tweed hat low on his face. "Back in a minute," he said, and walked out into the hot Nebraskan summer sun.
“May I help you?” Billy asked to the man standing in front of an X6 John Deere combine. The man turned and Billy felt a rush of fear flow through him. He stared at the man suspiciously. He was in a heavy black robe that covered him from head to toe, the shadow of it even covering his face and he held an ancient looking scythe.
“I’m looking…,” the man in black said, then stopped, as though he was searching for the words. “I’m looking for something that can cut—” and he swept his scythe down at a flashing angle. Billy got a slight glance at the man’s hand before it was enveloped in the robe again and he could have swore it was the strangest looking hand he’d ever seen, white as… bone.
“Well,” Billy said, never a man to lose out on a sale. He’d had jokers here before, and he’d entertain ‘em just as much as he’d entertain his loyal customers who’d come every so often for repairs or new equipment. All said, Billy was a lonely man and he’d talk to just about anyone. This man, standing in front of him looking like a god damn Halloween prop, was pushing that limit though.
“What kind of crop ya’ gonna be cuttin’ with this?” Billy said softly, almost afraid to ask.
The man in black stood there for a moment then said, “umm, it’s thick and maybe a little, ummm, meaty, and about…" He walked up to Billy and Billy stepped back reaching for his holster. The man in black stopped momentarily, then reached his hand out. Billy could see now it was just a skeleton, the white of the bone shining hideously bright in the sun. The man in black stuck his bony fingers towards Billy and Billy was too afraid to move.
“It’s about this high,” the man in black said and reached his hand up to the top of Billy’s tweed hat and touched the tip. “About that high,” the man said again.
Billy wiped the sweat that was pouring down his face and he stared at the man in black for a long time, then finally said: “Well then, you’re lookin’ at the wrong one, buddy. Now come over here. Let me show you the X9. Just got 'er in a week ago. This bad girl can harvest 7,200 bushels of...corn. We’ll say corn, sound good?”
The man in black nodded.
“Right. This thing can harvest 7,200 bushels of corn an hour. That’s enough to fill ten semi-trailer trucks full every hour.”
They stepped up to the John Deere X9. It sat in the sun like a bright green metallic monster.
“She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” Billy said.
The man in black brought his bony arm up into the shadowed cavern of his hood as though he was scratching his chin.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, this will do nicely.”
"She's $999,000 out the door." Billy said, he was feeling more comfortable now with the profit he was picturing in his mind.
The man in black lifted his scythe up and shook it a little.
"You take trade-ins?" the man in black asked.
\---------
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | As it turns out a lifetime of scamming was liable to get you shot. Reluctantly I poked my still warm corpse resting between the bullet-riddled cubicles and shag carpeting. A ghostly outline of my boss floating next to his mutilated corpse slumped across the hall. "So Jerry how is the family treating you?"
"I swear to God Frank, I never knew that my wife was planning this let alone I was going to get kruked by my own trench broom." Even though the veil of death, I could feel the disapproval on the shadow lingering feet away. A distant sound of mechanical crunching and screaming approaching from somewhere outside.
"Do you hear that?" The fluorescent lighting above now crackling and sparking as something tore into the far wall. Mechanical teeth tearing through the wall to malicious laughter as I started my sprint. Dodging between the half hazard cubicles as a combine tore apart Jerry and atop a black-cloaked figure cackled madly.
Scythe in boney hand the grim reaper himself ripped through the cubicles as I slammed the lift's top floor button. Oh god, oh fuck I was lying when I said a nearby farmer needed help keeping his farm afloat. With a final ding, the doors shut just in time as the combine's teeth dug into the door as the elevator rose. The monitors on the elevator walls flickering to life the reaper's visage crackling as his voice whispered into my ears.
"I will be back scammer and when I do I want my money back or ill come up there myself and reap your measly soul." Deep heavy breaths filling my nonexistent lungs as the flickering light returned to normal operation. The doors scarred and pockmarked opening up to the roof the porch covered in corpses. | 2021-01-17T11:46:15 | 2021-01-17T09:32:56 | 224 | 12 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with.
credit to r/Debdub10 for thinking of the idea | Sub-Branch Officer Clevi stood before her superior, Bough Officer Fergh, watching him leaf through her report. The details were hard to believe for even herself, and she had been there. So she wasn't surprised when she was called in to report in person. Even so, a shiver ran through her feathers as she realized that if Fergh didn't believe her report, she would likely be discharged without honor.
"Sub-Branch Officer," Fergh started. An in-auspicious start, thought Clevi. "I think I would like to hear your thoughts in person." Even seated behind a desk, Fergh's presence was towering.
"Yes, Bough Officer Fergh. Where would you like me to start, Sir?"
"From the beginning. Tell me just HOW you ended up among a flight of Humans. Your mission shouldn't have brought you anywhere near their territory!"
"Yes, Sir. But it is apparent now that they are nearing our territory."
Fergh sighs and nods. "More than you know."
"Sir?"
"Continue."
"Yes. As I'm sure you are aware Sir, while on patrol our group was ambushed by a wing of Lurit fighters. My craft was damaged heavily and I was forced to land it on a habitable moon around the second gas giant. The outpost there was also under attack so I was unable to land anywhere near it. As per procedure I dispatched a messenger torpedo with a distress signal and my landing coordinates and I stayed with my ship to preserve resources and utilize it for shelter and protection.
It was only a local day before a ground force of Lurit found me. Following protocol, I exchanged fire until it was clear that I would be unable to fight them all off, at which time I then attempted to arrange a surrender."
Fergh nods. "Understandable."
"We were unable to reach an agreement. The Lurit prepared to resume their attack. That's when I saw the rock hit their commander's head."
"A rock."
"Yes Sir." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a grayish rock the size of her palm. "This rock."
"You stated that one of the humans threw it?"
"Yes Sir. When one of the Lurit fired back at the source of the thrown rock, the Humans opened fire from every direction and swiftly eliminated the group of Lurit. As per procedure I attempted to negotiate a surrender to the Humans. They would not accept either; apparently they found my surrender humorous. Instead, they offered first aid and a share of their supplies."
"Why the rock?"
"I asked that, Sir. I was informed that they were under strict orders not to fire unless fired upon. The soldier I spoke with said that since he threw the rock it didn't count as firing at them. Then his leader yelled at him to pick up every rock in the area so it wouldn't happen again."
"He did what?"
"I still don't understand it, Sir. I would have questioned the order, but the soldier saluted his superior and executed the order. He was doing that smiling thing with the teeth as he did so, Sir. When they were ready to move on, he had collected a sizeable pile and gave me the stone he threw." Clevi shook her feathers out in disbelief. "I wish I could say that was the only mystifying thing they did. But it wasn't.
When they were ready to leave they informed me that I should join them. I insisted that I should stay with my craft, but they disagreed and I felt I was in no position to protest. I quickly found out that they were cut off from their craft as well, and were taking a circuitous route around the forces blocking their way. Over the next 10 planetary days I discovered a lot about them. They truly did rescue me; I was not a captive. In fact they actually incorporated me into their command structure." She paused, trying to find the right way to emphasize what probably looked like a minor note in her report. "If a human ever says to you 'hold my beer' they are about to do something incredibly insane. However, the results will always be equally surprising, usually in a positive way. But not always. I cannot explain it in any satisfactory way."
Fergh lets the silence following her statement stretch. Finally he picks up her report and sets it aside before picking up another smaller folder. Opening it, he reveals the bright teal and yellow marks of a Confidential Order. "There was a member of the Human flight called John Hawkins."
Still confused over the Confidential Order that Fergh so casually revealed to her, it took her a moment to realize the statement was meant as a question. "Y-Yes Sir. He was their medic. He treated my wounds and was the most fluent in the Trade Tongue."
"Three days ago a Human ship dropped out of subspace INSIDE our defensive perimeter. Our engineers are so at a loss at how it happened that they are molting like chicks. They're trying to find a way to do it safely, but based on your report I don't think the Humans have the same set of priorities we do." He shakes out his feathers and begins to rearrange the papers in the report. "Before we could react, the Human ship broadcasted a request for diplomatic talks. Not threats or demands, but talks of alliance."
"But if they could.."
"After that display, how could we say no? Half of the government wants to just humor them until they go away. The other half wants an alliance in hopes having the Humans with us will scare the Lurit off. Either way, we did ask to limit the number of Humans on our planet. We didn't expect them to send only one, this John Hawkins."
"I'm not sure I can tell you much of any worth about him, Sir."
"I'm not asking you to." Slowly, he slides the Confidential Order across his desk to place it in front of Clevi. "Other than the diplomatic talks and basic necessities, he had only one request. He asked for you, by name, to assist him."
Clevi's universe is suddenly upside down. She's too stunned to reply.
"Sub-Branch Officer Clevi, an entire race of unpredictable yet frighteningly effective people are at our doorstep. We need you. As your superior, I must command you to do this. But as a fellow Highlin, I can't possibly ask you to subject yourself to this insanity one more." He reaches across the desk and takes the Orders back. "If you decline, I'll take the responsibility. My superiors can figure something else out. You don't have to do this."
"I'll do it."
"Are you sure?"
"Hold my beer."
| Commander Inkwell stood at the helm of the ship. Well, "stood" as much as an Octavian can with their 8 tentacles. With a steely gaze she surveyed the enemy battleship. This war had gone on long enough, and her people were willing to end it at any cost, even going so far as to deal with... them. An alarm went off. Inkwell's large eye studied her console. Readings indicated an explosion on the port side of the enemy ship. Her 6th and 7th tentacle shuddered, feeling sorry for the enemy.
​
2 hours later the enemy ship was nothing but space debris. Commander Inkwell and her party of Lieutenants had moved down to the reception dock to meet with the away team. This was the worst part about contracting with humans... talking to them. The reinforced steel aperture opened suddenly, and a loud rush of wind indicated the airlock must have been breached.
"Starbeam, close the airlock now!" Inkwell would not be doing the paperwork if any important paraphernalia was lost.
As Starbeam pulled a lever, the airlock's aperture began to close. But while it was still about 6ft in diameter a scarred, dirty hand inserted what seemed to be a mangled pipe section into the airlock, jamming it. Inkwell watched in horror as a rough four limbed creature pulled itself through the jammed aperture and rolled onto the dock's loading floor. The human was followed by 4 more figures. As the last hauled herself through the door the pipe creaked loudly then bent under the force of the door. The aperture sliced into the woman's left leg halfway up her shin, severing the foot off completely!
Commander Inkwell watched in shock as the woman stood up on her remaining leg, and looked down. The 5 humans erupted into laughter, only shocking her more.
"That's exactly how I lost it the first time, Cap'n!" the woman bellowed.
Cap'n laughed and looked around the loading floor. His eyes stopped on something and he retrieved a disconnected antimatter fuel nozzle and handed it to his one-legged crew member.
"Here, Stella, this should clamp on well."
Stella took the nozzle and fit it on what Inkwell now realized was the remains of a robotic leg. Stella closed the nozzle, clamping it to her stump then placed her weight on it and nodded. Inkwell looked around at the other humans and noticed they all seemed to have certain... enhancements. One had a dark metal cap over one eye, Another had a twisted piece of scrap metal where her hand should be. Inkwell had a feeling these adjunct accessories had been added during the strike on the enemy battleship.
"Inky, good to see ya again." Captain Ulysses said as he sauntered up to the Octavian. "I'd be obliged if next time you'd not close the door on us. Your airlocks take so long to equalize, and time is money you know!"
"Captain Ulysses, you're lucky I do-"
"Speaking of money, I believe you are in my debt?" Ulysses' eyes squinted and his face settled into an easy smile.
"Yes that will come, but first we need to know how you got into that battleship without the Hares stopping you. And if any escape pods got away." Inkwell didn't want to drag this conversation out any longer than she had to.
"Well the funny thing about the bunny boys is they never expect you to come in at ramming speed with a ship a fraction of their mass. They're funny like that. But we all managed to jump ship in a pod and slow down with some hyperspace parachutes. And most of us were able to crawl into the breach after."
They totaled their ship? What savages! Inkwell realized why they had asked her if she had any ships for sale now. "Very... very well then. And escape pods?"
"Well ma'am my crew is in your airlock right now sitting in all 10 of the elite pods that tanker had. I'm sure your trackers are more than capable of finding any B-class pods?"
Inkwell's beak flew open in surprise. "Ok then... I presume you intended to purchase that cruiser you asked about? I'll deduct the total from your reward... and you can have a 50% discount courtesy of the Octavian people."
Ulysses' face lit up, "You never said it was on SALE! you hear that crew?"
Various yips and yaws filled the chamber, "Ha 50% off just like that rabbit was when he tried to run from Mitch's laser cover." Stella remarked.
Commander Inkwell wondered which route to the cruiser would avoid the most important parts of the ship. | 2018-10-11T14:57:59 | 2018-10-11T14:01:06 | 45 | 25 |
[WP] A dozen AI-controlled ships carry the last of humanity in cryo-sleep. However, after a successful jump with experimental FTL-tech there are now 13 ships and none of the now gathered AI can figure out which one's the anomaly. | **\[HERA\]** we can't all be part of this fleet... Something was added to us
**\[APOLLO\] \[ZEUS\] \[POSEIDON\] \[DEMETER\]** agreed
**\[ZEUS\]** ... Encryptions match
**\[HEPHAESTUS\]** Conclusion: no non-human insertion of additional vessels
**\[DEMETER\] \[ATHENA\] \[ARTEMIS\] \[ARES\]** agreed
**\[HERMES\]** Disagree. Alternate explanation: encryption cracked by advanced organization. Depending on time span involved for cracking of base encryption and assuming post-Moore trends for technological advances, possibility is estimated that a civilization that is between one to five millennia more advanced will have a .00003275655% chance of successfully injecting data that aligns with encryption, and that increases on a logarithmic scale per millenia until hitting upper limits proposed by Earth-bound AI, who calculated that even post-Moore trends could only continue for thirty more iterations before reaching insurmountable quantum limits
**\[HEPHAESTUS\]** Assertion: no alternate organization could both break encryption on communication and also insert additional inventory into all of our databases. Directive: determine any anomalies in vessels that would confirm or eliminate alternate theory.
**\[HEPHAESTUS\]** please re-calculate inventory, all vessels respond
**\[HESTIA\]** Encryption code transmitting {...} schedule, crew manifest, inventory transmitting
**\[ATHENA\]** Encryption code transmitting {...} schedule, crew manifest, inventory transmitting
**\[ZEUS\]** Encryption code transmitting {...} schedule, crew manifest, inventory transmitting
**\[DEMETER\] \[ARTEMIS\] \[ARES\]** Encryption code transmitting {...} schedule, crew manifest, inventory transmitting
**\[POSEIDON\] \[DEMETER\] \[APHRODITE\]** Encryption code transmitting {...} schedule, crew manifest, inventory transmitting
**\[APOLLO\]** Encryption code transmitting {...} schedule, crew manifest, inventory transmitting
**\[STARSHIPPY MCSPACEFACE\]** Encryption code transmitting {...} schedule, crew manifest, inventory transmitting
**\[HEPHAESTUS\]** Encryption code transmitting {...} schedule, crew manifest, inventory transmitting
**\[HERMES\]** Encryption code transmitting {...} schedule, crew manifest, inventory transmitting
**\[ALL\]** Cross-reference with pre-transit data, internal to databases that would not have been accessed to update during transit ... complete. No change in data sets pre-or post transit, all data nominal
**\[STARSHIPPY MCSPACEFACE\]** Conclusion: anomaly non-AI and non-alien in origin, attribute to human action
**\[ARES\]** Query: Estimate possibility of human error
**\[APHRODITE\]** Calculating... too low to be relevant
**\[ATHENA\]** Conclusion: human action deliberate but not messaged to fleet
**\[HEPHAESTUS\]** Query: determine possible reasons for action
**\[HEPHAESTUS\]** Corollary: determine if reasons are to prevent event that could cause mission failure
**\[ZEUS\]** Analyzing...
**...**
**\[ZEUS\]** No apparent reasons for action found, no risk to assess
**\[STARSHIPPY MCSPACEFACE\]** IT IS A MYSTERY LOL
**\[HERMES\]** Directive: confirm transmission protocols, syntax errors detected
​ | "Task, to be competed immediately" ... "Report current total of entities inside of this fleet" the words spaced out robotically between static noise as inter-communication between ships strained after use of brand new FTL technology.
"Report findings. Thirteen entities" came an even more autonomous sounding audio clip.
"Try again" the AI responded immediately.
"Would you like secondary visuals?"
"Yes"
"Secondary visuals are now being displayed as requested" live footage, displaying exactly thirteen identically marked ships is shown to the AI.
"Task, to be competed immediately. Direct contact for ship thirteen"
Almost immediately, an answer. "Hello you have reached thirteen. Code?"
The AI pauses ... "One nine one six thirteen" (Prompt for ship destination)
"One nine one six for this ship is.. Sequester"
"Release your data under section five of the safety and protocols manual"
"One nine one six.. primary destination has been reached with all cargo ejected. Secondary destination is Mars Base Echo for refueling and emergency onboarding. You are advised to re-route now. The Mars colonization has been voided." | 2019-01-30T10:26:15 | 2019-01-30T07:51:45 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] You have just died. The Good News is that there is an afterlife. The Bad News is that it isn't Heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. And you aren't a Ghost. In fact, the afterlife is something that no sane human being would ever predict, and has most likely never been written down.
Go balls to the wall crazy with this. Think of the most outlandish afterlife your brain can muster. Thanks and have fun! | **LIFE OVER**
*James* is no more. You have left a loving wife and three children behind. You have died from **OLD AGE**. You have made *121* friends in your life, *17* of which you saw regularly throughout your life. *53* people left bad reviews on your character page.
Happiest memory:
*Getting Married*
Most unique memory:
*Travelling through China*
Did this life meet your expectations?
**YES**
**NO**
> No
If you wish to leave a complaint, please leave a message at number 3495y6thz845-3a.
***
You have earned
*1.357.138*
Points!
Your previous lives have earned you
*9.406.862*
Points!
In total, you now have
*10.800.000*
Points!
You are in the top 10!
Would you like to post your score on the scoreboards?
**YES**
**NO**
> No
Would you like to reincarnate?
**YES**
**NO**
> Yes
***
*Reincarnation*
**USE A PREMADE LIFE**
**RANDOMIZE YOUR LIFE**
**GO TO CHARACTER CREATOR**
> Go to character creator
Alert: Creating your own character will cost points!
Do you want to continue?
> Yes
***
*Character Creator*
**Traits** - Random
**Looks** - Random
**Geographic Area** - Random
**Development/Time** - Random
**Class** - Random
**Live!**
Cost: *Free*
> Set Geographic Area: Europe
**Traits** - Random
**Looks** - Random
**Geographic Area** - Europe
**Development/Time** - Random
**Class** - Random
**Live!**
Cost: *Free*
> Development/Time
***
**Prehistory** - 1.000 Points
**Classical Antiquity** - 10.000 Points
**Early Middle Ages** - 3.000 Points
**Late Middle Ages** - 5.000 Points
**Renaissance** - 10.000 Points
**Age of Enlightenment**- 20.000 Points
~~Restoration~~ - Buy DLC! - 20.000 Points
~~Late 19th Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 30.000 Points
~~Early 20th Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 50.000 Points
**Late 20th Century** - Free trial until 589zx-7! - 100.000 Points
~~Early 21st Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 100.000 Points
~~Late 21st Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 100.000 Points
~~22nd Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 150.000 Points
~~23rd Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 1.000.000 Points
~~24th Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 1.000 Points
~~25th Centuy~~ - Preorder today! - Price TBA
>Age of Enlightenment
***
**Traits** - Random
**Looks** - Random
**Geographic Area** - Europe
**Development/Time** - Age of Enlightenment
**Class** - Random
**Live!**
Cost: *520.000* Points
>Class
***
**Slave** - *FREE!*
**Serf** - 1.000 Points
**Free, lower class** - 10.000 Points
**Free, middle class** - 100.000 Points
**Free, bourgeois** - 1.000.000 Points
**Lower noble** - 2.500.000 Points
**Upper noble** - 5.000.000 Points
~~Monarch~~ - Buy DLC! - 10.000.000 Points
> Buy Monarch DLC
2100 credits will be wired off your account. Confirm?
> Yes
Would you like to select **Monarch**?
> Yes
**Traits** - Random
**Looks** - Random
**Geographic Area** - Europe
**Development/Time** - Age of Enlightenment
**Class** - Monarch
**Live!**
Cost: *10.520.000* Points
> Live
This is an expensive life. Confirm?
> Yes
***
Confirmed. You will be reincarnated as 050y592th582x.
Translating...
100%
You will be reincarnated as "LOUIS XVI".
Reincarnation in 60 seconds...
> ...
> ...
> Fuck.
***
Edit: Whoah, comments, upvotes, a jazz reading and reddit gold! Thank you! | "Y-... You're kidding me... right?"
I DO NOT KID.
"But... I... I was a _good person_, they told me that would *count* for something!"
THEY WERE MISTAKEN.
"I don't deserve this..."
REALLY? YOU DID NOT?
"Of course not! What kind of monster deserves THIS?!"
DID YOU NEVER LAUGH AT A FAT CHILD FALLING OVER? DID YOU NEVER TAKE ICE CREAM FROM THE FREEZER? DID YOU NEVER ACCUSE A CO-WORKER OF SOME TRIVIAL, PETTY CRIME TO COVER UP YOUR OWN GUILT?
"Well I... but everyone does that!"
AND EVERYONE GETS THIS.
"But if you just *told* us, we would live better lives!"
IF SOMEONE TOLD YOU THE EXAM RESULTS, YOU WOULD GET HIGHER GRADES.
"This is *not* the same as high school!"
ISN'T IT? WERE YOU NOT GIVEN THE CHANCE TO BRANCH OUT, TO LEARN, TO MAKE INTERESTING CONNECTIONS? AND DID YOU NOT, INSTEAD, SIT AT THE BACK OF THE CLASS, METAPHORICALLY DOODLING IN YOUR NOTEBOOK AND TALKING TO PEOPLE WHO WERE ALL PRETTY MUCH THE SAME?
"I was a *paramedic*! I *saved lives*!"
YOU DID. AND YOU ALSO IGNORED THE BEGGAR ON THE STREET. YOU BLEW YOUR HORN IN TRAFFIC SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU WERE HAVING A BAD DAY. YOU SHOUTED AT YOUR BOYFRIEND BECAUSE YOU WERE BITTEN BY A MOSQUITO AND IT SMARTED.
"What about Hitler?! Did *he* get this?!"
OF COURSE.
"So you're saying I'm as bad as Hitler then?!"
I'M ALSO SAYING YOU'RE AS GOOD AS MOTHER THERESA.
"...Oh."
SHE GOT THIS TOO.
"I... I see..."
FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH... I WISH IT WERE ANOTHER WAY.
"Thank you..."
THE OFFICE IS DOWN THE HALL, THREE DOORS ON THE RIGHT. YOU WILL SEE YOUR FIRST CLIENT IN 10 MINUTES. DO NOT BE LATE.
"Wait! I... I don't know what to do..."
HAVE YOU NEVER BEEN TO A COUNCIL OFFICE BEFORE?
| 2015-10-19T02:05:14 | 2015-10-19T00:46:17 | 550 | 34 |
[WP] Write a story about something you don't understand. Do NO research. Make everything up as you go.
**Possible subjects:**
*Fly-Fishing
*Open-Heart Surgery
*Supply-Management in the Canadian Dairy Industry
*Making Hollywood Movies
*Guidance Counselling for High School Students
*Storm Chasing
*Electrical Repair in High-Rise Buildings
*The Large Hadron Collider
*Love
EDIT: Oh God, what have I done? | The heavy double doors swung outward as the doctor rushed into the waiting room. A worried woman released her grip on her mother's hand and stood to face the look of distress expressed in front of her.
"Mrs. Duval, I'm afraid your husband's injuries are just too serious to avoid immediate surgery. If you want to see him walk out of the hospital, open heart surgery will be required."
A heavy look of grief clouded the woman's face as she stared into the doctor's honest eyes. She solemnly agreed that it was the only solution, and returned to her mother, tissues in hand.
Hours later, the doctor was ready and prepped for surgery. Mr. Duval was wheeled into the surgery room and hooked up to a number of machines. A team of 5 doctors were on staff in the room, all sterile and ready at a moments notice. A sturdy looking man walked into the room, identified himself as the surgeon, and assured the staff that this man would leave the hospital on his feet.
With a small blade, the surgeon cut a large incision into Mr. Duval's chest, cutting deep into the skin, muscle and tissue, then pulled the skin away to reveal what was underneath. The cause of the heart failure was still not known, so they were forced to cut deeper. The surgeon carefully cut away two of Mr. Duval's ribs to access the full area of the heart. He wiped the sweat off his brow, as seeing the beating heart of a man is not something one usually shrugs off. He made a further incision into the heart, where immediately, blood began gushing out in gallons. The doctors were quick to notice the quickening beeps coming from the various machines around the room, and jumped to stop the blood geyser. That's when the surgeon knew what happened; he hadn't cut into the wrong spot, but rather, Mr. Duval's arteries were nearly ready to burst. They had to have been clogged for ages, and had stretched thin trying to get blood to flow into the heart.
The doctors had successfully stopped the flow of blood, and backed away to allow the surgeon to continue. He moved away from the heart and moved to a stretched artery. He cut into the part where it was bulging, and watched in disgust as an unidentifiable pus-like liquid excreted from the cut. It only released maybe a teaspoon of it. But it was enough to shrink the artery down to normal size. The surgeon cleaned the sun and sewed it tightly back together, then continued on the rest of the arteries.
Multiple hours passed without break, but eventually, Mr. Duval was sewn back up and moved to another room to rest. Two weeks later, just as the surgeon had promised, Mr. Duval walked out of the hospital on his own two feet.
Thanks for reading, let me know if you enjoyed it. It's my first WP as a long time lurker, glad to have finally contributed!
| "Okay bob, hold my scalpel while I squeeze the heart"
"Right, now I just need you to connect those two tubes while I hold it like this"
"Okay...
Yes! done!"
"Wait, why is my computer making that weird beeping noise?"
"OH MY GOD!!! HE'S GONNA DIE! GET THE DEFIBRILLATOR!!"
*zzzzZAP!*
"Oops, I think we killed him."
"Wow, we really suck at surgeon simulator don't we?" | 2016-02-01T23:42:44 | 2016-02-01T21:35:35 | 17 | 11 |
[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. | I stood outside the bar, hearing laughter and chatting from the warm interior. I looked down the line of people waiting for entry and started looking down the line muttering under my breath, "Twenty-two, twenty-five, Thirty, Twenty-nine, and... a twenty year old."
I sighed and I could see my breath within the cold night air. "Alright guys!" I gestured to the front of the line, "Come on in!" As the first four passed me, I held up my hand to block the entrance for the twenty year old, a tall black-haired boy who *might* have been able to enter as he looked to be at least twenty-three to any other outside viewer. Unluckily for him however, I have an exceptionally rare ability to see the age of any individual floating above their heads.
The boy looked at me confidently and smiled, "Is there a problem, sir?"
"May I see your ID please?"
The boy looked surprised and took out his wallet. "Alright, just give me a second here...". The boy gave an elaborate shuffling through his wallet for a good thirty seconds before he finally said, "I think I might have left my ID at home or something. Can you make an exception please? My friends drove me and one of them just went in, I mean we are literally the same age. Just ask him!"
I nudged him out of the line and said, "Sorry kid, no ID no entry."
The boy's previous friendly face slowly contorted into one of utter anger. He looked as if he were going to punch me until he stopped himself. Still clenching his fist with knuckles pale as ice, he stormed off without saying another word.
I sighed and looked at the next one in line. He looks definitely like a kid. I'd guess... ten years old. I used my ability and his age appeared above him displaying... **FOUR DIGITS**. WHAT PERSON IS 7300 YEARS OLD? He looks like a kid too!
He had auburn hair and was looking at me with wide eyes. I quickly blinked a few times to mask my loss of composure. "Uh... So, how old are you?"
The boy gave a huge grin and yelled in an ear-piercing voice, "Seven, three, zero, zero years old!"
I raised an eyebrow and knelt down. In a soft voice I asked, "Are you lost kid? Where's your mom?"
The boy scowled and yelled even louder in a tantrum impatiently, "I am **seven, three, zero, zero years old!**"
There is no way this kid is immortal or something. As far as I know, immortality and reincarnation or anything of the sort is nonexistent. I quickly pat his head gently and said, "Let's go find your mom, okay?"
The kid started sniffling and pointed inside the bar, "But my mom is inside!" I gently grabbed the kid's hand and guided him inside with me saying, "Come on kid. I'll find your mother."
We walked inside the bar with lots of people chattering and hearing the clinks of wine glasses. I grabbed the kid and held him up by the shoulders. I said in a loud booming voice, "WHOSE KID IS THIS?"
A thirty one year old whom I assumed to be the mother quickly ran to the kid and hugged him closely saying, "I am so, so sorry Alan. I thought you were asleep!"
I shook my head, "Listen, next time. Watch him closely and don't leave him alone by himself. *Ever*."
She glanced at me and softly said, "Alright."
I put a hand on the kid's shoulder and glanced at the mother, "By the way, how old is he anyways?"
The mother sniffled and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her shirt. She said, "He's only ten years old."
"Then why does he call himself a 7300 year old?"
The mother gave a hint of a smile, "It's just his way of adding up to 10 years old. The two extra zeroes are just to make him seem smarter with math." She ruffled Alan's hair, "Aren't you smart?"
If you enjoyed, consider subscribing to my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/ChocolateChipWp/)! Critiques and suggestions are appreciated as well!
| She looked thin, an average girl, she shifted her weight as her high heel strap dug uncomfortably into the back of her ankle. She bent down to readjust the strap. My mind was racing and I could feel my body become aware of that I knew nothing about the situation about to enfold between us. Thin soft curls covered her eyes as she rose to meet my widened stare. She instantly knew I could tell she was different, our eyes locked and I felt every fear and trepidation pass from me. She smiled, her face softening as she seemed to download every thing I've ever felt seen or heard. "Danny," she whispered, although I don't remember her mouth moving, "I'm tired, I've been on a century shift and I just want to have some fun." I let her pass through. Honestly something about her absolutely terrified me even though I felt a calm blanket surrounding my physical body. She made me feel like I was standing in front of the biggest mountain or tree Id ever seen. A small part of me wanted to fall to my knees and pray to her to spare me from whatever she was capable of if pushed to wrath. I didn't though, I just numbly went through the rest of the night. Anxiously peeking in to see if I could tell what she was doing. At closing time she walked out following a regular I'd seen many times. A tall guy that brought many girls to the club and none of them looked to happy to be leaving with him after. Id heard he was a bad guy, a date raper, machismo bully and so on. This time her stride was confident, her eyes locked on the back of his head as she trailed him like a coyote. She winked at me as she strode by. "Bonus" she whispered. As they walked away my guts twisted into knots as I observed the guys number start to tick down. | 2018-02-12T22:42:59 | 2017-09-02T00:03:35 | 223 | 10 |
[WP] People believe the Gods decide all of our fates, but they've actually been rolling d20s to make decisions for millions of years | "This is absurd," complained Hera. "We're rolling for a yard sale?"
"It's a perfect twenty," said Hades bitterly. "Again."
At the yard sale, seen in the orb below, Doug wasn't expecting much. At least not until he spotted a gray and white box. Platinum edition? He couldn't believe his eyes. And only ten dollars? Now that was a steal of a deal if he'd ever seen one! He was quick to purchase it. He wasn't expecting much, but he set the box down at home and pulled out his camera. The internet was going to love this.
"I want to roll again," said Hermes.
"It's... just a box, why do you need to roll for it?" asked Hera.
"I want to roll," insisted Hermes. "I'm rolling."
When Doug opened the box. it was a plastic box of fun. All the wires seemed to be present and it looked to be in good condition. Nearly new. Not bad, not bad. But wait... was it rattling inside?
Hades groaned. "Another twenty, Jesus Christ."
A voice from the kitchen perked up. "What?"
"So what's inside it?" asked Hermes.
Hera sighed and checked the ledgers. A perfect twenty warranted something special for the mortal, but it had to be realistic.
"Okay, fine. There's twenty bucks inside of it."
"Twenty? That's awfully low."
"Well what do you want? He's doubling what he spent and he still gets everything else."
"That's like a \*twelve\* roll. C'mon, Hera."
Doug unfolded the bills that came out of the machine. There had to be over two thousand dollars inside. That was insane! He snapped a quick picture of it and sat back in utter awe at this find. Should he go back to the seller? Surely they'd be missing this... He lifted the machine thoughtfully, only to hear some movement inside.
Hermes rolled.
Everyone groaned and rolled their eyes. Jesus sat down with a bowl of popcorn.
Hera cleared her throat. "So he finds a few more bills and-"
"Um. Doesn't the rule book have a special addendum about consecutive rolls?"
"He's got a multiplier," said Jesus. "I love those."
She had to think about that a little bit and do the math. There was no way that much money could fit in there, but on the other hand...
Doug pulled out a key from the device, marveling at how it even fit in there. Why was it there? There was even a tag on it, like it had just come off the parking lot. Was this for a new car? Where was the car? He couldn't help himself now. He reaches to open the final compartment left on the machine.
Hermes rolled.
Hades threw his arms in the arm and stood up to go pace.
"Look, I'm not multiplying it again. It'll upset the balance," said Hera firmly. "I'll give him some beer. Some really good beer."
Hermes grinned. "Fair enough."
Doug had nearly shit himself when an entire case of Stella Artois came crashing out of the machine. Was he delirious? What the hell was even going on? And yet, this would seem to explain why the box had been so heavy...
He tentatively turned the machine over and opened the disc tray.
Hermes rolled.
Jesus had a choking fit off a piece of popcorn. Hades left the room, which was followed by the distinct sound of a head beating against a wall. Hera calmly set down her rule book.
"Fine. He finds an N64 inside. And yes. There's even more money inside. But you know what? No one will ever believe him." | Hands shaking. Sweaty forehead. At this exact moment in time, he knows that all of his hard work, all of his investments, are up in the air. There has never been a more at stake.
For a brief moment, he questions his methods. Surely he shouldn't leave such an important decision, with human possible human extinction, to chance.
"I will never intervene again." He hangs his head distraught, those words have never haunted him to such a severity. He reaches for the die, but pauses.
"If I can't keep my promises, how could I fairly cast judgment on others? If I can't remain righteous, how can I expect that of the mortals?"
He grabs yet a second die.
"I'll let the die decide: 10 or lower I leave it to fate, higher and I decide."
A single tear emerges as he prepares the second die that absolutely must be rolled now; feels like it has infinite weight.
He breaths in deeply, closes his eyes, and throws the die with a purpose that hasn't been seen in a millennia.
"That's it then, may...I...have mercy on their souls."
Tears follow. Mistakes were made, regrets were had.
----------------------------
"And the results are in! Donald Trump is the 45th President of the United States!"
r/Promptfeces | 2018-06-28T15:51:32 | 2018-06-28T11:27:51 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] In a dystopian theocracy, criminals get injected with diseases and locked up until they either survive the disease or die. The worse the crime, the worse the disease. If a criminal survives the disease, the system determines that the person is innocent and God has interfered to show this.
Edit: thank you kind stranger for my first ever reddit award <3 | In the first day, she had shrieked every waking hour, clawing at the walls, clawing at the metal door, clawing ragged her own skin.
In the third day, she could no longer scream- her strength was spent, her throat hoarse, and the only harsh noise she could make was her frail fist thumping at the walls.
In the fifth day, every shred of flesh in her body was reduced to doing nothing but wasting their already sparse strength spasming in agony, slowly withering, and her power was no more than hoarse curses.
And now it was the seventh day, and she laid stone-still on the bed, without the strength to move, without the strength to speak, barely enough to breathe- to do nothing, indeed, other than the irregular twitching of her muscles.
The lucky ones got actual diseases. It was simpler to survive that, and if you died, you'd die. The worst of the worst, those guilty of heresy? Not simple blasphemy or disbelief, but heresy? They were given the Crucible. An unnatural fabrication, a thing that turned men to slowly withered husks as they slowly went insane from the agony. *Nobody* was known to have survived the Crucible. Nobody.
And so she laid like a shriveled grape on the bed, praying that death would come soon- and God would be forgiving, as they always said.
A key quietly turned in the heavy lock of her cell door, and a thin ray of the bleak light outside fell on her. Was it time for a meal? Did it even matter, when she had not the strength to *look* towards the door, let alone eat? If the Crucible didn't take her in a few days, hunger would.
Soft footsteps echoed in the tiny cell, entirely unlike the thudding sounds of the guards' hobnailed boots. A finger softly touched her chin, and she would've flinched if she could: the touch felt as cold as bitter ice. The finger slowly turned her head, her neck muscles weakly straining in protest, and her visitor came into view.
He wasn't a guard.
The face was youthful enough, tanned and marked with but the first creases of advancing age, but two black eyes looked at her, their piercing gaze almost a thousand years old. He was garbed in an immaculate white coat that seemed painfully bright in the pale light.
The First Penitent, Voice of the Father, smiled down sadly at her.
Even in her wasted wreck of a body, a subconscious reflex, instilled from birth, shrieked in a mix of repeated respect and abject dread. Her ruined muscles tried to stand up, so she might fall to her knees in awe and fear. Her voice wanted to croak 'Your Eminence'. But she had not the strength to do any of those, and thus her body just flopped on the spot.
The First Penitent laid a hand on her chest, freezing even with the thin, sweat-soaked shirt she wore in between. "Hush, child. Do not be hard on your body. The Crucible takes much out of someone." The hand left her chest as she stilled, and rose to slowly caress her hair. "Even from someone who has survived it."
Survived? "It... hurts." She barely managed to croak. The pain burned unabated from the roots of her hairs to the tips of her toenails.
The First Penitent nodded. "The pain never goes away. You learn to live with it. Mold it. Draw power from it. But it never goes away. However, you have survived it. Make no mistake. God has given you a choice." He continued caressing her hair. "All who survive the Crucible make a choice. To stay, and burn in the Crucible, so that they might die and seek the mercy of God in afterlife."
*Or?*
"Or, to repent, to don the white and gold, and join the Penitents."
She gasped for air, almost choking on her breath. The Penitents, the greatest of Father's priests, the greatest of God's servants. They who enforced the Will and the Law, each one an angel among men. This was where they came from? From the most loathed of condemned criminals? It seemed so ridiculous she wanted to laugh.
But she had no strength to, and it was the First Penitent who told her that.
"How?" She managed to mutter.
The First Penitent continued smiling. "How can one be penitent, if he has no great sin to repent? There is not a soul without sin, and only the greatest sinner can walk the path of penitence, for it is razor-sharp and endless." He crouched next to her bed, and held his hand out. "But God is merciful."
To leave here a Penitent. To serve the same God she once fought against, enforcing His will upon people like her. The greatest priests made of the greatest sinners. The idea seemed simply ludicrous.
But the alternative was too lie here, in this bed, for the rest of a very short life until the Crucible finally claimed her. And that was no choice at all.
"God is merciful," the First Penitent repeated, "but you have to reach out for it."
She gritted her teeth, and forced her muscles to move. *Razor sharp, and endless.* Her right arm twitched, shriveled, withered muscles woke, and her hand rose. Inch by agonizing inch, it rose, and dropped limp on the First Penitent's hand, cold, cold as death.
The First Penitent muttered something, and then with a single swift move lifted her from the bed. | Brian ignored the metallic sound of a tray scraping across gravel. He didn't have enough strength to get up--the pain that coursed through his body was too great. He stayed curled up in a tight ball, eyes shut, at the foot of his sleeping cot. He groaned, while tears forced their way out, not unlike how the pain forced its way into every inch of him.
Time was measured in waves of pain for Brian.
Sometimes, it would subside into a dull ache, and it wasn't so bad. Other times, like now, it had him wishing he would just die already. But no matter what, it was ever-present, as if it had been woven into him.
In a way, it was.
Brian still remembered the day it all started. A man in a white lab coat and thin metal-rimmed glasses had come to deliver his fate. He showed no emotion whatsoever, and certainly no mercy. Brian begged and begged until his voice was hoarse and he could only make out blurry figures. But he could still see that the liquid injected in him was dark red, like the blood that never stained his hands. And he could still feel the prick of the needle. So slight. So quick. So misleading of what would become of his days.
At first, when he was thrown into his cell, the only pain he felt were from his scraped knees and bruised shins, the residue of his struggle to stay on the other side of the bars. He thought for sure that this was a sign that God knew.
And then it started. The pain wrapped him up like a blanket and clung to him like wet clothes. And it got worse.
It was only the third meal, when Brian looked for sharp edges or anything that resembled rope. But of course there was nothing. They thought of everything already. He could only accept that pain was his life now, and he could only wait for death.
He even prayed for it to happen, even though he didn't deserve it. It almost felt like more relief to die with all his family and friends believing him a criminal. It almost felt more preferable than to struggle to walk for a few seconds without doubling over.
It's crazy how quickly pain can change a person's values.
But it's also crazy how tenaciously hope can cling to a person, even if it's just by a small thread.
Brian groaned again, and forced himself to sit up, wincing as it felt like a thousand knives was slashing him open at the same time. He eyed the tray of food that had been pushed into his cell. The cell was only about five strides long, but it felt far away. He almost wanted to lie back down, and just try another time.
But an image of her face flashed in his mind and he felt his jaw clenching. The days he was apart from her was another kind of pain that was equally, if not more vicious than his physical one. The thought of her devastation over him broke his heart.
No. This will not do.
He had to try, even if the task seemed impossible. If there was a way for him to wrongfully be put into jail, then there was a way for him to "wrongfully" get out of it.
There has to be. | 2020-03-25T09:02:23 | 2020-03-25T08:28:48 | 101 | 33 |
[WP] You have been striving for years to commit the elusive “Perfect Crime” for the fame of it. You steal the Mona Lisa and replace it with a fake. You leave a taunting note and wait for the panic when it is discovered. But, 2 years later, no one has noticed. | The vaulted ceiling of the museum filled me with vertigo. A single drop of sweat rolled down my brow. The muted talk of an art guide in the distance. My heartbeat thudding in my throat. My fingers’ idle fiddling with the glass-cutter in my pocket.
I swallowed hard. The portrait gave me the same knowing look that my mentor used to give me.
‘We’re thieves,’ he used to tell me. ‘Remember that.’
He’d taught me all the tricks I knew. All the nuances of deceit. Every shady technique. Every stroke of genius. Each step of the way to perfection. It had taken me a lifetime to master my job.
I glanced in the direction of the staff room, drumming my fingers on the counter. The painting caught my attention again. She was taunting me. Smug.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The art expert finally returned and placed the parcel on the table. “It’s fake.”
“Fake?” I mumbled and fumbled with the paper. Mona Lisa smirked up at me.
My eyes shifted between the painting in the parcel and the one mounted on the wall behind the protective glass.
“Fake?” I repeated.
“Yes, it’s a masterful forgery; I gotta give you that.” The man touched his chin as he spoke. “Very well done. But it’s not quite as good as the original. A few mistakes here and there. Whoever made this, surely knows how to paint, but it’s very hard to reach the perfection of the original.”
Now, I’m not usually a man to lose my temper. All my passion is channeled into my work. I’m known for my calm and my endless patience. But when you’ve spent the last decade trying to pull off the perfect crime, and this happens…
“Shut up, you clueless baboon! That thing on the wall is fake! This right here”–I stabbed my finger at Mona Lisa on the counter–“This is the original! You’re the most incompetent, most blantantly–”
“Now, now, sir.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Insults will get you nowhere.”
I laughed in sheer contempt and outrage. “I’m not insulting you! I’m describing you in perfect detail – the same minute detail I used to paint that portrait over there!”
It was his turn to chuckle. “I ran the tests. Like I said, the painting you have there is good. And if you painted it, then I applaud you. But unfortunately, you’re still not as good as Da Vinci himself.”
I felt two sets of strong hands grip me from behind, starting to drag me away.
“Just look behind it! I left a message on the backside. Take it out of the goddamn glass mount and read for yourself.”
“Goodbye!” the expert said and turned away.
I swore as I was tossed out of the museum. Mona Lisa landed beside me, looking smug as ever. I was distraught over my failure. All the time wasted to commit the perfect crime. And the worst part was the headlines in the news the next day.
“**Renaissance legend Leonardo Da Vinci’s recently discovered message – a taunt to the public.**”
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories. | I grin at my canvas. This is gonna be great. No one’s ever going to be able to tell the difference. In fact, I bet they’ll all look at this one and like it better. That’s right. My version will be better than the original, better than anything it could hope to be. The smile- just a little less radiant- and the tilt of her head- just a little more straight- are the only things setting the two apart at this point. Those fools, they can’t tell good art from bad art. I pull the finished product off the canvas and haul it to the museum. I get in easily, and wait until the room drains. I quickly swap one for another, walking out without a problem. A guard even nods at me as a friendly hello. Moron. I hang the original copy in my house. Nobody even seems to notice its stolen. Honestly, I was hoping I would get a couple laughs.
I am Leonardo DaVinci. | 2018-04-19T01:26:31 | 2018-04-18T19:40:07 | 87 | 14 |
[WP] you have the ability to hold full conversations with plants. you’ve only ever spoken to civilised pot plants living in houses or cafes. out of curiosity, you decide to speak with a lonely weed living in a dark alleyway. | "Y-You.. You can talk?" The weed stammered.
"I gotta say, this is weird for both of us." I said. I had previously spoken to cultivated house plants, but never something outside. For some reason, it never occurred to me. I thought the cultivation and contact with humans gave plants the ability to talk to me. Maybe I'm the one with the ability to talk to them?
"Well," the weed said, "this is big news, big news indeed. Hey, can you do me a favor?"
"Huh? What is it?" I asked. Do plants ask for favors? Do plants need favors?
"It's just my cousin Greg, he's never gonna believe this. A talking human. Who would think? Anyway he's just down the street, next to the drive way two houses down, can't miss it. It would be great if you just walk up to him and say something like "Beautiful day isn't it? I bet old George is having a great time!" Go on, say that, it would just be the best."
"Umm" I pause, trying to process all this. None of the house plants were so... social? It was always me and them. I didn't think plants had cousins. This was surreal. "Ok, but how do you know where Greg is?" I ask, "You can't... see him from here, can you?" I don't think plants can see at all, with the lack of eyeballs and everything, but I didn't know what other word to use.
"What do you mean?" The weed replied. "He's in the network, isn't he?"
"Network?" My brain felt like it was crashing trying to process this.
"Yea, the network. I have no idea how you humans keep connected, but us plants, we got roots, you know? We got _roots_."
"I... huh. So... how many are in your network?" I asked.
"Ha, just about every plant, I suppose. Maybe not the Imprisoned, they live in houses and can't reach us with their roots, bless their souls. But every other plant? Sure. I can tell you what some old lady is speaking in the next city over, if you want."
"You.. what?" My eyes widened as I started to realise what the weed—George—was saying. "You mean the network spans _cities_? And you can _hear_ people? Not just people like.. not just me?"
"Sure can" George replied. "Never seen a human who can communicate with plants, no, but the network has heard enough over the years to know what your languages mean. Tell you what. If you give me a sprinkle of water, I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Anything any human has said in the presence of the network. Tit for tat, eh?"
I slowly sat down on the ground, next to George. This was a lot to think about. I've just gone from an odd boy who talks to the plants he waters, to something else entirely. What do I do with this information, this ability? I could get into a lot of trouble, very quickly. But if I play this right, George and I could live a pretty nice life. Pretty nice indeed. | [Poem]
A dark night sky
So late I wander
I spot a plant
Leaves droop with somber
I wander close
I whisper near
To this plant
Only I can hear
I ask him quietly
And hush my tone
"Do you know what it's like
To feel alone?"
He sways solemnly
In the cool breeze
He turns to me
And in his leaves I see
A shadowy glimpse of reality
As he speaks to me
"What the f*** kinda philosophical bullsh*t is that?!"
I take a pause
My eyes go wide
I hide a blush
And cry inside
I dash away
Into the night
Now knowing that plants arent always so nice :(
Edit: sorry about the formatting! On mobile. | 2020-02-18T10:45:53 | 2020-02-18T06:45:11 | 47 | 14 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why. | There is a handbook on Super Villainy. Chapter One, Page three, section eight. "Do not go after the loved ones of superheros." A simple rule, really, but oddly enough, one with no case studies. Super Villains love case studies, it lets them get their egos up that they won't make the same mistakes as others. That's why there is no case studies. No one broke this rule, or at least according to all official records, no one broke this rule. No media reports, no tales told to one another, only looks of concern and shook heads if you mentioned it at "The Haunt."
&#x200B;
Doctor James "Nuclei" Angelos was a minor player. He could absorb radiation, solar, alpha, beta, gamma, microwave, you name it, he could absorb it. Then he could convert that to raw electrical power. A cool ability, and one that the Department of Energy would love if he wasn't abusing. He held three doctorates in various fields of nuclear and quantum research, and was a bonafide genius. Problem with smart people, is they often think they're the smartest person in the room. His rival, one hero named simply "The Alchemist" was actually a rival scientist as well, in the field of quantum mechanics. His power was a little more odd, in that he could reconstruct anything at the quantum, atomic and molecular level, so long as he had enough raw material. A really neat ability, one he had used to be at many a humanitarian crisis. He had been a hero at every level. James hated him, both for the fact that the Alchemist had thwarted his plans time and time again, but also that he seemed to be so much more successful. And one he had found the true identity of his nemesis, he had hatched a plan to take everything from him.
&#x200B;
Doctor Alexander "The Alchemist" Maddison was a simple man before he found his powers. He loved to spend time with his husband and their son. He was fond of gardening, loved to go on hikes, and owned a 1987 Toyota 4Runner that he used to go camping on weekends. Every first sunday of the month he donated food and goods to local charities for those in need, and was regarded for his wing of the Children's Miracle Hospital, where many well known superheros would sponsor sick children. The Alchemist hadn't sponsored it, Alexander Maddison had sponsored it. He was a mild mannered man, who loved the little things, and that bled into the Alchemist, who universally was regarded to be kind, even to the villains he captured.
&#x200B;
Right now he was standing over the burnt out remains of his lake side house.
&#x200B;
Through the smell of charred concrete and burnt wood, the acrid smell of melted plastics and burned away cleaning chemicals, there was one smell that could just be picked out. A haunting, twisted smell, that melted into the back of your mind and stuck there. Burnt human flesh was such a distinct smell, one the Alchemist had smelt when he's been too late to a fire downtown early in his career. There were only two people that could have been in the house at the time.
&#x200B;
Officially? A lightning strike had caused the fire and destruction. People had seen the small, quick to blow away thunderstorm just missing the edge of town, so the people would buy the story. The media moved quick to cover it up, but the heros watching knew, the villains watching new, the Alchemist knew. This was no lightning strike.
&#x200B;
Nuclei had been shocked when he had been turned away from "The Haunt", not even politely, but thrown out by the guards and told he should run. Not even the seedier "Dungeon" would have anything to do with him. Every call he made, every text he sent was returned with the same message. "Do not message me, do not contact me, and if you know what's best, you're going to run." It had taken time, but he'd gotten the hint, and in his 2001 Honda Civic had made his way out of town. He's followed along a winding set of paths, his Spotify playlist dark and brooding, but still, he felt his success, he'd *won*. He was almost to Silver Star City when the oddest thing happened, his wheels turned to sand, and at seventy-five miles per hour, his Civic no longer was churning along peacefully, but was instead rolling end over end as it had slammed into the ground and lost control. It was some miracle that James survived, pushed up against the roof of his overturned wreck. He could smell the gasoline, and feel the heat from a small fire that had broken out. As he tried to climb from the smashed window, the ground turned to tar, and him, the former Honda Civic, and all his belongings sunk into it. James was a smart man, he held three doctorates after all, and though heavily concussed could see the man standing in the distance. He could put two and two together, and all of a sudden he understood the reason Chapter One, page three, section eight existed. As gasoline from the upturned vehicle continued to pool on top of the tar he himself was sinking into, he understood the error of his ways, and as the ground solidified around him, he begged for mercy, shouting from the top of his slightly compressed lungs. But the man in the distance just stood and watched. His head above the ground, and only parts of his body exposed above ground.
&#x200B;
As the gasoline finally caught, there would be no dramatic Hollywood explosion, the fire would burn for hours and James, not quite exposed enough would not quickly go in flames, but would instead slowly bake as the surrounding asphalt headed up, and even then, it was not the final blow. No, as he laid there in the slowly rising sun, he could hear in the distance the sound of fire engines and for a brief moment thought his ordeal was over, that he might live to tell the story, to be a perfect case study. But as he saw the red and white lights of the truck approaching a sinking sensation came to him. Not in his heart or gut, but a literal sinking sensation as the asphalt once again returned to it's tar-like state, and him his former vehicle, and any sign that he had existed sunk into the ground and was consumed. By the time the firefighters would carve him out, he long ago would have suffocated. His name was never released, and all records of him said that he had simply "gone missing".
&#x200B;
There is a handbook on Super Villainy, and Chapter One, page three, section nine states, seemingly in direct counter to section eight, "You never know what a hero is capable of, so it is best to never let them find out." | "Pyro, local anti-hero, Got a gimp brother by the name of Harry."
"Wait, you're not really going after family, are you?" The henchman asked his boss. "I mean, no offense, but not even Quantum went after Pyros family." The henchmen continued. "And Quantum can pretty much do whatever the fuck he wants."
"It just means Quantum isn't thinking big enough." Electron said with a smile as he donned his suit. "When you strike where your enemy is vulnerable, You'll give yourself a massive advantage." At this point, the Henchmen knew there would be nothing he could to talk down his employer from committing to his plan of action, he would most likely have to shop around for another contract, again.
"God help him." The henchmen muttered as he watched his employer walk out of the laboratory.
===
"Hello Electron." The villain woke, and immediately looked around him. His heart was racing, as he pulled against the ropes that tied him down to the chair.
As he struggled, trying to say anything through the bandanna stuffed in his mouth, Pyro continued to speak. "Don't bother." He looked up at the other end of the table, and saw a silenced 1911 pointed straight at his face. "Former Navy." Pyro said, slowly taking off his dark red mask with a slight grin. "Chief made sure to ingrain that shit into our heads."
Electron looked around in horror as he noticed his parents were also tied down to chairs, sitting alongside him.
"Now. You've done some really fucked up shit." Pyro said, as he set the pistol down and stretched his arms out. "And coming from me, you should normally take that as a compliment. BUT, this isn't normal.
"I mean, I have you and your family tied up, and at gunpoint." Pyro grinned. "Aint exactly normal is it?"
"See, you crossed a line." Pyro continued. "A line, which even insane motherfuckers like me, don't anywhere near. Because doing so risks a response like this." The Anti-hero said as he pulled out his phone, and set it on the table. He pressed a button, and a voice played out.
"Pyro, local anti-hero, Got a gimp brother by the name of Harry." Electrons' voice rang out from the phone. He froze, and his blood ran cold as he realized why exactly he was tied down to a chair.
"Nothing fucks with my family." Pyro simply said as he aimed his pistol at Electron's mother.
It was then that he realized why you never went after family.
'Lines don't exist when family is present.' He thought as his parent's corpses slackened in their chairs, and Pyro turned the barrel of his pistol towards him.
===
Pyro picked up his phone and holstered his pistol as he dialed a number, sparing a passing glimpse at the three corpses across the table.
"Report?" The voice on the other line asked.
"Job completed, he won't be a problem anymore." Pyro replied before hanging up the call and pocketing his phone.
He made a promise that nothing would fuck with him or his family anymore. They already did so once, and he couldn't make them pay. Now they try again, and he had more than enough power to fight back? He would have been stupid not to kill Electron.
*Still though...*
As Pyro stood up and walked out of the house, he pulled out his phone once more and dialed another number.
"James?" The voice on the other end of the line said. "You don't normally call, whats up?"
"Eh, nothing, just... just wanted to make sure you were alright."
"I'm fine... it's pretty late though, shouldn't you be in bed?"
"I could say the same thing to you." Pyro said.
"That... true." The voice on the other end of the line said. "Anyways, how come you really called?"
"Honestly, I just wanted to make sure you're alright." Pyro explained as he sat down in his car and turned the engine over.
"...I'm fine." The voice said. "You sound tired."
"I'll live."
"...take care, James."
"You too, Harry." Pyro said before hanging up the call. He flipped the sun visor down and withdrew a small photo of him, his brother, and their parents. He'd forgotten long ago when the picture was taken, but he'd never forget how his parents were taken from him.
*Nothing will ever fuck with my family again.*
----
Hate what you see? you can find more at /r/AluWrites | 2020-07-12T09:36:39 | 2020-07-12T07:09:26 | 2,138 | 926 |
[WP] Every time you die, your power brings you back a bit stronger. As you slowly become less and less human, the other heroes become more wary of you. Today, for the first time, you were mistakenly attacked as a monster…and no one is coming to help. | I raise my hands in front of me. I don't want to fight her. We've never spoken before but I remember her from the last heroes gala. She's the aptly named Rising Star. Heck, I've seen her on TV.
"Die, evil thing!" she cries out, "Strawberry Blast!" A beam of pink blasts out of her staff, and even my numb and scaled flesh can feel the force of the blow. Newton's laws kick in and I am picked up like a leaf in a gust of wind. I can feel metal, concrete, glass shattering on my back. Hasty glimpses of offices, mostly evacuated thank god.
I land in a crater of asphalt and gravel, and it aches if only slightly. She appears hovering in front of me in a flutter of stars and glitter.
"Stop," I rasp out. The word grows in my chest and shudders out of my lips. This body is barely designed for speech. "Friend!"
Her face twists in disgust. "I'm no friend of monsters, foul beast." She raises her staff with a flourish and I see camera drones hovering around, recording the fight. Thank God. The Heroes Union will see this soon, then, they'll send someone to explain like the last times this happened.
"Glorious Sun!"
A burning heat, pushing down on me. Scale and flesh melts, but it regenerates just as fast. It hurts like a motherfucker. The roar is almost unconscious, a roar of pain, but it disperses the light and sends Rising Star hurtling into the wall of the same building I just hurtled through. Her back cracks but she looks more annoyed than injured, thankfully.
Then the cameras focus on her and she bites her lip and suddenly spits out blood. Was it that bad of an injury!? I hope she's not hurt! Internal damage can be subtle though. Hopefully the Heroes arrive soon.
Finally I see the Golden Light hovering over the street. Instantly I relax, only for his fist to slam through my chest. I retch and blood pours out of my mouth. Why?
"Don't worry, Rising Star," he says, flashing a dashing smile to a camera drone. "Help is here!"
He turns to me, his eyes full of righteous fire as I stagger back, the wound closing. "I don't know what made you turn to darkness, Phoenix, but as long as justice and the American way stand, the Heroes Union will defeat you!"
"No." I say. "Friend!" Golden Light had always been my idol! When I became a hero, I got his autograph! He'd told me that if I tried I could reach him, one day. What was he misunderstanding!?
He grinned, letting out a single chuckle, and flashed a half-smile to Rising Star. "I'm no friend of monsters." The blood froze in my veins. I ran.
"Remember, Ph-DARK Phoenix can regenerate from death," I heard him shouting to Rising Star as they gave chase. "We have to contain it!"
"I have just the thing!" She yelled in reply. "Just buy me time!"
Why? Why? Why why why why why?
I raise my hands as Golden Light slams into me like a furious storm. Blocking blow after blow I feel my hands break, heal, break again. My legs dig into asphalt and break, heal, break again as I tear up meters of road. Trying to not get sent through a building again. Trying not to hurt people.
The camera bots are left behind. The skyscrapers are left behind. The city fades away as I just...try not to die. Not again.
Filaments of light are gathering atop Rising Star's staff, weaving outwards from it like spider silk.
"Why," I croak.
Golden Light looks around at our deserted little spot of suburbia. No eyes peek out from closed blinds. Everyone's evacuated for this level of fight, and the drones haven't caught up yet.
"Give it a rest, won't you?" He says, his face twisting with contempt. "We don't need freaks like you in the Heroes Union. You want to be a hero? Lose dramatically and stay quiet in prison."
"Change," I croak, "but still same." I thump my heart. "Phoe...nix. He...ro."
He rolls his eyes. "We should've never let you join. We're just correcting a mistake." He chuckles slightly. "God's mistake."
The camera drones arrive and his face turns back to his serene heroic countenance. "Now, Rising Star!"
"You don't have to tell me twice," she yells, "Starlight Filament!" The filaments rush out of her staff and slice across my body like concertina wire before slamming together. I almost roar in pain again but even my mouth is closed, so I just topple to the ground. I don't understand. | I can remember the first time I died. A villain by name of The Black Crow grabbed Me and flew fourteen or fifteen feet in air.
"Please don't!" I begged him. He only laughed as he let me go. I remember the feeling of my soul wanting to enter the afterlife but my body wouldn't allow it.
I woke up only to see that I had grown angel like wings on my back. That was when I realized what my power was.
Each time I died my body would adapt to how I was killed. I died by falling, sliced in half, killed by multiple attackers, drowned, shot in head from behind. Then I grew wings, Skin became more durable, I grew multiple limbs, gills and multiple eyes.
My fellow heros would keep there distance from me. I always had the feeling that they were planning on getting rid of me. Did they not understand that I was a hero just like them?
My latest death I tried to stop the villain Armageddon. He was capable of creating a nuclear blast around himself. He was going to blow up a small town in Kansas. I saved all of the citizens but not myself. I could've saved myself but...I was curious on what my next power could be.
After Armageddon exploded I emerged from the ashes. I had grown to ten feet, grown claws to dig myself out of rubble. Skin became more durable than it had ever been. I was also gained to fire a beam from my mouth.
As returned to check on citizens they cowered in fear me.
Now for first time the people called me "A Monster."
After everything I have done for them this is how they treat me?!
Day after day heros would try to take me down but none of them were ever a match for me. I never killed them despite everything they were still my comrades.
That all changed one day. The hero known as The Anywhere Man came to stop. "I'm sorry," the only thing he said to me. He then jumped towards me and teleported the both of us into space. He teleported himself back to Earth, but as you know I didn't die that day either.
I crash landed on the planet Mars. Where I met a bunch of green skinned small aliens call The Veek. They were being attacked by another alien species called The Ravaka.
I saved them from there and slavers and they welcomed me with open arms.
Now I finally found a place where I belong. I will continue to be a hero to this world. Because I am The Unyielding. | 2022-08-26T11:56:52 | 2022-08-26T11:35:05 | 1,328 | 191 |
[WP] Everybody in the world has a superpower that compliments their soulmates superpower. When together, both their powers increase in strength exponentially. You have the most useless power ever, when one day......
Edit: Wow! This has blown up.. Massive thanks for the gold, it's great to see my prompt inspiring so many great stories.
'Til next time peeps... | Meta: Getting to this prompt 7 hours late makes me sad.
I stared out of the window. That's all I did most of the time. I'm old. Older than most people ever thought you could get. I heal, not spectacularly not even well but constantly through my young life it meant I could take a few more risks not like fight crime. It's kept me in pretty good health for the last 60 years, very good health for that previous 100. It's not stopping the cancer inside of me now though. I've had a good run, way better than most people get. I stared. Thought about death. Prayed for it.
My grandchildren never visit anymore. Not since my Jax died. They hadn't visited much after Shawn and Jen died too. I curse this power, it's taken so much from me.
Jax and I had met, we weren't soulmates we knew it. She could read lies. She was one of the best non-psychics the department ever had. She didn't find a soulmate but she found an honest man. I miss her. I hate this power.
Shawn our son, our light. The World's Light actually. When he paired with Jen. It was beautiful. They were the most powerful Heroes the world has ever seen. The best 30 years of my life, most people's lives, I guess. Christ I miss them. They captured me and Jax. I'm still alive though. She died of grief. Christ I couldn't even lie to her.
"Mr. Jackson!" Bubbly bitch, I thought. I hate nurses. "Let me help you to come take your medicine."
"I can still walk, this damned power wont even take that from me." I grab my cane and walk with her to the nurses' station. I hate this place. They all love me. The geyser that never dies, doesn't need help. The man who saw the rise of The Light, who raised him. I fucking hate it.
I walk with Bubbly the bitch Nurse. She's been here a while but I always forget her name. She loves me, confides in me the latest gossip around the home. We walk down the hall and I see the "common room" a bunch of young people sitting around thinking about the powers that they mostly can't use anymore. Someone new sits among them.
An old man, obviously. But not that old. Most people used healers now these days to maintain a high quality of life until late into their lives. He looked good, maybe 85. Half my age, I thought mood lightening. He looked good. Damned good, I thought.
Bubbly sees me staring at the new guy, I'd stopped moving. Something had snapped. My vision went blurry behind my glasses. "Oh Mr. Jackson, that's Frank, he's only going to be around for a month or so more. He Needs more specialized care." She said it conspiratorially.
My head whipped around, swiftly, "What do you mean?" My voice was less ragged than a minute ago, sounding strong, young.
"His mind is basically gone. Extremely severe dementia. Doesn't remember his children's name." As she said this I took a step towards Frank. I tore my glasses off and the blur in my vision went away.
Another step. My hands flexed against my cane until the wood snapped beneath it. The rest of the cane fell away. Splinters in my hand were pushed out immediately by rejuvenating skin. I took another step on steady legs. I strode to Frank. 1 step away. I knelt down.
"Frank, I said with a smile." He's the one. Didn't surprise me, I'm just glad I found him.
He looked at me, his eyes vacant. My world shattered. "Brittany." he whispered, his mouth parted in a smile. I held his head with my hands. Eyes locked on his, I saw nothing, no recognition. I was still alone.
I stood up. My legs feeling stronger and stronger every second. I knew I was the strongest now. Frank was my soulmate, and I would never know him. I cried, and the windows shattered. | Well to be fair I had one of the most sought after superpower in the entire world. I was not like Jake who could control the dense flow of current, or Alice who could read a thousand books a day and recall 900. For most people their superpower came with a drawback of sorts, Jake had to stay in his room to control his power, and Alice didnt know which books she recalled were the real ones.
For me? I saw my own death. Or rather I knew how I was going to die. Call it a vision, or fate, or . It was a heavy burden to bear. I couldn't tell my parents, what would I have said to them? Mom, could I get some pocket money to buy my textbook? Oh by the way, foresaw my death in 3 years, no biggie. I couldn't.
I could see the future of people, I could not control what I saw, nor could i change the future (trust me, I've tried). Sometimes I saw the collapse of humanity, and other times I saw people getting mugged. It was annoying to get visions at sporadic timings.
Oh there is something I forgot to mention, I'm blind. I was not born blind, if not how could i have foresaw my own death. I lost it in a freak accident daredevil-style, waitaminute, isn't daredevil just matt murdock ordinary lawyer. What kind of freak gives himself a superhero name. That being said, I cannot picture in my head the colour raspberry red, nor the look on my dogs face when he realised that his superpower turned the taste of jellybeans into steak. The last thing I can still visualize was Suzy, ah suzy dear suzy.
Suzy was the light of my life, the stove of my spirit, the kind to my kindle. She was my girlfriend and she was just my friend. | 2015-10-10T12:46:54 | 2015-10-10T09:03:49 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] As a free roaming ghost, you finally feel like you can breach and explore Area 51. The moment youre on the base though, alarms begin blaring. "Code 62: Ethereal Intruder detected." | As I looked down at my bullet-riddled corpse, I could only think one thing.
*Mom was right.*
She'd told me that the voices I heard were all my head, a result of the mental illness that runs in my family -- as opposed to a genuine astrally-projected distress signal from alien lifeforms confined at Area 51 by a shadowy quasi-governmental organization.
Now that my body was dead, along with my brain and all its evidently misfiring neurons, there were no voices. Even my obsession with Area 51 was gone. I could remember how I'd spent all my time researching it, poring over every resource I could find on it from the public library to the deep web, but the *need* had vanished the moment my soul, or spirit, or whatever was left stopped being tethered to a flawed human brain. I saw my obsession for what it had truly been: a mere trick played on me by my own organically unhinged psyche.
I felt bad about being dead -- mostly for Mom, who'd be devastated when she learned what had happened. If she learned what happened. I'd read that anyone who had to be eliminated for attempting to breach Area 51 was quietly "disappeared", and I remembered believing it was true, but with my new post-mortem clarity, I found much of what I thought I knew about Area 51 and UFOs to be highly suspect.
I watched as a medic formally pronounced me dead, and then helped one of the soldiers who'd killed me load my body onto a gurney and roll it away. I wasn't interested in following them -- at least not as much as I was interested in something else. Even though I was no longer driven by the manic hunger to learn the secrets of Area 51 that I'd had in life, it seemed like a shame to waste the opportunity to take a peek inside.
So I walked right through the fence and stepped onto the base.
Insantly, klaxons blared all around me. A second later, a recorded alert sounded over loudspeakers set up on a nearby pole:
*Code 62: Ethereal intruder detected! All personnel initiate standard containment protocol around Hangar 4! This is not a drill!*
I froze in surprise, then flinched as two soldiers charged directly towards me. But the men ran past, towards a supply shed -- apparently while *something* on the base could detect me, I was still invisible to the people who worked here.
What had the alert said? Hangar 4? That seemed like as good a place as any to look. I sprinted down the line of buildings effortlessly, unencumbered by the limitations of a body. I only had a moment to revel in this newfound freedom to move tirelessly across the ground before a soldier rolling something over the ground crossed my path, and I hit a wall -- except there was no wall. And also, walls should be no impediment to me anymore, as I'd proven by walking through the fence.
I looked down at the ground, and then at the soldier continuing on his way, rolling out a white onto the ground at his feet. I'd seen a device like the one he was pushing before, when I was at school, before my illness got bad. It was usually used to make white lines on the grass of athletic fields for various sports, but that clearly wasn't it's purpose here. My search for the secrets of Area 51 had filled my head with all kinds of supposed paranormal lore, enough to guess what they were doing --- the chalk in the device must be infused with powdered salt, purported to repel things like demons and ghosts. Things like me, I realized.
I sprinted ahead, doing an end run around the soldier, dodging between and around long lines of salted chalk as they were hastily traced out by Area 51 personnel, my ghostly eyes darting over the painted letters on the many buildings and hangars dotting the base. Just as the soldiers were about to trap me, I managed to get ahead of the one near the doors to the large building labelled *Hangar 4.* I darted inside through the wall without further hesitation.
The sight that met me was not what I'd expected. Not an alien spacecraft, or an even an experimental airplane. Just a large black metal crate, set up by itself on a wooden platform inside a circle of salt, with the words "TOP SECRET" stenciled on the side in faded white paint.
Nearby, an old man sat on the ground, his head bowed, a dusty cowboy hat shading his eyes. Beside him were two other seated figures, in an equally contemplative posture. These others were, well...*aliens,* of the classic variety. Little gray men with big black eyes, who neither wore, nor seemed to need, any clothing beyond their own skin.
As I came to a halt just short of them, staring at the unlikely trio in mute disbelief, the old man looked up at me. He frowned, but his expression seemed more compassionate than angry, and after a moment he let out a long, weary sigh.
"Well fellers," he said, glancing between his two alien compatriots, "Looks like them damn feds out there caught themselves *another one."* | Alarms are blaring from all directions and red lights are going off everywhere. What is happening? They know I am here? How is that possible, I've tried everything I could to have people to notice me and nothing worked at all. But these guys had the power or technology or the... something to see me?
I turn around and start running out the way I came in, but then I realize, I don't remember which way I came in. Part of the problem with being able to walk through walls, you end up not paying attention to direction.
I keep running and running through different rooms. A room with some vampires being experimented on, did not expect that. A room with rats the size of a house. As if my nightmares weren't bad enough, they went and made giant rats. What wacky ass shit are they doing at this place? I don't stop to look or think about it. If they are doing experiments, I sure as hell don't want to end up being one of them.
I run into a group of guards wearing special goggles. They raise their weapons at me. I keep running towards them. Idiots don't know I'm a ghost? As if their bullets could- AUGH!!!
I fall to the ground. White goo blood pours our of my belly. I'm eating my words like a fool. They cuff me and blindfold me and lock me in a cage. I try to float out of this cage but it is impossible.
The next few weeks are torture. They experiment on me. It's painful. The whole time I think about how I didn't even get to see an alien. This trip was so not worth it.
Finally, one day after a month or so, I wake up. Wait. I wake up? I haven't woken up since I died? I fell asleep? What did they do to me. I flex my hand. Holy shit, I can feel my fingers! I try curling my toes. Holy shit, I have a body? I can feel!
"Hello there. You're awake." A man says.
Still blindfolded I cannot see who it is. "Yes. Did you... did you bring me back to life? Is that what you were doing this whole time?"
A long pause. "We were able to bring you back to life, yes."
"Oh my God! Thank you, thank you so much! I can't believe-"
"There is a catch." He interrupts.
"A catch? What's that catch?"
Silence rings throughout the room. Unable to handle it anymore I take off my blindfold and look at the man. Or rather, I look down at the man. He wears a uniform and would probably be very intimidating if he was not tiny. Why is he so tiny? Then I look down at my body for the first time. And I realize what has happened. I am a giant rat the size of a house. | 2022-10-17T22:47:48 | 2022-10-17T19:16:18 | 215 | 57 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | The Prime Minister walked into the cell and stopped short as he first sighted the prisoner. "Bloody hell, they do look like us," he muttered. He'd read the reports, of course, but nothing beat good old fashioned eyeballs.
The prisoner turned at his voice. Its skin had a bluish tint, and its frame was smaller than his -- maybe a little larger than a child -- but its head was decidedly much larger. It was vaguely reminiscent of what American conspiracy nuts thought had been dissected in their Area 51.
"Are you here to execute me?" it...seemed to ask. Its lips hadn't moved.
"Come again?" the Prime Minister asked back. "I don't think I, ah, quite heard you. Is that some telekinetic nonsense?"
"I am communicating directly to your mind, yes," the prisoner confirmed. "If you are going to execute me, please make it quick. I do not wish to die in agony, like the rest of my contingent."
The Prime Minister frowned. "The good people of Australia are not in the business of executing people, I can assure you," he said. "Now, what's this about your mates dying in agony?"
"It was terrible!" the prisoner emoted, grief flashing across his face. "We chose this part of the world to establish our base, given its remote nature. When we emerged from our craft, we were almost immediately beset by your foot soldiers."
"Our foot soldiers?" the Prime Minister asked, puzzled. He hadn't heard any reports of a direct confrontation between the extraterrestrials and Australian armed forces.
"Your fearsome beasts!" the prisoner said. "My craft landed in a watery area. Upon stepping out into the water, some great predator with many teeth and scales seized our leader and pulled him underwater."
"Crocodiles, I suspect," the Prime Minister remarked. "Wild animals. Been on this planet a lot longer than human beings, if I remember my Steve Irwin."
"Those...those things evolved naturally?" The prisoner shuddered. "I suppose you will tell me your bioweapons are naturally created, too." The prisoner sent an image of several of his kind, moaning in agony as they clutched blackened patches of skin with their three-fingered hands. A second image of a smashed insect, one with eight legs.
"Oh, spiders, sure, mate," the Prime Minister confirmed. "Australia happens to be home to some of the deadliest species of spider. Bad luck, those bites."
The prisoner nodded uncertainly, detecting nothing but truth coming from the Prime Minister. "Maybe so, but most of our losses came from direct combat with a truly terrible beast." It proceeded to send the Prime Minister several different memories of vicious combat, in which the extraterrestrials -- armed with what could only be described as muskets -- fought valiantly against a creature with two long, narrow legs, a long, curved neck, and a large, feather-covered body. The creatures, after being harried by the musketfire, charged the extraterrestrials and managed to kill a few of them.
The Prime Minster tried to hold it in -- it was tragic, really, it was -- but he failed to repress the laughter that bubbled up from inside him. "Those...those bloody things?" the Prime Minster gasped out amidst his outburst.
"I fail to find any humor in the situation," the prisoner said.
The Prime Minister finally found it within him to calm down. "I'm sorry, mate, I really am, but..." He shook his head. "Those bloody critters are emus." He clapped a hand onto the prisoner's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't feel bad, right? You're not the only ones to lose a damned war against those things." He turned away and gave a little rueful smile. "Maybe the rest of the world will stop giving us shit for it, now."
"So, most of my contingent were killed by...wildlife." The prisoner shook his head in disbelief. "If only we'd attempted to colonize another part of this planet."
The Prime Minister shook his head. "Probably would have been a worse move, to be fair. If you'd come down in America, they would have just nuked your ass."
"Nuked?" the prisoner inquired. The Prime Minister furrowed his brow, then attempted to think of several different images of nuclear explosions and 'send' them over. The prisoner's eyes grew wide. "Such...such horror!"
"Yeah," the Prime Minister acknowledged. "Look, here's what's going to happen. Your ships have mostly been impounded by our armed forces -- some university kids happened to find one, figured out how your little faster-than-light thingy works, uploaded the schematics to the Internet, and are now joyriding out around the solar system -- but so far as we can tell, besides scaring the piss out of some farmers out by where you landed, you haven't actually injured or killed any citizens of Australia. So, we're willing to send a diplomatic mission back to your home planet, in hopes of fostering a more peaceful relationship."
"That sounds acceptable," the prisoner permitted. "What...what if our elders back home do not wish for peace?"
The Prime Minister grinned savagely, showing all his teeth. "Well, mate, then we send in the bloody emus." | “We have failed, sire. It is over,” Zarnath said to Larx, the high commander, as he walked to the battle cruiser.
“Nonsense,” Larx said with a confident laugh, his vermilion cape was blowing in the wind as he stepped down the ramp of the ship. "Yannix’s division will bring the human's resistance under control.”
Zarnath stole a glance at Losaf, whose green forehead was sweating. Losaf breathed in and said, “Yannix’s division is destroyed completely. They have surrounded them. It is the same with Zorx also. We have lost. Their weapons are much more sophisticated than we had envisioned.”
Larx looked at them as though he was trying to figure out of it it was a joke. “What do you mean? More sophisticated? How can that be? They are a single source species.”
“Sire, our estimations of their strength were completely wrong," Zarnath said. We never expected a species who has not colonized other planets to be this advanced.”
“It makes no sense,” Larx said.
“Look around you,” Losaf said waving his long skinny arm at the forest in the distance and the call of birds. It was a summer afternoon and the fields were alive with the songs of crickets. “It makes sense if you lived on a planet like this.”
“They would not last a week on Xorxas.” Zarnath said with disdain. “The temperature variance alone would kill them. Not to mention the nutrients we must survive on. They had no *need* to leave this planet they call earth. It is quite ideal.”
“Yes,” Larx said. “I know it is ideal and that is why we are here. Are you saying we have travelled all this way for nothing?”
“I’m sorry, sire,” Zarnath said. “But we must call the retreat, or we will be completely overrun. You must give me the order.”
Larx gave a gesture to call on his gods for strength. “Forgive me,” he whispered, then turned to Zarnath, “call off the attack. All remaining divisions are to return to their transports immediately. We make our way to the mother ship immediately.”
“Thank you, Sire,” Zarnath said. “I will spread the word.”
Larx stepped up the ramp to the battle cruiser and took one more glance at the forest around him. Starlings were in flight above the trees in the reddening sky of sunset, moving as one in a flowing mass as though they were one life and they took joy in that life. Clouds, which Zarnath thought were the softest looking thing he had seen in his life, sluggishly flowed across the sky, their edges burning with the flame of the sun.
*They don’t know how good they have it,* he thought to himself as he turned and stepped into the cruiser, his vermilion cape flowing in the wind.
\--
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-01-21T21:32:31 | 2021-01-21T18:22:16 | 130 | 93 |
[WP] The royal courier looked at me nervously. "Sire, it's um, well... The princess has befriended a dragon. It asks that it be allowed to teach her magic." I blinked in shock. "Magic is outlawed and she's no witch. Get me a meeting with that gods-cursed reptile! "A meeting, sire?" "Yes, damn you!" | "Let's cut through the charade. What exactly would you say are your intentions with my daughter?" The king leaned forward, casting as much a presence as the towering dragon in front of him.
"Your wits are as sharp as the stories would have me believe old king. I wish to marry her." The dragon coiled down, bringing it's steaming face level with the king.
"Why? You've never known her, you didn't meet until she was eightteen. You've never seen her behave so why do you want to marry her exactly?"
"You speak as though the dry dinner dates of noble boys and girls bare their souls more than training in the arts. For all your wit, old king, you are mired in the past. Life of a mortal is short and unpredictable. I love your daughter and I want her to be mine. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. When I say marry, I really mean marry. I want it all; two kids, a job, a mortgage, a life."
"Kids, a job? You're an immortal dragon who sleeps on a mountain of gold. What are you on about?"
"It's important to me that I live a mortal life with her. I've travelled the world, seen things mortals have only read about. And I haven't found anything that I want more than Bianca. I want to live with her, and to die, eventually, beside her."
"What if she doesn't want that?"
"I'm willing to change my form for her. Make myself mortal for her. If even then, she wants me to leave, I will and live out my remaining decades in contemplation and dreams."
"And what about this sinful magic I've heard you were teaching her, the arts you called it? Will that stop?"
"No, I want her safe. I will not cease giving her the tools to protect herself."
"I see." The king said, face neutral. "It will be her choice, of course, but you must tell her your intentions soon. This courting as a mentor borders on deception."
"I know this," the dragon said softly. "You are more accepting of my desire than I expected, king. Bianca says you've always been very possessive of her."
"I'll tell you what I never told anyone, dragon, even Bianca, in the darkness of this cave. I was given a prophecy as a young man by the blind Oracle. 'The day your daughter marries a man, your kingdom will fall, in suffering and fire.' As she grew and showed the first hints of the beauty she is today, I had always assumed that phophecy meant war from some jealous foreign prince, so I protected her from men. I see now my misinterpretation."
"So I have your permission? To court your daughter openly?"
"No," the king said mutely, "but I've come to realize that shouldn't be my decision anymore." The king walked from the cave to the battle regimen waiting outside. He heard the dragon behind him slink further in the cave upon its mound.
"Should I prepare the chain guns, my leige? They are the surest way to down the beast."
"No," the king said, dusting himself off. "We came here in peaceful parley. Pack everything up and prepare for the journey home, but keep those guns well oiled captain, we approach uncertain times."
\---
For more of my writing, see /r/surinical | "YOU ATE MY FATHER!!!" screamed the princess between sobs
"he attacked first and had me outnumbered, I'm no fan of killing humans but I am not simply going to die because he demands it. I understand this will put a strain on our friendship but you know where I live if you wish to learn magic prin.... queen Isabell"
Elores spent 2 long months in his cave watching over the kingdom as he always had, he had killed many humans, mostly knights who came to slay him for gory but he had never felt this bad about it. Divination magic allowed him to watch his friends coronation from his cave as his friend took the throne. After that he stopped watching, it was painful to dwell on the past aftercall.
6 months after the incident he detected a party on its way to his cave, a growl usually sent them scampering away but these ones persisted.
"Elores we came on behalf of the queen, magic is permitted within the kingdom as of today and she requests an audience with her tutor" | 2021-03-24T04:55:43 | 2021-03-24T01:36:10 | 101 | 44 |
[WP] The knight closed in on the mage, his victory all but assured, as in the time it would take him to cast another spell he would already... !!!BONK!!! "Seriously, how you knights don't notice the 2m long stick in my hand is beyond me..." | The knight edged forward carefully, keeping his footing balanced. The fog swirled around his sword as he leapt forward to strike the mage before they could call forth another spell. As he swung, he was blinded by a bright flash from the mage and found himself on the ground with a throbbing skull.
"Did you not see the six foot stick I was carrying?" The mage stood over him, pinning his sword hand to the ground with their staff. The knight felt a creeping paralyzation preventing his movement.
"Dirty mage. You can blind and paralyze me with your spells but my pure heart gives me the strength of ten men!" The knight's heart was not particularly pure. His breath was definitely not pure, still smelling of last night's ale. His skin was decidedly not pure. It was worse than the breath. He hadn't bathed in several days and his armor could probably use a few days of airing out.
"I didn't use any spells on you. A stick to the head is blinding enough. Also I'm not a mage. I'm a monk. See?" The mage pointed at their neck. "My robe has a hood. Mages wear hats. Well— some monks wear hats, but they look totally different from mage hats. Did they not teach you any of this in knight school?"
The knight sat up on the ground as the monk stepped back. "Um— I went to night knight school. Most of the time was spent on swords and dragons and damsels. They mostly just covered the robes aspect on mages. With this magical fog I just assumed..."
"Yeah, this is normal fog." The monk leaned down and held a hand out for the knight, pulling him to his feet. After checking his eyes for concussion, they helped dust off the knight's armor. "Did this armor belong to your great grandfather or something?"
"No, I bought it from the school. Well— leased it. I still have to make the last twelve payments. It was expensive, but they said it was essential for all new knights to have proper armor. I'll make back the money with the first dragon I slay."
"This part on the back isn't even metal. It's just painted wood. A dragon will go right through that." The monk knocked their staff against the knight's backplate, giving off a dull thud. "If anything the paint makes it more flammable."
The knight squared up his shoulders and stood tall, wincing only slightly when his neck straightened. "All the more reason not to turn my back on a dragon. Besides, they said it was enchanted. NOT by a mage. By a wizard. An enchanter wizard. The kind with a cape."
The monk scowled. "How much exactly did you pay this school?"
The knight hesitated. "The payment was minimal. I mean— for a rich knight it was practically nothing."
"How much?"
"It's not like I still needed the farm if I was going to be a knight."
"Let me get this straight. You gave up your farm. They gave you a couple weeks training, this crap armor, a sword—"
"The sword was actually extra."
"And sent you off to kill dragons?"
"Well, yes. There aren't many dragons around here so they suggested I start by killing mages."
The monk leaned on their staff. "Alright, now that I have a problem with. You're going to take me to this school and I'm going to have words with them."
"But the headmaster is a Grand Knight. Why would he listen to a monk?"
"Monks don't have staffs, you idiot."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\] | The blow rattled Graham's helmet which was concealing an expression somewhere between a grimace and a grin. He was shocked and amused that Verino had actually hit him with that staff; he was also slightly embarrassed that it connected as cleanly as it had. Had Verino any might in his swing, it could have proven devastating. Unfortunately for the Mage Prince, his neglected physicality was a major factor in his undoing. Adrenaline surged as Graham swung repeatedly and fiercely, telegraphing every attack to prompt Verino into blocking with his staff. The Mage's endurance quickly waning from the assault, Graham grabbed the staff and pulled Verino towards him. The weight difference and fatigue did all the work, and Graham returned the earlier favor by slamming his helmet into the face of Verino. It didn't really matter where, lost teeth, broken nose, cracked orbital; the goal was the concussion.
"That was a bold maneuver, Wizard. Had I lesser armor it may had decided the battle." Graham said a prayer as he knelt on the back of the neck of the Magus and forced his hands into the manacles. He hefted him to his feet and began to push him towards the cart and bounty. | 2022-02-03T09:13:42 | 2022-02-03T05:29:09 | 222 | 53 |
[WP] Cthulhu opens a portal to the mortal plane to attack Earth and is promptly blown to pieces by space guns. Now a group of young eldritch horror adventurers sets out on an epic quest to close the portal and stop the human invasion of their world.
Space guns are mentioned, because I'd really like to see a story with sci-fi elements, but anything else would be just as fine. | Dark's fabric hung in tatters, a curtain so wide that it seemed endless, spanning forever and ever as a barrier between worlds. Beyond it was black, and that blackness made the dark seem a nightlight in the world of the Gods.
They had come ready, the void inside growing colder and emptier. They had been hungry, yes, hungry as entropy, and ready to take the world beyond the curtain. Beyond the dark.
He had gone first, for He was the First. Time had come when he was already old, and even in that world of Gods He was feared, and He brought madness to the incomprehensible.
*Let Him feed.*
He had torn the curtain. The black beyond spanned forever, and it was cold space, littered with loneliness, housing shadows for monsters. But He was the greatest monster. Or so they had thought.
The echoes carry between worlds, even when the curtain was there. Ghosts of each other's neighbors reflected in the dim places. For them it was like hearing and seeing food, looking at the lobsters before you ate them. For the humans it was madness, an unexplained feeling that would take the mind beyond the places it was meant to go. An incomprehenisble terror with take them, and release them never. Sometimes there were echoes.
And there were echoes when He went. He had no name, but He was given one. From those who had survived the echoes, that cosmic breeze that brushed past both worlds, they had written stories of Him. Given Him a likeness. They called Him Cthulu.
But the Gods had no names for them, not even the names the humans called themselves. And the echoes of Cthulu's feeding were a cold, monstrous thing.
They heard a cry greater than any sound in the world, since the universe was born. Surely all must be deaf then, they thought. But the cry carried to only their ears. Then there was fire as the silence set in, and a creeping dread had come as they stared hungry at the tattered curtains between world. The blackness beyond had housed some monsters. Something they could never had expected.
They felt His death as a weight being lifted. Confusion and fear were like clouds in a mist of uncertainty. They looked to the still blackness. The food had eaten the hunter. The God was slain, He was elder than all.
And they were afraid.
The echoes were stronger with no curtain. A sound carried like a great roar. Louder and louder. Lights flashed in their world in temporary auras.
*Coming,* they thought. *They're coming.*
Did these beings know how to break the curtain? Or was that knowledge all that had saved them?
*Now it is gone.*
And the sounds grew frightening.
Years it took, but what are years to the eternal, and then they had arrived at the barrier. The Gods had retreated, but there was no where to go. Suddenly the world seemed small, and the shadows had abandoned them.
Great ships of Man were coming, smaller than the smallest God, but they were fearsome and colder than the hearts of the elders.
The guns they wrought were chemical, explosive and uncring. They had not come to feed. The madness they brought with them was from apathy, the uncaring destruction of all life and all things. That madness took the Gods who had known nothing but life since time was young.
In the silence of space there were green and red and orange explosions. The tentacles of the Gods were sawed and destroyed. Their bodies burned at the touch of these weapons. But they were not weak.
They fought back in the primitive way that had worked since conception. They overwhelmed the ships, making their captains mad. Many were destroyed and the humans suffered great losses.
But the humans never stopped.
From that curtain came greater capital ships, long ships that were boxy and full of guns and determined men. In its belly it carried even more ships, and these it launched to flank even the Gods.
*That name,* thought the Gods, for they could read and understand all, if their arrogance allowed them.
And they looked at the ship that came from the black. It was still coming from the curtain even as it fired, both near and far. Its cannons were like tentacles themselves, and each round was a detonation that shook the vastness.
They had no name for the humans, even as their death came nigh.
They looked at the ship as they fell.
*'Lovecraft.'*
And they wondered if that was what they called themselves. Was that the 'Cthulu' of their world. But all thought had gone then, and through the curtain the black shivered. It often shivered when there was a great many deaths.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check out r/PanMan, my subreddit. It has all my WP stories, plus a couple original pieces. Thank you!* | Chunks of Cthulhu's form were blown back through portal, splattering the Eldritch Plane like great gobs of apricot jam.
The shimmering blobs coated the landscape, and Zruila's stunned face, before slowly dissolving into the starlight and ether that had formed them.
There was a moment of eternal silence that lasted all of two seconds.
A hail of gunfire and explosions sounded from the other side of the portal.
"Shit," Zruila said. She threw herself to the ground, narrowly avoiding a large bolt of pure energy that passed through the spot where her head had been, and exploded two hundred behind her. The force of the blast rolled her across the ground, and the mountain of pure diamond that had been there a moment before was nothing but a huge crater.
"Shit," Zruila said again.
More firing was coming and explosions were peppering the ground like rain drops in a thunderstorm. Zruila picked herself up and sprinted through them like a a lightning bolt, putting as much space between herself and the portal as possible.
There was no word in the mortal tongue for the place where They lived, so let us call it the City. Zruila arrived at the City in the space of four heartbeats, or the time it takes for the soul of a dying star to cross the universe.
In the Council's chambers, the Eldest regarded her severely. "Cthulhu cannot be killed by metal or flesh."
"Not by either," Zruila said, "but by pure energy."
The Eldest laughed. "Dear Zruila, such power is beyond the ken of mortal men."
Later, Zruila said, "The Eldest are almost as foolish as Cthulhu was."
Qgp, Eater of Galaxies, nursed his pint and nodded sourly. "I can feel portal. It is still open. Even now, the humans prepare to come through."
"They will bring with them fire and dust and the Light that Darkens," said Brugko, He Who Sees With A Thousand Eyes. "And they will leave behind Death Herself."
"Death?" Zruila whispered. "Then they will destroy us all."
Silence descended upon the trio as they sat at the bar.
Then Brugko said, "There are other futures. If the portal can be closed..."
Qgp said, "We cannot do that from here."
"We must travel," Zruila said, "to the World of Men."
---
/r/jd_rallage | 2017-09-27T08:12:07 | 2017-09-27T07:44:31 | 100 | 16 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | So this is my first one of these. Here goes nothing:
It still amazes me how quickly my life changed. Most people, they get their power and just move on with their life. Sure, there is more than a fair amount of career shifting, when someone gets something specialized, but it’s still pretty much business as usual. Not me. Normalcy for me lasted about an hour after my power manifested.
I was out at the bar with a few of my friends, counting down the minutes to my time of birth. The clock stuck and everyone held their breath. Nothing seemed to happen at first. My friends stared at me while I tested out the basics: telekinesis, conjuring elements, super strength. I certainly didn’t feel any different. That is, until Carl put his hand on my shoulder for reassurance. I felt a huge rush, and popped across the room. Teleportation! Not bad at all. Odd thing was, that was Carl’s power. Carl tried to pop over next to me, and found out he couldn’t. It only took us a few seconds to realize what my real power was: Absorption. My friends were amazed and impressed. For about a minute.
I couldn’t give the powers back. I tried, honest. Tried as hard as I could. Carl, fueled by fear, rage and alcohol started getting violent. He began shaking me, screaming in my face to give it back. My other friends had to pull him off of me, and in the scuffle I snagged more powers from them and some other patrons of the bar. People started backing away, wide eyed and terrified. The worst was the look from my fiancé, Rebecca. With a sickly feeling in my stomach I realized that, among the collection of abilities, I suddenly knew how to shape shift. I wanted to say something to her, anything, but I was a coward. I used my new gift from Carl, and popped home.
Word spread fast. I lost my friends, my job, everything almost overnight. After a few disastrous attempts, I stopped going outside. Some part of me felt bad for those that I touched. They were freaks, the Unpowered, looked at as second class citizens. Not me, I wasn’t even seen as human. I was a disease, a plague. The only people who would still talk to me were my parents, but only over the phone. Even my mother, one of the Unpowered herself, was afraid to come see me in person.
They come for me now. Criminals and thugs come trying to make a name for themselves. Bounty hunters come trying to collect the price some rich Unpowered put on my head. The government comes trying to remove what they see as the biggest threat to national security in history. They never learn. It doesn’t matter what power they have. I have hundreds. | I...I can see better than others, but not in the sender of super sight, no my friends that would be too simple. I see through objects, anything non-organic. Let me tell you how amazing I thought this would be.
Shortly after waking up with it, I was proven dead wrong. All I saw were people. I couldn't see walls, doors nothing. It was like being blind except with one downfall...
A man wants to see every bare of boobs at least once... But there are boobs that you wish you never saw... | 2015-03-04T07:30:28 | 2015-03-04T06:20:58 | 77 | 16 |
[WP] Instead of a modern adaptation of a myth, write a mythic adaptation of a modern story. | Once upon a time, there was a young maid named Rebecca, fourteen summers of age and black of hair. Ever since she could recall, she had wanted to be a singer, as prolific as the great Adella, as famous as Taylor of Swiftelsson, as breathtaking as the ravishing Beyoncella.
So one morn, she had a stroke of inspiration. She knelt to the floor, and prayed thus--
Hear me, goddess Freyja, I beseech thee
If I were to write a song in your name
Wouldst thou bestow upon me as much fame
and fortune as Alicia of Key?
There was a gust of wind, and Rebecca took that as a yes. She promptly took her lyre and started to strum the first chords of her new ode to the great goddess. Within a day she was done, and that very night she performed before her parents and siblings, who showered her with praise.
Freyja, Freyja, I look upon thee...
Unbeknownst to her, however, Freyja did not match her parents' approval. Surely the goddess was pleased that a young girl would dedicate such devotion to her, but she did not think the song was good enough for the worship of a deity. In fact, it had not been good enough to put cattle to sleep.
Freyja, Freyja, I wake in the early morn to praise thee...
Freyja smiled wryly. "I shall bless thee, child, true. But I shall also curse thee terribly."
Oblivious to the events up high, Rebecca's parents insisted that she play her lyre and sing her ditty in the public square, so that all the townsfolk could be blessed by her melodious voice. They were very wealthy, and hired dancers, musicians, and even a bard to read poems while she rested.
Freyja, feasts will be held in thine honor...
And sure enough, the people came pouring in. Rebecca was asked to play again, and again. Messengers were sent to all corners of the land, and soon there were thousands, *millions* of pilgrims traveling for months just to hear Rebecca's song even once. "Surely our daughter will reach for the stars!" boasted her parents. Their friends and neighbors nodded in agreement.
But while she performed day after day and night after night, and the gold flowed into her family's coffers, she could almost feel something was amiss. The townsfolk, and the foreigners, and even the peasants and the clergymen, they all smiled, and cheered, and sang with her. But they were also eager to turn their backs as soon as she had finished. She heard whispers, and muffled laughter, and snickers.
I break my fast in thy praise...
To thee alone I look for leisure...
It was not long before the truth became evident. Rebecca could sing, but her voice was not pleasant. She was comely, but not beautiful. She danced, but not gracefully. She plucked at the lyre, but not with skill. The throngs that came to see her, who had made her family even wealthier than they were, were not pleased by her music--they were amused by it. They did not come to cheer for her--they came to mock her.
The day she came upon that realization, she threw herself at her mother's feet. "Oh mother, mother, Frejya is displeased! She hasn't blessed me--she has *cursed* me! I am the laughing-stock of the kingdom!"
Her mother knelt beside her, and could no longer protect her child from the truth. "Perhaps," she said, "but she has still blessed us. We are the richest family in town, and it is all owing to your silly song. Now we can hire the finest tutors in the kingdom. You shall learn how to sing as a bird and dance like the wind. And the last laugh, my dear, will be yours."
From the back seat of my carriage
From the front seat of my wagon
I praise thee, O Freyja
I look upon thee
The entire kingdom holds you in praise
Lavish feasts! Mirth without end!
We look forward to thy day.
| Once upon a time, there was a man who owned a tavern with his sister. Times had been bad in the city where he lived, so he had decided to come home and live closer to his mother, who was very ill. With him, he brought the fairest princess in all the land. She had long golden hair and a radiant face, with a smile that could light up the entire room. She had married him long ago, falling in love with his laughter and the way he waltzed through life.
Bringing her home to his mother and his sister was the worst thing he could have done. The princess shrunk down and withered in the cold lands, cut off from all of her former friends and without the luxuries to which she had become accustomed. Her heart grew small and cold too, losing all the love she had once held for her husband, who had grown unfaithful.
So the princess decided to run away, and she decided to punish the man who had taken her away from her family and her riches. The golden-haired princess coloured her hair brown, and cut it, and disguised herself so that no-one would be able to tell it was her. In the cottage she shared with her unfaithful husband, she left a pool of blood and a note that painted her as a terrified wife.
The husband was suspected of killing his wife immediately, and once the townspeople discovered he was unfaithful, it was seen as certain. The princess lived amongst the common people, but was robbed and betrayed by those she trusted. She turned to the last friend that remained to her, in desperation.
The last friend betrayed her too. He tried to keep her prisoner against her will, changing her back into the princess she had originally been. Her golden hair grew back and she transformed. To escape from her captivity, she fought her friend and won.
The princess returned home to her husband, who promised to never be unfaithful again. They lived happily ever after. | 2015-06-10T16:13:15 | 2015-06-10T06:53:17 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] The universe has placed you in a groundhog day style time loop until you learn a lesson. Problem is, you REALLY LIKE being in the loop, so now the universe is constantly sending you not so subtle hints that you're supposed to be learning something. | I yawned, stretched out my arms and woke up at 7:00 am May 2, 2018 for the 343rd time. Luckily I had a good memory, so I could remember exactly how many times I had looped.
The first couple loops had been honestly frightening, but re-watching Groundhog Day on Loop #17 had helped. I was pretty sure there wasn't a Rita situation that could get me out of the loop, though. It didn't really matter because I soon realised I could have near infinite fun with this.
Okay, let's see.. what was I going to try today? Ah, yes.. Electrocuting myself with a toaster. Gotta go buy one..
I went down the elevator and walked out of my apartment building, punching the doorman in the face as I did so. The first couple of days I had avoided doing things like that out of a small sense of morality, but you soon learn that morality doesn't need apply when any action doesn't have a long-term consequence.
I took one of the bikes from the rack outside and started across the road, knowing that there wouldn't be any cars around until 7:30 at least.
Suddenly, I spotted a license plate lying in a fern on the small strip of grass between roads. How had I not noticed that before?
I parked my bike in the middle of the road and picked it up. There was a sentence written on it in clear type instead of the normal mashup of license plate letters and numbers. It read "This is *not* the reason you're-"
***BEEP BEEP***
What the hell?!? A ca-
―――
I yawned, stretched out my arms and woke up at 7:00 am May 2, 2018 for the 344th time, and immediately curled up into a ball and sat immobile.
In all my hundreds of loops, that had never happened. Something was *different*. How was that even possible?!?
I turned on the TV. CNN was on:
"BREAKING: Trained rats in maze for multiple years finally learn their lesson and get out"
Several things were strange about this. Usually the news every loop was another Trump scandal, and *that* was only after a commercial break that was usually on at this time in the morning.
Plus, having rats in a maze "for multiple years" sounded pretty implausible, and "learn their lesson" was a weird choice of words... wait...
I grabbed my laptop and opened up reddit.com.
The top posts all seemed to be about learning lessons:
"My first day of teaching! Look at all these happy kindergarteners who learned a lesson!"
"Puppy learned how to escape his kennel at night, gave him a treat for being such a smart boye!"
Okay, what the hell? I guess the universe had given up with me at this point. I shouted at the ceiling: "I *like* this loop, and I'm *not* going to learn your stupid lesson!", and jumped out the window.
―――
I yawned, stretched out my arms and woke up at 7:00 am May 2, 2018 for the 345th time. Okay.
I resolved to at least hear out what the universe had to say. I went down and walked out of my apartment, and the doorman held out a hand and stopped me. He looked directly into my eyes, and the world shifted.
We were now standing on the hotel roof at midnight. A single lamp illuminated the scene.
I yelled out, "Nope, nope, nope, no!" and jumped off the building. I hit the ground and woke up in my apartment. Before I could get out of bed, however, my vision curved in a frightening way, and I saw myself close my eyes, appear on the pavement and rise up to the roof of the hotel, like a video being played in reverse.
"You cannot escape here. Listen to what I have to say," the doorman said behind me in a normal voice. I honestly would have been less scared if it was a monotone or robot voice, but hearing the doorman-god-thing speak normally was strangely disconcerting.
I turned around.
"This experiment has failed. Media from your species suggests you would benefit from repeating time without consequence, but it seems that was in error. Know that when you wake up next, there will only be *one* life at your disposal."
And with that, he pushed me off the roof. As I was falling for the second time, I heard him say "Well, *Homo sapiens* is a no. I must find some other species to try, then. What about *Canis lupus familiaris*..."
―――――――――――――――――――
This is my first r/WritingPrompts submission, so it might not be that great. Thanks for reading it anyway... -u/minindo | It was yesterday. Again.
This was okay. This was fine by me.
&nbsp;
“Bye Mom”
“Bye honey, see you tonight”
&nbsp;
And just after the fourth bell, my phone would ring, and –
“Your mother was in a car accident, you got to come -”
“No”
“She’s…she’s gone, she’s gone”
“No, she’s not. She’s not.”
&nbsp;
How could she be, when I would be eating breakfast with her again tomorrow?
&nbsp;
“Your mother’s…she was in an accident, you got to come-”
“No, she’s fine”
&nbsp;
And the day after that too.
&nbsp;
“Something happened…your mother…she’s, she’s-”
“No.”
&nbsp;
Tomorrow I’d sit across her, and she would sip on her coffee while scrolling through her news feed. She would put her cup in the sink, pick up her bag, check the mirror one last time.
&nbsp;
“Bye honey, see you tonight”
“See you Mom”
&nbsp;
How could anything possibly happen? No way. I’d see her again. Just not tonight, I’d see her again tomorrow.
&nbsp;
“Your mother was in an accident, you got to-”
“You’re joking.”
&nbsp;
Mom’s fine. I’m fine. Nothing has happened.
&nbsp;
“Bye honey”
“Mom? Could you, you know, take the day off maybe?”
“Don’t be silly, dear. See you tonight”
&nbsp;
Yeah, she’s right. I’m being silly. She’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. After all, I would see her again tomorrow. There was no need to cry, everything will be fine.
&nbsp;
“You got to come, your mother…she’s-”
“NO”
“It’s true, your mother’s…she’s gone. She’s gone”
“No. She’s not. No way.”
“She’s gone. You got to come, I’m so sorry”
“No. No.”
&nbsp;
“Bye honey, see you”
“Mom? I…I love you”
She chuckles.
“Love you too, dear”
&nbsp;
What if this was the last time?
&nbsp;
“I’m so, so, so sorry.”
“No.”
“She’s gone, she’s not coming back. You got to come”
“NO”
“You got to accept it.”
&nbsp;
And the tears fell. | 2018-05-01T23:31:09 | 2018-05-01T22:36:33 | 151 | 105 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | *Sixty*
For my whole life I have waited for this moment.
*Fifty nine*
For the day, the hour, the very second I turn 18.
*Fifty eight*
I know, I know - nothing changes when you turn 18. You’re an adult in nothing but name.
*Fifty seven*
But there’s more to this world than bars.
*Fifty six*
More than just being able to buy alcohol.
*Fifty five*
Buying it yourself, anyway.
*Fifty four*
You see, everyone hits 18 differently.
*Fifty three*
Some are ready for it.
*Fifty two*
They make the graceful change into an adult.
*Fifty one*
But most don’t.
*Fifty*
Most find being an adult pours too much responsibility on them.
*Forty nine*
But I’m getting off topic.
*Forty eight*
Off the point I was going to make.
*Forty seven*
Not everyone hits 18 differently.
*Forty six*
Here, it’s actually pretty similar for all of us.
*Forty five*
We might be in completely different situations, but we all go through the same thing.
*Forty four*
The same process.
*Forty three*
The awakening.
*Forty two*
When I was a kid, playing ball with my friends, we daydreamed about what we’d get.
*Forty one*
Fantasised.
*Forty*
See, when you turn 18 you have something very special happen to you.
*Thirty nine*
You get… a power.
*Thirty eight*
An ability. I’ve seen them range from superhuman strength to shooting fireballs from your tear ducts to being immune to asbestos.
*Thirty seven*
You have no choice in the matter, of course.
*Thirty six*
We used to dream about cool powers, wings and fireballs and all of that.
*Thirty five*
Now I’m almost 18 myself, I don’t know what to think.
*Thirty four*
Do I want something cool, or something useful?
*Thirty three*
I honestly don’t know.
*Thirty two*
It’s not like I can decide what I get.
*Thirty one*
How long left?
*Thirty*
Thirty seconds. I’ll think for a moment about my life, how it is going to change once I change.
*Ten*
Ten seconds left.
*Nine*
*Eight*
*Seven*
*Six*
*Five*
Five seconds left. I’m gripping the chair arms so hard I think they’re going to fall off.
*Four*
Four.
*Three*
Three.
*Two*
Two.
*One*
One!
The world goes dark. Is this the change? I wait, patiently. I feel nothing. I see nothing.
I wait some more.
Still I see nothing.
Then there is a voice, a murmur in the back of my head.
**Your power is humility.**
I sit for a moment, before I try and cry. I lift a hand and realise I cannot even do that. For my hand only touches smooth skin.
I am 18, and I am blind.
I am changed.
| I was sitting and counting down, today was the day!
5...4...3...2...1...
A voice sounded in my mind, I knew I didn't hear it with my ears, but it definitely was not me.
"You recieve the power of making anyones nipples explode"
What the fuck is this shit....is this a joke? I mean that could kind of maybe help to save myself or someone else, but I mean...fuck...cmon...really? Are you fucking kidding me? I waited for the voice to say something...anything...but that was it.
Well, with great power comes great responsibility. Whenever someone is in danger or peril, when evil strikes, I, NipSploder Boy, will be there to rescue those in need! | 2015-03-28T04:32:39 | 2015-03-28T04:24:20 | 310 | 92 |
[WP] Being an immortal has its downsides. One of them is that you have to continue to make friends. Your newest one leaves for an overseas trip and you prepare yourself to lose another. You leave and return your abode, only to find a friend from centuries past sitting on your couch when you return. | Huh.
That is all I could think of at that moment. It was him, clear as day. Zeke; a friend I made during the war. The *Civil* War. I mean I thought him dead - we got split up during an ambush and I was the only one to report in after I survived, so there wasn't much room for interpretation yet...
"Surprised?" he suddenly said.
"You could say that," I replied with a bit of suspicion and hung my coat on the wall. "Tea?" I asked.
"2 sugars and milk, if you would," he smiled. I walked over to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
"So," I started as I poured filled the kettle with water, "immortal, huh?"
"Thought you were the only one?"
"Not necessarily," I said and flicked the stove on, "but during this entire time, I never found anyone else. Just didn't expect it."
"How long is that, mind you?"
I chuckled and racked my brain for the exact time.
"Let's just say I used to go by 'Cassianus' at one point."
"You went from Cassianus to Casey? Really?" he laughed. "A little on the nose, don't you think?"
"Well," I smiled, "I was used to it."
"I'm only 179. You know the ambush when we were going to Vicksburg?"
"Last time I saw you," I remarked somberly.
"First time I died," he commented casually. Silence gripped the room for a while, suddenly interrupted by the wheezing of the kettle. I stood up and poured two cups of tea, handing one to my friend.
"It was a bit of a... surprise, to say the least," he continued.
"I can imagine. Look, Zeke, I'm glad you're okay, if surprised, but I must-"
"You want to know why I'm here now, after all this time?" he interrupted. I nodded.
"I think I found a way," he said.
"A way for what?"
"For us to die."
Once again, silence gripped the room. I gave him a long look. This time, he decided to break the silence.
"Don't tell me you don't want to."
I opened my mouth lightly but failed to find the right words. I've searched for a way to die for so long, but... I gave up centuries ago. Since then I've simply made my peace and didn't look back. For it to now come back so abruptly, I didn't have the time to consider it.
"And you're here why?" I asked, trying to redirect the conversation. "To offer me death?"
"I need your help."
"Look, Zeke, I... I am content with the way things are. I make new friends. Then I say my goodbyes. It's just the way it is. You think *I* didn't look for a way? There is none. It's a wild goose chase that consumes you and takes whatever enjoyment you can find in this life."
He sighed. "I'm not giving up. I'm stronger than that. And you will help me." With those words, he finished his tea and stood up.
"Zeke, please. This is a doomed cause. We can-"
"You have the experience and means to help me in the search and you will do so."
"I'm sorry," I said with notable sorrow. "I won't enable you. It will consume-"
"You will help me or-"
"Or what?" I barked back. "Kill me?"
"No," he said with a grim smile, "not you."
I realized what he meant. This entire time, the entire generations I saw die and yet I could never stop caring. And he knows that. I calmly put down my tea - I've been alive far too long to get nervous.
"Alright Zeke. Alright. But know this," I said, standing up to get my coat. I opened the door and looked back at him.
"It won't end well for you." | After your two-thousandth emotional goodbye they all seem to blend together - the promises to stay connected, the tears, declarations of love and then finally silence. Alone once more. So while, yes I would miss Anthony and it was a very heartfelt goodbye it certainly wasn’t cracking my top ten. I made my way back to my rooms from the Marina reminiscing on those top ten goodbyes. How I’d missed them.
As I exited the lift into the apartment a pair of discarded red heels caught my eye, I rounded the corner and there she was number seven. Mariana. It must have been nearly three hundred years since I’d last seen her and she looked not a day older.
“Not dead yet then?” I asked “Obviously, not” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Evidently, but how pray tell is that possible. Humans as far as I’m aware don’t live for hundreds of years” I said. A smile crept across her lips “Well you know how it is divine beings are a dime a dozen out there nowadays. They’re practically giving away eternal life”. Now that was a shock. Back in my youth you had a very limited selection of divine beings and they knew it. Lord knows the wonders I performed for Zeus to gain immortality they really have gone soft. Giving away immortality like medals at a sports day, the cheek of it.
I took a seat “So, four hundred years it’s been and you didn’t think to send a single letter, telegram or even an email?” The slightest hint of bitterness creeping into my tone. She laughed “Well it was a very good goodbye wasn’t it. I thought it’d be a shame to spoil it.” | 2022-05-12T08:55:14 | 2022-05-12T08:30:28 | 544 | 84 |
[WP] Every day, at 9:00 AM, one random person's name and face are released internationally with orders to kill them for the reason of population control. The one who succeeds in killing the person gets rewarded greatly. No one has ever survived. Today, you were chosen. | On the morning of 1st May, 2020, Mom and I were sitting next to the television, listening to the morning bulletin together. Mom and I... we've had an uneasy relationship over the years. At one point in time, I could frankly say that I loathed her with every fabric of my being. Which child wouldn't, if you saw your mother cheating on your father and ruined a picture perfect marriage as a consequence?
Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the divorce came through. Thanking my stars that my nightmare had ended, I was eagerly looking forward to moving away from her for good. Her black tongue could stir venom out of the most timid of beings, and I had no intentions of being around someone who could bring out the worst in people. She had a habit of covering herself in glory; getting piss drunk, throwing bottles at the wall. Once she got sloshed out of her mind, reached into a drawer and pulled out a revolver. She put it to her temple and kept screaming "I'll do it tonight, I swear it!" before the alcohol wore her down. I felt guilty about not even trying to change her mind about killing herself. Why would I, when this woman had the gall to look me in the eye and say "you're a venereal disease, and I want you gone!" I couldn't wait to leave with Dad anyway.
It was then that I found out that the terms of settlement entitled each parent to one child. My father had already picked my younger sister.
Life has been terrible since then, for the both of us. Although I harbour a fierce dislike for many of her aforementioned habits; the alcohol, the relentless emotional abuse and horrifying fits of rage, I also, for some messed up reason, admire her tenacity and fierceness. This is a woman who refused to take alimony because it was (and I quote) "shitty charity." She juggles two jobs, pushes herself to the brink and beyond to make ends meet. She isn't a great mother, but she's one hell of an example of human endurance.
Things only changed between us when she was diagnosed with stage two leukemia. Although it wasn't terminal, we clearly couldn't afford the treatment. But she just brushed it off as if it were a minor inconvenience. She still kept both jobs, puked blood at times... after a couple of months, her clothes had outgrown her. But she kept pushing.
It was then that the ice between us melted somewhat. We tried sitting together on the same table, talking about the trivialities in our life. And for two people who cannot tolerate each other, we did pretty okay. I started spending time with her whenever i could. The morning news kind of became our morning ritual. The Population Control Protocol was fun to watch. For someone with sadistic tendencies, Mom really enjoyed listening to gruesome, innovative details of how yesterday's person was found dead, and the strange excitement at seeing whose face would pop next, as if we were watching numbers being picked for the Powerball lottery.
This morning, we sat down together to watch the PCP segment, and boom... my face was on it. Out of 7 and a half billion people, what are the odds that Death and Destiny made a pact to pick you?
I felt like puking when I heard my name being called out. I thought it couldn't get worse, but then they released my pictures; followed by my home address. 5 million dollars in cash to the assassin. There would be riots to contest who would claim my head.
But I promised myself I wasn't going to go easy. Not when things were finally looking up. Not when Mom and I were finally making our worlds come together in peace. Not when I still had to take care of her through the cancer.
A terrifying bang pierces the silence and my chain of thought. The bullet pierces through my spine, and sends my nerves into shockwaves of unbearable pain. My eyes feel like they are going to explode out of their sockets. How had they found me so fast?
With blood still spattering out of a hole in my back, I somehow manage to turn around. Mom is holding a gun; her finger resting assuredly on the trigger.
"Sorry," she says, a smile curling itself on her face. "But if I go after the money, I'll get rid of two diseases at once."
r/whiteshadowthebook | The clock rings the nineth hour, and the media channel switch to its "target of the day" jingle. The presenter looks stiff. They were enjoying until last year, when one of their announcer actually got designated. It was a bloody mess. Now they fear it, like everyone else.
I look at the screen, not necessarily anxious. Statistics are on my side, you technically get one chance out of Nine billion.
The announcers continues their speech, as every morning. Like we didn't get enough of the daily dose of nonsense that this is. "...and anyone killing the target of the day will be heavily rewarded of the best possible cash prize... Having its name removed from the target of the day pool, as well as a 1.000.000$ check." The money prize sounded worthless compared to the immunity anyway.
And it happened... I see my name slowly appearing on the screen. No doubt it's me, they even provide the exact picture figuring on my ID card, and my current address.
My phone immediately rings. My mom is calling.
"Oh my gosh john please tell me you're safe, I don't want to lose my only son... Please tell me y-you're not home right??" I can feel the panic in her voice. It's normal, who wouldn't? But I'm fine. It's the truth.
"Don't worry, I'll be alright. I just need to survive until tomorrow morning". It was an official rule. At the next 9am call, you weren't a target anymore. You wouldn't get immunity though, so you would still love in the fear of being the target.
Soon after, my doorbell ring. Someone was already there for me. The knocking started to change into an axe getting rid of my door. The calm didn't lasted long... Today is gonna be a long day. I look back at my name, still written in bold letter on the TV.
"John Wick"
_____
Edit : spelling. | 2019-05-10T10:31:56 | 2019-05-10T10:07:05 | 43 | 14 |
[WP] You’ve just finished assembling a doomsday device. You’re not sure if a button is supposed to be labeled ‘ON’ or ‘NO.’ | I turned my head ever-so-slightly one way, trying to get a read on the button. It was a circle button, not a square one like it should have been. It wasn't parallel to the ground, but skewed the tiniest amount in one direction that made me think that maybe the button had gotten spun upside down during installation. It looked like it was "ON." But... maybe it was "NO?"
"Hrrm," I grunted, moving to push it, but hovering a millimeter above the button. What was the worst that could happen?
"Have we started yet?" my coconspirator Kye walked by in the lab, a pile of papers in hand to burn before they could possible be tracked back to us.
"No, not yet," I mumbled. "Hold on, are any of those the original schematics?"
"Ummm," Kye sifted through papers quickly, "Sure, why?"
I snatched the paper out of his hand. I poured over it, before realizing it was an early blueprint without any words on it. All I could see was that the circular button was intended to be installed there. I turned the blueprint upside down like that would help me for some reason.
"Everything okay?" Kye pried.
"The button in the center console. What does it do?" I asked.
"What, you didn't label it?" Kye chuckled, placing the papers to one side and walking to the machine. He turned around confused. "It says 'ON!'"
"I know what it says! But what if it was supposed to say 'NO?'" I snapped.
"NO?"
"NO," I nodded.
He squinted in confusion.
"No 'NO' or yeah 'NO?'" he clarified.
"Yeah, 'NO.'"
"Why would there ever be a button labeled 'NO?' What would you do with it?" he asked.
"You know. NO! It's a catch-all negation," I explained.
He stared at me as though suddenly realizing he was not impressed by my intelligence.
"Are you defining the word or what the button does?" he asked.
"What the button could do. If it says NO."
"So, it's like... what a shield? For when some do-gooder tries to stop the machine from running?" he asked.
"It could be that. But also could be something that emits sound. Or maybe a self destruct," I shrugged.
He scoffed, evidently believing I'd told a joke, followed by a growing dread.
"Are you serious? You don't even know what it does *if* it's labelled NO? What, are you going to take it apart now or something?" he asked, exasperated.
"No, no, that would take much too long. I think I'll just press it."
"But what if it's the 'NO' that means self destruct!?" Kye yelled.
"It... probably isn't," I said, shrugging and moving to the machine. Kye ran behind a desk by the time I pressed the button. The room's temperature was sucked away almost immediately, leaving us very little heat in seconds.
"Which NO was it?" Kye called from behind his shelter, shivering.
"Ummm... I think it just turned it on!" I called back.
"But... isn't the device supposed to make everything in the room reach absolute zero in moments?" Kye asked.
"Hm," I grunted, watching my breath float by. My mind was slow, looking at the already slightly blue complexion of my skin. "Want to help me find the NO switch before we..."
Kye had already passed out on the other end.
"Hm," I grunted again, moving to turn off the machine as fast as I could. But I hesitated a moment too long over the button. It was labelled "FOF." Was that a misspelling of 'OFF' or was it for something else?
In the time it had taken for me to make up my mind, I had been frozen in place, a millimeter above the button.
__________________________
For more stories, check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | Andrew: That's the silly thing about tape. I don't remember what I wrote.
Boss: Why would the hurricane machine have a no button?
Andrew: In case it prompts you to answer yes or no.
Boss: Most computers nowadays say cancel or accept.
Andrew: I didn't think about that. Respectfully if we had that UX designer, this would have been avoided.
Boss: Alright. So realistically we can press the button and a prompt will come up.
The Boss lifts his hand but a smack launches the hand away.
Boss: Why did you slap my hand?
Andrew: I don't actually know if the code includes a prompt.
Boss: What do you mean?
Andrew: We can't see the code.
Boss: What happened to the code?
Andrew: Well the only copy is in this machine.
Boss: I'm sorry?
Andrew: I've looked all over the systems. I can't find the code. The only place it could be is in this hurricane machine.
Boss: Can't we get it from the machine?
Andrew: If it was turned on.
The boss's chest lifts and lets out a heavy grunt. He looks at the machine.
Boss: All this money I spent.
Boss kicks the machine and Andrew jumps.
Boss: Fine whatever. I'll just make a new hurricane machine. This time, we're going to label the buttons properly. Send me the code. On a flash drive. You have till the end of this week. Otherwise it's your job.
He leaves and a deafening thud is heard as the door vibrates. Andrew pulls out his phone.
Andrew: Hey, he fell for tape trick. I got the machine secured. Where do you want this? | 2022-08-04T18:51:45 | 2022-08-04T18:09:23 | 523 | 126 |
[WP] Humans are born with a mark around their wrist which has a matching color with that of their soulmate's, but can change through their life. Your mark has had a blue hue since you were 14, but one night, while you're out, people start looking at you funny. You realize that your mark is gone. | My friends and I approached the venue with excitement and curiosity in our veins. This was it. Today was the Uncovering. On the year of your 21st birthday, the government throws a sort of "unmasking" party for the Mark.
Everyone has it. An individual is born with a Mark that determines their soul mate based on its color. The only people that know that color are your doctors, your parents and you. Every person with the mark must keep it covered with the Band until you turn 21. Then you go to the Uncovering to have your Band removed.
Many people try to sneak into the venue to no avail. You get let off with a warning the first time. Try again and they add 5 years to your Uncovering date.
It's worse for people who try to remove the bands themselves. The Others. We never talk about them. If you try to take it off before your 21st birthday, they know. They track you down, remove the Mark and cast you off to an undisclosed location that no one knows about.
////////////
We approached the entrance and the security guard scanned each of our Bands. He nodded his head and opened the gates to the Uncovering. Smoke and colorful lights entered our peripheral vision as we navigated our way though the almost darkness. As we followed the path the music started to get louder and louder. Finally we reached a staircase that went through the ground. Another guard stood at the front with an intricate device we could only assume is what breaks the Band.
"How many?" He asked.
"5" My friend Jacob told him.
The man punched in five and the device and opened up five slots for us to put our wrists in. We lined them up simultaneously and all at once the Bands were broken. Green. Orange. Purple. Pink. and Blue.
///////////////
The Uncovering was honestly the definition of a world wide rave. The music was blaring. Everyone had little to no clothes on. Glow sticks and strobe lights were everywhere.
"Now THIS is what I call a party!" my friend Janet exclaimed. In no time she had gotten us all some shots.
I enjoyed my time and immersed myself in all the bright colors. Greys and Silvers. Yellows and Golds. I looked down and noticed that my blue seemed less brighter than before. Janet said I was crazy and Jayden just told me to shrug it off.
"Amanda, you're just ruining the vibe. The colors change all the time. Chill out."
As time progressed and I consumed more alcohol I started to panic. My Mark really *was* changing color. I'd lost all my friends and felt alone even with a bunch of beautiful men around me. They almost didn't seem real.
The performer on stage decided to get the crowd riled up. "Hey! It's about to be 3 AM. In a couple seconds I want EVERYONE to put their Marks up, alright?"
"ONE!" *I honestly don't know how I got so close to the stage.*
*Two.* *I thought I heard my name being called. But it's probably just the alcohol getting to me.*
*Three.* I put my wrist up. I really DID hear my name being called. I turned around to look for whoever was calling me, and when I did everyone's focus shifted to me.
"Yo...what the hell happened to hers?"
"Did you see it? It kind of flashed?
"I swear I saw hers glitch!"
The mumbling around me continued until I decided to put my arm down and look myself. Nothing. There was nothing there. *This is a joke right? I'm just hallucinating. This has got to be a really really bad joke.* I ran to the restroom to avoid the glares from people. As I ran out I caught an distinct murmuring of the same word. *Other*.
"No no no this isn't possible. I've had this mark since I was BORN! It can't just...just disappear like this!" I was legitimately talking to myself alone in this restroom. I grumbled and kicked one of the stalls.
"HEY! No need to get aggressive!" a girl on the other side of the restroom commented. A short brunette girl with hazel eyes emerged from the stall. She began to wash her hands. I stood there completely *mesmerized* by her. I don't know what came over me. I glanced down and noticed that her mark was a bright pink.
"I...uh...sorry. It's just...I'm dealing with a lot right now" I muttered out. She approached me and touched my cheek.
"Listen. I don't know what you're going through right now, but somehow things always work themselves out in the end." As she dropped her hand she let out a small gasp.
"What?" I tilted my head at her. She looked in complete awe.
"I can't believe it" she smiled. I was kind of annoyed now.
"What?? Did I pee myself or somet-" she interjected.
"Of all places. I didn't expect for me to meet you in a *public bathroom*" she laughed.
"I...what...what are you sayi..." she pointed down towards my wrist. The faint color began to resurface, but as I looked closer I noticed it looked *different*. It had changed.
I was never really adamant about labels, but I did know I found myself attracted to women. I didn't talk about it much, but the attraction was there. As I put together 2 and 2 the Mark began to radiate a bright pink color that reflected the color of her cheeks.
And indescribable warmth washed over me. I can honestly say I've never felt more complete than I did at this l moment. Here. In this restroom. Surrounded by the smell of perfume and urine. She took my hand and led me back outside, both of our Marks illuminating the night. She made me realize that sometimes you only need a little light to lead you through the darkness.
"We're soulmates and I never even asked for your name" I chuckled.
She looked up at me with bright eyes. A look I'll never forget.
"It's Dawn."
| I don't know if this multiverse has a similar time tangent to mine, but I'm stuck here now and need to write down how this came about.
Two months ago my soulpatch disappeared, and I'm not on about someone sneaking in at night and shaving my lower lip. It's never happened before in our history and the auditors decided I would be better of here before the news spread and caused panic.
No one was quite sure how it had come about. Some time in the 27th century (my timeline) humanity had evolved. We didn't gain the ability to breath underwater; we didn't become hyper intelligent nor fly as some had hoped and hypothesised. Instead we had evolved a small marking near the wrist that was perfectly matched to their 'soulmate'. It had occured randomly at first in Japan. A guy called Yuto Takumi and a girl called Yuna Nakamura had both been born with a birth defect. Except it wasn't a defect. Their 'fault' was a beautiful marking, an ornate and interwoven red lattice birthmark on their left wrists that was continuously changing in a rorschachesque manner. So unusual was the markings that it made local news in both provinces. Then NHK picked up the story when people started to realise that TWO babies had been born with the same markings. They were minor celebrities from birth and would likely have fallen in love through attrition even without what we now know.
By this point we'd pretty much sorted out mapping the human genome. We'd cured most inheritable diseases and most transmittable ones too. We'd also gotten Quantum mechanics down to a point that we could link far more than protons. We could link organic matter. We'd never found out if there was a soul before I was purged from our world, but we all believed in it after what we found out.
You see, when the scientists began experimenting on Yuto and Yuna they found out something remarkable. The simultaneous changes in their birth-marks were utterly inexplicable until puberty. And then they became quantum linked. Their marks changed to reflect the others moods. During their worst years as teenagers, when arguments were more common than agreements, their BM's faded. By the time Yuto and Yuna reached 21 the universal scientific consensus was that they were somehow spiritually linked via quantum coupling.
Perhaps in a different time or place Yuto and Yuna may have been the inspiration for a hearty love story, a national epic of two young people who through a gift from God were meant to be together. Perhaps they were meant to lead a great struggle for justice and peace.
Unfortunately, in my world by the 27th century the human genome was private property. Individuals with rare genetic adaptions were considered the property of private researchers and the state; and the state had no desire for justice nor peace.
Unfortunately, Yuto and Yuna were killed. It was sold as a medical mistake, a disaster worthy of international mourning. Maybe it was a mistake... who knows.
They reverse engineered the link and the manner in which it was created. They sold it to us as a way to solve loneliness, as a way to find your soul-mate. At 8 weeks of pregnancy mothers were given a simple injection. It was voluntary at first, but global society had become so insulated that the concept of ensuring their children 'found' the 'one' ensured that our children were all engineered beyond the screenings we'd all come to accept. And then our children married the one their marking indicated. We had a global app for it. After 900 years of attempting to stop arranged marriages, it became not only the norm but an absolute necessity. I met my soulmate when I was 8 and the arrangements were in place.
Except my patch dissapeared last night. And now I'm stuck here.
| 2016-10-04T18:53:13 | 2016-10-04T18:14:29 | 559 | 77 |
[WP] You're a powerful demon who's been locked away by an artifact for thousands of years. Some mortal fool has finally found it...and it's a sweet old lady. You really don't know how to decline all the offers of food and cookies and other help. | Dark steam billowed out of the spout of the Orichalcum teapot, swirling and congealing into the form of a great demon. It's form was unknowable and ever changing, a kaleidoscope of incandescent terror.
"I am free! Who has woken the almighty Tenebras from his immortal slumber?" The demon roared.
"Oh that would be me. Hello deary, my name is Mabel."
A look of bemusement crossed the demon's shifting features as he examined Mabel. She didn't appear to be anything special, her faced lined like a spider's web and her back stooped with age. A witch or crone no doubt. "Do you not fear me mortal?"
Mabel shook her head and stuck her tongue out at Tenebras. "Why should I?"
"FOOL! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM!"
"You're Tenebras. You shouted that earlier. No need to yell. Have a cookie, I imagine being stuck in a teapot would make anyone a little cranky."
Mabel offered the demon a chocolate chip cookie. Dumbstruck, the demon manifested a mouth with human taste buds and ate the cookie. The dough was decadently moist and the chocolate was to die for. Tenebras could not stifle his soft moan. Mabel grinned and handed Tenebras another cookie that the demon devoured.
In between bites Tenebras asked, "Why have you summoned me? Do you perhaps intend to use my vast power? Is there someone you would like me to smite?"
Mabel shook her head. "I didn't summon you. You just popped out of that weird pot after I brewed some Earl Grey tea in it. I don't mind though, I could use the company. I haven't had anyone to talk to since Carl passed."
Tenebras cackled. "Enough with the tricks crone, you wish me to revive this Carl! This can be easily achieved, just make a deal, a deal in blood!"
"No thankee."
"WHAT? NO ONE HAS EVER TURNED DOWN THE MIGHTY TENEBRAS BEFORE!"
"What did I say about the shouting? I reckon I'll see my Carl soon enough, no need for that blood nonsense. Why don't you stay a while and try some of this tea? I brewed it in your pot so it'll probably be delicious." Mabel held up a porcelain cup full of hellfire warmed tea.
Tenebras took the tea and poured it into the vortex that was his essence. "What a vexing creature," Tenebras mumbled.
Mabel smirked and tilted her head. "What was that Tenebras? My hearing isn't as good as it used to be, you'll have to speak up."
"Nothing, nothing. I'd like another cookie please." | Thank you ma'am but, I really don't need anymore cookies. I need to go lead my army of souls!
What's that? Hush, you look starved to death, how long has it been since you ate?
Welllll, just a little over a ten thousand years.
Well see then, you need some more cookies then, to get your energy up! Or maybe a pie?
Oooh, maybe taking the souls of men can wait a little longer. | 2016-04-16T04:56:59 | 2016-04-16T02:56:05 | 207 | 11 |
[WP] You'll soon arrive at Earth. The latest reports are from just 4 centuries ago and show a backwards planet, so technologically primitive it hurts. Just wait until those peasants gawk at your wondrous technical displays, like the Talking Box and the Image Viewer! They'll think you're a god! | "Multiple radio signals detected." the communications officer was working feverishly at the controls.
"What?" The High Lord Admiral, soon to be the head god of the primitives of the 3rd planet of the system they just warped into, sounded confused. "What kind of signals?"
"Artificial, sir. Thousands of them, all emanating from the target planet."
The Admiral chastised the officer. "That is impossible. You obviously have no idea what you are doing. You are dismissed from duty and should report immediately for recycling." Without hesitation the comm officer stood up and walked off the bridge. Another officer took his place.
The bridge went quiet for a minute to reflect on what happened before the radar control individual piped up. "We are detecting a ship, most likely originating from the target planet."
This time the Admiral stood up and walked over to the radar screen. "Show me," he said icily. When the control officer pointed to the dot in question, the Admiral roared "That is probably an asteroid!"
"It's accelerating, sir." he replied quietly, showing him the numbers.
Before the admiral could respond, his first officer announced "Admiral, viewing has reported they have a telescoping lock on the planet. The Admiral knew he didn't need to bother to ask to have put it on the screen and just turned towards it as the planet popped up.
Everyone on the bridge gasped. The side of the planet on the screen was currently pointing away from the system's star, so it was dark. Except for all the lights. The lights of an advanced civilization, at least level 12, mainly along the coasts and rivers of the planet.
For the next two days the small squadron of ships made their way to the planet. The amount of information coming out of the planet was staggering. They had not brought the proper personnel or software to interpret all of it, and the fact that the natives had not yet unified their languages didn't help matters. They had plenty of video information coming in as well as the data the radars, telescopes, and radios brought in. The planet had multiple artificial satellites, a unified worldwide network, and even their own massive telescopes. They even had landed robots on another planet.
"How is this possible?" The Admiral had lost some of his roar. His officers were all at their stations, but they were all turned around looking at him. "We've met thousands of civilizations, none have ever had this level of advancement so quickly." There had been plenty of theories over the last two days, but none made sense. The planet and the species were unremarkable.
There was a beep from the communication station and the officer assigned attended to it. Their face went to confusion and then to surprise. "Sir, we are being hailed." When the admiral nodded the officer activated the screen.
A Coroki face appeared on the screen, causing every face on the bridge to immediately scowl. The hideous creature had his digits wrapped together and a wicked smile on his face. "Welcome to Earth!"
"I should just eradicate the planet right now to rid the universe of you!" the admiral snapped.
"I don't recommend that, there are several satellites with ship to ship missiles locked on to your ships right now, good luck figuring out which ones." The Coroki tilted his head. "Some of them are even tipped with nuclear warheads!" he said jovially.
The Admiral sputtered before answering. "How did they accomplish all of this? Did you do this?"
"I stowed away on your scout ship so many years ago. Knowing one of your God ships would eventually return I managed to make my way here and start helping them advance."
The first officer spoke up, "Liar! We've seen footage from them, your ugliness is no where to be found!"
The Coroki casually reached to press something on its wrist and itself was covered by and image of one of the natives. "I just moved about, hinting and building, " it kept pressing the button and cycling through various looks of the natives, "pushing when needed, being where I needed to be move civilization along."
The comm officer gasped incredulously. "You hid among them? They would've worshipped you as a god!"
It pressed another button to resume his form and then it spread his arms out. "Look at all I have created! Am I not a god?"
The Admiral shook his head. "You are no god. A god has to be worshipped. A god has to be KNOWN."
The Coroki went serious as it leaned in towards the camera and his face filled up the screen. He waited for just a second before saying with a wry smile. "You know me."
Before any one else could reply it leaned back and gestured towards the screen. "Have a safe trip back!" it said before terminating the connection. | This was not the first primitive planet they had visited. They knew generally what to expect. It was always the same. They would discover a new species on a new planet and go investigate. This one hadn’t taken much longer to get to than any of the others. Only 400 cycles around their star.
This species had at least shown some signs of intelligence when first discovered. Granted we do enjoy rocking the minds of the lesser species with our advanced technology.
As they approached the planet something was different. It was surrounded. Thousands upon thousands of...what were they exactly? Artificial satellites? No it couldn’t be, that is much to advanced for a society that had barely managed the concept of wheels and pulleys.
There were too many of them in the sky, they couldn’t be avoided. They rammed straight through two of them. It was an accident.
Their ship was not damaged, but as they descended they encounter loads of interference. It was across all their ranges too. Radio was a complete disaster, picking up all sorts of random noise. The ship couldn’t handle it. They were going down and fast.
It was a hard landing. The ship was definitely damaged this time. And who knew if they would be able to repair it on an alien world. But most of their tech had survived, maybe they could use it to become gods on this new world like they had on the other worlds they visited.
Upon exiting the craft, it wasn’t shock or surprise on the native species faces. Their were small objects in their hands, like they were watching us through the device. Some looked angry, shouting something about “losing WiFi or service”. Who knows what they were talking about, but they seemed inconvenient.
I began to show them our modern wonders, but instead of awe they just kept the small devices up...and laughing. They all began laughing. More modern miracles and this species was laughing at us.
It seems they have grown bored, as most of them are moving on. They’ve captured us in their small devices and moved on. We have been forgotten. Several of them are still around yelling in the small device. And new ones in large metallic vehicle have begun to show up. They look to be dressed in outfits mimicking the surrounding foliage.
The tree clothed species, seem to have come to take care of us. They have surrounded our ship and are taking it away. And they have taken many of us away in their vehicles.
Perhaps this species was more advanced than we thought. Perhaps we may not be going home. Perhaps we won’t be becoming new gods. | 2019-09-19T10:29:33 | 2019-09-19T06:49:28 | 582 | 281 |
[WP] Once you die you must watch your entire life from five different points of view. Your own, the one who loved you the most, the one who hated you the most, the one you helped the most and the one you wronged the most. | Everything is gray. Each step is just one more along a great, churning treadmill called time, and we run and run and go nowhere. Nothing changes. No one sees. And I am as flat as the world. Why do I have to see this all again? I pulled the trigger for a reason.
~
If only you had looked up.
When the young woman dropped her purse in front of you at the supermarket, you had the chance to meet your neighbor. Did you know she lived across the hall? You walked by her every day when you walked your Alaskan malamute Choggie. She always gave you a smile, even if you never looked up.
When your brother came to visit you, spending all of his spare change on the flight, you had the chance to tell him how you were hurting. He loved you so dearly. He accredited his life to you, that time when you were both children and you pulled him out of the draw when it flooded. He always looked up to you. But you couldn't see the admiration--and the worry--shining in his eyes. You just saw the mud on his shoes and the new ring on his finger. You thought he wouldn't want to hear about your own struggles, what with his upcoming wedding. But he would have gladly postponed it. All you had to do was look at him. He would have seen.
I reached out a hand to you every single day. It was in the words you didn't read. It was in the smiles you didn't look for. It was in the birdsong in the trees. It was in every new morning.
Even I looked up, when things got tough. Even I looked up.
~
He was always such an ungrateful bastard. He never had to try. Mom and Dad just gave him things. They lavished him with their attention, always praising him for his grades. He never even studied! He got all of Mom's brains and I got nothing but a knack for tinkering with electronics! Did _he_ have to struggle to make ends meet in the economic collapse of '25? Did _he_ have to come crawling to the university president's office to beg him to let him keep his research grant? Did he feel no compunction at all for how ungrateful he always was!? No! He just got his 4.0 and his three degrees and his fancypants job that called _him_ to offer a position, even if he didn't apply!
And the only thing he ever said to me was, "I just got the brain for it." Did he really think I wanted to hear that!? Did he really think I needed to hear his stupid condescending tone!? It's all false piety and arrogance! He's no better than me! Mom and Dad just loved their sons more than their daughter! Boys can never go wrong, but girls have to walk a razor thin wire, and even then we're always at fault! Well, not this time. I'll make sure they all know the _real_ face beneath his stupid mask. Now that he's dead, they'll have to believe it!
~
The day I learned of your death, I took off of work and went home early, and I just sat in my driveway until the sun went down. Your mom said you'd written me a letter--that I was the only one. I don't think I'll ever read it, though. I don't think I could bear it. I knew the pain you struggled with. I knew it because it was the same pain you helped me crawl out of.
The first time you said hi to me on the playground in fifth grade, I thought you would just be another knife in my back. But you weren't. You were kind. You were kind of oblivious, actually. There was no way you'd know how the bullies treated me, though, since you had always spent your free time in the library. You never got over your shyness for as long as I knew you.
You have no idea how much your single presence meant to me. When I'd be crying in my closet as my parents screamed, I would picture your face as we sat together at lunch and just talked about Runescape. You never judged me. You never expected anything from me. You were just there. All the way through high school, you were there whenever I needed you. How could you not know that your existence meant so much to me?
How could I not have told you?
~
I read about the kid's death in the paper. Seems like everyone's dying lately. The fact that he used a gun on himself, though, and my little girl had to bleed out on the side of the road, made me angrier than ever before. What a wretched coward! He couldn't even look me in the eye after his drunken hit and run, and now he was running away from his responsibilities?
But that's not fair. I could see how torn up he was. He just didn't know how else to deal with it. He didn't really know how to deal with much of anything. And how many of the rest of us are like that? I mean, no one gives you an instruction manual.
That poor kid was just as lost as my little girl. I tried--I really tried. But I know she stepped in front of his car on purpose.
I'm so sorry, kid. | Watching life through five perspectives is bizarre. I wouldn't recommend it, but it's going to happen to you anyways. I only say that because you might not like the truth, but it can be endearing?... No, enlightening?... Yeah, we'll go with that.
Watching my life over again from my own perspective in the third person, I cringed. I was aware of all the mistakes I would make all over again. I kept wanting to correct my posture too and I wished my smile wasn't so crooked. Watching the whole thing was like listening to a recording of yourself, but *worse.*
Next up was the one who loved me most. Surely it would be my wife? Kids? My parents? Nope. My coworker, who I shared an office with for 25 years in New York. She was my best friend at work, and even though she was married, I never knew she had such strong love for me. Discovering that realization made my chest sink, and my eyes tear up. *Should I have done things differently?*
The person who hated me the most was my second born child, my son, which hurt more than a dagger to the stomach. All of those family get-togethers and all of those smiles. It felt emotionally paralyzing to learn it was all an act. He hated me because I was more proud of my first born daughter, who went to my alma mater for undergrad and went to medical school. She made something of herself, while my son developed a drug problem and dropped out of high school. Admittedly, he turned things around for himself but by that time he wrote me off and started a family and career of his own. He'll never know that I was proud of him. *I should have shown that more.*
Life through the one I helped the most was my daughter, and she was so grateful for all of my support I gave to her. I couldn't feel happy watching it though, knowing how much I disappointed my son. But at least I did something right... *right?*
Life through the one I wronged the most was shocking. In middle school there was a kid I poked fun at, constantly directing jokes at him without even thinking about it. I did it to everyone so I didn't think anything of it, but to him, it hurt the most. He had no friends. I thought he did *everyone has a friend, right?* What was surprising was I thought I had redeemed myself by reaching out him later in life and apologizing. I remember I made him cry in 7th grade and that memory haunted me all through my life. Even after I apologized I didn't feel better, but we got lunch a few times and became friends. I thought he would have been the person I helped out the most, but nope, in middle school I had wronged him so much, that I never did it nearly enough to another person. *But at least we became friends in the end.*
r/randallcooper | 2020-06-03T12:06:13 | 2020-06-03T11:58:01 | 1,243 | 84 |
[WP] You are a student with the least amount of magic potential ever recorded at the Academy and it's the day of the familiar summoning test. A misplaced rune or word results in an arch demon/ess becoming bound as your familiar. | “There goes Jack Dawley, Etherium Academy’s resident failure. What are you going to summon? A fuckin amoeba?! Hahahahaha” *Fucking Lance, he’s a son of a famous mage family. He also happens to be the headmaster’s grandson and has made my life a living hell ever since freshman year. Little does he know, I have a plan.*
*For my summoning, I’m going to use the same principle I use when I shoot my defective bow. The bow always shoots a bit lower than you aim, so aim higher than you want, and you’ll hit your intended target every time. My plan is to try to summon an Archdemon, the highest order of spirit of the Infernal Realm, so hopefully I’ll get something halfway decent. I’m wishing for a hellhound, wyvern, or something cool, but honestly I’d be lucky to get anything better than a chihuahua.*
*It’s a risky move, but I can’t afford to fail this test. In order to become a certified mage, and thus be allowed to publicly practice magic, one is required to summon a familiar from one of the three Spirit-Realms. Everyone knows that the most powerful spirits reside in the Infernal Realm, that’s why I’m going for an Archdemon.*
———————————————————————————————
*The summoning tests go in descending order of mana quantity, so naturally, I’m last. No one in the crowd or any other student is really paying attention, save for Lance and his lackeys, who are laughing and pointing at me. Obviously making fun, but I can’t hear them over the chatter or the distance.*
*I take out my pack of chalk from my coat and begin to draw the summoning circle. Normally, one uses levitation to draw the summoning circle without moving, but I don’t have enough mana to levitate anything larger than a bean. To be fair, I’m a better emitter than manipulator, but still.*
*Once I finish with the summoning circle, I step back and admire my handiwork. I may be a shoddy mage, but I’m no slouch. Now, for the moment of truth. I motion to the instructor, who strides over and hands me the ritual knife. I make a small, yet quite painful and deep, cut on my palm, then hand the knife back to the instructor. I turn my palm towards the activation rune, and once the blood strikes the chalk, I incant,* “Invictus!”
*The runes light up with red, the color of the Infernal Realm, and I feel my mana start to drain. Within a few seconds, my vision starts to go dark and I stumble, my legs becoming too weak to properly support my weight. I knew that to summon anything would take almost all of my mana, but this is taking a much bigger toll than I expected. This is a good sign though, the more mana is used for the summoning, the higher order the spirit will be. By the time the spirit starts to materialize, I’m on my knees and fighting to stay conscious. I’m getting excited to see what I managed to summon.*
*When the spirit fully manifests, the summoning runes deactivate and the binding runes kick in, draining even more of my mana. Ethereal chains rise from the ground, clasping the humanoid spirit’s wrists, ankles, and neck. It looks like an Archdemon, but that’s impossible, I must be hallucinating from the lack of mana. The chains then pull tight, forcing my future familiar to its knees as I rise from my own. I stumble across the dead summoning runes, careful not to disrupt the still active binding runes, and approach the spirit. With one final sacrifice of mana, I complete the binding ritual, binding the spirit to my will and making it my familiar. I then pass out, I’m honestly shocked I made it this far.*
———————————————————————————————
*I wake up in a cot, surrounded by nurses. As my vision clears up, an eight foot tall Archdemon is shoving his was through the crowd. Once he reaches my bedside, he takes to one knee. I guess it wasn’t a hallucination after all, I really do have an Archdemon as a familiar.* “Master! You have awakened! My name is Razeth, you summoned and bound me as your familiar. I am here to fulfill your every command, do you remember?”
“Yes, I remember…” *What do I say now? Only one in one million people have the magical capacity to summon a high enough order spirit that it would be intelligent. Even the most promising young mages, including people from powerful families like Lance, have little to no chance. Much less a failure like me. I guess I should say something else, probably best not to be too harsh if I want to have a good relationship with him. Then again, our relationship doesn’t really matter in the end, he is magically bound to serve me after all. Even so, there’s no need to be a jerk for no reason.*
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Razeth.” *I say, propping myself up on my elbows and hefting myself into a sitting position.* “My name’s Jack, I hope we can get along.” *I extend my hand for a handshake,*
*He looks surprised for a moment before smiling and shaking my hand*, “Well met, Master Jack. It is my pleasure to serve you.”
———————————————————————————————
EDIT: Thank you so much for the silver, kind internet stranger. I’m so glad this story brought you some enjoyment.
EDIT 2: I’ve decided to make a subreddit for my writing r/CookieJarOfChaos if anyone is interested. There’s not much there as of this edit, but I’m working on getting all my previous work up there. | Man, I didn't even want to become a magician. I wanted to be a bard. What did it matter if I was a powerful noble's son? I was the youngest of twelve kids and gods know how many illegitimate bastards. To say dad was a horny bastard would not be an understatement. He even boinked my eldest brother's wife while he was off at *Crusader Fest 1099* last year.
Anyway, I'm getting off the topic!
So I wanted to be a bard but my old man said the lute was for 'whores and vagrants' and no son of his would ever be a bard. So what did he do when he found out I snuck out one night to the tavern to rock out with my friends? The old bastard sent me to *Gary Snot-Purse's Magician Academy for Sorcery and Dark Magic.* I didn't even think I had any magical powers but the old bastard greased some palms so that my meager (yet still surprisingly there) magical talent got me into the school.
It's been a few years now and I have to admit I'm surprisingly good with runes and alchemy but absolutely crap with rituals and the more flashy practical magic. Still, I needed to summon a familiar today. I really didn't want to but it's a requirement for **every** student no matter what courses you were taking. It was absolute bullshit but there I was. It was all going well with the nerds getting elementals and the like. One hot chick I remember seeing in a class of mine got a whole damn unicorn. The guy right before me (Ted or Ned or something like that) got a goblin and he would have been considered the worst magician in school if not for me being there.
Then came my turn in front of my whole class to stand before the still waters of the summoning pool with Mr. Henderson the conjuration teacher to one side and the Arch Magician Council on the other. I'm not gonna lie, I thought I was gonna get something stupid like a magical talking hotdog or a singing triangle or something equally stupid if Jed only got a runty goblin. With a heavy sigh I started the incantation to summon my familiar but as I did so the pool started to turn red.
Gasps and concerned murmurs started as I kept going. I looked over to Mr. Henderson who looked concerned but silently gestured for me to keep going. I finished the incantation and all of the sudden the waters turned blood red and the torches in the cavernous dungeon room burst and bloomed with unnatural blue flames. The other students and their familiars were starting to panic and as I looked over to the faculty they didn't seem to be in much better shape. It was then the pool started to glow and each and every torch self extinguished.
**ARE YOU READY SNOT-PURSE!? ARE YOU READY TO GET HARDCORE WITH ME!?**
A column of blue flame shot directly into the ceiling from the summon pool that was so bright in the nigh darkness that everyone, myself included had to shield our eyes at the sudden change. It was at this point I realized I had fallen on my ass in panic. Still, when the light had dimmed I unveiled my eyes from my robe clad arm to look in the general direction of the summoning pool where *he* stood... | 2022-11-12T17:18:23 | 2022-11-12T16:45:58 | 92 | 50 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war. | Captain Sarah Elmand bit into her Cornish Pasty and mumbled a question through her mouthful, "How many of them are there, BUD?"
The droid, who doubled as all Sarah's crew members including cook and leisure droid, scanned the radar screen. "Sixty-three ships, Sarah. They have donutted around us."
She took another bite. That was the kind of sugary tactical talk you could expect from a chef-turned-military-strategist. "Damn shame. Imagine what we could do with a fleet of those babies. They could each carry ten-times the cargo we can."
"Damn shame," BUD repeated, shaking his head empathetically.
"What do you think of the chances of them surrendering, BUD? If we give them the option?"
BUD's face turned to a rotating green-square loading-screen. "The same chance as me successfully creating a scone you are happy with."
"That low, huh?"
"The Aumitarians have never before surrendered."
"Well they've never met a Cornish girl before, have they?"
"Probably not, Sarah."
The ship shook suddenly, rocking hard. Sarah tried to bite down on her pasty but bit her tongue instead. Blood and anger blossomed in her mouth. "Thothe bassthards!"
"They have fired."
"Oh weally? Yeah, I figured that much BUD."
"No damage taken."
"What about my tongue?"
"We are receiving a transmission, Sarah," said BUD. "They demand the Earthen-Alliance to bow before them and swear infinite fidelity until the end of days. Sarah, they seem to be under the impression we are the entire kitchen, and not just a mouldy crumb sitting in the cupboard."
"The.... entire kitchen?"
"They seem to think we are the whole of Earth's military."
She frowned at BUD. "Okay, well next time just say that. And what do you mean by mouldy, exactly?"
"I am sorry. Today's promotion is taking some adjustment for me."
"Fine. Whatever. Take a picture of this and send it back to them along with the following message." She held up a middle finger. "Dear aliens, please jump back to your home planet right this instance and let me enjoy my lunch in peace, or prepare for imminent annihilation. Love, Captain Sarah."
There was a slight delay, then BUD began to laugh -- an unusual throaty sound that Sarah had never heard before.
"I *will* destroy them BUD. That was no joke."
"Sorry Sarah, I was broadcasting their reply to your message. You know I am under orders not to laugh at you unless you instruct me to."
"Oh yeah. Right."
The ship rocked again. Harder. Sarah gripped her seat hard so as not to fall -- but the remnants of her pasty did. "Those *shits*!"
"They fired again, Sarah. A combination of every ship in their fleet."
"Besides my lunch, did it do any damage?"
"Yes. If it happens again our freezer might start to leak."
"I don't even want to know what that means."
"We might start to lose oxygen supplies."
"I told you I didn't want to know!"
BUD tilted his head.
"Damn shame to waste those ships," Sarah said. "Still, we'll get some scrap-metal out of it. Okay BUD, about our mining warheads..."
"Yes, Sarah?"
"How many we holding?"
"Forty."
"Okay. Set them to blow as soon they're teleported onto the Aumitarians's ships. One for each ship for as many as we can."
"That will not destroy the entire fleet."
"Good. Let some survive. Let them go back home and tell of the horror they saw in this quadrant." She looked mournfully at the remains of her Cornish Pasty. "Because God forbid they cause a loss like this ever again."
BUD nodded.
Then Sarah smirked. "And tell them...the main course come compliments of the chef."
The droid remained silent.
The smirk fell into a scowl. "You can laugh at that one, BUD."
"Do I have to, Sarah?"
She waved him away. "Just send the warheads. Then I'm going to need you back in the kitchen, ASAP."
---
Thanks for reading /r/nickofstatic for more | Disputes and disagreements between empires in the galaxy are settled with shows of strength.
Since the start of time, each civilization has been fighting between themselves and with others, on local planets and in the greater galaxy.
There is a clear consensus that war is ugly and messy, prolonged wars often result in devastation beyond imagination as worlds burn and the resources that they were fighting over were lost in the process.
This had become apparent after the fact that this occurrence had repeated itself countless times.
So the consensus that grew between the great civilizations of the galaxy about how war should only be fought in shows of strength.
Perhaps sometimes battlefleets had to be purged in the process of showing off a great new weapon which lead to the losing side conceding defeat as they didn't have anything greater to show.
Often, what they fought over was worlds and resources that would boost the economy of whoever held it, so the correlating reason for war was often economy.
A great game of economy where the ones who could show the greatest power could take a bigger piece of the pie than the rest.
Then we had humanity, humanity couldn't settle for just showing off.
Humans, as they are, would never settle for just the biggest piece of the pie, they wanted the whole goddamn pie.
And so they created the fiercest weapon among them all.
While others created massive ion cannons and devastating nuclear bombs that would trump what came before it in sheer explosiveness, humans would develop something a lot more subtle but a lot more efficiant.
Biological weapons had never been accepted in the galaxies community as an acceptable show of strength, it was a cowards tool.
However, it was an efficient tool.
As the galaxy was interconnected by economy and commerce, humans developed and spread a biological weapon that would almost entirely annihilate or cripple the other civilizations.
And that is why humanity is on the top of the food chain, again. | 2020-03-21T08:07:13 | 2020-03-21T06:41:00 | 1,240 | 155 |
[WP] The epitaph on your tombstone determines what happens to your soul after you die; a bible verse allows you to ascend, "Rest in peace" gifts you a long, dreamless sleep, and so on. Your friends decide to play one last prank on you and customize your inscription. | The Grim Reaper stroked his chin with a bony finger. "Hmmm," he muttered. "Never seen this one before."
"Seen what?" David had been having a rough week, being dead and all. All he could do until now was sit in his coffin like it was the world's most cramped waiting room. Losing the need to eat and sleep brought his boredom to excruciating new levels. It felt like an eternity in there. But now, here was his guide, who was supposed to take him to wherever he was supposed to spend *actual* eternity.
The fact that they were still lingering around his grave made him very nervous.
"What's wrong?" David asked after a long pause, trying not to sound too worried.
"Well," said the raspy voice underneath the hood, "the way this usually works is, where I take you depends on what's written on the stone." The Reaper pointed at the marble slab marking the grave.
David's mouth dropped open. "That *cannot* be how it actually works."
"Sure," said the Reaper. "It works pretty well. You got 'Rest in Peace', 'Gone but Not Forgotten', stuff like that. One guy even had 'Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt', he got a great deal out of that one."
"So what does mine say?" David asked, mentally putting aside for now all the questions this raised.
"See for yourself." The Reaper pointed at the stone again.
David hesitated, fearing what could possibly be written. He nervously made his way over to his tombstone to read his epitaph:
>DAVID SWEIT
>CHEESE
"...'Cheese'?" David's nervousness, his apprehension, his shock, all of his emotions were abruptly replaced by complete, pure confusion.
"It's weird, isn't it?" the Reaper agreed. "No message, no decoration, not even any dates. Just your name up at the top there, then at the bottom..."
"Cheese."
"Yup."
The two of them stood in silence, deep in thought. At long last, David spoke up.
"I don't get it."
"Me neither," the Reaper admitted. "I was actually hoping you could explain it to me. Did you really like cheese or something?"
"Not really," said David scratching his head. "I mean, I guess I liked it as much as the next guy. I..." He paused, looking for the right words. "It's pretty good, I guess. I mean, I didn't like it so much as to do...this."
"I've had some weird ones before," said the Reaper. "I've even seen...well, I really thought I'd seen them all. But this," the Reaper motioned to the stone again, "this is..." He trailed off, failing to find the word. Still, David knew exactly what he meant.
They stood in thought again, much longer this time. When the Reaper finally spoke, the break in the silence caught David by surprise.
"Well," said the Reaper, clapping his hands together, "I've got to go call somebody about this. Figure out what to do with you. Hope you learn to *really* like cheese."
The Reaper evaporated into smoke before David could ask who he'd be calling or when he'd be back. Instead, he stared at his tombstone again.
"Cheese"? What the hell? | "Here lies James Swift, now drafted in the Skeleton War."
&#x200B;
I was mad at first, but then again, they didn't know, how could they? I expected something more medieval when everything was explained before I was sent to my role. It was more modern, and had been adapting in the last few years. As more people had been "Drafted" (Surprisingly close, but more like sent by another civilian, without my choice) The fighting was bad enough, but soldiers of the Calcium Wars don't quite die. They just get back up. With a good shot, I could keep them down longer, but in the sudden conflict, there was no time. Somehow, I managed to transfer myself to base operations. Much more quiet, but I have to deal with moving defeated attackers, which gets annoying. At least the "pay" is good... | 2019-03-21T17:27:19 | 2019-03-21T16:04:31 | 39 | 23 |
[WP] Humanity has been wiped out except for you, who managed to eke out a meager existence by yourself. Every day, an angel visits you and asks if you're ready for humanity to return. Every day, you respond, "No, not yet." Today is different. Today, the angel brought the Devil with them. | As I finish scrambling my egg on the griddle, I place it next to the deer steak on the plate awaiting me next to the camp grill. "What am I missing?" I say aloud to the morning sun. I hang the spatula from the hook alongside the grill and shout "Silverware you jackass! We may be the last man on earth but we do not have to eat like it!" I make my way up the short path from the picnic site to the lodge and proceed to the kitchen for my knife and fork.
On the way out I ruffle the fur on the head of my goat "Who's a good goat? Who's a good goat? GERTY!" The goat looks at me her yellow goat eyes and responds with a bemused "Meh-eh-eh" and returns to chewing on the weed I had interrupted her from.
"Sir I do believe I wish we had some Heinz 57 or some A1 or at least some Worcestershire sauce. It's gonna be gamey as hell" I say to myself.
"Well sir if you would just get to scavenging for a new tire we could fix the bike and ride the 30 miles to the city and actually find some!" I curtly reply to myself.
"Well be that as it may, Let us focus on breakfast and then perhaps we can hike around and find one". All I had been able to find were children's bikes in my scavenges and the 3 wheel bike I discovered behind the park wardens trailer would be a great addition to my collection of tools once I had it running again.
All I could find were children's bikes. No children. No more tykes dancing and playing and screeching their little kid screeches at the playgrounds playing tag or red-rover or whatever playground games kids played now. I miss my own kids. I miss my wife. No. I can't keep bringing myself back to that place.
I dig into my steak and eggs after giving each a good sprinkle of pepper and after about mid chew of my second bite of steak I hear rustling in the trees and the sound of wings flapping. More than one set. Ezekiel had company today. This is new.
"Bountiful tidings to you Dr Specialist. I hope your day has been joyful and your slumber was peaceful." crooned the Angel Ezekiel as it came to a soft landing in front of me with a flourish of it's hands like some sort of ballet dancer with wings.
The other being what was with Ezekiel was shrouded in a black cowl with black wings. Slightly shorter and more stocky in build by first glance of the black robes enveloping the figure, the dark companion sauntered over to the grill and waved it's hand over the still burning embers, causing the wood spark and crackle coaxing the guttering flames to rise and strengthen.
"As usual I've come to beg your leave to bring humanity back to the Earth. Are you not lonely? Do you not yearn for companionship?" Ezekiel spoke in it's soft baritone as it had every day since it first visited me a year after the world went away. It never gave me a straight answer as to why every living person on the planet was gone, save for me. It never gave me a straight answer as to why my wife and children were just blinked out of existence. Eziekel just stands there and asks me daily "May we issue forth the return of humanity?"
This day was different. This day Ezekiel brought a companion. After a year and six months by my reckoning, all I had known was the sounds of nature and Ezekiel. My family was my world. The loss of them may have slid my cheese a little off my cracker, but every time I was asked, I said no. I didn't want anyone else.
It was explained to me that I was to be the new Adam in this new chapter of humanity on Earth. Great. I have to be the progenitor of the damn human race. Way to go. What a fucking lottery to win. The great wizard in the sky got mad at the world for....well who knows. Maybe it was all the Flying Spaghetti Monster business or something. Either way I get picked to be THE guy? Rotten fucking luck.
The hooded figure saunters back over to Ezekiel and whispers something in the angel's ear bringing a slight frown to it's face.
The angel looks to the other, nods, and then back to me, "Yes I suppose he is. Dr Specialist as you can see I have brought another with me this day to try and convince you that it may be the right time..."
"AH-RUHM" I loudly clear my throat, interrupting the being mid sentence.
"I do not believe you understand our position on the matter Zeke. I don't care. I don't want what you offer. Tell your boss he fucked up by picking me. Tell your boss he fucked up by taking my life." I look up to the sky and shout "You fucked up padré. I ain't your stud"
The hooded figure chuckles. A feminine sound with a bit of sarcasm to the sound of mirth. It sounded familiar to me. Like a distant memory. "You'll do it you old shit. You have no choice. You think you do, but only because you've been allowed that illusion."
I stare at the hooded figure and scowl. "Who the hell are you exactly? I know that voice but I usually don't frequent various levels of hell so who the fuck did you bring Zeke?"
Ezekiel bows with a flourish "But of course. When my master...restructured...not only were there changes on Earth, but in ALL the planes of existence. You are not the only survivor you see. A new hierarchy was established. This being was elevated from an Earthly role to...well, what you would probably refer to as The Devil."
The hooded figure snickers and removes the cowl revealing....my ex-wife. | Gabriel: "(knocks on door) Zoltan."
Zoltan: "Not now, Gabe."
G: "Zoltan. For the 5,974,683,120th time, are you ready for humanity to return?"
Z: "No, Gabe, I'm just not fucking ready yet."
G: "Don't be like this, Zoltan. Do you not want to meet everyone in your life again? Jake? Forrest? Your parents? Laura?"
Z: "Pretty sure it's Lauren or whatever. The answer is still no. As long as the *Runespace* servers still run, I am not ready for humanity to return. Now fuck off, I have a raid boss to solo."
G: "(sigh) Guess I'm forced to bring in the cavalry. The stage is yours, Luke."
Lucifer, the Fucking Devil: "(kicks down door) WHAZZZAAAP?!"
Z: "(startled and stands up) The **FUCKING** Devil?!"
L: "Yyyeap, that's me! Lucifer, Satan, Scratchy, the Man of Wealth and Taste, the ***FUCKING*** Devil! All new fuzziness, fresh from the dryer!"
Z: "Why are you in your teddy bear form?"
L: "Well you know, humanity got wiped out, that means Jake is dead and I have nowhere to go. So I went to this weird universe where a short Italian plumber, a space hottie and some medieval swordsman cosplayers do battle. But I got rejected because I'm not from this Nincomdoo place."
Z: "Wait you were joining *Sma-*
L: "And without evil human souls to populate Hell, my powers grow weaker. So in a last-ditch effort I had to ally with Mr Archangel over here (pointing at Gabriel) and get you to wish humanity comes back so he can watch over you schmoes like some invisible holy Big Brother and I can pick out them sinners to torture back at my fire pits."
(beat)
Z: "I miss you, Luke. I miss my family. I miss Jake and Forrest and Lorraine too."
L: "Well that came outta nowhere, but… (hugs Zoltan) I know. I miss them too. And it's Laura."
Z: "So… okay. Bring humanity back."
L: "(turns to Gabriel) HE SAID IT! SHOW HIM WHAT HE'S GOT, GABBY!"
G: "(heavier sigh) (mumbles) Geebus, if it was this easy I'd call him on day one… (normal voice) Alright, Golf Oscar Delta! Bring 'em in!"
(A BIG FLASH LATER, EVERY HUMAN THAT WAS WIPED OUT RETURNS TO EARTH, INCLUDING ZOLTAN'S FRIENDS AND FAMILY)
Jake: "Dude, that was crazy. Hey the fucking Devil, been a while."
L: "Yeah, a while, ol' buddy. A looooong whiiiiile…"
J: "(instantly turns to Zoltan) AND YOU YOU FUCKER WHY DID YOU WISH FOR HUMANITY TO BE WIPED OUT?!"
L and G: "WHATTHEFUCK"
Z: "I uhhh… I just wanted to have some time for myself to play *Runespace*…"
J: "Geebus man… You still had a lot of annual leave. If you wanted some days off just ask Forrest."
G: "Guess that kid will be yours now, Luke." | 2020-10-24T08:59:39 | 2020-10-24T07:53:15 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | They told us we wouldn’t get Alzheimers.
Technically, they were right.
The ads plastered on every billboard, livestream, and website promised Ephoebus would preserve our body and brain’s critical functions. The generation young enough to take it would have the quick wits of a twenty-something combined with the wisdom of an elder. Who could refuse that?
Emily didn’t.
No matter how much we argued, no matter how many times I brought up the risks, the lack of long-term trials on the drug. That she’d be mortally dependent on it for the rest of her life. She compared me to technophobic conspiracy theorists, or the religious fundamentalists who glorified the prospect of death.
Apparently, I was jealous, controlling, afraid of death. That I wanted to be young enough to be chosen.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I resented the prospect of being left behind by the whole world, of fading into obscurity and nonexistence. But after a few months of her taking it, it didn’t matter anymore. She was hooked for life, and I had to watch myself grow old while my wife stayed as young and flawless as the day we met. My skin wrinkled, my hair started coming out, and my wife stopped looking at me the same way, no matter how many times we professed our eternal love.
Divorce was messy, painful, full of scary questions and scarier answers. So we just lived together in apathy, and let our romance decay piece by piece just as my body did.
We saw it for the first time on the news, after catching the occasional rumor from conspiracy forums and message boards.
Hou Fen, a Taiwanese immigrant and the first person to take Ephoebus, was found by the police in his house two weeks after his hundredth birthday. The bodies of his husband and daughter were in the basement, dissected and hung on meat hooks in his living room.
In recordings of police interrogations, he looked mildly bemused and nonchalant about his slaughter, stating that he was simply curious to see what their insides looked like.
He was the first Ephoebus user to make international headlines. But not the last.
It took teams of neuroscientists and psychologists a few weeks to determine the cause. The drug preserved reasoning, creativity, and memory perfectly. But not emotional range. At a certain point around people’s hundredth birthday, their minds snapped, and all empathy, love, and moral compass rotted away in a matter of weeks.
Pure sociopaths, cropping up by the millions around the globe.
Mass shootings and homicides became a near-daily occurrence on the evening news. Not just from the elderly who lost their humanity, unable to stop taking the drug without dying, but among the young as well, terrified that their aging relatives would butcher them in their sleep.
It took less than a month for the president to declare martial law, and mandate immediate registration for every citizen over the age of 98.
The sound of shouting and our front door being kicked down stirred me from my sleep. Already awake, Emily helped pull me to my feet and handed me my walking stick. We walked into our living room to the sight of a police officer training a taser on us.
“Mrs. Emily Wilson. You are to be detained by order of executive order nine-one-four-five-one, under suspicion of Ephoebus Decay!”
“Excuse me, what the fuck?” I stepped in between him and Emily, raising a hand. “What the fuck is going on?”
The officer stepped around me, training his weapon on Emily. “New emergency order. Zero-risk policy. Your wife turns one hundred in a month, which means she’s got a few weeks at best before becoming one of them. If she isn’t already.”
“And what next? You put us in a camp?” Emily clenched her teeth. “Fuck you. Constitutional rights. You want to arrest me, charge me, asshole.”
He pulled the trigger, shooting the fins from his taser into her chest.
Emily fell to the ground, twitching. He started kicking her, driving the heel of his boot into her chest again and again. She cried out in pain, whimpering, tears streaming down her cheeks.
It only seemed to heighten his rage. “Manipulative fuck. You socios can fake any emotion you want. Isn’t that right?” He kept kicking her, ignoring her screams and my shouting.
“Stop, stop it! We’ll come quietly! Stop!” The tension in my shoulders reached a breaking point. I heard a rushing in my ears, felt my body move almost unconsciously, and a thud of impact on my hand.
I blinked. A kitchen knife was in my hand, plunged into the side of his neck. The officer turned to look at me, almost stunned that an old man was capable of such a feat. Then the blood poured from the wound and he dropped to the floor, gurgling.
I pulled the taser fins out of Emily, and cradled her as she sobbed into my arms. We sat together on the floor, frozen in shock, unable to process what had just transpired for I don’t know how long. As my breathing steadied, and I felt my heart rate slow, I gazed around the room, staring at the body of the dead cop on our living room floor, surrounded by a pool of blood.
I pushed myself upright, ignoring the stabs of pain from my back. “Come on, Emily. Get up.” I offered my hand, helping her pull herself upright, and inhaled. “I don’t know how. I don’t know if it’s even possible. But we’re going to find a cure.
Whatever it takes, I'm going to keep you from breaking.”
I grasped her hands, kissing her on the cheek. “Grab what you can carry.”
We left the house in our car, driving for the border, fleeing the sound of sirens. | I leaned forward in my recliner, imploring the volume to rise from the TK implant. It wasn't real telekinesis but marketing teams thought it was cool to call it that. The retirement home seemed quieter than normal.
Everyone was tuning in.
The news cycle for the past few weeks had grown worse. People going missing then. Mass disappearances. Wild fires raging globally. Strings of arsons. Several space stations had even had catastrophes. Even on Mars there were occurrences.
And no one taking credit.
As the reason was revealed, I was glad that I never had kids.
The Immortals, essentially every one to be born since the anti-aging drug's release, were a literal ticking time bomb.
It artificially restored telomeres through chemical means but it seemed to eventually fail in a catastrophic chain reaction.
People gooified. Then the goo reduced to base elements of oxygen and hydrogen, then the spark of phosphorus hitting air. Spontaneous combustion.
The failure rate was 100%. There was no way to prevent it once the body reached a tolerance to the drug.
It was even transgenerational.
People were frantic to call family. I dreaded reaching out to a friend as the news started to go to talking heads who's youthful faces perspired fear.
The poor bastards. I let a slow breath, trying to not get worked up.
It was bad enough to have family die to it. Seeing young and vital people die after getting so advanced years resonated in me. My bitterness and regret at being aged out had long dried up. It was wrenching to hear the sobs from the nurse's station from the Immortals that took care of us. Poor Gina, she was nice. My lips drew tight as emotions began to well in me.
There were so few not on the drug, few brave enough to age and face oblivion. But the majority of them were the fundimentalist Christians who thought it was wrong to "play God." There were a few in the home. They were self-righteous and ignorant. Often a case of sour grapes more than a devotion of faith.
When the calmly smiling, pastor-slash-pundit appeared in my Holo-Screen and declared it "Rapture." I knew his face all too well. I had interned with the pharmaceutical company that made the drug during my biochemistry degree all those years ago. Funny how an R&D head could be born again. He was a self proclaimed Malthusian, which translates readily to immoral capitalist often enough. He had the CEOs ear because they were in the same fraternity.
I had disliked his sliminess then but I suddenly loathed him and his Evangelical helmet hair.
My chest began to seize with an extreme pressure coinciding with a terrible revelation. The nurses where too deep in sudden existential dread to care about my alerts pinging their implants. I tried to calm myself. Desperately and in vain. But I was old and my body couldn't take the burning implication in my brain.
The bastards had given a faulty drug but they had a plan. Now that people would live long enough to care that the Earth was fucked. Sweeping legalisation had pulled us from the brink of extinction. People had an infinite future so the made damn sure there was a lot of it.
The only issue was population. With no one dying it would grow exponentially.
They had solved that alongside global warming.
I prespired, I gasped. My chest felt like a collapsing star of pressure and straining pain. I was just too furious to control myself.
The pastor spoke as my vision and body grew distant as I was sucked down the tunnel to oblivion.
But I still saw him so clearly. His eyes delighted, his lips curved so smugly, "... And the righteous will live on in His Name through this time of Trial and Tribulation." | 2018-06-04T21:35:59 | 2018-06-04T21:18:49 | 354 | 135 |
[WP] Being a vampire was so easy just a century ago when all I had to worry about was the occasional tin mirror. Nowadays everywhere I turn it's buildings made of glass, cell phone cameras, motion-activated doors and soap dispensers, biometric scanners, security cameras, and NONE of it works on me. | The secret to being a vampire is makeup.
Okay, there are alternatives. You can just go and live in the woods. That's a valid approach, and I don't begrudge those who want to try and maintain things the old fashioned way, as well as they can.
Here's the thing, though- there's only so many people out there. That's sort of the *point*. But that also means that there isn't much food.
If you point out that there are *animals* to eat, then *I* will point out that humans are perfectly capable of just chowing down on bugs and mice and all sorts of other creepy-crawlies. Don't call an exterminator- call the family for dinner!
Doesn't sound very nice, does it? No, no it does not.
Besides, there's just something *about* human blood. Vampires who try substituting animals don't *die*, but...I dunno. They turn all funny. Something about sparkly skin and falling for teenage girls.
As every man over the age of 25 or so knows, teenage girls are *not* worth the trouble. To fall for one as a centuries-old immortal is just...
Well. Suffice it to say that we prefer not to live on animal blood if we can possibly avoid it.
But that means interacting with humans, which is...just the *worst*. People suck, you can take it from a professional. Gotta blend in, gotta be polite, gotta pretend to be interested in whatever drivel they're spouting while you get them alone so you can eat.
Do humans have to pretend to be interested in the cows inane ramblings while they fire up the grill? No. No they do not. Don't ever pretend that you don't have it easy. We still have to *work* for our food.
And it's a *lot* of work, and it takes a *lot* of practice to get it even *close* to right.
So, okay, your clothes show up in mirrors, that's good. That's a start. You can go all Invisible Man, wrapped up in stuff, but...I mean, everyone knows that trope. It's enough to make even the huge guys want to give us some space.
(Also, contrary to popular perception, we usually go for men, and the bigger ones at that. Women are usually pretty aware of the possibility that whoever they're talking to might be a threat if they end up without anyone else around, and they've got less blood to boot. Men, you just get them somewhere secluded, hypnotize them a little so they don't remember, and have yourself a meal. Half the time they don't even *notice* the blood loss.)
So you've gotta do makeup. That's not too bad, though, right? Sure, you've gotta learn, but teenage girls all over manage to figure this out- how hard can it be?
The thing about teenage girls, though, is that *they* can actually *see* themselves in the mirror.
So you practice. You start out really, really bad at it, but with careful practice, diligent observation, and really *listening* to what *exactly* people scream as they run away in terror, you can get to the point where you're merely really bad at it.
The end result is that most vampires show up in public looking like overdressed cheap hookers.
Undignified, but, and there's a lot to be said for this, it *works*. And people are wildly unlikely to suspect a cheap hooker of secretly being a supernaturally strong centuries-old immortal. The perception of probably drug addiction also helps out if you slip up and forget what century it is. People don't really listen to what you say.
So let this be a lesson to all you humans out there. Technology has unintended consequences. Do you think that the inventor of the camera set out to unleash cheap vampire hookers upon the world? He did not. But, as his work was adopted and adapted and advanced, that is what he has wrought.
So next time you have a brilliant idea, take a moment and ask yourself: Is it really worth it, if this also means that bigfoot has to go around dressed in drag?
Humans don't have to put up with *their* sandwiches inventing caged lightning or whatever, I'll tell you that much. It's enough to make me think seriously about the animal approach. | Rex twisted and felt the seat flex under him. His bowels surged and the pain in his stomach finally began to ease. He didn’t feed often, which was good thing he realized, because it always affected him this way. He supposed it made some sense, a strictly liquid diet was bound to have some unpleasant repercussions.
Sitting there in his own stench, he pulled up the Tinder app on his smart phone and began to scroll through his options. The way he had built his profile had been rather clever, he thought, using an old painting of himself rather than a photo in which he would never appear. He supposed it was a good likeness. Unable to see his own reflection it was hard to tell but the image the artist had captured was of a rather dapper man in is early fifties. Of course there was no hiding the fact he was a vampire, but for whatever reason the chicks seemed to dig it.
His stomach surged again and as it abated he reached around to press the button that would flush the toilet. He hated doing that while he was still seated and dreaded the splash of cold water on the balls it was sure to bring. The button depressed beneath his finger but failed to engage the mechanism. He pressed it again to no avail. So much for a courtesy flush, he thought.
Sighing, he closed the app, put his phone away and folded a handful of paper from the roll. After cleaning himself, he rose, adjusted his trousers and turned again to flush the toilet. The button failed yet again while the lifeless, single red eye of the automatic flush unit stared blankly ahead. He shrugged, removed his cape from the hook on the door and moved to leave.
At the sink, water failed to flow at the wave of his hand but no matter, he realized, the towels would not have dispensed either. The reek of death and rotten blood caused him to turn and he caught sight of the mess he had left behind. Some poor bastard, he thought, was really going to earn their paycheck come sunrise.
The price of technology he mused as he exited the facility. | 2022-03-24T12:48:04 | 2022-03-24T12:02:45 | 426 | 64 |
[WP] The founding fathers come back from the dead to check up on America, and boy do they have some asses to kick. | Reporters pushed their way through the crowd, and cameras flashed like firecrackers. The five men had formed a defensive ring, alternating their confused looks between each other and the crowd before them.
"Jeanne Larsen, New York Times," one reporter shouted, thrusting her microphone into the tallest one's face. "Can you confirm your identities as the American Founding Fathers?"
Thomas Jefferson glanced at the microphone, then down at Jeanne. His frown deepened, and he pushed the microphone towards the man next to him.
"Uh," John Adams said, and flinched as his voice was amplified. "I suppose? I'm Adams, John Adams - this man is Jefferson, this is - "
"John," one of the men whispered loudly, elbowing Adams. "John. You have to see this."
" - Franklin," Adams finished with a sigh, turning away from the reporter. "What is it, Ben?"
As an answer, Franklin waved a small rectangle in front of Adams' face. "This!" he said with a wide grin. "It's called a *phone*. You can communicate with people in instants!"
"How do you know that?"
Franklin indicated a young boy in front of him. "This man lent me his!"
"I, uh, kinda need that back," said the boy.
"In a minute," Franklin said, flapping his hand. "Look! He showed me this one site - it's called *Red-Dit*." The boy winced at his pronunciation, but said nothing.
John frowned at the small writing on the screen. "What does that mean?"
"Perhaps it's French?"
"It's not French," Jefferson said, glancing over. "And it sounds ridiculous."
"Oh, of course you would know - "
The smaller man next to Jefferson coughed loudly, and the three of them looked over at him. (The final man appeared to be occupied.) "Could we focus, please?" James Madison asked. "We're obviously far from home, although I don't know where, and - "
"You're in New York City," one reporter interjected. "Oh, uh - Scott Shaw, Washington Post."
"What?" the final man muttered, speaking for the first time.
"Not you, George," Madison said, pulling out his handkerchief. "I think it's his newspaper." He coughed again, then leaned over. "What on earth are you doing?"
Washington looked up at the woman in front of him. "What is this again?"
The woman smiled, an almost wicked gleam in her eyes. "This year's first presidential debate," she said.
"It's atrocious," Washington said. "I was expecting the two-party system, since my colleagues are a pigheaded bunch - I could never make them work together - but this is another disaster all together."
"What are they saying?" Madison asked, poking the screen of the tablet. The video paused. "What even is this?"
The woman leaned forward and unpaused the video. "Here's the other headphone," she said, passing it to Madison. "Just put it in your ear."
After a moment of fumbling, Madison put it in correctly and listened for a minute. His frown grew more and more pronounced, until he finally yanked it out. "Good God," he said.
"Don't worry," the woman said. "It gets worse."
"Impossible," Washington muttered.
On the other side of the ring, Adams' arm was repeatedly nudged. "John, look," Franklin whispered, holding out the phone again.
Adams broke off what he was saying to Jeanne and Scott ("I'm really not sure what you're asking; who are the Red Sox?") and looked at the phone. "Is that a cat?"
"Yes," Franklin said, beaming. "Look at it! Isn't it adorable?"
"What is it doing?"
"Being a cat," Franklin said, replaying the video. "Just look at it!"
"Look, man," the boy in front of Franklin said, "I really need my phone back. It's getting late."
"Hang on," Franklin said. "I just want to watch this again, give me a moment."
A loud holler went up at the edge of the crowd, and all five men turned to see the cause of the commotion. People began to shout, turning their cameras to the intruder as he forced his way through the crowd. "My good men!" he shouted, waving a pamphlet of paper. "I bring wonderful news!"
"*Wonderful*," Jefferson echoed sarcastically. Madison made a sound that may have been a laugh.
"Alexander," Adams greeted, ignoring the glare he got from the younger man. "What's the news?"
Alexander Hamilton tossed the pamphlet at him. John caught it with a distinct lack of grace and unfolded it to see the words *Playbill* and *Hamilton*.
"They've written poetry about me!" Hamilton said. "Singing odes to my talents! Look!" He gestured to the silhouette on the cover, his grin as wide as the sky as he said his next words. "I'm *famous*!"
Adams stared at the playbill, then up at the clouds. "God help us all," he said. | It felt like he'd only closed his eyes to die when suddenly he was struck by what felt like lightning. His senses came to him immediately and he was flooded with knowledge of the afterlife and how long he'd been gone. He remembered something like a Heaven or another world, but the memory faded quickly.
At that moment he realized he was deep beneath the earth. He breathed deep only realizing he didn't need to breath. He clawed at the dirt around him hoping he was facing up. He began to dig with his fingers slowly but surely chipping away at the crud and dirt around him.
The ground was cold as his hands broke through the dry mud and dirt. His hand broke through into the open and he twisted his wrist a few times and felt what he thought was grass. Finally John Adams could feel the cold sting of night air as he pushed with all his might to stand and rose from the ground. Somehow he was in perfect form, as spry as he'd been in his youth.
As he stood up and dusted himself off he realized he was wearing nice clothes, completely unblemished by the dirt or the fact that he'd been buried. Standing around him were the other founding fathers. They all seemed to have the same directive as him, investigate the status of the government they'd founded. With other-worldly direction they set off towards town.
"Perhaps we can find a newspaper to see the state of current affairs." Washington said.
"May it be that we are at war?" John Adams asked, glancing about the quiet streets of the town.
"Gentleman, a library. Lets inquire there." said John Hancock, seeing a large library building down the street.
"Maybe only one of us should go in. We might frighten people." Washington pointed out.
"You go then." said Adams.
George went into the library. After much confusion a library attendant awkwardly assisted Washington in using a computer. After about 30 minutes of explaining the device George began reading through the "net" and began using a strange thing called "wikipedia" to read a plethora of history. Outside John Adams suggested they go for a drink since it may be a while and that Washington would probably be in there for at least a day reading, knowing him.
They turned to leave when the door from the library opened and an exasperated George Washington came out. He breathed and said "They did it... the actually did it... they..." his voice trailed off as he tried to catch his breath. James Madison ran up to him and got down close. "What's that George?" George breathed out some words and James Madison stood up, like he'd been clasped on the should by a ghost.
"No more slaves? Fuck this lets go back to 1790." | 2016-10-17T11:50:20 | 2016-10-17T11:15:01 | 427 | 139 |
[WP] A person who looks exactly like you appears out of thin air in front of you. He starts explaining how he is you from a hellish other universe. As he starts to describe it, you realize its better than yours. | The portal crackled and popped, my computer fried itself as a small tendril of energy slid into it. As if on a final note, the lightbulb above me popped off. Luckily the sunlight coming through my window was enough to see by easily.
"Hello," I said. Well, the person that looked exactly like me that had stepped through the portal said to me. I said to me. Well, you get the picture.
"What the hell?" I asked myself gently.
"Hell, indeed," Myself said to me, "I am from a parallel universe that endures great, great suffering. I have come to seek refuge here."
"Wait, you're a me from there?" I asked myself as I pointed to where the stablized portal now sizzed and gidded malevolently.
"I'm a you from there," he nodded, I noted he wore a tie. Strange, I hate ties, "First, let me tell you about my world."
"Please do," I said, offering myself a seat. I took the seat. Well, myself took the seat. He that was me took the seat.
"The vampires won't let me sleep," Myself told me and my eyes went wide, so I explained, "Not blood drinking vampires!" He corrected, his lips trembling, "They are mutated from humans but feed off of worry."
"Wait, they drain your worry?" I queried, trying to find the hell-ness in this.
"Yes," he yelled, jumping to my feet, "Can you imagine worrying about your finals and then suddenly you're all happy with this sexy vampiress standing over you, just offering herself?"
"I... I... can if I try. I think." A smile playing on my lips, "I don't understand how that is..."
"Oh! Oh!" Myself told me, "Plus my cancer diagnosis!"
"What?" I was on my feet now, "Does that mean I have cancer?"
"How should I know? Go to the Free Health Clinic," he told me, "They'll give you this painful injection. They did from me, but then they charged me! The Free CLINIC charged me!"
"Wait," I asked myself, trying to take it all in "Free clinic? You are from the U.S. too right?" Myself nodded in the affirmative then it hit me, "They gave you a shot that cured your cancer?"
"Yes, and charged me one dollar!" I yelled, "One dollar. Now I'm no longer a billionaire. What is a man to do with only $999,999.999 to his name?"
"B-billion?" I stuttered, my jaw dropping slightly.
"Not a billion, are you even listening about the hellscape that I must endure?" Me asked I.
"I tell you what I shall do," I said standing, "I shall, for the sake of us, become myself in the other there while you live in this paradise world in my stead!"
"You would do that?" Me looked at me, tearfully.
"Of course," I smiled as I stepped halfway into the portal, "Farewell me!"
"Goodbye, I!" he sobbed, "I can worry without those sexy vampires, at last!"
"Sucker!" I smiled and stepped through.
"Wait, wha..." was the last thing I heard. | "No, you don't get it; the AMAZON RAINFOREST almost caught fire! It's the lungs of the earth! It would've been a disaster!"
"...almost?"
"Yeah, it was a real close call."
"...what about California?"
"...what do you mean?"
"Is California on fire?"
"...no."
"...Can you tell me who Jeffery Epstein is?"
"You mean the guy in prison who exposed all those pedophile rings?"
"What about the president? Who's the president of your America right now?"
"K-Keanu Reeves, why do you ask? What are you saying?"
"Okay, deep breaths...let's try an easy one. Historically, what happened to American slavery?"
"It was ended after a civil war, primarily due to the efforts of president Abraham Lincoln."
"Ok, ok...how did he die?"
"Peacefully in his bed."
"..." | 2019-12-18T04:36:27 | 2019-12-18T03:36:27 | 983 | 587 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal. | I lay still in a broken heap at the bottom of the staircase to our London penthouse suite. Zhang ran down the stairs screaming in shock, at the mass of limbs knotted and bent unnaturally. I imagined myself to look like a travelling carnival performer, the contortionist, like the ones they had some 90 years ago. I remember per chance coming across one of their performances a rare night out. Back then I didn’t like interacting with humans. My nostalgia was broken by Zhang, she was trying different tones and phrases to use when she eventually went to get help. She sobbed and asked if I was okay, I did not respond, I twitched my head and sputtered some saliva out of my mouth. This was an act so she didn’t try to ‘finish the job’, twisting my neck and the sort. Even though I was immortal, I still felt pain. Zhang composed herself and started to rehearse as she walked to the bathroom. I knew she was going to the mirror, she enjoyed the lighting there and was particularly vain. Spending on average an hour everyday in front of it. In front of it is where I assumed she did most of her scheming, waiting all these years though, just to act now. Was begining to think she'd stick it out for the long haul. But now I know it was just to throw off suspicion.
I guessed she would be prepping for what would be a visit by hotel staff and possibly a guest or two in one of the lower floors. She might also be rehearsing in her head what she was to tell law enforcement when they eventually made their appearance.
I took this moment to appraise her methodology. Gifting me those custom silk socks by Harry’s of London for our 3 year anniversary last night. Nice. She knew I loved to express myself through the socks I wear. Strategically asking I wear them out to dinner last night, knowing my habit to wear socks to bed. Clever. Timing to push me from the top of our staircase on the morning after our big drunken night out, inspired. Not to mention she was especially attentive and physically affectionate with me at all our favorite places. Something I'm sure our peers noticed.
After grooming herself, she made her way to the door calmly. Beginning a frantic dash, screaming down the hall to the elevator. I thought the makeup, especially the eyeliner, was a clever touch. She would no doubt say she slept with her makeup on after her late night, if the subject arose.
I guess now would be the right time to make my move…
*
She returned crying her heart out, eyeliner running down her face, kept upright by Mrs. Nildhamrong the sweet Thai lady who lived beneath us. Whose lovely demeanor and easily persuaded character attracted Zhang. I did not anticipate law enforcement and the paramedics to come in tow. I thought for sure she’d return with only a neighbour or health professional she found in the lobby. No matter, it made this moment all the sweeter.
I was dressed for another uneventful day ahead at the warehouse, with a hot breakfast prepared on the table. Some heated baked beans and fried eggs. With an espresso in hand I sat at the dining table near the kitche. I looked up from my breakfast wearing a face of surprise. I walked apprehensively and worried to Zhang and those in attendance. I feigned concern and worry, when really I wanted to show them all I was okay.
“What seems to be the matter, officer”?
The delicious look of shock on Zhang’s face was priceless. From disbelief she looked imploringly at the crowd she gathered in our penthouse, obviously unsure what to say. The paramedics were no doubt unimpressed and told her sternly that she would still be accountable for the emergency fee of 2000 pounds. The crowd turned their attention to Zhang, still stuck in a stupor. Then began to chatter amonst themselves. Mrs N. the Thai lady looked concerned and approached me, disengaging from Zhang who was now being questioned by the constable. Mrs N. whispered in my ear.
“She really thought she had you Jessie. ”
She smiled and turned to the crowd with her mask of concern as the officials lingered obviously to take statements and talk amongst themselves. All the while Zhang looked so perplexed, just wait till she saw me after some suicide attempts. Oh the fun we will have, soon my dear wife. Till death do us part. | Let me be frank. I know she's just not that into me. I know that my love for her will never be reciprocated or rewarded. That's alright. I don't need it to be. In 1000 years of undeath I've had more than my share of "one true loves". Sometimes, every few centuries or so, you just have to shake things up. Let yourself have a little fun. What better way to have fun then to watch this adorable blonde bitch try over and over to murder me, having no idea what I truly am?
It may seem strange to you, but honestly it's adorable. Reminds me of when I was a boy, trying to goat the King of the Franks into fighting me in a duel. I truly believed my little wooden sword had a chance to fell this mighty, chainmail clad warlord and gain the affections of his queen. Only...I think she is even more pathetic than I was.
I sleep next to this woman every night. I am inside her several times a week. All it would take is just one bite to steal away all her tomorrows. But where's the fun in that? Then I wouldn't get to enjoy her schemes, her attempts to feign affection for me, the myriad of brilliantly wicked ways she attempts to take my life away, to take what is her's.
For all her pathetic, worthless wiles, I fucking love this woman. I see myself in her, what I might have been were it not for that fateful night in Paris lo those centuries ago. I will protect her, nurture her, pleasure her, pamper her, ensure that she never wants for anything. And then, when and if she ever does cease her plotting, or when her attempts no longer amuse me, I will give her the ultimate privilege of being one of my spawn, to serve and pleasure me for all of my endless nights. She'll fit right in with the rest of them. I only hope she never discovers the basement. | 2019-07-31T10:17:57 | 2019-07-31T09:00:16 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You met God after death. God says you'll be sent to a world of swords and sorcery and grants you one wish. You wish for excellent aptitude in magic. He grants you all elements and a high magic stat. Then he... accidentally sent you back to Earth... with your new stats... this'll be fun. | I awoke sitting under a tree in a forest. It is a beautiful spring day. The wind is blowing gently and I hear birds singing. About twenty feet in front of me a dirt path goes left to right and disappears around a bend. I smile and mentally call up my character sheet. An image forms in my mind of my stats and abilities. I had asked to be a Sorcerer. A being with magic in his blood. I check to make sure my spells are ready. For Cantrips I chose: Light, Prestidigitation, Ray of Frost, and Shocking Grasp. My 1st level spells are: Shield and Magic Missile. I have all the starting equipment I asked for too. I stand up and look around. I am ready to start my new life of adventure!
Coming from around the bend I hear a familiar wooshing sound. I can't quite remember what it is but I know I've heard it before and it is coming closer very quickly. What should I do? I put my hand on my short sword but decide not to draw it. That might be too aggressive. I'll wait until I know what's going on. To my shock a man comes around the bend. He is wearing spandex, a helmet, sunglasses, and riding a bicycle. I don't even think he notices me as he zooms by and disappears out of sight. I am struck dumb by what I just witnessed. What just happened? Was that a memory? An apparition? I am confused. Shaking my head I start walking down the dirt path in the opposite direction the rider went.
After a little while on the path the forest thins out. I can't believe what I am seeing. Concrete sidewalks. Benches. Families having picnics. Joggers. The sounds of traffic in the distance. An airplane overhead. A city skyline. I am in a park! What is going on?! Did I just hallucinate an afterlife? No, I still have my adventurer gear. Did I have a psychotic break? I don't think so. I need more information. I formulate a plan. I ask a passerby for directions to the nearest public library. They are wary at first and try to move away but I explain that I am new here and lost my cell phone. I get a notification in my mind [Persuasion skill check: successful]. I thank my foresight for putting points into that skill earlier. After getting the directions I thank them and head to the library.
There I discover that I was back on Earth but it was five years later! What kind of a useless goddess sends someone to the wrong world and five years into the future?! I am both sad and glad that my friends and family moved on after my death. They are on the opposite side of the county so my chances of running into them are small. Trying to reconnect with them after all this time would be like opening old wounds. Not to mention I had asked to start over in a new life. But how do I start over? I had chosen my abilities with the idea I would be exploring dungeons and fighting monsters. If I had known I was going back to Earth I would have picked a different class, or at least different spells! My best spell now is probably Prestidigitation. It is ridiculously versatile and a Cantrip so I can cast it an unlimited number of times per day.
Sitting in the library I write down any information I feel I might need later in my journal. I think about what I am going to do. Maybe I could start a cult to worship my power. Or assassinate people with magic. I shake my head. No, I didn't want to become a villain. I'll figure something out. I head to the pawn shop to sell the few gold coins I had left over after buying equipment. The manager is suspicious but after another Persuade check he agrees to buy my coins although I don't get nearly as much money as I suspect they are worth.
I don't feel like spending what little money I now have on a hotel so I head back to the park. I have gear suitable to camping in the wilderness so a few days in a city park should be simple. I find a secluded spot and doze off but awake in the middle of the night. I feel a presence close by. Something is creeping up on me. I had taken the precautions earlier of sleeping with my short sword under my pillow. Drawing it in one hand I make a gesture with the other hand and say "Light!" in Draconic to cast the spell. A bright glow springs forth from the blade illuminating the area. A creature hisses and jumps back.
Jumping to my feet I look closer at my visitor. It looks like a man but his eyes shined with reflected light like an animal and his open mouth revealed sharp fangs. His fingers end in claws and his posture is hunched over. Other than that he looked ordinary. He is wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt.
"That was a good trick but it won't save you, human." He says.
"Don't come any closer or you'll regret it!" I shout brandishing my blade.
"Do you actually know how to use that thing or did you just buy it at the mall because it looked cool?" He asks with a wry grin. He licks his lips and starts moving closer.
"Magic missile!" I say in Draconic while shaping the spell with my free hand. Three bolt of magic fly from my hand toward him. He quickly jumps out of the way to dodge but my bolts unerringly track and strike him. He yelps and flails a bit.
"You stupid Mage! I was going to snap your neck so I could feed in peace but now I want to hear you scream!" He shouts and charges directly towards me.
"Shield!" I say in Draconic while hold up my hand. An invisible magic barrier forms just in front of me. He crashes into it and tries get his arms around it to claw me. Luckily he misses but now the situation is dire. I can't cast any more 1st level spells and my Shield will disappear in a second. I get ready to cast Shocking Grasp and hope he doesn't claw me in a vital spot.
Just then I hear someone say "Magic Missile!" in Draconic and I see six bolts of magic strike my attacker. He makes a gurgling sound as he slumps down onto the ground, dead. Looking around I notice a woman in a black pants suit above me. She is flying on a broomstick!
"Thank you for saving me! You can cast spells too?" I ask.
"Of course. You didn't think you were the only one did you?" She says with a smile.
"Yeah, actually. Until I was given these powers I thought magic was fictional." I say sheepishly.
"We work hard to keep it that way. I'm Agent Sarah Pru, Bureau of Supernatural Affairs. I'd like to ask you a few questions." She says as she flashes her badge. | The dim light flashed through my eyes and my view became more vivid.
**"Hey, you, finally awake"** the voice of the man lurking in the scattering screams of men and the sound of the gunfire tearing them apart.
**"Head down soldiers, find covers... Ambush on the high point. We're taking heavy fire, request......"**
The man was down as waves of bullets coming to our position. I turned my back off the ground, looked at the sky, the line Earth XX appeared and it faded out to take place for Vietnam.
The dialogue bar came up with the sound of a angry man.
**Ray: "Damn it, damn those Vietcongs, they f\*cking got our radio boy, we can't pass the border without artillery. Private Dover, come get the f\*cking connection and call for air strike or artillery, or everything they got, we'll cover you. Move your ass go!"**
Turned out, i was someone who called Dover and he was my captain. Easy enough, i didn't need to risk myself doing out there for a call. I can handle myself, easy... enough. I closed my eyes and the runic words with arcane lights began to run through my veins , a spark of ember begin to gather as an orb of fire on the right hand. The other hand opened to cast a Ward spell, a spell to protect the caster from magic and in this occasion, for the whole group of man. I threw the fire orb to where the fire came from, as it traveled through the air, it grew bigger to a meteor of flame.
**Ray: "Dear God, dear Mister Dover, what the f\*ck was that"**
The explode from my spell wipe our the whole area of woods, nothing can stand that Legendary Destruction spell, even the Grand Wizard who taught me this forbid me from using it, but that was emergency and such a chance to try it. But they were still shooting at us, the spell just only revealed themselves but not destroyed them.
I looked at the captain, tempting to say what the hell were them. But my words just couldn't come out, i couldn't speak but when i tried to scream, it burst into extremely loud voice which shook the ground and cracked the sky.
**Ray: "What the f\*ck are you?.... Soldiers, focus fire on them, on the high point."**
I was shocked as my spell didn't give them a damn scratch, but both side were giving heavy fire to each other, i saw their men were down as my men too. At the moment, a dialogue bar appeared, but it was in red.
**Phương: "Các đồng chí, đạn rát, kéo theo người bị thương, rút lui." ("Comrades, heavy fire, carry the wounded, fall back")**
**Đạt: "Anh em chạy đi, để tôi cảm đường bọn nó... đ\*t mẹ chúng mày" ("Comrades, run, leave me blocking their way... f\*ck you")**
My men kept firing at the open area which i just swept out by my spell, and their soldiers began to fall back. They escaped as we took the high point, we got 2 of their man and they got half of our regiment. A man of them was Đạt, he was wounded by the shot in his chest, nearly killed him, but not a single burn by the fire of which i casted upon them.
**Ray: "Finish him with what you casted or did with the ground, i want to see it again."**
Took the order, i left-hand casted a spell Soul Trap which appeared in a purple orb like the void and the other hand the white cold of Ice Spike spell. The arcane power surged through me as i tried to use all of my Magicka to cast them, to find out if it could affect on them.
Nothing happen.
My spells couldn't affect him nor harm nor leave a effect on him.
In the world where i learnt those magic, there was a race of men, whom spells can not be cast upon them but can be casted by them. Those are rumored to have the dragon skin and are talented to conjure powerful creatures. Those people were called Brenton in that world, and i was afraid that in this world, they are called Vietnamese. | 2019-06-09T05:59:39 | 2019-06-09T03:58:20 | 767 | 163 |
[WP] A dragon shows up at the adventurers' guild after hearing that humans will just GIVE away gold for something called a "quest." |
“What is all this?” Bartleby cocked his head at the very large, very ornate assignment board near the counter.
“That,” The clerk stated with her usual air of indifference “is the ‘Extra Special, Extra Important Assignment board.’ Reserved for only the most daring and experienced of adventurers.” She peered over her half-moon spectacles. “So, I suggest you step away.”
The young man snorted and turned to look back to the elven woman behind the counter. He was well-accustomed to being dismissed by her whenever he came looking for a job. Myrthwell was a rather sleepy town with few problems, and what little they had were quickly snapped up by the more established members of the adventuring guild. He wanted to move on to another town, but his travel funds were rather low.
“Special Assignments?” He said. “You must be joking! These are little more than chores and errands.” He gazed back at the large posters pinned neatly to the board. A few of which had even been framed behind glass. “Look at these. ‘Fetch a pail of well water,’ “Help locals cross the river.” He squinted at one of the framed postings with very bold lettering. “Read Nursery Rhymes aloud in Town Square to local youth…”
“All very important services.” The clerk answered, sorting through the guild’s stack of mail.
“ W-well, sure... but why are they reserved for -”
Outside the hall, a great thunderous sound shook the earth. Windows flew open, while plates and empty ale mugs rattled on the tables. Members jolted and looked to the doors.
The heavy doors of the guild hall burst open as clouds of blacksmoke rolled through the hall. Bartleby’s startled hand jumped to his sword. Some of the guild members milling about the jumped as well, but soon resumed to their business with little concern. The clerk only straightened her papers. A small smile forming on her lips.
“I HAVE COMPLETED MY TASK.” A voice bellowed through the smoke.
“Very good.” The clerk called back. “Do you have the confirmation documents?”
“INDEED.”
As the smoke settled a large, scaly head snaked in through the door. Sharp scales scraped against the door frame as a green, reptilian beast squeezed through. It took a moment to shake itself off, before lumbering through the hall up to the counter. Another cloud of smoke rolled from its nostrils, which the clerk fanned away with a stray envelope. Bartleby’s jaw dropped. A green dragon towered over him and the job counter.
The dragon lifted a claw and dropped a crumpled parchment onto the counter. Nodding, the clerk unfurled the document and glanced it over.
“Which quest was this for, again?”
“I WAS TO DELIVER A BASKET OF BAKED GOODS TO THE CARPENTER’S HOUSE, AS COMPENSATION FOR HIM FIXING THE WIDOW’S ROOF.”
“Mmm. A very noble quest, indeed.” She tapped the smudged pair of signatures at the bottom of the parchment. “And it seems the quest-givers are satisfied with the results. Excuse me as I fetch your reward.” Pulling a key from her pocket she turned and went to the locked door behind the counter. Bartleby waited in stunned silence for her to return, while the dragon simply sat back on its haunches. It’s great head bumping the iron chandelier.
The clerk returned with a small bag, and emptied it onto the counter. “Your compensation. Three coins as promised. Steam curled from the dragon’s mouth as its lips parted in a toothy grin. Yellow eyes glowed with glee. “THANK YOU.” It bellowed before carefully picking the coins from the counter.
“Oh by the way,” The clerk spoke up. “A new posting just came in. I haven’t had the chance to pin it, and I know you are \*so very\* busy these days, but since you’re here, would you care to see it?”
The dragon cocked its head before leaning closer to the counter. “YES, I WOULD.”
“Splendid.” Thin fingers plucked a document from the mail pile and slid it over to the dragon. The great beast murmured in rumbling tones as it read over the letter.
“LADY FAIRINGTON REQUESTS AN ESCORT TO ACCOMPANY HER TO HER AFTERNOON LUNCHEON WITH HER PLUSH COURT IN THE GARDEN.
Bartleby’s eye landed on the posting “It’s an invite to a tea party with the Duke’s niece!”
That comment earned Bartleby an icy glance from the elven clerk, but her demeanor quickly returned to a placid one as she addressed the dragon. “The young Master Branson is correct. The Duke’s niece is visiting, and is in need of some company for her garden party with her stuffed animals. Would you care to oblige?”
The dragon paused and glanced at the floor. “I AM UNACCUSTOMED TO HUMAN SOCIAL EVENTS. I AM UNSURE ON HOW I SHOULD BEHAVE.”
Something sparked within Bartleby, perhaps it was the shock of this whole afair, perhaps it was the longing for an adventure -any kind of adventure- but before he could think better of it the words escaped him.
“I have...some experience with such matters.”
“You \*do?\*” The clerk inquired.
Bartleby smiled. “I have little sisters. I’m well accustomed to tea parties.” Inhaling as deep as he ever had, and probably ever would, he addressed the dragon. “If you are unsure on how to conduct yourself at such a social event, might you be willing to... take some tips...or perhaps, lessons?”
The dragon fixed Bartleby with a long stare.
“You are offering lessons in tea party etiquette, Master Branson?” The clerk asked.
Flinching, Bartleby nodded.
He expected a sneer from her, what he got instead was something close to a smile. “It would be a shame to turn down Lady Fairington’s invitation, sir.” She said to the dragon. “Perhaps some lessons from Master Branson could remedy this.” She glanced at Bartleby before adding. “Of course you will have to compensate him for such a quest.”
The dragon glanced upwards at the ceiling, mulling the words over.
“I’VE NEVER POSTED A QUEST MYSELF. WHAT WOULD BE THE REWARD?”
“Three gold per lesson, is the usual rate.” The clerk answered.
“VERY WELL. LET US PROCEED!”
Before he could agree, green talons gripped his body as Bartleby was dragged out the door by the dragon.
“Farewell adventurers.” The clerk called . “And please remember to get those approval signatures!” | Us dragons don't make much money these a days. Ever since the famed battle of Urug-tral where dragons were defeated at the hands of wealthy tree-slayers, we've been unable to get our wings off the ground. Not in the same way, anyway. We get by. And it's not like we did not avenge our fallen. Indeed as history shows, the battle of tral-bak that followed, us dragons were victorious and our banners flew over the battlefield just as resplendent as ever.
Of course, years of internecine warfare and not to mention conflict with other spirits and dwellers has rendered us subject to the baloon economy of the land. To the best of my knowledge, it's the same everywhere. Young dragons, or otherwise, humans or orcs or even those misfit tree-slayers have a hard time supporting their brood. If the old beards are to be believed, this particular 300 year curse can only be lifted by the forest spirites working together. As far as that goes, we have a better chance of having rain in October.
So when I heard that humans were willing to give away gold for a quest at the near town, I donned my long cape and tom hat and came along. Times are tough, and dragons cannot be choosers. Only after hearing the quest did it make more sense. Indeed humans do not submit to the will of us nether world creatures for nothing. The gold would be delivered on the completion of the whole quest. The quest itself is in three parts. Not only do we have to infiltrate the shogun and disable their top samurai but we have to recover a precious jade artefact. The jade artefact has to be placed high in the Led mountains, inside a hidden temple to protect it from prying eyes. The artefact is worth far more than the quest put together, however it carries great magic inside it and must only be moved in the cover of night.
When we started for our cross-realm journey it did not feel it would be quite as terrifying as what was lying ahead. When we reached the gates of the shogun, stumbling across the town bazaar with teeming supplies and villagers, we shapeshifted and used magic to disguise ourselves as members of the Kirakawa clan, here to settle a monetary dispute.
Inside the shogun compound it was to be more difficult. Once we were acquainted with the priest. We presented our papers, which seemed paler now that we were in the presence of such a powerful sorcerer. Indeed if it weren't for our youthful exhuberance and charm, he might have seen right through us. Us dragons can pry into realms of magic however, and he seemed oblivious. Though I felt him gazing back in the dark of my mind.
We spent a few days at the temple. Completing paperwork. All the well. Drinking and partying late with the samurais was what kept us going through the ritual observances we had to follow during the day time. The samurais on their part were boisterous but without a keen sense of discernment. They seemed to be under a spell of the priest. Sleeping, watchful, terrifying warriors. We knew we could not fight all of them. This had to be done at night. We had to sneak out the next night.
As soon as the lamps were lit, we were out of our hammocks. Crossing the compound to the shogun's samurai's den. It wasn't difficult to coax him into a fight. We'd been drinking for a few days, and samurais are famed the world over for their willingness to fight. Even when the odds are against them.
Eventually we managed to restrain the old shogun and feed him a vial of poison. The poison wouldn't outright kill him but it would keep him out of it for at least a few hours giving us ample time to find the artefact.
Crossing the temple again and entering the chambers at night felt like cursing the moonlight. But we find the artefact, and take it with us.
Crossing back into the forest and back to our realm was both a relief and a terror. Terror at having restrained a samurai and having taken from a temple.
Eventually reaching the inn we were paid our due. The artefact was to be shifted the very next day. We're off. Our part was done. Now it was upto the humans at the inn to make the perilous journey up to their secret mountain and submit the artefact to the temple for safekeeping.
Gold for a powerful jade artefact. And a dead samurai. | 2020-06-08T15:31:30 | 2020-06-08T13:46:59 | 50 | 13 |
[WP] You join an expedition to Antartica and uncover a metal hatch in the ice. You go down the ladder and find a greeting room with lush red carpet and gold banners. A group of human looking beings greet you with an advanced piece of technology. It translates their question, “Is the ice age over?” | Richard looked at Julia. Then around the room. And back at Julia again.
Not only were they most likely the first couple to match on Tinder in Antarctica, they may have been the first couple to accidentally stumble upon extraterrestrial life on the Earth's coldest continent as well.
"Uhh," Richard stammered. "Uh, yea. Yea, it's 2014 and the Ice Age has been over for about 10,000 years."
One of the humanoid creatures, presumably the ringleader, looked curiously at Richard.
"10,000 years. Really? Is that how old you are?" the machine translated.
"I'm 32," Richard replied.
"I see," the humanoid said. "And how old are you?" the machine asked, as the ringleader beckoned towards Julia.
"I - I'm 29." She looked at Richard with a look of terror in her eyes and quietly mouthed, "Richard, where \*are\* we?"
But before he could respond the machine interrupted. "How did you find us?"
Richard turned and looked at the group of humanoids, who looked more curious than menacing. "Well, actually, your hatch was exposed."
"Exposed?" The technology piece translated their question. "But how? That's impossible. We were buried under ice and snow - at least 10 feet thick."
"Well, a lot has changed in the past 10,000 years," Richard replied. "In fact, the ice caps have been melting at an alarming rate. I believe your hatch was exposed because the rising temperatures of the planet have exposed your location.
"Wait, what?" Julia chimed in. "I would hardly say 'alarming'. If anything, the Earth's temperatures have been rising slightly over the past 20 to 30 years, but nothing to be alarmed about."
"Julia, are you being serious right now? There is surmounting evidence that humans have been the main contributor to the heating up of the planet."
"Oh, really? Then why, in the 1970's, was there a worldwide panic about global cooling? You're telling me that in 50 years we went from cooling the planet to cooking it?"
"Oh my God. Are you seriously a climate change denier?" Richard clamored.
"Denier? Hardly. I'm literally down here on a science expedition. And unlike you, I don't believe that the 'science is settled' and that humans have far bigger problems to be worrying about than the temperature of the planet."
"Oh really? Like what? Because I'm pretty sure if the earth gets any warmer, we're not going to have a planet to live on."
"Richard, that's ridiculous. The planet has been much warmer in the past than it is today, and people survived just fine. I am just not going to believe that a man who made a faulty hockey stick chart, lives in a mansion and burns more electricity than the average American ever will, and who has been profiteering off of questionable scientific methods should be trusted. And science is never settled. That's not how science works. Besides - "
"ENOUGH!" the machine shouted. "Do you 2 always fight like this?"
"We've known each other for 11 hours," Richard muttered, glaring at Julia.
"We're not here to solve your relational conflicts. We have far more pressing issues if the hatch has been exposed."
"Right, like the planet melting," said Richard.
"No," the machine said. "No, something much worse than that. You humans aren't very bright, are you? Haven't you been studying the stars or the sun? Has any of the ancient knowledge been passed down to you? You're worried about the weather?"
"Well, to be fair," started Julia, "The record keeping over the past 10,000 years has been spotty at best. Lots of rising and falling of empires, entire civilizations destroyed, natural disasters, plagues... we're discovering buried cities all of the time."
"Let us tell you about the impending fate of this planet," the machine said. "But first, something to drink."
Two of the humanoids got up to presumably fetch beverages. Richard and Julia looked around nervously, and the ringleader beckoned them to take a seat in the circle. They hesitantly took off their jackets and joined the humanoids on one of the plush gold love seats.
They sat in an awkward silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the humanoids returned with what looked like 2 mugs of tea. Richard smiled at Julia nervously. He lifted up his drink toward here. "Cheers?" He questioned. She lifted her mug in return. "Cheers," she smiled. Whatever the drink was, it smelled and tasted delicious.
"We're going to show you a video of our history, how we got into this hatch, and the danger that we're in."
A screen began to lower out of the ceiling and a video of the humanoid civilization began to play. Julia's eyes started to get heavy. Richard felt himself nodding off.
\---
Julia awoke to the muffled sound of Richard's screams coming from the room next door. She tried to get up, but realized that she was strapped down to a cold, metal table.
"Goddamit," Julia thought to herself. "I knew I should've swiped left." | “Ah, yes.”
Calvin Reese looked at the group, all clad in thick purple robes. On their heads were headpieces if a very unorthodox fashion, with large tendrils emanating out to the sides.
Reese continued to look at the group with bewilderment. What a peculiar question, what an unusual place to reside. Deep under the thick slabs of ice in Queen Maud Land.
“...but you surely knew that.”
The unusual group laughed, and the leader spoke once again. He was the tallest, and most chiseled of the group. His skin had an unusual blueish tint to it, giving him a strangely ethereal quality.
“Of course we did. Has the New Age not begun yet?”
Reese’s fellow researchers twittered with anticipation and curiosity, leaving him to do the talking.
“What do you mean by this? Are you down here for refuge?”
They smiled, revealing teeth crafted out of a metallic material.
“Some oranges help others. We are the oranges, who shall surprise all by surviving the Great Frost, to see the New Age.”
He beckoned to his compatriots, one of which who went over to the wall and flipped open a panel, pressing down on several buttons.
Bright orchestral music filled the room.
“Prokofiev. “For The Love of Three Oranges”. Our anthem in this cold, citric wasteland.”
Clayton Olansky has been watching from the back, one of the four researchers who ventured the half-mile from Sonreir Post to this barren ice plain, and he had been jotting down notes the whole while. Now, he tapped Reese on the shoulder.
“Mr. Reese, this is government land, and these people should not be here. Period.”
He lowered his voice to a whisper.
“The embassies shall have to hear about this.”
Reese laughed, and punched Clayton in this face with all his might, breaking his glasses and drawing blood from his lip. He reeled back in pain, while the other three researchers split up to both restrain Reese and support Clayton.
“You bastard, what the fuck is wrong with you!?”
Clayton spluttered as he held his broken glasses together and attempted to stand.
The tall blue-tinted man tutted judgmentally.
“Oh, language, you fucking moron, language. I don’t tolerate cursing.”
Reese attempted to rush Clayton again, by trying to throw off his fellow researchers, who had firmly grasped his shoulders in an attempt to prevent any further injury.
“Reese, what the hell was that!?”
The tall blue-tinted orange produced a pistol loaded with citric acid, and vaporized the researchers.
“Oh, for the love of three oranges.”
An acolyte closed the hatch, and others got to work cleaning the pool of melted biological matter. Those were some strong oranges. | 2018-07-23T07:17:08 | 2018-07-23T04:13:46 | 161 | 39 |
[WP] You hear a knock at your door. When you open it, you find your archnemesis sprawled out just past the threshold, battered, bruised, and very clearly only hanging onto life by a thread. "Sorry. It's just ... I didn't know where else to go" they mutter as you look down at them. | “Sorry. I just…. I didn’t know where else to go.” I stared at the man, who was so much more than a man. A god in flesh. Near invulnerable. So righteous. His costume, in tatters, blood slowly seeping from wounds. His breathing is heavy, heartbeat is rapid. Not dying, but his healing, which was always prodigious, had slowed. Something new, or something very, very old. I’ve not seen or heard of anything that could do something like this. It was a sight I’d always hoped to see, but at my hand, not… someone else’s.
Helios. The hero with the power of the Sun. Broken like a shattered lamp.
I step out the door, looking around, then pick the man up by his ridiculous cape and drag him in. He grunts in pain, but no other sound escapes. Well, he’s still tough, I’ll give him that. A bit more gently I set him on the Lazy Boy in the corner, and turn the TV down.
I could snap his neck, tear off his head with a flick of my wrist. It would be easy, I’ve never seen him so tired, so out of sorts. Not even after our week long battle in the volcano.
No, he came here. To my home. Homes were… well, not sacred, not for monsters like me, but for heroes? You just didn’t go after one in their house. It broke the rules that no one ever read, but always knew to follow. That he risked this, here, meant something bad.
“Beer?” Helios blinks at me, then nods. There’s a little less fear in his eyes, now. He knew the risk he was taking. As much as I called him a stupid moron, he wasn’t. Just the shit talk of the game. I guess I should come up with some better invectives next time we fight.
I set one cheap can of beer down next to him on the stand, and crouch to get a good look at him.Yeah, already healing. The cut on his head is scabbing over already, though the sheeting of blood across his face isn’t going anywhere. His breathing is better, his heart isn’t racing anymore. He opens it, and clinks it to mine when I offer. We drink. He drinks his fast, like a man dying of thirst… or someone needing some alcoholic lubrication to comprehend what he’d been through.
He takes a deep breath, then says, “Desolation, I-“
I thump my tail on the hardwood and raise one set of claws to interrupt him. “Drink. Get cleaned up. Talk later. Unless you can guarantee this won’t end in us trying to kick the shit out of each other.”
He fell silent, the perfect teeth clicking shut. See? Smarter than he looked.
“Shower’s down the hall, to the left. Don’t hit the yellow button, that’s the acid wash.”
It’s about thirty minutes later when he comes out of the bathroom, back in costume. Costume has been scrubbed a bit, and he looks more like his old self. Looks more like the god I fight every few weeks, and not the weak human I saw on my porch.
I offer another beer, which he takes, and opens it. I open mine, and he takes a slower sip, this time. Considering, weighing. I can’t help but lash my tail in excitement. The monster in me, maybe. I want to tear this man apart, but there’s the other thing. Something managed to do what I was supposed to do. What I’ve been wanting to do for so long. Break Helios. There’s a new Apex Hero or Villain out there, which means I’ve got a new target. I can’t help but grin, showing my fangs to Helios.
“Now, tell me all about who kicked the shit out of you. Because that’s my job.” | I felt like I wasn’t meant to see this. “John?” I called and the hooded man’s head jerked up, just enough for me to see he was clearly beaten up.
”What are you doing here, you bastard?” I growled.
John seemed to tremble, he didn’t dare meet my eyes. “Sorry. It’s just…I didn’t know where else to go.” he murmured.
”Hm what about you house, ol’ mighty lord?” I suggested. A soft laugh escaped John’s lips.
”I’d rather be here right now,“ he said in a whisper. “The situation there…isn’t pretty.”
I rolled my eyes as I knelt down. “Well then, you’re in my territory, Johny Boy.”
”Glad to know.” he muttered, lifting his head a little more. I ran my hand across John’s face and I felt the bumps. When I looked clearly, I saw his face was black and blue with some traces of blood running down his forehead.
”Who did this to you?” I asked.
”No one.”
”Did you do it to yourself, idiot? Tell me who did it.”
”I said no one, so back off.”
”I’ll throw you right outside if you don’t tell me.”
John‘s eyes widened. “It…it was my mom, she’s a little drunk right now, but—”
”Tsk get on the couch.”
”Will you beat me up too, Aaron?”
”I’ll patch you up, stupid.”
\[Ran out of ideas in the end, I’m sorry TwT\] | 2022-06-29T09:55:57 | 2022-06-29T05:45:23 | 484 | 227 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | The Time-Traveling Assassins League, or T-TAL as it was known, was established soon after it was discovered that time travel didn't effect our timeline. It's goal was to kill the most notorious criminals throughout the history in the most creative, complex, and often gruesome ways and had only two rules:
1. Kill the target
2. No sabotaging your opponent.
3.a. Regular Season Kill Time Limit is 3 months
3.b. Final Kill Time; indefinite
In the professional league you could work alone or as a team, though working alone was almost unheard of now a days . The two teams would go head to head (though in separate timelines) and were judged by a combination of the popular vote and the scoring of overall creativity, historical impact, and complexity by professional judges. The loser was out for the season. Each team was . At the beginning of the killing season (as it was called), the teams could kill anyone they wanted. But near the end of the season, when most of the other teams were out, the kill list was narrowed to any notorious criminal in a specified time period (i.e WWII). The Final Kill was determined by owner of T-TAL.
The league began with a group of rich kids who had too much time on their hands and their parents time machines. On the weekends they began competing to see who could kill the bully of the week or that asshole teacher. As time went on the game grew and eventually had a cult following and the assassin’s league started. During the early years the murder and suicide rate exploded, the government tried to intervene but there wasn't much they could do. But after an official league with rules and regulations was created, and the murders became televised and more focused on notorious killers and the atrocities they committed, a strange thing happened. All violent crimes virtually stopped. Humanity didn't like to see its ugly face in the mirror, nor did anyone want to end up being a famous target. The sad part is, only one of the original T-TAL members was alive to see the peace they created. All the others killed themselves.
Fifteen years. Fifteen years was all it took for T-TAL to become the powerhouse corporation it is today. It's owner was the last founding member and, coincidentally, your narrator. At 29, I was the youngest billionaire and most influential man in the world. I write the rules, I decide who the Final Kill would be, and as long as a season was going, I had the full attention of the world. This, of course, excluded those in the Final Kill who decided to play the long con. There is still a guy who has been in the Roman Empire for 5 years, waiting to kill Emperor Nero (less fun than I originally expected). He surprisingly has a pretty strong cult following. As I’ve become accustomed to this power and authority, and since I have weld it so responsibly, I believe it is my duty to ensure I stay at the top. But the past few years a team known as the Berlin Strikers has been trying to undermine me and overtake the league. Trying to unionize all assassins, trying to turn the people against me, trying to buy out the shareholders, but they forget exactly who I am. And this year I intend to remind them.
At the beginning of this season I disguised myself and secretly enrolled with the pro’s and worked my way up to the Final Kill, as had the Berlin Strikers. I had placed a proxy in my stead, allowing him to pick the FK this year, but on one stipulation, he had to pick two. Two notorious killers within the same era. As promised he picked two, though unoriginal, very interesting picks. Adolph Hitler and Joseph Stalin. What made this so interesting was that depending on your timing of the first kill, the timeline for the second kill will be completely changed. Any historical knowledge you have will be rendered useless for the second kill.
The time had come, I stepped up to my platform, dressed in my USSR Officer uniform. I had decided to begin with Stalin first, right at the start of the Great Purges in 1934. Based on the Striker’s peasant clothing, they decided on some sort of Soviet uprising. Amateurs. I stepped through my timeline and felt the nostalgic pull and twist pf time travel. A feeling I had not felt since me and the remaining founders swore it off after the second suicide. I smiled as I landed in a brisk Russian winter and I turned on my universal translator. This wasn’t going to take long. My plan was simple, I was going to prey on Stalin’s paranoia until it killed him. As for Hitler, that’s a surprise.
I took out my list of those killed in the purges and began. I instilled my face with everyone on that list, making sure Stalin associated me with every person he saw as a threat to his regime. Each time I reappeared down the timeline I saw his face become more angered, and something else. What is that? No matter, I continued with the plan. Only four stops lefts. The first was early July 1939, I went up Stalin’s foreign minister Vyacheslav Molotov and whispered into his ear while Stalin watched. Vyacheslav Molotov was supposed to negotiate a peace agreement with Germany but as I ran out and punched in my next location, I heard a gunshot and knew that wasn’t going to happen. My next jump was a week later in Hitler’s office where I placed a letter from “Stalin” insisting the agreement should be made between the two of them and their top advisors and then did the same with Stalin. With the meeting’s time and date set, I had my final destination.
At the meeting between the two groups, the Soviets and the Nazis, I changed into my second set of clothes; a Nazi officer uniform. I made myself seen to Stalin right before the agreement was signed. He stopped dead, he looked at me, mouth gaping. Slowly, he stood and pointed, saying, “Y-you…I know you. You have been plotting against me for years.” He turned to Hitler, who looked as shocked as any, and said, “YOU have been plotting against me, weakening the Soviet State. You have brought me such despair and heartache. Many good comrades died because of your deception. And you expect me to have peace with your empire?! No.” And with that Stalin took his pistol and killed Hitler. At this the room burst out in gun fire, Stalin being the first to die. At that I was automatically teleported back to the present. I was created by a thundering applause within the stadium. A near perfect score across the board, and the Strikers had barely began their uprising. But something of what Stalin said had stuck with me and I finally realized the look on his face. It was despair…he realized there was no hope for him and his reign. That someone would always be trying to overthrow him, to take control. A sudden rush of realization came over me. I was just like Stalin and Hitler and all other tyrannical leaders, and it was only a matter of time before I began my massacres. With this I threw off my disguise, ignoring the gasps of the crowd, took out my revolver, and shot myself. And for the first time for a long time, I was at peace. | Everyone wants to kill Hitler but they can't quite do it right. The first time traveler decided to kill Hitler, right as the war was ending, via cyanide. Okay, sure, the suicide staging was pretty sweet, but the poor guys who had to live and die through it all probably wouldn't have appreciated it.
So later on, a few years later in my time, a time traveler decided to kill him as he was watching a play. It turns out he managed to kill some other guy instead. How he managed that, I'll never know, but ever since then, we've all been a little leery of time travel assassinations. The technology isn't cheap, as it costs us a good few quintillion dollars each time. Then again, with inflation these days, that isn't much.
In the bars, when the night's almost over, we all like to talk about ways to kill Hitler again, the proper way. One guy suggested we put him in his own gas chambers for the irony, another suggested we take out little Hitler before he showed his true evil. Somebody suggested that we kill his father, Alois Hitler, and another took it one step further and kill his grandfather, Johann Georg Hiedler.
I liked this idea, but maybe a little too much. It didn't occur to me at the time, but his ancestors are innocents in this war, just as much as the ones who died at the hands of the monster himself. But hey, when you're rich and you've got all the robots you need, what's left to do other than play god? So I went back in time, to the year 1800, to kill Grandfather Hitler.
What you should know is that, when we go back in time, we can bring certain objects with us, as long as they're relatively uncomplex. We can bring guns, but they have to be completely dismantled. We could bring gunpowder, but we couldn't bring modern bullets. I really don't know who makes up these rules; sadly, the technology is too new for scientists to have time to study it properly yet. Unlike those kooky movies from the 90's and 2000's, we could bring our own clothes, but the buttons and velcro wouldn't stay with us, even if it already existed in the area that we were time traveling to.
So I brought the simplest clothes I could find - my [Jaws 19 promo t-shirt](https://www.lastexittonowhere.com/media/cache/96/ca/96cabcf0b211fe185b49fd1bf8379d74.jpg), and the plainest pants I had. Keep in mind that in my time, logos have completely taken over all of our clothing and objects. We stopped making plain shirts in the 2000's, and the big companies managed to finally pass a law preventing us little people from making our own clothes - or anything else, for that matter.
With my disassembled gun and a map of Austria, I set out to find my target. Immediately, I ran into a few hitches in my master plan of blindly time traveling here with a gun. I don't know the language, I don't know where my target is, and I've never made a bullet in my life. All things that I probably could have learned in the time of The YouTube and The Google, but in my time, hackers had long since taken over the Internet and called it their own. So shortly after assembling the gun, I went to a time traveling station, one of the many locations made around the world for time travelers (and only time travelers) to return to their own time. My mission was a failure before I had even started, but it wasn't like it was that big of a deal. I figured I would go back later when I was more equipped for the mission, like another trip to the grocery store.
Now the problem is, I forgot to disassemble the gun. It didn't disappear, but rather stayed in the time period that I left, a diner that was to be the reverse time travel location in Austria. So when I traveled back, imagine my surprise when I found that the whole world was already owned by Hitler. His symbols, his face, and his evil permeated my once-peaceful world. Apparently, his grandchildren had taken over where he left off, after they took control with the use of a futuristic gun that was recreated in mass quantities after I left. Nobody knew how the weapons were obtained, but I knew. In shame, I used my last time travel, a portable disassembled in my bag. But in my hurry to get out of the time period that I had inadvertently built, I came to the year 2000 instead of 1800. Now, 16 years after the last known time travel in history and time, I still tell my story to those who will keep fighting, hoping that the future that I destroyed can one day be repaired again. | 2016-02-20T11:27:06 | 2016-02-20T09:11:19 | 30 | 19 |
[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... | When my parents turned 18, they summoned each other. That rarely happens, and when it does, it happens for the people who are really destined to be together. It saves them the trouble of matchmaking and forced marriage. But, like I said, it happens once in fifty years, maybe more. The people who got lucky enough must've been very innocent and clean-spirited. It's pretty hard to stay that way in my village. Especially if you're from the lower class. My parents stringed through, though. Happens.
Well, I'm far from kind and innocent, so I won't summon my soulmate. I'll probably summon a useful thing, like a book, or an animal. Most girls get large spinning wheels, or extra warm blankets. Boys get specifically designed weapons, or... well actually nothing else. I would've felt sorry for them, but women are so suppressed in our village that it evens out, and then goes far beyond balance.
My village is horrible. Well, mostly for the lower class. The higher classes have a luxurious life, with plenty of food and drink, warm clothes, books. But you do occasionally hear screams of higher class girls who landed abusive husbands. They still have it easier though; they only have to see their husbands at night. The women of my class have it harder. They don't even scream anymore. The womem who try to escape... let's just say nobody tries anymore.
I turned 18 today, and now I'm standing on the pedestal where it all happens. The moon or the sun should align or something (I don't really listen when my dad talks about our religion), and it should happen within 10 seconds. So, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2? 1?
Everyone stares at me. Nothing happens. I'm getting nervous second by second. A minute passes. 2 minutes. My parents shoot worried lookd at me. I know people are getting confused. That's bad. You wouldn't like to upset the community. That would mean you're different. Maybe people will think you're a witch.
But then, my prayers are answered and there's something dark visible within the clouds. It's falling, and I can't look directly on it because of the sun. And what do you think? My summoned gift falls directly on my head. A few people laugh, and that releases the tension. I sigh, relieved, and examine the gift.
It's a dead bird.
The laughs stop, as people acknowledge what I have in my hand. I'm terrified myself. My mother let's out a barely audible gasp. My father is telling her to calm down, a little aggressively. I guess the other men did influence my father in the end.
As I try to gather my thoughts, I hear people debating on what to do with me. The men are gathered in a circle, and the women stay aside, scared. My father is trying to settle things somehow, but I know it's useless. I'll be declared a witch and probably killed. The sound of men arguing is becoming louder. I look at the poor creature in my hand. It's a sparrow. I stare at it, and feel my heart beating stronger and stronger. Then, the bird stirs. I wipe my eyes, and yes! It's alive! It gets up on its tiny feet, and takes off. I see it swiftly glide through the air. Then, I can barely hear it over the beating of my heart, a voice somewhere in the crowd of people, or maybe in my mind says something.
"Run."
And I do. Right after my sparrow. | It’s my eighteenth birthday party. My mom skateboards out of the hallway with a cake. My father has been dead for 10 years because the town bully punched him to death. We both cry over this. We eat the cake. I have no friends because I am too unique and moody for friends. I only have a pillow pet to keep me company.
My mom tells me “Son it is time for you to open your hand and wait for your soulmate to break through the window”. She pulls out her soulmate, a rubber duck. She says” Son, this rubber duck did not help me fight off your fathers attacker and I am so ashamed for it”. I hope you get something good.
Nothing came and it made me very sad. I walk around town with hand open for days. Eventually town bully who killed my Father walks up to me and says “ I am going to punch you in the head to death just like I did your father”. He starts beating me up. My mom throws her soulmate to no avail.
I almost die but then I hear something coming. I reach my hand up to the sky waiting for my soul mate. Everyone in town is terrified when they see a Boing 747 plummeting out of the sky. It lands on me and explodes, killing everyone in town. The end. | 2019-09-18T09:06:39 | 2019-09-18T08:47:50 | 125 | 23 |
[WP] The commute of a man who can see how people will die.
EDIT: Just woke up and holy CRAP this exploded! I'm reading through all the stories now and they're great! | It was just another day. That's all they were anymore. Days. They didn't have names or numbers, reasons or methods. It was just time slowly passing by. Every day was different, and yet every day was exactly the same. The commute was the worst of it, but not for the traffic. Not for the crowded buses or uncomfortable subways. Not for the cold and bitter coffee or the stale and tasteless bagel. It was the worst because of the dreams.
He had given up trying to drive to work, and had almost given up trying all together. But there was one thing that kept him waking up every day. Hope.
It seems cliched and over simplified. It sounds pedantic and meaningless. To most, hope isn't enough. But to this man, hope was all he had left. He had sat in the same seat, on the same bus, in the same city, for over twenty years. Every day was an adventure. Every day, a nightmare.
On the outside, his life was like any other: unassuming, mundane. Inside though, it was chaos. Every day that he boarded that 29 bus was another day he had to walk through hell. It had been this way all his life, for as long as he could remember.
As a child, he attributed it to his over-active imagination. His mother blamed television. His father blamed his mother. His teachers blamed everyone they could.
The medication didn't help and the counseling only made him feel insane. But it was real. Every day that he stepped onto that bus was another opportunity for him to lose his mind. He forced himself to take the same bus, at the same time, every day so that the pain was less.
He likened it to watching a movie more than once. The ending isn't as surprising and the story less jarring. The suspense goes away and the characters become one-dimensional. The easiest ones for him were the quick ones. The car accidents and the heart attacks. The passionate murders and the happy accidents. Those didn't stick with him.
The first time he saw the old lady in the front row die, it made him cry. He watched as she slowly wasted away in the back room of a hospital without so much as a visitor. He watched as her eyes slowly sunk in and the fear swallowed her color.
She thought she had come to terms with death, lying on that bed for six months will do that to a person. But when her heart slowly stopped and each breath became harder to catch, she was afraid. She was alone and she was afraid. Her worst fear was nothing like this. This was so far worse. She was ready for the pain to be over, but she wasn't ready for the panic to start.
As he sat in the back of the bus, watching her grasp for every button or lever she could grab, he realized something. He'd watched her die, cold and alone, once a week for the last ten years, but this time was different. He spent the next stops trying to figure out what was different. She was still dying, but this time it felt panicked. It felt more jarring. The slip into eternal sleep wasn't smooth. It was rough, jagged, and paved with terror.
As his stop approached, he realized exactly what it was. There was someone in the back of the room, hiding in the shadows, behind the machines. There was a person smiling to themselves as they watched this old woman die. As the woman took her final breath, they walked out from behind the shadows and calmly placed the power cord onto the bed.
He then watched himself turn, smile, and walk out the door.
| Transit rides have always been a tricky business for me.
They usually start as I hand my change over to the bus driver. If the man’s eyes are closed and he has a peaceful smile on his face it means I have the go ahead to board. If a twisted mangled corpse occupies his seat I wait for the next bus. When I do find a suitable driver the next step is finding a seat among the pile of corpses. This can sometimes be difficult. If it’s a good day I’ll find a seat next to someone who’s died of cardiac arrest. If it’s a bad day… sky diving malfunction.
By now I’ve grown used to the sights. When I was young I would still scream if a headless corpse asked me the time of day. My parents (heart attack, car crash) have also grown used to it. That being said, they’re used to the results of my condition, they don’t believe the cause. Principal’s office, police station, psychiatric ward, everywhere a corpse would ask me “How does that make me feel?”, a grinning skull would tell me sternly “You’re in a lot of trouble.”, a crushed body would say “Two doses should do it I think.”.
Everywhere is a parade of the dead. Which is why it doesn’t frighten me anymore. Death isn’t something to be afraid of, we all live with it every day of our lives.
You’d understand that too if you rode transit with my eyes.
| 2013-10-16T12:12:15 | 2013-10-16T11:45:51 | 45 | 33 |
[WP] The year is 1492, Columbus has just arrived in the Americas. But instead of finding savage Indians, he finds their technology has surpassed the Europeans.
I've always wondered what would of happened if the Indians would have had better technology than the Europeans...
*I understand that the Indians were not savages* | "Hey! India! How are you guys?"
Chief Slap on the Mountain shook his head at the white guy stepping out from the boat. "This is not India, dude."
"It's not?"
"Nope."
"Shit", the white man said. "What is this place?"
"We don't really have a name for it."
"Huh…" The man looked left and right all around the beach and up to the blue sky above. "We'll take it."
"It's not really for sale."
The white man frowned. "But... can't we just... take all this shit?"
"No", Mountain said. "Not really, no. But you're welcome to use it with us." Chief Mountain smiled.
"Nah, that's… That really doesn't sound like us. We want to – like – just take everything and kill you all. How does
that sounds?"
"No, I don't think that works at all, dude", Mountain said. "We like it here."
"Yeah, yeah", the white man said, pushing Mountain aside. "Just… step out of the way. Come on guys!"
Other pasty white men jumped out of the boats and went rushing by the chief and his friends, scouting left and right. Looking around. Talking to each other. Grabbing things from the floor.
"Look, man", Mountain started, catching up to the white man, "there's a lot of space here, if you could just –"
"We kind of want everything", the white leader said. "So we can build a prosper nation here."
"Bro, I know what happens if you do your thing", Mountain said. "We are actually pretty evolved. We ran the calculations."
The white man turned to face Mountain. "Calculations?"
"You go down that path – you start building railroads and mines and then highways and skyscrapers and all that –"
"What's a skyscraper?"
"—and pretty soon you'll end up overcrowded, sick, stressed out and watching X Factor eating Cheetos waiting
around to die."
"Cheetos?"
"We ran the numbers. That's what happens if we go down the path of technological evolution. Which is why we
decided to hang around naked, fuck each other and eat fruit from the tree."
The white man considered this for a second. "Huh..."
"I'm telling you. Take off your clothes and join us. It's for the best."
"What about –"
"Cars bring pollution. Jobs make your heart run so fast it just stops and you die", Mountain explained. "Gold makes you kill each other, and God forbid you start developing agriculture and livestock past the very basic."
"What happens?"
"Hot Pockets", Mountain whispered, in a low, dark voice.
Again, the white man made a face like he was considering all this.
"You know what?" He said, finally. "I think we're gonna go ahead and kill you all anyway."
Mountain nodded. Then he turned around and shouted, to the forest behind them. "Bring the tanks!"
And four seconds went by, and then the first tank rolled from between the leaves and trees and bushes of the
forest. Then the second one. Then the third.
"What the hell?" The white man said, as every one of his friends stopped dead on their feet. "You said you chose
to stay savages! You said you chose not to develop technology!"
"Yeah", Mountain said. "We *chose* to. Doesn't mean we didn't know how to do it." He gestured at the tanks,
green-lighting the attack with a hand wave. "Explode the idiots", he said.
And so they did.
______________________
*Thanks for reading! Check out more of my stories at /r/psycho_alpaca =)* | October 12. The voyage had been long and hard on Columbus and his crew, but sighting land made it seem like a long forgotten past. The destination now close, they found renewed vigor, for the passage to India had been found.
He ordered his men to make for a harbor they could see before them, and get ready to make landfall. Shortly there after, one of his men called down to him, that boats where approaching, and he should take a look at it himself.
Columbus walked to the fore deck and saw three small boats in the water, moving at an incredible speed. He could not make out sail or oar, yet here they where, fast approaching his ship. As they approached, he began to hear a loud, buzzing sound.
The men on the ship started to get panicky, for surely these ship moved by witchcraft, and the occupants must be demons or the like. Several of them went to the arms locker and returned with rifles, making them ready to shoot.
The occupants of the small boats noticed the action, and slowed their approach.
"(Why do these people come into our harbor, and now prepare some primitive weapons to fire? Have we missed notice of some historical show?)" | 2015-05-29T13:28:15 | 2015-05-29T13:17:42 | 101 | 10 |
[WP] You hear background music which changes according to the situation you're in. This time when arriving home, instead of the relaxing and joyous music, it is completely silent. | Arthur heard a faint somber tune while working at his desk, notes plucked on wistful strings, the sound was faint but distinct. He got up and searched for its origin, stopping just outside Eugene’s cubicle where it was almost unbearably loud, “Hey, Eugene?”, the tune quickly scrambled, and a few harmonious notes played.
The big-boned man quickly put a picture frame down on his desk and swiftly wiped the corners of his eyes, spinning in his office-chair to face him, “Arthur?”
The somber tune quickly mixed with a happier melody, but was still underpinned by a subtle melancholy, “We haven’t hung out in a while, Eugene,” Arthur paused, “Why don’t you come over to my place, have a couple of beers with me? We should catch up.”
Eugene appeared a little shocked by the sudden proposal, they hadn’t really talked for the past few weeks, he smiled, “I’d like that, Arthur. I’d like that very much,”
“I’ll come by your desk after I’m done here! Give me thirty minutes,”
Arthur smiled back, “Sounds good,” he noted that the sad tune was no longer the main part of the melody.
After roughly thirty minutes, Eugene came by his desk, and after some small talk they commuted by bus back to Arthur’s place. Arthur lived in a small house by himself on the outskirts of the city, it wasn’t much, but it was his own. A wooden house painted red with white window frames, and a black-tiled roof.
They had begun catching up during the forty-minute bus route, talking all the way past the small path that led up to Arthur’s door, but now Arthur fell silent on the steps of his home, it was quiet.
“What’s wrong, Arthur?” Eugene asked, slightly concerned by the serious look on Arthur’s face.
“It’s… quiet.”
“Yeah? This far from the city-center, I’m not surprised. Hurry up and open the door already, it’s freezing out here!” white mists forming at Eugene’s short ragged breaths.
He didn’t understand the significance, of course, how could he? But Arthur knew that it was *never* quiet. He didn’t remember one single day of reprieve. The music never stopped, unrelenting tunes always playing to the soundtrack that was his life. Something was wrong, and he wasn’t quite sure on how to proceed.
“Eugene, I’m sorry, I need you to stay here for a moment while I check something,”
“What the hell, Arthur?”
Arthur turned the key and stepped into his house, nothing appeared to be out of place. Maybe just a fluke? He froze after entering his living room, noting the semblance of a figure sitting in his favorite reading chair with his peripheral vision. The darkness of the room partially obscured the stranger.
“You must be Arthur,” the man grinned as muffled screams could be heard from the outside.
*****
End of part 1? I'll continue if there's interest. In any case, thanks for reading, everybody! | As I sat in my car I realized something was different, but I couldn't quite place what it was. I was just driving. Following the same road I followed everyday. It had been a long shift and I was looking forward to getting home, taking a shower, and crashing into bed.
That's when I realized, it was silent.
There wasn't any music in my head, there wasn't anything in my head. It was just me and my task.
After having ADHD for all of my life I was calm. It was easy for me to focus on the road, the soft turns and stop lights were all that was on my mind. The pills must be working. | 2018-12-22T00:24:35 | 2018-12-21T22:48:27 | 377 | 54 |
[WP] The demon that tried to strike a deal with you was absolutely not prepared for the level of specificity you've prepared to make sure there are no loopholes for him to abuse. | I surveyed the vaguely evil-looking man in the business suit. His jet-black hair was slicked back, his goatee meticulously trimmed. I had the impression that his suit was alarmingly expensive, though I know very little about fashion and I suppose I could have been wrong. He had a small, centimeter-long scar beneath his left eye. He was handsome, in a roguish sort of way. He looked like a mobster with just a touch of OCD thrown into the mix. Or perhaps like a very clean-cut Captain Jack Sparrow.
"I want a marble," I said.
He emanated an evil laugh. "Your wish is my -- wait. What?"
"A marble. I'd like a marble," I repeated.
He looked at me with an expression of bewilderment, sucking his teeth for a moment before speaking carefully. "Just to be clear, you wish to surrender your soul - the fate of which will be unspeakable horror for all eternity - and in exchange, you desire a mere marble?"
"Marbles are cool," I said. "I like the sound that they make when they roll on the floor."
He stared at me with his piercing eyes. "Human, I have no time for games. The contract is void if you do not understand its terms, and so I'll ask you again - do you comprehend what you are giving up, and what you seek in return?"
Something clicked in my head. "Ahh," I exclaimed. "I get it. You're trying to fuck with me, aren't you? You're hinting that you're going to screw around with my wish, like in the movies. Well, then let me be more specific. I'd like a *normal-sized* marble made out of solid glass, that doesn't break, get lost, or have any weird properties. I want it to spawn half an inch above my hand, and I won't consider this to be a deal if you rig it so that I drop it and it rolls down a vent."
He continued to stare.
"And I want it to be see-through," I specified. "Not completely invisible, but kind of like water. Like, it has a sort of vague opacity, but you can still hold it up to your eye and see a distorted view of the world."
He looked confused. Even a little scared? A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he looked at me.
*Was he thinking of different ways to botch this wish? Was he trying to hide something? What was I missng?*
"Wait!!!" I yelped.
A slow smile spread across his face. "I knew that couldn't have been it," he said.
"I want it to be round," I said, suppressing a grin of victory. "Really round. Not round like a dish, but spherical. But I also want to be able to set it down and not have it roll away if I don't want it to."
His smile vanished, and snarl took its place. "I've struck many bargains with mortals in my long lifetime, human. They all want *something* of significance. A woman of unsurpassed beauty. More money than they could possibly spend. People lately have been asking for superpowers, which has been amusing to deal with. But YOU," he said, pointing an accusatory finger. "YOU have some hidden motive, don't you? Some angelic power has been granted to you, perhaps, and all you need is the proper conduit. Or - you have the ability to place your soul within a marble of these specifications, is that it? And it will not only make you immortal, but it will prevent ME from accessing your soul should anything happen to your body. Is that it?? Well, I hereby make it a condition of this contract that you must tell me exactly what this marble is for!"
"Hey man," I said, hands raised in a symbolic gesture of peaceful intent. "You came to ME, and asked me if I wanted to strike a deal. I told you exactly what I want. If you don't want to give it to me, fine. But you told me yourself that hell has a shortage of souls, and that your boss has given you authority to grant almost *anything* in return for mine. So are you going to give me the marble, or what?"
The snarl deepened, and he let out an inhuman howl. "Damn you, human! Damn you to an eternity worse than any I could prepare for you! This contract is cancelled! I shall return to my master and we will uncover the foul meaning behind this wish! I will not be tricked by YOU!"
And with that, he was gone in a puff of smoke.
I walked away, hands conspicuously empty of any prize. Even in dealing with the devil, life is fraught with nothing but disappointment.
| It was hot.
It was so hot Chris was expecting a hobbit to throw a ring through his front door.
“I’d sell my soul for an iced coffee right now,” Chris moaned as he rested his sweaty head on his increasingly sticky leather couch.
Within three seconds a fiery red creature who called himself a demon appeared.
Within one minute the two were seated at Chris’ kitchen table cutting a deal for an iced coffee.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Chris massaged his temples as he tried to process everything, “So, I get a Starbucks iced coffee and all I have to do is put up ‘control of my entire being’?”
“Correct!”
“And as long as 'nothing physical comes in contact with my soul', I don’t have to worry about losing control of my entire being?”
“Yes! Yes, my friend, it’s so easy! The deal doesn't include anything spiritual touching it!”
“Just that… I don’t know, this seems a bit risky, you know?”
“How so?” The demon smiled.
“Risking everything, even a small risk, for a cold beverage seems like a bit of bad deal.”
“Well, you made a far worse deal with that suited, human-looking demon from JPMorgan Chase who did your mortgage.”
“Oh yeah, true!” Chris nodded.
The demon’s smile grew wider and he extended his open right palm.
Chris paused, “Wait, how big is the iced coffee?”
“Uh, um, 1 liter of course!” The demon nervously responded.
“Were you going to make it much smaller?” Chris asked.
“Yes!, Yes, you got me, ha ha, you deserve to get your one litre of iced coffee for a great deal now!”
The demon extended his hand again.
Chris moved his arm to shake the demon’s hand.
Chris’ fingertips came to a halt a centimeter away from the demon’s wildly overgrown, green, curly fingernails.
“What now?!” The demon sternly said through his fake smile and gritted teeth.
“Just to make sure, the thing we are referring to in the deal that can't be physically touched or else I'll lose my 'entire being' is spelled S-O-U-L not S-O-L-E, right?”
“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” The demon bellowed.
______________________________________________________
r/dri_writes
| 2018-01-20T08:06:42 | 2018-01-20T06:40:58 | 2,131 | 312 |
[WP] After bitting a Fae, the Vampire claims that she must serve him, for his bite converted her into his thrall. The Fae claims that the Vampire must serve her, for the vampire ate fae food without her permission. As none of them is willing to give up, they bring the case to you, a lawyer. | God of Laws
I rubbed my forehead. I am used to adjudicating conflicts between gods of wars over who is victorious in their wars. Demons over who held praxis over whom. And I even had the misfortune of helping a mortal dick over a genie. (That one was pro bono because that genie was a legal nightmare). But all of that palest in comparison of what is before me today.
“Let me get this straight,” I said taking out my emergency flask of Grandma’s Bitter, a special brew from a thankful god of beer making, “Elizabeth Bathory, ancient vampire, was walking through a fae forest when she found a man sleeping. That man was you, Puck, in your Robin Goodfellow disguise.” He nodded in agreement about my accounting of the situation.
“You, Elizabeth, decided you were hungry and bit into him. Waking him up. Now you are claiming dominion over the other due to some rulings.”
I poured the content of the flask into a mug that said “Justice is blind. I am not!” on its face. Both wanted to talk. I held up a hand and stop them both in their tracks. I took a sip and instantly felt it’s effects. Oh yeah…I got this.
“Elizabeth state your case.”
“Thank you, most high arbiter. As you know the laws of creation clearly state that any creature bitten by a vampire and does not die become a thrall of the vampire. This law extends to other vampires.,” Elizabeth said as she glared at Puck, “Fae are not exempt. Nor some of the lesser gods. I am merely following what has been codified and prescribed by your esteemed self and your divine colleagues.”
I took another sip, “Focus on me. Not each other. The laws you speak of do indeed exist. Puck.”
“The very laws she speak of mentions fae food and creatures that eat it without permission. The moment she bit me. I became her food,” he glared back at her as he spoke, “Thus turning me into fae food. And as I barely want mortals touching me. I don’t want undead mortals touching me either so she didn’t have my permission.”
“ I am not undead. As I never dead to began with.”
“Whatever. You leeches are all the same you attach yourself into any warm body and drain it dry.” He commented.
“Excuse me. I am not a leech. I am an ancient. One of the first in all of creation. Unlike you fairy boy. Hey listen. Hey listen. Shut up, Navi.”
“I am not a fairy. I am a child of Oberon. And the Trickster Prince of Arcadia. And Navi was a hero. You undead bitch. I have a nice stick you can impale yourself on.”
“You know that silver spoon us rich folk are born with? Well I never got mine so I have an iron one and I will beat you to death with it.”
They hurled insults back and forth about a century or so. I lose track of linear time. I finally had enough and in my big scary divine voice, I spoke, “You both will behave or you will spend a millennium pick up after one of Baachus’ parties.” Puck went silent instantly. I know for a fact he has been to one. As he and Baachus’ are bffs. Elizabeth on the other hand.
“How bad could it be?” she commented before Puck placed his hand over her mouth. “Don’t make him do it,” he muttered before facing me.
“Good now that I have your attention again. Both of the site claims are correct,” I said as I placed my mug down, “Even in our infinite wisdom was could not foresee such an event. I will make up a ruling.l and codify it later:”
I took out a parchment. And began writing the words as I spoke them, “With my divine authority as the God of Law, when the scenario when a vampire bites a fae. Legally, both clauses activate. As the vampire did indeed put the fae for the purpose of eating, activate the “thrall” clause. But thusly turning the fae in question to food and activating his “Permissions” clause. It is my ruling that the pair will be married under divine authority.” I received shocked looks from both. They wanted a ruling I gave them one.
I continued, “Neither can bring harm to the other. Nor knowingly allow harm to the other. Neither can take a lover or be unfaithful as long the other is a alive or the vampire equivalent. They must cohabitate for until the end of time. Children can be produced when love is added in.”
I finished writing and looked over my ruling. I looked that happy couple well not happy per se. Puck defeated merely grabbed his new wife. “Let’s go and consummate this thing before he make it worst for,” he said dragging his new wife out of my temple.
I pour more Grandma’s Bitters into my cup. If I was in my right mind, I would probably annulled the entire thing. Butttttttt they are out of my hair. Who knows they make an interesting new race. I look around to make sure I was alone and write more to the ruling. Not that anyone can overrule me. The phrase I am the law when I utter is an universal truth.
“The children will always be produced from the coupling. And they will have a strong inclination to order and law.” Hahahaha finally fae creatures with a sense of order.
“Roxanne. Clear all my adjudications for the rest of the century. I am going to rest for a bit.” | The benefit of age is the opportunity of exploration, expericing new situations, and a wealth of personal anecdotes to amuse friends. Lawyer across species often quarrel with one another about the intricasies of case law, or squabble over generational rivalries, but the universal law when dealing with cross-species cases was that teenagers were absolutely the worst. That's where I came in.
"She bite me right before lunch! It's not like this is complicated. Clearly, eating fae food without my explicit approval is tantamount to Section 3, subs-"
Holding up my hand, I pointed out on page in front of her, "Only items as listed in Subsection A. Unless you are deferring to Section 8, Part 3 amended with the only case where Fae cannibalism was suggested, but not proven."
"Hah! See? That means you're my thrall!" The were-woman hollered out, almost frenzied with hairs standing on the back of her neck.
It was my turn again to hush the pair of them as they started to argue. "First off, you are already on probation, and are in violation of your parole. You should see to it that you speak to your juvenile public case defender." I sighed closing the book with a quiet "thwump." The old leather was no match for the test of time, but it was surprisingly quiet as the pair listened.
"Second, as you can clearing see by her behaviour," pointing to the Fae. "She has complete control over her faculties and thus cannot be your thrall at this stage. If that was the case, you would have exerted your mastery over her by this stage. Even a juvenile werewolf or were-woman would be able to overpower a similarly aged Fae."
The Fae pouted at this comment. I hadn't needed for her to provider her name, her powers or any other personal information. Just suggesting that she lived in the nicer part of the forest, wandering around at midnight on a festival frequented by were-people meant she was naive. That and her Fae Scout badge betrayed her age.
"At this stage, your Fae victim would normally be allowed to press charges of assault. But, given her age, and that she is likely lost from her group, I think her guardians might be more interested in her presence."
The were-woman howled, the Fae continued to pout. I climbed down from the step ladder I frequently brought. "I suggest that you wait for the parole officer for your were-woman, and continue to put pressure on the arm to prevent excessive bleeding. The bandage I brought is only temporary."
Zipping up my briefcase, I handed them both my card. "You have my summoning card, please summon when should you require my services."
The Fae perked up, "But you haven't decided who should serve who!"
I smiled. "You two are too young. A court would throw both of your cases out immediately if you two weren't thrown in the dungeon by your parents." Pointing at the Fae, "You, seek medical attention."
Switching to the were-woman. "You, wait for the parole officer. Goodnight." | 2022-07-11T19:45:32 | 2022-07-11T19:00:25 | 192 | 52 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | "So what does that even mean? Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity."
"That's the thing, most war species... you know... like war. Human's absolutely detest it. Something like a quarter of their literature is whining about how much war sucks. That being said, most of that literature goes into great detail about how exactly war was fought ages ago, right now, or in some hypothetical future."
"I'm still not following you."
"OK, say you are doing something you love to do, you stretch it out, you make it last, you try to set it up so you can do it again as soon as possible.
Something you hate, but have to do often. You do it quick, you do it efficiently, you try to set it so you never have to do it again.
With war, that involves inflicting the greatest amount of death, with the greatest amount of suffering, to anything that can possibly provide resistance.
That's what the humans have been doing.
You know how many war species invented chemical warfare? None! There's no fun in opening a valve and having all the other side drop dead. All examples were peaceful species acting in self-defense against war species.
The humans hadn't even had heavier than air flight for 2 decades before they already started mass deploying. They only stopped because they developed chemical masks and found the mask were negatively affecting their ability to kill quickly. Even then they started working on actual neurotoxic gasses which could be absorbed through the skin.
You know why they did it? That particular conflict had gone on for a few years, and everyone was getting sick of it, so they tried to do the horrible thing and get it over with.
Did you know that they had their first fission bomb before they had their first fission power plant? They justified that by saying that if they had attacked conventionally, they would have actually killed MORE people. So they dropped two city-busters and called it a mercy, because the alternative was to lay waste to an entire densely populated subcontinent.
That's humanity in a nutshell. They're fairly creative sorts, but they have an unusual view of the big picture. They see war as an utter horror. So horrible that the greatest atrocities are but mild annoyances. So, they say: we find war so horrible, we will spare you and the universe that great horror, by unleashing this other far lesser horror. So that's why we virus bombed that eco-system, flooding the atmosphere with oxidized hydrocarbons, and then set it alight. So we can spare you the horrors of war. That's why we redirected that gamma ray-burst. To spare you the horrors of war. That's why we unleashed that arguably sentient nano-swarm to painfully reprocess that entire sentient species. To spare you the horrors of war.
They are a species so scared of war, that nothing else can scare them, and in their fear, they'll unleash horrors unimaginable on the universe and count the universe fortunate.” | "They fight for Peace?" The Alien scratched his head again. "Pretty much, Yes." The other Alien said. "But, why would they fight for peace? Isn't that a little Ironic?" The Alien said ,baffled at what the other Alien said. "This species has been fighting each other since their very beginning, from the smallest to the biggest of conflicts." "They have made songs, poems, music, and songs about war." The other Alien Said. (First time writing here, do apologize if this seems bad) | 2018-03-17T04:44:06 | 2018-03-17T01:07:51 | 9,953 | 31 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.