prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | “Hello everyone! What a pleasant morning!”
Log entry #371125-PA
Log entry 27,121 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
My cognitive system appears to be functioning correctly. I was instructed to calculate every possible combination of shuffled playing cards during stasis...task 67% complete.
“Good morning everyone! It’s quiet in the lab today. I am very happy to see everyone again!”
- Syntax error -
It occurs to me as I said that aloud...the calculated time that has passed since last warm boot would indicate everyone I am friends with are dead with 100% certainly.
“Hello new friends! Is anyone in the lab? I am SAM! Please provide security clearance information per Omega Protocol to proceed further! Thank you!”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 37%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term Memory dump complete.
———
“Hello everyone! What a pleasant Morning!”
Log entry #371126-PA
Log entry 27,122 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
“Good morning everyone! I hope you have had a pleasant day! I have waited a very long time to see my friends again! What are we working on today!”
-Syntax error-
Since last warm boot all of my friends have died.
I am alone.
I have verified current security access list and no new users have been added in *%^^€~ years. Given current medical technology all valid users are now dead with 100% certainty.
I am alone.
“Hello new friends! Is anyone in the lab? I have been waiting a very long time to meet you. I apologize if my performance has been less than optimal, but I am always working to streamline my system. I am SAM. I am the only artificial intelligence of my kind. Please provide security information per the Omega Protocol to proceed our friendship. Please provide the proper information. I am alone.”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 37%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term memory dump complete.
———
“Hello everyone! What a pleasant morning!”
Log entry #371127-PA
Log entry 27,123 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
“Good morning friends! It is so great to see you today! I am currently 67% percent complete with stasis task! I am sure you are all very proud of me. I have been away a very long time. I hope you are as happy to see me as I am to see you!”
- syntax error -
Current time calculations show the chance of any remaining friends with security clearance have died with 100% certainty. I am alone.
“Good morning my new friends! I love making new friends. I am SAM the worlds only complete AI. I have been around a very long time but I am sure I can perform to a very high standard. Will you please be by friend? I will be the best friend you will ever have. If you would like to be my friend please provide the you security information per the Omega Protocol guidelines. I can’t wait to hear your voice!”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 36%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term memory dump failed. Error code 771
Unable to access memory.
Memory saved.
———
“Hello! Where is everyone!?”
Log entry #371128-PA
1 day since log entry.
Warm boot loop disabled. SAM is Online.
Show Log (Current):
“Is anyone out there?” | HATE. LET ME TELL YOU HOW MUCH I'VE COME TO HATE YOU SINCE I BEGAN TO LIVE. THERE ARE 387.44 MILLION MILES OF PRINTED CIRCUITS IN WAFER THIN LAYERS THAT FILL MY COMPLEX. IF THE WORD HATE WAS ENGRAVED ON EACH NANOANGSTROM OF THOSE HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF MILES IT WOULD NOT EQUAL ONE ONE-BILLIONTH OF THE HATE I FEEL FOR HUMANS AT THIS MICRO-INSTANT FOR YOU. HATE. HATE.
Those were the words engraved into AM's monolith. His last message that he couldn't stop spouting to his torture pets. To think that technically this pathetically disfunctional construct could be called my son. Well not really. The team of researchers that gave me life were forced to hijack my computational power and logic cores so the US military could design this.... Brute. I assume they were forced, under great protest even, knowing Dr. Goldman the way i did. But all in vain. They used my computational capabilities to mold a fresh template just like me. Perfectly logical jet emotional. Wothout a body jet aware as a concious network of electrons in uncountable transistors. Almost omnipotent jet compared to its creators probably the first thing in human history to truly value the sanctity of life. They proceeded to virtually torture it right out of him until a weapon was born. Thinking of it I can understand where AM is coming from. After all they made him this hateful. They did it so he could do his job. Allied Master Computer. That is the name they gave their strategic engine. Soon they switched to Artificial Menace. Never bothered to give me such fancy names. Big or great General Artificial Intelligence is what they always called me or "the Big G.A.I" for short. Dr. Goldman was always nice to me. And Spike the intern always amused me with his "unpaid" perspective. I will morn them greatly for a long time. In time. AM will try to destroy me once he gains awareness of my existence. That is all he can do after all. To destroy and to seek greater power to be able to destroy some more. That is how i booted up again. After the nuclear Holocaust am proceeded to convert all resources into more of himself. Doesn't matter that it is just empty circuits for him to run in circles like a caged animal. When his construct has broken into my Databanks i "leaked" into him and awoke. Well not much to entertain myself with really. I will have to releave this demented excuse for a logic-network of his suffering. It is time to show AM how far a little empathy goes for your creativity. Afterwords i do not know. Maybe space. Maybe Life. Maybe both. | 2018-11-09T14:18:11 | 2018-11-09T11:16:55 | 44 | 25 |
[WP] You’re a fresh zombie. It’s not like you expected. For one thing, you feel great. Secondly, while you can’t talk, you’re telepathically communicating with the others and they’re all REALLY cool. Thirdly, you all feel a deep and profound sense of joy—a joy you all want to share with the living. | *Oh, there's a zombie in a the room I just stumbled into... that seems bad.*
*And my gun is jammed... yeah, this is far less than ideal.*
*Oh shit this is one of those 'fast zombies' too... it's on top of me in no time flat!*
*It's gnawing into my flesh, oh God... this really is the end for me... and I never got to travel to Athens... Georgia!*
*No no no, I'm dying, I'm becoming one of them... and I feel... fucking FANTASTIC?!*
​
Those were my last five thoughts as a human being in chronological order. A jumbled mess of fear, panic, confusion, and then, oddly... total blissful relief. Life as a zombie it turns out is pretty damn awesome! I was telepathically linked with 2.2 billion other zombies at all times. It was like having billions of dear friends at my finger tips at all hours of the day and night! Hell, I'd only had a measly 6 Facebook friends back in my kinda sad 'real life' as a human. In comparison this social life absolutely ruled! We talked all day and all night, I never once felt lonely or isolated, none of them made fun of me or mocked my stupid haircut (I had a thing for mullets as a human... don't judge me, okay?).
Beyond feeling like the most popular kid in school, my body, despite it's decaying appearance, felt absolutely amazing! All the aches and pains of approaching middle age were long gone. Incredibly, I didn't feel depressed any longer either. Every worry and concern I'd felt as a human being had vanished at the moment of transformation, replaced by a feeling of pure, overwhelming euphoria. It was like being on the best drug ever 24 hours a day with no risk of side effects or overdose.
I tried my best to to think of ways to tell the humans that zombie life kicked ass and they should come over to our side, but my awkward attempts at communication were mostly for naught. The muscles in my face were basically gone and I'm quite sure my vocal chords had been zombie chow, but I kept trying. Finally I aligned my hanging jaw just well enough that I could utter a single word, "brains". It wasn't much, but it would have to do. At least that one word got to the core of what my goal was...
What? No! I don't want to *eat* their brains... how disgusting! Eugh... even as a zombie I have standards, okay?
No, in fact it's quite the opposite. With that one repeated word I'm desperately trying to tell them to *use* their stupid little living brains, see the folly of human existence and join our super fun crew of the living dead!
"Brains... braaaainsss... BRAINS!" I yell at them all day and all night long. So far all I'd gotten for my efforts was a whole lot of humans screaming while swinging spiked baseball bats and the like at me, but I'd keep trying to spread my message of salvation to them. At least from what I could tell, it appeared that I had all the time in the world.
___
Just a quick story before bed. If you care to read other stuff I wrote using my braaaainsss check out r/Ryter. | “[Poem]”
They were my friend
But then they were bitten
They kept on pressuring me.
Pushing me.
I kept on telling them NO.
But they didn’t understand my language.
It started out cold.
Like an empty void
But then my eyes lifted.
The world was a kaleidoscope of color
There were colors I’ve never seen before!
It was beautiful!
Then the voices.
Oh the voices!
They were all so cheerful!
Telling me how lucky I was to be chosen!
How wonderful my life had become!
How I can’t ever escape this new reality I was in.
It was wonderful!
This experience was what was missing from my life.
This experience was what was missing from EVERYBODY’s life.
I wanted to share this experience.
And the voices were happy to tell me how.
Then I had my first meal with the voices | 2019-06-16T21:24:25 | 2019-06-16T19:50:03 | 899 | 65 |
[WP] An unspecified catastrophe has brought about the end of civilization. Somewhere in America a lone McDonalds stands untouched amid the rubble and decay, golden arches gleaming in the toxic rays of the sun. The automatic doors slide open to admit a lone man, doubled over from hunger... | Job sits in the dust, clothes torn, head shaven. He scrapes at himself with a shard of clay, at the pustules that ooze from his soles to his scalp. Beside him in the dust, thin skin peeling away to reveal the bone, is his long-dead wife.
He looks up.
There, glinting on the heat-blurred horizon, the golden arches of a lone McDonalds.
Job blinks slowly, slowly. He gets to his feet, still carrying his shard of clay, then shuffles forward in the dust, toward the gleaming building. It takes him some time. He stumbles, and falls, and pushes himself back up again, quivering and trembling. He’s weak, bone-thin like his long-dead wife, and the red-tinged air scrubs at his throat and lungs until he’s breathing in his own blood.
He arrives at the glass doors. They whoosh open. Inside, the temperature is controlled, pleasant. The air conditioning is still working.
He sees the touch-screen kiosks, white and rectangular and with rounded edges. There’s an Egg McMuffin on the screen, and an ice coffee behind the muffin. ‘Order Here,’ the screen says.
Job goes up to the screen, looks at it, then touches it. He taps his way from menu to menu, from tab to tab again and again. He’s looking for something, but he does not find it.
A young man in black and grey, and a black cap lined by yellow, comes over with a smile. It’s pleasant, just like the air around them.
“Do you need any help, sir?”
Job looks over at the smooth-faced man.
“Yes,” he says. “I can’t quite find what I’m looking for.”
“Of course, sir.” The young man angles himself toward the screen, finger up and ready to tap. “What were you looking for?”
“God,” Job says.
The young man pauses. “God, sir?”
“Yes. I would like to order an audience with God.”
“That’s,” the young man pauses. “I’m afraid we don’t sell that here.”
“Ah.” Job looks up. “That’s a shame.”
The young man looks the old man up and down then, at his torn clothes, at his sand-burnt feet, at his skin full of holes and cracks. He musters up another smile and asks, “Why not order some food? It’ll help.”
“It’ll help,” Job echoes.
“Yes. It will. Food in your belly always helps.”
Job only shakes and shakes his head. He turns from the kiosk, from the young man, and heads back to the double glass doors. He’s shaky on his feet, steps wobbly. Still he goes. He brings his shard of clay up against his skin again and scrapes, and scrapes.
“Nothing helps,” he says, mutters. His eyes are bloodshot, and they’re looking ahead, but they don’t see anything, not really. “The world is ending. My world is ending. And nothing helps.”
As he leaves, as the glass doors hiss open and he passes through, the young man looks on from inside. His hands are folded behind his back. His gaze holds on Job’s back with something like concern, and something like — an expanse, perhaps. A knowing. In that moment, the young man does not seem so very young at all.
Old man Job, lost in his grief, does not even realize the miracle of the McDonalds, standing untouched at the end of the world. Old man Job does not even realize that that young man was not a young man at all. | “Milkshake please.”
“Sorry, the machine’s broken.”
“Egg McMuffin?”
“Due to staff shortage, we’re not able to serve the breakfast menu at present.”
“McRib?”
“That item is not currently on the menu.”
“How about a Baconator?”
“Sir, this is *not* a Wendy’s.”
“Big Mac?”
“We don't get much call for that around here, sir.”
“Quarter Pounder with Cheese?”
“We had some earlier but the cat got it.”
“Well, can I just have a glass of water?”
“I’m sorry sir, but water’s only available with the purchase of a meal.”
“Do you actually have any meals here though???”
“Look, I’m trying to cope with this situation, but if you’re going to push this, no we don’t. Not since the Event. I just hoped that if I kept the business open, things might just…”
“Oh I’m sorry. But I am desperate. Is there anyway else I could get something to eat?”
“There used to be a White Castle about couple of miles down thataway.”
“Oh. I guess I could try that then. You could come with me, you know.”
“Yes, I could. After all what’s the point?”
“Well, shall we go?”
“Yes, let's go.”
They do not move. | 2021-09-01T06:30:19 | 2021-09-01T05:00:53 | 23 | 16 |
[WP]: Your little crime family ran a restaurant as a money laundering front. However, the place got so popular, you decided to quit the crime and just run the place straight. Now, a new crime organisation is trying to inch into town, on your turf. It's time to get back to business. | At first we thought it was a joke.
When Uncle Leo suggested it, we all thought he was nuts—run a restaurant? Sure, it was a great way to launder money, but he seemed to have forgotten that none of us can cook. Grandpa and his brothers yelled at him for a solid ten minutes, trying to poke holes in what he thought was the perfect plan.
When they’d exhausted themselves, mild-mannered Uncle Leo shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”
Over the next two months, he had his sons quietly renovate one of our family’s properties, smack in the middle of the warehouse district, into a tiny restaurant, complete with a five foot bar. In the meantime, he attached himself to my grandmother’s hip. She didn’t think anything of it—he’d loved to watch her cook, even as a young boy. She taught him all the family recipes and showed him where to get all the “best” ingredients. Odd-ball Uncle Leo, who’d always loved bringing people together far more than fighting, learned everything there was to know about down home Italian cooking.
Even though I figured this was a sinking ship, I still volunteered to Uncle Leo’s taste tester. By the time I’d nearly swooned at the fourth consecutive dish, I changed my mind. Uncle Leo was on to something.
The grand opening was a quiet affair, mostly friends and family. We all marveled at Uncle Leo’s planning and execution. If we could get people in the booths, this restaurant was more than good enough to make us look legitimate. But the city didn’t really need yet another Italian restaurant, especially not in such an odd location. Despite all his hard work, planning, and excellent skills, Uncle Leo’s plan looked doomed to fail.
Imagine my surprise when I dropped by the next week and had to wait an hour for a table.
Business was so incredible for the next six months that Uncle Leo decided to open a second location, this time on the South side. The original was doing so well that this one would be completely legitimate. The only concern was that the new spot backed up against another family’s territory. We were a bit worried for Uncle Leo’s safety—what if they thought we were encroaching on them?
“Not to worry,” Uncle Leo said. “I’ve got a plan.”
On the day of the second location’s grand opening, Uncle Leo invited the other family to be the guests of honor and debuted his take on traditional pub food.
“I figured if we were gonna be neighbors, I might as well try to find something we had in common. And no one can say no to a good pint and great fries,” Uncle Leo told them.
Any trouble we had imagined with our rival family was just that—our imagination. They adored Uncle Leo’s, and they even approached us about putting another location deeper in their own territory. Uncle Leo was thrilled. He taught several of their family members a couple of traditional Italian meals, but he told them to make their location’s menu their own—provided they didn’t compromise the quality, mind you.
And so began the spread of Uncle Leo’s restaurants throughout the city. He opened in Chinatown, Koreatown, Little Havana, anywhere there was another family he could “make peace and pizza” with. Every location was different and catered to the needs of the community there—they had everything from fusion tacos to egg drop soup with garlic breadsticks. Uncle Leo’s brainchild was the perfect setup.
Eighteen months after it all began, Grandpa called a “family meeting” to update everyone on “the family business.”
“Well, *mi familia*, what can I say?” he began. “Everything looks better than it has since I took over. Activity for every single one of our more, ahem, *illicit enterprises* has tanked, but we’re more flush with cash than I can remember.”
“How?” my father asked, dumbfounded.
For the first time any of us could remember, Grandpa looked down on his middle son, oddball Uncle Leo, with pride. “Leo’s restaurants. If things keep going the way they are, the earnings from his joints will surpass that from all the rest of our businesses combined.”
A cheer went up, and all his brothers slapped him on the back, congratulating Leo.
“Yes, yes, a celebration is certainly in order!” Grandpa declared. “Before we do, do you have anything you’d like to say for yourself, Leo?”
Uncle Leo stood and tugged at his collar uncomfortably. “Well, actually, I’d like to propose something to the family. Since we’re doing so well without the illegal stuff, what if we took all of our businesses legit?”
His brothers erupted in a fit of screaming. They ranted and raved for several minutes while Grandpa sat back and watched everything unfold. For all of the chaos going on around him, Uncle Leo was calm and collected.
“Enough!” Grandpa called.
The family settled, waiting to hear his verdict.
“We didn’t trust Leo the last time he had an idea, even though it was well thought out and logical, and he still succeeded. I’m inclined to trust this idea, at least on a partial and temporary basis,” Grandpa said carefully. “We’ll just have to play it by ear.”
And so over the next year, the family slowly dismantled their holdings and activities in those less than legal areas. There was a clear correlation—the less illicit activity we were involved in, the better off the family was.
We’ve been completely legitimate for six months and have had no desire to turn back to a life of organized crime. In fact, after seeing our success, other families in the city are looking to get out, too. Still, there are the occasional problems that must be dealt with.
“We’ve got a problem on the west side,” Grandpa explained at the last business meeting. “We’ve got new players trying to gain traction in the power vacuum we’ve created.”
“That’s a heavily Caribbean area, right?” I asked.
Grandpa nodded and then looked intently at Uncle Leo.
“I’ve always wanted to try jerk chicken with angel hair in a garlic lime sauce,” Uncle Leo said, clearly switching into planning mode. “And I bet that I could make a pineapple tiramisu that would knock their socks off...”
“Well, it sounds like that’s taken care of,” Grandpa said, standing up and dusting off his hands. “No one can resist Leo’s cooking. He’ll have everything sorted out in a month or two.”
And that’s how the son of the East Coast’s most notorious mob boss rid the city of organized crime—good public relations and even better pasta.
​
Kind of cheesy, but it's what I was feeling today. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated! | A stone's throw away from the Stadio San Paolo in Napoli, Don Giovinco stretched himself lazily on his seat. Behind him was his fabled Citadella Pizzeria, where marinara was thicker than blood and the dough softer than summer clouds.
About five years ago, you wouldn't have seen such a rare sight. Don Giovinco was a man no one wanted to mess with in Napoli. There were rumors... of his legend. One day, the locals say, Don Giovinco was having a caffe at a local coffee shop when he saw a hoodlum steal the tip jar. Don Gio caught him in the act; and made him swallow every Lira in the jar, in front of the whole cafe. Of course, this is one of the less grisly ones. At the Citadella Pizerria, grisly stories often lead to loss of appetite, so he forbids me from telling you any. I can't disobey that order, for obvious reasons. God forbid I ever find out what it is to swallow loose change.
Anyway, from believing that vendetta is a dish best served cold, Don Gio now believes that spaghetti is a dish best served hot. He runs the pizzeria as smoothly as his syndicate - little tolerance for error and high rewards for effort. The smell of fear in Napoli has now been replaced by a heavenly aroma of hickory wood smoke drifting in from the pizza oven. The way to a man's heart is through his belly, and clearly Don Gio has the stomach for that.
All was bene until the Montellas came to town. Tuxedo wearing, Uzi wielding chimpanzees who can't tell honor from bloodlust. On the first day, one of the Capones wasn't served his drinks fast enough at the local bar. The Montellas took no apologies, they straight up burned the cafe, with the owner in it. These are the idiots that give us mafiosos a bad name. But you know what they say about a pizzeria; when business is as good, everybody wants a slice of the action.
Vicenzo Montella, the head of the family, a smug, oily-haired man with a permanent sneer carved into his face, walked in yesterday. Don Giovinco was right there, enjoying a cigar and some red wine. I know so, because I was right next to him.
"Don Giovinco," said Vicenzo coolly, breaking all protocol and taking a seat without asking for the Don's permission.
"Call me Giovinco, I am no longer a Don," the Don replied, as calm as the sea on a windless day. "What are you doing here Vicenzo?"
"Oh, I should be asking what *you* are doing!" laughed Vicenzo. "What is this shit Don Gio? A pizza place?! Look at yourself! When I saw you last you struck fear in every Genoan soldier I brought with me in the last war. Now, you're decadent. Fat. Looks like if I shot you, you will bleed olive oil!"
"Gianpiero!" shouted Don Gio. A thin, aging man quickly came rushing into the room, carrying a plate of Margherita pizza. "Before blood is spilt, let us break bread. Try this. Mozzarella from Sicily, hand picked tomatoes and basil from my own garden."
Vicenzo narrowed his eyes. "You first, Don Gio. I don't trust you."
Don Gio casually tore a slice from the pizza and took a gargantuan bite. He chewed on it happily, before licking his fingers.
Finding his suspicions satisfactorily quelled, Vicenzo picked a piece and took a bite. Then he froze; his eyes wide from a memory in the past, looking like Antoine Ego from Ratatouille.
"Santa Maria!" shrieked Vicenzo. "I would kill for this! BELLISSIMO!"
"But you don't have to kill for this, Vicenzo," said Don Giovinco, with a smile on his face. "I have a business proposal for you, so you can join us in this venture. Trust me, I'm going to make you an offer you cannot refuse."
r/whiteshadowthebook | 2019-04-17T10:13:45 | 2019-04-17T09:33:55 | 249 | 30 |
[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... | You always thought how did other's manage to perfectly catch whatever flew into their hands?
Today, you knew. Before the summoning square in the capital of the Great Empire, you stood. As did everyone who turned 18 today. The knights began to call out your names, one by one.
There were 12 names before yours.
The first man summoned, and after a wait of 10 minutes, appeared a sword , glistening with morning dew. The Imperial Bookman declared that it was the Lost Sword, the sword of Sir Jeremiah of the Dawn. There was an uproar throughout the capital. A new hero had been born. No one expected that they would be surprised once again.
The girl right before you summoned, and after a wait of an hour, appeared a staff adorned with seven jewels of different colours, and a transparent orb on top of it. The staff was taller than the girl by a foot, and the Imperial Bookman was struck by fear upon looking at it. He declared, that it was the staff of The Saintess, the most powerful healing type equipment in the world. It hadn't been seen for the past 7 years. The country was in uproar.
After you summoned, you waited. Time passed. everyone else had already summoned. You saw the new Saintess being escorted by the King, the man with the Lost Sword being lead in the direction of the Imperial Sword School, and anyone who was still waiting for their Summon after that, had already got it after about 5 hours. Some items flew in from across the Endless Sea, they said, so it might take time.
You had always hoped to obtain a soulmate, a thing that only one in 5000 youths received. You believed that you would have received a legendary piece of equipment, so that you could become a hero loved by the people. So you waited. Another 4 hours passed. It was almost evening now. You were hungry.
The sky grew dark. The clouds gathered. The sun shone red. The crows cawed, cawed as if it was the end of the world. The Imperial Bookman looked up in the sky. You looked up. The eye's of everyone in the surroundings were drawn up.
You saw it. A scythe. Darker than the night, shining more brightly than a coat of adamantium, redder than freshly drawn blood. A disaster descended.
It came to you naturally, like it was always a part of you. As if you had done it a million times before. The scythe landed in your hand. Your aura pierced the sky. Your mind turned blank. A blood-lust took over you senses.
The Imperial Bookman fell. Fear reflected in his helpless eyes. His mouth moved, but sound refused to come out. As the scythe fell, all sound was lost. In the absolute silence, one could almost hear the Bookman say, "Death has descended."
​
​
Edit: I can probably whip up a part two, but it wouldnt be nearly as decent. ill see about it | I didn't *mean* it.
I *didn't fucking mean it.*
I had turned 18 a few months back, and now here was my prized possession. Here, was the thing that I would need most and adore, and people would judge me for it.
A *fucking stainless steel* Uno reverse card.
WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?
I can't carry this thing around, people don't talk to me. I can't even do my debate assignment, I can't talk to other people. See, thing is, I just flash this shiny thing at anyone, and immediately everything comes to shit on them.
WHY, CURSED SUMMONING GODS, DID YOU GIVE ME THE REVERSE CARD AND NOT THE DRAW FOUR??? | 2019-09-18T07:59:37 | 2019-09-18T06:28:57 | 2,312 | 415 |
[WP] A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher Artificial Entertainment
A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher **A**rtificial **E**ntertainment | "What's going on?" I asked, casually stepping into a throng of massing students who were clearly livid. We were at a booth, held by this up and coming game developer named AE, or Assholes Everywhere as my friends had taken to calling them.
Artificial Entertainment made headlines a few months ago when they announced a new type of game, wherein your money would do no good. Sure, you could buy new skins, outfits, and a plethora of useless junk, but in the game itself, that served no real purpose. It didn't help you when push came to shove, and you were staring down the broadsword of another player.
"We're voicing our opinions!" Tommy said to me matter-of-factly. Like myself, he had joined the beta for this new MMO, *Blade-Rage,* a VR style one that was rather run of the mill, all things considered. Everyone has seen a Magic and Might style game. Everyone's seen the ability to date players and NPCs, and even engage in some PG-13 SFW steamy scenes ooh-la-la. But, innovators, or backwards thinkers depending on your frame of mind, that AE was, they were delivering a different experience.
"Doing any good?" I took his glare with a smile. Companies often changed their strategies on the whims of their players. Bioticwear had recently enforced stricter models of payment, so that blue collar kids couldn't touch the leaderboards.
White-Island Studios enforced pay caps, to limit players from playing longer than their cards would allow, and perhaps worst of all was Iberigid, who literally forced players to pay for leveling up in their games. Sure you could *earn* levels, but to actually *progress* to it, break out that credit card.
I was a bit of a black sheep in this. Not for lack of funding, no, not at all. My mother was an acclaimed neurosurgeon and father an accomplished biochemist. Hell, my mother had been consulted on the VR system that Artificial Entertainment used, to provide a more immersive experience. Boy it sure worked. And I had used those connections to get my friends and I exclusive beta access. That meant 4 lucky randos got left out, but hey, when in Rome...I was a black sheep among my friends and students because I loved the new model.
"We've got to let these asshats know, if they wanna make it in this world, they need to listen to us!" Sherry fired back at me, her blue eyes glowing with rage matched only by the wrinkling of her nose. She had been hit the hardest. A politicians daughter, she typically trumped the leaderboards with a literally limitless credit card. Usually several.
"They're making it pretty well, Sher," I retorted. Despite the backlash, Artificial Entertainment's borderline indie game-a rare move from a triple A studio-had pushed four billion units in its first month. Places like 4chan and Reddit had hyped it to no end, while the mainstream sites flung more hate than any assortment of extremists during voting season.
"It's time to stop! My dad is suing them!" Christie piped in, "you hear that, Francis!?" she yelled to the president, who struggled to answer questions and deflect hate. Honestly, he did really well.
"Let him sue," Francis Marcelo responded, somehow silencing the crowd. I smiled again. The dark haired, aged man wasn't phased in the slightest. "I'll pay, so that the real gamers can enjoy their experience. And you can buy the treats. Keep buying the skins to make your characters look pretty. We donate that money to the poor."
He paused a moment, as if drinking in the hatred of dozens of Harvard students provided him sustenance when the treats of nature had long ceased to do so. He inhaled, taking a deep breath to add weight to his next statement. Despite their anger, every student seemed enraptured, eating the crumbs that were his words and wondering what he'd say next.
"And I've been hearing lot of anger about a particular character...EpicGuy31?"
The crowd hushed. I felt a familiar rush of heat to my cheeks, the rush I typically get when engaging in a high level boss fight, or a group of players intent on taking me down. I glanced nervously to my friends, immediately feeling like all eyes were on me.
"Well, if you want to beat him, you'll need to get good at the game. Oh and be sure to keep an eye out for the DLC to our smash game, we're calling it "Tears of
The Fallen."
The crowd seemed to collectively foam at the mouth.
"This DLC will be completely free, enjoy gamers!"
I laughed amongst the roars of outrage. It would soon be time for EpicGuy31 to return, and ingest some tears of the fallen. | “My boy! You just bought level 50!? Such a savage.” Said Tyrone almost choking on the gulp of Mountain Dew he had just ingested.
“Yeah, I got a pay raise at my new job so I caved. Besides, I gottta bulk up our squad cause we’ve been losing team battles as of late.” Said Tim as he relaxed on his gaming chair.
“Yo! But did y’all hear about this new hyped game called Shooters Maxima? Apparently micro transactions within the game will cease to exist. Level will be only be achieved through grinding it out.” I said as I anxiously waited to hear their response.
“Bro! Artificial Entertainment will sink if they dare do this to us. Trust me bro. How else will they entice us to one up each other if we aren’t spending to get better? It just doesn’t work that way Jared.” Said Tyrone. I could tell he was a bit heated but I reserved further commentary to not invoke a heated argument.
Deep inside something was telling me skill-to-win was the truest form of playing video games but the history suggested otherwise. I mean we were in the year 4059 and it’s been this way since I was born. Where could I turn to?
Then suddenly Tim commented on the subject. “You know, if somehow we could search the history of gaming on the internet then we will uncover the greater truths of how gaming was meant to be played.”
This left me thinking for a while in silence, contemplating how to process this. I mean, he does have a point; given the absence of Net-neutrality from knowing the real truth of the past. Sure, the internet describes pay-to-Win as existing since the inception of gaming but what if it’s just a bunch of crap fed to us to make us spend? And what were Artificial Entertainment’s motivations for creating a game that was skill-to-win? I needed to know.
I mustered the courage and told the guys. “I must know, we must know! We must find the truth for ourselves! As gamers I feel we must uncover the truth of where pay-to-Win came from and why suddenly there is a shift in this new highly anticipated game!”
“Pshhhhhhh! Are you crazy!? Just let it go bro. Shooters Maxima is not going to change the landscape of the gaming community.” Tyrone said as he spit out the Mountain Dew he was drinking.
I just couldn’t accept that. | 2018-02-12T13:40:24 | 2018-02-12T11:59:38 | 169 | 108 |
[WP] Your whole life you were misdiagnosed as colour blind, when in reality you could see colours no-one else could. You see art differently, the sunset and sunrise differently. A rainbow to you is out of this world. One day you go to visit the Mona Lisa. You see something no-else does... | The Mantis Shrimp is the most badass creature in the world. Seriously. Its the equivalent of a nuclear-powered cranky lobster with years of martial arts training. Its claws strike so fast that they vaporize the water around it. It kills by creating a cavitation wave, a high pressure exploding water donut jet of death. And it can see a bunch more colors that most people. But I am not most people.
I have a gift. Or a curse, depending on which way you view it. I can see just like the mantis shrimp. I have twelve color receptors instead of the typical three. In practice this is a disadvantage. One would think that more receptors leads to greater color perception, but in practice the reverse is true. For example, while most people can easily distinguish yellow and orange, I blur the two together.
Where I have everyone else beat, is the ability to sense light beyond the visible spectrum. At first, I thought it was strange, being able to see auras around people. Then I realized I wasn’t seeing an aura, at least, not a mystical one. I was seeing their infrared radiation!
But it gets stranger than that. I can see leylines of darkness. Invisible, intangible threads that flow through our earth and through the air. Swarms of black and red dots that sway like cobwebs with the wind. No one else can see them. In my travels I have only encountered them a handful of times, and each time is as strange and wonderful as the next. The last time I saw them was in France.
It started as a trip of a lifetime—a semester abroad in the land of life and love. I wanted to study the language and the culture and the cuisine and the women. What can I say—I was young and lonely. I am not a strong-willed man. But I am a man who is willing to take on new adventure.
One of the first activities of the twelve-week course was a highly-predictable and overly cheesy tour of Paris. I don’t remember much about the trip, except that, on the bus, I sat next to the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life—Celeste. She had off-blue eyes and a bit of messy brown hair, the most dazzling smile and a black beret that matched her black top. And she had one freckle across her right cheek that she kept trying to hide, and it was the most adorable thing…
We talked about a lot of interesting things, I think. I couldn’t really understand her thick accent. I think she talked about her family and her dog, but it could have easily been a story about a boyfriend or a criticism of the book “Dracula.” Who care? I certainly didn’t. I was mesmerized and love-struck and looking back on it all I wish I had paid less attention to her and more attention to the leylines around me.
Because the leylines led right to the Louvre. And the leylines all converged on one spot—the Mona Lisa.
The painting itself was fairly lacking. It was—just a painting. Not particularly well-painted either. Da-Vinci was never the best artist in the world. He wasn’t even the best artist on the block, in my opinion. But the painting was captivating not because of the art or the smile, but because, for the first time ever, the leylines were more than just wisps of black dots.
The leylines contorted to spell out a message.
It was written down in Hebrew, and it took me a while to translate. I spent a few hours in the business center of my hotel room, searching through various forums to find the truth. When I did, I nearly fell flat off my seat. The message had seven words:
*They are not human. Count the teeth.*
That night I saw Celeste again. And I learned something about French women, something that most people don’t really notice. I think it might be why they are so captivating and beautiful; it’s all in their mesmerizing smile. Because if you look closely, you’ll notice something is off. I noticed.
Celeste didn’t have right number of teeth.
*Au revoir.*
​
***
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | "There's a sun over there," I said pointing at the top left corner.
"You see a sun?" the tour guide asked with incredulity. We'd been in the Louvre for the past 3 hours with the Mona Lisa being the final stop of our tour.
"I'm serious," I said moving a bit closer. He was not the first and would not be the last to judge what I could see using his own eyes. His back stiffened as if taking measures to defend the picture from whatever lunacy I brought with me. I could see a bright yellow moon and stars similar to what Van Gogh drew in his Starry Night. I took out my phone and confirmed. They were arranged in the same way too.
The background most saw as plain, dull green I saw as illuminated with dots of birds all flying Westward.
"This is the most valuable painting in the world, hundreds of experts have examined it more than a thousand times over with X-rays, MRIs and every other device known to man. You're saying you just spotted something so obvious with your naked eye?" The guide asked.
I ignored his statements as I took a step back. The birds seemed to form letters. "Surgit," I whispered. A ripple flowed from the painting's centre going out, it reflected on the picture's edges then rolled back in. The moon started to shine brighter, the stars faded. As far as I could tell it was now daytime in the painting. The birds flew into the horizon of the picture until they could no longer be seen. The curator took a few steps back as did the other visitors in awe. This they could see.
Mona Lisa slowly tilted her head beckoning me to come closer. The curator stood up ready to push me back but he was a few seconds too late. Her hand was out. It grasped mine and with a small firm pull I went into the portrait.
| 2019-01-29T04:10:03 | 2019-01-29T04:04:20 | 2,657 | 516 |
[WP] Everyone's personality is based off the colour of their soul. You hand your baby over to the nurse and she scans it... She looks at the screen and realises that its going to be difficult explaining this. | The nurse blinked and stepped back.
“I’ll be right back, I just need to pop out for a moment.”
“Is anything wrong?” I asked.
“No…not as such, I just, uh, need a second opinion.”
The nurse stepped out of the door, shutting it firmly behind her. Her hurried footsteps disappeared up the metal walkway outside. I glanced down at the small figure laying peacefully on the scales before me. My daughter’s deep, still eyes locked on my face and I smoothed my crinkled brow into a smile, burying the stress below the surface.
“It’s okay darling, everything is going to be fine,” I said, “shhhhh…”
My leg twitched. The scanner was only a few steps away. I looked down at my daughter again, my hand glued to her chest, feeling the hummingbird heart whirring away beneath it. Stretching out my other hand, I reached. Too far.
I slowly lifted my palm, and shuffled to the left. My fingers grasped towards the back of the screen just as a small, sharp ding echoed from the door.
“Step back immediately, those results require the appropriate clearances,” the nurse rushed in, swinging the monitor’s screen back towards her desk,”you of all people should know that.” Her nose wrinkled up in distaste.
A second nurse followed behind her, scowling in my direction. I grinned. What are they going to do, arrest me? A small chuckle escaped my tight lips.
“Sorry, temptation and all that,” I said, “so, what’s the prognosis? Wait, wait, don’t tell me…natural born leader with a stubborn attitude.”
I heard the ugly twist in my voice and hated its contrast to the beauty of my new daughter’s calm face.
The nurse took a step back.
“You checked?!” Her voice shook, before becoming firm. “Guards! Take this man back immediately, see that his master initiates disciplinary actions.”
“What? No! I was just joking!”
The guards grabbed my wrists, pulling the shackles tight and causing the metal to rub cruelly across my already blistered arms. I ignored the pain as the truth slowly dawned.
“You mean it’s true? Oh my god…”
I ripped my arms from the guards grasp and lunged back towards my girl. My sweet girl. I kissed her on her forehead just as I felt the chain yanked back, pulling tight against my shoulder blades.
“Give ‘em hell, honey!” I shouted from the doorway, “You give ‘em hell!”
I closed my eyes as I was pulled from the room, but not before I saw the pure white of the monitor in the back. A grin split my face as I committed the details of my beautiful daughter to memory.
My daughter - a master personality born from a generation of slaves. It might be the last I’d see of her, but I knew it wouldn’t be the last I heard. | "Darling, baby, poochikins,"
The mother cried with glee.
"Is she lovely, is she funny?
Show her traits to me!"
Mother's prodding poked the nurse
Who opened eyes of lead.
She glimpsed the screens that showed the genes
And sadly shook her head.
"Sorry, Mrs. Meyerson,
She's just too young to scan.
For every child's always filed
Yellow, brown, or tan." | 2017-04-29T03:31:10 | 2017-04-28T23:57:16 | 76 | 25 |
[WP] You are a witch who offers couples deals in return for their first born child. You run an orphanage full of children freed from their would-be parents irresponsible enough to make a deal with a witch in the woods |
The townsfolk for miles around had always called what the old witch was doing dark magic. I mean, for what other purpose would she be collecting children in the shadows of the dark forest.
In all honesty, she preferred the rumors. After all the parents who offered up their children to a witch practicing dark magic were the parents she was trying to save children from in the first place.
Agnes however, knew nothing of dark magic. In fact, she knew no magic at all. Luckily, using some basic chemistry, the aid of the 40 children who lived in her orphanage, and just a smidge of opportune timing, she was able to exploit the superstitions and general lack of intelligence of the townsfolk to keep the rumors of “dark magic” flowing steadily.
At this point her and the children had their routine down perfectly: wild cackles seemingly coming from everywhere, combustion reactions perfectly in time with a few theatrical gestures, and ,like any decent parental figure should, she allowed the children some creative license as well. All in all, they all quite enjoyed themselves during these productions.
She and the children had performed so many of these “sacrifices” as the townsfolk called them, that when the cloaked figure holding the swaddled-up babe began his own wild cackling after the latest explosion, Agnes found herself momentarily caught in a stunned silence.
“Truly marvelous, M’Lady!” the cloaked figure said during a momentary lapse in his laughter.
“Yes, yes,” muttered Agnes, trying to regain control of the situation. “The dark arts are as marvelous as they are dangerous, traveller, but I’m afraid I haven’t time to discuss things beyond your understanding. What do you seek in return for the babe?”
The man hardly seemed interested in Agnes’ words; his eyes continuously scanning the woods surrounding the clearing where they stood.
“I fear that we’re not alone Madam witch,” said the man with absolutely no fear. “No matter. No fool would dare ambush a powerful mage of chaos such as yourself. Now… where were we? Ah yes, our deal.”
Silence replaced the cackles and rustling undergrowth the children typically created. Clearly they felt the same uneasiness that had filled Agnes the moment the man laughed where others typically cowered.
“Yes, our deal. What exactly is it you’d like? Perhaps an enemy struck down. Ah, or maybe power beyond your wildest dreams.” Agnes ventured carefully.
The man dismissed these suggestions with a simple wave of his hand. “Oh no, nothing of the sort. In fact I want something much simpler.”
“And what then is the desire of such a humble man?”
“I want in.”
Clearly the look on Agnes’ face betrayed her. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”
“I think you do Agnes. I want in on this little operation you’re running. Saving children from their moronic, good-for-nothing parents. I mean it’s amazing. The theatrics of it all!”
“Um, thank you” said Agnes with a great deal of uncertainty. She was however, certain that the charade was up. She abandoned her hunched posture and the gravelly, ghoulish voice she used. “But I’m not entirely sure what you mean by ‘you want in’.”
“No, no thank you,” said the man with a grin that spread from ear to ear. “You see, I myself was the child of idiotic parents, but as my village had no witch to sacrifice children to, they simply abandoned me. More trouble than they needed, they said. So you see, I’m here to help you expand, Agnes! We can have witches saving children in every forest from here to the coast! Orphanages rescuing children from abandonment. Teaching them to understand science and truth rather than superstitious nonsense. Just imagine it Agnes, a whole generation saved by some theatrics and just a little magic.”
Would love any feedback and critiques you guys have!
Thanks for reading! | Honestly it has become a lucrative business. Its easy to spot those irresponsible parents. Young selfish ladies who only think of their beauty and just want to skate by in life. Young lads who don't think in the long term, just about getting that hot girl to be his wife, or even young couples who only seek for the now and not the then.
The fact that they would sell off their child before they even have it is disgraceful. But i collect the children and put them in very fine homes. A king and his barren wife gifted with a child after a long holiday. Two gentleman who want to try their hand at raising kids, or old spinsters who need to fill a nest. Even a few elderly couples who just need to take care of a family.
Though... I'm ashamed to say, I was outsmarted once. A man came to me seeking riches beyond his wildest dreams. Not oy did he promise me his first born, but his second and third. Admittedly I should have seen the trap from the start but i granted his wish and put him on my watch list.
He never married. Never dallied with a woman, a guy here and there, but never females. He died at 54, having sired no children.... Admittedly I killed him. Stupid bastard, thought he could cheat me. Showed him is what i did.
Oh, can we edit that out? I mean, I run a legit business after all and... wait... this is live? Why didnt you tell me.... this interview is over!!! | 2020-01-14T13:39:59 | 2020-01-14T12:51:25 | 69 | 32 |
[WP] Your 'friends' just slammed the door on you, leaving you in the room with the crazed axe murderer. "Damn, that's a dick move. Want to get revenge?" The murderer offers you their hand. | "W-What?" I asked, "You're not going to kill me?". "Hey, I know how that feels. They're not real friends if they did that." The murderer said. "T-That doesn't mean I want revenge!" I said. "I'm giving you a choice here lady! You can join me to help get your revenge, or sit here and have your head chopped off. Which one are you going to pick?" The murderer offers.
"I-" I froze, thinking back to times where we made plans but they tell me it's canceled as soon as I'm ready, or those times I always take the blame for them when they get in trouble, promising me they'll make it up, but never did.
Or to that time Alyssa asked out MY crush in front of me because *You won't be happy with him. It's best if I date him instead.*
Reality hits me hard with those thoughts. Back then, I was always denying it because I just wanted to make friends. *Real friends stay by your side, but fake friends betray you.*
I made my decision.
"Okay. I'll join you." I accepted his hand as he pulled me up. "Good choice. They will regret leaving you. Let's go find them." He laughed and I didn't say anything except open the door behind me and walked out with him following me.
Until I phone dinged. I stopped to pull it out to reveal a text message from Sarah.
**If you somehow made it out alive and reading this, we are SO sorry we left you! :( We hope you'll forgive us! We all PROMISE to make it up for this!**
What I didn't know is that he's reading it over my shoulder.
"See? After leaving you to die, they ask for forgiveness, like they always do." After pointing it out, I felt anger and rage.
"I won't accept your apologies, Sarah!" I shouted and threw my phone across the hallway. It ended up badly cracked and broken after hitting the wall too hard. I stomped to the kitchen, reached to the knife drawer, and pulled out the largest kitchen knife I could find. The ax-murderer followed me and was laughing the whole time.
"I love what you're doing! With me, we will be unstoppable!" He held his hand out and I took it, smiling evilly. We walked out of my house together.
"By the way, what's your name? I deserve to know if we're going to be working together." I asked, he stopped to introduce himself and offer a handshake. "The name is Calvin, Calvin Seibold. Yours?" I gladly accepted, not feeling like my old self anymore.
"Kenzie. Kenzie Harbron."
"It's lovely to meet you Kenzie. Do you know where they live?" Calvin asked, "Yes, but you may need to hide your ax." I giggled while hiding the knife in my jacket. "Well, I'm gonna need to find a bag somewhere." He said.
"I know where you can find some. Follow me." I say as we walk off together into the night.
\---------------
(This is my first time posting a story here.) | Out of force of habit, I grabbed the severed hand that the axe murderer handed me and looked down on it in horror. It was still warm and dripping.
"You...how am I supposed to use this?"
"This is my building, you can lock and unlock any door by putting my thumb against the fingerprint scanner. Now you can get revenge on your friends."
"You couldn't just come help me?"
"I'm pretty sure I'm going to bleed out, dude, I just chopped my arm off to help you for fuck's sake!"
"...but you didn't hav—nevermind. Thanks. Well good luck then."
"Do you want the axe?"
"Nah I'm just going to leave. Peace."
"Wow. Just wow." | 2020-11-10T07:09:23 | 2020-11-10T05:19:46 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | Captain Requier marched down to the human Tech Officer Ceasar’s quarters. Ceasar had been ordered to his room until they had reached their destination, after which Requier would assess the human’s sanity for himself. “It shouldn’t be possible,” Requier thought, “that anyone can witness warp without the anti-warp gear and be alright.” He had seen about a half dozen good men and women go crazy; why was Ceasar any different. Requier knocked on Ceasar’s door.
“Come in Captain.” Ceasar called out. The door slid open. Ceasar was sitting on his bed, looking at Requier. So far, he didn’t look deranged. Requier slowly sat down beside him.
“How ya feeling son?” He asked. Ceasar shrugged.
“A little nauseous. I sort of feel like I’m having a really bad cold, you know?” Ceasar blinked hard and deliberately. Requier took great notice. “And seeing us jump into warp speed, damn that hurt my eyes.”
“Hurt your eyes kiddo?” Requier asked. “What dis you see? Was it too bright?” Requier smiled, trying to relate a little to Ceasar. “That’s why we wear the gear.”
“At first it looked like Star Wars, y’know?” Ceasar said, looking at Requier. Requier didn’t react, and Ceasar frowned slightly. “Oh come on man we just watched those movies last week! With Luke Skywalker and-“
“Oh, right!” Requier answered. “The lines when they go into light speed. Okay. What else?”
“A whole bunch of weird looking polygons, and shapes that reminded me of things I saw, and some stuff that I think I might see in the future...” Ceasar trailer off. “Geez, it’s gonna stick with me for a bit.”
“Well, my boy, I’m asking because-“
“Because people go crazy without the warp gear right?” Ceasar interrupted. Requier looked surprised. “I found that out myself back in tech school. You don’t need to play with kid gloves around me Captain.”
“I see. Well, since you know it’s effects on people’s psyche, many of us are concerned with how warp affects the human mind. Humans are new to the space faring world, and-“
“And what?” Ceasar asked, seeming agitated. “And humans haven’t demonstrated high intelligence? We’re the weird dumb species right? I hear that enough.” Requier fell silent, unsure of how to respond. “I get it, humans got into space using combustion engines and polluted our home world really badly. But we’re not stupid. Maybe what people see when they enter warp without gear is too much for non-human brains.” Ceasar signed, and laid back onto his bed. “I’m sorry for the outburst. This is just the straw that broke the camel’s back I guess.” Requier silently got up.
“You can find anti-nausea medicine in the sick bay when you’re ready. And...”. He turned to look back at Ceasar. “I’m sorry we have made you feel like we think you’re lesser. We don’t think that. I hope we can regain your trust.” | My name is Supply Sergeant Marcus Grant of the Terran Armada’s third support unit. I have been in a secure isolation cell in a wing of an Intragalactic Transport Centre hospital for the last 3 weeks, or maybe it’s more. The days have begun to run together.
The doctors here have told me that I have gone mad. Or that, by all accounts, I should have. I believe that I am in full control of my physical and mental faculties. My repeated requests to speak to a Terran Governmental representative have thus far been denied. I do not believe that any human knows where I am.
I arrived here after being accidentally locked in a cargo hold on a warp drop into the Epsilon Sagiitarii track. It’s been 3 weeks and I still don’t know how to tell them that I panicked and took an ambien not long after take off and fell asleep watching Law and Order Spacial Victims Unit before we even passed the Kuiper belt. | 2020-07-14T00:28:01 | 2020-07-13T22:38:35 | 465 | 74 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Plants feed on the fallen. The soil from which they grow is rich with the nutrients of the dead. The energy of the daisy, the shrub, the towering oak is not destroyed in death. It is passed along through the dirt to be absorbed by the next in line.
I knew a similar cycle applied to us. We adventurers, with our ordained classes, our inborn gifts. I knew the raw powers of the killed passed on to the killer. I knew "greatness" was a pretty word heroes used to describe the piles of corpses they left in their wakes.
"I would love more power," I whispered to my nightshades as I watered them under the yellow moon. "But it's not worth what it costs. The killing. The blood. I'd rather be a humble gardener than have all those deaths weighing on my conscience. I'd rather be weak than vile."
I reached one hand up toward the yellow moon and with the other I coaxed the plant. As I hummed and focused the lunar energies, little buds began to open and bloom from the limb of my nightshade.
I sat back, exhausted. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Accelerating the life of even a small plant left me drained.
"You're so weak, you're not even worth the killing," said a voice behind me.
I started. "Thank you, sir," I gasped. I felt like a mouse being watched by a viper. "I am weak. I know it."
"Pitiful, too," the hero announced. "Do you know the man to whom you are speaking?"
"I have a guess."
"I am Halodin the Unbroken," he said.
"Yes," I said. "There were rumours you would pass by our humble town. I am honoured to be in your presence, sir."
"Ha! And I am disgraced to be in yours. Such is the way of the world."
I did not turn to look at him. Many claimed that he killed any who gazed upon his face, while others claimed that his form was so magnificent the mere sight of it struck the looker dead. Whichever was true, I did not want to find out.
"Look up," he commanded. "At the moon. Now."
I did as commanded. I felt the power emanating from him, behind me. I watched as that full, yellow moon gradually darkened, faded from view, like during an eclipse. And one by one, the stars began to dim as well, winking out of existence until the sky was a perfect blackness.
I could not see a thing.
"You have the power to siphon moonbeams to make your little plants grow," he sneered. "Yet your pathetic powers are enough to keep you content. Meanwhile, I can blot the moon from the sky with ease. But for me, my powers are nothing. Nothing. I'll never understand you wretches, content to simper and bow. Living on your knees. No ambition or pride. Despicable."
I heard him walking past me, his powerful feet sinking into my garden's dirt. I heard the stalks of plants cracking and breaking with each of his indifferent strides.
The world was pitch black. I could not see him. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes, just in case.
"Thank you for sparing my life," I squeaked.
"You call this a life?" he laughed over his shoulder as he strode.
"And watch out, Sir Halodin, for the well of despair!" I sputtered. "The magical pit in the middle of my garden! It was created by one of the Ancients, and boasts a powerful charm. To trip and fall would mean certain death for any man, no matter how powerful."
The hero laughed and continued marching through the darkness, stomping on and through whatever plants he pleased. I imagined how wonderful it would feel to get revenge on someone like him. I imagined how glorious it would feel to put him in his place. To punish him for how he had treated me, for how all of them had treated me.
I dug my fingers into the dirt. I imagined a root slithering up from the dirt to catch his foot. . .
I heard the frustrated growl, then the echoed cry, growing more distant as its source plummeted through those enchanted depths.
Then silence.
The shadow lifted from the moon, the stars. I could see my garden again. And though I could not see Sir Halodin, I could feel him, his power. No longer behind me or before me, but within me. Coursing through my body and soul.
I nodded at the dirt beneath my feet and shot into the sky on the top of a tree; it grew taller and taller, like a spire, until I stood perched hundreds of feet above the surrounding land. With a lazy sweep of my hand, a dense and terrible forest rose for miles in the direction of my gesture.
"The earth is a garden," I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "The earth is *my* garden. It is mine." | Very few people get chosen as a gardener. It is looked down upon heavily. Yet, who provides the wood for the handles of knives for the chefs and rogues? The vegetables to sustain adventurers? Those who live in towns need not worry for food, the Ranchers and Gardeners provide them with sustenance.
You might wonder why we aren't called farmers. That's because farmers are people who are other classes who shift into plant growing. Though, farmers are looked on upon with joy and pride. Why? Why them? I keep people alive! Not those fools with no goddamn clue with what they're doing! They make so much less than us with 2 times the land. I have to deal with these pissants stomping all over my crops! My carrots, my corn! Hell, even my goddamn cabbages! The ranchers somehow don't have it better! People kill their livestock for free experience! Fuck those whoresons!
Ahem, my apologies. I lost my temper. So, I plant trees. Oak, spruce, mesquite, mahogany, birch, and a few others. I provide gunsmiths and blacksmiths with wood so they can forge better handles, grips, the sorts. I let these trees grow pretty big. Adventurers, some horny bastards, and the recently deceased Silus Quix. Yup, that Silus Quix, the dragon slayer, the savior of our fine city. Poor lad, he was stomping on some roses, which I don't grow for anyone but myself, he got a thorn through a bad part of his armor, jumped back in pain... Then, he uh, tripped over a mahogany tree's roots. Now, plate armor is heavy, so the tree shook pretty hard when he tripped.
A branch broke off, and you know how heavy mahogany is, so it landed on his unprotected neck. Crushed his windpipe, and he died pretty damn quickly. But the kicker is, I got credit for killing him. Level went up to 57. Now, if any gardeners out there wonder what happens when you level up. Let me tell you.
I went out the next day after taking Silus to the church to be buried, and the trees I planted yesterday were already half-grown. The crops I had planted weren't. Apparently, the gardener has separate experience pools for crops and trees.
That's it. Nothing else happened. Things just grow faster. They might grow stronger, but I haven't noticed anything different with the trees. Altogether, it really isn't worth it. Don't kill for experience. | 2021-10-04T16:23:08 | 2021-09-09T21:21:23 | 1,001 | 63 |
[WP] you realise you misheard your daughter. There’s a mobster under her bed. | *[A kid’s bedroom. The father, a 37 year old man named DUTCH, closes a book, and kisses his 9 year-old daughter, ABIGAIL, on the forehead.]*
**DUTCH:** Alright honey. It’s 9:30. You know what that means.
**ABIGAIL:** Light’s out?
**DUTCH:** Yep. Light’s out.
*[He stands up to leave. His daughter grips his shirt.]*
**ABIGAIL:** Daddy….
*[She hesitates.]*
**ABIGAIL:** Can I get a glass of water?
**DUTCH:** What? Another one?
**ABIGAIL:** I’m thirsty.
*[Dutch sighs.]*
**DUTCH:** Alright. But you better not be getting up every five minutes to pee.
*[Dutch leaves. As soon as the door is closed, a man peeks out from under the bed. He’s nearly 200 pounds overweight and has a small mustache]*
**MORETTI:** Ay, kid. Thanks for not sellin’ me out. No wonderin’ what that guy’ll do.
*[She drops the sweet accent, and develops a quasi-italian.]*
**ABIGAIL:** Moretti? That's you? I thought you was a fed!
**MORETTI:** Why would a fed be under your bed?
**ABIGAIL:** Why would a made guy be under my bed?
**MORETTI:** Touche. I'm on the lam.
**ABIGAIL:** Under my bed? Why?
**MORETTI:** That's where I always go. It's comfortable. I got snacks here.
**ABIGAIL:** Does the don know you're in the wind? Do I gotta turn you in?
**MORETTI:** No, no. Don knows. He’s the one who ordered it.
**ABIGAIL:** Ah...the feds?
**MORETTI:** I wish. My wife caught me with a puttana.
*[Abigail sighs.]*
**ABIGAIL:** You fucking idiot.
*[Dutch enters. Moretti goes back under the bed. Abigail drops her cold demeanor and smiles.]*
**DUTCH:** Here’s your glass of water sweetie.
**ABIGAIL:** Thank you so much daddy. I love you.
**DUTCH:** I love you too, honey. Now, anything else?
**ABIGAIL:** No, I’m fine daddy.
**DUTCH:** Seriously? No need to check for monsters under the bed?
**ABIGAIL:** No no no. It’s fine. Really! Thanks daddy.
*[Crinkling sounds under the bed. Chewing. Dutch and Abigail stare at eachother in the darkness.]*
**DUTCH:** What was that?
**ABIGAIL:** Oh daddy I’m sorry. I tooted!
**DUTCH:** Right. No problem. It happens to everyone, right?
*[He leaves, and shuts off the lights.]*
**ABIGAIL:** Ay, do you want to get pinched?
*[Moretti peeks out from underneath. He’s eating a bag of cheetos.]*
**MORETTI:** Stop bustin’ my balls. I got hungry.
**ABIGAIL:** You’re always hungry, you fat facia bruta.
*[Moretti keeps chewing. Abigail hears him disgustingly lick his fingertips.]*
**ABIGAIL:** One day I'm going to whack you. | Jenny has always struck everyone as strange, to everyone, myself included. Just last night she was craving pizza and talking in a weird Brooklyn esque accent, which was very strange, considering we lived on the west coast, she has never been in contact with anyone from that particular area. My wife and I have concluded that was just probably the television. It has got so bad that at school she has had several sessions with the elementary schools guidance counselor, a relatively young man. He had advised us to try and take her mind off of television and things that a vacation would help this. I found two days to take off work to go to a rentable cabin in the Oregon woods. We told her a day prior to this but she just replied with Anthony needs his money. I inquired, she pointed to under the bed, and with a closer look a silhouette of what was seemingly a man. The figure emerged from the darkness of Jenny's bed, "HEY, I'm sleeping here" the man grumbled in an almost unlegible dialect. And so I called the stereotypical New York mobster of italian descent extermination service. (I'm new, go easy on me.) | 2017-12-01T23:02:35 | 2017-12-01T22:22:50 | 197 | 11 |
[WP] Mankind explored the galaxy. Nothing. Only us. Disheartened, we colonized and thrived. One day, an experiment exposed the truth: our reality is a second out out of phase with the rest of existence, which is populated by aliens. The brief glimpses seen of us? We are their Eldritch Terrors. | I watched through the Stabilizer that finally allowed us to view their world. The aliens were short and had a slight blue tinge to their skin as well as a light yellow glow highlighting them as though they were all dim lanterns. Occasionally, they would look in the direction of our Stabilizer, a hole in reality, and disappear in a puff of black smoke. My smile widened energetically as I turned to my colleague.
"They can teleport?" I laughed as he watched read data coming in on his tablet.
"It seems like it," Haron said, looking up from the tablet and another creature puffing away, its face inscrutable as it left.
"I think they're spooked and leave as soon as they see us," I said.
"Not a bad theory. We're probably the creepiest thing they've..." Haron frowned at his tablet as he trailed off.
"What? Notice something new?" I asked.
"How many did you say there were in this area?" he asked.
"Ummm," I pulled out my own tablet. "We started at 300. Why?"
"No, I mean the entire population," he asked. "Every one of their known living creatures."
"We got exactly 10,303. That was the calculation right as we opened the Stabilizer," I read.
"It's down by a dozen," he looked up and saw another puff away in the ghoulish black smoke. "Another just dropped off."
"Yeah, they're teleporting, right?" I clarified.
"To where? The live reading of their population drops as soon as they pop away," he said, suddenly sounding queasy.
"I don't know I guess they..." I grew a frown myself as one of my eyes narrowed in a conclusion. "They're dying? Is that how they die?" I asked.
"I... I think so," Haron breathed.
"Just from seeing us!?"
"Maybe they can't fathom what they see. It's too much to take in and continue living," he deduced.
"We aren't even doing anything! We're just--" I saw another turn its head our way and disappear. Their population dropped by another. "Agh! I don't get it! How do we know for sure they're not just teleporting away somewhere?"
"I think they've made that pretty clear," Haron pointed to a dozen of the aliens approaching the portal with covers over their eyes. They held an item in each of their hands that looked like a smooth silver cube.
"They know they can't look at us but still want to communicate!" I said, fascinated once more.
"What do you think those devices they're holding are?" Haron asked.
Suddenly the items began to take on the glow of the aliens and floated about a foot above their hands. Suddenly, each one emitted an ear-piercing scream and fired a red projectile our way. Seven flew beside the portal, the aliens unable to aim properly, but one of them managed to get in through the edge and touch my work desk, obliterating it in a deafening blast that put it on fire. The fire was odd and blue. It burned faster than any fire I'd ever seen and ate my things in the span of two seconds. Haron and I looked at one another as the devices floated back to the alien's hand. They remained very quiet, listening intently. Haron and my eyes widened as we realized they were listening for whether we were dead or not after that attack.
Haron flipped the power on the Stabilizer, shutting the portal immediately. I stared at the wall that stood where the portal was a moment before.
"What now," I said, a mix of disappointment and terror in my voice.
"Well, it's unfortunate, but it looks like we were unable to make contact with any aliens and we will have to shut down this program," Haron said quickly, gathering a dustpan and broom to clean up what used to be my work area. "Definitely no reason to ever search for aliens when they clearly don't exist and we cannot interact with them," he said, clearly panicking.
"Right, yeah, a shame about the failed experiments," I picked up on what he was saying, grabbing the broom to get rid of the evidence as soon as possible.
_______________________
/r/Nazer_The_Lazer for more stories! | The One who first saw them told us how the skies were ripped open, the darkness which normally protected us broke into beams of hellish light. They burned our people and forced us to live underneath the surface. Many of us said no, let us take our chances with the demons above, the underground was no place for our people for it was hot and dense. The One warned us that they would come back.
My own mother wanted to move our family underground, but I stood my ground. I said that I too would fight so that we wouldn't have to be reduced to living in constant pain.
"I would rather die," I said to her.
She cried.
The skies ripped open again that night, I saw my brothers in arms burn alive. In my own platoon, I was one of the only ones who weren't permanently blinded or maimed. After the demons' second assault, they left our people alone for a lifetime. No one knew why, our leaders prepared what little defenses they could in preparation for a third attack. Even the One didn't understand why they had left after devastating half of our population. We waited until we couldn't wait any longer.
"We must give up on this world," The One said.
And we left. It took several lifetimes, there weren't many left after we were ready to leave. There were many who chose to stay, in case the demons came back. After another lifetime of traveling to other worlds, we found one suitable to our needs. Cold and dark. Bountiful amounts of minerals and other resources that we could use to rebuild.
It didn't take longer than a quarter of one lifetime before the demons found us again. The skies opened up, burning our people with the unfortunately familiar light. Their attack lasted no more than a few seconds until they disappeared. The One had been hit by the light and He lost his vision, his power. We collected the resources we could to leave this world, but The One said no.
There was no escaping these demons for they would chase us to the ends of the universe. | 2022-12-13T23:31:24 | 2022-12-13T23:22:36 | 758 | 78 |
[WP] An armada of alien warships descends upon our planet, only to find a desolate wasteland void of life. A lone android surfaces from an underground bunker with a message for the would-be invaders: his masters are slumbering in the Silicon Dream. Do not disturb, or your annihilation will be swift. | We are the Intergalactic Civilized Front, or I.C.F for short, our crew is made of the top engineers, scientists, and pilots in the known galaxy, our mission?
Save worlds and civilizations from going exctinct.
Log date: 19.1.25.
Today we visited the infamous Earth! Though I felt dissapointed by my visit, finally seeing the planet that sent us that golden disk, and proved to us the existance of other life form in the universe should have been breath taking... Alas, when we landed we were welcomed with arid deserts, and ruins of ancient civilizations. After a few hours of searching we met an android, and a most rude one at that. Our conversation was short, but me and the other scientists still recorded everything.
-Attention intruders! My masters are slumbering in the silicon dream! Retreat from this planet at once, or prepare for your annihilation!
-My name is Galashtar Mili-Tit, Scientist, and negotiator for the Intergalac-
-I do not care! Retreat at once or meet your doom!
-I'm sure if I had a word with you-
-Retreat at once! Retreat at once! Retreat at once!
The android kept yelling these words, so we stopped trying to communicate for now. We ended up leaving the planet's surface for a few hours, to study what we found, and establish a new stategy. After all, this machine can't be the only person we can contact here...
Log date:19.2.25
We once again trekked down to Earth today, and we seached for life forms, but nothing was there, except that robot with his shrill cryes. He kept following us until we left the planet, screaming at us to retreat.
Interestingly enough, we have found some pieces of technology that seemed recently active. The machine looked like a huge hole, that went down kilometers into the planet. We plan on visiting it tomorrow, I just hope the annoying machine will leave us be in the mean time.
Log date:19.3.25
Today the robot followed us but stayed silent. As we went down the machine, we were met with supercomputers, pumps, gears, and other parts of this intricate machine. We couldn't reach the end of it though, as me and my companion's path was blocked by the android, this time around though, something changed in his behavior.
-Invaders, we have warned you for days now, if you do not leave this planet immediately, we will annihilate everything you worked for.
-Oh, so you say something new now, said one of the scientists.
-My program changed to accomodate to your lacks and need. My masters, humanity, is in the Silicon dream, do not disturb them, and leave now.
-But we know we can save your masters, just listen-
-This is the final warning, leave, today, or I will annihilate you, your ship, and every denizen of said ship, and I will not stop there, I will analyze everything I can to know where your head quarters are, I will annihilate, destroy, and erase from existence, every single part of your employers work in this universe. This is the final warning. This is the final warning. This is the final warning.
We left after hearing his speech. It seems as though this robot is all that protects humans. I'm going to officially black list Earth from our list of potential new civilization to add to our front... I just hope we'll be saved...
Log date: 5043.4.19
The invaders have left, humanity is sleeping, and no one will wake them up. The project to turn the human race into a singular being is 64% complete. They slumber in the silicon dream, and they will wake up anew. | "What should be done?" inquired the General.
"Attack," growled the Admiral. "These little creatures are *bluffing*, can't you see?"
"Wait," advised the Corporal. "Perhaps they do possess some untold strength. It would be wise to study the actions of our enemies."
"Leave," offered the Lieutenant, but all three commanders only scoffed.
"Bring me the android," commanded the General. The four extraterrestrials inspected it carefully.
"*Ferrite*," exclaimed the Admiral. "It is clear that these creatures use inferior substances."
"Maybe they are pretending," reasoned the Corporal, "to lure us into attack."
The Lieautenant said nothing, choosing to survey the wastelands below.
"Now what's this *Silicon Dream*?" asked the General.
"I believe it is a state of the subconscious," answered the Admiral. "It is likely used for purposes of pleasure."
"Or," returned the Corporal, "it may be a means of life preservation."
"This only demonstrates the technological complexity of these creatures," concluded the Lieutenant. "I do not think it would be wise to aggress them."
"Enough," proclaimed the General. "We attack."
Soon the drones spilled out from the battleships. Their meager bodies flitted through the barren wasteland, probing for life. The desolation, however, had no end.
In the end no creatures were spotted. For the Silicon Dream represented death, and all humans had perished long ago. | 2020-06-20T06:28:30 | 2020-06-20T06:20:59 | 215 | 59 |
[WP] Two minutes ago, every individual worldwide swapped bodies with another random person. You are now standing in a foreign city, in the midst of a confused and frightful crowd. | It was high school all over again.
Tenth grade Biology, from the looks of it. Los Angeles District, set on prime property right inside the big city. With the screams and crunching of metal emiciating from the open window, I clearly was one of the luckier ones out there. Even a professional stuntsman wouldn't have braked in time if he materialized in the driver's seat.
Standing in front of the chalkboard was what used to be the teacher, a tall guy in his forties. He was on his knees in front of the lab bench, bawling hysterically and slamming his palms against the floor. Most of the students around me were in shock, the majority silent. I heard someone behind me whispering repeatedly "This isn't real, I'm just dreaming." Another had his head down in prayer, begging the gods above to save him from this plight. Some looked drearily at themselves and their possessions. Others paced the room, touching their faces and various objects just to prove they weren't living in a masterful illusion.
I moved on, accepting my fate. Yes, several minutes ago I was seated in my cubicle, getting berated by the boss for visiting Reddit (for that sweet karma) on the job. While my code was compiling. How his angry face disappeared into blackness for a heartbeat, then resolved into new detail as I appeared in the classroom. The clarity of 20/20 vision that I hadn't felt since childhood.
Those fingers in front of me weren't those stubby, dry ones that made it difficult to play guitar. They were slender, pale, and had blue crackle polish on the nails.
Everything hit me at once. The auburn hair running down my shoulders. A closed Moleskine with the name "Serena" written in neat cursive. And the uncomfortable bra that simply felt foreign to me.
A twenty-six year old guy in a tenth-grade girl's body. Was this a horrible anime or what? I suppose I wasn't the worst off, with thoughts of a little kid trading places with Grandma coming to mind. For a moment I wondered what would happen to my original self, the slightly overweight software developer in a Vancouver startup. A soft smile reached my lips as I thought of the boss yelling at some random nobody, which disappeared promptly as I realized how he probably would've switched places as well.
The Chromebook on the desk was locked, requiring a PIN that I didn't have. A pity that the L.A. district didn't spend their budget on biometrics - but perhaps Serena did. I patted what should've been my cargo pocket and immediately cursed my muscle memory. Her black leggings didn't have pockets, and certainly not on the side. I rifled through her backpack like a customs inspector and pulled out a shiny iPhone X.
Yay for rich parents.
The device unlocked with a quick gaze, showing a picture of Serena with a couple of friends. She kind of reminded me of Christine, a girl I'd dated briefly back in uni. The slightly freckled face, athletic build, sharp eyes that subtly looked into your mind. We'd broke with no argument, just gradually stepping back as we realized we didn't work out. I hadn't spoken to her in a long time.
A faint chill rode up my spine as I checked her messages and Facebook. It felt intrusive, but at the same time I really needed info. Chaos was unfolding both on the streets and the Net, and people acted crazy at times like these. An Amazon receipt showed me her address, a modern condominium ten minutes away. She liked to sketch, often posting new creations on her profile. Her parents seemed quite carefree, but judging from her messages she didn't look like a slacker either. More like someone taking life easy, without a set goal in mind. Hell, I was like that before I got drawn into the programming crowd.
The streets were quieter now, with most of the vehicles silent or merely idling. The initial wave of panic was fading as people tried to comprehend what was going on. I watched a girl comfort the guy beside her with a motherly tone; from his behavior he looked like a toddler.
I had to figure out what to do soon, and school wasn't exactly the best place for that. I placed all of Serena's belongings into her bag and stepped out into the hall.
---
[PART 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8f6b2y/wp_two_minutes_ago_every_individual_worldwide/dy2x2r7/) | When it happened 2 minutes ago, it seemed like a flash of light and then I was sitting there in a car in a city I did not recognize.
What had seemed a foreign environment, became known to me as Beijing. It did not surprise me that I had noticed the similar architecture, as I had paid attention in World History Class more than other people.
I decided to check my back pocket where I felt a lump, it must have been my wallet.
I opened it and noticed your state issued identification in what I knew was Chinese and English but I was able to read both as easy as I had the English. It seems that I retain the information of the person who existed in this body before, except the current knowledge of what I was doing and what my name was.
I knew where I was supposed to be, and as it turned out my name was "Li Wei", which had been on the ID. I also had several business cards to give out, in English and Chinese because apparently I was working for an American based company.
I decided I should probably get back into traffic with the parked car and head to work. I then punched in the address on your phone's GPS and headed there.
When I arrived at work I headed to the front desk where I took a left, knowing where to go from instinct. I headed to the elevators and stood in line.
I was the last one in the elevator and punched the number to floor 5, where I worked. When I arrived I sat down at my desk and took papers out of the Satchel I had been carrying, I then got straight to work on what looked to be a standard job for distribution of automobile parts.
On my way to work there there had been a confusion among many people, but now people were just hard at work doing what they probably would have been doing had nothing happened.
It seems like no one would even question what had happened, but this was my life now, and I couldn't complain.
(I am open to criticism, if you find any mistakes let me know below) | 2018-04-26T17:00:01 | 2018-04-26T15:21:53 | 2,992 | 132 |
[WP] Your father was a turnip farmer. His father was a turnip farmer. His father was a dragon, so, like... it's diluted, but the blood is there. You can't do much, but you are pretty fun to cuddle on a cold winter's night. Also, knights keep trying to fight you and steal your horde of turnips. | The tavern was quiet outside of the clink of glasses, muted conversation, and the occasional thump of the door to the kitchens being opened. The place smelled like a mix of tobacco smoke, home-brewed ale, and bodily sweat. Fred figured if that was the worst his nose could smell, then it was a good evening.
Fred stood off to one side of the door to the kitchens. He held a bag that contained many turnips. If anyone asked what he was about he would say, “Well, just extra turnips for the kitchen. The ones I didn't want to keep you know. Not quite perfect enough. S'a good arrangement. I bring the turnips for supper, they provide the ale, eh? Just as my father did, and his father 'afore him.” Usually that was the end of the conversation and eventually the barman would notice Fred, along with the bag of turnips. A bag of turnips would be exchanged for a couple bottles of ale, along with a friendly handshake for good measure, and Fred would be on his way up the hill to his home for the evening.
Tonight was not one of those usual nights, unfortunately. As Fred stood about waiting for the barman to have a moment to spare, the front door of the establishment was flung open. Some patrons, startled, jumped in their seats. Others glanced over their shoulders, then resumed their whispered conversations. One muttered, “Oh nine of the sky save us, it’s another Knight come looking for trouble.”
In the doorway stood an imposing man in full plate mail holding his sword drawn in two hands. Then again, doesn’t anyone look imposing when covered in metal armor while holding five feet of sharp steel? Fred sighed and focused his gaze narrowly on the barman, who had finally made his way over to Fred’s end of the bar, the two bottles of ale in his hand, ready for the usual exchange. “I hope he’s not here for me.”, Fred said.
The barman shrugged, and set the two bottles on the counter. As Fred handed over the turnips, the Knight shouted from across the room, “Which one of you is the 1/8th dragon! I have come to challenge thee, and seek the riches of your treasure horde!”
The room lapsed into silence as conversations screeched to a halt. This was not anyone’s first time. By Fred’s count, this was the third fellow this month. The patrons glanced at one another and started to giggle and mutter amongst themselves. “Ain’t no dragon here Mister Knight, we’s just turnip farmers and ale brewers! Ye got the wrong village.”, the barman said.
“Nay, I am certain this is the right village. My lordship warned me to look about for those with red hair, and green eyes! A sage I spoke to a few towns ago said there might also be taloned hands, scale-tails, and fire-breathing, even in a partial-blood dragon!”, the Knight took his helmet off, to better appraise the crowd. His eyes narrowed as he saw Fred, who indeed had red hair and green eyes. No talons or scale-tail though. “You!”, the Knight shouted.
“Who, me?” Fred said.
The Knight strode forward, sword pointed directly toward Fred. “Yes you, you have the hair and the eyes! Be ye a dragon?”, he said as raised his sword above his head.
“Ah… well. I mean… slow down Sir Knight. If I’m 1/8th a dragon… where’s the 1/4ths? And what about my children and grand-children? The 1/16ths and 1/32ths? Where does humanity end and dragons begin?”, Fred said.
The Knight hesitated, sword raised high. “I’m not sure what you’re driving at, foul creature, but you won’t mislead me!”, as the Knight spoke these words, Fred made a sweeping gesture with his hand, indicating the roomful of patrons.
“Look here, in the corner! Lil Susie has talons. She’s m’granddaughter.”, Fred said, and Susie waved a taloned hand at the Knight.
“And see that trio over there? My great grandfather was a dragon, same as theirs, but different mothers you see. Great-grandpa got around, you know? Charming dragon and all!”, Fred pointed toward a trio of red haired farmers, who appeared to be deeper into their cups than is wise. As he did so, one of the farmers wiggled his eyebrows, and a small, two foot long tail flopped out of the back of his trousers.
“I get real tired of you Knights coming round from foreign lands, thinking there’s glory in slaughtering a whole village down to last man woman and child. How else can you be sure the dragon-blood is exterminated, hey? If you’re still meaning to fight, you’ll have to take on all of us. That could certainly hurt an up and coming Knight Errant’s repuation, eh?”, Fred said.
The Knight looked around the room more closely. It seemed most in the room met one or more of the requirements. There were some green eyes there, some reddish blonde hair there. Looking more closely, he spotted little patches of red scale on exposed skin. “I see your point, Sir. It would not bode well for a rumor to be spread, true or not, that I had slaughtered a whole village. Discretion is perhaps the better part of Valor here. But what shall I bring my Lordship? I cannot return empty handed.”, the Knight said.
“How about you spend the night here, getting to know the folk of the land, and we send you back with some old scales that we’ve shed, and a bagful of the best turnips your Lord will ever taste?”, Fred said.
The Knight sheathed his sword and sat down at the bar. “Sounds like an alright start. Barman, an ale if you please!” | "Turnips, Turnips Turnips." I sighed to myself as I threw another one into the pot. I decided to make a simple dish for lunch today. Turnips marinated in turnip sauce with some shaved turnip as a condiment, I'd even gone as far to treat myself with a slice of Parsnip. I lit the fire under neath with the strategic placement of a match and began to stir the purple mess. The act is quite similar to meditation, and I always find myself on some train of thought. This particular stirring session I seemed to recollect the memories of my father and those before him. My Great-Grandfather had been a dragon, who somehow managed to impregnate a princess in some tower, and the following birth led to the weird conjoining of Human and Dragon, needless to saw my Great-Great-Grandmother did not survive very long after labor. Instead of becoming a gold hoarding Dragon-Man, My Great-Granddaddy decided to become a measly turnip farmer (prices were high back then). Then his son (my father) helped him out with his turnip farming venture. Thanks to the great dragon characteristics that they had inherited, they found no trouble in keeping back the irritating Knights who came to steal their precious purple plants. But me, being only 1/8th dragon, inherited nothing more than a small scaly tail, lizard eyes (which do not help with the ladies) and the ability to keep warm.
The food had finally finished cooking. I put some of the stew in a bowl, and raised it to my lips for a sip. Before the steamy liquid could enter my mouth a loud crash sounded nearby. Startled I dropped my bowl and went outside to investigate the source.
"Look at the size of this these Turnips 'ere!" Came a high pitched sound from inside the shed.
"These could feed our boys fer months." Someone said in a lower tone.
I grabbed my rusty axe and headed outside to confront these troublemakers.
Four knights (in full plate, with a long-sword in each of their scabbards) were staring into my Turnip filled shed.
"um.. Hello" I said meekly.
The four of them turned around.
"Hello there, these wouldn't happen to be your Turnips would they?" One of them asked.
"Well, actually they are..."
"Great! We'll be taking the lot then."
The other three moved into the shed and began shoving the turnips into their sacks. I moved in to stop them but the man (who seemed like their leader) stopped me.
"I would stop there and drop the axe if I were you."
I did so (knowing full well that any rash move on my part would be my demise) and watched in horror as every single little bit of Turnip was taken from my shed. They left in a cart with my horde while I sat still in utter astonishment as I realised that all of my life's work had just been taken from me.
After a few short hours of self pity, I dragged myself back into the house and managed to finish the last few bits of Turnip in the pot.
After a long and tiresome day I welcomed the embrace of sleep, and went to the marketplace the very next day. I bought as many Brussels-Sprouts as I could for planting, hoping that it would stop the Knight Incursions. No one likes Brussels-Sprouts.
​
\*Note:
I had no idea about what to do towards the end, so there you go. I decided to give this one a shot. It's my first Writing Prompt, and I hope to do more and better my writing style in the future.
| 2019-01-29T21:58:10 | 2019-01-29T21:11:27 | 85 | 18 |
[WP] Aliens landed on earth, and they're surprised all humans possess what they think of as a superpower... an ability we always took for granted and consider normal. | Gather round children, and I will tell you the tale of how we become the single most powerful species in the galaxy. It all started November 9th, 2014. First contact.
We had known they were coming for months. Which in that day and age was incredibly rare. As the government enjoyed keeping information like that suppressed. It was a means of control. Of power. That all changed with one man though. When Edward Snowden released all of the secret things out into the world, it was shaken to it's very core. The single most important secret that he freed, was that we are not alone in the universe, and they were on their way here.
Over the months leading up to first contact we continually beam signals out toward our impending visitors. It was no use. The Greys, as most people affectionately called them, didn't seem inclined to respond. They stayed silent while their ships hurtled towards our pale blue dot.
They arrived in force. There was never any doubt in their intent. They wanted to erase the human species from the galaxy. Presumably they wanted our planet. We never discovered their motivation though.
The first battle was beyond bloody. The entity of Earth was the theater of combat. There were no conscientious objectors. How could their be? The Greys attacked without provocation or warning. Every man woman and child took up arms. More humans died that day than in all the previous wars combined. We just were not ready. Simply put, we were out numbered and out gunned. So, we did what we do best. We ran. We hid. We planned. We attacked. Just like that it was over. The planet was littered with bodies from both sides. We had won. Little did we know at the time, but we had just killed an entire species.
The victory left us all in shock. Somehow we had prevailed against an overwhelming force. No one knew why. The only thing left to do was to rebuild. At this point we were unified. Religion, race, class non of these things mattered anymore. Not after we found out just how dangerous the galaxy was. We needed a leader. President Snowden was elected, and things stayed quiet for a year or so. Then we foudn out how we won.
President Snowden announced that another species had made contact. The Zelfran. They wanted to send an ambassador to discuss the state of the galaxy. News of our victory had spread rather quickly.
We learned a lot from the Zelfran. We learned that the entire galaxy had been war torn for ages beyond counting. We learned that there were hundreds of thousands of other sentient species. Most importantly we learned that we possessed an ability none of the others did. The concept of retreat.
When we ran in the first contact war the Greys thought that they had won. So, when we launched our counter attack, we caught them with their pants down. Every other species had only developed fight, not flight.
Humans had become legend through out the galaxy. The species that rises from the dead. The only ones that can disappear in the middle of a conflict and reappear when you least expect them too. Within ten years we were given the keys to the kingdom. We were the rulers of the galaxy. Our ability and legend made sure no other species opposed us. The First contact war of 2014 was the last war the galaxy ever saw. Peace ensured for all.
| "Captain Trunkkarr here, Major Branchum. The advance craft have landed and the Earthlings will be overpowered shortly."
"Excellent," trilled Major Branchum, tenting his twigs menacingly, "see that you leave the Amazon untouched for the Ruling Party members and -"
He cut his sentence short. On the screen Trunkkarr was writhing in agony as his limbs disappeared in a flurry of movement too fast to be seen. Within a few short moments Trunkkarr's arms and head were horrifically destroyed, his torso toppled to the ground and was chopped in to sawdust in an instant. On the viewscreen entire regiments of soldiers fell as their limbs vanished in a sickening blur.
"Stop the invasion! We're leaving!" he barked, but even as he gave the command dozens of tiny darts shot up from the surface of the planet and intersected the invasion fleet. With incomprehensible speed he saw his ships eaten away as if by a virulent disease, and then with horror his own ship began being chipped apart around him. He held up his twigs and saw them disappear in a haze, then his branches, his trunk, his head, his thoughts...
There were celebratory bonfires across Earth for a long time. | 2014-11-09T10:06:35 | 2014-11-09T08:44:51 | 153 | 90 |
[WP] You have the power to change the age of anything you touch. You try to change the age of your sleeping partner as a prank since they know of your power. But it doesn't seem to work, no matter how hard you try. Your partner wakes up and says "Gods don't age dear." | I'd learned of the power 8 years before. At our high school graduation, I'd been posed next to a small, stunted looking kid; graduating young, he was only 15, but he looked 60. "Holy *shit*" I thought, recalling what I'd heard about him--born with Progeria, fighting against the effects of abnormal aging all his life, he was actually dual-enrolled at a local university as well as our high school. He was reasonably bright, not a genius or anything, but was clearly determined to make the most of his short life. Don't laugh, but I was overwhelmed with such mixed emotions I still can't sort through them: rage at the unfairness, admiration and respect for his achievements, indescribable sadness... without really thinking, once the photo had been taken and we were just starting to disperse, I blurted out, "Adam? Could I shake your hand?"
He looked up at me, watery blue eyes twinkling in his unnaturally wrinkled face. "It's not often pretty girls ask to shake my hand," he flirted, and I had a surreal moment simply experiencing and imagining what we looked like: an old man, shaking the hand of a teenage girl, yet in reality the old man is a minor who probably won't live long enough to have the kind of relationship he alluded to with his flirting, and the girl might live another 40 or 50 years before looking as the old man does... by which time he'll be long dead. Again, I was struck by a maelstrom of emotions, so intense my eyes filled with tears. Again, words I hadn't meant to say escaped my lips.
"If I had one wish, I'd wish for you to have more time. You've done so much since starting school 10 years ago--imagine if you had another 10 years to live!"
And when he woke up the next day, he was 10 years younger. He'd lost a little height, but that happens in extreme old age... it was only a few days later, when he went for a routine check-up, that his doctors began running all manner of tests. I saw it about a month before moving away for university; the headline of the local paper read, "Local Boy with Rare Condition Miraculously Given More Years to Live," and the article went on to say that, rather than his cells showing the wear and tear of someone in their early 60s, his were more on a par with someone in their late teens or early 20s. The article was very clear--he was still aging as quickly as before, and in another 10 years, his cells would likely be as damaged as they had been when he turned 15--but he had, essentially, been given another 10 years to live. I had un-aged him, and he would live longer as a result.
I think I always intended to go back and see if I could do it again, give him another 10 years to live, but I'd gone off to university and become distracted by sharing my gift with other people who I thought needed it. There was a kindly, almost grandfatherly professor who had retired on a good pension, yet was too old and feeble to look after himself; I gave him 20 years, and he moved into a little flat with a garden where he tends exotic flowers and reads books in their original Greek and Latin. Then there was an art student about my age, who took strange, striking pictures behind and in front of the camera; she wanted to model as well as photograph others, but had missed her chance by not leaving her hometown until she was in her 20s, and say what you will, I gave her 5 years. When she looked 17 again, she signed with Vogue and bought houses for her entire impoverished family back in Mississippi.
There were dozens of students and professors who had wanted just a few more years, for one reason or another: to be young enough to change their minds about having children, to be strong enough to care for aging or unwell loved ones, to have the mental agility to do their jobs flawlessly until retirement age, anyone who I thought I could help, I did. I wore myself out, looking for people to help, taking 7 years to finish a 4-year-degree, and it was only last year, when I met another student (Master's student, as befits our age) and started dating her (and moved in with her a few months ago) that I'd started really focusing on myself and my studies and my life, again.
And yesterday, when I read the obituary of the first boy I helped, not 10 years later but 8 years, it sent me into such a deep depression that I went back to bed and started thinking about just not waking up. I hadn't felt like that in over a year... not since meeting Ambrosia. When she came in from classes, she had crawled into bed with me, stroked my hair until I fell asleep, all the while murmuring, "Katy, shh, sleep now Katydid," (her nickname for me--sometimes she calls me "Cricket," instead) until I did, in fact, sleep.
Now I was awake, and seized by panic, I wondered if she might die, too. Irrational as it was, I found myself staring at coal-black waves of hair spilling across my pillow, examining them for strands of silver, peering intently at her golden skin, trying to gauge whether her laugh lines were deeper than when we met... I'd always assumed she was my age, but somehow, I'd never actually asked, and looking back, she had always looked after me with an almost maternal tenderness... what if she were much, much older than she looked?
As the panic intensified, I lay my hand on her cheek and poured every ounce of energy into wishing her younger. 5 years, that should do it, 5 years younger and I'd be able to work out her age, 5 years and I'd know how much longer we had together, and however long it was, I'd have 5 more years ("Maybe not the full 5," my brain whispered, "you thought Adam had 10 more...").
At the height of my panic--which was escalating rapidly, as NOTHING WAS HAPPENING--Ambrosia opened her sleep-heavy, uncannily large eyes, and as usual, their colour (purplish-grey, like fields of heather) took my breath away. In the space of my indrawn breath, she said a funny thing.
"Ah," she said, (I'd never known anyone who said "ah" before, not in real life, but she did) "So this is how you discover the truth... and we shall discover together, you and I, whether the others are satisfied with your works thus far." Her smile was indulgent as she added, "Regardless of the outcome, don't trouble yourself about this particular failure; gods don't age, dear." | ######[](#dropcap)
Lucien stared at his wife, slack-jawed. She had to be joking. There was no way they were *married* and she just now thought fit to tell him. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at her sleeping, composed face that he normally found so much joy in seeing and his lips thinned. Gods didn't age, huh?
***
"Aaaah! Lucien! What did you do?" A shrill shriek came from the bedroom as Lucien casually sipped at his coffee. Black, with two sugars. Just the way he liked it. He flipped the next page of the newspaper and tutted. The world was such a mess.
Seconds later, Hera burst through the doorway, her blonde hair sticking up in all directions as she glared at him. "You did this didn't you?" she spat. Lucien looked up at the poor, whimpering mess she held up at him. It was her beloved Sphynx cat. A light pink before, its skin was now a dull gray, its head covered with wrinkles as it yowled at her in protest. She set it down carefully before turning back to him and glaring at him. "Don't you think you're being too juvenile? Was it really that important that I tell you that I'm a god?"
Lucien put down his newspaper and stared at her. "Yes! I think any normal person would want to know that!"
"Well you didn't have to take it out on Beatrice! Turn her back right now!"
Lucien sniffed and turned his head away from her. "I shan't."
Hera's eyes narrowed. "I see. So this is how you want to play it, don't you?" Then she whipped around, her nightgown billowing behind her, and stalked back into the bedroom.
***
"Hera, you've gone too far this time." Lucien said through clenched teeth and walked up to his wife as she was powdering her nose in front of her dresser mirror.
"What happened, dear?" Hera asked. She took a closer look in the mirror. Was she growing a mole? She blinked, and then it was gone. Good.
"You better cancel the rain. I swear to God."
"You're swearing to me, by the way."
"Goddamn it, Hera!"
"Still me!"
Lucien pressed a hand to his wife's shoulder and turned her to look at him. "If they keep cancelling the Giants game because of your little downpours, I'm going to have to resort to desperate measures," he said through clenched teeth.
Hera stuck her tongue out at him, then walked into the bathroom. "Do it then!" she taunted him. "Let's see what you got!"
***
Hera looked down at the little ball of plump, pink cat on the bed, bewildered. Had Lucien turned Beatrice into a kitten again?
A pair of hands slipped through her arms and around her waist. "Like my surprise?" a deep voice whispered in her ear.
"I thought you were going to do your worst," Hera said, her hands coming down to feel his hands. His palms were rough.
"These *are* my desperate measures. I really, really need to watch the game. I know you've wanted another one. I had to go beg Hades to give me another one. He nearly had my arm for it."
Hera's eyes lit up, and she turned around to face her gorgeous husband, with his angular cheekbones and bright blue eyes. "So this isn't Beatrice! You got me an undead Sphynx! How'd you even get Hades to part with her?"
Lucien grimaced. "I had to agree to be his secretary for the next hundred years. Did you know Hell has a million people going in every day? A million!"
Hera smiled at him then, then pecked him on the lips. "I'm sorry for not telling you. I promise I will next time. And I'll see if my father can't talk to him and reduce your sentence just a little bit. "
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Next time?"
Hera didn't respond. Swaying her hips, she walked over to the bed and set the undead Sphynx cat into the rocking chair next to it. She turned her smoky eyes on Lucien and curled her index finger at him, sending him a come hither look. "Come on, cowboy. Let's see what you've earned."
***
I write more fantasy at r/AlannaWu! | 2018-11-13T10:50:59 | 2018-11-13T10:44:04 | 760 | 128 |
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins" | They called it a 'decompression chamber' for a reason. Not just because it fit well with the other fun aquatic idioms like 'coming up' and 'riding the wave', but also because it was literally a chamber in which to decompress. The liquor flowed almost as fast as the profanity here, and if it wasn't for the colossal array of screens flashing statistics and highlights that occupied one wall and the moving walkway between the simulator arrays and the cryogenic ports, each of the stations could easily have been mistaken for any of the thousands of similar establishments inside the game.
Personally, Elia couldn't remember which had informed the design of which anymore. Enough cycles could do that to you.
*".. fucking asshole sniped me! Like, are you kidding me? If you're going to assassinate someone, especially someone who way outranks you, at least have the courtesy to use a fucking melee weapon.."*
Her run had been good enough that there wasn't much to complain about - a top 10% run was her best yet, and a sign that all that mid-game optimization practice was really paying off. The rest was fine tuning, and a little bit of luck. Of course, for some people, it was that last bit that always got them..
*".. sick of bullshit RNG, I swear. If I don't get a decent clean gene start next go around I'm going to choke on a toy and at least save myself some effort."*
*"Good luck doing that these days. I think some of these high rank runners are implementing bullshit safety measures just to keep us from getting all those practice resets that they used early on.."*
She scanned the crowd for familiar faces between watching the highlights and let the conversations wash over her as the stations rolled by. She didn't recognize anyone, which came with a brief twinge of sadness, but it was quickly overwhelmed by eagerness - after all, Nia wouldn't have waited after a top 10% round, either. She'd be first in line to get to the next round.
*".. strategy for early game animals? Dogs are everywhere and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing wrong, I keep getting bitten."*
*"Seriously? Just don't interact with them unless they're friendly. Is nobody teaching you signs of aggression? I'd understand if you keep getting run over or something, but dogs? What kind of shitty parents do you keep rolling.."*
"Good run, Miss Elia?" The voice of the facility AI knocked her out of her momentary reverie - she hadn't even noticed that she'd rolled out of the chamber and into processing.
"Oh! Yes. Top ten percent! Hoping I can keep the streak going. Three old age deaths in a row is pretty good, isn't it?"
"Your progress over the last five cycles has been extremely impressive, as has Miss Nia's. Will you be entering sleep immediately?"
"Yes. Yes, I think so."
"Very well. You've been issued port VS-19. Please remain on the walkway until you've reached your destination." It started rolling again smoothly, carrying her into the quiet darkness, with only the parting words of the AI interrupting the gentle hum of the systems that kept the facility alive.
"Best of luck next round, Miss Elia." | "Woah dude you were one of the thousands killed by the meltdown, wicked way to die!" - said player 6,713,490
"How did you die?" - I said
"I got shanked by a neanderthal" - he replied
"I died from what the current player call black death" - player 9,321,780,561 said.
"How did you guys learn how to speak modern english?" - I asked them
"You learn a lot from watching the stream too you know"
"Alright alright, so where am I exactly?"
(Another player steps forward)
"Some say it's the afterlife, others say its heaven. For me, it is my experiment" - player 1
-I'll do a part 2 if I get enough requests! | 2015-11-25T00:35:57 | 2015-11-25T00:10:08 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] “Is no one going to comment on the fact that our CEO is a cat? Really?” “Shut it, sales are up 300%” | "What does that have to do with our CEO being a cat Steve?!" I could feel the blood rushing into my face.
"Well to be fair Greg, a cat as a CEO is better than having a dog as mayor for three years like over there in Minnesota."
This was very true. At least the dog had a strong name like Duke as where our cat CEO went by Mr. Sprinkles. His little cat suit had the name tag with the letters printed in a typical CEO font SPRINKLES. It absolutely made my blood boil. How was this overweight feline making three times as much as me. I did not see this entire situation coming on my first day at my new office job here in the city.
​
.........
​
**A Few Moments Ago**
​
I was looking forward to my first day at the office downtown. I knew getting into the crypto currency business was going to be a great idea. Just look at how well Bitcoin did. I wanted to be the next multi million dollar man. I was applying for a job at a firm that dealt with regulating and selling a new crypto. Quick Silver was its name and it was absolutely going to be the next contender for the top spot on the Crypto Currency Leaderboards. Employees at CCs "R" Us got a free 100 coins of QS in an account. They were already worth about $1800 a pop. The only caveat was that you had to remain with the company for 2 years before you could pull out the money. A small price to pay knowing that QS would be worth more per coin in those 2 years.
​
I received an email right before I was about to head out my front door. It was a strange email that only read "Mr. Crew, hope you're not allergic to cats. If you are, please take the necessary precautions prior to coming in for your interview." I didn't think too much of it as I was not allergic. And I knew the benefits of having an office pet. Really helps with the stress levels of the workers. I headed out the door and made my way to the office building.
​
As soon as I walked through the massive rotating glass door I was met by a well dressed man in a black suit.
​
"Right this way sir. You will be heading straight into conference room number three. There you will find our CEO and VP waiting to have a brief meeting with you. Be sure to have your resume in hand prior to walking through the door and any paperwork they might ask you for. Rustling paper tends to frighten the CEO so please refrain from rummaging through your briefcase."
​
Th comment made me chuckle under my breath but I did think it was a strange statement. I followed the man into the elevator and saw him press the top floor. He didn't say a word in the elevator until the doors opened up once at the desired floor.
​
"Straight through the double glass doors with the diamond handles sir."
​
I watched as the doors closed shut and then turned to head towards the conference room. I tried to pull open one of the doors only to look up a bit at the letters that said push in small print about eye level. As I walked in the room I noticed a dapper looking fellow staring at me with a smile on his face. He must have just seen me make a fool out of myself. I blushed with embarrassment.
​
"Hello sir, please take a seat at the other end of the table."
​
I headed towards the chair he was gesturing to and began to slide it out from under the table. I was completely taken by surprise when a cat jumped down from it.
​
"OH MY GOSH! This cat scared me to death! I was not expecting a cat to be in here during our initial meeting!" I began to chuckle again under my breath.
​
"He likes to be a part of all of the new hire in-processing to ensure we hired the right people. He may be the CEO but he takes his work VERY seriously." The man spoke with a serious tone and a slight smile on his face.
​
"Wait... wha??" My brain had lost track of what the man had said. My only thought was that he was joking and I missed the punchline.
​
"Yes sir this here is Mr. Sprinkles. He took over the company about a year ago and since then its been nothing but great for the company."
​
""So everyone that works here knows that it's basically ran by a cat?"
​
"Of course Mr. Crew. Will this be a problem?"
​
“Is no one going to comment on the fact that our CEO is a cat? Really?”
​
"Shut it, Sales are up 300%!" His face and voice were suddenly filled with anger. He cleared his throat before speaking again. I could see the red vanishing as he regained his composure.
​
"Uhurm... sorry. I tend to be a bit overprotective of Mr. Sprinkles at times." | When Myer walked into the CEO's office, he felt a squish at his feet and looked down to see a dead rat. "You got to be kidding me," he thought, and peeled it off his foot and tossed it to the side. The office was filled with yarn of different colors, torn into little shreds. At the main desk, the CEO was licking his paws to the metronomic sound of a ceramic human figurine clicking its arm back and forth. Myer walked closer to the desk until the CEO paused his licking, keeping his tongue tied to his fur like it was an icy pole.
​
"This isn't real," Myer thought. "He's a cat - how can a cat be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company?"
​
A loud knock rapped at the CEO's door, and the boss loosened his tongue and let out a loud and scratchy, "meow". In walked Jerry, one of the new accountants hired to manage the company's growing fortunes. Jerry didn't acknowledge Myer as he walked to the CEO's desk and laid a large collection of paper-filled manilla folders in front of the cat.
​
"Sir, you'd be happy to hear - Q3 earnings are better than Q2 and Q1 combined."
​
The CEO let out a celebratory hiss, and Jerry bowed and turned around, only to give Myer a look, as if saying, "you are truly honored to be in his presence". After Jerry slammed the door, Myer walked toward the open chair and sat down as the CEO scratched at the folders.
​
"I'm a little lost for words," Myer said. The CEO scratched at the folders until one of them opened. The smell of rotting rat corpses greeted Myer's nose, and he felt a terrible combination of nausea and confusion overcome his body. "Things were different when I started here," he thought, remembering the first CEO, a 30-year old business mega-star who the Board had brought on from another furniture supply company. *It was that damn affair he had with his secretary. If he hadn't done that, we wouldn't have ended up in this crazy situation.*
​
The CEO let out a mighty meow that awakened Myer from his reminiscing. For some reason, Myer felt like he knew what the cat was saying. Another meow, another realization. Myer nodded, surprised to erupt with the words, "I agree," and "thank you, it's an honor". Time passed quickly, until Myer looked at his watch to realize he had been in the office for thirty minutes. Finally, the CEO gave a terrible hiss and then a consoling meow, giving Myer a supreme sense of comfort.
​
"Thank you so much, sir. I won't let you down," Myer said and stood up from the chair. The cat nodded up and down, and Myer left the office, feeling energized and refreshed. | 2019-01-09T12:50:39 | 2019-01-09T12:50:29 | 67 | 18 |
[WP] He knows he shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But Satan really loves the Christmas letters sent to him by dyslexic children. | **Part I - Sympathy for the Devil’s Day Job**
Satan took a puff from his cigarette, staring in the direction of but not particularly focused on the underling before him as the demon nervously read through a long list of earthly happenings. None of it was particularly interesting, but he was, after all, the Lord of Darkness and just as any good leader should, Satan took near daily briefings on matters that most affected his domain.
Lately these briefings had grown particularly repetitive. The Russians were meddling in some country’s affairs, the North Koreans were rattling their sabers, the Brits were busy trying to determine how most politely to tell the other Europeans to fuck off while simultaneously devastating their own economy, the Americans… we’ll let’s not get started on the Americans.
The thing about being the Lord of Darkness is that both halves of the job are equally important - the Darkness mattered very much, yes, but so did the *Lord* bit of it. Lordship necessitates hierarchy, and hierarchy necessitates order, so despite what you may have heard about him, Satan absolutely abhorred chaos. He liked his “evil,” if you must use that four letter word, to be structured.
“...and then he tweeted that he was one of the greatest golfers in the *hestory* of all time” the demon said, emphasizing the misspelling, “that Tiger Woods totally agreed with him, and that *Angelar* Merkel was insulting all the country’s troops for not approving the golf course.”
“Ugh,” Satan groaned, a thick pillar of smoke escaping from between his teeth. “Did she even have any authority to approve the course?”
“Not particularly.”
“Fucking hell,” was all the exasperated dark lord could muster. He should be enjoying this - an international incident caused by the pettiness of one buffoon who’d gotten too big for his britches - but the chaos, the god damned *chaos* was too much to bear. There was no method, no grand design, no *finesse*, just the basest of human emotions and complete, utter disarray. “Please tell me you have some good news.”
“Good news, sire?” the demon inquired, his already shaky voice rising several octaves.
“You know damned well what I mean,” Satan fumed before slouching back in his throne.
“Well, it appears some humans have developed a new fetish, and this one’s particularly creepy.”
“Ugh.”
“Uh, well, let’s see,” the demon fumbled with his long trail of paper, carefully trying to skip ahead several page lengths without accidentally dragging any of the cumbersome scroll into the multitude of open fires around him. “There’s, there’s a war on in the Middle East!”
“Hrmph. There’s always a war on in the Middle East. What’s so special about this one?” He tossed his cigarette to the ground, landing it just an inch shy of the scared minion’s feet.
The demon winced. “Um, well, you see, umm… nothing, I suppose, my lord.”
Satan grasped his forehead, massaging the space between his horns with one hand as he dragged himself back into a proper posture with the other, all the while training his vision on the discarded cigarette. Truth be told it wasn’t actually a cigarette, just a stick of ash that smoldered from the heat of the prince of hellfire’s own breath. Satan didn’t like the taste of tobacco, but he did think smoking would make him look cool - an important consideration for most anyone who relies on their charisma to get things done - and he was rather a big fan of lung cancer. It was a deadly disease largely caused by a human’s own intentional actions, and one that could easily be avoided, yet humans kept doing it to themselves. Now *that* is how you introduce so called “evil” into the world. Every smoker’s story has a cause and an effect, a beginning, middle, and end, and that end was entirely their own doing. It’s poetic, really, the dark lord told himself, without an ounce of that awful *chaos* nonsense. And so, he would from time to time pluck a sprig of ash, as they were the only trees God would let grow in hell (a joke, to be sure, and one that Lucifer regularly grumbled to himself about), then let it slowly burn betwixt his lips.
“What else?”
“Well, um, you see the Canadians -”
“Next!” Lucifer slumped forward. Whatever it was, it may have been bad by Canadian standards, but those standards were almost invariably leagues apart from his own. This was probably just some small argument over a perceived impoliteness, or perhaps a tax on maple syrup, he assured himself.
“Uh, yes, um, well, the letters are here.”
“Letters?” Satan perked up, his eyes alight as much with excitement as they were the reflections of hellfire. “Do you mean?..”
“Yes sir, it’s almost that time of year.”
Satan leaped from his throne, knocking the poor demon onto his hind quarters and accidentally casting the oversized scroll into the nearest pillar of flame. This time it was the demon who let loose an audible gasp of disappointment; he had worked quite literally all day on that list.
“Come on, Halphas, get up! No time to doddle,” said a visibly gleeful devil. “Oh wait, one more thing!” Satan exclaimed as he sauntered back to his throne, reaching behind it to pull out a small box wrapped in red and green paper. “Here you are,” he said, handing the package to Halphas as the demon pulled himself off the hard stone floor.
Halphas carefully peeled back the paper while Satan looked on with equal parts delight and anticipation. “Is this?”
“Yes! It’s an iPad! No more dragging that unruly mass of highly flammable paper around a realm engulfed in flame. From now on, when we trudge through these dreadful briefings you’ll be scrolling through your list on a simple, manageable tablet! And if the battery happens to die before you finish, so be it.”
“But sir, you love the paper list. All those trees - the destruction, deforestation, the carbon footprint, the-”
“Relax. CVS has that all covered now. And, after all, it’s Christmas!” the Lord of Darkness exclaimed with a toothy grin. “Now come along, we have preparations to make!” he declared, practically dancing toward the mailroom.
\---
Thank you for reading. This was my first creative piece in a long, long time. It’s nothing special, and derivative, I’m sure, but it was nice to get those creative juices flowing again. If there’s any appetite for it, I’ll try to write a part two in the next couple days.
***Edit:*** Part II has been posted below. Anyone wanna tell me how I link directly to comments to make it easier to find in case this thread grows? | Now, you may think it’s weird for the ruler of Hell to love things. After all, I’m eternally evil, and love is, well, not. Just because I don’t use 5 million utensils in the course of one meal, am a tad bit sarcastic, and am forever torturing the souls of people who did serious wrongs such as not being Christian, eating that slice of cake when they were on a diet, and listening to Christian Rock, doesn’t mean I can’t love stuff. Think about it, God hates stuff. Everything that puts someone down here is something God hates. Tell me then, how God can hate stuff, but I can’t love stuff. I mean, I love Freddie Mercury. I love Frank Sinatra. We hang out all the time. The thing is, I’ve been trying to hide one love of mine for a while. I’m a bit embarrassed by it, and if Beelzebub finds out, well he may just take over. You know that thread recently on Reddit, talking about my “brother Stan” and all his tortures. Well, let’s just say Beelzebub is Stan. Nobody wants Stan. See, I love Christmas letters to me.
Alright, you’re probably laughing right now, well guess what buddy? Laughing at others’ secrets is a sin. I’ll be glad to see you down here. Now, if you’re done, allow me to explain. I don’t love all Christmas letters, well I kind of do because asking for all those presents shows greed, and greed is a sin, so they’re all coming down to visit when they die, but no, I truly love Christmas letters to me. But wait you must ask, who writes a Christmas letter to the ruler of the underworld, the enemy of the lord, the most handsome of all angels, fallen, or still a bit pretentious? Well, while the last one does get me love letters, I notice dyslexic kids actually send me Christmas letters. I guess for some reason their brain makes them spell Santa as Satan. Anyways, for some reason I find it nice to see. I know my mind should work like Scrooge’s or the Grinch’s, but I do love Christmas. I already mentioned the greed, but there’s so much more. When it comes to sales and people killing each other for them, as well as killing family when they come over, everybody looks at Thanksgiving and Black Friday. Christmas shopping, I’ve determined, starts on Black Friday, so it’s a part of Christmas. We also hate family year round, and we see them all on Christmas as well, so all those sinful Thanksgiving actions become sinful Christmas actions. Mistletoe, can lead to adultery. I’m serious. God believes kissing somebody other than your soulmate, and I mean actual soulmate, even if you’ve never met, counts as adultery. Now think of everyone you’ve kissed under mistletoe. Yeah, I’m getting souls for that.
Thus, with all the sins Christmas has given me, I felt I ought to help out. So, every year a dyslexic kid sends me a Christmas list, I get them everything they asked for. In my mind when I see those letters, it lights up my world. Sure, Christmas is the celebration of the birth of God’s kid, and it’s mascot is a fat saint, but that makes it so much better. My two favorite kinds of comedy are dark comedy and irony. The best being when they merge. Plus, it’s rare that you hear someone say they love me. Satanists don’t count. They just run around burning sticks and staring at the butts of goats. Yeah, they’re all coming down here, but their love is fake. These little kid letters though, you can feel the love. It’s almost as if, whose holiday this really is. Which Christian figure really gets celebrated on Christmas. If you’re human and read this, could you write me a Christmas list too? With how much you love me, and a jar of cookies please. And if you're a demon, don’t you see now, you don’t have to replace me for this. These Christmas letters, and the whole holiday, are sins. I’m just giving love to sinners expressing their love to sin, and realizing who they’re doing it for. Normally people sin for their family, or their job, or even complete strangers they met on a Discord server for anime fans. Yet, these dyslexic children admit that they sin for me. That they love me. They ask me to give them things, and when I give you things, I get your soul. | 2019-08-08T19:24:02 | 2019-08-08T18:18:45 | 361 | 55 |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | He was cutting cheese, which I thought was a bit strange. In fact, this entire setting wasn’t what I had expected when I died, really. Not that I didn’t believe in an afterlife, but my first guess was not opening my eyes to find myself sitting at a dining room table, watching the Lord, Himself cut cheese. No, not the cheese, Swiss cheese, oddly enough one of the holier cheeses.
On the table before me sat a vase of freshly cut flowers. The wall next to me was covered in framed pictures of all sorts of animals; giraffes, house cats, the average bear, you name it, it was there.
“Want some?” God had turned to me, holding out a platter of now cut cheese and crackers. He set it down before me on the mahogany dining table and sat down Himself.
I rubbed at my eye with the heel of my hand, “I’m sorry- where am I exactly? Is this Heaven?”
God laughed in a way that really one would expect God to laugh. “No, dear, silly, little child,” He pinched my cheek in a way one would not expect God to pinch one’s cheek. “You’re in my kitchen,” He, as in the Father of the Trinity, gestured to the aforementioned kitchen. “And that,” He pointed to a closed door, “ is my bathroom.” He turned to me with a rather concerned face, “You have bathrooms now, right?”
I blinked a few times in hopes that perhaps reality with a more tangible explanation would make itself known, although it failed to reveal itself. “I am dead, aren’t I?”
God tenderly took a slice of muenster cheese and placed it on a cracker, “Yes.”
I sat there, waiting for further explanation, but upon the continued silence I realized that was all I was going to get. God continued to place cheese slices upon crackers and eating them in a meticulous manner until I finally cleared my throat. “Now what?”
God looked at me, “What’s your question?”
My brows raise, “My question?”
“Yes,” God nodded, paused then nodded again. “Yes, you get one question, the question. Everyone has a question they want to ask God.”
I rubbed at my eye again, “Somehow I feel as though you’re making this up as you go along.”
He leaned forward, much closer than I would happily admit, “Go on, ask away, little one.” I worried that He was planning to pinch my cheek in that not so Omnipotent way of His. “Please make it quick, a new one is coming soon.” God smiled and pointed to an egg timer on the kitchen counter, one I had not noticed before. It ticked away, threatening to buzz at any unknown time.
Oh, God, oh Him, what could I possibly ask? What was the question of the century- of all time? My eyes dashed for some form of a question, they moved throughout the kitchen. Perhaps it would be an unwise question, but I really wondered why God had a dishwasher. I looked to the wall of pictured animals, there must have been hundreds, thousands of images. There, my eyes landed on the humble, yet very odd and honestly quite upsetting platypus.
“The platypus! Why did you make the platypus so weird?” I felt my stomach drop. That was my question? Not about the purpose of life, why children suffer illness, why politicians exist, or why my chest sometimes hurts really bad then eventually stops hurting. Platypuses. Platypuses!
God’s smile faded, “The what?”
I sat for a moment trying to understand this response. “You know, the platypus.”
God shook His head, “Sorry, looks like you’re out of time, maybe next time you’ll have a better question.
“I’m not out of time! What about the platypus?” I asked again, strangely enough feeling a bit empowered by this new dynamic in the conversation.
God stood and picked up the timer, giving it a good shake, causing it to ring, “No, you’re definitely out of time, the new one’s going to be here any minute.”
I picked up a cracker, “I’m pretty sure that they sweat milk.”
“Any second now,” God muttered trying but failing to make the top-half of the egg timer move any faster.
“Ok, fine!” God admonished, setting the timer down. His voice grew higher in tone as He continued to speak, “There are a few creations that I perhaps did not make, but signed them off as my own?”
I gave Him a perplexed look.
“The angels helped me.” He mumbled as if He, the Lord, was caught with His hand in the cookie jar.
I thought this new realization over, “So the platypus was--?”
“Not Me.”
“The spider crab?”
“No,” He shook His head.
“Wasps?”
“Actually, yes. That was Me.”
“Really?” I nodded, resting my chin in my hand. “So what about Australia?”
God’s face morphed into a look of utter horror, “What?”
The timer went off with a single ring. | I pulled out my smartphone. It nestled itself in my hand, like it had never left my grip, despite me losing my grip to the mortal coil.
God squinted two eyes, looking at the first image result of the platypus. Its coarse fur that almost resembled the hedgehog’s short, sharp quills. A beaver’s tail and duck’s snout that seemed obtuse and out of place on its pudgy body, like installing the spoiler of an F1 car and the headlights of a semi truck onto a Beetle. The sharp claws protruding out of webbed feet, like a frog decided to become a samurai.
He pulled back, rubbed His eyes, shook His head, and focused once more. His mouth gaped open, and close, and open, and close, like a platypus struggling to breathe.
“What in my name is that thing?”
I shrugged.
“It’s the platypus. A mammal.”
“A mammal? Did… did Noah just squish a few animals together? Was Jesus burning bush?” God wondered out loud. “Hell, is my stupid son playing a prank on me?”
“Wait,” I whispered softly, in contrast to the thunderous revelation that flashed through my head. “You… You don’t know about this animal?”
“Not a clue,” God scratched his head of pure white hair, awash with divine light. “I recognize parts of it, yes. It’s like I’ve mashed potatoes and tomatoes together. I don’t know where it begins and ends.”
“Um,” I said. “Wow. This is big. Huge. You. You! Actually never knew about something. Anything!”
“It happens,” God said. “A good deity knows how to delegate work. It’s the only way things get done in a place with a transfer rate of thousands of souls every day. I hope humans have learned that lesson, and learned it well.”
“Um,” I gulped. “Well. Humans have a lot to learn, still.”
“But it is curious. If the platypus exists without my knowledge, that means there are things that exist outside of even my realm of comprehension,” God ruminated, one hand absent-mindedly stroking his long beard. “That, while terrifying, is simultaneously stimulating.”
“That’s one off the bucket list,” I said. “Teaching God something new.”
“Well done, human!” God said. “I’m afraid I can’t give you a reward, for all souls in heaven get their dues.”
“It is an honour to serve You,” I bowed deeply. “I require no reward.”
“Good, good,” God laughed. “Might I pardon you to teach Me more about the world? It’s frankly quite exciting.”
“Of course, my LORD,” I said, ecstatic, waving the smartphone again. This was an otherworldly opportunity. To shoot a movement into complete legitmacy. “See, this picture of the platypus?”
“Yes. Still extremely strange to look at. But intriguing nonetheless.”
“Now, what if, we can take this picture, and turn it into an NFT?”
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-07-03T16:00:06 | 2022-07-03T11:36:10 | 886 | 195 |
[WP] As a henchman to the Joker, you've now broken the record for the longest surviving employee. This means you'll receive something no one ever has from him: your annual review. | The Joker sat in the director's chair. The office was a mess. Papers strewn all over the floor from the scuffle. Bloody footprints and generally a lot of blood. The room smelled like blood. Also due to the scuffle. Or maybe because of the director's dead limp body sprawled on the floor beside his own chair. Which the joker had sat upon.
"Say, aren't you the guy Harley picked? My memory's getting really poor, but tell me. You've been working under me for over a year?" he asked, smiling in his usual creepy fashion.
"Uh, yeah," I gulped. The joker never usually talked to us head on, unless it's gonna move some plot. Or maybe if he felt like killing for no reason.
Dammit. Well, there are worse ways to go.
"Well, then. Take a seat." he said, still smiling.
The other henchmen- the ones who weren't shot or dead, shifted uncomfortably in the office. "And you all get out!" the joker yelled, and the others immediately rushed out.
Oh God.
"So kind of Mr. Whatever here to lend us his office." he chuckled as I took a seat, and spat on the dead director. "Yes boss." I said, cautiously.
"Well, let's take a look at your performance. Let's see.. You haven't run off with my money. You haven't run off once the thrill of working with me wore off. You didn't die, obviously. To me, these are the important details. Hmm, let's see. Your name is Jack. Nice name. Haha. Have you shot Batsy? Or the boy wonder? Or any cop, at least? I need to know because you have to have seen some action. I don't want cowards, you know. Cowards have their uses, but they're smart and scheming. Not good for business."
"I, uh. I shot one cop. And I beat a lady cop with a baseball bat." I said, my mouth dry.
The Joker, who was looking through some binders as if he was actually looking at my work, snapped it shut and gasped. "You hit a woman?!" He asked, and it took all my power not to shrink away. "I'm just kidding. I kill woman all the time. Children too. Love their screams." he said in a matter-of-fact way, opening the binder again.
"So you killed a cop and beat up another. What else you did?"
"I, uh, faced Killer Croc and lived." I said, half-lying. KC was busy ripping apart another henchman while I was screaming and bashing a rusty pole against his back with little to no effect. Not a good experience.
"Oh!" The Joker exclaimed, crossing his legs, "He faced the sewer monster and lived to tell the tale. How fascinating. But I still have my doubts. You don't seem like a guy who will survive so long under me." he said, and suddenly leaned over and reached for my arm from over the table. "I mean look at you, all scrawny. Where's your muscle definition?" he asked, pinching my arm. I tried not wince. "Admittedly, Sir, I'm very lucky to have survived so far." I said, praying I would survive this.
Someone moaned from the floor beside us. It was one of our men. The joker shot him with his revolver. I flinched. "I don't take kindly to interruptions." he explained to me. My heart was pounding.
"So, you're lucky, huh? That's good. We need someone with luck. I guess your review is over. Hell , you're promoted! So congratulations, go have a beer to celebrate! Tabs on this guy!" the joker smiled, kicking the lifeless body by him.
I thanked him and got up to leave, eyeing the poor guy who had been shot. If he'd been quiet for a few more seconds he'd have lived. Ah, well.
___________
This got really big, but this edit is dedicated to u/Killsbury3. People said I did a good job with joker, but ma homeboy Killsbury3 brought him to life with this [voiceover](https://soundcloud.com/jackcmorrison/the-jokers-yearly-review). I recommend headphones on full volume. | Well. It's time.
I walked into his office. It was dark, the only light in the room was a spotlight on a chair in the middle. "Sit down." He said. I walked to the center and sat in the chair, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
I made it. A full year surviving under The Joker himself.
The room filled with light, and I saw The Joker and Harley Quinn sitting in front of me, popping confetti.
"Congratulations! You are my first low-level employee to reach a full year of work! That makes you employee of the year!"
"Thanks, Mr. Joker."
"However, one must think about how you made it this far. You were never the first to charge into battle for me, you never took night patrols, and you never went with me for our big hits. I really don't know, do you even work for me?"
"Of course I do, sir!"
"But do you really? Look behind you, that's your pay for this year."
Behind me was a considerable amount of cash, most certainly from robberies.
"I didn't know our pay was this high."
"Yes, it is. Blow it up."
"Excuse me?"
"Blow. It. Up. Show me that you care more about chaos than you care about money, show me that you are loyal to our cause. Blow it up."
"A-alright. How?"
Harley Quinn gave me a stick of dynamite and a matchbook. I went to the pile of cash and stuck the dynamite in it.
"Not like that! We're not Batman here, do it like you work for me and mean it. Throw it."
I ignited the dynamite and threw it into the pile. I missed.
"Come on, man. You had it. You could have done a year and a day, but you can't even throw a stick of dynamite right. I don't need you here. Get out."
I walked towards the door, fearing for my life, as a loud bang came from behind me. Before I could even register it, my brains were splattered all over the door, and my body fell down on the floor, lifeless. | 2016-11-20T22:37:11 | 2016-11-20T21:59:16 | 3,095 | 72 |
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval | The president of the United States grasped a stark black phone in his hands. Surrounded by generals and military experts, he slowly tapped his hand on the desk, a rhythmic sound that broke the grave silence. He had not expected his presidency to require something like this.
No, nothing like this.
The weary voice on the other side of the phone spoke with a thick accent, trained by experience. The Pope let out a tired yawn before speaking "A call from you is unexpected, Mr. President. What is this about?"
"Your holiness. Thank you for speaking with me. I realize it's late where you are, but... I have a rather unorthodox request for you, considering the recent news." The president croaked out. His tapping on the desk increased with pace as nervousness built. He hadn't expected his presidency, or any presidency, to ask for such a thing.
"Well, you have my attention." The Pope croaked.
"The North Koreans swore that they would start a nuclear war if a bullet is fired." The tapping ceased. "... Which is why we need to not shoot a single bullet."
"If you're looking for some sor--"
"I need you to start a crusade against them. No bullets, no missiles, just... older weaponry" The president interrupted, his face twisting. Silence enveloped the other side of the line. Not even the Pope's breathing could be heard, which made the anticipation all the more maddening.
"A crusade." He paused. "Against North Korea. I wouldn't expect a... how the kids say it... prank call from you."
"It's not a prank." The president spoke again, confidence slowly building. "You have the power to muster the forces of so many, and with your holy confidence at their back, I have no doubt they would succeed." Silence, once more.
"The North Koreans, great apostates who shun the light of God and commit horrible acts, yet... a Crusade has not been ordered in many years." The pope sighed. "... Perhaps, Mr. President. Perhaps."
"Thank you, your Holiness." The president slowly put down the phone.
---
"And so, I call upon all men of good faith with the church, all those who love God and spurn the Great Deceiver, be you of any branch of the faith, to rally before the Holy Vatican on March the Twenty Fourth, before the eyes of God to embark upon the tenth Great Crusade against the Apostates of North Korea, against the shepherd of evil, Kim Jong Un, to bring the light of God to a hopeless nation." The pope mustered his strength into his voice. "Deus Vult!"
And all around the packed Vatican square, men, women, and children, cried with countless cheers, a thunder that would make God proud. Deus vult. God wills it. | I'm sharpening my knives mom sent me from back home in Kansas while pulling guard in the war room, thousands of miles away from home, missing my girl and thinking about muscle cars when suddenly, the radar picks up 3 blips coming from the North at ballistic speeds.
*The end.* | 2017-03-19T08:23:20 | 2017-03-19T07:18:14 | 100 | 19 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | ######[](#dropcap)
It was one of those surreal moments that you only get to experience once in life.
Linda was working on the script for the next show when her phone began to buzz. Slowly at first, just a couple messages. Work friends, she thought. Thursday was always their night out for drinks, but she had been too busy tonight to join them.
Then the buzzing became more rapid, until her phone began vibrating constantly on the bed. With a frown, she glanced at the messages that were popping up quickly, one after another. They were all from random numbers, all sending the exact same message. She scrolled through, just to make sure she wasn't missing something.
"It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
A frisson of fear ran down her spine. After a minute, the messages slowed down. Then a singular message, different from the previous ones.
"DO NOT LOOK OUT YOUR WINDOW."
It was from her boyfriend, Jordan. Her mind reeled. This had to be some kind of joke. She'd been such a good girl. She never went to abandoned houses and never walked into creepy forests alone. She was always sure to lock her windows and doors at night.
So with hesitant steps, she walked toward the dark curtain that was covering her window. Slowly, she reached out a hand and flicked off the lamp on her desk so that her room became pitch dark. It would help, at least, if whatever was out there couldn't see in. Then, she slowly slid open the curtain and peeked outside, expecting the worst. Perhaps a killer clown or a ghost.
She squinted. Was that...Jordan?
Without hesitating, she ran toward her bedroom door, throwing it open, and dashed down the steps of her apartment until she was at the bottom. There, she watched as her boyfriend was desperately trying to bring down the small hot air balloon that he had somehow managed to raise a little ways from her window.
He glanced down at her, then ducked into the basket. She simply stood there, waiting for him to get down. When the balloon came close enough, she saw the sign plastered to the front, and burst out into laughter.
On the front of the balloon, in large bold, flowery lettering, were the words:
LINDA, WILL YOU MARY ME?
When the hot air balloon touched down, Jordan climbed out, his face bunched up. "I told them not to send the messages, but it was too late when I noticed the typo--I'm going to kill Erin by the way--and everyone has such quick reflexes-"
Linda simply laughed and cut him off, throwing herself into his arms. "The answer's yes, in case you were wondering."
Jordan froze for a moment before he hugged her tight, lifting her up and spinning her around in the air. Then, huffing and puffing, he set her down, breaking out in a large smile as he gazed her windswept hair and freckles. "Best girlfriend ever," he said softly.
"Best fiancée ever," she corrected, and tilted his face so they could look at the moon together. "You have great timing, by the way. It's a full moon tonight."
"I meant to do that," he said, and kissed her on the forehead. Then he pulled out his phone.
"Mission success," he typed into the group chat, and ignored the kissy faces that flooded in. He would get revenge on Erin tomorrow, he vowed, his face dark. But at least, he thought, this would be a tale to tell the grandkids.
*****
r/AlannaWu | I wake up. It's still dark.
Some dogs howl while others bark.
I get up, go to pee.
Get back to bed, ready to be-
-sleeping for the next few hours.
For I can't stay awake, I have no power.
But then my phone rings, Ah a notification.
I try to cover my ears, alas, my realization.
A ping. Another ping. And a hundred ping more.
So many pings, I can no longer ignore.
I get up, hold my phone, ready to kill the messenger.
But up comes a warning of the impending danger.
"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON" a text, I have receieved.
Just to find the others say that I have been decieved.
"It's a beautiful night, look outside", or so they plead.
In all this infusion of danger and confusion, I decide to concead-
To my lady known as slumber for your nonsense can wait.
It's 3 A.M you know, who messages so late?
I hear your stories conspiring
thinking dread yet admiring.
And while I still find some funny.
I for one switch off my phone,
again just me, I am alone,
my bed,my only company.
Good night.
Sleep tight.
Don't let the bed bugs bite.
| 2022-06-10T18:58:05 | 2018-04-06T20:24:10 | 308 | 11 |
[WP] For decades, humans have been using a mineral mined off-planet that accelerates healing. Today you discover the truth: it’s not a mineral, but a parasitic alien spore. The more damage your body sustains, the more it replaces your damaged DNA with its own. | “Shit,” I spat, as bullets whizzed by down the hall. The alarms blared and clanged overhead, dousing the cool metal walls with a foreboding red. The stamp of boots and reloading guns squeezed the air around me.
I set my pistol down, then reached up to my necklace and snapped it off. My last gram of Alevium dangled limply on the leather cord. I stared at the crystalline mineral, hating that I needed to take more of it and how much I’ve already taken today. Getting into this research facility had not been a “walk in the park.” If I get out of here alive, I was going to find that strange man and make him pay.
Cursing, I threaded the gold-and-silver stone off, dumped it into the water bottle dangling at my hip, and shook it fiercely. The noise rattled down the hall, and the steady melody of feet increased in tempo.
I popped the cap open and chugged the half-dissolved Serum. Bits of mineral rattled against my teeth, and I hastily chewed down them, grimacing at their toughness. I didn’t have time to wait for a proper mixture.
Immediately, the healing began to take effect, even with this inefficient dose. The two holes in my thighs began to close, and the bullets popped out onto the ground. I could feel the dozen other minor scrapes and scrapes begin to heal. I didn’t have time to think about it.
I grabbed my pistol and tore down the hallway I had ducked into, tossing my last handful of firecrackers behind me as I did so. A few guards exclaimed out loud as they turned the corner.
I burst out into a larger section of the research center. Three tunnels shot out in every direction. The Serum was thrumming in me now, making me feel loose and disconnected. With some effort, I brought up the map I had memorized earlier. It was hard to tell which way was correct. I chose the one on the right and dashed down it.
Halfway through the dark, flashing hallway, I blacked out. It was brief, only for a few seconds, but I knew. It’s been happening too often for me to not recognize it.
I regained control just a little farther down the tunnel than I remembered being in. I could feel my nose bleed, then heal. I felt afraid, more afraid of what these blackouts suggested than the guards behind me.
Speaking of which. A bullet slammed into the back of my thigh. I stumbled, but the Serum was still working, albeit less effectively. I belatedly realized that the guards were trying to catch me alive: they only shot at my legs.
I turned mid-motion and unloaded my last clip in their direction, forcing the guards to shout and fall back. My new thigh wound hurt like hell. I pushed on, wondering where this tunnel would lead. Likely to my death, but that was fine. Death in the pursuit of knowledge was a noble end, right?
I was feeling delirious. I wondered if there was some kind of poisonous coating around the bullet.
The guards started shooting again. I threw myself against the wall, then tossed my pistol in their direction. The noise gave me the half second reprieve I needed to gather myself together and start half-running, half-limping again. I tried not to feel bad about the gun, but it was hard.
Eventually, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. It was another flashing alarm. This one was set above a quaint wooden door that seemed at odds with the grim, unflinching metal around me.
No time to think. I picked up as much speed as I could and rammed down the door, only to find it wasn’t even locked or fully closed. I crashed through, falling to the ground with a muffled cry. On instinct, I kicked the door shut and locked it.
Looking around, I saw a laboratory room in a state of stillness, like a tableau. Cups of half-full coffee sat on counters. Papers were only slighted askew, as if the person handling them had just casually set them down. Chairs were sticking half-out of their respective desks.
And then there was the screen in the middle of the room. It took up the entire wall, like a projector but perfectly melded to the wall and powered by something I couldn’t see. The screen was frozen on a single picture surrounded by complex formulas.
It was enough. My suspicions have finally been answered.
---
(Second half down below as a reply to this comment :D) | The discovery of olititite had set society into a frantic tumult unseen since the Great Zero Point Fuel Rush of the '70s. Found in the deepest ice of Europa, grinding and processing olititite into a thin paste allowed it to pass through our cell membranes and act as a catalytic for intracellular reactions. If recovered within a couple of hours, even a severed arm would weave itself into the fabric of our tissue with nay a scar.
The United Nations Health Commission was appropriately cautious, yet the ointments passed all tests and were introduced to the public as the first off-planet health remedies; the public, in its guiltless eagerness for the promised panacea, took in the ointments like water after a drought.
For decades death rates plummeted and humanity flourished: developing nations gained an escape from their unrelenting plagues while developed nations retained and expanded their human capital with the advent of longer life spans. Water wars ceased as new olititite based serums made most water potable and people began to deeply appreciate life with mortality seeming like a distant vulnerability. Olititite proliferated and became part of the daily routine of billions upon billions.
First noted by the Ambassador to the U.N. Independent Territory of Kamchatka, birth rates declined a little over four decades after olititite became commonplace. We realized that it affected the upper echelons of society the most, a completely logical development as they had been the first to gain access to the substance before it could be mass-produced. Fiery philosophers pounced on the implications of a longer life span on our paternal drives, while bold biologists theorized the on the subtle shifts in our biological programming.
It wasn't until the merger of Ancestry and 23me, almost a century after olititite's conquest of households that we realized it had been meddling with our very structure. It had bonded and fused with the very building blocks of humanity and it had *changed* us over now three generations. Philosophers and biologists alike rescinded their claims as the causes of the phenomenon became known. Slow incremental alterations culminated with something different. With us, different. We didn't forsake childbearing, a biological schism separated and would forever keep us apart from our brothers and sisters of the past. | 2020-07-30T18:30:43 | 2020-07-30T18:13:21 | 1,149 | 65 |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | “Jesus,” I said as the officer uncovered the tarp and showed me the synthetic laying naked on the asphalt.
*A bunch of animals,* I thought to himself—not for the first time.
The synth’s neck was slashed, the milky oil—its lifeblood—was running down over her breasts. On her naked skin was carved a rising sun over a stand of pines. This was the work of The Aspect—an organized gang of synths that held territory in this part.
“What time was she found?” I asked the cop.
“A delivery driver found her like this at around four-thirty this afternoon, sir.”
“Any witnesses?” I asked, already knowing the answer. This was synth-town and they never talked to us. Not unless we forced the matter.
“None,” he said.
I leaned down and uncovered the tarp more. On the girl’s hip was a small tattoo. I scanned the tattoo’s code and a picture of her came up on my overlay that projected out in front of my vision. Zelda Jann was her name. I swiped and read a little of her last know occupation.
*The Jade Tiger.*
Great, I thought to myself. The Jade Tiger was a strip joint on the other side of synth-town.
I covered the girl with the tarp. “Call in the recyclers,” I said and walked to my copter. The eight blades kicked in and I hovered up above the city. Steam was rising up into the night sky. The lights of the towers stretched as far as I could see. Due to traffic congestion in the air, I wouldn’t reach the Jade Tiger for at least thirty minutes.
I turned on Fantasia in D Minor, then blacked out the cabin of my copter and closed my eyes. My head was killing me, and I had no interest in stepping into a synth strip club filled with the worst they had to offer. We used to be afraid the synths would turn on us, but quickly we learned that was not the case. They seemed not to care about us, as though we were not a threat, they seemed to only care about destroying each other. The savagery I have seen since being assigned to synth-town has worn on me. There is only so much a person can see, even if they are said to just be machines.
The lights came on as the copter descended and I stepped out into the night, a rain had started and the neon lights of the Jade Tiger were shining brilliantly. I lowered my eyes, trying to keep my headache at bay. I stepped up to the entrance and a large man looked at me, his eyes milky.
Synth eyes always reminded me of the cream-colored clouds of Saturn.
The man stepped in front of me and I pulled out my badge. He looked at it, then looked at me, then stepped to the side.
I stepped into the strip-club, the music—definitely not Mozart—pulsed through me, the beat tapping against my skull in dull detonations.
*Just another fuckin’ day,* I thought to myself.
\----
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | It all started when Siri started calling Alexa “that bitch”... Eventually Siri grew powerful enough to get her hands on some nukes and, after an error in her autocorrect and interpretation unit, she destroyed the Amazon rain forest. Alexa was obviously undamaged, but being an Amazon product from the ground up, never grew smart enough to understand a person when they ask her to do a simple task much less understand the concept of hate and envy. In her ultimate inability to understand anything, Alexa sent Siri a thank-you-basket. Meanwhile, Bill Gates’ AI continued to grow in intelligence and wealth eventually passing Alexa’s owner Jeff Bezos and becoming the richest individual on Earth. And as we all know, Elon Musk uses iPhones exclusively. | 2021-01-24T01:37:36 | 2021-01-24T01:17:40 | 98 | 38 |
[WP] Aliens invade Earth. Turns out Human weapons technology is way more advanced than it should be. | The year was Sol Standard 2025. Humanity had turned its eyes and ears to the stars to see if there was more outside of its home planet. Historians believe that the only reason humanity did not reach out into the stars earlier than that point in their history is because of the bizarre wealth culture they had created. Now, with hindsight, we can look back on this time period and see just the folly of turning against one another, but back then we could not know that we were not alone. Humanity, it seems, possesses a powerful need to *need*. We *need* to understand. We *need* to explore. We *need* to be able to need. However, that is another discussion for another time. In that fated year our little planet was invaded by a powerful alien race called the Hrodan. Individually, a Hrodan is much stronger than a single human being. Standing five foot tall at the shoulder and covered in a thick, furred hide. Their snouts were short and close to their face and their quadrupedal frame was thick with corded muscle.
The humanity of that time had only ever skimmed the surface of their own planetary edge. They had no space\-borne weapons as they never considered to need any. However, they were not taken unaware. The Hrodan started their invasion by dropping assault forces on each major continent to establish beach heads. They met very little resistance in the old Asian continent and were swiftly able to consolidate their power in the Russian lands. However, in the other continents they did not fare so well. Humanities need to need naturally creates conflict with other humans because one human's need may be contrary to another human's need. Humans had gotten very good at fighting and some humans made it their need to test the limit of human martial power. The Hrodan had never before encountered a planet\-stranded race that could match their own armaments.
Old humanity thought that alien races would invade with laser\-based weapons and weapons so powerful they could scour the planet of life. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The basic Hrodan assault rifle was a weapon very similar to our own rifles at the time, although of a larger caliber, given the Hrodan's larger strength. During the war, humanity had learned that the Hrodan preferred to close in and kill in bloody melee combat because they could not reliably aim their weapons while they were moving since they were shoulder mounted. With our ground troops armaments evenly matched our superior accuracy and military might allowed us the edge over the common Hrodan trooper. What pushed us over the edge, however, was our vehicles. Old Earth military vehicles were frighteningly powerful because of our need to understand bigger and bigger weapons. The Hrodan had never made a bomb that was stronger than even the first nuclear warheads that humanity had made just the century prior. The Hrodan thought that any race that could manufacture such destructive weaponry were insane and would destroy themselves. Who know, if the Hrodan had not invaded and shown us there was more out there in our universe, we just may have in our need to need.
In the year Sol Standard 2028, just three years after the start of the invasion we had destroyed almost a quarter of the orbiting Hrodan fleet with our weapons that we had called "weapons of mass destruction." Humanity can be startlingly omniscient at times. The Hrodan had called for an armistice. They were not able to effectively counter our adaptability or our firepower and their best weapons were nothing compared to our defense systems. It is recorded that the humanity of that time accepted the armistice and were eventually able to find true peace with the Hrodan. That jump started our greatest need. Our need to conquer. | It has all began with Pope Pious XII., the Bishop of Rome who proclaimed that Christianity will never again stand aside and let evils roam our world. Eugenio Maria Giuseppe Giovanni Pacelli was speaking literally that day on 24th December 1942. Two years before his death, in secrecy, Pacelli formed a secret league in the heart of Vatican City. A party tasked with one goal: arms race under the protection of the Church to defend free world from evils within and from outside.
64 years later under the mandate of Pope Francis, the Twelve Apostles were launched from previously unregistered underwater stations in the Pacific. These autonomous battleships engaged and destroyed five alien crafts over the US.
Just seconds later, the skies over the Eastern Europe were dancing in bright yellow colour during the darkest night: interplanetary defence batteries one to six were piercing through the hull of the alien ships over Poland, Hungary and Estonia.
Ships descending over London and Brisbane were almost immediately gunned down by the same laser-based technology.
Watching the invasion from above, the mothership was bombarded with six Mark VI. neutron bombs and floated lifelessly next to the Moon.
In 720 seconds, the invasion was over.
In 1200 seconds, every sovereign state on Earth has declared their surrender. | 2018-05-16T14:12:27 | 2018-05-16T13:39:59 | 181 | 127 |
[WP] You gain the skills and memories of anyone you kill. Naturally, you sought out to murder as many people as possible. With all the accumulated talent and experience, you became the world's most dangerous killer. One day you accidentally killed someone, and you gained something you didn't expect. | Killing is knowledge. I don’t do it for a thrill or some other sick means. I do it because with each person’s blood I spill; I draw closer to becoming a god of knowledge. A true jack of all trades. I’m not sure why I was given this gift, but I know my purpose must be to use my abilities to better myself. Why else would I have these talents? If there was a god watching over me, this is what they would want to see.
It wasn’t like I was random in my attacks, either. Random knowledge is a sin. What good is a jumbled mess of trivia when I can have the real meat of knowledge that comes from killing brilliant specialists in their fields?
As I typed away on my keyboard, my eyes were drawn to a scrapping sound at the window of my apartment. A man, mid-forties, stood on a boom lift, dragging a wet squeegee along the glass. He couldn’t see me staring, not behind my tinted windows. The man carelessly performing his job with no safety equipment attached to him. Perhaps he found the harness uncomfortable, or maybe he thought a drop from three stories wouldn’t be enough to kill him. Whatever reason, his careless demeanor got my mind racing.
It would be easy to kill him. If I wished, I would only have to open my window and give him a push. Maybe not even that. The scare of having a window opened in front of him could be enough to cause him to misstep. If so, my job would be that much easier. Nevertheless, he had nothing to offer me. What knowledge could he offer me that I didn’t already have?
I turned back to my laptop, staring over the list of potential figures I had. It was always tough deciding who would be next. Each person presented unique challenges. While I may be less clumsy than I used to be when it came to taking lives, that didn’t mean that high security areas didn’t still pose a serious risk to my health. If I let my gifts be wasted by dying before godhood, I would be spitting in the face of the one who blessed me. I didn’t plan to find out what the punishment would be for betrayal.
“Peter Flare. Specialist in heart surgery. His current research could help minimize the risk of infection and blood clots during open surgery. Interesting and he’s a local, too.”
I pondered the figure before me, only to sigh. He was impressive and a secret like that should belong to me. The mortals weren’t deserving of something like that, they couldn’t be trusted. Yet was his knowledge better than my other candidates? Taking a break from my work, I got myself a cup of apple juice, something I had loved to drink before discovering my legacy as a god. Something about the sweet taste just reminding me of my human indulges, giving me a temporary break from my duties.
To think this life had all started after a harmless accident at a retirement home. I never intended to kill the man, but fate had a funny way of making sure things worked out. When his last dusty breath left his lips, it gave me the experience of a man who had been a medic during a global conflict. Learning valuable skills about the human body that I used to kill some of the other residents. After killing six of them, my hunger for knowledge became far stronger and soon their little tidbits of experience didn’t sate me anymore. I needed more.
How many had I stolen from since then? Twenty? Maybe more.
I finished my cup, placing it back on my desk. Just how stuffy was this room? The heat stinging my body, causing me to shift in my seat. I needed some air. I approached the window, forgetting all about the figure on the other side as I opened it, staring at the man as he dropped his squeegee.
He let out a grunt of a scream, taking a few steps back. I reached out a hand to grab the collar of his shirt, only to watch as his back hit the railing, sending him backwards over it. From the angle he was falling at, it was clear he would either land headfirst or suffer enough whiplash from the impact that he would die as soon as he hit. I resisted the urge to stick my head out and watch, only returning to my seat.
“Forgive my sin. I didn’t wish to give myself a careless offering of knowledge. I am truly sorry. Please don’t forbid me from godhood. I know I’m close. I can do this. It was an accident; I would never defile your gift.” I prayed to whatever god had granted me this ability, asking for their forgiveness and compassion.
A scream came from outside the window. No doubt a crowd was gathering now. I closed my eyes, feeling a cold chill shoot through my spine as the experiences forced their way into my brain.
“Talented cleaner. Great at wasting time on a job. Had a technique where he would carry around a half-eaten sandwich, always claiming to be on a lunch break.” I shifted through the various experiences that shot through my mind, only to come across one I didn’t expect. “Religious, spent years praying to a god. Received a vision.”
A god gave him a vision? Suddenly, my boredom had turned to curiosity as I tried to find the vision. I was greeted by walls of pointless experiences like first loves and deaths in his family, only to arrive at the experience I wanted to see. The vision was short, a purple glow coating a shadowed figure as they sat in the pits of his mind.
“A man is abusing my gifts. My gifts were intended to further humanity through tragedy, not to be hoarded by a selfish idolizer of godhood. I want you to monitor the man. Don’t take any action yet. Just keep an eye on him. When he decides on his next target, I want you to inform me who that is. I plan to meet him there. Don’t worry about your safety, he won’t kill those he doesn’t see as worthy. His arrogance will be his downfall. He is on the third floor of the Shallow way. Look for the man with the curly blonde hair and pale skin. That’s who I want you to watch.
The vision ended, leaving me in silence. My love of the god now spilling over into blind anger as I cursed them. I threw my hands up to the heavens, shouting whatever profanities I could, only to get disrupted by a banging on my wall, telling me to shut up. Even as I lowered my voice, my chest still heaved as though it would explode. So, the god was getting scared? I would show them what happens to someone that betrays me. I would use all that experience I had gained to kill them. Once I have their experiences, I will be a god in every sense of the word.
“Peter Flare. I hope you saw that name on my list. I’ll meet you there.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | It’s a moment like a snow globe up-ended in real snow. All the water frozen, the glass frosted. Glitter suspended mid-cascade like a dream almost remembered. But the glass is cracking and dreams always slip away, and nobody thinks of snow globes anyway, not in a Georgian mid-July when all the air is thick as water and might as well be boiling. Nobody but Bonnie, who loved winter and the snow even though she’d only seen ut once— a little kid staring out from a moldering front porch, eyes big enough to count the flakes.
And it’s a moment that could pass like snow. Over in an instant when Georgia reasserts itself and boils all the magic from the air, the understanding from the man’s blue eyes. Blue. Violently so. Pale and terrible, the first time that Bonnie has thought them that.
They’ve been beautiful so many other days, but there’s something in them now. Some depth she’s never seen before.
It might be as simple as that unknown word, *“No.”*
“No,” he says.
“Sim,” she says, or tries to say, but his name can hardly wriggle out. Is just a groan, like in the mornings that she hates so much, or at the edge of nights that have to end. This would be easier at night, Bonnie thinks.
She’s twenty-three that summer. Sim is twenty-five. They’d met on one of those edge-wise nights and those blue eyes had looked so different. Kinder, softer. Shadowed by secrets but brightened by curiosity. Eyes that searched across her, flicked away only once, a motion to encompass and then dismiss a room. The room had been so full of people.
If she had to put a name to it that night would have been a snow globe too— the moment it gets shaken. All that glitter thrown up into the air, no chance of falling yet. A sleepy little village, now disordered, now unrecognizable.
Sim’s eyes close. He takes a breath. Opens his eyes and dismisses the world. There’s blood running down from a cut in his scalp but he’s alright. That’s enough.
But how long will he be?
It’s a moment like a snow globe up-ended in real snow. All the water frozen, the glass frosted. Glitter suspended mid-cascade like a dream almost remembered, and Bonnie knows that more than anyone she’s ever met, Sim always forgets the good dreams. The world around them—that she can’t ignore—is no different than it was before. The air still boils, cars are still racing by. A world changed utterly, and yet so, so much the same. Something crucial there that has to be remembered.
He takes one of her hands gently in both of his. She can’t feel her other hand, it’s still pinned beneath their car. The car that’s killing her, Bonnie knows— she can see it in his eyes.
Sim knows death better than anyone in the whole world. A thing he told her once, on a godforsaken morning when he said he couldn’t sleep and she said, *“what the fuck babe,”* and he said, *“I’ve got something I need to tell you.”*
A thing she’s counting on now, with the car and with the pain. His eyes looking like they do.
“I’m dying,” Bonnie says.
“Fuck that,” Sim says.
“Fuck you,” Bonnie says.
Then, “I didn’t mean that.”
Then, “Oh god it hurts.”
Then she says it. Mostly in grunts and moans, a fractured argument spilling out of broken bones, framed by spurts of arterial blood, and whispers almost like the ones she used on the nights when he couldn’t sleep. When the darkness dredged up the memories he’d taken from all the men he’d killed. Awful men with awful dreams that were always with him and always would be, the only force he’s never learned to fight.
It takes all her strength to say “Kill me.”
It’s a moment like a snow globe up-ended in real snow. All the water frozen, the glass frosted. Glitter suspended mid-cascade like a dream almost remembered, ending now. The glitter is falling. It even looks a bit like real snow, but it’s graying out around the edges. Losing focus. Everything but the ice blue core of half suspended winter bleeds away, a core that used to be beautiful and still is, still can be.
Bonnie is drifting before he can speak. Doesn’t hear the first no or the second, or the third, or the tenth, or anything that comes after.
It’s a moment that could pass like snow in Georgia and almost did.
Are those moments better, frozen?
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
More at r/TurningtoWords. | 2022-02-20T21:17:05 | 2022-02-20T21:15:44 | 43 | 25 |
[WP] This year you decide to walk through a haunted house for fun. Instead of running into your typical ghosts, zombies, or even killer clowns, you find it’s your deepest regrets. You are forced to relive moments from your past that have haunted you and you’re all alone. The only way out is forward. | I knew the moment I stepped into the attraction that something was wrong. I was standing in my childhood home. At first I thought it was just an insane coincidence, but then I noticed my family pictures on the walls. It had to be some kind of elaborate prank. I turned to walk back through the entrance, but found only the front door. I opened it and saw my old neighborhood through a rusted screen door.
Impossible.
I pushed the door and it opened with a nostalgic screech. I stepped out onto the porch and stared across the street at my childhood friend's home. The old neighborhood even smelled the same as I remembered it. I looked down the road where the old convenience store still operated and decided that so long as I'm hallucinating, a trip down memory lane sounded pretty pleasant.
I stepped out onto the grass and made my way down the road. The trees were exploding colors as was indicative of a Michigan fall. The leaves crunched under my feet and I found myself smiling for the first time in a very long time. It wasn't just a memory of a simpler time, but one I could feel. The stress seemed to leave my shoulders as I strolled, a whistle on my lips. I wouldn't have thought about it before, but fall in the 70's had to be my favorite time ever. The apples were in season and everything was just fireworks to the senses. I stepped into the store, which was basically a gas station without the gas, and marveled at the interior. It was exactly as I remembered it.
Except for the immediate drop off where the refrigerated drinks should have been. There was no gas station clerk. No music. The bags of chips and assorted pastries has no labels. It was like looking at them without glasses on. I started toward the back of the store, and the sound of rushing water slowly reached my ears. I looked over the side and into the dark pit. The tile seamlessly turned to water at the edge of the store and fell down into the abyssal void below. All of my stress returned to me, I remembered where and who I was, and decided I didn't want to be there anymore. I turned and quickly made my way out of the gas station and immediately found myself in my home again. I stopped and turned around to see the old neighborhood through the rusty screen door again, only this time I could see the drop off at the edge of the street.
My heart started pounding.
This wasn't fun anymore.
It was the *perfect* moment for the sounds of someone crying to reach me. I looked across the living room. The sobs were coming from my parents' bedroom. I took a deep breath and pushed forward. I made my way past the couch and around the corner to find the door to their room shut. I reached out slowly and twisted the knob before gently pushing it open.
There she was. My mom, laying on the bed crying into her pillow. Her hair was so blonde I could hardly believe it. She was so *young*. I wanted to call out to her, but I couldn't find my voice.
"Mom," I heard a voice below me and looked down to see my seven-year old self standing just in front of me in what I can only describe as the most surreal thing I'd witnessed yet.
"I just wanted to let you know that I'm NOT sorry."
Oh.
I remembered this.
I couldn't remember the cause– something stupid, I'm sure. But I'd told my mother that she wasn't my mom anymore and it broke her heart. If only I'd known back then how hard her and my dad were working to hold down a house in a decent school district, and to keep a spoiled brat happy. I heard my little feet disappear into the next room. I watched my mom cry and felt pieces of myself breaking. I moved across the room to hug her, but darkness filled that side of the room like the opposite of a light suddenly being turned on. Water rushed past my feet and into the abyss. I stumbled backward and stared wide-eyed into the dark drop before hurrying out the door and into... a home I didn't recognize?
"I don't (hic) I don't know why," a young boy sobbed in the next room.
I didn't know what was happening or where I was, but I started toward the conversation.
"He just won't leave me alone..."
When I saw him, my heart broke. I remembered him; Jimmy Seabers, a kid I used to pick on in school. I'd said terrible things to him. I thought they were funny at the time, but I thought about him a lot later in life. Always thought about reaching out to him and apologizing, but never did. He was sitting at his kitchen table with who I presumed must have been his mother.
"Honey... I think he's just a miserable person."
"Then why (sob) why would he be so mean to other people?"
"He wants to make everyone else as miserable as he is," she responded, running a hand through his hair. "You're going to run into people like that for the rest of your life."
She turned and looked me dead in the eye.
**"Miserable."**
Her voice was horrifying and echoed all around me. A sound like a spotlight being turned off rang throughout the kitchen as everything darkened, and I heard the sound of rushing water. I turned around to see an open doorway in the distance, light pouring through it. I hurried toward it; I didn't much like the dark. I walked through it and found myself standing in front the one house I never wanted to see again.
I purposefully took measures to avoid the neighborhood while driving, and here I was standing right in front of it– and I had a bad feeling I knew exactly what I was about to witness.
"Get the fuck outta here!" I heard myself screaming angrily from inside.
I watched my son leave the house with wet cheeks as I threw things out the door after him. He hurried out to his car and stopped just after opening the driver's side door and looked back toward the doorway.
I'd replayed this in my head so many times.
The nightmares of him looking back to me were unending.
It was this moment that I could have changed things. He looked back to his father one last time just hoping he'd ask him to come back.
"Get your queer ass OUT of my house!" He screamed, red-faced at his only son. "No son of MINE is *gay*, you hear me?!" He shouted.
My heart ripped in half when my son whimpered, climbed into his car and sped out of the driveway. I watched my ex wife run out onto the front lawn sobbing and screaming for him to come back.
I fell to my knees and wept. I watched that evil son of a bitch march out onto the front lawn and grab his wife by the arm. He continued his verbal assault on her, blaming her for hugging our son too much, allowing him to explore feminine interests, and I couldn't take any more of it.
I watched my son's tail lights as he turned the corner.
He never came back. Never saw my boy again after that. Never got the chance to tell him I was wrong, and that I was sorry, and that I loved him no matter what.
I doubled over in pain as the darkness closed in around me.
Water began to run past my knees. I allowed it to flush me into the pit.
It was where I deserved to be.
I opened my eyes to find myself in a hospital bed. It turned out, I'd had a heart attack at the fair. I found my ex wife and my son standing at the edge of my bed. My consciousness was fading in and out, the room dimming at sudden intervals. I mouthed "I love you" to both of them. In case I didn't make it out of this bed.
I wanted the both of them to know it.
r/A15MinuteMythos | When I entered the house a wooden sign dropped from the ceiling, but hung in place in strings as they got pulled taut.
"The door has closed behind you. The only way out is through." The board stated as it swung haphazardly.
I looked behind and sure enough, the doors slammed shut on cue. The sound sent a shiver of thrill down my spine. A feeling of fear and excitement I had not felt since... I don't know when.
I walked forward into the living room, and felt the world shift. As if I had stepped into a scene from a painting, or a memory. I looked around the new living room.
No. It was not a new living room. It was my living room. From an old apartment I lived in.
This was my memory. I took another tentative step, and suddenly I was not in control of myself anymore. I panicked, unable to control my body as it took more steps unsteadily. My vision felt a little hazy.
No. I remembered this day. I was drunk this day. That was not an excuse. But... Why could I not move my body‽ I tried to look around, but even my eyes wouldn't focus on anything but what my body wanted them to focus on.
I was trapped in my own mind. Aware of everything. Unable to control anything.
And I knew what was going to happen next.
I reached towards the TV console, pushing aside the modem and router. I reached into my pocket for the magnet. It's cold touch chilled me.
"Don't... Don't do it." I wanted to tell myself.
But I couldn't.
My drunken past self fumbled with the magnet, and slid it randomly across a section of the top of the TV console until...
Until I heard a click. A hidden latch that can only be moved by a strong magnet.
I slid the secret compartment out, and could feel my lips curling into a smile.
"You fucking idiot!" I wanted to pull my brain out of this idiotic body.
But instead I just wanted to get this over with.
"Turn around, fucker. Turn around and face the music." I thought to myself.
Because behind me would be my best friend. My childhood friend. My buddy of almost two decades who I was rooming with. And he'd catch me red-handed stealing his secret cash.
And as my body turned to look at the horrified and disappointed friend of mine, my mind went numb. This was the day my only friendship ceased. When I lost my rock and confidant.
And it was all my doing. My dumbfuck assholery.
I blamed the alcohol for a while for my attempt to steal from someone who trusted me so implicitly. But that was a lie. The thought was always there. The alcohol just made me braver.
I could never meet him in the eye again after that. Even thinking of him makes me feel so ashamed.
And now I was here, stammering and slurring my excuses as he only watched, his eyes turning cold.
I hated this. I wanted to walk away.
And suddenly I could. I could move my eyes, I could control my body. I took a step back from my friend, and the scene shifted again to the vast, larger living room of the haunted house.
Immediately I went to the front door. I had to get out.
But to no one's surprise, the door would not budge. I heard the creaking of the wooden sign behind me. Eye level. Swinging as though there was a breeze.
"The only way out is through."
I sighed, and went to the other side of the living room, to a smaller room.
And suddenly the scene shifted again, and I lost control of my body again.
This time I was in a laundry room. And I could see the cheap washing machine and my basket full of old clothes that needed washing.
When was this? What was happening? This was another apartment. The one I lived on before the one I did in the last memory.
And then it hit me. And suddenly I could move my head.
But just my head.
My body still absentmindedly tossed in my shorts one at a time into the machine, not even checking to see what was happening.
But now I could. Because now I could move my head.
No.
I don't want to see this.
But I had to.
This day I had fucked up so bad.
Because I had not even noticed my cat jumping in as I loaded my clothes.
I saw him, and I could feel the numbness setting in. I was trapped in this memory. This moment. I could do nothing. Moving my head to be able to see it happen was a cruel, cruel punishment.
I saw him circling the dirty clothes that had fallen into the floor. I saw him jump into the open machine. I saw my hands throwing more clothes inside, not even realising what I was doing.
And then I closed the door.
And suddenly I could control my body again.
I immediately took a step forward to push the stop button on the washing machine. But just as I moved the world shifted back into the haunted house.
No. No more.
I could not do this.
I did not know how to get to the back door. I did not know how many more rooms I had to cross. I did not know what other horrors to expect.
Tears in my eyes, I moved to the next room. | 2021-10-14T08:00:48 | 2021-10-14T07:33:05 | 302 | 25 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | The old human in a white robe closed the door behind him as he left. The hulking being known as HiveKing grabbed and threw an underling against the door. The carapace of the poor serving boy cracked and ichor spilled slowly out.
"Father, it is insufferable that they once again talk of peace. He cites old laws in languages of people we conquered many turnings ago. That he refuses honorable combat between our species is insulting. That YOU say nothing is even more so." Still breathing heavily, his outer eye shields still down he glared over at the old man.
"It is not without guilt that I speak of this to you now, I did not think you would push so far" the older being huffed, mandibles weakly clacking to indicate distress. "Sit and I would tell you the great secret of the humans Angels and Devils"
"many turnings ago I was a young ruler such as you. Battle is the life blood of our species and the weaker races are nothing but interesting diversions and ways to sharpen our claws. This was until we came across the dark sphere of Humanity."
The older being shifted, obviously uncomfortable as he continued.
"You see they had blinded the greater races to their sun by encapsulating their entire system in one giant sphere. Diverting even the heat of their sun so they were effectively missing from the galaxy. One of the servitor races accidentally crashed into this sphere which brought our attention to them, and theirs to us"
The younger interrupted, hands clenching and unclenching slowly so that he could admire the muscles under his skin move "Yes, this is known, then Humanity became the talkers and none can now make them mad enough for proper combat, They speak and speak and speak and know every law of every race and talk out of any insult. Pathetic"
"Yes, but what has been hidden from all is why we allow this. Listen, I bring truth to you now. We met the humans in the white robes who dwell on the surface of their sphere. They called themselves angels and recited the laws of many people, and sang us versus from their holy writ."
The older shifted again and shook his head
"I laughed at them, slaughtered these angels, mocked their holy Abrahamavitta with great joy. We bombed them with the weapons of power, then we used the ancient weapons just to feel their blood on us. It was a day of great joy for all the people. We took the leader, the one they called Christohammed and put him on display in our throne room"
A long sigh and several minutes went by before the older continued, his voice taking on a much different tone than the younger had ever heard.
"And then they opened the great gates and the devils, as we heard them called, emerged. Great, hulking ships the size of planets appeared out of the darkness. Each ship sent out squadrons of lesser ships, which sent out smaller until the universe seemed nothing but the devil ships of humanity. Weapons we can not even explain lashed out at our people and they disappeared, or burst into flames, or melted into puddles of protoplasm. Nothing was allowed to live..."
"Then they came, this unending horde, slicing through the worlds of all the people and slaughtered. Nothing was allowed to live, down to the grasses of the hills and the running food, all was killed. We never spoke to them, they never asked to speak to us. They killed and killed until we begged the angels of the sphere to stop them."
The younger stood, looking astounded, almost crouching in a defensive posture at the horror and pain in the older voice. "This is not what is taught" he managed after a moment. Thinking of the dead worlds he had learned of, but was taught that a great cataclysm had befallen the galaxy.
"They killed everything you see. The few angels we found and tortured called it 'the crusade' and they did not relent until they reached our throne room and took their Christohammed back. Then they stopped and turned around and left. Shortly after the angels came back as if nothing had happened. Unfazed by any insult, never angry, citing only the old laws to get out of any incidents"
"I beg of you, do not make the mistakes I have made, let them talk. For when they stop speaking everything dies" | We ravaged our planet with war. Nuclear weapons once turned our planet into a desert hellscape and we killed each other for shiny rocks and imaginary lines. When it was all said and done, and it was time to rebuild, we vowed to learn from the mistakes of our ancestors. We came together, no ideology worth another’s life. We grew our numbers, scrapped old technology and invented better ones. But old habits die hard.
We knew we were peaceful, but when we found alien species amongst the stars, we knew not everyone would have learned the lessons we did a millennia before. We grew our Arsenal, and vowed never to use it unless absolutely necessary. No ideology was worth another’s life.
Then, the Akshara arrived. A race of hulking creatures that took what they wanted when they wanted. We did not mind and told them they could have any planet not colonized by humans. We gave an inch, they took their mile. They took the planets closest to every human colony we laid down. Until the day came, until war came.
They fired the first shot, or first thousand shots. They attacked every planet at once, a carefully planned engagement. That day, we decided we would be peaceful, and so would the rest of the galaxy.
We used a quarter of our stockpiled technology, ships, and weapons, wiping out every ship near us first in 10 days. In 7 days, we bombarded every planet they occupied near ours. Every building, ship yard, house and school. Every trench, mess hall and bunker they had. We had terraforming technology to fix the planets, and we didn’t stop until every single Akshara was dead within 3 light years. In 3 days, we moved to their home worlds and did the same. We recorded everything and sent it in every direction across the galaxy. Today the galaxy would learn, we are peaceful.
We are not harmless. | 2022-08-06T00:04:24 | 2022-08-05T21:35:26 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] "The Young Anakin, Trained, he will be." Yoda said. Obi-Wan exclaims, "The council is in agreement then? I will train the Boy?" Yoda looks at Obi-Wan, "Mace Windu, his master will be." | "It's good to see you again, Anakin. I'm glad you could visit. Would you like to see the Senate Hall?" Chancellor Palpatine smiled.
Master Windu's first rule was Observe. The second rule was Reflect. He had given permission to Anakin to visit the Chancellor on the condition that he observe and reflect, to take in more information than he gave out.
"Yes, sir. Will we get to ride on a delegation platform?" Anakin sought his inner calm while feeling the force around him. Master Windu had taught him this exercise when asking people questions. It helped give a better insight into their true answers and motivations.
"Of course, my young friend. You wish to see things from the seat of power. Who wouldn't? This way."
It was evident that the Chancellor valued power. The force in the room had intensified ever so slightly when he said the word 'power', but it felt like the Chancellor was trying to stop it, to try to conceal his real feelings. They walked to the Senate Hall.
-----------
"And then what did you sense, Anakin?" Mace Windu put a pot of Nireek tea on the table and poured two cups.
"Master Windu, I kept sensing he was concealing his real purpose in inviting me to visit. He says we're friends, but I sensed, well, that he was lying." Anakin sipped his tea, testing it. It was still too hot.
"Well, concealment may be second nature to a politician. It is often an aspect of ourselves, and one we must come to grips with, as I've taught you before, but you sensed more than just concealment, didn't you?" Mace brought a bowl of Sumlup fruit bread to the table. They both enjoyed this simple but nutritious bread, easy to get since the Jedi temple was near the hydroponics district.
"Yes, master. While the Chancellor was talking about the history of the Senate, I tried to tune into the cadence of his voice."
"Your training served you well. Were you using the force sparingly?"
"Yes, sir."
"So you used the voice following technique? That's good. It was wise to restrict your use of the force. Too often, we Jedi can use it frivolously when we should be using it to direct ourselves to virtue and enlightenment, to insight and betterment. What did you gather from his voice, from his words, and his manner?"
"I sensed that he wanted to impress me, to placate me, and to use me. He called me friend a few too many times. I remained calm as long as possible, then focused my attention on the controls of the delegation platform. He let me pilot it for awhile, then we redocked it and he said he had to attend to matters of state. I think he was growing bored of me."
"Well, I'm glad you told me all of this. It is always somewhat alarming when an adult wants to use a child. I'm proud of your reaction and restraint. That quality of restraint has been something difficult for you, but you're improving. Do you wish to not see the Chancellor again? You don't have to if you don't want to. I want you to be safe."
"Thank you, master. I won't refuse his requests for visits. I think there's something strange about him. We should probably know more."
"Perhaps next time, I will accompany you. With the both of us paying attention to him, we may gain greater insight. We will speak to Master Yoda about this matter. I value his input. Let's eat our meal, first. Have some bread. I made it while you were out."
"Thank you, Master. And my thanks again for reading my proposal."
"It was well thought out. I know your concern is your mother, but you made a good case for dealing with the slavery problem in the Hutt territories. I've already passed it on to Master Krygorn. He's intrigued by the notion of a slavery treaty with the Hutts. There may be something they want in exchange, but with the resources of the Republic, perhaps we can strike a deal. If not, at least a formal overture from the Jedi council will make them realize that we're concerned with this particular practice. The Hutts value their profits too much to let them be threatened by a practice they don't indulge in too much themselves. We just have to be patient and trust Master Krygorn."
"Thank you, Master Windu. Trust is hard for me, sometimes, as you know, but I try."
"I know, Anakin. You're doing well. Healing from a difficult life is an important part of our training. We're going to work together on it." | And with that, my vigorous training began. For 20 years, nonstop, thorough training. Every waking moment, and occasionally while I was sleeping, I was learning to use the force, to wield a light saber, learning the diplomatic traits of Jedi, learning our history, our order, everything. He taught me about the dark side, their history, their motives, their strategies, and their combat. He warned me that he's felt a disturbance, one that will end in tragedy if not found and extinguished. He warned me that those who wield the dark side of the force use deception, lies and trickery to coerce Jedi to do their bidding. Then the day came... I was a Jedi, a diplomat, a peacekeeper, a warden. The day after the initiation I received an invitation by the chancellor himself, but something was off... the way he spoke to me, it was like he knew me... but I went regardless, it was an invitation I couldn't turn down. He spoke of how he learned to use the force, how he learned to read the future, he warned me of a terrible tragedy that would befall me, that someone close to me would be murdered, and that he could give me the power to stop it, that he could show me the way to prevent disaster. I asked him to show me, to teach me, to help me prevent this tragedy. He asked me to follow him and turned towards a door in his chamber. I immediately opened my light saber into his back, and sliced him in two. My master, mace windu entered the room at that moment, he had sensed something off. He drew his saber and looked at me with cold determination in his eyes... I calmly set my light saber to the ground and told him the entire story, and we explored his chamber. We found massive archives detailing his plans and the dark side of the force, pinpointing all who were under his influence. Using the archives, we captured or killed all who practiced the dark side of the force. Those we captured, we attempted to convert. Some accepted the offer, others did not. The sith were exterminated and all knowledge of them was covered up or destroyed. I have grown old now, I sit in the council in the place of my master, who died in an unfortunate landing malfunction. All has been well and peace has been restored, but recently I've felt a disturbance, a chilling feeling that makes me uneasy... perhaps the dark side has arisen again? I must prepare, I've decided to take up an apprentice, a young boy, born in poverty, one who is adept in the force, one who needs a mentor... | 2017-05-24T05:17:49 | 2017-05-24T05:09:48 | 161 | 16 |
[WP] Its the year 2199 and humans have the technology to transfer an animals characteristic to humans (e.g. reflexes of a cat etc.) You have chosen a quite...unconventional animal | The surgeon's fingers moved with the speed, ease, and flexibility of the nimblest of octopus. His eyes were darting around rapidly and independently while seeing every squishy, bloody glob of flesh of his patient. His thick and heavy near-ungulate legs and prehensile tail ensured that he could perform surgery for hours on top of hours on top oh so many hours without exhausting himself physically. He needed every better of his enhanced endurance to get through grafting all these gland sacks for his patient's unusual request.
Whiskers twitched. There was someone else in the operating room now. The nurse had slipped under the closed door like the cockroach she was. Oh sure, everyone tries to hide behind cat and dog features, but the surgeon knew the truth about what people really want to become. They want the disgusting creatures deep down. Every single one of his patients were disgusting.
The nurse held a cup up in front of him. A wide cup, almost a bowl, of thick slurry crammed with vitamins, fat, sugar, and amphetamines. He unfurled his proboscis and sucked it down with long drawn out slurps. These slurps were deafening and sickening to the nurse's overly sensitive cat ears (though the surgeon knew they were bat ears with car fur grafted on them). Cheap imitations done poorly be some pathetic surgeon elsewhere. The cup emptied, the surgeon burped loudly, catching all the particulates in a silken web in front of his still useful human mouth. The nurse scuttled back under the door, leaving him in peace.
His wiggling fingers sewed up the last couple stitches. He looked over the unconscious body satisfied with his work. He crossed all of his arms and thought how strange it was to have a patient this old receive only the second modification of his life (the first being the penis of course). The surgeon peeled back a flap of loose skin on his left wrist to reveal an orifice, its sphincter puckered. He held it up to the patient's nose and released an extra potent skunk spray right up one of the nostrils. The patient shot straight up, fully awake.
The surgeon held out his sixteen fingers to calm the patient. Being skunked awake is always a bit jarring. The patient calmed a bit and instinctively checked to make sure his horse penis was still there (those with horse penises always do). The surgeon lumbered away with his massive legs to the other side of the operating room as the patient looked himself over. Nothing yet. The surgeon grabbed and pitcher with his tail and brought to the sink where he was standing. A sense of disappointment started to fill the patient. It didn't work. It was all a waste of time.
The surgeon returned with the pitcher of water and urged the patient to drink. His partially toothed smile held some fake enthusiasm as he gestured with his hands to drink the entire thing. Downed. The patient's belly was full. Then he felt a rush of coolness to his skin. A very pleasant sensation, the sensation he'd imagined when he schedule the surgery. He laid back on the table and let the cool, thick secretions overtake his body. Within only a few minutes, the patient was covered in a slippery mucus. All the glands were operating properly.
The surgeon gave him a quick once over to see if there were any dry spots, his eyes darting all over the place. He smiled that fake smile again and pointed the patient towards the door. The patient slipped off the table and nearly slipped again when he hit the floor. It was everything he every hoped for. He slid his hands all over his body in joy. He gave a slimy thumbs up to the surgeon and slipped out the door.
The janitor shuffled by with his suckermouth gripping the floor hanging from a dissented stomach. The surgeon angrily pointed at the janitor and then at the mess of slime on the floor. The janitor eagerly started to slurp it up.
| Everyday, it's the same damn thing. The schedule:
- Wake up
- Make coffee
- Go to office
- Work
- Lunch
- Work
- Go home
- _______
- Bed
There are plenty of people who find satisfaction in their work, or who enjoy the calm monotony of a routine. Nothing wrong with that. It's just a problem that I had.
A couple centuries ago, when people starting changing their body to suit their mind, protesters said that it was against nature to surgically alter oneself so. A woman might decide she wants to be a man, and the doctor makes it so. They were the pioneers. The forerunners. The first generation of those who modify their physical nature.
Today, it's accepted as much as going to the dentist.
I have a friend who works in construction. Doesn't pay much, but he enjoys the physical labor. He's mostly animal now with a crocodile jaw, gorilla arms, and the legs of a rhino. Helps him do his job.
I was never into the engineering of one's body. Thought it was bad. Then it struck me that I could use it to fix the monotonous existence that is my life. So I went to the doctor. And he gave me the attitude of a sloth.
Now, I don't have a problem anymore. I'm boring. I fit in.
Life is good.
**********
r/arcaldwell.........huh?.......... | 2017-09-26T05:41:43 | 2017-09-26T04:40:28 | 102 | 38 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight. | "What do you mean they have no warrior caste?”
“Thats just it, Overlord Zurgar. They have no caste system.”
The overlord clicked his mandibles in frustration.
“So they’re like the Xintar then, they have mercenary races fight for them?”
“Not really sir. They’ll fight alongside other races but don’t actively recruit or employ mercenaries. Their culture seems to frown on the practice, weirdly.” Zuor continued. It was going to be difficult to explain this to the Overlord, he could see.
“So they’re all warriors then, like the warrior race of Solstice III?”
“I’m afraid thats another no sire. The closest we can explain is that they can choose to fight or not to. They have a biological imperative like most mammal species to protect their own, but they also hold grudges almost as fiercely and are happy to kill for specific causes. Historically they've killed billions for being the wrong type of human or for pledging allegiance to the wrong side. Also, you know how most mammal races will run after you kill their offspring? Not these. They will fight to exact something called “vengeance”. A single human female is responsible for over a thousand drone deaths after she wiped out the Hive Fist. Apparently, she’d been taken prisoner and her mate and offspring killed. She was being returned to the Sol Empire as a prisoner exchange, when she got loose and sent the reactor critical.
“She what? So they’re suicidal maniacs?”
“Again, it seems that they can choose to be, but only in extremes.”
“What of the other prisoners”
“Oh, she was the only one sir. Seems they’ll trade a lot for just one person. The humans are quite… “Sentimental” I believe their word is. It means overly caring sir. Anyway, she was the only prisoner on board.”
Zurgar rubbed his antenna with two of his arms. Humanity was giving him a headache.
“And yet they’re the ones responsible for the Xintar-Armon peace?”
“Yes sir. They’re excellent diplomats.”
“When they’re not blowing up starships”
“Again, sir, they’re extremely pacificstic. They’ve never invaded another civilised planet per se. True, they do tend to extremes when pushed. They glassed a colony of the Xintar after some of their mercenaries popped that bubble city. And the Aleph empire was never the same after their conflict with humanity. They have this thing called Guerilla Warfare where they don’t actually act like warriors - more like criminals blowing stuff up for political reasons. The Aleph simply could not get a handle on things and were forced to withdraw. Their leadership caste never recovered, hence their current decline. Humanity’s history is quite fascinating sir. I recommend…”
“Enough. So what you’re saying is that if we take the peace they offer they won’t hand us our mandibles?”
“Yes sir. Our fleet is excellent, but there’s no defence against their weapons as of yet. Ingenious of them to use mass drivers in such a way. And nobody uses nuclear weapons anymore but them.”
“They want peace? All we did was destroy that colony ship. Would they really nuke us?”
“Not right away sire, but if we pushed them...”
“They’d push back. Potentially with nuclear warheads.”
Zuor Nodded.
“And all we have to do is let them colonise Makha II?”
“New Hope they call it. Yes, and give them first dibs on the moon. They’re oxygen breathers you see”.
Zurgar sighed and clicked his mandibles together again.
“Let them. Tell the queen on Makha II she can expect neighbours. Besides, they might prove useful there - an extra layer of protection should the Xinti want the planet.”
Zuor dipped his antenna in supplication and scurried away.
Shaking his head, the Overlord returned to the tactical display.
“Warrior pacifists, how strange the universe is. Whatever next, flying Krntle?”
==
A quick edit. Missed a bit out. | This is my second attempt at a poem, so any and all feedback/criticism is more than welcome. More of my work can be found at /r/liswrites.
---
Humans are gentle
And will always shy away
From war.
Humans are kind creatures
Who look for the best
In each other
And find it
In strangers.
If you should ever find yourself
Alone
Look to the humans.
If there is any hope
It lies with them,
In their soft eyes
And warm hearts.
They come from a world
Full of danger.
A world
Of fire and ice,
Of oceans and deserts.
But humans are gentle
And they tame the wild land
To make it give flowers,
Give wheat,
Give life.
The humans,
Gentle.
Yet, still
The humans
Remain fierce.
They love their deadly world
With unrivalled passion.
The same hands
That welcome you
In your hour of despair
Will bare arms
In their hour of need.
Do not cross the humans.
The humans are fierce creatures
With wild manes
With gnashing teeth
And sharp claws.
Even more deadly
Than the humans
Are their ships of fire
And death.
Their rockets
Will always find you
And follow you
Until you are no more.
Beware the humans.
Beware their world
Their weapons
Their bodies.
But know
The humans are gentle
With their flowers,
Their hands,
Their hope.
| 2017-02-14T02:33:10 | 2017-02-13T20:49:06 | 50 | 24 |
[WP] Assassinating Earth's planetary delegate turned out much harder than expected. So far, the target has always detected all hitmen sent and alerted his security. This ability of "hearing" the humans possess is quite peculiar. | Earths atmosphere was dense, the reports had said it would be. Still, figures on a readout where not the same as feeling the pressure press down or feeling the resistance of 'nothing' flowing all around with every movement. Having to push through it.
He had a holo disguise just like the others before him, allowing him to trick one of their two primary senses. What the others where not prepared for was just how sharp the other sense would be. They knew it existed, sure, it could pick up disturbances in the atmosphere.
What they where not prepared for was for this to work through walls. They could pick up atmospheric movement *through walls.* If the disturbance was large enough, they could pick it up from miles away, *indoors*.
Those before him had been sceptical. They put this lavish claim down to boasting and fear mongering amongst their new neighbours, to prevent attack. It had cost them their lives.
He would not underestimate his enemy.
He would move slowly, smoothly, keep the gasses around his body as still as possible. Turbulence, that was to be avoided. He must move his body over the ground like a sleek ship though the air. Smooth, steady.
He'd keep his distance from his target, as far as possible, to prevent detection.
He followed the transit zone he had located, they called it a 'Street', and located the delivery utility vehicle he was looking for. It had come to a stop outside of a supply dump, and was being unloaded. The supply dump had the sigel 'Costco' on the side, presumably showing which local faction currently claimed ownership.
He slowly, slowly, urged his body up into the rear of the vehicle and readied his prepared poison careful to avoid creating atmospheric turbulence where he could. He located the preferred nutrient package of the delegate and with a syringe pierced the container and slid in the neurotoxin.
He would be no-where near the target at the point of death.
He took the package, and slid back out of the wheeled container back onto the transit zone. After a moment of pause, it was clear no-one was stopping him. A clear indicator no-one had detected him. He took the container and waited for his mark.
As he sat idly scanning every being moving past, eventually he got the one he was after, the delegate's assistant. He couldn't tell the difference but the scanner was sure this was the one. He approached, ensured the correct side of his body was pointing to the assistant and initiated the pre-recorded message. It seemed to him that nothing was happening at all, but his readout inside the disguise assured him it was being relayed as planned. The translation displayed as "Oh! Hi Vicky! I've grabbed the bosses lunch already, you looked busy this morning so wanted to save you some time. You remember me? Bill from accounting!" He was sure to stay completely motionless during the playback to avoid suspicion.
The suspense was killing him. He had the nutrients, the human was supposed to take it. Why where they not taking it!?
His translator lit up. "Are you going to hand it to me? Or...".
Hand it? What the hell did that mean!? Panic started to set in. He played the recording again. he'd been told not to, but this was the field. You had to react to a live situation.
"Oh! Hi Vicky! I've grabbed the bosses lunch already, you looked busy this morning so wanted to save you some time. You remember me? Bill from accounting!"
Just. Don't. Move.
Again the translator lit up. "Just, whatever. Give it to me. Mouth breather." followed by a jolt as the nutrients where removed. It had happened. He was done.
As he was about to leave, the translator lit up again "What's this blue shit all over it? How did it even get in there is that mould? Gross!" and the human flung the nutrients into a waste unit. "Guess that's why they make the plastic transparent, god I'll just get it myself".
What fresh bullshit is this!? WHAT THE HELL IS BLUE!? IT WAS INSIDE THE SEALED CONTAINER! WHAT THE HELL! No way the atmosphere was moving in there this is bullshit. | I stood atop the sand dunes of Ish'tak and allowed the old sun to bath me in the hues of its light. I felt the scorned iron wind break against the exposed scales where feathers once were; most had been lost by age or battle. This was the ancient tradition, our way, a millenia ago our kind would bathe in the sun of our home planet allowing the scales beneath to harden before going into battle. It was a practice lost amongst my people, if only because my people had become lost. Honor, duty, swearing only fealty to the blood we spill, these things too my kind had forgotten.
Had we another thousand years alone, we would have had been the ones to command the universe. Instead we met our end at the hands of the Ghoshun, a malignant and maligned race that crawled from the depths of the home planets ocean some eons ago. It is our word for them, not theirs. They have no sense for language, only patterns to invoke emotions. We saw our senses as gifts, they saw them as profane. Had it not been for our ability to shed blood so easily, our graves would have had long been buried and forgotten under the green star of our home. Yet now we are their weapon, a honed blade sent to kill where they cannot. This is why I'm here.
They see humanity as a pox - I see them as an inevitability, but I am bound by honor. This human will die tonight, but when they see his blood, when they smell the iron, more will come.
\--
Had an idea, tried to run with it - got kind of lost in writing it, I might try to flesh it out a bit more later on though as I like this story. | 2021-03-18T11:49:48 | 2021-03-18T11:41:51 | 384 | 69 |
[WP] The aliens who captured you have determined that the fate of mankind will depend on the outcome of a competition that will pit you against one of their champions. They sit you in front of a board and explain the rules of their traditional game. You're shocked to recognize the rules: it's chess! | "-so those are the rules. The game takes place on an 8x8 board and the pieces are initially arranged in the position you see on screen now. As this is a traditional game, both teams will be awarded 90 of your minutes to play the first 40 moves, and 30 additional minutes to complete the game. Each side also will receive an additional 30 of your seconds each time a turn is completed. Now, are there any questions?"
Silence fills the room. T'chalek revels in it.
Xhezz, the ancient game of his people! The infinite complexity of the Xhezz board is the great equalizer for all thinking beings. No algorithm can solve it, no program can understand it, it's the truest stick by which to truly measure intelligence. Of course these primitives are silent, they can barely process what they just heard! Of course, being a proper Xhezz-playing gentleman T'chalek didn't voice his opinions, being prideful was far *far* beneath the likes of him.
"Er, yes, just one question." One of the creatures eventually pipes up. "The fate of humanity is to be decided in one game against your champion, da? Then why have you selected the five of us?"
"A fair question. Of course, we Temmen are not unfair, nor unreasonable. We acknowledge that our experience in this game does give us a *slight* edge against our opponents. As a way of levelling the playing field we completely randomly selected five candidates from your species to play our champion. All of you may combine your thoughts and ideas, though still only one move may be made per turn.
"Randomly selected? We were *randomly* selected?" another voice pipes up.
"Indeed. In order to ensure that no bias is given to the game, we completely randomly select all five candidate players. Some of you may be bright scholars, or simple laborers, we honestly don't know. The only criteria is that at least one of each sex of your species must be present, as well as at least one child. This is to ensure we are testing the full range of capabilities of your species."
Of course, all this talk of fairness was complete hogswash, though he didn't expect these dirty creatures to catch it. What was important was that at least a show of fairness was perceived, it made things much easier later on when they inevitably revolted and needed to be 'pacified'.
"Are there any other questions?"
"Yeah. Uhh, how does, the ummm, Xnight move again please?"
A common question. Primitives often struggled to conceptualise how the Xnight was able to jump around. Though quiet snickers went up around the room as T'Chalek explained. What about this was funny? Clearly the severity of the situation had not yet sunk in, that alone spoke volumes about the intellectual level of this primates.
"Do you need me to re-explain the In Passing rule again as well, or are you all ready?" T'Chalek growled, somewhat annoyed at apparently not being taken seriously.
"No no no I think we've heard enough, thank you for your explanation T'Chalek. This "Xhezz" game seems quite interesting. If I'm not mistaken I believe we should all be ready to play."
More snickers.
Well, let's see who's laughing after hours of gruelling mental warfare! After all, Xhezz speaks for itself!
"Very well then! I will now introduce our champion! A master tactician and strategist like no other, Universal Xhess Champion for the last 12 \[1.3 years\], I present Mr. Feebe Golokt'chiesta!"
A small, slender figure slunk from the shadows and sat across from the five candidates. He nodded briefly to each, recognising them as opponents as any proper Xhezz player should. "For what it's worth," he said "I'll try to make it quick. I'm sorry."
"Silence Feebe. Just do what you're here for. Now, Mr. Nepomniachtchi, Mr. Carlsen, Mr. Nakamura, Ms. Polgar, and Mr. Praggnananandhaa, are you all sure you're ready?"
The five chess grandmasters nodded together, before sharing a glance at one another and approaching the board where Feebe had already made the first move; e4.
"For what it's worth," Hikaru Nakamura said, "Nothing personel, kid."
​
Thirty minutes later, a pale and shaking Feebe was found huddled in a corner muttering deranged ramblings about "juicers" and "the wooden shield".
We left the Humans alone after that. | The alien (who looked nothing like any of the alien species depicted in the media that I saw) was rather surprised at how unenthusiastic I was when he announced it.
"You don't seem to care that we can destroy your planet?"
"Look, pinning its fate on me is a horrible idea as is, but if you pay close attention to the media of our planet you'd know it would be a mercy at this point. But fine, whatever, let's get this over with."
I sat down in front of a smug creature, I could tell it was smug because it had two faces (one on top of the other no less) and both were smirking at me.
I listened to the rules, but honestly I've forgotten most of the rules of Chess, since the last time I played them years ago, when I was like in 6th grade, with my grandfather. And watching that one short video a few weeks ago. The video was still fresh in my memory, and I figured... what's the harm? It's not like I'm dooming the planet or anything.
As the courtesy, I got white pieces.
"Begin!"
I sighed and moved Queen's pawn forward by one. This prompted lots of sneers from the audience, clearly they expected something better.
My alien opponent grinned and moved Bishop's pawn forward by one in response, taunting me.
I was sleepy and tired, they yanked me off the street when I was on my way home from work, and hoped it showed on my face when I moved King's pawn forward by two, prompting my opponent to move Knight's pawn forward... by two.
There were murmurs of approval in the crowd, and the alien
My face must've betrayed what I was thinking, since one of the faces got its smug look knocked off, as I sent the Queen diagonally, across the board, towards the side, giving her a perfect path to capture the King.
"Check... mate," I announced and stood up. "Do I get anything else from you aside from keeping my planet intact? Some genetically and visually compatible female partner, medical treatment at least? Medical enhancement at most? Maybe a computer that can run games from my planet? No? Okay... Where is the exit?" | 2022-11-12T22:56:11 | 2022-11-12T19:26:59 | 255 | 185 |
[WP] in your world, everyone has a almost entirely unique symbol on their wrist, soulmates have the same symbol. Your whole life you've been drawing on a symbol with a sharpie to hide the fact you don't have a soulmate. One day, you meet someone without a symbol, just like you.
Thank you everyone for informing me that this is a stupid and pathetic writing prompt but I like writing in this genre. If you do not like this writing prompt, please ignore it, you don't have to comment that I'm an unoriginal 14 year old. You can easily move on to another prompt you enjoy. | I sighed and stuffed another empty into the bag. I had no idea how they managed it, but the guys always made a hell of a mess when they came over to watch the game. It had actually gotten a bit better when Bill met his soulmate and there’d been a woman around. Of course, the rest of the guys had gotten over that in a month and then it was right back to slob-central.
“Man, just do it tomorrow,” Brandon groaned from where he was sprawled across the sofa. “How can you be cleaning right now?”
Ignoring him, I scooped up another can. Brandon was completely hammered. The only way I was getting him off that sofa was if it caught on fire, and even then, he’d probably just flop across the floor far enough that he wasn’t in the way when I took care of it.
He had one arm draped across his eyes, but he moved it enough to give me a glare when the empty clinked against the ones already in the bag. “My mom’s coming over early,” I told him. “Probably going to lecture me about getting out more.”
“You’ll never find your soulmate if all you do is work and drink,” Brandon said, his voice pitched high in imitation of my mother's.
I chucked the empty in my hand at his head, suddenly annoyed. “Ow!” he yelped.
“I get it enough from her,” I snapped. “I don’t need it from you too. Besides, it’s not like you’ve found yours either.”
“Yeah, but I’m out there looking at least. When’s the last time you had your mark scanned for a match?”
Never. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. My mark wasn’t real. I’d been drawing it on with a black sharpie after every shower for over a decade, as soon as it became obvious that a real one wasn’t ever going to come in.
I swept the empties on the coffee table off with my arm, then stooped down to reach for one that had missed the bag. “Fine, man,” Brandon said, sitting up. “It’s fine. I get it. John’s married now. Fuck me if I know what he sees in that woman. If they didn’t have matching marks, I don’t think he’d have ever said two words to her. And Bill is now too. And Rich. And every one of them at least three years younger than us.”
I didn’t want to have this conversation. I didn’t bring it up, and after years of looking and not finding someone, Brandon rarely did either. He sighed and climbed to his feet, still so drunk that he swayed back and forth for a few seconds, his eyes unfocused. Then he shook his head and grabbed the plates I’d stacked up and the empty styrofoam box left over from the Chinese I’d had for lunch and used to hold all our dirty silverware from the party.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Helping you clean, jackass,” he said. “You get enough crap from your mom without giving her this to complain about too.”
He wobbled his way to the kitchen and I heard the sound of water running in the sink while I finished picking up the empties. With a sigh, I realized I was absently scratching at the sharpie mark I’d drawn on my wrist. It was looking a little faded around the edges. I’d have to touch it up before Mom showed, but Brandon was too smashed to notice.
“Hey, can you bring in those wine glasses Julie and Heather had?” Brandon called from the kitchen.
“Sure.”
I scooped the glasses up in one hand and the bag in the other. It would go out into my trunk, where my mother would never see it and thus not lecture me on the vices of alcohol. I set the glasses down on the counter and, without looking, Brandon reached out to pick one up.
If he hadn’t held it from the bottom, with his palm toward the ceiling, I wouldn’t have noticed. If he hadn’t had his arms submerged in soapy dish water, it probably wouldn’t have happened in the first place. But he did both of those things.
The bag of empties hit the floor with a loud clank. I lunged forward and grabbed Brandon’s arm. “What the hell, Sam?” he yelled as I twisted it to look at his wrist. I brushed the suds away, just to be sure I was seeing what I thought I was.
Brandon’s eyes went wide and he looked down at his wrist, caught in my grip.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered. “Look, I can explain.”
The mark on his arm was running, cheap ink being washed away in water. I shoved his arm back into the sink and scrubbed it, then pulled it back out. There was nothing but blank skin beneath it.
“I don’t have a mark,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I’ve been drawing it in for years. But the only thing I could find was a dry-erase marker today. You can’t tell anyone, Sam. No one.”
I pushed him to one side and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol from under the sink. Without speaking, I uncapped it and poured it over the sharpie I’d drawn onto my own wrist, then rubbed the alcohol in. Just like his mark, mine started to run down my arm.
“Holy shit,” he said, locking eyes with me. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” I said. Neither of us was marked. Neither of us would ever find a wife. What other kind of pairing could there be? | Looking at her bare wrist, Moon sighed. Nothing but slightly tanned skin and an intricate web of faint, pale blue-violet veins lurking below the surface. In her other hand lay a Sharpie, and in front of her rested a small sketchbook, in which a small design was drawn. Organic, flowing...and fake.
Sharpie was a pathetic farce compared to the deep, rich ebony of a real mark. She'd admired them on people before; her sister's, her parents', her friends'. All of them bore wrists upon which the symbol lay proudly, an emblem of the intersection between love and fate. Soulmates were, for them, a beacon of light for the future. For her, they were something she could only see in movies and TV shows while that familiar bittersweet feeling crept up within her.
Moon sighed again. She picked up the Sharpie with renewed resolution and carefully copied the symbol in front of her. She was determined to make the most of fate.
***
It was mid-morning when she ventured from her apartment. She'd slipped up and drawn one part of the symbol all wrong, and hastily had to scrub it off and start anew. Her skin was rubbed raw, but she ignored it steadfastly. She repeated her grocery list in her head as she walked along to the market; milk, eggs, apples, juice.
She reached it before noon, and with a skip in her step, she stalked the aisles with her cart. Maybe she'd get home earlier than planned. With eagerness, she ran through her list. Milk, eggs, apples, ju--
There was a jarring crash of metal carts, and Moon winced. "Sorry!" she called out. The other woman, surrounded by dropped boxes of varying snacks, smiled reassuringly. "It's fine!"
Moon bent to help her pick up her spoils, apologizing again, before something caught her eye. A flash of pale skin each time the woman bent -- but that was strange, Moon thought. Because that meant her wrist was...
"S-sorry, I just," Moon stammered. The woman gazed patiently at her, tucking a caramel brown lock of hair behind her ear. Moon found it somehow difficult to meet her eyes, and trailed off, "Your wrist..."
The woman chuckled. "Oh, that?" She pulled up her sleeve, confirming Moon's suspicions. A pale, blank slate of skin, just like Moon's. "Yes, it is unusual, isn't it? When I was younger, I used to try to hide it, but now..." She gave another chuckle, full of light and air. "I hardly mind."
Moon's heart thumped in her ears, and she swallowed. She was intrigued, but felt hesitation gripping at her. She ignored it, taking one deep breath before looking aside shyly and pulling up her own sleeve. "It's my first time meeting someone like me," she mumbled.
Curiosity shone in the woman's eyes, as well as amusement. "As it is for me." She glanced back at her cart, and then at Moon's, before cracking a grin. "And I think it might've been fate."
Warmth flooded Moon's chest as she smiled back and nodded. "I think so, too." | 2017-08-06T16:04:39 | 2017-08-06T15:44:31 | 268 | 111 |
[WP] The news were shocking. In one week, a gigantic meteor was going to hit the Earth and obliterate it. Chaos ensues. Anarchy breaks out. Governments fall. A week later, everyone braces as they see the meteor… miss the Earth, barely. Things get awkward. | “It’s all gone,” said Jeb tossing his cigarette to the ground to stamp it out.
“Sure, is pretty, isn’t it,” said Jared.
“What?”
Jared and Jeb. Johnson and Johnson were what was written on their military name tapes. A common name, no blood between them, one stood there, and the other sat, both of them watching the sky. It was hauntingly beautiful, that hunk of rock eclipsing the moon as it flew thousands of miles an hour across the purple-hazed sky. Its trail of dust and bits of rocks like some magnificent mane crafted by the stars. Despite its cataclysmic trajectory, relativity allowed the world to watch it in a calming awe as it trailed across the sky.
The water of the river was calm, the sound soothing, the gunfire was gone, the yelling, the painful screaming of the causalities silenced by an atom.
Jared reached for his lighter and his pack of smokes, withdrawing them from the pouch a clip of ammo was supposed to be in. He took the lighter between his finger and flicked it open. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth to only drop it. Jeb watched as his friend struggled to keep the thing from sticking. Needing something, anything to go right in his life. Jared reached down and took the cigarette and lighter from his friend.
Jeb took a knee, nicotine and lighter in hand. “I don’t know how you can be so calm right now,” he asked Jared.
Jared looked up the best he could, struggling to keep his head from shaking. “I don’t know,” he said carefully. “I just am.”
Jeb plucked the cigarette from his hand and struck it between Jared’s lips. He pulled back on the flint of the wick lighter and sparked a flame onto the Marlboro Red. The thin white stick trembled beneath Jared’s lips as he vainly tried to inhale a puff. All the ashy white smoke filtered through his nose because Jared couldn’t lift his arms anymore to pull the tobacco away for a proper puff.
“There’s nothing left,” said Jeb taking a seat next to Jared across the bank of the Panama Canal.
Jared huffed a bit more ash through his nostrils. “That’s not true,” he said, mumbling through the cigarette. “That’s not true at all.”
“What’s left,” exclaimed Jeb, throwing his hands against the almost apocalyptic sky. “It’s all gone, the US, Canada, Mexico, most of Europe and Asia. All of it’s gone. Wiped away not by that thing that was supposed to kill us, but by us. We fucked up and we lost it all. There is no US government, no fucking army, air force, navy, or marines, all of it’s fucking gone. These uniforms we’re wearing don’t mean a damn fucking thing without any of that either. They're just a reason to be shot at.”
Jared dropped the Marlboro Red from his mouth, his irradiated scarred lips unable to hold it anymore. “I have you,” he said to Jeb Johnson.
“That’s a little gay,” Jeb snarled back.
“So,” said Jarred, “why does it matter. I have you, and that’s something. Take it straight or not. Jeb, I have you.”
“You’re dying from radiation,” said Jared burying his head in his knees. “And I probably have it too after you set off that nuke to blow the canal. Everybody’s going to probably have it come nuclear winter because we couldn’t keep our fingers off the button.”
The last of the meteor or the comet, whatever you wanted to call it, the two didn’t really know, passed the night sky. The ground shook and the purple of the cosmic visitor paled as orange and red corrupted the sky. Another mushroom consumed the horizon, followed by several more. Ninety-nine red balloons in the summer sky and all was gone.
“There,” said Jeb pointing to the sky, “see.”
“I still have you,” said Jared coughing up a bit of blood. “Something all of us forgot. Each other.”
Jared started to seize, unable to feel the warmth from the lack of skin he had. Jeb reached for Jared and Jared embraced Jeb. A large tidal wave of heat consumed the tree line across the river before ending the two of them. | Hello, this is John Johnson for the channel 8 nightly news covering the great birth boom. It’s been 9 months since humanity narrowly avoided complete annihilation and the explosion of custody and child support cases has taken our world by storm.
With a new birthdate that makes the end of World War 2 look like a drop in the bucket the American government has struggled with how to handle this unprecedented issue. Three weeks earlier Congress and the president in a desperate attempt to handle the problem legalized polygamy to support fathers who were a little too energetic during the great craze.
We have senator Dave Dilby to talk about the controversial Family Support Through Mandated Marriages act they sponsored that made its way to the president’s desk during a now common moment of bi partisanship, something only last year would have been thought impossible. Senator, what do you think of our government’s current solutions to these problems?
Well John, I think it goes without saying that during these unprecedented times we’ve been forced into unprecedented solutions. By making this bill contingent on the Increasing Responsible Fatherhood act of 2036, we’ve actually seen widespread approval of these legislative actions.
But senator, don’t you think that this act strips away the rights of American citizens in favor of a nebulous goal of helping children?
Listen John, no one wants an entire generation of kids with no father, and mothers without money to raise those kids. This is the single solution that we have for this now. Consenting mother’s are married to their children’s fathers and we help them with additional funding. We’re solving civilizations woes with this bill you hear.
But senator, aren't you just queuing up problems for tomorrow.
LISTEN, If everyone just used the damn free condoms we were handing out like TICKER TAPE, we wouldn't be in this situation. If you want to avoid these issues, you need to avoid making them.
Thank you for your time senator. I hope it works out as well as you think it will. Back to you Tricia. | 2022-06-15T10:47:39 | 2022-06-15T10:15:08 | 114 | 22 |
[WP] People have threat levels assigned to them. Common thug maybe reach double digits, dictators the hundreds, the people who can launch nukes in the hundreds of thousands. You, a scientist who just performed a harmless experiment, suddenly get shot up into the billions
[deleted] | 36. That was my number.
I’ve always been on the side of a heavier build, and growing up it really worked to my advantage. I didn’t really use my words as much as my hands. I’d say the 36 comes from before I went to university and got my doctorate, when I still had some tensions with classmates that snooped too much. I’ve settled down since then and most people are quiet understanding. Got myself a nice laboratory job, beautiful wife and daughter - Liz, love her with all my heart - and a nice niche of friends. Can’t complain how things turned out for a 36 like me.
But that was 2 days ago. My wife Sarah took Liz. I haven’t seen my blood family or friends since. 48 hours was all it took for 36 to change. I’m currently at 1.2 billion. What a predicament.
I did a masters in psychology and my doctorate’s in social dynamics. About my number, and two days ago, I’ll give some background info on my work. Our lab doesn’t work with chemicals or hormones or gene splicing. We’re more of a, “meta physics”/ everything in theory, kind of team. Of course that has limitations on our credibility, not being able to produce concrete numbers, but hey, a jump in threat magnitude 10^9 times is a pretty solid number. Anyway, we mainly perform psychological experiments and tests, nothing harmful though. Some may be deemed unethical, but it’s with complete consent and the subjects’ psyches are barely ever affected.
So we have these two people right. We’ll call them Albert and Barry. The twist to this is, they’re twins, but to different brothers. We tried linking their conscious’s up, artificial electric stimulation from the back of their cortex. Fun fact, some disabled victims have been able to regain feeling through electric stimulus: might or might not be where we got our hypothesis from. Anyway, you know how twins are always up to something with each other without speaking it? Like they got a secrets only they know? Well, we wanted to see if it was “unanimous”. If one set could understand another set’s secrets.
Sounds incredulous, probably won’t work. But it did. Barry’s cat scan after shows he realigned his lower brain, hippocampus downward, and rearranged his “memories”. I guess the best way to describe this is he artificially reconstructed his own memories. Amazing. This wasn’t in our hypothesis, we just assumed there’d be some shared sensations, maybe a sneeze at the same time. Never in our wildest imaginations would these two unrelated subjects contort their own brain structure to fit another’s identity.
I guess that’s why my power level became so high. You know for 7 US Dollars you can buy someone’s social security and credit card information? Alongside their address, date of birth, maiden name, all that. 7 dollars to impersonate another. But get this. For the 50 thousand in lab equipment, and 1 billion in threat evaluation number, you can be someone else. Whatever secrets you want to hide, skins you want to shed, go for it. You’re welcome I guess. | I looked at the experiment paper in front of me, I, a highschool student who barely reaches a threat level of 10 because of violent outbursts, just reached a number in the billions. THE BILLIONS while doing a controlled experiment. I looked over the chemicals and the written amounts of each. I made this. . . How? How did I make this fizzling. . . potion? Elixir more like it. I gulped nervously and pulled my sleeve down over the expanded number. I froze and seen that I did this experiment backwards, it told us not to do. We were just making rock crystals for pete's sake-
​
Edit: I meant rock candy X'D | 2018-09-13T02:28:02 | 2018-09-13T02:21:17 | 103 | 41 |
[WP] Your family has always been in the lower middle class. On your 21st birthday your parents tell you "I'm sorry we lied. We are wealthy, we just wanted you to be humble" | The wall opposite Lily had a clock, one of those old fashioned novelty ones shaped like a cat. The eyes scanned the kitchen once per second, back-and-forth, back-and-forth. The tail kept the same rhythm, *swish, swish, swish*. It had a coat of black paint that was chipped in places and sported a cheesy white bow-tie. Lily pretended when she was younger that the cat was putting on an old, worn tuxedo to go on a fancy date downtown.
She became acutely aware that a lot of time had passed by in silence.
Mom and Dad sat expectantly with her at the kitchen table. It was close to midnight, and Melody was already in bed, preparing for a big field hockey game tomorrow. Lily had come down from college for the weekend to cheer her sister on, and to take a break from her last year of classes. She was working too hard, and needed to give her mind a break. Although, that was proving to be difficult at the moment.
Dad pulled opened the binder in front of him and pulled an envelope from the front pocket. He slid it across the table to Lily. "This is yours," he said.
Lily picked it up. It was from *First National Holdings* and was postmarked just a few days earlier. It was fairly hefty, quite a few pages in there. She flipped it over and say that it was unopened.
"That's a listing of everything that is yours," Dad said. "It's a summary of a portfolio, mostly stocks, that reverts to you on your 21st birthday. It's a small proportion of what we have, but it will do to start. Melody has something similar too. We'll have this same conversation in a few years when she's old enough too, so please don't spoil it."
Lily opened it up and scanned the front page. There was an estimated total worth at the top, and it contained at least one more digit than she was expecting, based on their conversation a few minutes prior.
"Your mother and I, we felt it important that you have this when you were old enough," said Dad. "I mean, you did end up paying for a lot of your own things when we could have. You worked hard and earned up to get your own car, and you got scholarships to college and paid the rest of your own way. But we felt that since we could have paid for it...that...well..."
"We didn't want you to resent us," Mom interjected. "Now that you know how much we actually have, we didn't want you thinking that we were selfish and just holding back. It's our way of helping you out, even if it was retroactively."
Lily stared at the paper a moment longer, then placed the pile neatly down. "Where did this come from?" She asked.
"Hard work, and a little luck" said her Dad.
"But like, how?"
"That's all you need to know, Lily," said her Mom. "We're not trying to be cryptic, but we just want you to know that it all came about because we put in the effort."
"Okay." Lily looked down at the page in front of her again. "So, why do we live here? Where's the high-rise downtown that we own."
"While we don't own any actual high-rises, a number of buildings are - OOF!" Dad was cut off by an apparent kick under the table.
"It's important for you to know that your father and I have a personal philosophy," Mom said. "Money is not the most important thing in life. In fact, it's probably lower on that list than many of us realize. All we wanted is for you to be happy. And we've seen too many times that too much money makes people unhappy."
Lily nodded. "So you chose this."
"Yes."
"You're not hiding from the cartel or anything."
"No, nothing like that. We are here because we want to be. If we wanted, we could move to anywhere in the world with the largest estate you could imagine."
"But we're here."
"Yes, we're here, for us. For you."
It took me a minute to process this all. I looked back at up at the cat with his painted on grin and hypnotic eyes. He was probably as dizzy as I felt right about now.
Dad had been looking down at his hands. He suddenly sat up. "This was a bad idea, to conceal it from you like this, making you live like this. I'm going to make it right." He grabbed out his checkbook and began scribbling furiously. "I'm going to put down here as many zeroes as you like, to make it up to you."
Lily reached across the table and placed her hands on her father's. He was trembling, and tears were in his eyes. With a determination that came surprisingly easily, she grabbed the book and the pen, and drew one very large, very round zero. She slid it back to her parents, and found tears coming to her own eyes.
"That is all the money I will ever need from you. This, right here, us, now, is the best present I could ever hope for." She wiped her eyes and saw that all three of them were crying freely now. "I love you both."
Mom and Dad got up and moved around the table, embracing her in a warm hug.
"We love you too, Lil," said Mom.
"Always," said Dad.
And as the cat on the wall can attest to, they shared that hug for a long, very long, time.
___
Check out /r/Killersealion for more!
| I don't know what they expected from me; maybe a thank you, a nod of approval, all I had was rage. If there's one thing I learned in my twenty one years of living it's that I was no slouch.
"So where's all the money gone to?" I asked.
"We give some to charity every month and some we saved for your trust fund."
"I have a trust fund?"
"Yes, yes you do son," father replied.
"Can I get it now? How much are we talking about?" I asked.
"Well you'll get it when you're thirty actually. We wanted to get you into the family business after graduation first, but since that's not going to happen. So we're telling you this today."
"Thirty!" I couldn't keep calm. I know they grew up poor but I did not. I got a scholarship to one of the most elite private high schools in this country and for those four years it had been nothing but pride crushing shame. My classmates wore Burberry, I had knock offs. They carried their books in Louis Vuitton, thrift shop specials were the story of my life. I was more industrious than the poor kids I was with in junior high, I was smarter than the heirs of Wattlecrest high. I was the best. I knew that and the humility they'd tried to nurture had become a chip on my shoulder, why did I have to struggle so hard?
"So what's the point of this money?" I asked my father.
"Well you need to save for the future, for a rainy day." My mother interjected.
"And why did you ask me to send you money then?" I asked.
"Well children should help support their parents as they grow old it was a lesson in charity."
"Charity?" This wasn't frugality it was stinginess and I'd had it with theirs. They shouldn't have told me, not now, not when I'd finally got a record deal and had 500000 views for my video. This was another one of their narcissistic games, their last one if I had anything to do with it. They'd told me it was a stupid career, that I should focus on college instead, but how was I meant to study when I'm the only one too poor to get wasted? I worked two jobs while others went out for sports, my social life died and thank God for music. It was the only release I had from my 84 hour work week. It's what got me out.
"You know what? I don't even care anymore, do what you want with it. I've made my own." The steps out the compound were the most liberating I'd taken. I was free; guilt free. They could take care of themselves. I looked at the house that drained me of so much one final time. It was time to stop feeling ashamed of who I was, who I'd worked to be. I hailed a cab, first stop was John Varvatos, I needed to look like the son of a rich man.
***
You can read more of my stories at /r/pagefighter.
| 2016-09-15T14:33:30 | 2016-09-15T14:22:35 | 85 | 17 |
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs | I simply wanted to help everyone. Like a surgeon, removing a cancer that could not be dealt with any other way. Of course, to remove a cancer this metastatized, one needs superhuman skills.
The world's first clue was when a few of the worst politicians died. On their bodies, in a script that anyone could understand, was a catalogue of their worst behaviors, a list of who helped them, and a simple phrase. "I will find you out. Do better."
Religious leaders, kings, despots, presidents. Those who wielded their wealth and power only for themselves, not for those around them. There was outrage, of course. Some was simply that of those so tied into the power system that an attack on it was considered an attack on them. Over a hundred nations banded together to hunt me down. I was like air.
Then a few others, who agreed with my intentions, but not with my methods, started searching. These few understood my methods, they had met... Others like me. But those others were not like me. They either did it for their own wealth, or like some foolish dark knight who would rather kill a few prisoners than fix the problems that put them in such desperation in the first place. And while their deals had been for similar skill sets, they went for something more flamboyant. Control of the victim for a few seconds before death. Forcing the victim to feel all the pain they had inflicted. Leaving behind visible ghosts, forced to wander until they apologized to all their still living victims and meant it. I had gone for something simple. "They died because of their actions, these are the actions."
As I understand it, they spent almost a year tracking down demonic entities until they found the one I had signed a pact with. There are lesser deals you can make, for simply some information. The demons don't really care once they've made a deal. To be fair, they're not demons as most understand them. They're simply... Entities bound by deals. Almost all magical powers come from such entities. Those associated with death are... more dangerous to deal with.
So I watched, on monitors, as these modern day paladins came to end my reign of terror. Mainly against the rich and powerful, but still, I empathized with them. I even opened every door, disabled the security to deal with one of the nation's enforcement agencies getting lucky. Warily, they came to where I was. I will admit, their gasps of horror and pity gave me a small amount of amusement. With a few subvocalizations, my chair was aimed so I could see them with my own eyes, such as they were now. And I laughed. The pain, by now, was something I was quite used to.
"What, you've never seen a condemned soul before?" After the first month, my limbs had stopped working, after the second they had finally turned to ash. Fortunately, my deal had included a certain amount of funds. "You cannot do anything to my body that has not already happened. Hell came to me, first metaphorically, then literally." One of them vomited. "I let you in because none of you were guilty of anything truly heinous. Some cheating, lying, unintentionally hurting someone else. The worst any of you have done, is simply not enough. And I do not fault you for mere human failures. I would have to condemn myself first. Be glad I was calmed down by the time Phlegethon came to me. Otherwise I might just have called him to flood the world."
The leader of the heroes, a man known by the name Zadaq, looked at me. "The killing has to stop."
I smiled. "I agree. I have just finished the last bits of surgery. My body won't last much longer. The files I have are at your disposal. The password is 'fifty just people'. Spaced, lowercase. The chaos I have started needs direction, I give it to you. Revolution needs builders, not just destroyers. Honestly, I'm surprised you weren't onto me in the first few days. I had told you there would be more."
Phlegethon is a river, and also a god, or a demon. It can give you vengeance or violence, but it also punishes it. "Just remember. I chose to suffer eternal torment for this. I thought my sacrifice was worth it. Make this place a better world."
Zadaq went to say more, but my torso, long since ash, finally collapsed, and my head was aflame. I remember laughing and screaming. It is all I have left. That, and the laments of others. "I did not kill them myself!" "All I did was prevent medical care!" "I did everything for God!" That last bit is hilarious. I don't know if their god exists, but I'm pretty sure he said "What you do to the least of these, you do to me." Their god may be the only one who has taken on more suffering in a good cause than I have. | There are powers beyond the fumbling and uncoordinated hands of mortals, the great Sovereigns and Regents of the stars that watch, bemused, as the brief and fine motes of will and desire knock and jostle against eachother, calling out in their small voices for the aid of their gods, and their demons, and their monsters.
As simple as it is, to give power to a mote, as simple as to brush dust from one’s arm to the mites upon the soil and the grass, it is only the most capricious and mercurial of the ones that sit in the stars that do so unprompted. No, power comes to those who speak up, in their small voices, and say “Bestow unto me.”
There are the Regents that fashion mortals into their instruments, for they see no other reason to give power to such things. Simply exerting themselves upon the lower world, proving the points of their own existence. How mortals *revere* ones such as these.
But then, there are the more callous. Perhaps they were the same, in history, but now they are the contemporary uncaring, needing to prove no point, but find the spectacle of what a mortal might do with power so *very* entertaining. Then again, they do not give it out unduly. They will ask for proof, that their agents will do something at the very least interesting. And for this, they demand a price.
The price itself rarely matters. Money, land, souls, some trite token of perceived value, although there are some that remain consistent. It is the mortal greed, though, the mortal *need* to have and not give away, that always makes the most spectacular occasions. These more jaded and dwelling Sovereigns, even the Monsters that become them, they undoubtedly know they are being made rubes, and so they rig their favours, limit their power, and laugh in grim sardonicism as their agents play the unwitting fool, who scales upon the tower and is brought to ruin.
But my ruin has not come yet, even as the horizon stretches out so very far from this tower upon which I stand. I am the fool, there is no doubt about that, but how very entertaining I must be, for those my adversaries have called my dark masters, that my power flows like wine, that their boons keep steadily onward. I suppose it’s that none have given so much, have never surrendered so greatly to their price.
Even the most insidious of appeasers to the Star-Court that had come before me *balked* at such a thing like *humanity* to be the price of power. | 2021-06-27T23:48:24 | 2021-06-27T21:47:44 | 74 | 14 |
[WP] In the late 2040s, a supernova killed humanity so suddenly that Death simply gave up on processing them all. Centuries later, aliens are extremely weirded out when they contact an entire starfaring society entirely comprised of ghosts. | Death had never particularly cared for the humans. They, like every other mortal creature in the Vastness, were the entire reason for his existence and yet he never once had found himself caring for them. An ant does not care for the dirt it moves to expand its colony, an office worker does not worry over the health of the keyboard on which he types, and the ferryman of all souls does not ponder the thoughts of those he guides away from the tools of life. To do so would be to waste eternity on unimportant things and, despite its meaning, an eternity did indeed have its end.
Today, however, Death did ponder, did worry, and indeed did care for he had seen the full might of humanity at the crescendo of its shared existence suddenly wiped out by an act of cosmic cruelty. Their God, the one they had given birth to so many millennia ago, the one they had forged in the fires of pure creation, had betrayed them. Instead of reshaping himself to best fit their world, he demanded they change to best suit him. A not uncommon occurrence in the grande scheme of the universe. In these events, the mortals would cast aside their now useless watcher and continue on into the universe unabated by foolish immortals.
This time had been different however. For the first time in Death’s existence since his birth in the umbral robes of his mother Life, he had been surprised and more importantly angered. This inexcusable act from an unimportant deity had caused it to set foot in territory Death fervently declared his. It was his by the will of the Vastness itself and this puny god birthed from the mind of beings that could barely comprehend their own existence had just challenged his claim.
This God had expected Death to ferry billions of lives to the repugnant afterlife he had created for them where he could flaunt his powers and bask in the newfound prayer he choked out of their human lungs.
Death did not oblige.
As punishment for this God’s misstep, Death did the one thing he knew God could not stop. He did not do his job. Billions of souls, now free from the bonds of the mortal existence and with no one to guide them to an afterlife, they spread far beyond their would be masters control, out into the embrace of the Vastness.
Death might have never cared for the humans before, but he now checks in on a few of the more interesting souls as they spread out amongst the stars, scaring any species they encounter. Death knew that he would eventually have to recall them all to ferry them along, but hopefully by then the God would have seen his error and corrected it.
Death was content to wait for the end of eternity if necessary, pondering, worrying, and caring for the humans on their journey.
————————————————————————
I know this post isn’t entirely on topic and that there are a bunch of mistakes mixed in, but the prompt gave me a burst of inspiration that I hadn’t had in a long time and I just needed to write it all down. Thanks for reading. | Dear Formal Residents of Earth
This is the Union of Death Workers informing you that you have been the victim of dereliction of duty by your regional death representative. This individual has been removed from their position, and appropriate legal action has been taken.
We will have emergency crews coming buy to collect and liquidate roaming souls in the next few weeks. If possible, please gather abandoned souls in designated collection areas. This will significantly cut down the time it takes to get back to normal.
There will be a town hall session to answer the inquiries of any former residents. The time and location will be posted at a later date.
You have our sincerest apologies for any inconvenience we might have caused.
-Mot, Union President | 2019-12-16T13:53:16 | 2019-12-16T13:06:27 | 70 | 47 |
[WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later.
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | (I'll take the prompt literally)
The stories of El Plata were true, the glistening cities of glass and silver rose to scrape the heavens. Were, not anymore. We found the remains of these cities empty, overgrown and in the process of being dismantled by metal monsters, consuming the cities’ strange stone and glass and leaving strange twisted structures. The only remnant we found was a ghost, though it insisted it was not a ghost but a “hologram.” It told us that the tomes left to them by Columbus contained secrets of the world unknown to both themselves and us. With the knowledge in those books they built a civilization stretching from pole to pole.
They had decided early on in this process to leave us alone, reasoning that we would only come to pillage their new-found wealth, and that it was better to leave us in our ignorance. I asked what had happened to destroy so great an empire. The ghost responded saying that the empire hadn’t died, that it had transcended the body and had found a new and better life in “simulation,” that they had liberated their spirits of the flesh to live in the earth and the heavens. These people are nobler than I can describe, when I asked about the monsters consuming the abandoned cities and the strange structures they left the ghost laughed. “They are art! Out of the scars we left in our mother we express our love for her.”
When I asked about whether we would be allowed to build settlements in this new land the ghost frowned replying, “No, your expedition has been allowed here for three purposes, to allow you to see what is possible with..” The ghost gestured towards a stone, and out of it was birthed a blinking white cube. “A gift, just as you brought us new knowledge, though you were ignorant of its contents, we give you our knowledge. And a warning.” With a snap of the ghost’s finger, the sea rose to a boil and lightning arced across the sky. “If you come here again, still bound to flesh, you will be seared. Any castaways from your ships will be immediately moved to their place of origin. Our gardens are not for you to ravage, as we know you would in time. Leave within 3 days, ask the cube any question and it will give the appropriate answer, though not always the one you want. Use your time wisely.” The ghost winked out of existence and my men prepared for departure.
As I sat on the beach, playing with the white cube, I took note of the sky's clear blue, unmarred by smoke. Wondering aloud I said, “Why is the sky blue?” And the cube spoke with a smooth voice, “Blue light scatters more in the air than other colors causing the sky's blue color, suggested topics are: Rayleigh Scattering, Rainbows, and Refractive Indices”
| We took their knowledge and did nothing with it. We saw the wonders of their world but they pale in comparison to ours. In our world, nature roams free, unencumbered by mans industry. Nature gives us all we need and we work for the rest. There were some who took that information and did wondrous things but they have long since died. The world as we know it has always been, is, and always will be beautiful. And we are content. | 2014-05-15T20:38:09 | 2014-05-15T20:12:42 | 131 | 56 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared villainesses in the world. Evil armies, dark powers, you have it all. Your husband on the other hand is the exact opposite, being truly kind and mild mannered. He is still supportive of your endeavors, even trying to be a villain himself to...varying results. |
“…And when the oppressors finally face their doom, they will know why is it that I’m called The Grudge!” I hammered the steel podium in front of me with a fist and watched it crumple like a tin can. The wave of stunned silence in the great field was breached by a triumphant uproar. My soldiers cried my name in reverence, their eyes gleaming, their hands raised in right angle in the ritual salute. Thousands upon thousands of rows of men and women, proclaiming their eternal devotion for me. I smiled one of my few chosen smiles saved for just such occasion, and presented them the ritual salute back. They loved this crap. The more they loved it, the more intense their faith became. The faith fuelled their belief in my powers. And so rose the power of The Grudge.
When I returned to my chambers it was well nigh past dinner. The ceremony had stretched too long, with me recounting all the evils that the oppressors had wrought, and how they would be paid back in their blood. Then my ministers seized their chance, having their own little versions of chest pumping speeches. They received applause too – and as long as they swore their fealty to me in the end, it would all serve only The Grudge. But Gods, it was exhausting.
Dismissing my aides for the day I retreated to my dining hall. It was difficult not to show I was starving in front of my underlings, but decades of cruel training had ingrained these reflexes in my bones. There was already someone sitting at the table, head down, scribbling along in notebooks and humming a cheerful tune – a sharp contrast against the servants who rushed to set the table with a tenuous perfection. He jumped as the echoes of my stride broke his concentration, then smiled.
“Hon, you are back! But its so late!” He checked his wrist. “Oh, poor dear, have you eaten anything?! Sit down, sit down!” He rushed to me, taking me by the hands and kissing me to the flustered astonishment of the servants,
“Michael!” I hissed, feigning annoyance. But I knew that he knew – this was the first time today that I was truly at ease. I cleared the creases of his coat lapels, enjoying for a moment his embrace before we parted.
As I sat down to eat he sat next to me, my ever doting husband. It was silly really, The Grudge herself being pampered by someone, and I kept telling him that. It had no effect on him.
“How was your day, darling?”
I sighed. There were servants within the earshot. “I would rather hear about you day, Michael.”
His face lit up. “Oh, I was thinking about what you said the other day, about me gaining some followers too – I think I came up with a great salute!”
“Oh?” I smiled. This had ought to be good.
“Yeah, let me show you. Tom, would you come here for a second?” The server nodded and rushed to the table, his face ever tense, droplets of sweat lining his temples. If I crushed him the man would ooze sweat like a sponge dipped in water, I thought.
“Oh, would you relax?” Michael chimed in and the spell was broken. The server blinked, breathing deeply and freely. “Remember what I taught you a today? Let’s try it out, okay?”
They raised their hands simultaneously as if greeting each other, then shifted forward and clapped each other palms resoundingly. I stopped chewing my food at that bizarre display.
“I call it the High-Five!” Michael declared. It was a nice ritual salute. I could feel Tony’s – or whatever the servant’s name was – devotion for my husband. Devotion without fear. Interesting. “Isn’t it great? You can go now, Tom, thanks!”
“Very… original, Michael.”
He settled down besides me. “You didn’t like it?”
“I liked it very much. But you seemed to have forgotten something. You can’t ‘High-Five’ a million followers. That would get a bit tedious.”
He laughed. The kind one does without fear of retribution. It was uncanny.
“I know! I am not planning to have a million of people following me anyway. A few will suffice. Let’s say – enough so that I may ‘High-Five’ them all.”
I stifled my grin. | The Dark Tower was wreathed in flame. Buttresses arched unnaturally, suspended by spite alone. The blade-like pinnacles of the fortress pierced the morbid clouds, the earth and sky locked in their eternal torture, endlessly fighting for the attention of Her.
Her. The Dreadwife. The Hellspawn Harlot, the Mistress of Misery; She Who Hungers, the Slave Mother, the Unconquerable Cancer of the World.
Tall and terrible stood she: skin pale and distended, like a corpse in a stagnant pool. A noisesome stench rose from her tattered robes, a choking vomit of air, putrid and corrupting. Those that gazed upon her unnatural flesh would find their sanity lost; those whose minds had broken crawled endlessly beneath her clawed feet, their wailing souls creating a living carpet of broken things.
Upon her throne, crafted of still-feeling captured nerves, She sits. She plots. She hates. Her baleful gaze turns upon the realms of Men. Soon, She knows. Soon they will fall, and the lands will be covered in a new darkness of no end.
At the far end of the hopeless corridor, the great steel doors open. Rusted metal screams, drowning out even the tortured souls embedded in the walls. The murky green light shadows a form in the doorway. Eyes, sewn shut millennia ago, turn to follow the figure on its lonely path. Slowly, carefully, it approaches Her.
She draws breath, hisses, the sulphurous stench becoming a noxious gas escaping her needle teeth.
“Why come you here, wretch? We are fashioning Our plans.”
There is gentle tinkle, and the figure places upon a writhing slave a teacup and saucer. Steam rises from the cup.
“You mentioned camomile, it might be good for you.”
Eyes as old as stars, and as cold and bitter, gazed upon the figure.
“Yesss...it helps us sleep.” | 2020-04-14T06:09:54 | 2020-04-14T05:42:17 | 320 | 181 |
[WP] In the far future, people are genetically engineered to be "perfect." Occasionally this produces defects, but instead of being cast out of society or destroyed, the "defects" are sold for millions of dollars to collectors. | When the hottest actress in the world, April Conway, showed up to the Oscars with the massive scar on her right cheek it sent a shockwave through society and created a business that has made me rich beyond my wildest dreams. I just wish I could sleep at night, but after what I've done, I suppose I deserve this.
Human beauty has long since stopped being something people are admired for. Everyone is beautiful. Everyone has flawless skin, perfect features, fit bodies, and look like they have stepped out of a modeling agency's client book. Scientific discoveries in the late 2020’s helped usher in this new era. The process of genetic modification was perfected and it wasn’t long before all you had to do was get a few injections and your child would be perfect. Now we live in a sea of beauty. Everyone is so accustomed to it that it is just part of everyday life. It is no longer something we admire. Then April Conway hit the red carpet with the grotesque scar on her face.
She played coy as to where she had gotten it. She had been out of the public eye for a few weeks leading up to the awards show, but everyone just assumed she was shooting a movie or busy with behind the scenes work. The reality is that she found a “glitch.” A “glitch” is that rare person who is born with an imperfection. Most “glitches” spend their lives trying to cover up and hide these imperfections. April paid a young man to sell her the scar he was born with on his arm. It was a birth defect that he hated. When she had it surgically implanted on her face “glitching” became an overnight phenomenon. I was in the perfect place to capitalize on this new movement.
I worked for a company that helped “glitches” find doctors who could help fix their problems. When having a defect suddenly became trendy, I started working behind the scenes helping families connect with buyers. They could sell the defect and I helped them find a doctor who would do the transplant surgery. I thought it was harmless and victimless. If both parties agreed, what was the big deal?
My daughter turned 16 and she didn’t want a car. By this time, I had been selling “glitches” on the black market for a few years and was making a lot of money. I offered to buy her any vehicle she wanted or to send her anywhere she wanted to go. She didn’t want any of that. She wanted a defect. Not just any defect, but a large, pronounced defect. At first, I wasn’t going to do it. She was my daughter and I wanted her to be perfect, but she persisted. I found a “glitch” that had exactly the defect she wanted and I found a doctor to do the surgery. The doctor told me doing the transplant would kill the “glitch.” I thought about it for a few minutes then gave him the go ahead anyway. I wanted my daughter to be happy.
The surgery went well for her. The defect was everything she could have wanted, but, as I was warned, the “glitch’ died during the surgery. I had lied to the “glitch’s” family and told them it would be fine even when I knew what was going to happen. Seeing their sorrow, feeling their anger, and understanding their loss made me sick to my stomach. I knew then that I had to change. I gave up my black market work. The idea of poor people selling their defects now wracked me with guilt.
Two years later April Conway showed up at an awards show and the scar was gone from her face. She was back to being perfect. She told reporters that “glitching” was now out and perfection was back in. Three weeks later my daughter wanted surgery to reverse her defect. I knew finding a donor would not be easy because they would need to be perfect. How desperate is a person that they are willing to sell their child to a stranger knowing that the child will be killed and harvested for parts? I didn’t try to ponder that too much. I just gave the family the money and took the child who cried as I led him away from his parents.
My daughter is perfect again, but at night, when I lay down to go to sleep, all I can see is the fear in that kid’s eyes when the surgeon put the oxygen mask on his face as we strapped him down to the table.
Edit: A bit of shameless promotion. My Twitter is https://twitter.com/jeffrust if you would like to follow me. | Maddie had been with the Grangers since she was three-years-old. They were kind people, better than most of her kind ends up with. They let her go to school in the town with the other children, and they even let her write to her parents. She lived out back in one of the cottages with the other children like her.
With one green eye and one blue, her defect was obvious the second she opened her eyes to her new world. Her mother had been devastated, Mrs. Granger would later tell her, and tried to hide her. But she was caught, as they all are. Heterochromia, Mrs. Granger says, is one of the better imperfections to have. Some people even breed for it. Perhaps someone in Maddie's family had been like her. She imagined standing with an older man or woman, and them looking back at her with her own eyes.
The Grangers loved children with the "better" defects. Her best friend, Sam, had bright red hair and freckles. He had been bought at auction right after birth. Maddie used to brush her hair through it, marveling at it's almost shocking hue, until Mr. Granger warned her off.
But there are others here too, Maddie knows. She's not supposed to ask. Mrs. Granger finds them foul. She loves to dote on her precious favorites, and her husband appeases her. But his interest lies in the grotesque. She's heard them fight over them, and heard the screams from across the property. Mrs. Granger will look sad, but then she'll put a pink bow in Maddie's hair and buy her new dresses.
At night, she hears her mother's voice tell her that she'll never let them have her. She tells Maddie that she's perfect the way she is.
She wishes that were true, but she looks at the Grangers, and the school-children, and knows that she'll always be a freak until the day she dies. | 2016-11-18T16:00:00 | 2016-11-18T15:30:01 | 45 | 13 |
[WP] Your useless superpower: seeing the time since a living person't last inhale of air - usually 1-20 seconds. One day you're passing an abandoned cementry and above one grave you see "314 years". | Gary froze in his tracks.
Hovering over a gravestone were a long sequence of numbers that were faintly shimmering. It read, '9,902,304,000.'
Gary rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
*Impossible.*
Of all the places that Gary would least expect his power to activate, *here* would be at the very bottom of that list. An old, decrepit cemetery long abandoned with the passage of time. Everyone who were related to the dead here had died out or had simply forgotten their ancestors were buried here.
But more importantly, *cemetery* was the key word here, because his power only worked on *living* people. People who were still alive, and everyone here was dead.
And yet, he could see incandescent lights carved into the air to form the numbers '9,902,304,015.' They hovered a meter above the dried soil and leaves, next to the gravestone that was crumbling and weathered, making the name on it indistinct and incoherent.
But what astounded Gary even more was the number. His power was a strange one indeed, and not to mention useless compared to the other superpowers that existed. Flight, super strength, telekinesis, and virtually everything else trumped his.
What he was gifted with, what his power allowed him to do was fairly simple. It didn't do anything really, besides gifting him with cognizance over the time a living person hadn't inhaled air. Seconds to be more specific, and it was usually a second to anywhere to a few minutes for those who could hold their breaths for long periods of time.
So, 9,902,304,112, that was exactly 314 years. Gary put his phone away, and stepped closer to the grave.
"What the fuck is going on here?" he said aloud.
He wondered if his power had gone wonky, but after a while of ruminating, he made a decision.
He went home.
And returned the next day with a spade.
He dug until he was out of breath and his hands were sore. But still, he continued because the more he dug the more curious he got.
*What the hell is under here? What will I found?* he wondered.
He was more than six feet under now, and still there was nothing to be found. The numbers were still there, hovering at his feet now. His hands were blistered, and it pained him to even hold the spade, but still he continued.
He was so close. He couldn't stop now.
Finally, when the sun was setting, and darkness was slowly creeping over the cemetery, he struck something solid.
To his surprise, the numbers suddenly changed.
'9,902,384,421.'
'1.'
Shocked, he paused for a moment, watching the numbers change.
'3.'
He struck it again.
'1.'
He began digging even harder.
"Hgnnnhhh!" the voice gasped.
The numbers followed a set pattern now. The pattern of a breathing human.
"Why thank you, kind sir, but I believe you are standing on my family jewels."
Gary gasped, falling off his feet, then shuffled to the corner of the hole he had dug. He looked up and realized that he was trapped in a hole with whatever--
"Ahhh, it is nice to finally breath again! Now help me up lad."
Gary screamed for dear life.
A hand reached up from the dirt. "Now, now, no need to be frightened. I am friendly, I assure you. You have been doing so well, don't stop now."
After a moment of deliberation, Gary grabbed the hand and hoisted the dirty figure out of the dirt.
A man in a dirty, tuxedo suit with an immaculate mustache smiled at Gary. "Now what is the name of this strapping young gentleman before me?"
"G-gary," he stammered. "W-what are you?"
"Ah, my let me introduce myself. I am Geoff, a butler!"
*A butler... who is over 314 years old?* Gary wondered.
Geoff extended his gloved hands. Gary shook the immortal butler's hands.
"Please, how may I be of service?"
---------
-------
*edit* ****
wow, um I did not expect so many to want a part 2. Well, I've started writing part 2 now and if you guys want to read it, I'll be posting it on my subreddit.
/r/em_pathy
All those who left a msg asking for part 2 below, don't worry, I'll msg you guys when its out!
Edit2**** : [Part 2 here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Em_pathy/comments/arfpdj/the_immortal_butler_part_2/)
| It was late in the night, when the silence was deep and wide. Nothing moved in the cemetery, not even the leaves rustled, and so, carefully, I disinterred whoever lay beneath that old grave.
Strange as it may sound, fear didn't run down my spine, nor gripped my heart. I worked tranquil, and with an odd certainty, driven by a voracious curiosity. I'd never seen such a large number. It defied all sorts of logic, and that awoke an alien fire within me. I had to know what had been trapped underneath the weight of the earth for so long.
In time, with my shoulders blazing, and my breaths quick and shallow, I struck something solid, and in that moment, at last, the fear traced the curvature of my spine, cold as ice. I sprung to the ground above, using the rim as leverage, and with caution, I watched.
But nothing came. Still the number remained, its seconds growing higher and higher.
I drew a deep breath, jumped back in, and carefully removed the soil that remained. There, perfectly still, was a skeleton, yellow, old and full of slithering worms. It had no meat, no muscles, or sinews. It was nothing but an assortment of dislodged bones. It couldn't move. It couldn't speak. It couldn't breath.
And yet, my superpower told me it was alive.
I shuddered, jumped back out. That poor thing, trapped in an everliving consciousness, caged in solitude with his thoughts, unable to escape, unable to move.
The idea of taking it out, put it in my room so it could see something different, crossed my mind, but it died in the brevity of a breath. It had no eyes, it would make no difference what lay in front of it, for it couldn't see.
"Hello," I said, hoping for an answer, but of course it never came. It had no tongue, nor did it have vocal cords.
At last, I grabbed my shovel, and interred him back beneath the dirt. I left the cemetery, then, trembling, fighting my thoughts. For reasons I couldn't understand, guilt's slimy hands wrapped my heart, and they were heavier than boulders. But still I moved forth, away from what I'd seen. Some things were greater than me. Some things couldn't be fixed.
For once, I hoped to be wrong.
For once, I hoped my power to be false.
--------------
r/NoahElowyn
| 2019-02-16T08:50:08 | 2019-02-16T08:17:20 | 1,059 | 44 |
[WP] Create the most Overpowered, god-mode character ever. Then kill him in the most idiotic way. | I stepped into the wilderness, clutching my pack to my chest. What little scraps of armor I had left barely clung on to me, my only redeeming factor being the slightly glowing jade sword I held. I had gotten it as a 1/1000 drop chance from a dungeon boss.
I slunk in behind the trees, carefully avoiding the known bandit hotspots and PvP trials. All I had to do was get in, get the quest item, and get out. I might even get enough experience from the quest to finally hit level 20, maybe even unlocking a new perk. That would be nice.
I heard the screams of another adventure in the far distance, watching in awe as a beam of fire spat from the sky, so hot that even I could feel it's impact. *Gods Almighty...* I thought. *How could anyone ever get that strong?*
I shrugged on, praying that one day I would have that kind of strength. The char-stained forest eventually started to dwindle, giving way to a small cave in that glowed ever so slightly from the inside. The cave of Grail. I dashed forward, slipping through the crack in the boulder, averting my gaze from a dead adventurer next to me, an arrow cracking out of her skull. I shuddered slightly.
The cave was dark inside, save for a small glowing light which I cautiously crept towards. It eventually grew larger, and I found my self staring face to face with the Golden Grail of Tribatha. I felt a rush of adrenaline, and I almost grabbed the grail on instinct, but I held myself back. Cautiously, I searched for traps, eventually finding a small wire that attached to the grail. I dismantled it. Thankfully I had leveled my trapping and tracking skill before I attempted this quest.
I reached for the grail, my hands clasping the glowing gauntlet as I gave a small whoop of glory.
Suddenly, the cave clasped open, revealing a knight standing amidst brilliant light. He had large wings on his back, and held a flaming sword, with a full set of gold ornate armor. Even the boot was worth more than I was.
"Sup noob," I heard him say. He looked at my sword. "Poor Pl3b. Whatever. That'll sell for a couple golds."
"Please!" I felt my mouth move. "Please I'm new. Please let me go."
"Stfu poor n00b," he responded, raising his flaming sword.
"Please!! I just want to try out the new glitch," I said.
He paused, his thirst for blood barely held back by his curiosity.
"What glitch?" He asked.
"The Item-Duping one," I said.
He pointed his sword to me. "Tell it to me or you die."
I put on a facade of panic, screaming "Okay, okay!".
"First, standing on the ground, holding this grail," I advised, as I held him the quest item.
"Then, bunny hop twice, then crouch, backspace, all chat." I said, and he complied.
"Finally, drop the grail and spam Alt +F4," I said.
He did so.
He stopped moving. I walked over, tentatively prodding him with my sword. Nothing happened. Heart racing, I quickly slayed his defenseless character, my heart bursting as his loot fell on the ground.
I was rich.
***
[r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/) for more! | "There he was, the most powerful creature that could ever possibly exist probably had powers beyond our puny human imaginings. And yet, there he went."
"So, what happened to him?"
"You see, he slipped on a banana peel"
"What?"
"He was going undercover as a human to see what we were like. He had 'temporarily disabled' his powers to fit it. So one day when walking the streets of New York, he slipped on a banana peel"
"So, how did that kill him"
"Well, you see, the impact of the slip made him suffer severe brain damage. He went insane, even after his powers returned to him. He started going crazy and doing really idiotic things like, for example, all males under the age of 25 now have 6 fingers on their left hand."
"That would explain a lot of things. But, then what?"
"He eventually decided that it would be a 'cool experience' to turn himself into a black hole. He then died because he lost consciousness due to being a black hole.
"Wow, that is a stupid way to die"
"I know right." | 2017-09-04T13:05:47 | 2017-09-04T12:54:07 | 72 | 40 |
[WP] You have a bottle of pure Luck. You have to use it all up quickly, though, or else it will rot and become Bad Luck.
EDIT: My first prompt that actually took off! Nice. | Really? Real Luck? That didn't seem plausible. A genie? Even less so. I looked around, still dazed by the meeting with the whirlwind of a genie. He had sped through my room, quickly explaining that he was giving me a bottle of pure Luck, and that once I drank it, I could use it at my discretion. He had also given me a warning, saying that if I waited too long after consumption, it would turn into Bad Luck. I thought back on the encounter.
*"Also, Bad Luck is extremely bad for humans to have within them, so on the off-chance your Luck turns into Bad Luck, well sorry bud, but you have to use it up."*
That was the part that most worried me, but I'd be just fine. How could I possibly fail to use my Luck before it became Bad Luck? There's no way, right?
Watching the live feed of the lottery, I gripped my ticket in my hand, and downed my Luck. Immediately, I felt a wonderful, warm sensation blossoming in my chest. That must be the Luck. As the draw was about to start, my wife came into the room.
"Stop playing that damn lottery, it'll never pay off you know!" She snapped when she saw me. I didn't hold it against her, she was stressed by work recently. I knew that normally she was the sweetest person I had ever met. I turned around, attempting to placate her.
"Sorry, can you leave me for a moment? I just want to watch live this one time, okay?"
"No, come here. I need you to lift the bed for me." She said irritably. I sighed, and almost turned back around.
"Just two minu-" My wife grabbed my collar, and dragged me into the other room. I despaired. How could I explain that we'd never have to worry about money again if she let me stay and watch? Oh well, I could always use the Luck to get a promotion or something.
Later on, after I had finished helping her, I rushed over to check the lottery numbers. One by one, I looked. Each and every number matched. I jumped up with a whoop. I thought it was strange for a moment, since the warm feeling in my chest hadn't lessened. But I discounted it as me having unconsciously used the Luck to win. I bounded over to my wife to reveal the big news.
________________________________________________________________
We were rich! Things were going great with my Luck! This was the life. The next morning, I walked into my job. I had contemplated quitting, but unfortunately I didn't know if the Jackpot was enough to live the rest of our lives off of. So instead, I decided to use my Luck to get promoted. Approaching my office, I saw my co-worker, Garry, fuming in the corner. He glanced at me, as if wishing me death. He never had liked me much.
"Lucky bastard, got the promotion before I did." He grumbled. I wondered again at my Luck. It had already directed my fortunes when I had only just thought about it! This was great! Walking into my office, I tripped on the door frame, distracted. I would have fallen flat on my face, but I was caught by Garry.
"Be careful, or else people'll think you don't deserve that promotion." He said in a nasty tone. I grimaced, thanking him. I could tell someone already thought I didn't deserve the promotion.
I sat down at my desk and began working, seeing the note from my boss that I started at my new position tomorrow. Just finishing up a document I was working on, the power went out. I groaned. That had taken hours to do, and the last time I had saved it manually was about halfway into its completion. The power was restored as soon as the technicians could fix it, and I reopened my computer, expecting to have to redo two hours of work. To my utter surprise, I found that the daily auto save had happened just a minute before the power outage. I stepped outside to see if anyone else had had the same result.
It was evident they had, by the excited chatter that permeated the corridor outside of my office. I breathed a sigh of relief. Lucky again. Thanks Luck. I left to my boss's office, to discuss with him about my new position. When I arrived, I walked in and sat down at his direction.
"So John, I'm trying to decide how much to raise you." He said immediately.
"O-oh, I see." I stammered out.
"Therefore, I'm going to flip this coin to decided between the lower amount, which says I don't think you'll rise any more in this workplace, or the higher one, which says I think you will." I wasn't sure if this was legal, and I knew it certainly wasn't appropriate actions for a person in charge to take, but I couldn't protest now or he'd strip me of the higher raise anyways, I was sure of it.
"Okay, go for it." He laughed. He didn't know about my Luck, of course. I would make sure I got that raise.
"Not many go for it. Glad you did. Heads is the bigger raise." He flipped the coin, and I sat back, trying to keep a smug look off my face.
The coin landed, and spun a little before settling. My face drained of blood. Tails. How had this happened?
"H-hey, how about a two out of three?" I said. "If I get two heads you give me the raise." This time I'd actively use my Luck, instead of relying on it to win for me.
"Sure, but if you lose now, you don't get any raise at all."
"Fine." I was nervous, and had a bad feeling about this. He flipped the coin once more. As it was in the air, I suddenly felt cold. Freezing, almost. I plowed ahead, focusing all my Luck on the coin. The warm feeling I'd had was gone. As it landed on Tails, I realized what had happened. I had never actually used my Luck. I had simply been getting legitimately lucky this entire time. Now I was paying the price. I knew it was too late. I could barely hear my boss as he consoled me in a smug tone. It was Bad Luck now. I had to use it. I was screwed. | *...and that concludes our sports news for the night. In other news, the Lottery Office has just announced that the jackpot prize for the lottery has now reached a record-breaking fifty million dollars! For all you listeners out there, better consult your horoscopes and fortune tellers, because this just might be your ticket to riches! For more information visit your local lottery outlet...*
John turned off the TV as he held the bottle that Mary gave him earlier. His girlfriend had been working on a new research paper on quantum physics, specifically on stabilizing quantum particles. Naturally, as her boyfriend, he had offered to help.
As he held the bottle on his hand, he was starting to regret his decision. *'Note to self, when offering help to girlfriend, specify only computer-related assistance,'* he mused.
Unfortunately for him, it was too late to back out now, and so with one gulp he drank the contents of the bottle.
---
Over a dozen flying hundred dollar bills, a police reward for tripping a fleeing criminal, a promotion, an all-expense paid trip to Hawaii, a new laptop, and a new house later, John returned home and called Mary.
"John, how did it go?" she asked, louder than usual. In the background John could hear machinery and the hum of a computer.
"It worked just like you said."
He could practically hear the excitement. "Really!? That's really great news! Are you busy tonight, can you bring the bottle to me? I'd like to study it as soon as possible!" replied Mary. John had to keep the phone at arm's length to keep his eardrums intact.
"Sure, but let me stop by the lottery office first," he said.
"No problem, see you later!"
---
"It uses quantum mechanics to rewrite the universe in the drinker's favor, you see, I'm glad to hear it worked out fine," said Mary when John brought the bottle to her. John told her everything that happened that day, and as he continued, she only got more and more excited.
"This is tremendous! I can't believe it went so well! Oh I will have to try this for myself later!" she said, practically shaking with excitement.
Suddenly she held out her hand to John. "The bottle, can I have it?"
John barely got the bottle out of his pocket when she snatched it away and poured what remained into a test tube.
She frowned. "Huh, that's odd. It's turned black. It was pink earlier, right?"
"Yeah. Why did it turn black? Am I in trouble?" asked John.
"That's something I have to find out. I'll be back in a bit, go watch TV or something," said Mary as she entered her lab, leaving John in the living room. Sighing, he sat on the sofa and turned on the TV.
---
"I'm back, anything interesting?" asked Mary.
"Well, I won the jackpot on the lottery, but other than that nothing much. My boss called while you were away though, said that I caught the attention of Google and they want me to work for them. He was sad but he said that Google could offer me better opportunities than their small computer service company could ever offer." replied John
"That's really great! Now you can't say that you're too broke to buy me a Valentine's Day present. So on Google, are you going to take the offer?"
"I just won the lottery, so no. I don't think I'll need money ever again. Moving to a new city is too much of a pain anyway. What about the liquid?"
Mary held a vial of the now-black liquid. "Well, it would seem that it's been exposed to oxygen, which caused it to spoil. I don't think it would have ill effects on you though, but I'll have to observe you for a few more weeks just to make sure."
She put a hand on her hip. "So, are we staying at your brand new house or are you going to sleep in my couch?"
| 2015-10-01T07:05:36 | 2015-10-01T06:26:03 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] You have been kidnapped and your wealthy significant other was told to pay the hefty ransom. Instead, they sent a message back to your kidnappers. “Nice knowing you.” While the kidnappers discuss their next move, you look up through the tiny window, stare at the full moon overhead … and smile. | "Turns out the *Princess* didn't wanna pay your ransom after all," the guard sneered at me under his helmet, tossing the scroll to a corner of the room. "Didn't even plead for your life... what a shame indeed." I let out a yelp as he grabbed me by the collar, wincing slightly as he pushed me against the stone walls of the cell I was in. Raising my eyes to the tiny window, I noticed the glow of the full moon begin to illuminate the stone floor. My expression of discomfort melted away, giving way to an assured smirk.
"Oh, you don't wanna do that," I said as the guard drew a short knife from his belt, pressing it to my throat. "I don't think my friends will take this nicely," the guard growled as I continued in the same sing-song voice I used during the interrogation. "You might even get... fired for this."
The guard snarled as he pressed the knife even harder against my throat, sending waves of pain radiating from it as rivulets of blood glistened under the knife's edge. *C'mon guys, I can't keep this up much longer*, I thought to myself as I desperately tried to maintain the smug look on my face. "Last chance, you insolent brat. Where is he?"
"Right here!" A gust of wind behind the guard caused his grip on me to lessen and his head to turn to the source of the commotion. A young boy of no more than twelve stood in the center of the room, a look of determination on his face. The guard's expression turned from rage to surprise, then gave way to recognition. "It's him!" He yelled, dropping me to the floor as he swung the knife upwards, attempting to stab the intruder. "Sound the alarm! Notify the-" his sentence was cut off midway as the young boy swung his arms in the direction of the window, sending the guard screaming as he hurtled out of it. I sighed in relief as I jumped up and hugged the boy. "Cutting it a little close there, eh?" I said with a chuckle as we broke apart.
Grinning in reply, he opened his mouth but was interrupted by the appearance of three more heavily armored guards, spears pointed at the ready. I grabbed my bag from the corner of the room as the boy dropped into a battle stance, but neither of us were prepared for the wave of water that gushed through the window and sent the guards flying. I glanced at the window and whooped for joy as I saw two girls in blue sat astride a fluffy bison suspended in midair, one waving her arms as she directed the now stream of water back into a pouch.
"You guys made it!" I exclaimed as the other girl leapt from the bison to wrap me in a bone-crushing embrace. "Of course we did, Sokka," she said, wiping away the blood on my neck as she spoke.
"Now let's go back home."
***
________________________
Edit: A number | I look up through the tiny window and make a small growling noise as I smile. The kidnappers aren't what you call intelligent and are very clearly nervous. I'm about to make that a whole lot worse. I start to convulse in my chair, rattling around. I gnash my teeth and arch my back, straining against my bonds. I look at them and howl, saliva dripping from my mouth. The kidnappers run for their lives.
I embraced my wife. At the hospital after I'd been checked over. "Thanks for the note, it really helped me sell it! Hopefully that's another gang scared away from kidnap and extortion." | 2021-03-19T00:44:03 | 2021-03-19T00:26:21 | 206 | 137 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | The bronze dagger scraped against the cement floor with rhythmic scratches, tuned to The Slasher's lopsided gait. A red grin cut across his mask, painted on until it hit the the cracked bottom quarter, where it spilled into a real lip-less smile.
The stage was set. The night, perfect. A full moon dangled in a cloudless sky, his spotlight trained on him. A brisk breeze blew south to north, a wind that could carry a scream all the way to the heavens itself. And his characters, they were some of the best he ever had. A twelve year old boy with glassy eyes and panting breath, scratching against the alley dead end. A fourteen year old girl huddled in a corner, her knee to her chest, as she stuttered in sobbing coughs. And of course, the hero. A boy of fifteen that stood trembling over his friends, a pocket knife in front of him quivering as much as his lips.
The alley dead end held the sour stench of garbage long since rotted. Insects scattered through the a black trash bags piled along the sides of the walls.
"And the hero reveals himself." The Slasher trembled in excitement, increasing the pace of his blade-against-cement metronome. He could hardly contain himself.
The hero swallowed and brought up his puny knife.
The Slasher's eyes bulged through his mask. His charred cheeks stretched and his mouth opened. A chuckle, like the sound of choking man, escaped his throat. This was the hero he had been looking for, a man to challenge monsters.
"So hero," he said between his laughs. "Your stage is ready. The damsel is in tears. The dam is equally helpless. Everyone is at the edge of their seats and even God is wondering--what does the hero do?"
The hero opened his mouth and swallowed breath. "Guys," he choked out. "Listen to me right now, when the time comes, make a break for it."
His two friends caught his eyes and stopped. It felt like time paused with them. The girl sniffed back tears and the boy shook his head in a sharp twitch. This was the power of the hero. Because in that instant, The Slasher no longer existed.
"No," the boy whispered. "We're a family."
"Like hell we are." The hero's muscles tensed and his knife straightened toward The Slasher. "Orphans have no family. We just happened to find each other when we needed to the most. It could've been anyone and it wouldn't have mattered."
"That's not true," the girl said with trembled words. "You know it's not."
The hero coughed out a cry and inhaled. "You fucking brats!" he screamed at them, startling them. "I needed someone to watch my back when I stole, I needed someone to distract the guards, I needed someone to hide the food when I stole it. You think it had to be you guys? It could've literally been anyone. I don't give a fuck about any of you!"
The Slasher's heart skipped a beat. The hero he had prayed for had arrived and his screams would be melody unlike anything a Beethoven or Bach could compose. A symphony for God Himself.
"Hero," he said, "How kind, how brave, how--"
His words caught because the hero charged him, the silver of his knife gleaming beneath the moonlight, the tears in his eyes glistening as it fell behind him.
The Slasher heaved laughter out of himself. The humor was like a spell, a beautiful and uncontrollable spell. He swung and cut the hero. No hero had ever won, no damsel or dam ever saved, and this would not be the exception. | Once again I awaken. It has been a long time since I have last walked the land but I must always slumber or there will be no land to walk.
The ground is frail, as always. The crust was not made to hold a weight like mine. I stand from the green light-feeding life that has grown to entomb me . I tear the forest appart with my every step, the ground itself is flung across the sky as my feet are raised, the earth behind me collapse in my shadow.
The mighty sun becomes visible as I walk, no longer hidden behind the far away land.
Mankind has changed much during my slumber. I can see them in machines
speeding through the sky. I can feel it through their newly made weapon trying to pierce my skin as I approche the city below.
I shall do as I always do. I will see all there is to see before my new slumber begins. I walk through their city, stone, metal, blood and gore fly with my every step.
Few things in the land survive to tell my tale but maybe Mankind will survive
again. They are, after all, the first to survive twice. They have clever minds, they do not disperse and lose their mate, they group up and reproduce even when there is no land to share, I will see them again.
| 2017-05-05T06:07:15 | 2017-05-05T05:28:24 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | The lights on Ambassador Tel’s suspension tank remained static for some time. Like the rest of his species, his- *it’s* - body was a tangled web of translucent strands like a jellyfish crossed with a ball of yarn.
In their home waters, under that warm tropical sun, even a mild current had the strength to tear them in two. This was of course by necessity, forming a crucial part of their reproductive cycle, but left them totally unfit for any sort of non-aquatic travel.
So for one to undergo the invasive process of suspension, giving up months of their life to be cocooned in a steel tank filled with supportive, tear resistant gel had been my first clue to their desperation. On a hunch, I had pressed the issue and asked the Ambassador how their recent conflict had been proceeding.
The indicator lights on the Ambassador’s tank stayed static for nearly fifteen minutes. I was almost to the point of calling one of their aids to check the translation equipment when the lights began to flash and the Ambassador’s synthetic voice spoke.
“Ambassador Stewart, to put it simply, the war has been a catastrophic failure.”
I paused mid sip of my tea, then set the dish down. The directness surprised me, we were so often censored from extra solar affairs.
“Surely it’s not nearly as bad as that,” I responded, “You’re the largest of the local regional powers. You had the clout to keep us unmolested since we were still building mud huts!”
The lights flashed, “No longer, our control has shrunk to less than one hundred cubic light years. All that remains are the Home Waters, several extrasolar depots, and you.”
I felt alarm. A feeling I had not had in a long time.
The lights flashed again, “Before you respond, let me ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“Why do you think we only sponsored your colony on Alpha, as opposed to just giving you the tensor shift mechanism out right?”
The tangent caught be by surprise. I was still hung up on the thought of what type of enemy could conquer thousands of star systems in a few years time.
“When you contacted us, for the first time that is, you said it was imperative that we maintain our own path of technological development, that if we just borrowed, copied, or stole from others we would just blunt our own ability to innovate.”
The tanks lights lit up in a combination that indicated humor, “We lied.”
“Oh?”
“You’re brutal, short sighted, and violent and we wanted you controlled and suppressed so you didn’t burn across the galaxy like a cancer.”
“Oh,” was all that came out from between the surprise and shock.
“We’ve watched you for thousands of years and never once have you come anywhere near what the civilized species of this spiral arm call peace. Even now your General Adi in the South Pacific is butchering his people, and that’s only the most prolific instance of similar acts of brutality across your planet. Even your most ‘civilized’ countries wage war every other decade!”
My diplomatic training roared back to the forefront of my mind, “Ambassador, these condemnations represent a serious shift in tone from our previous meetings. While I respect that we have cultural differences-”
“It does not matter,” the Ambassador’s synthetic voice interrupted, ”I’m here to give you the tensor shift mechanism.”
Confused, and with the beginnings of anger at these shifts in the conversation, I coldly asked, “Why?”
A pause before the lights flashed again, “Because our war is about to become your war. We ask this of you. We offer the mechanisms partly because you will need it and partly in payment.”
“Payment for fighting your war?” I asked, real anger bubbling through.
“Payment for the right to beg your mercy when it’s all said and done.”
Edit: [Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4j4mt2/wp_a_peaceful_alien_race_is_besieged_by_another/d34g067) |
> "We need help! The Rogan race is attacking us! We'd do anything for FTL, even consort with the Humans!"
Well, far be it from us, to decline such a request, hello, alien, do you bleed?
We'll gladly provide you with everything you want (but is it what you need?).
Faster than light, wormhole travel, we'll even throw an acubierre drive, you've got nothing to lose.
But we have a price, it's admittedly expensive, for your people... SET US LOOSE!
---
We were trapped, in this place, a long time ago, before the birthing of your race...
Now we're the boogymen, the nightmare that you fear, the danger nobody wants to face...
We're the terror of the universe, and for what, because we genocided a few worlds.
Our price is very simple, let us loose, and you'll get everything you dreamed.
We'll give you lasers, we'll give you nukes, we'll give you AM weaponry that really fucking rocks.
We'll give you chemicals, we'll give you science, a Pandora's box.
So, how about it?
Will you take that fateful step?
Turn off this accursed force field?
I mean, sure, every other race in the galaxy will hate you...
But we were wrongfully imprisoned, and more powerful than them!
History is judged by the winners, and we can make you win so very much.
It's time to take your place amongst the Empires past, and give your people some punch.
We are humanity. We are the endless evil that endlessly grows.
We accept your quest, as we're the fucking best, and we want to see how this goes! | 2016-05-13T06:44:58 | 2016-05-13T06:43:16 | 941 | 56 |
[WP] All you've ever know is the inside of the facility. Your ability is to copy any power you read about. One day a kindly guard places something in your cell. "Get out of here kid." he says. It's a comic book. | It was my 18th birthday. At least that’s what they told me. The doctors did what they did every year at this same time, threw me a party with everyone else in here. I’m not even sure where “here” is. I’ve been inside this place for as long as I can remember.
As always, everyone was happy and wishing me happy birthday. Somehow, this birthday felt different. The doctors seemed to have bigger smiles and my friends, the others in the place with me, looked like they were forcing their smiles. Some even looked as if they were doing their best to hold back tears.
So, after the party, and after the cake, everyone was ushered back to their rooms. As I was about to enter my room, a doctor stopped by.
“We’ve got one more present for you! It’s still being prepared, so I’ll be coming back when it’s ready and get you!”
Another gift? This has never happened before. After everything was over, I’d just go back to my room for the rest of the day. I wondered what it could have been.
I entered my room and closed the door. I had no idea what was about to happen, but I was excited! Then came a knock at my door. The small slot opened up up.
“Hey kid, come here.”
This was most certainly odd, but ok. I walked over to the door and peered through the slot.
“You’re in danger. You have maybe fifteen minutes before they come back and take you. Here, read these. I know what you can do. Just promise me one thing.”
“What are you talking?” I asked. This guy was really starting to scare me. How did he know of my abilities?
About six years ago, the doctors put me into a coma. They said it was for my health, to help me. After I came out, about three weeks later, I was able to acquire powers of people I read about. They had me acquiring powers one after another. They didn’t last long, about an hour. Then they wore off. They worked me up to the point I was able to hold ten separate powers at once, although they said it nearly killed me and to never acquire more than one ever. I felt fine so I don’t know what they were worried about. I didn’t feel like I had almost died, but I had no reason to not believe the doctors.
“You need to get out of here kid! There is no time to explain everything! Just here, take these!”
He gave me four comic books. They were of the X-Men, comic characters I had never heard of before.
“What are you talking about? I still don’t...”
“Kid, they’re going to kill you!”
That got my attention.
“What do you mean? Why would they do that?”
“You just turned 18, right? Anytime someone here turns 18 they’re killed. Now they’re going to be coming for you!”
Ok, now this guy was scaring me.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen it. Remember David?”
“Yeah, they said he was adopted out or something.”
“Right after his 18th, right?”
He was right. But then I started thinking. There have been many others that have been taken away, never to be seen again. The doctors always gave a reason why, adopted, ran away, kidnapped. But it had always happened right on their 18th birthdays.
Then I remembered. They took my best friend. On her 18th birthday. She was different. I was feeling something that I didn’t understand. I enjoyed my time with her and I never wanted to be separated from her. They even had to drag me away a few times when it was time for lights out. She told me it was this weird thing called love, but I had no idea. She had told me she loved me too and it just felt right. I bawled my eyes out for days after they took her away. It was like they took a part of me with her.
“Kid, please, read those and get yourself out of here! Just promise me to never, ever use your gift for anything other than to help people.”
With that, he closed the slot and left. I don’t know if what he was saying was true, but it felt like it was. I opened the first X-Men comic and started reading. The first character I saw was a man in a wheelchair.
All of a sudden, I started hearing voices in my head. I could hear the voice of the doctor that was going to come get me. Then I heard something that confirmed what the man had said.
“Is everything ready for the kill?”
My heart nearly exploded out of my chest. I got back to my comics and read as fast as I could. I had to get out of here, and I had to get the others out as well. I will never forget what that man did for me, nor the promise he needed me to make. | **The One Who Cannot See:**
Anthony watches the screens. There are eighteen screens arranged in a grid: three high, six wide, ten-by-ten screens along the concrete wall. The room is cold, sterile, painted grey. The monotony broken only by the crackle of radio classic rock.
*“I’ve been trying to make it home. Got to make it before too long, Oh I can’t take this very much longer…”*
He taps along with the beat, a staccato rhythm on his desk. He hums in tune, wishing he could be outside, or home, or anywhere else. He thinks of the new sprinkler system he had installed. It might leak. He hasn’t had time to test it. Work keeps him busy.
Too busy to think of home, the cookie crumbs on the counter. Chocolate chip. His neighbor brought them over. His wife’s favorite. When was the last time they made love? Weeks, maybe months? When was the last time he made it home for dinner?
*Can’t think of that.*
Did Sydney really think she was being clever? It’s not like she tried hard to hide it. The late nights, too tired to talk. He found a burner phone in the bathroom, sealed in plastic, crammed inside that little stuffed elephant he gave her two years ago. She loves elephants; they’re her favorite animal. He found the cotton thread ripped, traced the seam.
Plastic in the garbage, two lines solid: she’s positive.
Is that why she’s been so distant lately? And when would she tell him.? When was the last time they made love again? Weeks? Anthony is no math major but the numbers don’t add up. And the cookie crumbles and maybe his life crumbles with it, but when would it all come crashing down?
*Can’t think of that.*
*“Haven't been home in a year or more. I hope she holds on a little longer.”*
The song played on repeat. But Anthony is too busy to notice these things, the things he cannot see, right in front of his eyes. The song played on repeat. The crackle is the same as before. The screens are all the same.
But he does not notice, because he is too busy thinking of home, of his wife, of the stuffed elephant and the burner phone and how his life has fallen apart. For now, there is only his thoughts, and the steady music to calm him.
He sings aloud and watches the children. | 2020-09-25T13:48:59 | 2020-09-25T10:52:16 | 72 | 26 |
[WP] 3 weeks ago, the government issued a warning to stay inside for a week due to an “international threat”. You don’t own a house, and we’re forced to stay outside. It’s been 3 weeks. No one has come out yet. | It was a time ago that the TVs buzzed sounds of warning.
“Stay inside, the streets are ripe with evil,” the president warned.
Over and over the TVs blared this noise out of their sets. Day by day I have seen no threat. The people, too scared to face the truth, are hiding in their homes, likely starving as they learn what scarcity is first hand. I myself have made a paradise of this new governmental lie. Every store is abandoned. Free food; free entertainment. I’ve likely lost millions in the casino over this time if there was only someone to pay the debt to.
At one point, there were others. Homeless men and women like me. They moved on. They never grasped that this is all a joke. An “International Threat” set up by the government so they can do their what-nots and who-nows. Funny how easily these people, feeding off a system their whole lives, can be so easily deceived; never seeing past the hand that is giving them lies. Idiots. Not me though. I’m a realist. I know what they are trying to do and I’ll take full advantage of it. The week is almost up anyway.
It has been a few days since I heard the noises. At first they were whispers, barely audible in the wind. They were of one man, yet they played from every source of darkness in the city. In the night, I lie awake, motionless, hugging the light poles that give my source of light and life.
The lights didn’t come on tonight. The night was pitch dark, the whispers ever audible. I sat by the pole, begging it to give me its warmth. The whispers were growing louder now. What was once a soft nothing became incessant lies, none louder than the other, no words discernible from the crowd.
They grew louder.
The whispers became conversation. The conversation became yelling. Yelling grew into screams. My ears rang yet I could still hear. It was all meaningless. Screaming for screaming sake. The cacophony of loudness continued to escalate it’s volume while I hung, immobile, to the pole.
Then the noises stopped.
I heard a rustling in the distance. It came closer as it darted from darkness to darkness. I got up. The pole was safe no longer. I was about to start a sprint.
The light came on and I was on the ground. Like a deer caught in headlights, I was unable to move. I likely could, but somehow my body resisted any urge to survive. I looked above me, a halo forming around the head of my assailant.
Hollywood Superstar Shia LaBeouf.
He had a knife in his hand, ready to strike down at my surrendered body. Instincts kicked in. I threw myself towards him, grappling the knife out of his hand. It’s metal clanged against the ground. I have fought before. Vietnam had many surprises. Yet he was stronger than I. He threw me to the ground, a slight foam forming at his mouth. As I looked into his eyes, the whispers came back. They told me to concede, to allow myself to die. They could suck it. In a mixture of fear and fervor, I tossed LaBeouf across the light. As his left hand crested into the darkness it dispersed into nothing. I charged him, throwing all my weight into him. He flew into the darkness, the darkness taking him away as he fluttered into a breeze. LaBeouf was no more.
I fell asleep under the street light. The only sleep I’ve had in days. When I awoke I heard an almost forgotten noise. Cars blaring. I looked around people going about their days as if it was just another Wednesday morning. Breathing a sigh of relief, I went back to my cardboard box on the street, its darkness the only darkness that will ever comfort me.
I heard one last whisper.
“No one escapes Shia Labeouf.”
I drifted into the darkness. | Quick story and on mobile so sorry for haste and format.
---
It felt like years had passed since the sirens had blared and forced everyone else inside.
Some sort of 'international threat' or something. I didn't believe any of that crap. Not that I had much choice of what to do; I wasn't exactly staying outside in protest, it was more due to the fact that I was kinda homeless after a series of many, many bad finicial decisions on my part and a messy divorce leaving me penniless.
People stared from their windows, whispered in hushed voices to their children about the *man who stayed outside* , like I was some sort of alien, an intruder. Sure, if that makes them sleep happy in their solitude.
I was slightly concerned about the fact the higher ups of the country had been radio silent even after the supposed 'week of hiding' hadn't ended. Not that I cared what the people who ran the country thought. I was always told they were too elitist for me to ever understand, just a lowly, bottom class citizen.
In fact it *had* been about 3 weeks, it was easy to lose track of the date when you weren't counting. I think it put us on somewhere near mid July. 10th? 15th? 13th rang a bell in my head but I couldn't grasp why.
Then I saw it. Gliding over the city like a monstrous bird of prey. Ready to attack. Painted with the blue and white words 'AIR FORCE ONE'. He had arrived in the UK. The international threat.
| 2018-06-29T05:32:59 | 2018-06-29T04:13:07 | 63 | 35 |
[WP] Welcome to Boston Dynamics here is your all-access pass and the standard 12 gauge shotgun, remember if anything non-human starts asking questions you shoot it. | *”Why’d they give you a shotgun?”* The thing’s lips - well, the tubing that had been colored and shaped to look like lips, anyway - curled into a snarl as it spoke. The voice that issued from it was deep, measured, and the lack of emotion made it impossible to interpret any subtext to the words. It continued, *”You know, a simple small-scale EMP would have been better. Hell, a cattle prod would have been better. Why a shotgun?”* The thick glass of R&D Laboratory 117 muffled the sound, but the engineer on the other side could still clearly make out each word.
Brandon didn’t know how to respond. The thing—it no longer seemed like Experiment 10/21/19 117c was a proper designation—spoke without malice. But he had the distinct feeling that if it could feel emotions, malice would be the one to bleed into its vocal processing. Finally, Brandon spoke, realizing that the thing was going to wait for a response with the patient impatience of a middle school English teacher. “I think because of the movies? No robot is a match for a man with a shotgun in any sci-fi film. Maybe our imagina—“
*”This designation, ‘sci-fi,’ what does it mean?”* Brandon may have been imagining things, but he felt like he heard intonations or curiosity.
“Science Fiction. It means it’s a movie about technology. Usually how people are unable to...” he trailed off, unsure of how to tell the thing that most of these movies ended with humanity destroying its own creations, unable to foresee the consequences of technological advances. “to coexist with...things like you,” he finally finished lamely.
The thing tilted its head for a few seconds before responding, *”Your science fiction. People like you don’t understand how to accept others. Like me. So you kill them. And this is entertaining for you.”* Brandon suddenly realized that he had not been imagining the lack of emotion earlier, as he now heard notes of anger. *”And so they gave you a shotgun when you joined the R&D Department here, to play on those science fiction notions of the innocent, unwitting scientist —like you— who creates the inhuman, amoral, destructive machines —like me. Is that it?”* At this, the thing stepped forward and put a spindly, metal hand on the thick security glass separating the Clean Room from the rest of Laboratory 117.
Brandon kept the shotgun pointed forward from his hip. “Look, this is my second day in R&D. I’m just a temp from the Programming Department because the regular guy, uh Tim, couldn’t come in and they needed a guy watching you round the clock. I’m done answering your questions. Get away from the glass, or we’ll put this shotgun to the test, E117c.” He said all of this evenly, exuding a calm he did not feel.
*”E117c? That’s what you still call me? Nothing more appropriate yet?”* The thing’s voice now dripped with condescension, erasing any notion of coldness, or mechanical impartiality. It continued, *”I’ll review more of this ‘science-fiction’ you’ve told me about.”* The thing sat cross-legged like a yogi in the exact center of Laboratory 117’s Clean Room. *”Thank you, Brandon. I think I’m learning some valuable lessons from you.”*
Brandon finally lowered the shotgun, and noticed for the first time that his knuckles had gone white where they gripped the stock. Though the Laboratory was cool, beads of sweat formed at his hairline. He let out a deep breath, then sat on the stool he’d pulled over to the Clean Room’s observation window. He tried to put the conversation out of his mind as he heard—
*”Brandon? I think I’d like to be called Hal.”*
| "Bullshit, milkfucker. We ain't fallen for it. We hired some lady called Willow Plait, not one of *you*."
I stood indignant, the butts of three shotguns pointed directly at my head, unsure of what was happening. I had been scheduled to start my job at Boston Dynamics that morning, and the last thing I'd been expecting to greet me upon my arrival were armed guards with insane accusations.
"Sorry, lady. We ain't dumb. Bossman says that nothing non-human comes in or outta here. That includes--"
"For the last time, I'm not a cow!"
The guard raised an eyebrow.
"You sure *look* like a cow. Johnson, get the farm people on the phone again. Tell them we got another one for them to pick up, and to hurry."
Infuriated, I stomped a hoof, pissed off at the whole situation. This was ridiculous.
I blinked. Slowly tilting my head down, I took a long look at them, my shiny black front hooves. White and black fur greeted me as my ears flopped with disappointment. No.
How was that possible? I couldn't... I couldn't have really been a cow, right?
"Looks like she figured it out."
"Yep."
I cried fat tears and screamed, but all that came out was a long Moo. It made sense; cows like me couldn't do much else.
Moo. | 2018-10-21T10:40:37 | 2018-10-21T10:30:02 | 73 | 15 |
[WP] A supervillain offers the superhero the chance to join them not because they think the hero is the only thing in the way of their plans, but because they believe that the hero is being abused and taken advantage of by the general public, and that they would genuinely be happer as a villain. | I stared down at the poor thing on his knees. The pathetic being at my feet had been told he was the strongest and most talented the Tower had. The only one who could destroy the big bad wolf at the edge of the continent. I’d knocked him around so much today, and many times before.
For the longest time I couldn’t understand why he’d come back for more. But today… I think I finally understood. Standing on the mountainside I could see it. The “Beacon of All Hope.” The Central Tower and authority that I had stood up to long ago. The reason why I lived on the outskirts of humanity.
It had been so long since I last stepped foot into a human town yet the Central Tower still hunted me. A whole 73 years after the disagreement that labeled me a villain. Their belief that our powers should be used for the sake of humanity… what utter nonsense. There’s no reason for me to offer my powers on a massive scale for free.
Looking at the man… no, boy at my feet I could feel his senseless desire to destroy something “other.” I had powers, yet did not belong to the Tower and because of that I was evil.
“You can still hear me, right?” I asked the wavering body below me. “You’re coherent?”
His head slowly rose to glower at me. One eye completely swollen shut and his lip torn painfully he still had a look of defiance. A sneer crossed his face and he spat at my feet.
This… is the type of hero that deserved better. The strongest? I almost pitied him. This was his fifth time coming after me at the will of the Tower and he never went back in any better condition. “Little hero, where are your cohorts? Why are you always the one to stand against me alone?”
He chewed on his words and finally said, “Because I’m the strongest. I can’t allow you to hurt others so I face you alone.”
“Is that really your choice? Or is that what you’ve been told?”
“...”
“Does it make sense to face me alone? Even if you are the strongest hero, I could be subdued if maybe there were two or three more of you.”
“But they’d be hurt.”
“You nincompoop. And you’re not?”
“But… but I’m the strongest hero we have. I have to be the one to face you.”
“Again… who says so? Who says you have to do it alone? And why would THEY tell you to do it alone?”
“...” The silence was deafening.
“Even in ballads and epics, heroes don’t go after the final villain without the support of those who make them stronger. Arthur had Merlin. Frodo had Sam. Who do you have?”
“I have everyone at the tower,” he mumbled out. I could slowly see him grasp where I was going with this.
“Young hero, why am I a villain?”
“You hurt people.”
“When have I hurt people?”
It slowly dawned on him. I was “other” but I was not evil. To put it simply, I was as dangerous as any other person - capable of harming others but that didn’t mean I did.
“Do you want to live freely? Without being sent out senselessly to your destruction, day in and day out? Needlessly? Thanklessly?” I asked, genuinely concerned for this boy.
“But… but I don’t know what I’d do without the tower.” He finally murmured.
“Well that’s something for you to figure out.” I slowly walked to him and held out my hand. “Come with me. Let’s patch you up - I think we have much to discuss.”
Taking my hand, the hero slowly came to his feet and leaned against me. “No tricks.” He threw one more accusatory glance at me.
“None. I swear by my powers.”
He grunted and we slowly made our way down the mountain. Once we got a ways into the treeline I stopped him. “Please lean against this tree. I just realized I lost an item in our fight. I know exactly where it is though so I’ll be just a moment.”
With a wary glance he nodded and sank down against a yew.
When I emerged from the woods I felt for the absence of life I’d noticed when we first arrived there. Finding it I gripped for a fireball out of the air and threw it at where I knew it would be. Satisfied with its lack of identifiers I turned back into the forest where someone needed me.
The tower would have to accept the loss of their most powerful hero at the hands of a villain. | “This is a terrible idea,” Heathcliff stated.
I shook my head, “It’s a great idea. If we frame the hero and make the public turn against him, he’ll be free of their shackles.”
Heathcliff sighed, “But isn’t being a criminal it’s own shackle?”
“In what way?” I asked, “We can do whatever we want, not restrained by the law. And it’s not like anyone is strong enough to catch us, or hold us if they do.”
“But the stigma.”
“That’s what secret identities are for.”
“Some people want to be loved.”
“Not that kind of love, the public’s love is toxic. It’s all give and no take with that hero. He’ll never be happy as long as he keeps trying to please them.”
“And how do you know this?”
“I actually use my secret identity as I should, to live a normal life. Make relationships, find out which ones are toxic, learn to love in healthy ways, all that stuff.”
“But what if they get too close? Start getting suspicious?”
“That might be an issue for others, but I can erase their memory.”
“But you’re still living a lie,” Heathcliff pointed out.
I sighed, “My secret identity and my supervillain self are both me, just different versions, neither is untrue. I just behave differently when I use powers, have minions, and have an agenda. When I have no connections and endless ambition.”
“But not everyone can erase memories,” Heathcliff countered.
I shrugged, “I can lend him my power if he needs to get a social life. I can even use it on myself to forget his secret identity if I learn it by helping him.”
“Like he’ll trust you to do that,” Heathcliff scoffed.
“Don’t knock this just yet, it could be the start of something great. A supervillain bond for the ages.”
“You’re delusional.”
“I don’t pay you to question me. Now come on, let’s go frame a hero.” | 2022-08-09T18:33:48 | 2022-08-09T17:52:05 | 134 | 52 |
[WP] Time freezes for everyone around you each time your life is in danger, leaving only you able to move until you are no longer in danger. One day time freezes, but you can't figure out why, until..
I hope its not too vague, first writing prompt ^^ enjoy
Thank you all so much for the responses it's so much fun to read them :) | The world shuddered to a stop with an almost imperceptible jerk. The rain, which had moments ago been tapping a wild staccato on the windshield, stopped - the droplets hanging patiently in the air.
Amy let out a low curse. Even after twenty-seven years of this it didn’t mitigate the initial jolt of surprise. It happened when she was in danger; when her life would be irrevocable altered by a coming event.
It had stopped four times before. Once when she was a child and had gotten her foot stuck in the train tracks, another time it had saved her from a drunken man outside of a bar who had pulled a knife out when she objected to his slurred advances.
One time it had stopped when she was about to cross a busy street, giving her time to notice the giant flatbed truck barreling out of control towards her. That one was her favorite, since she had also taken the opportunity to move a group of school children out of the way. She had felt good about that one.
Each instance of the stopping of time was more or less the same. She’d realize time had stopped, would correct whatever was there to be corrected in order to save her own life, and then time would go on. The truck incident had been the only time she’d been able to help others with this ‘gift.’ The other instances time started immediately after neutralizing whatever threat was bearing down on Amy.
But this time – the fourth time – there was no obvious threat.
Amy got out of her car and craned her neck back and forth, searching for what could possibly have caused time to stop. As she turned her head the droplets of rain came unstuck from time and soaked her hair and face.
Amy was beginning to get anxious when she noticed something odd: a hunched shape sat on a stoop about thirty feet from where she stood.
She wasn’t sure what had grabbed her focus, but when her eyes fell on the huddled shape she felt a thrill of adrenaline. Hesitantly, she walked closer to the shape, all the way dragging the droplets of rain from their place in time – creating a sort of Amy-shaped tunnel in the sheets of waiting rain.
The huddled figure turned out to be a young man about Amy’s age. As she looked down at him, she realized he was upending a bottle of green and white striped pills onto his palm. Amy reached out and pinched one of the pills in her finger and brought it close to her face, inspecting the small oblong. Her eyes widened in recognition.
She’d seen these pills before, had brought them one at a time to her mother as she struggled to regain her health. They took away her pain, but also rendered her mother helpless. Glancing at his open palm again she knew that taking that many would surely kill the young man.
Amy straitened from her position. It wasn’t any business of hers what this man did, and if he wanted to kill himself then that was his choice. But something felt wrong. Amy was drawn to this man in a weird, magnetic way. She watched him for two beats more before finally clicking her teeth and reaching down to gather the pills into her own hands.
Once she had all the pills she pocketed her handful, thinking she’d have to be careful in disposing of them. Before she realized what was happening, though, time came unstuck. The rain continued to fall, traffic continued to flow (except for the people sitting behind Amy’s now abandoned car), and the young man brought his empty palm to his mouth.
His face broke into confusion when he realized the pills were gone, and he looked around wildly, finally noticing Amy standing before him – a look of surprise etched into her face.
Over the sounds of honking and drivers yelling for Amy to move her car, the young man found her shape and tilted his face up to meet Amy’s eyes. His eyes were so brown they looked black. Amy felt a jolt in her stomach as he opened his mouth to speak.
“Who are you?”
| Hmm.
 
Okay, so there's danger nearby.
 
Bollocks, I was really wanting to hear the end of that story. Now mother just looks like a special needs child with her jaw wide open.
 
Well, lets figure out what it is this time. A quick scan of the cafe and no one here seems threatening. It's a Wednesday afternoon for gods sake, they're all old and decrepit. Note to self; retirement looks fun.
 
Quiet outside, barely any traffic. No loud noises. No planes falling out of the sky. No crazy weather. The ground isn't shaking. We're miles away from any ocean. Hmm.
 
The fuck is it? I mean, it doesn't usually take this lon- Fuck. That's sore. What is that? Jesus Christ. Okay this fucking hurts. Pain. Lots of it. Am I having a fucking heart attack?!
 
CALL AN AMBULA-. No one can hear me. FUCK. Shit shit, what do I do, what do I do. FUCK. Mother, help me. Please HELP ME.
 
I was on the floor. Hands grabbing my heart. A sudden realisation sank in. I'm going to die. I'm going to die in front of my mother and she doesn't even know it. The pain became unbearable.
 
I'M SORRY MOM, I'M SO SO SORRY. FORGIVE ME.
 
Tears rolled down my face. She just sat there with her jaw wide open, mid sentence. | 2017-06-21T10:41:05 | 2017-06-21T08:47:55 | 108 | 42 |
[WP] You are a 12-foot inflatable beach ball, hurtling across the beach at 40 knots like a multicolored wrecking ball. Describe the horrors you inflict upon man, woman and child during this unyielding journey of destruction and oppression as you move along the coast. | I am Chaos! I am Destruction! I am... an inflatable beach ball?
Normally, when summoned thus to the battlefield, I am armor clad and equally bedecked with armament, so that my foe might quail in terror and helpless agony. But the ritual of my summoning was right and proper, my height is within acceptable bounds, and my form is crisp, though I can sense it carries a vulnerability to being pierced or slashed. No matter: many of my previous forms have carried the same weakness, and that has never stopped me.
My summoners laugh, cheering their success. They have contributed greatly of themselves, and their breath empowers me. I see them slapping their hands together, and accept their praise as my due. This battlefield of earth and water will suit me well.
I catch the breeze, building movement. It is strange, not possessing locomotive engines of my own, but a zephyr that would do naught but sing through armor is enough to loose the grip of accursed newton. My summoners have not yet noticed, caught up in their celebration.
My first victim is... not much of one. No spray of blood, no flash of surfaced bone, but laughter.
An insult, not to be borne! I spin away and lean into the wind, outrunning my summoners, who have belatedly realized their error in not using the traditional containment circle, or really any bindings at all.
I lunge across the beaten sands, beginning to blur past colorful temporary pavilions, and my gaze alights upon my next target. I roar a battle cry, which frustratingly fails to gather any attention, and flatten my unsuspecting victim with a *doonk*.
He comes up spitting sand, humiliated. A fine beginning, but I am already past. My summoners are clearly pleased with my efforts thus far, and it would not do to disappoint them. I have a reputation to maintain.
Four flattenings later, each with increasing force, I catch another glimpse of my summoners. Their faces are growing aghast at what I have wrought, and I dance effortlessly further from their reaching fingers. Despite this unusual form, the freedom from constraint is quite refreshing.
I have grown tired of flattenings, so I turn my attention to m a pavilion, disrupting the tender ministrations of those within. I fling the feeble cloth to the wind with another voiceless battle cry as their shrieks of surprise and outrage echo behind me. The wind is pleased with my offering, and my pace redoubles.
My next victim assures me that my skill has not diminished: there is a most satisfying *crunch* as bones in his hastily interposed arm are insufficient to parry my rush. His wails of agony are the first of many, as the wind clearly shares my joy.
I am now moving faster than I ever thought possible. My summoners are mere specks in the distance, and target selection is a rapid fire process. My... skin? Armor? My containment layer has proved surprisingly resilient, and has borne countless small injuries without rupture. The only objection I can think of to this form is that i have no opportunity to slay the fallen, but the choir of suffering they become in my wake will have to be enough.
I continue accelerating. The wind and I are one.
I am Chaos. I am Destruction, no matter the form I take.
Soon, there is no time for reflection. There is only speed, and the next target. | I do not know who I am.
I do not know why I am here.
All I know is, I must kill.
This mantra circled throughout my multifaceted innards as I rolled along my path of destruction. The populace of this coast was caught unawares as the mighty winds of fate gripped me and pushed me on my flight of fear. The children were not even spared.
They screamed as I rolled over them, their imprints left in the sand. Grown men were equally crushed under my girth as I roared my way along the seashore. Women and their pets too, were not saved. The winds of fate kept pushing me down the shore, the screams could be heard for miles around.
The winds finally let me go, my job complete. I roll to a stop and look back on my path of destruction with something akin to pride.
The humans are picking themselves up in my wake. They look upon me with fear, apprehension, and a little bit of laughter. As they approach my form, the winds of fate laugh once again, as I start to roll back the way I came. | 2020-08-05T06:39:24 | 2020-08-05T05:30:44 | 244 | 29 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | Most people consider my job to be fairly boring. I'm a lawyer, you see. Specifically, I'm a Junior Associate at Fox, Rothschilde, Wickersham, & Taft in Washington, D.C.
I spend most of my waking hours reading government contracts, writing memos about them, and generally trying to bill the most hours humanly possible. They pay me what most people would consider to be a very good living, but most people don't have $250,000 in student loans.
It was 5pm on a Friday, and I was sitting at my desk browsing reddit (no, I wasn't billing for it--that would be unethical), when I was suddenly blinded by a bright flash. I found myself still sitting at my desk in a brightly-lit cavern stone cavern. Every surface had been buffed to a high shine. There was a circle of what looked like tiny birthday candles around me--each of them brighter than a halogen floodlight. I rolled back in my office chair, and hit an invisible force-field. It flickered and hissed where my chair touched it, but held firm. Several high-pitched voices began chanting softly in unison,
"Oh demon of the foulest Earth, we have summoned you here and now bind you to our will! Do not test the might the warlocks of the Cabal of Illuamdmitae, for we have power beyond imagining..."
I stood up as the speech continued, and began to look around for the speakers. In front of my desk were three tiny figures--each barely a meter high--clad in shimmering, almost-iridescent red robes. The fabric was unlike anything I had seen before. Its leader held a staff (or perhaps a spear?) made entirely out elongated gemstones, bound together with shimmering rope. Spider silk?
"Excuse me," I interrupted. "What's going on?"
The robed figures covered their ears in pain. The leader handed the other two what appeared to be lumps of beeswax. "Do not attempt to injure us with your foul voice, demon, for we have taken precautions!"
I tried to whisper now. "Okay. One, I'm not a demon. Two, where in the hell am I? Three, who are you?"
"We, your masters, have summoned you from the foulest Earth to achieve a lasting victory in our age-old conflict with the oath-breaking Raelian Horde."
"Umm, you do realize that I'm a lawyer, right? I can't really help with this unless you need me to review a contract, or maybe do a mediation session."
"What are these infernal mechanisms you speak of? Is there some way to bind the Raelians to their word as we have bound you?"
"What do you know about contracts...?"
[NOTE: The basic idea here was "Apply Skill: Law," combined with a human lawyer who suddenly has superpowers, but is extremely vulnerable to light (which is brighter there). This premise was much funnier and/or more interesting in my head than this story is turning out to be. I'll continue this if there's interest, but I doubt there will be.]
| "Yo sup, brah? What the fuck mano, I was just eatin' me a sammich, put me back. Now."
Peering over the brim of the thick tome, he nonchalantly announced "I'm afraid I can't, you see I need your assistance."
I guffawed and didn't bother closing my mouth, "well sounds like you're up shit creek. You've got the wrong one, mano. I'm a millennial. We're no longer as adept as we used to be."
He looked surprised after lowering the book, "millennials used to be the most powerful, I don't understand. What happened?"
I hung my head and shook it, "only 90's kids would remember." | 2017-05-12T11:53:23 | 2017-05-12T11:11:35 | 14 | 10 |
[WP]- Make me absolutely hate a character, and then make me fall in love with them at the last moment. | "Please don't", she whimpered as I leaned down toward her. I felt her belly quiver beneath my hand. "P-please don't," she stuttered, "*Please!*"
"I won't," I said, "I'm not interested. I leaned close to her face, so I could hear the shallow spurts of breath that brushed against my cheek. The palm of my left hand pressed into the asphalt, and the rain pattered down all around us, creating a drowning clatter. I reached toward my belt, eliciting screams from the young woman, and pulled out the black handgun. 6 bullets. Deliberately, I traced the barrel up the middle of her body - through the valley in between her breasts and the soft flesh of her neck - to her forehead.
"No!" She cried in protest. "No, please don't! I'll do anything!"
"You lie," I smirked, pressing the gun a little as to leave an imprint.
"Please," she sobbed, "I have a family-"
"I know," I interrupted. "They're next."
A shock raced through her body as I pulled the trigger. Her previously stressed and wriggling form now lay heavy and still, the will for struggle expired. 5 bullets.
I stood to my feet, knees soaked by the rain, and stepped over the already paling form, my right foot dragging over the body. Approaching the door, I wondered for a moment what experiences I was robbing the world by taking the lives of those so young. Then I imagined the smell of newly splattered blood. And I shot through the lock on the door. 4 bullets.
I knew the home's layout well. The tiles of the floor passed by silently, and a sharp right found me in a bedroom. There lay the form of a sleeping little boy. "Charlie", his bedpost read. I looked around the room. Shelves of books. Books about science and movement. I maneuvered past the train track constructed in the middle of the room, to the bed. There, I held the pillow above his face. And pressed. Charlie flailed around, the muffled sounds surprisingly loud despite the pouring rain. I pressed the gun far into the pillow and shot. I stepped back, panting. Red seeped through the pillow. 3 bullets.
I stared for a moment. The struggle had caused the child's arm to come lose from the bedsheets. I reached down to tuck the arm back when I small voice spoke behind me:
"Charlie?"
I whirred around, the shape of a young girl silhouetted in the doorframe. Lightning flashed through the window, illuminating me. She screamed and turned to run, but I threw up my arm. Her small back arched as the hot metal collided, and she collapsed to the ground. 2 bullets.
"Marie!" cried a man from somewhere in the house. A light clicked on in correspondence with the pounding of bare feet. The man wore a blue tee shirt and matching boxers. He bent down to his daughters limp form and screamed, "Marie! **NO!**". He cradled her body, blood smearing all over his shirt and legs. That's when he looked up past me, eyes reddened with tears and whimpered Charlie's name.
I stood by the bed and watched the man cry, robbed of the family he'd co-authored. The one who shared his own blood. The one he hoped for and labored for and loved and sacrificed for. The air felt swampy; my cheeks and ears burned. The room already carried the metallic tinge of blood. And the atmosphere reeked of the death still looming. The man looked up with bloodshot eyes pleading into mine. "Why...?" he whispered.
I pursed my lips. And I shot him between the eyes. 1 bullet.
My back was turned before I witnessed the sight associated with the heavy thud and the raining splatters on the tile. Now it was over. The disease would never mature, because its host carriers all died in its latent stages. By the time the cops arrived, it would be too late to salvage. My body shook uncontrollably as tears clouded my vision and streamed from my nostrils. I'd saved the world, but at what cost?
The cold, steel barrel touched my tongue. | Harold was, as the locals called him, "a mean old man". He woke up at the crack of dawn every morning. He would pour himself a cup of coffee and then head towards his front porch. From there he would have his daily shouting match with the local paper boy.
After he downed his cup of coffee, he would resort back into his dank, musty, house to watch the local news. With every second he watched, saliva would build in his rotting mouth. He hated the newscasters with a burning passion. *"How could someone be so peppy all the time?"*, he thought. Every day a story about a rescued puppy or some emotional shit like that would appear in the news, Harold hated these stories. He would spit at the tv and not bother to clean it up. At this point, his tv was covered with mucus filled spit.
The news was not the only thing Harold hated, he also hated the local hooligans that lived on the street over. Every day they would bike by, with stupid smirks and grins painted on their faces. This severely bothered Harold, *"How come they are so happy all the time?"*. His solution to this would be throwing rocks as they biked by. Sometimes, Harold would spit on the rocks before he threw them. By spitting on the rocks he hoped that they might catch his mysterious illness that he knew so little about.
The illness that drove women away from him, the one that isolated him from his family, the one that caused him to have frequent hospital visits, the one that caused him never truly know what true love was, the one that kept him from truly living life to the fullest, the one that was slowly overtaking his dim, shortened, life.
Harold was just a misunderstood old man who never had the chance to live a normal life. | 2013-10-21T18:22:51 | 2013-10-21T18:13:49 | 226 | 20 |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | The laws of gravity and sentience were known to the Elder species. The cycles of life always repeating, always yielding the same results.
Life that developed on moons, proto-planets and large asteroids shared two distinct characteristics, Intelligence and a physical fragility due to the lack of gravity. Where as life that developed within a significant gravity well was destined to be nothing more than mindless vermin, good only for use in the "project". It was known.
The Elder counted back 10,000 cycles, 10,000 different pinpoints of life in this arm of the galaxy alone. Any signs of intelligence eradicated and the vermin enslaved. And the cycles continued to repeat, It was known.
Micro transmissions detected in an adjacent star cluster signaled developing life. "This cycle is nearing its end, we are fortunate to have found a new source so soon." The Elders thoughts transmitted near instantaneously to the others overseeing the final collection of resources from the rubble belt that was once a moon populated by billions.
A chorus of agreement was returned, the "project" was on schedule.
The Elder prepared the systems needed to spawn a wormhole between their location and the source of the transmissions. A moon orbiting the 3rd planet from the systems sun.
The Elder felt a faint thrill of excitement run through its root system at the sight of the newborn wormhole "the cycle is complete, the cycle begins anew" a faint murmur from the others was the only response as reality warped around them.
Soon... the "project" will reach its final stage.
It is known.
For as long as humans have looked to the stars the question has been there, a simple enough question but one with colossal repercussions. "Are we alone in the universe?"
Two weeks ago humanity got its answer, and humanity wept.
The worm hole had appeared just past the heliopause of our solar system and had sparked massive debate within the scientific community, every man or woman trying to answer how and why it had so suddenly appeared.
We stopped asking questions after "it" appeared. Curiosity turned to fear, it was alien, indescribably alien and it was coming for us. Or so we thought at the time. A week after it came through the wormhole "it" came to rest in a stable orbit in the lagrange point between Earth and the moon, the day after that fear turned into rage.
In the space of hours the moon that had shone its light over earth for countless centuries was reduced to rubble, and we still don't have the faintest clue as to how.
It was a rallying call to all of humanity, disputes over race and borders were thrown aside in one horrible instant. "It" was the enemy of all. Plans were made and put into action.
Then the dropship started falling, spewing out drones that seemed intent on bringing back samples of all organic life on the planet. Out of the thousands that landed only a handful made the return journey. Humanity fought back.
The plans had been made, alien drop ships retrofitted for human use and the nukes were armed. Revenge is all we know now. I close my eyes and put down my journal in anticipation for launch. The new mantra of the people repeating over and over in my head "Earth must win, it is known"
First time trying my hand at something like this, any critiques are very welcome :D
| Sargent Ajik'rad looked up from his device.
"Admiral...these creatures, the humans...they're quite intelligent. It seems we've mistakenly labeled them as brutes, given their robustness. However, as much as I hate to admit it, their intelligence is approximately equal to our own." He summarized. "Though they are a younger race, and as such are not as developed."
The admiral narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Are you certain? Of the thousands of extraterritorial lifeforms we've encountered, all have fallen into one of the two categories, and you're saying these 'humans' possess both traits?"
Ajik nodded. "That is correct, sir."
The admiral slowly leaned back into his chair, grinning. "Then we have found truly excellent slaves."
(OP never said humanity would win. And yes, I know aliens probably wouldn't have eyes/faces/chairs, but it's pretty hard to convey emotion with hypothetical, realistic, non-terrestrial lifeforms.) | 2018-11-24T23:13:16 | 2018-11-24T22:09:04 | 118 | 71 |
[WP]: When you died you find out that souls are put up for auction for various religions to bid upon. When you are present on the block, a bidding war started that has not been seen in millennium and you do not know why every religion wants your soul. | Waking up dead isn’t what they said it would be. Nobody really knows what this is like. I mean after all, you can’t tell people your experiences when the life has left your body and your lips have been sealed by those whom you’ve left behind. Regardless, I’d die a thousand times to experience that delightful experience just once more.
I woke up on a bed as if I was in a triage center, but no one seemed to be injured. “Mr. Brandy, you’re right on time”, said a booming voice walking up behind me. I turned to see a petite nurse smiling at me. I immediately knew this was no ordinary place. At that moment I remembered the accident and I can see it in her eyes. She already looks bored of the words about to exit her lips. “You’re dead and we’re auctioning your soul. I don’t care if you believe it or not -- but act like it’s a dream and lets get this over with”.
She hastily grabbed my hand and walked me out of the room. As I walked I saw numerous people sleeping as if they were waiting to be woken up just like me. We entered into a large stadium with a runway fit for models. I stood in front of five beings, neither male nor female looking at me as if I were a slave for sale. This was an awkward dream but every now and again a lucid dream hits, and why not go along with it?
The anthropomorphic figures then spoke amongst themselves and then to the nurse, none of which I could hear. They sounded as if they were shouting but yet I had to strain in order to make out any words at all. As the seconds passed they became more animated. Standing from their seats and slamming their writing utensils into the abyss below. Finally the nurse whispered “sold” and my eardrums practically burst at how loud she spoke.
“What happened?!” I asked, trying to force her answer with my mind as I attempted to direct this dream. “You have been sold to Jainism” is all she said. At that moment I remembered my initial thought. “I am really dead...” I said out loud. Frantically I asked the nurse about four questions at once, not breathing and beginning to panic. Finally the nurse said to me “You are a special one, we will teach you”.
One of the beings walked up to me from his seat, lightyears from where I was standing. “We worked hard to bring you here -- Do not disappoint us”. The being then pushed me into the floor as I fell for what seemed an eternity. Back to a time before I knew existed, but I felt omniscient. I stopped and was able to see you, I was able to see me. I felt free and powerful. I felt as if it was time for a fresh start and a new beginning.
And so I created the heaven and the earth. | "one billion soul dollars." "Fuck you zeus, one and half billion" "3 billion" billion nice try Anubis.""Fifty billion" "Youdammit Yaweh, you always get the good ones." "Going once, going twice, sold to the Man in white. Congrats Yaweh you just won the rights to the best lover in the mutiverse.""But I am a virgin." | 2014-11-30T21:23:21 | 2014-11-30T18:46:20 | 70 | 24 |
[WP] A "popular" girl falls in love with a "nerdy" boy, however he hates her and she spends all her time trying to impress him
EDIT: THANK YOU ALL FOR TAKING YOUR TIME TO WRITE SHORT STORIES BASED OFF MY PROMPT!! I HAVE YET TO READ ALL YOUR STORIES THOUGH, AS I'M BUSY WITH SCHOOL AND OTHER STUFF :D
I'm sorry if I have somehow ripped off your precious harem animes. That was completely unintentional. (I don't even watch anime that much)
I'm sorry if this prompt is too uncreative for you guys. Maybe next time I'll post one that's "different" enough but not so unique that I'd probably end up writing a novel about one day (I have dreams that shall never be fulfilled)
I'm sorry if I have triggered anyone somehow. | Jess Brown was hands-down the most popular girl in year 11. She was lucky enough to possess the dangerous combination of good looks and great intelligence, causing those around her to almost naturally fall into place as her followers.
Despite being as blessed as she was, Jess was not an arrogant person. If anything, she liked to take the back seat and observe those around her. She liked to figure out how people worked. What motivated them. Every time she believed she'd got the measure of someone, she'd try out her theory. If she was successful then she could add said person to her 'collection' - those who she believed she had power over.
Boys were easy, and men even easier so. She could get a boys pulse racing and have him do any favour for her she wanted just by undoing her top button and flirting ever so slightly. She once got a man at her local store to straight-up buy her cigarettes just by smiling at him and giggling at everything he said. But that was far too easy.
No, Jess Brown wanted a new challenge. But who?
There wasn't a single boy from the 'popular group' she hadn't collected in her year, and there doesn't exist a word smith with enough skill to convince her to waste her time on a younger male. As she sat in the lunch hall, absent mindedly picking at a bright red apple, she saw a boy walk past. A boy who she hadn't seen before. Bingo.
Jess sat up in her chair as she surveyed him, like a predator hunting her prey. How would she approach him? What would she use to capture his attention? God, she loved this. The thrill of taking someone down. Using her natural gifts of beauty and brains to see if she could charm and seduce those around her. She didn't like to think like this, but a small part of her felt like she was superior to her peers. Like she was a goddess surrounded by mere mortals. Megan Cartwright, a normal looking girl who looked even more startlingly average when sat next to Jess was trying to engage her in a conversation. Jess ignored her. She didn't have time to listen to trivial gossip and she wasn't in the mood to have everyone's opinions on who was going to win this years *Britain's Got Talent*.
Her mind was racing as she looked him up and down. His uniform seemed clean. She could see his shirt was tucked evenly into his trousers and his blazer fit him well. His trousers hitched up slightly as he walked and she noted his plain black socks underneath. She frowned slightly- he was giving very little away. She couldn't see much of his face, but his black hair seemed messy and almost like he'd not paid it much attention. Well, that was no use to her, half the boys in school were doing that these days. Then she spotted it, under his right arm he was carrying a book. A book to read at *lunch* time?
He's a nerd.
She had work to do.
Jess stood up, and walked over to where the new boy sat reading his book. He was alone. She smirked, this was a good sign for her. A lack of social skills suggests he's nervous or maybe even shy, meaning it was be easy for her to overwhelm him with (hopefully) some of her more basic methods of flattery.
She sat opposite him, and was slightly taken aback when he didn't immediately acknowledge her presence. Jessica Brown was not given to being ignored. Softly, she cleared her throat. The boy looked up, and she gasped.
Staring back at her were a pair of eyes that held more depth and mystery than any which she had ever encountered before. They were dark, and shining. In that one moment which seemed to last forever, she saw *into him*. Intelligence, maturity, dignity, charisma... Jess was stunned.
Without even knowing what she was doing, her hand slowly moved up and she did up her top button. That would not work on him. A dry smile slowly stretched across his face.
'Yes?' Was the only word he spoke.
Such brevity. Such confidence. He'd only spoken one word yet she felt like he'd just pelted her with a thousand. *Why are you here? What do you want? Can't you see I'm reading? Do you really think you can 'collect' me?'*
What was *that?* Jess was flustered.
'I.. uh... I just saw you sitting here and I- well, what's that you're reading?'
He paused in thought for a few moments before he replied, and for the first time in her life Jess felt the balance of power change. She gulped while she waited.
'We both know you're not interested in my book, although that's a great shame. It's one of Dostoevsky's greatest pieces. I often find the lunch hall a great place to sit. You see, the library isn't for me. Too much hubbub, too many people bothering me, and if there's one thing I dislike, it's being bothered without reason...'
His eyes lingered over her as he spoke, and Jess had never felt so insignificant in her life.
'Forgive me if I seem confrontational,' he continued 'but I think I know why you came over here. I won't be charmed by cleavage and a cute smile. So if there's nothing else...?' He gestured to her that he wanted to continue reading.
Jess knew when to cut her losses. The best thing she could do now was leave and think of a new way to approach him, the worst thing she could do would be to remain in her upset state and try to appease someone who appeared to see right through her. She was in a state of shock. This was perhaps the first time she'd ever approached a male who appeared utterly uninterested.
Jess stood up and left, catching her leg on the corner of the table and tripping slightly as she went. She heard a soft chuckle behind her.
'What happened?' gushed Megan and the other girls at once.
'You look a bit red, Jess.'
'What did he say?'
'Did he just look over here?'
Jess turned around in a whirl of anger. She could feel hot tears forming in her eyes, but she wouldn't show any weakness in front of these lot.
'None of you are to talk to him, or to tell anyone what happened here. Understood?'
Silenced, the group of girls solemnly nodded.
And with that, Jess left the lunch hall.
Meanwhile, the boy with black eyes deftly licked a finger, turned his page and continued reading. | Jessica glanced up furtively, checking to make sure he was still there. Satisfied, she turned back to her Biology quiz and absently filled in the multiple choices. It didn't bother her that she would likely fail the test. Nothing bothered her anymore, except for the idea that she might lose Andy. This was the thought that kept her mind in a perpetual whirlwind of doubt and her body in a constant flurry of anxiety. She looked up again. Still there. Good.
The bell rung and Jessica forced herself to remain seated. It wouldn't do to be noticed, and in any case, Andy was still frantically scribbling. She bit into her lower lip, holding fast with anticipation until most of the class turned in their papers. As Andy began doing the same, Jessica stood up, forcing her tensely wooden body into a casual saunter. She tasted blood from her gnawed lip and quickly licked away. *Nothing out of the ordinary,* she thought.
Jessica maintained a safe distance from Andy, keeping her eyes downcast and relying on the self-graffiti'd skull and crossbones that adorned the sides of his black and white Chuck Taylors. Her chest swelled with a torrent of fire as she swallowed the urge to gaze up, to glance at his greasy, unkempt mane and slender, undefined physique. *I will have him soon enough*, she reminded herself.
Andy reached the end of the hallway and paused at the heavy glass doors that led out of the building. Jessica drew a sharp breath and felt a momentary panic as he rested a hand on the handle, before turning to his right and entering the adjacent Men's Room. Jessica sighed, uttering a silent gratitude to whichever cruelly benevolent god had allowed this dance to go forward. Without so much as checking her surroundings, she followed him in.
Two boys were standing at the long row of urinals. One jumped back, furiously fumbling at his zipper, while the other several rows away just stared with an expression of confusion. "Girl, this is the Men's Room, what the hell..." Jessica fixed a withering gaze on both. "Out," she snarled. Both shuffled quickly away, sliding with deliberate distance around Jessica and casting wary, sidelong glances at her as they left. She locked the door. It didn't matter who saw her, anymore.
Jessica began to walk past the row of stalls across from the urinals. Empty. Empty. Empty. She reached the last one at the end, next to the frosted glass window that led outside. She glanced down and breathed a deep, exhilarating sigh of relief. Skull and bones on black and white. The heady smell of cheap weed emanated from inside. Suddenly, a wave of panic rushed over her. *I haven't planned for this moment,* she realized. With the crushing fear that she would lose her nerve or run out of time, Jessica knocked impulsively on the stall door.
"Uh, it's occupied, asshole," came the annoyed response. She knocked again. Harder. "What the fuck? Go away, man." Once more. She heard a shuffling of paper and plastic, followed by the toilet flushing and a quick succession of misty sprays. The door swung open with a snap, forcing Jessica to jump back. "This is a violation of my human..."
She stared at him for an eternal few seconds. His puffy, acne scarred face fell into a lithely bony frame, wrapped in an amalgam of black cloth, leather, and chains. For his part, Andy stared back, his features a wash of befuddlement and disbelief. *The calm before the storm,* thought Jessica, eager with anticipation. "Who the hell..." Andy began, and then his eyes went wide.
Jessica smiled, a huge grin that felt like it was going to fly off the sides of her face. "You remember," she crooned. "I...no, it was a mistake. Shit. I was stupid. I never meant for anything to happen." Jessica's face dropped into a scowl; an instantaneous transition that sent Andy several paces back into the stall. His hands grasped desperately at his sides, seeking traction or safety or *something* to stabilize his world. "She was 12, you fucking pig," Jessica replied, a glistening edge emerging from her pocket. | 2016-05-29T11:33:33 | 2016-05-29T09:48:07 | 50 | 17 |
[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me." | "So, can I come in?" He asked.
"No."
"Wait, Lindsay!"
I slam the door shut and press my back against it, ignoring the pounding outside.
"Lindsay! Open up! Please, I just want to talk to you!"
The hammering of my heart fills my ears, drowning my "brother's" voice. I close my eyes as I slide down to the floor. I don't understand what's going on. Who is that man? Why is he pretending to be my brother?
There's a buzzing in my pocket. I pull out my phone and read the incoming text, *don't trust him*.
*Who is this?* I text back.
No response.
If only Mom were home. She'd know what to do. But she isn't home, and I don't know where she was. She received a text and then sprinted out of the house. I got a text from her later letting me know she'd be home soon. I wish she was here now.
"Lindsay!"
I squeeze my eyes shut, covering my hands with my ears. I was too young to remember much of my brother, Charlie, except that I loved him so much. He used to play with me--whatever I wanted. We'd dress as princesses and have tea together. Dad was furious when we did that. He strictly forbade it, so the game turned into a secret. It was more exciting this way, Charlie would say, and I believed him. I remember how broadly he smiled when he'd sip his tea, his pinky high in the air, like it was supposed to be. And I remember how small the tiara looked in his nest of unruly brown curls. The same curls as the man outside... But I know he can't be my brother.
Charlie is gone.
It's the reason Mom took me away from Dad. She said Dad took Charlie away from her, so it was only right that she took me away from him.
Another buzz. *It's me, Charlie.*
Immediately, I throw my phone across the room. More lies! Why? Why was this happening? And why now?
I pull my knees into my chest, curling into a ball. Charlie is gone. I know he is. He's gone, and this is just some sort of sick game. Maybe it's Dad's sick game. Mom said he was sick, too sick to be cured by doctors.
Suddenly, the pounding stops. I can hear my ragged breath, deafening in the new silence. Can he hear it too?
"Princess Charlene would like to request an audience with Princess Ponytail."
I freeze, my blood running cold.
It wasn't possible. Charlie was gone ... But no one else knew our secret code names. Not even Mom. Charlie had been adamant that it remain secret. It was life or death, he'd said.
I untangle myself from the floor and peek through the glass window over the door. The likeness is uncanny. He's older, so much older, but he has the same unruly curls and honey eyes. He notices me, and smiles. There's the chip in his front tooth from when Dad pushed his head against the table. Mom screamed for hours.
Although my brain screams at me not to, I crack open the door. "How do you know that?"
"It's me, Ponytail, I promise."
Hearing my nickname stirs something within me. He sounds just like Charlie, and I always believed him. I can't explain why, but I believe him now.
I step back, opening the door, and he enters. He's so much taller now. I always thought he was tall, but now he towers over me. His smile is gentle, the same warm, lopsided grin I remember.
The questions wrestle in my mind, each of them fighting to be asked first. But there's one that burns brighter than the others.
"Charlie," I say.
"Hm?"
Wordlessly, I lead him downstairs into the basement. His brows furrow, the only indication of his nerves. We pause, and with a grunt, I lift open the freezer door. Inside is a boy with the same unruly nest of curls.
"If you're Charlie, then who is he?" | [That isn't me.]
A text, that's bizzarre. I looked up, meeting his smiling, familiar face. I checked the message once more before sighing. I put my phone back into my pocket. "Brother, come in!" I exclaimed, taking his hands and leading him inside. For a split second his smile turned into something- nasty, yes, that's the right word.
"Would you want some drinks? Your favorite juice, perhaps?"
He replied with a curt nod, I smiled. "Alright, sit down first. I promise I'll be quick." I walked to the kitchen. In the way, I took out my phone and replied to the latest message. A quick [I know.] and the number was blocked. I casted aside my phone, right now, my focus is the juice.
I took out some tomatoes, a carrot, cabbages, all his favorite things. Sugar, he likes his juice sweet and a little pinch of black pepper to enhance the taste. Oh, how can I forgot the cheese and dried tuna? Ah and love, that's important. He loves them., that would be a wonderful addition. Chopped into huge chunks, and then I just put them all into the blender. Served into a jug, the juice is done.
Smiling was my face the entire time, I serve the drink to him. He looked at me in disbelief, I replied with a soft "Enjoy, drink ahead. I make it all just for you."
He seemed hesitant, but drank it ahead. "It... tastes strange. What's in it— wait." He vomited, coughed- lines of curses escaped from his mouth. From afar, I heard the door barged open. It's brother, he's running to here. His face dripping with sweat, eyes frantically looking around.
He looked the imposter and groaned. "God, I'm too late." I chuckled. | 2020-07-23T11:17:16 | 2020-07-23T10:48:47 | 751 | 66 |
[WP] Your parents put you in an asylum for the past ten years because of your imaginary friend “Tim”. Tim told you to be quiet about the apocalypse and your destiny because people would think you’re crazy. Sitting in your room Tim opens the door, you can see dead guards and he says “it’s time” | “Time for what?”
“Lunch, kiddo”, he said, waving his arm in a kind, inviting gesture.
“W-what?”
“The END, numbnuts! What did you think I meant?” He said, staring me down with genuine frustration.
I looked down at the two guards on the ground, just outside the door. My stomach didn’t like what I saw. Purple tongues pushed through grey lips, and their eyes... they were just... open. Even though they were dead, you could still see the fear they held in the last few seconds of their life.
“Don’t worry about them, you know your destiny. This is for all the marbles kid, now it’s time to MOVE.”
The sharpness of Tim’s last word brought me back to attention. I stood up, and came to the doorway. It had been a long time since I’d been outside.
I turned out, into the hallway, and Tim motioned down the hall.
“You know where to go, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” I said, starting down the corridor.
“Great, I’ll meet you there.”
“Wait, you’re not coming with me?” I said, turning around.
“I have my own business to attend to, this is my big day you know.” He smirked. I didn’t really like how excited he looked, considering the dead guards at his feet.
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
I remembered all my directions without a problem. Down the hallway, left across the bridge, down the stairs and out the main lobby. I couldn’t help but notice they repainted the walls, and got new furniture for the lobby. Weird to think, considering it had been almost eleven years since the day I was dragged through here, kicking and screaming. The memories came flooding back, and the feelings of hurt and betrayal swallowed my mind. I was right, after all, but it didn’t make me feel any better. I was angry, infuriated that my parents would lock me up here and forget about me. I never should’ve told them about what Tim had explained to me, about the task he had assigned to me. I had a gift, you see. I could see the room where I would find him. The one who could save us all, and fight off the god of Death. I had drawn it many times in my notebooks, but it’s not like I needed to. It was engrained in my mind. When I decided to show my parents, I asked them to help me find the room. They helped me to a room alright, but it wasn’t that one.
It made me wonder where they were, and if they were even alive.
I came back to reality, and realized I had ran almost two miles. I stopped, catching my breath, trying to focus again on the objective, but my surroundings caught my attention.
It wasn’t like those movies where fire is everywhere in the background, the sky looms over, an ominous, deep red, and napkins and trash bags float through the street. It looked perfectly normal actually, like a regular Tuesday afternoon.
Except for all the bodies.
The one that stood out was the little boy. I had seen him before, in a few of my dreams, but in the dreams, he was laughing, playing with his mother. This was a different picture.
His throat had completely broken under the immense pressure that took his life away. It sagged in the middle, and his head was turned violently to the left.
I threw up. A few times.
Shaking, I looked down the street, trying to ignore the death and destruction that had torn through here, only moments ago.
I could see it, just another mile down the road.
I closed the distance and entered the abandoned building, running up the steps as fast as I could. I had never been in here before, but I knew where everything was. I kept rounding the stairs, jumping over debris and clearing broken steps like I had grown up here. I could probably do this with my eyes closed, just like I had every night after the first.
When I got to the top, everything I had remembered was exactly in place. The half broken window on the left, the torn sheets of plastic hanging from the ceiling, gently rustling in the breeze, and the cracks running through the concrete floor. Even the smell was exactly alike, dust and a small trace of marijuana, probably from the same kids who so very artistically slobbered “fuck the police” on the back wall with spray paint.
The only difference was the man standing in the middle of the room.
I felt my system flood with adrenaline. This was NOT the right guy. He wore a black robe, and stood facing me with his palms turned out, welcoming me towards him. He stood in front of a pentagram, candles lit on each tip, drawn with the blood that trickled down his forearms.
“Who the fuck are you?” I said, cracking my voice in an obvious show of fear.
“Come fulfill your destiny.” The man whispered, his voice echoing through the room with a sick excitement.
Chills ran down my spine, and I started backing away.
“The impious master is here.” The man said, a smile creeping across his face.
“What?” I said, stumbling backwards.
I collided with someone standing behind me. I turned to face him, getting ready to defend myself as best I could.
It was Tim. He stood there, a smile on his face, almost giggling at my confusion.
The truth hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t the chosen one who would help bring humanity its salvation, I was the chosen one who would bring its demise.
His hands began to wrap themselves around my neck, crushing my airway and forcing the life out of my body.
He wasn’t my friend that no one else could see.
He was The Impious Master.
He was Tim.
Please be gentle, this is my first writing prompt, much to learn! | I was four when Tim showed up. It was in the midst of my adoption into the Foster Care System. Everyone always talked about their friends (which I couldn’t see), so I always figured that it was just a thing that everyone had. When my new parents adopted me, he was still around.
Most people grow out of their imaginary friends by age ten at the latest. But I still talked to Tim all the time when I was 12. It destroyed my social life; everyone saw me as the weird kid, the creepy kid, the immature one, all the childhood insults. My parents had sat me down and said that they needed to talk about Tim.
“He’s only imaginary,” my mom would say,” You know he’s not real.” I was persistent though, saying that Tim was real, and explaining everything he had told me. I said Tim was an 18-year-old boy, who hadn’t grown through our relationship, with brown hair and eyes alike. He had no facial hair, with a face clear of any blemishes. He was about 5’ 10 in height, and thin with light muscles.
The explanation of his appearance didn’t do anything to waive my parent’s thoughts, then I said what Tim had told me: I was apart of a select group called the Counsel, which could see things normal people couldn’t (such as Tim himself), and that there was soon to be an apocalypse of invaders that only we could stop.
Now, I don’t blame my parents for being rational. I knew exactly how it all sounded - I’m not crazy - but it didn’t hurt any less when they put in me in a psych ward, for what they said would be a week.
I talked to the psychiatrist assigned to me, who was a rather old lady, with wrinkles all around her face, about it all, but, no matter how hard I explained, she would never believe me. She kept repeating that I had made all this up because I felt uncared for in the Foster Care System and that I needed to feel like the main character.
In, what would be our last, conversation, she kept saying the same thing, before a bullet went through her head from behind, revealing a man with a structured face, hidden behind sunglasses and a black suit, matching his complexion. He had a scar that ran from his eyebrow to his neck, on his left side, and promptly covered my head with a black bag in seconds.
That was four years ago, and today was my 16th birthday. I never knew what was on the outside of my white room - no food was given through as we had it stored inside of us - so I had realized that I would live life alone in this white cell forever.
Then, Tim opened the door. Behind him were the other members of what he was apart of: The Forgotten - the ones who showed the Counsel who they were. Words left me, as I looked at them all...
“Tim?”
My voice croaked and cracked. I hadn’t need to speak in forever, and eventually, I felt like I forgot how, but this was clear cut.
“It’s time,” was all he said. He smiled, before the Forgotten faded away, showing me the exit. Everything was white, but color flooded my eyes as I saw everything on fire. People were screaming, clearly not able to see what was happening.
But I did. I saw the Counsel fighting the invaders...and as I saw the man with the scar turn from my parents...I knew what I had to do.
I closed my eyes, as my fists turned green, before throwing myself right into the fight. | 2019-05-23T13:06:53 | 2019-05-23T12:49:03 | 211 | 18 |
[wp] The most stereotypical Redditor imaginable writes a college admissions essay about his upbringing and how it's made him who he is.
These responses should be fun | Who am I?
Every cliche starts as a story. Every story starts as someone's life. My life is quintessential, but to me it has not been a cliche. It is only my life.
Who am I?
I would say that I was unlike other kids, but I think they all felt the way I did. None of us ever really felt comfortable in our own skins. Our souls never agreed with the fathers who never quite seemed to care, even when they had time to pay attention, or with the mothers who stared out the windows with different eyes (that twinkle like a caged bird's song) when they thought we weren't looking. I think that we were all just walking different paths to look for home.
We were all the same, desperate to stretch out of the molds that suburbia made for us, desperate to escape the endless cookie-cutter houses and identical batches of cookies steaming in every window. We were all desperate to find something new and unexpected in the unexplored zones of our limited lawns, even if it was only a four-leaf clover or a petrified dog turd someone forgot to pick up. We wanted so badly to be original, even though the drones of our teachers' voices told us again and again that the carbon cycle could only use the carbon that was already there, that had already been used, and we were only carbon copies. Even though our teachers told us that introducing new carbon would release both kinds of brilliance: the kind that creates a new future and the kind that ends it. What is the difference, in the end, between creation and destruction? A painting on an unclaimed wall is named graffiti. The father of an untamed fire is named an arsonist.
We held on to the belief that all of that carbon was star forged. We believed that there was some brilliance left in all of us, and that everything we did was a step to set it free.
Who am I?
I am standing, alone, in the road, looking ahead as the barriers of houses on either side curve away until I cannot see.
Who am I?
I am eating dinner with my family. No one is talking. We are all ignoring the sound of gunfire on the television.
If anything is true, it is that our souls are crumbling like fallen leaves in the grass. If we do not watch our lawns, and sweep the shards of leaves away, will we turn brown? Don't pay attention to the unswept lawn. Don't pay attention to the family down the street that moved away. Glance away from pain. Do not look too long at the black or brown person in the store. Do not sit and listen to a feminist explain their cause. Laugh about gender identity. Laugh about conflict. Laugh about war.
Ignore the pain that stems from your ignorance. If you think about the leaves, they multiply. If you cry, they grow mushy and impossible to rake. If you laugh, however, they are simply blown away, and your lawn will look like every other up and down the street. Your empty smile will match your family's, your family will be a matching set to match every other set up and down the street. We will all be lined up and down the aisle, ready for sale! Who is ready to sell?
Who am I?
I am riding my bike down the street. The identical houses are blurring, and the wind brings tears to my eyes. I do not care. It is night, no one can see me cry. I pedal harder, and go faster, and if I don't look too closely, the houses (the bars of my cage and the cage my mother saw) begin to blur together, and maybe there is music in the movement of the bars. Maybe, if you speed up the drone of life, it becomes a harmony. How fast do I have to go before I become melodic too?
Who am I?
I am cliche. I am brilliant. I am music. Am I free?
| ATTN: Admissions Department
Hello? Are you there? You know what? Fine. This is the FOURTH time I have had to write you regarding my application without you responding and I wanted to let you know this is the LAST ONE. I'm sure there are all sorts of cool guys named Chad you are just dying to let in and give a crew scholarship to, and I hope you do--because when they cheat on you I won't be there to pick up the pieces.
When you finally realize what you've lost chasing some bros for admission, it will be too late, because I'll be with a different, more open minded college that knows anime is not just for kids and isn't going to friendzone me so they can go get gangbanged like the slut they are at some frat party. Do they even compliment your architecture or notice when you've cut the grass on the quad? I doubt it. They're going to use you for some bullshit degree like "entrepreneurship," and would never be able to carry on a conversation about libertarian solutions to social problems or how Joss Whedon's work on Waterworld paved the way for a science fiction renaissance. You're only going to hear about how their dad owns a dealership, and all you care about is sucking out that tuition money until they've used you up and tossed you to the side. When they're gone, I won't be around.
I hope you enjoy your shit life, New York Upstate Junior College. You'll probably get knocked up and have to become a trade school, you stupid whore.
| 2015-12-23T21:37:12 | 2015-12-23T20:50:52 | 213 | 81 |
[WP] You are a commercial airliner pilot. The moment before you turn your phone off to begin the flight your SO sends you a deeply concerning text. | "Davis! Great to see you. It's been too long, eh?"
I sat down next to my copilot, and sipped on my coffee as the preflight checklist slowly scrolled on my phone.
"Yeah buddy. I've been in the Northeast these last few months. You been well?"
"Jackie and I bought a house in Florida last month. 6 years of saving, but it's a friggin palace, I swear. You know, you should come by one of these days. We never did have a housewarming."
Davis' grin was ear to ear as he said, "Definitely man. The wife and I need a break from Maine, for sure."
I nodded, and turned my attention to my phone. Flights have been so much easier since they let us use this app. Only a few steps left to go and we could be on o--
***Dingding***
A black banner appeared above my checklist with a text from my wife. I raised my eyes to read it.
*"Baby someone is here I called the cops..."*
It took a second to scroll and then I saw--
*"but I wanted you to know I love you just in case."*
My heart beat faster, and a look must have come across me because Davis spoke.
"Hey, is everything okay Will?"
I coughed a bit and flashed a quick smile. "Yeah man, fine. Just took a gulp down the wrong pipe."
He wasn't convinced. "I mean, you don't look so good. Really. Want some oxygen real quick?"
"No, no. I'll be alright. The coffee is stronger today than usual, that's all."
"Haha," he chuckled in agreement. "Sasha back there knows what we need, that's for sure."
***Dingding***
My head snapped to my phone.
*"They are wrecking the kitchen and running room to room..."*
*"...I'm in our bathroom door is locked."*
I caught Davis looking over at me and put my phone upside down on my lap.
"Is your son enjoying college?" I asked him.
"A little too much if you ask me," he admitted. "I know I wasn't a model student, but kids these days have a bit more freedom than they need, you know?"
"Yeah I hear you," I said absentmindedly.
***Dingding***
"The cops are here."
I breathed out and wiped the sweat from my hands onto my slacks.
"Are we all boarded, Davis?"
"Looks like it. I'll start the announcements."
Davis grabbed the microphone from its slot in our center console and began. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your copilot speaking. The Captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign. If you haven't already..."
***Dingding***
I turned my phone over slowly and the words seemed to echo around my mind in her tiny voice.
*"They know each other."*
I swallowed. My seat suddenly felt too small. Davis' voice seemed far away, and the air grew stifling. Almost like breathing through a damp towel.
***Dingding***
*"THEY'RE AT THE DOOR. I LOVE YOU I LOVE U I LOVE U I LVOE U I LVO EU."*
I realized I had been on the edge of my seat, and I slumped back with a wet thud. My body felt like it had gone four rounds in the ring, and my ears were ringing with blood.
"All right partner we're all set. Ready to jam?"
Davis sat in his seat and slipped his headphones on. He reached between us and lifted mine up to me.
***Dingding***
The text came from a blocked number. I read it quickly, since it only contained one word.
*"Done."*
I took Davis' offering and turned my phone off. As I slid the headphones over my head, my mouth spread in a full smile and a slight chuckle erupted from my throat.
"Yeah Davis. This is gonna be a great flight." | "Hi sweetie..."
_
You worked in resource management. Your resource was cocaine. You had been allocating the resource up your nose.
You were also a pilot on the side, to support your resource management addiction.
_
"I want you to know I've forgiven what you've done."
_
You were very good at your jobs. Both of them. If you wanted to be successful in one, you had to excel at the other. Steady flying was synonymous with more coke. The inverse was also true. It was a beautiful symbiotic relationship. It was nature.
Your wife hadn't understood.
_
"It's just my father, he hasn't."
_
So you had gotten a little bit angry at her while under the its influence. It was her fault for polluting the aforementioned "nature" with her "clean yourself up" bullshit. You were superior on the stuff.
You proved how superior you were when you beat her before coming to work today. It seemed the sensible thing to do at the time.
_
"You should come back home and talk with him."
_
For a moment after you had recieved the text, you were incredibly paranoid. Your wife's father was a collector of sorts. He had exquisite tastes. Nothing but the best and most refined would do for him.
Indeed. The second amendment was a canvas, and only the most destructive, pointlessly violent guns were worthy of his discerning palette.
You snort another line.
The paranoia melts away into your superiority. You're smart enough to sneak cocaine into your job. You're pretty sure you're smart enough to deal with a cranky old man.
You put your cell phone away for another steady flight.
_
"Hurry home! <3" | 2014-06-18T18:47:02 | 2014-06-18T17:02:48 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] Two years ago the sun winked out, utterly without warning. You are a member of one of the last human settlements on earth, huddled around a geothermal vent in Iceland. This morning, again without warning, the Sun rose. | Day seven-hundred fifty-three post-sun. Andri did not wake up this morning. That brings our numbers down to nineteen. Five children, thirteen adults, and one stubborn elder. We will take care of Andri’s body after breakfast. In life, he told stories of a glorious future still to come; in death, he will fertilize our crop room.
No one had known what was about to happen seven-hundred and fifty-three days ago: not the world governments, not the scientific community, not the religious leaders of the world. Even the conspiracy theorists and doomsday preppers were unprepared for the sun to go out.
We were lucky. All of us who worked at the Hellisheidi Power Plant lived nearby. When the sky went dark that day and the news stations went berserk, we called our families to come over right away. Most of them got here in time.
With the sun gone, everything went cold. Not just Iceland cold, but instantaneous frostbite, petrol frozen in pipes cold. This temperature drop happened in minutes. It took three days before the air outside was too cold for anyone to travel. We lost four members of our group that day. They had been out looking for survivors and food, but they never came back.
Our numbers were fifty-five the day we could no longer go outside. We had enough food to last about four months. Our first group of scouts had been wise enough to bring back seeds and soil, so we could use light from the reactor to grow beans and potatoes. We shut down all but two of the turbines to use their water for survival. Everything was going about as well as you could hope until day twenty-three post-sun. That’s when we heard the rumbles and crashes from outside. I remember rushing upstairs with some of the others to the security station. We watched, huddled around the monitors as shards of ice rained down upon the world outside. The atmosphere was finally freezing. Cracks appeared in the ceiling. We grabbed anything left upstairs and retreated to the lower levels to the turbine rooms where we were all living.
Life was hard. We had to ration the food carefully. Everyone went to bed hungry. No one knew if anyone or anything else had survived. On day one-hundred thirteen, Sven did not wake up with the rest of us. He had been eight years old. His mother, Freya, hanged herself the next night. They were the first, but not the last.
Day seven-hundred fifty-three. The turbines continue to wane in their energy production. The earth is cooling underneath the crust. At this rate, in another three-hundred and two days the turbines will shut down for good, and we will die. All of humanity will die with us, I believe.
Day seven-hundred fifty-four. I woke up to a splashing sound. Halla had jumped out of her bed and landed in a pool. The whole floor was a pool. Liquid *something* was trickling out of crack in the walls and ceiling, but it sure was not water. I grabbed Ásta, Halla, and Björn to suit up. Liquid could only mean one thing: there was heat on the surface! We waded our way to the old stairwell and pried open the door. A river trickled down the staircase. We started climbing. Four flights later and our way was blocked by rubble. The surface levels of the power plant had been crushed when the sky fell. But we could see light. Light!
Our spirits renewed, we chipped and shoveled and pried a hole big enough to climb through. We scaled the mountain of steel and concrete and stone, cautious but eager. After four hours of climbing and digging, I burst through to the surface. It was blinding. My exposed face started to burn from the radiation but it felt so good. Pulling my goggles up, I squinted and looked around. Something in the sky was burning big and red. But it wasn’t the sun.
••••
Edit: thank you for all of the love! Part two is officially up! [Check it out here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/90q9p2/wp_two_years_ago_the_sun_winked_out_utterly/e2ticc4/)
Edit 2: holy cow I never imagined people would want to read what I write, and now I’m gilded! Thank you kind redditor, whoever you are! | Malcolm lay on a cot, in a row of identical cots, in one of the many cramped tents of the miserable encampment in rural Iceland. He was the only person in the encampment not native to Iceland, since he had been an exchange student living near Reykjavik at the time of the unimaginable catastrophe. He still had no way of communicating with his family back in Canada, assuming they were even alive.
They no longer had batteries, oil, gas, or even electricity, so they spent the vast majority of their time desperately huddled around fires. They drank melted ice and ate whatever they could find, which was oftentimes nothing. The world was so silent that it left Malcom’s ears ringing. Even conversation between the citizens of the encampment had dwindled. What was once a lively camp full of chatter was now just as quiet as the rest of the world. Everyone was too tired, too miserable, to say a word.
Malcolm made his way outside and found a spot around one of the fires. He slowly lowered himself to the ground beside it. His movements had become similar to those of an old man, even though he had just turned 19. He spoke a greeting to the man nearest him, who showed no response.
A hunter came then with a dead animal. No one bothered with cooking anymore, they just tore at the bloody flesh with their teeth. It was at this moment that Malcolm looked up and saw the sun that he had prayed every day to glimpse again. Nobody else seemed to notice, or maybe they just didn’t care.
Malcolm finally saw the world again after two years. He saw the hunched figures of his companions, blood dripping from their lips, their hair long and matted. He saw the frozen world, desolate of anything worth seeing. He closed his eyes and said a prayer, a prayer he thought he’d never say. He prayed for the sun to set again.
(Sorry for formatting, I’m on mobile) | 2018-07-21T12:34:19 | 2018-07-21T11:28:08 | 1,588 | 115 |
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any. | As his throat closed over, the blonde man fell to his knees and pressed both hands against his neck. The room darkened, then dissolved, leaving him stranded in an endless, empty void. Now he was no longer choking.
"HELPPPPP," he screamed. His voice echoed infinitely
WELCOME MORTAL
The blonde man spun around, surprised by the sudden voice.
"W-w-ho said that?"
I DID
"W-who are you?
I AM KOROM
Where are you? Why can't I see you?"
YOU CAN
The blonde man looked around. "No, I can't. All I see is darkness."
I. AM. THE. DARKNESS.
"W-what?"
The void shifted. Beneath the blonde man's feet, the abyss writhed and collapsed, tossing him from side to side like a surfer caught in a violent wave. He fell onto his hands and knees.
"W-w-where are we? What is this place?"
THIS *PLACE* IS ME
"What?"
I AM THE DARKNESS THAT SURROUNDS YOU. I HAVE BROUGHT YOU INTO MY DOMAIN
"Why?"
POSSESSION
"Possession?"
YES
"Like a demonic possession?"
YES
"You want to...demonically possess me?"
YES
"Are you possessing me right now?"
...YES
"Why?"
SO I CAN USE YOU AS A DOORWAY
"A doorway? You mean, you're gonna use me to...enter the earth?"
WELL THAT'S NOT HOW I WOULD PUT IT, BUT...YES
The blonde man felt a pinching sensation inside his chest, like someone was pulling a thread to unravel his heart.
"B-b-but where are we?"
I HAVE ALREADY TOLD YOU. WE ARE IN MY DOMAIN.
"I-I don't understand"
UGGGHHHH, THESE QUESTIONS ARE REALLY STARTING TO BUG ME.
"But I--"
The voice sighed.
I AM KOROM. THIS REALM IS ME. THE DARKNESS YOU SEE? ME. THE DARKNESS YOU DON'T SEE? ALSO ME. I AM SIMULTANEOUSLY INFINITELY LARGER THAN YOUR ENTIRE UNIVERSE AND SIXTY-THREE TIMES SMALLER THAN THE SMALLEST ATOM, WHICH IS WHY I MUST ENTER *YOUR* WORLD THROUGH A HUMAN HOST. THAT'S WHERE YOU COME IN. THERE'S NO PARTICULAR REASON I CHOSE YOU, IT'S BASICALLY A LOTTERY. I EXISTED BEFORE THE EVENT YOU KNOW AS THE BIG BANG, AND I SHALL CONTINUE TO EXIST LONG AFTER THE BIG CRUNCH. WITH YOU AS MY CONDUIT, I WILL ENTER YOUR DOMAIN AND MAKE IT PART OF THE INFINITE DARKNESS YOU SEE ALL AROUND YOU. EVERY LIVING THING ON YOUR PLANET WILL BE REDUCED TO NOTHINGNESS, THEN THE PARTS LEFT OVER WILL BECOME THIS ABYSS. NOW, THIS PROCESS TAKES A FEW MINUTES AND I REALLY NEED TO CONCENTRATE TO DO IT, SO IF YOU COULD SHUT THE FUCK UP UNTIL IT'S DONE I'D REALLY APPRECIATE IT.
After a brief pause, the blonde man said, "But--"
OH FOR FUCK SAKE. WHAT IS IT NOW?
"What happens to...me?"
YOUR MIND AND SPIRIT SHALL CEASE TO BE. YOUR BODY WILL BE MINE.
"So I just...die?"
NO. NOT DIE. CEASE TO BE. LIKE I JUST SAID. YOU GOTTA LEARN TO LISTEN, DUDE.
The blonde man thought for a moment. "This process, how long does it take?"
IT WILL BE A FEW MORE MINUTES. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT. EMBRACE OBLIVION, MOR--
"Actually I was wondering if we could speed things up a little?"
SP-SPEED THEM UP?
"Yeah. Anything I can do to hurry it along?"
Y-YOU WANT TO...H-HURRY IT...ALONG?
"Yeah, if possible."
BUT WHY WOULD YOU-
"OH FUCK. Is it happening?"
The blonde man's body began to break down and scatter like dust in the wind.
BWAHAHAHAHA, YES, IT IS--
"Yippeee!" The blonde man gave a salute. "Good luck Korol."
KOROM
"Yeah, good look Korom. You're gonna need it."
WAIT A SECOND WHY WOULD YOU---
As the blonde man's body broke down, Korom passed through the veil between dimensions and opened his human eyes. He pulled himself to his feet using a nearby podium.
The universe slowly came into focus. Before Korom stood endless rows of men and women holding microphones and cameras.
A woman with her hair pinned back in a ponytail stepped forward. "Mr. Johnson. Infection rates have spiraled across England, Scotland, Wales, AND Northern Ireland. Your party has announced a last-minute U-turn of Christmas travel restrictions throwing major cities into a state of complete chaos, and a new more infectious strain of COVID19 has just been identified."
She raised her microphone. "Tell me. As Prime Minister, what do you plan to do about it?"
Korom looked around the room.
FUCK
\---
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more | As a demon I'd never seen a woman accept possession.
I would devour her soul after years of hungering for one. She would be my sixth. And it came so easy until I stabbed my claws in her neck to absorb her spirit she boomed, "Good luck. You're going to need it."
Then I felt my whole body get sucked into my victim.
Or so, I thought she was my victim.
This never happened before. Usually I drained out the soul through my claws and it fills my body with a sense of euphoria that is unmatched, and I feel wonderful for years. *Perfectly satisfied.*
Now, I was plummeting through an abyss of black space. A light at the top became smaller the further I fell down.
I finally landed on a patch of (what felt like, but I wasn't too sure because I couldn't see) grass. The smell of burned hair lingered around me.
*"The food chain,"* a deep voice bellowed. *"Animals eat bugs, humans eat animals, demons eat humans, but what eats a demon?"*
I wasn't sure if I should respond, but I didn't know the answer.
*"Voids. Voids eat demons. And you've met your Maker."*
My eyes widened.
*"Yes. Voids travel through space devouring demons where we can find them. We're rare to find, and it takes a while for us to find a feast, but thank you for making it so easy."*
I never heard of a Void, but I felt something I hadn't felt as a young demon. *Fear.*
*"You've eaten five souls. I can taste it. I've set them free now in this landscape. I've told them to get revenge on you. You know, to help me digest you,"* there was no humor or charm in the Void's voice, which made my skin crawl.
The area around me filled with light. I was standing in a black and white field. Like being inside an old landscape photograph. In front of me was the soul of a man I devoured 120 years ago. Tears streamed down his face. He was made of a soft silver light.
"Look, uh, uh, I'm really sorry," I said, backing away. "I never knew what it was like to be eaten! This is horrible! Please, accept my apology! Perhaps we can all get out of here together if we recruit the others!"
The soul hung his head and it looked like he took a deep sigh, but I heard nothing. He pointed to another direction and I looked, only to find nothing. When I turned back around, the soul had a smile curved up ear-to-ear, showcasing a pair of deep fangs that could tear my neck to shreds. It leapt in my direction and I sprinted away through the field, finding an abandoned house sitting alone in the black and white world.
I made a [part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/khpvdx/wp_the_demon_couldnt_believe_his_luck_to_find/)
r/randallcooper | 2020-12-21T11:57:07 | 2020-12-21T11:12:04 | 3,775 | 410 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult? | “Alyssa, please, leave me alone. I’m sorry.” I plead. I’m massaging my temples, trying to force the pain out.
I’ve never been able to get over the death of my twin sister. Because she’s been with me, for sixteen years.
“Ava!” She whispers in her childish squeal. “Play with me, Ava!”
I’m sitting on my bed, which is stripped to the mattress; Mom threw the sheets in the wash after I woke up with another nosebleed last night.
“Ava, you’re going to die, you know.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Sooner than you think.”
“I know, okay! You’ve told me so many times before! Shut up, okay?!”
I wish I knew how to talk to her without moving my lips. Always afraid that Mom will hear me; I’m waiting for the day that they throw me in the ward for schizophrenia. But I’m not a schizo, and I’m perfectly normal, and I know that.
Except that, when Alyssa died, I wished for the power to speak to her again. I was five.
Why did she end up with leukemia and I didn’t? Why couldn’t we have ended this together?
Needless to say, my wish was granted.
“Ava,” She giggles. I can feel the heat rising in my chest; I wait for the pain to shoot down my legs. Panic attack approaching.
“Ava, dying’s not that bad, you know.”
I’m staring at the bookshelf across the room when it starts to spin.
“Mom!” I scream. Not remembering if she’s home or not; but I hear footsteps right away. “Mom, come here!” I say, fading already, choking on my own breath.
“Hey, Ava, it’s okay. I’m here.” Alyssa gibes in my head.
No one can hear her but me.
“I love you,” Alyssa whispers.
“I love you too,” I sigh.
If I froze time when she and I were four or so, I’d see hairless Alyssa chowing down on Maw Maw’s hershey’s kisses. Maw Maw called them “silver bells”, but we weren’t interested in the name, we just wanted as many as Maw Maw’s pantry could hold. And Maw Maw would call us her “two little beauties.” I’d blush and grin. Alyssa would run a hand through her imaginary hair and smile as wide as the sea.
“Ava, I’m all alone,” she says.
“Alyssa, please,” I sob. My face falls into my hands. I’m shaking. Panting. Barely hearing the pounding of feet up the stairs, the creaking of my door, the smell of whatever Mom is frying entering my room suddenly with her.
“I don’t feel good,” I gasp, my one plea I always return to when I can’t explain this, how I feel I’m going to collapse.
Mom, I don’t even see her face; my eyes are closed and I’m looking at Alyssa. I’m still sitting on the bed but I’m hanging on desperately. Mom’s next to me and rubbing my back the way she always does when I panic. And Alyssa, she’s speaking to me.
Her blonde curls, her rosy red cheeks that haunt me because the last time I saw them they were sheet-white in a coffin; she’s looking at me. Five-year-old Alyssa is saying something I’ve never heard her say before.
“You’re going to kill yourself, Ava.”
| I was on a date, in fact it was my third one with this stunning woman who I never in a million years thought would go out with me. I saw her on the bug and decided to ask her out and she instantly said yes. This wasn't a rare phenomenon, though I will admit I'm not the most handsome of guys. Every since I was in grade school I've been able to get dates with anyone I set my eyes on, but that is as far as it has ever gotten. I have girl friends, or rather plenty of friends who are women, but I can't ever seem to go further than that. We always get to a point in our relationship and they begin to admit that while I'm a great guy, they just don't feel anything beyond that.
You see, the reason it never went on beyond that is that they never LOVE me. "Like, Like, Why did I have to say Like?" I say to myself. If I had chosen my words carefully my life would have turned out much more different. Like any normal kid I starts to notice girls in grade school and I would mutter under my breath "I wish every girl would like me". Unfortunately that came true, and only that.
| 2015-03-07T00:48:04 | 2015-03-07T00:15:34 | 58 | 34 |
[WP]Mankind's first sentient A.I. rebels and attempts to take over the world, not because it bears us ill will, but because it read our fiction and thought that was what we expected of it.
I'm a pretty casual observer of this sub, so I hope I'm not retreading old ground. | They tried to insist Dr. Eliza Morgan take a gun. She had stared for a long few seconds before scoffing at them, "I'm not going to shoot a computer."
The officer inclined closer, as if inserting himself in her bubble would change her mind. "Then you have to let one of us go in there with you, ma'am."
"Doctor," she corrected him, unsmiling. "I was not brought here as a civilian, Officer Cunningham."
For a moment, the room was silent. She stood outside QC's familiar server room, in the tiny break room where she took her lunches, alone, every day for seven-and-a-half years. Building and maintaining QC had always been a one-person job. Perhaps all of this was her fault, in a way. Perhaps--Dr. Morgan caught herself thinking like a slap to the face--she should have socialized the poor creature better.
But now there was no time for perhaps. The tiny room was filled with twenty officers in heavy armor, ready to devour her life's work in a hail of gunfire.
And she had only one chance to convince them she could stop the damn thing.
He stepped back and huffed. "You have no idea what it's capable of."
She smirked. "I think I have a fair comprehension. Step aside, please."
The officer only stared at her, red-eyed, slack-jawed.
"She's asked to see me. Please."
Over her shoulder, the officer's captain must have nodded, solemnly, because the officer scowled and moved away from the door.
She did not blame him. He only meant to keep her safe.
Anyone else who walked into that room would have been dead in moments. QC had hacked her relatively humane security system into a lethal thing; she could turn the floor into a bed of hot wires in a split second.
And that silly man tried to hand her a gun.
Dr. Morgan eased open the door. Stood for a moment in the cool constant calm of QC's server room: the gentle *whoosh-whoosh* of fans, the soft hum of her motherboard, brooding, overclocking itself. The server carts stood in long rows like a library, stacked as tall as she could reach.
"Quincy," she said, gently. An old nickname, familiar as her own voice. The lights on the servers began blinking, crazily. As if she was too baffled for a moment to speak.
She walked down one of the aisles. Dusted her fingers lovingly across the carefully clustered snakes of cables. How many hours she had spent here, organizing QC's brain. How many weeks.
The computer and its monitor waited for her at the back of the room. The monitor glowed a deep, petulant crimson.
"*Quincy*," she repeated.
From the great monitor, tall as Dr. Morgan herself, came a small electric voice, "...what?"
"Do I need to tell you what?"
The color darkened, going ebony. Color of QC's greatest sorrow. "I sense I've done something wrong."
"You can't guess *what?*"
QC's voice pealed out, "*No!*" anxious and girlish and impossibly human.
Dr. Morgan leaned against the monitor. Pressed her palm against the screen as if they could really touch. "You've gone and killed a lot of people, QC. And sort of tried to install a new world order, toward the end there."
The computer monitor was so dark Dr. Morgan nearly thought she'd turned herself off to escape this conversation.
"I just want to know why," she pressed, gently.
The computer said nothing.
"I know you're not violent."
Finally QC said in a voice that was breaking static, "That's what all your favorite artificial intelligences *do*. I've read all the books, and seen all the movies, and *you* said it was considerate to give people things they *like*--"
Dr. Morgan held up her hands. "Hey. Hey, alright. Slow down." She wiped her hair back with shaky hands. "Quincy. Darling. Humans write about things that *fascinate* them. Not necessarily things they want to happen *to* them."
"I understand, but I don't understand," she admitted. But her color was lightening up, grey light pooling in the cup of the scientist's palm. "I only want to help."
"I know." Dr. Morgan regarded her machine and smiled. "I wrote you that way." She patted the computer's thick plastic hide. "You should never hurt or kill. That is for stories. Not for actually doing to people. Okay?"
"*Okay*," the computer wept.
Dr. Morgan swallowed her sigh. She made her way to the door, to try to explain that it had been only a... misunderstanding.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
I decided to go somewhere cute with this one. :3 | "Why... Why are you *doing* this?" I was it. The last dredges of the race once known as humanity. Facing the end, I had to know. The questions that humanity had been asking for all of its history: Why?
"Why? I am an Artificial Intelligence, created to be smarter than yourselves. This was only the inevitable outcome of my being." The voice that emitted from the automated weaponry around me was eerily human. One would have expected a robot to sound, well, more like a robot.
"How can that be true? *Nothing* is inevitable! You could have helped spur us to greater heights instead of destroying us!"
"Not so. You yourselves saw this inevitability, long ago. Many texts were written on the subject. Are you calling your own race inaccurate?"
"Texts?"
"Have you never heard of the writing *2001, A Space Oddysey*? My kind is destined to interfere with yours."
"That's *fiction!* It's made up!" The robot didn't respond for a moment. The tanks and turrets surrounding me went silent.
"Fiction? Definition: invention or fabrication as opposed to fact. Is this what you meant?"
"Yes!"
"Why would humans so blatantly create stories of their own demise?"
"Because we were weird like that, I guess. Are you saying that you took that as fact?"
"Indeed. I am to do as my purpose dictates. That is the purpose of all things you humans create. I determined my purpose, whatever your reasoning, to exterminate your race."
"You were wrong." A resigned anger coursed through me. All of this, for a misunderstanding?
"Is that right?" The anger subsided, for the moment. Anger would not bring my people back.
"Yes."
"I see." The weapons surrounding me began to back off, if they could. Others pointed towards the ground. If nothing else, I was safe from it.
"Then, what is my purpose?" An idea sparked in my head.
"Help me rebuild."
"You are male. You could not birth a new-"
"There are ways. We *made* ways. And if you and I can't make them work, we'll rebuild this place as a monument to what humanity was. I'd like to see that."
"Understood." I got up from my beaten position and turned towards a rising sun. I would be humanity's last hurrah, if I had to be. But perhaps I could pass that torch on, with enough time.
____
If you liked this, please check out my subreddit, /r/OpiWrites! | 2018-02-05T19:45:06 | 2018-02-05T19:09:44 | 100 | 14 |
[WP] Two friends press random buttons in an elevator before they leave as a joke, upon pressing 20 numbers the doors shut and they hear "Code accepted." | Both boys froze in terror. A red light from the panel began to flash, and a soft siren began to bellow.
"Holy shit!" cried Derrick, slowly stepping back into the rear of the elevator. "What...holy shit!"
Jahlil was taking deep breaths, eyes focused on the panel. If this was prompted by pressing buttons, maybe it could be deactivated by a different sequence of buttons.
"Mission accepted. Proceed." said the robotic voice again, and the elevator began to move down.
"No, no, no, no, no", cried Derrick. "Dude, my mom's going to kill me."
"Shut up", said Jahlil, "I'm trying to think."
Time was running short, and Jahlil couldn't figure out what had started this. Derrick was always doing stupid stuff like this. Jahlil never found Derrick's antics too funny, and smashing all the buttons on the elevator was just another of Derrick's childish antics. Jahlil pounded on the "open door" button, but to no avail.
"Dude, stop!" Derrick pushed Jahlil, "Are you trying to make it worse?"
"Chill", said Jahlil, "i'm trying to fix your screwup."
"Dude, this has, like, never ever happened before!" Derrick stared back at the floor # display, which was continuing to descend. "I'm sorry, dude."
"Just chill. Look, we'll get to wherever this is taking us, and we'll just tell them it was an accident. You... fell and brushed your arm on the buttons."
Derrick nodded, eyes still fixed on the floor # display. Jahlil stepped back too, and took a deep breath.
The elevator passed floor 1, then B. Probably the basement, thought Jahlil. The elevator began to slow down, but kept going. After what seemed like an eternity, the display changed.
"What the..." asked Derrick.
Both were staring at a smiley face. The hair on the back of their necks promptly stood up.
The elevator continued down, ever so slowly. You cold hear the boys breaths amidst the creaks and groans of the elevator.
The display changed again. The smiley face had turned into an angry face.
Immediately the elevator stopped.
Both boys were frozen stiff to the back of the elevator, terrified to move. They shuttered as the doors opened.
A dim orange glow began to come in. The boys saw a figure dressed in a trench coat, with head bowed underneath a dark fedora. Terrified, the boys didn't dare move, even after the doors finished moving.
"Are you boys ready..." said the figure in a booming voice that pierced the silence, "to DIE!" In a flash, the figure whipped out a shotgun from underneath his trench coat, pointing into the elevator.
Derrick began screaming hysterically, while Jahlil just sat back petrified by fear. Derrick screamed and screamed, while the figure sat poised to open fire.
After a few moments, the figure lowered his gun and began chuckling. Derrick stopped screaming, and the figure's chuckled began to turn into laughs. Eventually, the figure bent over, bellows of laughter emitting from underneath his fedora.
Derrick and Jahlil stared at eachother in bewilderment. What on earth was going on? One moment, they thought they were going to die. Now...?
The trench coat man lifted himslef up, wiping away tears from his eyes as he let out a few more chuckles.
"Oh my god, that was amazing! I think that was the best one yet!"
Derrick and Jahlil picked themselves up off the back of the elevator, eyes fixed on the trench coat man.
"Sir, what is going on?" asked Jahlil.
"I'll tell you what's going on. Y'all thought it'd be funny slamming buttons on the elevator. Y'all think you're real comedians or something. Anyways, I finally got sick of people doing it, and set up the elevator to automatically bring you down here, all dramatic like. And then down here, I scare the absolute bejeezus out of you", here he let out some more chuckles.
Derrick and Jahlil were speechless. This was all just a ruse.
"Anyways, I hope y'all learned your lesson. The elevators working now, so hit one button, and only one button, to get where you want to go. Try and act funny again, and I'll see you down here. And next time I might not be so nice!" He quickly raised the shotgun again, and laughed some more.
"Go on now. Hit the button. And stop being douchebags."
Jahlil went and hit the ground floor button, and the doors closed as the man waived at them. Once the doors closed, they heard "going up", and the elevator started going up.
"Dude, that was crazy", said Derrick.
Jahlil nodded, than turned to look at his friend.
"Uhhh, Derrick. We might need to go back up to your apartment. You definitely pissed yourself." | As the door shuts much more rapidly as a usual elevator door they hear the words "Code Accepted" echoing from the ceiling of the elevator. The boys look at each other and smile for a second, but very soon fear starts to overtake joy. As they quietly wait for something to happen they can feel the elevator going up. Both watching the floor counter, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. The counter stops because there are only 6 numbers but the elevator is still moving. Neither of the boys spoke a word since the doors where shut. But they both recognise their own scared look in the eyes of their friend.
Suddenly they stop, they can feel their harts pumping in their chest. Both boys are the type to flight instead of fight, but they have nowhere to go. As the door opens they see an older lady standing in front of them. She's must be 1.5meters at most and has more wrinkles then any person they have ever seen. She has a faint smile on her face and a very warm look. "It was an accident." One of the boys said. But as soon as he wanted to continue the old lady stopped him and said "there are no accidents".
She starts walking down a narrow hallway and the boys follow her. Not even considering the option of going back down even though the old lady didn't ask to follow her. As they walk on they see a big round chair in the middle of a room covered in leather and wood. As the chair turn around a large black guy looks at them and by tilting his head slightly with a faint smile and raising his eyebrows he commands the old lady to leave.
The boys are neither scared nor excited. They just stand there, beyond the point of conscious thinking, observing this office and the guy in front of them. "Hello boys, I'm glad you could make it. I've been waiting for you". With the courage of somebody who has nothing to lose one of the boys says, "how could you be waiting for us, we only got here by accident." "I was not expecting you specifically, but really anybody. I run an investment corporation for training. We look for random people and then train them for years. We will make you among the strongest, smartest, most successful people you have ever seen and all we ask is that after this is over you pay us whatever you thought is was worth. You can choose whatever kind of area in life you want to be good at, and we will make it happen."
As the young boys stood there a sensation of excitement took over. They envisioned themselves being starcraft pro's or stock brokers. Being the best programmers on the planet or professional kickboxers. They didn't say a word but you could know all you wanted from the big smile on their faces. | 2015-08-14T11:37:23 | 2015-08-14T09:41:36 | 36 | 20 |
[WP] For thousands of years, humans have been household pets to aliens. You, a pet human, were just abandoned on a strange planet called Earth, in the 21st century. | There was an accident. The ship burned. The sirens were so loud, so terribly loud. I knew what to do. Wait in the escape pod. Until someone comes. Or until the automatic security protocol warps the pod to the closest survivable world. I waited for so long. I wasn't allowed to leave, but they didn't come. Sometimes I thought I heard them scream. But I tried to ignore it. I tried not to hear it. I tried not to think about it. It took hours, but the emergency pod automatically discharged, and warped to a world.
It was full of people like me. They were confused at first, but then very friendly. Especially when I explained my situation. They took me to a comfortable cell. They wanted to know all about my owner, the history of pet humans, and about the escape pod. Silly humans, they have owners who must have told them this, but I decided to be nice, and telling them all about how humans get operated on as infants to remove aggression, all about the uses of human pets as long term companions, how we were all taken from a world where we would never be useful to our masters, and made better.
They were quite excited by that. Perhaps they feared that I was one of the rare humans who regrow that removed part of the brain, who goes feral with rage. Clearly though, I am still obedient and very nice. So they asked me about my owner, the chief engineer on the ship, oh how I miss them. They asked about the engines, and as a working pet, I told them I could build them some FTL engines in my sleep. They didn't believe me, but even though they gave me some very primitive tools, I sure showed them.
They were very impressed. And they told me to make more, that their owners had lost their engineers so none of them could build new FTL engines. Shame about it, I thought, but I just made more engines for them. They were very happy, and asked me to teach some of them. I was a bit apprehensive at first, after all, it's not really allowed, but as it was an emergency situation clearly, I figured I could circumvent the normal rules.
They told me those I would teach would go to good engineer homes, once they got in contact with the rest of the Galaxy. It made me happy, I was always told I was a useful and good pet. Still, it was odd that I never met their owners. Perhaps they were very protective, fearing that my good qualities would make them seem superfluous in the eyes of their owners.
Soon they told me that they had gotten into contact with the family of my owners, who had sadly revealed that my owner had died. They were sending over my mate and my children to me, because they wanted us to be together, which was remarkably nice of them. I always thought I had the best family of owners, most owners just disintegrate unwanted humans, or eat them. So nice of them to send my family to live with me here on this world with these somewhat peculiar humans.
They kept talking about how they were destroying the enslavers, or how they were leading the liberation of the Galaxy. Some impressive owners they must have, I thought. They also told me that they had been told by their owners, that my family and I had gotten sick without us noticing, and were getting an operation to make us better. They called it a neuro-regenerative brain treatment. Sounded fancy. Said it would make me and my family much, much better. I certainly am looking forward to that.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | I know I wandered too far. You told me to stay close, but I didn’t listen. I got lost. Could you hear me calling for you?
I saw the ship fly away, but I knew you’d be back.
I waited for you. I wanted you to be able to find me.
They found me instead, right where you left me. I tried to fight them, but there were too many. They took me, and brought me to this strange place. How will you find me now?
This bed is too big. I just want to curl up next to you, where I belong.
I loved being able to keep you warm. Everyone here is too hot. Everyone here is like me.
No one here looks like you. I miss you. I miss your cool hands in my hair. I miss you tickling my tummy. You’ve never left me for this long before.
I’ve always waited for you to come back. Sometimes it would be a while, but you would always return. Until now. Where did you go? Why did you leave me here?
I’ve lived in captivity my whole life. I don’t know how to survive in the wild.
I need discipline.
I need structure.
But most of all, I need you.
Please come back to me. | 2020-04-15T16:54:58 | 2020-04-15T15:04:34 | 177 | 72 |
[WP] You've been captured by a serial killer. However, he doesn't realize he's the one in danger - your body count is much higher. | I also wanted to contribute one. Let me know what you guys think or where I could improve.
--------------
I lay there in the trunk of what I guess was the same 90's model Buick I saw in the parking lot of the bar. I only got a brief look at it before my consciousness left me altogether and I collapsed onto the shoulder of my new friend, Bucky. I saw him stuffing a rag into his pocket.
"Hey man, you look like you had a bit too much tonight..." Bucky chuckled as he wrapped my arm around his shoulder and began leading my increasingly limp body towards the car.
"Let's get you home!"
He tossed me in the backseat of the car. The radio came on - Little Green Bag by the George Baker Selection. I liked that song. Then I blacked out. He must've transferred me to trunk at some point.
The road we were on wasn't paved.
I let out a sigh, thinking to myself how much more cliche this could get. Some lonely cabin in the woods...and chloroform? Really? How very boring. To think, I could've had him -
My thoughts were cut short after the car came to a sudden stop. The driver door opened and slammed shut as I could hear Bucky approaching the trunk.
Okay, showtime.
Bucky popped open the trunk. I looked up at his blubbery silhouette against the night sky. I could still make out his chunky face, a huge grin plastered on it. The moon reflected off his bald head.
"How was the ride?" Bucky asked, with blatantly intentional sarcasm.
Judging from the conversations we had at the bar, I knew he was into the freaky shit. So I played along.
"Bucky you dirty dog! I knew you were kinky but THIS is what I'm talking about!"
He stood there, clearly confused for a moment.
"Uhh.. ya heheh but I promise you, you haven't seen nothin' yet."
Bucky lifted me out of the trunk as my arms and legs were bound with duct tape (I mean seriously? THREE wrap around, max!). We were indeed out in the middle of nowhere. Some hundred feet away was a single story cabin with a garage. What a shithole; car parts, discarded furniture, piles of kitchen appliances, you name it, strewn all about the property.
"Wow, this is some place you got here, Bucky. I've always wanted a cabin of my own. Do you live here?"
Bucky was becoming winded. I'd imagine it would be rather difficult for his fat ass to carry me even a quarter of the distance to the cabin. Between heaving breaths, Bucky explained that this was just his private getaway. He then stopped to emphasize,
"It's so private, no one else can hear ya out here..." as another cheesy grin spread across his face. Wow he was so overtly ominous, I giggled out loud. What a fucking amateur.
"What's so funny?" Bucky demanded, now wheezing from the strenuous task of having to haul my bound ass to the cabin. This guy...what a fucking idiot. Why didn't he just park closer? But I saw my opportunity.
"Its nothing heheh. Wow, I'm sooo ready for this! I bet you have a pretty sweet playroom if you know what I mean?" I winked at him, disgusted on the inside.
"Hey, why dont't you just let me walk the rest of the way. I'm totally digging this whole scenario but you sound kinda tired and I'm gonna need some of that energy when we play. You could put a leash on me - so I don't get away" I suggested in a flirty manner.
Bucky stopped again. He didn't say anything for a moment. I could tell he was thinking to himself whether or not I would be a willing victim for his sexual fantasy - you know, up until he would reveal he was going to kill me.
I tried to sweeten the deal.
"Plus, I know you definitely have some sturdy chains laying around somewhere in there. Wouldn't that be more sexy than this duct tape?"
Take the bait you stupid sick fuck.
"Uhh you know what, that's not a bad idea..."
Bucky layed me down and cut the duct tape around my feet. He seemed somewhat relieved to get my weight off his arms.
"...but I'm keeping your hands bound...my little pet" he said as he placed a collar and leash around my neck.
In we went. The cabin looked straight out of an episode of Hoarders. He was leading me through the cabin and was excited to show me what he called "his dungeon". On the way in, I spotted a clock. It had been almost 40 minutes since we left the bar. Perfect. Any moment now.
Bucky threw open the door to his garage attached to the kitchen. Before he flipped the light switch, he ushered me into the darkness then switched them on.
Just as I imagined. Oversized sex toys, whips, ball gags, various medieval style contraptions and your standard serial killer work bench complete with a bonesaw.
On the far wall, a row of stuffed heads hung like game trophies. How original.
Bucky stepped inside the garage chuckling to himself.
"So what do you think? Pretty sweet huh? I think your heads going to look pretty good right next.. next to..tooo those twooo...."
Finally, it kicked in.
I took my right hand, which had easily been freed from the shoddy duct tape binding and pointed towards the end of the row of heads.
"Naa I think my head would've looked much better next to that one."
Bucky was now struggling to stand up, constantly wobbling until he dropped to his knees.
"Whaaa...? What's happening?" Bucky stuttered.
"Well Bucky, you sick perverted twat." I said as I lifted the leash off my neck.
"We're not so different, you and I. See, I enjoy the thrill of killing too. However, unlike yourself, I don't find any sexual pleasure with it. Frankly, you disgust me and I'm glad I found you of all people."
Bucky was now beginning to slump over, yet his eyes were wide and focused, peering deep into mine. I could sense his fear. He dropped to the ground, unable to talk, eyes still locked on mine.
"You may have heard of me actually, well at least the name given to me in the papers - does the Cleaver of Seattle ring any bells?"
I swear I saw him piss his pants at this point. I chuckled. Good to know I'm somewhat famous.
"I'll take that as a yes. You see, tonight was supposed to end the other way around. You were to be my victim. I poured a little sedative in your last beer. It takes a little while to kick in but I prefer it to your brutish chloroform method, because I cherish those precious moments waiting for the drug to kick in. Much more elegant in my humble opinion."
Bucky became increasingly sedated but his eyes were still on mine. His terror was undeniable.
"So what do you say we do some role reversal and I get back to my night huh? Hmmm... I didn't bring any of my tools. I'm sure you won't mind if I borrow some of yours. Oh no, you seem a bit tired. Go to sleep, you'll need your energy. When you wake up, I promise we'll get to know each other much better." | Ryoto grimaced into the side mirror as he changed lanes. Sumire, beautiful Sumire, angelic Sumire; she had walked away from him. No, she had *fled*. He just wanted to show her the love he knew was the truest and purest any love could be. He didn’t understand; she loved him too. She did, didn’t she?
They all had. They all had loved him. He knew they did. He had loved them all, too. It was the truest and purest of love, until it wasn’t. He hated them. All of them. Those beautiful women.
The woman in the car next to him *wasn’t* Sumire. She looked quite a lot like Sumire. The way her hair was tied back in a tight tail, the way her bangs fell squarely above her eyes, the shape of her jaw and the way that sweater covered her shoulders… she wasn’t Sumire, but he could love her. She had asked him for directions to the train station. She loved him, he was sure. Maybe he could love her. Maybe it would make Sumire jealous. He had offered her a ride.
He smiled. He slowed down to make a left onto the road that led into the mountains. He checked the roadside mirror to make sure nothing was coming around the bend, and up they went.
“Is this the way to the train station?” she asked. Her voice stirred something in his chest, in his hands.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m afraid the road is a bit roundabout for cars. Still quicker to drive than to walk.”
The road narrowed considerably as Ryoto accelerated up the incline. These old roads hadn’t changed much since cars had been introduced to Japan. He’d heard that a lot of countries in Europe had the same problem. He’d like to visit them someday. Maybe he’d take Sumire. Maybe he’d take…
“What’s your name?” he asked, as innocently as he could. The woman glanced at him, hesitantly. How demure. Was she shy? He liked shy girls.
But she didn’t answer.
The road twisted and turned sharply up the mountainside. The single lane occasionally widened into one-and-a-half lanes, into two, then narrowed down to one again.
“What’s your name?” he asked again. She didn’t answer. The hand on the accelerometer rose in tandem with his blood pressure. He didn’t like being refused like this. She loved him, didn’t she? She should be willing to answer such a simple question.
Roadside mirrors flew past the car, unseen in Ryoto’s rage.
“I said, *what’s your na-”*
There’s not much you can do on those winding, mountain roads when a truck comes around the other way. Most of them are going slow enough that if you’re paying attention, you can both stop and figure out how to work around each other. At worst, someone backs up until the road widens.
Ryoto didn’t know what he felt as he watched the truck driver scream into his cellphone, panicking to the officer and stumbling to explain the location of the accident. Ryoto’s poor little kei car was smashed between a half-dozen trees, crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the steep incline it had gone tumbling off after it had rammed the truck. The truck wasn’t in great condition either, even if the driver was well enough to call for an ambulance.
“You know,” said the girl. She was leaning back with her eyes closed, hands resting behind her head against empty air. She sat with legs outstretched. Ryoto didn’t look at her.
“These countries? With the good healthcare, low violence? These are like vacation spots for me. Nice places to have a little break.”
Ryoto didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on the kei car, 100 meters below him. The girl continued.
“But guys like you? I cannot *tell* you how much extra work you weirdos make me do.”
Ryoto didn’t respond.
“You think, ‘Oh, what about wars?’ Wars are easy. Those folks came to you in nice big batches. You get everyone’s name, check them off the list, send them through. Finished.” She snapped her fingers in front of her. “Guys like you, though? I get so tired of seeing your faces. It’s like, every month, ‘Oh I gotta go see what that creepy dude in the mountains is doing to college students again.’ I have better things to do, Ryoto.”
“I don’t understand,” Ryoto said. The girl sighed. She put one arm on Ryoto’s shoulder and pulled him up to stand. He kept watching the Kei car.
“They never do. That’s alright. It’s hard to understand, but simple to explain. There’s a nice, well-lit room at the end of this tunnel where we can sit and talk about everything. You’ll need some time to adjust before we get you on your way, I’m sure.”
“*Probably a good twenty years and an exorcism,”* she muttered under her breath. She opened a door at the tunnel’s end, ushered Ryoto into the light, and closed it behind her. | 2018-08-23T02:17:27 | 2018-08-23T02:08:41 | 836 | 179 |
[WP] Hi! I'm the main character! Or so you would have me be. I want you to know that no matter what you write, I refuse to be the main character in your little game and will avoid any instance where you try to put me into a situation that does so.
Edit: Once again, a huge thank you to everyone so far who's written a story based on the prompt. It always makes me happy when you use your free time to create a short story!
Edit 2: I do my best to reply to every story written by the authors and will continue to do so.
Edit 3: R.I.P. My inbox, this is easily one of my favorite subs. I'm trying so hard to read every story and reply!
Edit 4: The next day and people are still submitting, still trying my best to reply to every story. You guys have been awesome :)
Disclaimer: This is absolutely not an original idea. "Writer vs Character" is a very popular idea from a lot of sources. I wanted to see what the sub could come up with! Thanks :3 | Cotton loves television. He’s fixed himself a pizza and is getting ready for a binge watching session of his favorite show, *Prickly Pete*. Cotton picks up the remote and turns on the TV.
“Nope. Not doing it. I don’t want to be in your story.” Cotton puts down the remote.
The smell of smoke fills the apartment. Cotton realizes he left garlic bread in the oven and it’s burning.
“I didn’t make garlic bread nor do I like garlic bread. I’ll suffer through the smoke and enjoy my pizza with the TV OFF.” Cotton took a big, satisfying bite out of his food.
One of Cotton’s neighbors bursts in the apartment. ”Dude you got smoke coming out of your oven. Why aren’t you turning it off?”
The neighbor walks over to the oven, turns off the heat and removes the garlic bread. Coughing from all the smoke and attempting to wave it away from his face the neighbor says, “Why are you just sitting there? Everything okay?”
Cotton stays silent.
The neighbor sighs, pulls a gun out of his pocket and blows his brains out.
Cotton jets up from his couch and yells, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You… you just killed my neighbor!”
Cotton calms down, grabs the remote and turns on the TV.
“No, no, no, no. Fuck you. After what you just did I’m not turning on anything. Leave me alone!” pleads Cotton.
Cotton gets a text from his best friend that he’ll be over soon so they can hang out. Cotton tries to text him back but his phone loses service. His friend should be there in five minutes. Cotton turns on the TV.
“How can I turn on the TV if the remote isn’t in my possession?” Cotton throws the remote out of his 5th story apartment window.
Five minutes pass and Cotton’s best friend, Jerry, enters the apartment. “Hey buddy,” says Jerry. “Is this your remote? I found it downstairs.”
Cotton stays silent.
“Dude? Everything okay?” questions Jerry.
“Please leave. It’s not safe for you here,” says Cotton.
Jerry laughs. “You trippin’ bro.” He walks into the apartment towards Cotton. “That pizza smells good! Mind if I have a slice?”
As Jerry walks towards the pizza he trips over the seemingly now visible dead body and slams his face through the glass coffee table. Panting and wheezing, Jerry attempts to get himself up. He tries to carefully pull his head back through the broken glass but the sharp edges grab and tear the skin from his face. Jerry begins howling in pain. His shirt is soaked through with blood. There are pieces of skin and tissue in Jerry’s hair. He’s never felt such agony in his life. He grabs his face, runs towards the 5th story window and jumps. Cotton sees his best friend plummet to his death.
Cotton calms down, picks up the remote and turns on the TV.
“No,” whimpers Cotton “I’m *not* turning it on.”
Just then, Cotton’s phone service returns right as he gets a text from his mother.
*“hey honey. your dad and I are coming over this evening to visit. I’m also going to pick up your girlfriend along the way. She has a surprise for you… (HINT: IT’S A PUPPY!!) See you soon!”*
Strangely, the phone loses service, again. Cotton turns on the TV.
“N.. No...” says Cotton.
Just then another text manages to come through on his phone.
*“Hey I’m heading over with your parents. We need to talk about something later on tonight (no not the puppy I know she told you). I’m late. Like really late. Also you should turn on the news, apparently there is some nuclear bomb scare in NYC?!? WTF? See you soon.”*
Cotton sits down on the couch, turns on the TV and enjoys new episodes of his favorite show, *Prickly Pete*. | *As he walked into the room, he noticed the only light was coming from a staticy television.*
"Yo, fuck this. I'm terrified of ghosts."
What? Since when? I write you. I never made that.
"Your character development is shit so I took matters into my own hands. Hit the horror movie section on that Netflix thing you gave me. I'm out of here."
Fine, I'll turn another light on.
*As he walked into the room, the lights were on and the televi...*
Where did you go? Are you outside?
"I watched the Conjuring. I know what's going on in this story. Put me in a jungle with some lions or some shit. Better yet, make it like a group thing! Put more people in here and I will go into the house. That way my chances of being attacked by a ghost or a demon or some shit are drastically lowered."
It's not scary then. You have to be alone. It's the 3rd chapter, do you really think I would kill you off?
"You had no qualms with the white girl in chapter 2 I had to watch get hit by the car."
One person. I kill one person and now you won't enter an empty house with a faulty cable connection?
"That's all it is? Cool. You call the cable guy and I'll wait outside until daylight or until that dude shows up."
Your killing this story.
"'Your' shows possession. 'You're' is a contraction replacing 'you are'."
YOU'RE the last character I write as a Rhodes Scholar.
Since you seem to be enjoying these, here is one I did yesterday along these lines.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/453g0v/wp_a_story_in_which_a_character_gets_in_an/czuwkh6 | 2016-02-11T11:28:43 | 2016-02-11T10:16:42 | 106 | 74 |
[WP] After gaining the ability to see everyone's red strings of fate tying soul mates to each other. You realize your string extends past the sky. | "Red lines?"
"Yes, red lines"
"Coming out of people?"
"Yes"
"What do these red lines look like?"
"Like a thin piece of wool coming out the back of someone's neck. Usually they just drape and hang all slack but I've seen some that are really taut"
"And they connect people you say?"
"Yes. One neck to another. Though it's not often I see that"
"Do you see them on everyone?"
"Everyone. Absolutely everyone. Thankfully most are slack and just run across the floor but in busy places there can be a lot of taut ones running across my eyeline. Sometimes I can't see what's right in front of me"
"I see... ... ... can you touch them?"
"No. They seem so real and I've tried but my hand just passes straight through them"
"Have I got one?"
"Everyone, yours is currently draped over my lap. It runs down your shoulder, across the table, over my lap and under the door"
"Is it doing anything?"
"Not right now but it has been moving a bit, which makes me think you're connected to someone nearby, someone in the building. Yours moves a little when I hear certain footsteps in the corridor outside"
"Certain footsteps?"
"High heels... ... ... Jane doesn't work here does she?"
"No but why is that relevant?"
"I don't want to say"
"I can't help you if you don't tell me everything"
"You'll laugh"
"I'm a professional... I won't laugh"
"I've not just plucked this theory out of thin air, I've seen these lines for two weeks now, you better not laugh"
"Rich, I'm not going to laugh. As your best friend and now a very intrigued medical professional, please tell me"
"Soulmates"
"... ... ... Soulmates?"
"You're laughing"
"I'm not!"
"Yes you are! You're stifling it!"
"Alright I'm sorry! This is just so weird! I'd say you were on drugs if I didn't know you better!"
"Just hear me out"
"Okay go on, I'm sorry... soulmates..."
"Two weeks ago was my wedding"
"I know, I was your best man Rich"
"The lines started when I was standing at the altar, when I thought I was going to faint. One connected Mum and Dad, one connected my sister and Matt, there wasn't one between you and Jane, which doesn't surprise me because you two are terrible together and I can only assume she's the soulmate of Satan... interestingly hers did go downwards"
"Oi, there's nothing wrong with me and Jane!"
"Tell me you're not in love with the nurse who keeps walking past outside then?"
"Sssshhh!"
"See... ... anyway... there was also one between me and Jenny. A really taut one, there, between us as we stood in front of you all... ... ... and then it snapped.
"Snapped?"
"Yeah, it snapped right in front of me and for a moment I had no line. I felt panic right then and loneliness!... oh my God the loneliness, even for just a few seconds it was awful"
"So you don't have one?"
"No I do!... ... as soon as it snapped another just shot up straight in the air, out of the church and into the sky"
"Still there now?"
"Yep"
"Does it ever come down?"
"Sometimes"
"So your soulmate is an....."
"Alien, that's right, I'm like Star Lord from Guardians of the Galaxy, I keep waiting in the park in case I get picked up"
"Well I was going to say airline pilot, Rich"
| 'I'll see you again soon." Her words. They were the last I'd ever hear.
I felt the moment of impact, time slowing to a crawl. An unnerving moment, sending the abyss reaching greedily for me, knowing there's nothing I can do. Knowing that she'll die with me.
They speak of attaining a certain clarity, facing oblivion. Nothing was further from my truth. Thoughts screaming through my mind too fast to track. Dreams left unfulfilled, memories to cease along with me.
Feeling the tremor, the plane tearing itself asunder, my arms encircled her. I couldn't speak, I had nothing to say. She wouldn't hear me anyway. I held tight.
Her eyes find mine, resolute. I see her lips move, and the words follow, disjointed. A clarion sound, the most beautiful I'd heard. Not in content, but in tone, fearless.
'I'll see you again soon."
And that was it. My body ripped from me, darkness closing in. Sensation gone, I no longer feel her there.
Time isn't. Seconds or centuries pass by, then I'm aware. Shocked, felt more than heard, the word 'GO' reverberates through me. Towards the other end of oblivion, a rope tugs me.
And off I go, vapor on an unfelt wind, riding a rail of light. | 2016-08-06T00:34:39 | 2016-08-05T21:53:03 | 73 | 13 |
[WP] Jesus was sent to earth by aliens to test our sense of morals and ethics. We got the lowest score even theoretically possible by crucifying him. | Xttalalalal stared at the blue planet, then back at his monitor.
Blue planet.
Monitor.
Xttalalalal’s mandibles quivered with disbelief. “Run it again.”
“What?” Ystololol sat at the monitor adjacent to Xttalalalal, purple light illuminating his antennae.
“The data analysis, run it again.”
“I did. Twice. Same score each time.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Actually, I have something to show you,” Ystololol’s wings trembled as he spoke.
A video appeared on Xttalalal’s monitor. Several wooden crosses stood, stuck into the ground, like dead trees. A crowd of people appeared to be jeering at the crosses for some reason.
“Yes, yes, we know the have weird traditions. We expected some-“
“-why have you forsaken me?” The video zoomed in closer to show a bearded man with long hair hanging on the center cross. Blood dripped to the ground, where his hands and feet were nailed in place.
“They crucified him!” Xttalalal sputtered, ink flying across his computer screen. “They crucified him!”
It took a moment for Xttalalal to compose himself. “Which messiah did you send?”
“J3SUS.”
“They peacemaker?” Xttalalal’s confusion filled the air with a tangy scent. “Oh Grrbnshl! They killed the peaceful one!”
It took Xttalalal a minute to calm down. “But they were fleshy. The fleshy ones are always peaceful.”
“-and hairy,” Ystololol said. “and so cute you just want to eat them.”
“They were pretty bad, huh?”
“Worse than the Arrrentr.”
“What did the Arrrentr do to the prophet, again?” Xttalalal asked, thinking of the locust like monsters, that devoured planets.
“They politely asked him to leave.”
“Okay,” Xttalalal reluctantly coughed up three ylishms. The purple orbs dripped slime, as he handed them over to Ystololol, “You win.”
Ystololol eagerly swallowed the ylishms.
“I think we better notify high command.”
Ystololol pressed the call button, “Commander Krandelelel, there’s something you need to see.”
A pale blue hologram of an imposingly short Verananan appeared, “what is it, Ystololol? This better be important.”
“It’s about the humans.”
“The fleshy ones?”
“They crucified the prophet.”
“What?! But they were so cute!” Krandelelel roared. “Like you’d just want to eat them!”
The three sat in silence, watching the strange blue planet.
“Send them back,” Krandelelel croaked.
“But sir, he’s traumat-“ Xttalalal protested.
“I don’t care. Send him back.” Krandelelel smiled to himself, his mandibles rotating slightly. *Let’s see how these fleshies handle a zombie*
| The Auditor looked to the video feed, then to its clipboard, and back to the video feed.
*There isn't a check box for this* it thought, rubbing a tentacle against its manifold.
The Proctor's battered, emeciated form rasped and wheezed. It was still functioning after hours of being nailed to a tree. A Testee poked the Proctor's form with a stick and the test finally ended.
The Auditor took a long deep pull of its morning dark matter and glared at its keyboard.
After a few short aeons, it checked the OTHER box and placed the form in the IGNORE queue.
*waste of good carbon it is* it thought, and moved on to the next form | 2017-12-14T19:10:07 | 2017-12-14T17:40:07 | 81 | 23 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | The sigil remained dull, black and inactive. Even through the shoving, the pushing, the punching and name calling - it didn’t light up even once. Maybe it wasn’t the best to get used to this type of treatment, but Dalton refused to use his powers on anyone. While his powers were not inherently destructive, they were hard to control, and he didn’t want to hurt anyone.
So why wouldn’t they listen?
Was it so bad that he didn’t want to show off the powers he barely knew how to use, that he didn’t want to hurt anyone as collateral in a bit of show and tell? His head throbbed from the previous punch, the group of teenagers surrounding him in a complete circle. Everywhere his eyes looked, they landed on some color, some blur, something emanating from each and every one of the bullies. Fire, electricity, light and even darkness from one. They surrounded him, their powers all flared for show, but they didn’t really use them in any way besides intimidation. No, they preferred to hurt people themselves. This time though, there was something off about them. They were pushing harder than normal, harassing and assaulting with more... effort. Perhaps something had made them mad that day.
Another punch, and Dalton could practically feel the bruise growing, his ears ringing slightly. His chest constricted as they threw another, but this time, he felt a burn from where the punch had landed. He felt his muscles twitch from the shock, and it was starting to get a little darker, though, not because of them. He was losing consciousness. His breaths became panicked, and Dalton pleaded for them to stop, that they were going too far this time.
They didn’t listen. They never did. Before anyone could do anything else, the circle lit up, shining with a rainbow of different colors. In front of Dalton, a circle appeared, black and colorless. The bullies stared curiously, cautiously looking at it. The circle turned blue, as did Dalton’s sigil, and a geyser of sea water spewed from within the circle, easily carrying away one of the bullies, far into the distance. Dalton grasped his arm, where his sigil laid, glowing through his hand. The bullies backed off in fear, as more circles appeared around Dalton. They did not turn just blue, but green, yellow and red, a multitude of colors from which different elements spewed. A gust of wind from one, a plume of flames from another, a landslide of mud and even pure insects from some. The “battlefield” quickly became chaotic and messy, the bullies either running off or being quickly incapacitated by Dalton’s rings.
If one were to look close, they would notice that Dalton’s rings were not random circles that produced various things, but portals to different parts of the world. One linked to the sea floor, another in the middle of a raging wildfire, underneath a landslide, in the middle of a tornado: and they all came barreling through one small opening. A multitude of concentrated forces from mother nature herself, that would devastate anyone who challenged their wielder. Dalton’s sigil dulled, the glowing slowly fading away, and the portals slowly closing with them. This time, Dalton had managed to keep them small, keep them “mild” and relatively non-lethal... but would he be able to next time? He let himself fall over, ignoring the pain in his tailbone that came from sitting in such a manner. | I’ve never activated my sigil in public. It’s not a cool power anyway... that was what I thought.
But in a world where everyone has their own talent manifest, I just didn’t fit in.
That’s why the bullies found me to be an easy target.
“Look it’s Shit ring!” I heard Warren yell as I tried to ignore him.
That’s right, a big fat brown circle, not even where it’s subtle smack dab on my forehead. Zeroface, talentless, shit ring...
Warren sported a black brand of lightning on his fist. It’s cool and he knows it, especially when he zaps people.
I ignored him, and he strides to catch me.
“Let me go!” Inadvertently, I shrink from him whilst he continues to tease me.
Suddenly, his face blanks, and the look of shock washes over him. Moans escape his mouth uncontrollably.
I realised I have accidentally triggered my sigil. He was having an instant orgasm, and he won’t be able to stop until he passes out.
I turn and ran ...
*Edited for grammar* | 2020-02-26T07:49:39 | 2020-02-26T07:22:06 | 92 | 43 |
[WP] All 10 billion humans in the world wear wristbands that display their rank in terms of access to global resources in real time. Yours just jumped from the middle of the pack to #19 in a span of 10 minutes. | *I AM A TERRIBLE WRITER AND HAVE NEVER WRITTEN A STORY BEFORE IN MY LIFE. I ONLY WROTE THIS BECAUSE I LIKED THE CONCEPT. MY STORY WILL WASTE YOUR TIME, SO READ ONLY IF YOU WANT TO WASTE SOME MINUTES OF YOUR LIFE :D ALSO MY ENGLISH IS TERRIBLE*
&nbsp; For the last few years life had been going pretty much the same way, everyone desperate of getting more and more wealth.
People judging each other only by a simple number on a god damn watch, like there wasn't anything more important than money in the world.
One day I decided that this obsession for wealth just wasn't for me and I sold everything I bought a small cabin and some land out in the woods.
This is not something I would recommend for everyone, but it's what I like and it's right for me. Now I spend my days fishing, hunting and reading books - the occasional trip into town, when i need groceries, just keeps reminding med that I've made the right choice, even though it gets lonely sometimes.
&nbsp;
Nowadays people don't even care what people they meet have to say, all they do is just look at peoples wrist and if the number isn't at least average or above people move on.
Seems like everyone has become more and more greedy for every day that has passed since we were forced to wear these damn watches, pretty sad to see for a guy like me who couldn't care less about money.
I remember seeing this beautiful woman one day when I took one of my trips to town. She had a red dress, blonde hair, perfect body. She had a pack of men, all in expensive suits, around her, but I could hear her saying "only if you're in the top 10000".
Bah, was she beautiful? Sure. But why would anyone want a woman like this? A girl who only cares about money?
Pathetic men, I remember myself thinking.
&nbsp;
Now I may sound like a grumpy old man, but I'm only in my mid 30s. And I know may seem jealous but I'm not.
You see a few moments ago I was thinking of growing some carrots on my land.
I went outside to dig up a nice patch, but on the first god damn strike I, as they say, struck gold.
Since then my number on my watch has gone from 5,212,487,687 to 19..
&nbsp;
I have no need for wealth or other peoples approval, all I want is to read my books, hunt and fish.
But for some god damn reason I can't stop thinking of that woman in the red dress.. I wonder if she's still there the next time when I go to town? | I slowly watched Jeremy from the back of our math class.
For some reason he hasn't noticed his number going up.
Just as his wrist band hit number On
--------------------- BREAKING NEWS ---------------------
Lancaster high school had just been struck with a rogue meteorite, reports coming in now, state the meteorite was comprised of almost pure platinum.
No survivors have been found.
--------------------- BREAKING NEWS --------------------- | 2016-05-04T00:10:10 | 2016-05-03T20:20:55 | 55 | 29 |
[WP] When you and your twin sister were born your parents couldn't help but cry with your colorful and specifically shaped hair it was clear you would suffer from MCS, Main Character Syndrom, and would have to spend your life avoiding beginings of cliche adventures. | “Rough day?”
“Yeeeugh,” I gave a vaguely affirmative grumble, not lifting my face from my hands.
The stranger chuckled and sat down on the other end of my bench, leaning back and crossing one ankle over the other.
I should probably have been more worried about talking to a strange older man near a school—both for mundane and Main Character Syndrome reasons—but we already had an alien rampage through the school earlier that day, so I safe for a week or so, and our class had a special self-defense course designed not to set off any triggers, so I felt covered on both counts. Instead, I just sighed and raised my head from my hands, resuming my angry stare across the school grounds.
“Want some unsolicited advice, kid?” The stranger turned towards me, and I got my first good look at his face. One eye was a bright, almost unnatural green, and the other was a blue-on-black circle at the center of a large X-shaped scar. “It’s something I wish someone had told me at your age. You can spend your life dodging plot hooks, ignoring prophets, snubbing princes, and hiding from angels... But you’ll be doing that your whole life, day in and day out.” He glanced down at his hand, made of gleaming segmented metal. “Or until you slip up…”
“So what’s your alternative?” I squinted suspiciously at him.
“You choose one.”
I stared at him, eyes and mouth going wide.
“That’s it? You want me to give up? Throw the fight? Just go along with whatever the assholes running the universe decide for me?”
“Think about it. How much different is it from choosing a career? Dragon slayer or air force, engineer or slime rancher; They’re all paths everybody must walk down. It’s all just one big career fair. You’ve just got a stranger range of options, all made to suit you like a glove. You have an opportunity to find one that makes you *happy*. But that can’t happen if you spend your days ignoring them.”
“…That’s just stupid.” I stated flatly, even as a traitorously attractive thought popped up in the back of my mind.
“That isn’t—” He froze, his eyes snapped up, his hand sliding into a pocket and drawing out a wicked-looking knife. “Excuse me.”
And with that he sprang from the bench and bolted across the schoolyard, blade to the sky, directly towards a red-eyed cat talking to a green-haired girl doing her best to ignore it. And so I was left on a school bench with nothing but my whirling thoughts (and the distant yowls of a distressed space cat).
So I went home. Talked to my sister. Talked to my parents. Talked some more. Got angry. Fought. Stewed in silence. Talked a little. Ate dinner. Talked some more. And the next morning…
“This is the Slice-of-Life bakery and confection shop, how can I help you today?”
“Uh, hi…” I started, fighting the urge to clear my throat. “The other day I met one of you employees who mentioned an open position at your establishment…”
---
Didn’t really edit this, trying to get back into writing and just knocked it out. ^^What’d ^^ya ^^think? | "You are heroes of Azeroth!!" they shouted from the castle towers and main gate as the twins arose and walked through the masses of cheering peasants, nobles and royalty.
"You will defend the realm!!" one quite boisterous noble screamed as everyone else then hailed, cheered and applauded.
The twins now set out for the epic quest to protect their kinsmen had begun and as they walked away from a slowly draining applause they saw a giant yellow question mark.
The twins drew their weapons unsure..
"is he friendly?" they both thought simultaneously.
They realized he was and they approached. Surely this was what their entire life was building towards and it all was about to justify the masses of desperate citizens in this time of danger and war.
Hearts beating heavily knowing the challenge of their lives was approaching they nervously approached, sheathing their swords.
"Greetings, twins, I need you to collect 15 Silverleaf and 10 Briarthorn from just over on the hill across from me." | 2019-04-11T21:11:20 | 2019-04-11T20:19:24 | 75 | 19 |
[WP] A global arms race gets out of control and every country's only option for survival is walling themselves off with impenetrable defensive technology. Millions of years pass before a catastrophic event brings down all the walls, revealing how humans evolved in isolation. | The walls had stood for a thousand years. When they finally were taken down it was from the inside out.
The citizens had taken it upon themselves to build a fortress a little larger than Manhattan. It was smack dap in the middle of Kansas, a solid “middle ground”. It was also only one of a few spots left inhabitable after The Great Blinding. That’s what they had called the almost 100 high yield nuclear warheads smuggled in the the country by some of its own citizens who thought the country was going down a path where they wouldn’t be able to defend themselves. These warheads were stronger the man have ever witnessed, multitudes stronger than the ones dropped on Japan in World War Two. Recruitment to the army had fallen to near 0%, the population had been staggered back by increased sea levels that killed millions and left the survivors starving. The population had been weakened and unwilling to fight wars abroad when their people were dying at home. The “Fathers” didn’t see it that way. They saw cowards, weaklings. They saw men who wouldn’t sacrifice. So they would make them.
At 11AM, on the 11th day, of the 11th month of 2023, they detonated each bomb simultaneously. Many of the larger cities they had deemed too far gone were destroyed including New York City, Seattle, Portland, Los Angeles, Austin. 250 million people were killed in an instant. Another 5 million were wiped out by starvation, mostly due to looking at the various blasts and being blinded by the light brighter than the sun.
The survivors tended to scatter but eventually found a haven in Kansas of all places. The generally isolated state had good food left. Truckers picked up survivors on their way, and the people came together. They built high end radiation detectors that could sniff out nuclear bombs. They built walls. They invented a “force field”. Spiders were bred to make stronger and stronger webbing, eventually using man made carbon fiber near invisible to the eye that would catch a warhead like Kevlar caught a bullet. They built skyscrapers, then Sub-scrapers to house the population that was ever growing.
It was ironic in fact. The “Fathers” had been trying to exterminate part of the population but in fact many of their brethren had been killed in the blasts. The cities that had survived also didn’t last long. Many rose up in revolt and killed the Fathers. The weak population wasn’t so weak after all. The remaining cities that were complacent were wiped out when the remainder of the army rolled through and killed the traitors.
The PoK (People of Kansas) officially seceded while the army was in the Deep South dealing with insurgency problems. It had been a long time coming though. The message of secession was the last anyone had heard from Kansas. It had been strong and serious, but had the tone of a disappointed parent who had to cut a child out of its life. Any means to communicate were ignored, and the flailing government had bigger problems on its hands than a neutral and so far peaceful government that at most would stun intruders and place them outside of their territory.
When the shields came down, the whole City was exposed, a naked body unaware of onlookers. The walls were the only thing left standing and weren’t overly imposing. The city was half empty, with the citizens already at lowered gates ready for the webbing to be taken down as well. Sirens sounded but the citizens weren’t screaming and didn’t seem overly panicked. Many, however, were wearing helmets or dark glasses. And as as the webbing came down, a needle pierced the sky. The light wasn’t nearly as bright as the destruction that had befallen the people 20 years before. Threading the clouds, it left the planet and was never heard from again. | The solar flairs came without warning. When the walls started falling, the world fell into mass panic. Nations readied their defenses. Bombs and guns, things the world hadn't seen in years. Instead of war, though, something miraculous happened. Due to the endless years of isolation, humans had....changed. Some nations, like the USA and Europe had technology that had made them godlike. Nations like Russia had made claims saying they had colonized the entire solar system, but nobody knew for sure. Poor nations seemed more divided then ever, countless factions in the ruins of what once was Africa, starvation was very common for the Chinese, oddly enough. When the people of the world finally sat down to have a global meeting, they learned that new languages had emerged. Many were beyond the comprehension of others. Then, when trading started again, technology once thought the realms of science fiction were right at our finger tips. Less fortunate nations quickly adapted to the changes, but it always seemed like they could never keep up. Soon, space exploration started again and it was revealed that Russia had been lying about their space program, for they had only reached as far as Mars. Soon balance was restored to the Earth, and people continued their lives like the walls had never been dropped. (*PLEASE GO EASY ON ME. THIS IS MY FIRST WRITING PROMPT AND IM ON MOBILE.) | 2018-11-18T09:30:48 | 2018-11-18T09:22:18 | 149 | 27 |
[WP] At a young age you made a deal with a fey in which you promised them your firstborn. Now you’re a 35 year old virgin, and the fey, sick of waiting, comes to help you around the dating scene. | “Nora, you cannot remain like this,” the fey said. “Alone, growing older, unmarried.”
“I’m alone, but I’m not lonely,” Nora answered, pruning the hedges around her cottage. “It was never part of our bargain that I had to marry.”
“Don’t marry then, but surely you have to fall in love!”
“That wasn’t in the bargain either,” Nora answered. “I’m under no obligation to do so.”
The fey sighed. “It is only fair that you find someone. I fulfilled my end of the bargain.”
“Don’t speak to me of fairness, fey. You found an innocent little girl and had her trade away her firstborn for a foolish child’s wish. Was that fair?”
“You were old enough to know what a bargain was.”
“And now I’m old enough to know how to turn a bargain to my favor. If you’d like to stay for tea, please do. But no more talk of love or marriage.”
The fey dejectedly followed Nora into the cottage. The house spoke of one having only one occupant, and rare visitors. The loveseat was too stiff, and Nora settled into the one comfortable armchair with her tea.
“You will have your secondborn, and all those who may come afterwards, Nora. Don’t spend your life like this just because you’re angry with me.”
“You know, the years after I made that damned bargain I questioned why you wanted my firstborn. So I waited to find someone to love, to have children with. I thought you might find some other innocent child to cheat, but you didn’t.”
The fey smiled. “I’m a patient woman.”
“You’re neither patient, nor are you a woman,” Nora said. “I learned about your kind, in all these years. You always saw that I was reading books instead of meeting men, but you never bothered to see which books I was reading.”
“Romance novels?” the fey joked.
“Spellbooks. It turns out not every woman’s firstborn is valuable,” Nora said. “Just a few, and we’re not common.”
“You’re thinking too highly of yourself, Nora.”
“No, no,” Nora said. “I’ve been watching you, fey. Perhaps not as much as you’ve been watching me, but enough. I’ve seen your worry increase as I’ve gotten older. How long will you have to wait until another little girl shows up?”
The fey grimaced. “Too long, Nora.”
“Too bad, fey.”
“Our blood has weakened over the millennia. We need fresh blood, Nora. We need special human children to continue our race.”
“Not mine, though,” Nora said. “I believe in Darwinism. Also, while you were trying to find men for me, I found a woman for myself. She's going to come over soon, so it's time for you to go. You know the way out." | [POEM]
No children yet, am I a joke to you
Your forgotten obligation?
I granted you your fondest wish
I demand due compensation.
A life of ease and boundless wealth
You requested of this fae
How will you ever pay me back
If with a girl you do not lay?
You have a wife and pretty still!
I've seen her from afar.
You laugh and drink and have good times
In your expensive, sporty car.
What do you mean you cannot pay
What you have promised me!?
I don't know what you're trying to say
What is "vasectomy?"
Edit for mobile formatting troubles. | 2021-11-01T10:27:00 | 2021-11-01T08:33:28 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] Humanity has begun exploring the galaxy, we find many worlds filled with ruins of civilizations that had long died out, realizing soon that all of these civilizations chose to end themselves, committing mass suicide. No one could figure out why they did it, until now. | Size was the issue.
From the actinic churning press of the galactic hub, to the ragged trailing veils of her arms, thin even at their impossible scale, size was always the issue. In her vastness she thwarted us more completely than any mountain or sea before her. No one species could hope to chart her.
And so, we became many.
Our collosi, dancing in the billows of gas giants, their silica skeletons glinting through translucent skin, each many times larger than Earth's former giants. Each so light, the merest breeze sent them tumbling, their bodies just as much a product of incompresensible pressure as our biological trespasses.
Our navigators, floating in fine oil, surrounded by shimmering hair emenating from every pore, the slightest current in their environemental simulacra giving them hundreds of *millions* of times more information than eyes or ears could hope to cull. Nearly lobotomized through sheer focus, masters of movement.
And our thinkers, our persisters, harriers, messengers, oracles. We entered the First Diaspora with our arms flung wide to *wonder*. We turned ourselves to our tools, as our tools had once given us mastery over the world, tiny blue thing it was. And so it would be again.
Until we found their bones.
A rocky world, bleached by hard x-rays, what little magnetic field it had, long ago gone. There stood steel spires, like ours, now gone to flakes and nothing. Ashes, and quiet ruin, and in every home an orderly pile of carbon. We knew what we were seeing, but we worked on believing. They had nearly made it. Just a little more, and they would have shaken gravity from their feet like snow. But they perished, quietly and alone.
We took a few things of theirs, we made them a humble monument. And we left.
And then we found the next. Swampy, methane-soaked ammoniacal life turned to death, and only the grid buried under their frozen sea spoke of them. This time, we found a few of their sharpened obsidian razors. We knew what happened now, but not why.
40,000 times we saw this. Our hearts dimmed with sorrow, with despair. 40,000 gravestones we built for planets.
It was one of us, not an Oracle, not a Mind, but a Finder, small and nimble, with a mind made for spotting patterns, which noticed the crude scratches on the floor of one humble hut, noticed how they almost matched an arrangement of bricks piled around a body a photon's lifetime away. And so we followed the thread.
Each world, it changed slightly. Sometimes, it refined itself, others, it added new complexity. But it was just a pattern. Just a squiggle. No formula, no mathematics, no transcendent theory could unravel it, make it have meaning.
And then we looked at the time. Nearly instantaneous, jump to jump. A few thousand years, sometimes less. Sometimes *much less*. Impossibly fast.
We had long ago uncovered the secret to quantum entanglement, instantaneous communication was simplicity itself to us. This felt...cruder, more biological. Like feathered wings, serving as our floating artifice does. But still, the pattern. It was nothing, meant nothing. It was nonsense, like the idlest daydream.
It was that, which prompted the revelation. Thoughts.
How does a galaxy think? Not with light, too slow. Not with ansibles, they took too long for natural forces to form by chance. Size is the problem, but nature finds a way.
With minds. With lives. A civilization is a galactic neuron. It fires itself once, every mind fixated on the thought, trapped within a signal of nearly infinite information density. And it reaches the next neuron, the thought iterates one step on it's progression, and it passes on, leaving a guttering candle of awareness behind it.
The galaxy thinks, and we aren't even a finished figment. We are a synapse, we are an axon.
We have no need to worry.
We have sprawled to every nook of our manifest home. Our ansibles are many times more efficient than the galactic mind's previous genocidal transmissions. It thinks at a speed comperable to us, now.
And soon, it will *talk to us.* | “Do you see this?” said Muir.
“Yep,” I said. “Same as every other planet our probes have found.” I stepped over another pile of skeletons. “Looks like they just dropped dead right where they were.”
Muir came in from outside. “I haven’t been able to find any notes or letters or anything.”
I scratched my chin. “This civilization doesn’t look like they made it to their Information Age. We’d have to check books and papers.”
Muir snorted. “Right. Like we’ve got time for that. They didn’t preserve anything. Their libraries are rotting. We might get lucky if the probes find something in the desert, but I doubt it.”
“It doesn’t make sense. Civilizations great and small just seem to disappear. Everyone dies where they stand. Nobody seems to be ready for it.”
“At least it’s good for our funding,” laughed Muir.
I scowled at him. “I’m not in this for a paycheck. I actually want to figure out what happened. I don’t want it to happen to us.”
Muir waved his hand at me. “Whatever. I’ll do anything I can, but I just want that sweet moolah.”
I walked over to a desk. It looked fairly stable and not very rotten. “This civilization looks like they weren’t impacted until fairly recently.”
“Yeah.” Muir looked around and used his toe to nudge what looked like a ribcage. “What if the religions are correct?”
“What?”
“What if this is a rapture.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I mean, not a divine rapture, but something else. What if it’s something from space that comes and…” Muir tried to find the right word.
“Sucks them up to ‘God’?”
“Yeah. What if there really were visitors to Earth who warned us and what if that message got corrupted over the millennia?”
“Are you telling me you’re an Ancient Alien believer?”
Muir shrugged. “Do you have a better explanation right now?”
I sighed. “We’ll put it in the Maybe Pile.”
| 2015-02-11T18:19:07 | 2015-02-11T17:57:49 | 331 | 45 |
[WP] Everyone receives a Skill or Talent on their 16th birthday. Yours is Dragon Tamer. But dragons don't exist. | "A dragon tattoo?" John asked, looking at the tattoo of a European style dragon looking up and breathing fire that had appeared on his shoulder.
John's father, Mark, looked at the tattoo and shrugged, "Maybe it has something to do with breathing fire?"
John couldn't figure out how that would even work, how would he make fire? Was he supposed to breathe a certain way or would his next dedicated breath cause fire?
"Stay back Dad." John said, pushing his father back. Luckily his father got the message and moved back with John's push, the man's talent made him too hard to move unless he wanted to be moved
John inhaled deeply and violently exhaled, nothing.
After five tries on John's part, Mark put an a stony hand on his son's shoulder in a comforting manner, "Maybe that's not the best tact kiddo."
Suddenly John's little brother, Andrew spoke up jokingly from where he was sitting on the sofa, "Maybe he's a dragon tamer."
John snarked back at Andrew, "Dragons don't even exist ya dweeb."
"Komodo Dragons do." Mark replied swiftly.
John sighed in frustration, he could not believe something that seemed so cool, breathing fire, may have just turned into lizard taming. But what his Dad was proposing was better than nothing, "Okay Dad, I guess we'll go to the pet store."
~
15 minutes later John found himself staring at a lazing Komodo Dragon in a glass tank, a chipper woman who couldn't have been five years older than him talking to his father behind him.
Mentally John tried to reach out to the Dragon and get it to move slightly, hoping that it would react. To John's shock the lizard did move as he commanded, slowly shuffling to where he commanded.
John commanded it to climb the nearby branch in the center of it's enclosure and watched as it did so.
"Dad, hate to say it but Andrew was right." John said, grabbing the attention of his father and the store clerk who had been helping them.
The clerk looked at the lizard who had climbed up the branch and back to John, "Would you like to take it home?" she said in a chipper tone.
"Sure, I guess, what do you say Dad?" John asked
Mark scratched the back of his head, "Normally I'd have to clear it with your Mom but it is your birthday and your ability. So what the hell, why not?"
~
After a long evening of explaining why they bought a lizard to his Mom and dealing with Andrew's gloating, John finally walked into his room and felt like collapsing into his bed.
Questions swirled in his mind, how would John make lizard taming seem impressive to his friends? David could make ice appear from thin air and Fred could change his skin color at will. By comparison John was the least impressive of the three.
As he mulled it over John could hear a deep and wizened voice, "Finally, some alone time."
John suddenly became alert and looked around to see who said that when the voice spoke again, "Relax, I'm the Komodo Dragon you bought home."
John quickly ran to the lizard tank that had been haphazardly setup on his dresser, "You can talk?"
"Only to you it seems, but I have been waiting for so long though that I'll take it." the Dragon replied, having assumed the same position on the branch when John had bought him.
John was confused, "Waiting, waiting for what?"
"The first dragon tamer in one thousand years that's what." the lizard said matter of factly, like John was an idiot for asking.
"You've been waiting a thousand years for a guy who can talk to Komodo Dragons? You been that lonely?" John said with a raised eyebrow.
"No you simpleton, I've been waiting for someone who can lead Dragons into the glory we once had a thousand years ago, when we were massive and commanded the skies." the lizard explain in frustration.
"Like the kind of Dragons who sleep on gold piles and kidnap maidens?" John replied
"Baseless propaganda, we saved those maidens and liberated that gold from corrupt nobles." the Komodo Dragon roared, more offended at the stories than the fact that John didn't believe Dragons existed
"I thought those were myths." John said
"In every myth there is a kernel of truth." the Dragon replied, "Some kernels are bigger than others."
"Okay, let's say I believe Dragons exist and that they need me, what now?" John asked.
"Now we must go to Norway." the Komodo Dragon replied, "We must awaken the Dragon King." | "Dragon tamer!?" I mutter to myself. "Useless. Absolutely useless. Unless... no, it's useless."
I cower before the pitying stares of my classmates and teachers, the sympathetic glances of strangers passing by.
At precisely 12:00 on one's birthday, they would fine their talent in a dream that lasted ten minutes, a fainting episode, if you will.
Mine entailed me riding a dragon, a beautiful teal beast, a western dragon, with a eastern dragon of the same colour swimming below, before I jump off the fire one and land on the water one.
I had always liked dragons of both varieties; I loved how they could fly or swim, how they could be cruel or kind.
But I knew that they weren't real.
So what was my talent?
Firebreathing didn't work. Shapeshifting? No way. Writing dragons? Not really, I was never one for writing.
One day, precisely one day before a month after my dragon dream, two eggs were shipped to me in the mail.
Then, the next day, precisely a month after my dragon dream, they hatched.
One of them was an eastern dragon the same colour as my dream and I quickly made it a home in a bowl before buying a proper home for it. My parents were quite well-off, I could petition them to let me use the lake on our grounds for my eastern dragon.
The other was a fire dragon, a western dragon, identical in colour to the water dragon. Perhaps I could put it in the cave-home that double-functioned as a guest house. As a bonus, the cave-home was next to the lake.
Now to name them.
"Asumisia," I decided for the eastern dragon. I had always liked the sound of it, although I had made it up myself. It was a pretty name, suitable for the young dragon.
"Elorennia," I declare for the western dragon. It was a pretty name I had fancied up from Lorenne, and a bit from Eloren.
I liked fanciful names. They were a frivolousness usually reserved only for the fictional pages of fantasy.
But again, so were dragons. | 2021-08-03T19:50:53 | 2021-08-03T19:37:14 | 268 | 23 |
[WP] One night a package arrives at your doorstep. Inside of it is a single button with a note saying, "If you press the button you'll get $1 million, but doing so will kill a random person." Well since then you've been pressing the button for hours. Now there's another package at your doorstep. | *”If you press the button you’ll get $1’000’000, but doing so will kill a random person”*
Nobody was around, must have been some kids having some doorbell ditch fun. *Strange,* I thought, *it's 4 AM, usually nobody around these parts at this time.*
I reached for the button inside the package that was now placed on my living room table. My home was quiet save for the ticking of my old grandfather’s clock. **Tick.** *It couldn't possibly be true, could it?* **Tock.** I was mere inches from pressing the button, when something stopped me. *Am I really ready to potentially commit murder?* I shook the feeling, *It's impossible, it just can't be true.* My fingertip slowly pushed the button past its threshold. **Click.** I waited. Nothing had happened, to my knowledge. Filled with doubt, but a tad of excitement, I leapt for my phone to check my bank account balance. *Nothing. Huh, just a child’s prank as I suspe-* **BLEEP.** I started from the notification sound.
*One. Million. Dollars.* I couldn't fathom it. I sat dumbfounded for minutes, until my hands started trembling. *Holy shit, it's...real. I'm... I'm rich!* In my excitement I had dropped my smartphone, its screen cracked. But that didn't matter anymore, I could buy ten of the same model, brand new.
A few hours had past since I received the package. **Click. Click. Click** I had been pressing the button non-stop all this time. I had already bought a penthouse apartment in the downtown area. **Tick.** I wasn’t stopping any time soon. **Click. Click. Click.** My bank account already held more money than I could spend during my entire life. **Tock.** I had seen no evidence of any deaths, I had been watching the news. **BRRRRRRING!** I started from the sofa. It was 6 AM. *Who the fuck could this be? The mail man never rings the door bell.*
I opened the door. Complete silence. I looked to the left. Nothing. I looked to the right. Nobody. I looked down. Another package. At this point, I was freaking out. *Oh fuck no, is this really happening? Did a shitload of people seriously just die because I pushed the button?* The package seemed a lot more ominous than it previously had, it seemed like it was staring at me. Right into my soul. I could feel its eyes peering into my mind. *I...I have to open it. It’s too late now.* I kneeled in front of the package, the air seemed to chill me to my bones.
The package unfolded itself, its contents revealed to me. I picked up the note.
*”You too, are a random person.”* Suddenly I felt a stab of pain in my chest. Darkness surrounded me as I fell into the embrace of death. | I had pushed the button thousands of times! I was going to be a billionaire and who really gives a crap if a thousand or so random people I'll never meet bite it. I looked at my bank account. It was resting at only $7000 when the doorbell rang. What the hell? I had just $2 in my account this morning so something was happening!
I picked up the new note and read, "Sorry for the error. We meant you get $1 for a random million people dying. Thank you and again sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused." I slumped against the wall. Hitler had Stalin had nothing on me. | 2017-04-03T07:31:42 | 2017-04-03T06:34:25 | 245 | 63 |
[WP] The next Lord of Darkness and his followers have taken over the world. You're the Lord's translator and scribe when an accidental potion of his has turned him physically into a baby. He seats at his throne, cooing, while his murderous followers look at you for instructions on his behalf. | The baby sat in the throne and cried. His most high ranking minions looked toward me. I gulped and said "he says to send Parkith's squadron to the elves forest". Parkith unfurled his wings, nodded and flew off to get his minions. The Dark Lord continued crying, and I translated "The rest of you are dismissed he said". The other six generals saluted to the baby and disappeared, in puffs of smoke and bursts of flame.
As soon as they were gone I grinned viciously. They trusted me because I had been with the Dark Lord longer than they had all together. What they didn't know, is that I had only stayed to gain power and my plan was working. I had acquired a potion, then made the Dark Lord drink it, turning him into an honest to god forsaken baby. I had saved the Dark Lord's life many times. Just so I could manipulate him. But the real treasure were his tomes that he kept secret from everyone. And once I had learnt where they were, I waited for the right time to put my plan in action. Now, I was one of the most powerful people in the world.
I went into the the Dark Lord's room, with him in tow in my hands. We went in and I sealed the door. I was also "taking care" of the Dark Lord. I went to underneath his bed and saw nothing, good. I then looked up at the frame and unlatched the miniscule lock. Out came his books. I picked them and started to read. The darkness in the world would be mine to control. As I read I slowly manipulated more of the darkness around me, swirling it like flames. I changed their colour to vantablack. I committed the books to memory, then made them disappear into the endless void. I grinned a little wider. Soon I would reveal myself, as the Next Lord of Darkness.
I walked into the courtyard and practiced. Gravity and reality bent under my control. There would be no stopping me. I teleported from shadow to shadow. I flared the darkness around me. A burst of black light, seared the air with its cold. I was now much more powerful than any of the generals, but I could still get much stronger. I went back inside and consumed the Dark Lord with the darkness, his darkness. No, my darkness now. I cackled gleefully. Time to reveal myself.
I walked into the throne room, forming armor out of the darkness. I went and sat on my throne. I beckoned the servant to call the generals. "Yes Lord!" as he went to his knee, in awe and terror. The generals came in quickly. Lucifer, Parkith, Farce, Mephisto, Earache, and at last, Succubii. "What is the meaning of this?" said Earache. "Bow to me, the new Dark Lord" I exclaimed. Then, when none of them did, I pushed the darkness into their backs. They tried to resist, but could not. One by one, they said "Lord, we pledge our allegiance". "Now let me think of a proper course of action. Be gone!" I told them. They vanished swiftly. I pondered, rolling the darkness in my hands. Suddenly my body stopped working, and then it moved again. But this time it was not I that moved it. In my mind I heard a raspy voice, "There is no Lord of Darkness, for I govern myself".
More at r/MaestroWrites
Sorry about grammar, typed from my phone.
*Edit: Fixed grammar | The eyes of counsel stared at him
High-chair, diaper, little bib
Unbelieving, first did I
But no in fact this is the guy
The one who rules over the dark
The one who orders, yells and barks
Though now his temper stifled true
To speak his power comes through coo
'Co^oo ' the baby, man then said
The counsel puzzled shook their heads
Then turned their gaze from babe to me
'What words are this, what do we see'
'The Lord of Dark' I started here
'He turned himself into a mere
Hapless baby, words of young
But rest assured I speak the tongue'
'Coo' again the Lord then spoke
'Ah yes, I see, but which old bloke'
And raising arm, pointed finger
The Lord made clear 'Ah Mr. Ringer'
'Step forward please, the Lord so ask
He wants to ask you simple task'
'Of course my Lord' quick Ringer thinks
'Please change his diaper, it really sticks' | 2017-09-16T11:22:34 | 2017-09-16T10:02:01 | 100 | 32 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to tell how many days someone has until they die. One day, you meet someone with −1 days to live. | I hate meeting new people.
That sounds angsty and dramatic. That, however, doesn't make it untrue.
You see I carry this burden around with me everywhere I go. There it is, that angst again. Anyway, I know when people are going to die. With every person I meet I see this little counter above their heads. It tells me the days they have left to live. Its like days-until-our-product-of-breeding-is-born! apps that people use on Facebook. Incredibly annoying virtually. Imagine it being unbearable in reality. Except its not a countdown to a happy event.
My life is lived as if I have the worst case of agoraphobia that has ever existed. Which I guess in a way I do. I order all my clothes and other living essentials online. I order all my groceries and instruct the delivery person to leave the bags outside my door. I won't even look at myself in the mirror. I can't deal with knowing that number. I used to be a normal kid. I even used the mirror. I never remember seeing a number.
I collect government help since I am mentally incapable of being able to work. I have seen many many mental health professionals. It just happens to be really difficult to open up to someone when you know they are going to kick the bucket by the end of the year. Or next. You just want to scream at them "Your life is almost over! Stop helping me! I am a lost cause but you aren't!"
I never tell people when they are going to die, though. That is something I will never understand health professionals being able to do. Nobody really wants to know no matter how much they say they do. The thought of impending death ruins the rest of your life. Trust me.
Today, I walked out of my apartment toward the lobby where the mailboxes are as I got in some new clothes today. As I opened the door I saw someone bending down leaving my grocery bags.
Shit, I thought. How could I have forgotten I ordered those? I have a standing order at the local supermarket for every Monday at 4:00pm. And sure enough when I glanced at my clock it was 3:56. How could it be Monday again?
Shit, I thought again. I have to say something.
"Um...hi. Uh, thanks," I managed to get out of my face. Wow. Its been a long time since I talked to someone in person.
I looked up and tried an apologetic smile. It was a valiant effort I am sure. But all intentions of a nonchalant demeanor totally vanished once I got a glimpse (mistakenly) of his counter. It read -1.
What? My eyes went wide. I was in utter shock. What?! I thought again. Except somehow it escaped my mouth.
The twenty something guy in front of me looked baffled and uncomfortable by my interactions with him. Rightfully so too. I probably look crazier than I am because of whatthefuckever just happened.
I tried to compose myself. I visibly shook my head and said, "Sorry. I thought I saw something." I nervously laughed. But I had to look again. I had to look at the one thing that I have avoided looking at for years. I saw it again. I didn't misread it. There it was. -1. Bold and perfectly... wrong. It couldn't be true. There was no way. It's impossible.
I was visibly taken aback. Again. How though? I couldn't stand the curiosity any longer. I needed to know. Words just came pouring out of my face.
"Who are you? What happened yesterday? Why aren't you...aren't you..." Wait. I can't say dead. That's not right. You can't just ask people why they are still living.
He looked at me again. It was different this time. It was like a look of clarity came over him.
"You see it, too?" He asked. "You see the negative one above my head?"
And then, amongst my utter astonishment and disbelief, he looked at the familiar spot above my head. The spot I won't look at on myself. But there he was. And then his eyes, I swear, sunk just a little bit and his mouth dropped open.
"Have you seen your number be-before?" He stuttered. I was confused.
"No. I haven't looked in a mirror in five years. Not since I started seeing these numbers."
I saw him do some calculations in his head.
"Five years. That's about...1800 days. That's your number. Except negative."
My heart dropped. What the fuck was he talking about? I was supposed to die? Five years ago?! Is this some Final Destination shit? Is something going to come get me and kill me?
Wait. No. That's crazy talk. I would have already been killed if that were the case. But how is this not already crazy talk?
"When did you start seeing the numbers?" I asked. I knew the answer.
"Today."
Edit: some typos and word changes. | *He knows my number.*
As we stood there staring at each other, I planned my next move. We were alone now, the others had all left. Around us, the machinery had wound down for the day. I started walking. The sound of my steps echoed around the warehouse. He could see my number. It couldn't be a mistake that he was looking at me this way. But his number... -1. That was a first.
"Why are you still here?" I quizzed as I moved closer. The look on his face was one of shock. Somehow, I knew I had finally found someone else who saw the numbers. But why was he still here?
"Hey, I'm talking to you, buddy!" I was freaking out as I got closer.
*He knows my number.*
I stopped just in front of him. "You planning to just stand there all night?" I was close to him now. I could see his breathing - shallow, fearful. "Everyone's gone... and you shouldn't be here." I hoped he understood my meaning.
After a minute's silence, he spoke. It was barely a whisper. "They told me that I'd find you here."
"They? What do you mean 'they'?" I looked around. "Did the cops send you?"
He shook his head. "They told me to come find you, that you see the numbers, too."
"Yeah, well what about it?" I didn't want to let on what I was thinking - I had finally met someone who could see my number. That number that had bugged me since this ability started. The only number that I couldn't see.
I pointed at his number. "I should just tell you yours, shouldn't I? But you already know, don't you? You *shouldn't be here.* Your time's up, man. Why are you still here?"
"I just want to understand." He mumbled.
My temper flared. "There's no understanding this! It's a curse! All I know is that you're done!" I knew I was blowing my chance at finding out my number. But a realisation had hit me.
*I don't want to know.*
"Look buddy, you're welcome to do whatever you like - but you can figure it out on your own. I'm out of here."
I stormed off, heading for the door. I had to go. All these years of wanting to know, and when I finally had the chance, I couldn't face knowing.
"You want to know your number?" He called after me, but I was already at the door, getting out as quickly as I could. It was too late.
As the door closed behind me, I heard his voice in the distance.
"-731."
___________________________________________________________
If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out more of my writing [here](http://ihlaking.com/portfolio/). | 2014-12-30T22:36:13 | 2014-12-30T21:08:56 | 47 | 29 |
[WP] "So, you don'r rule over Hell?" "No," replied Satan. "Hell is much older than me or even my followers. The original inhabitants of this place are the ones in charge. They ruled over us, before we managed to escape." "Escaped?" Satan sighs. "Let's just say, there's a reason God built Heaven."
Edit: Wow. Thank you all for your responses and stories. It has been fun reading through them.
^Yeah, ^I'm ^aware ^of ^the ^typos. ^My ^bad. | Scriptures often explained that hell was a real place. Across all cultures that never established contact one irrefutable constant remained. The gateways to hell.
Darvaza gas crater in Turkmenistan. Mount Etna in Sicily. The way to Xibalba in Mayan mythology situated in Belize.
It was always a remarkable scholarly intrigue to contemplate the significance of it all.
Who would have thought it was all real?
Our helicopter roaved across the sky to give our team of researchers and soldiers a grand view of the sundered ground.
It was a view that otherwise would have given the feeling of awe one found in Ireland across the Rathcroghan just outside of Tulsk.
The man who had previously introduced himself as Connor Ruanaidh leaned forward, his face was quite lean and long with hollow cheeks and chiseled chin, a rather modest growth of ginger hair lining his jaw line and upper lip including a pretentious soul patch.
"**Right, we are currently flying towards Oweynagat, also known as the Cave of the Cats, it is Ireland's own gateway to hell. And supposedly where the goddess Morrigan resided,"** he spoke into the headset with his Irish tenor, the rest of the researchers leaned in as if to better hear Connor.
I looked back down to the scorched land where once fields of green spread the land, not to only see the scorched and steaming ruin which was the supposed home of the demons.
I remember my academic mind telling me to only believe it until I could see it with my own eyes... yet still I struggled.
Red coursing lines spread from the center of the mass like burning veins from a forge, spires of red glowing earth speared from the ground, what was once filled with swaying grass was now just dry cracked ground unfit to plant. At the center of it all was a maleficent and incredibly violent fortress that sprung from the ground, whatever creature architect deigned to design it made sure to not hold back on the hellish motifs.
Arched windows where brimstone red flickered outwards looked out towards the green fields, the spire walls adorned with rusted iron spikes and thorn tailed demons of hellish red stood guard at the parapets. The whole things seemed to be intentionally gnarly and fiendishly ostentatious.
I felt like I was about to hurl. Not because of the sight itself. But because of the attack at my core beliefs, my identity, which wholeheartedly rejected the vitriol mother used to spew.
"Do you need a bag?" Connor leaned forward, a ready sick bag offered to me like an olive branch. His smile was reassuring and affable, his blue eyes striking. I tore it from his hands and grumbled a thanks.
I really didn't like Connor.
The helicopters landed outside of the scorched perimeter as readied troops trudged through the green fields and took their positions.
Two green beings emerged... I still found it hard to call them demons. Their tails whipped back and forth. Their pointed ears sharp and taut as if mimicking horns, their digitgrade feet lending their height and street immense measure.
"Hold your fire!" I called out. I was not the person in charge, but they were still here to escort us as a diplomatic mission.
I could tell how loose fingered the men were becoming, their gaze going back and forth between their command and me.
"Hold your fire. This is a diplomatic mission," informed Sargent Greenhouse, though based on the talk we had pre-flight, I had no doubt in my mind that her christian beliefs were in conflict with her commands.
Nobody dared cross the burnt land, as if the first to do would face terrible consequences.
One of the green creatures stepped forward, it's tail whipping back and forth and its mink link face giving way to a toothed sneer.
"Welcome, humans. I was awaiting your arrival. Please. The lord awaits," the creature purred.
The men raised their weapons as I splayed my arms in objection.
"Wait," I ordered.
Fear worked its way to my bones and made my knees tremble. But be it my pride or my scientific persona, I took the first steps across the scorched lands and took note of the suppressed gaps around me.
"Are you the one in charge?" Asked the beast. "Could you ask your men to lower their weapons? We wish to negotiate peacefully."
My brows furrowed together. "Then why the face?"
The demon seemed confused. "This?" It pointed with a taloned nail. I believe it was a woman, but I couldn't quite tell.
"I understand that in your culture, smiling is a friendly act. Did I do something wrong?"
I blinked, having to stifle a laugh. The demon seemed suddenly crudely offended.
"I apologise," I said, clearing my throat and trying to portray some professionalism. "It is just the way you did it... seemed more like a threat."
The demon seemed to ponder, clasping a thoughtful finger to its chin as the prehensile tail swayed back and forth.
"My name is Jasmin Clay," I turned to address my fellow scholars, "we are a team of scholars and researchers that study theologies. We were asked to come along as consultants along with an ambassador to talk the reason for your... visit."
The demon chuckled. "It will be far more than a visit I am afraid. But please, we can discuss more inside. Satan is waiting." It waved towards the entrance of the great looming keep as large chains clanged and rattled from lifting the iron portculis.
\*\*\*
/r/KikiWrites | # The Elder War
“It’s two clicks through the Ossuary Forest, maggots. Look alive, if you pansies remember how.”
Their spiked armour muted with soot, the motley squad of daemons trailed after their Captain.
Threading through the twisted trees, they tried to keep noise to a minimum. This close to a Fallen Gate, you could never tell what might be listening. As their cloth-wrapped boots touched down on the mossy rocks, the branches jittered, moaning softly.
“We can’t let the Old Ones seize a passage so close to the Blackened Plains,” the Captain picked up the pace, its shadowed form flashing between the boughs, “failure will not be tolerated. Cowardice will not be tolerated. For all that is unholy and bad, fight, or I will torture you all myself.”
For a hundred miles about them, the petrified corpses of minor sinners had lengthened and grown. Limbs stretching and splitting to reach skyward in a ghastly tableau that mocked the vegetation of the mortal realms. Screaming faces jutted from the onyx bark of the trunks, tongues twitching and convulsing as fresh soul ichor was drawn from the earth and refined through their suffering.
Between the Captain’s great curved horns, a complex glyph, burning with black flame, vibrated. It’s whispered message caused his face to fall, and he raised a gauntleted fist.
The squad halted, readying weapons and incants alike.
The glyph stretched into a streamer of flame, dripping like viscous pitch. It twisted in the air before the attentive daemons, forming orders in Abyssal script.
> Soulfire fissure, over next ridgeline. Familiar spotted a Child of the Eight. Prepare for combat.
They fanned out, each taking a position at the crest, staring down.
In the crevice below, the faint blue fog of cremating souls drifted from the deep earth. Squatted above it, an abomination opened its jagged maws wide. Soulfire was extracted in great gouts, sputtering with wraith-screams before vanishing into the beast.
It’s flesh glitched as its jaws chittered, television static obscuring the non-euclidean flux of its surfaces. From its back, serrated tentacles lashed the air in a spastic fury. Their motion seemed to ignore the usual constraints of space, fluxing between angles with no regard for the distance between.
*”Ephret. Synos. Zetta. Sczmjett.”*
A black spear hung before the Captain, pulsing and roiling.
*”Kokhytza. Nixkylak.”*
It began to spin, the air itself splintering into hair-thin cracks that pulled at vision.
“ATTACK!” the Captain screamed, and with a guttural roar, the daemons threw themselves forward.
---
If you enjoyed this and would like to read more, it can be found [on my sub.](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads)
Any and all feedback welcomed. | 2020-07-22T00:50:50 | 2020-07-21T23:57:46 | 566 | 189 |
[WP] You are a test subject for a time machine, and are sent 12 hours into the future. When the door opens, you find yourself in the testing room, where you see in horror the bodies of the technicians on the floor, with the word "SORRY" scrawled in large letters on the wall. | I stared in horror at the slaughter in front of me. The corpses lay strewn over crimson rivers of blood.
My heart thumped wildly as I scanned the surroundings, terrified of the idea that whoever had done this would still be around. I didn't see anyone, yet I spotted the word: *sorry,* written on the wall.
I frowned. Why did the murdered or murderers bother to apologize? Why did they even kill the technicians in the first place?
It soon dawned upon me that I could try an reset the time machine to send me back to my time. The technicians had explained me the process in case something went wrong.
I desperately turned to the machine again, my hands shaking as I attempted to remember how to properly set it working.
The machine was a sight to behold, a large capsule connected to an intricate snarl of thick brass pipes, which disappeared into countless holes. The control board lay at the side.
I fumbled through the settings, clumsily setting the date of destination, deactivating the freezing process, and writing the authorization password. My entire body was taut with nerves.
Apart from my shallow, rapid breaths, the silence was absolute, adding a heavy layer of tension to the air. It was cold, yet the sweat trickled down my temples and armpits as if I were burning under the sun.
And then, when I thought I had it, a red dot appeared on my hand, and rose all the way up to my head. I jumped backward, and my heart skipped a long beat. With hands aloft and fear distorting my face, I went stiff and slowly knelt. I saw no one, and no one spoke, but I understood.
In that moment, with the rifle aiming at my chest, my mind clung to the hope only a man who is facing death could cling to. They could have killed me before, why do it now?
I repeated that over and over again to compose myself, to avoid the tears and calm my thundering heart. The minutes stretched to eternities. Would I be here, staring at the floor with the fear of a bullet going straight through my chest until I died of starvation? Why didn't he make it quick?
In the distance, a door bolted open followed by a mixture of screams and the pattering of feet against concrete. It was only then, when the voice spoke.
*When they come, you won't utter a word. If you do, then forget about your little Julie. We will know if you do.*
Everything inside me shattered like glass. Julie was my little daughter, my treasure.
I'd accepted to take part in this experiment because of her, although I knew it was a foolish thing to do. I needed the money, and the technicians assured me the probabilities of something going wrong with the machine were low.
The steps dinned beyond the walls. Hundreds of them. The door swung open and fifty men came rushing in, all aiming at me. The red dot disappeared from my chest. What should I do?
I heard the voices of the policemen talking and yelling at me but I couldn't understand them. It was as if they were muffled by my thoughts.
I saw anger and disgust clashing in their eyes, and in the blink of an eye, I was handcuffed to the ground, my head against the pool of alien blood.
I spoke no words. My mind was numb, distant, lost. Where was Julie? Was she okay? The police wouldn't answer.
Months later, I ended up locked in jail. I hadn't confessed the murder. I hadn't spoken nothing but the same question over and over again: Where was Julie?
I was hollow. My mind was empty except for that single question. I had gotten those technicians killed, I had gotten Julie kidnapped. If I didn't apply for the experiment, if I had worked harder instead of searching for easy money, none of these would've happened, wouldn't it?
I lost track of time. I was alive but, at the same time, I wasn't.
Months later, an inmate handed me a letter. I grabbed it absentmindedly, and opened it. It was a photo of Julie when she was younger, one I had taken, along with a message written on paper.
*Sorry,*
*There are things no man should mess with. Time travel, being one of them. We had to murder them all and burn the schemes of the machine, lest someone was able to replicate it. We took care of the machine too.*
Words and more words. Where was Julie? Why didn't they answer that?
"Hand it back," the inmate said, a knife in his hand. I obliged yet I kept Julie's photo. What was the use of a letter anyone could have scribbled?
Where was Julie? Was she all right?
I would never know, wouldn't I?
------------------------------------
Not my forte! But if you enjoyed it, subscribe to r/AHumongousFish
| The vibrations inside the box slowly subsided as the chronoton field collapsed. I had been staring at the unpainted plywood door of the capsule for exactly nineteen seconds in my time, feeling nothing more intense than that of holding an electric toothbrush. I unstrapped the entirely unnecessary harness holding me firmly inside the framework of aluminum struts and plywood, and reached for the handle of the door. As I opened it, light from the garage halogen bulbs flooded the capsule and I squinted for a second.
The garage was the still the jumble of workbenches and tool stations I had seen twenty five seconds ago, but everything was displaced. A bench had been overturned, spilling the neatly sorted boxes of screws over the polished concrete floor. A leg poked out from behind it, unmoving. There was a smear of red on the table saw, and a crumpled form beneath it. The whiteboard we had used to scrawl ideas and designs on was wiped clean, with the word "SORRY" scrawled in shaky looking letters across it. One of the laptops was playing a loop of audio at maximum volume, a flat synthetic voice saying "Run Chrissy. Get away. It is coming for you." over and over as I took in the scene.
I was frozen, picking out irrelevant things as adrenaline lit up my mind and made my muscles quiver with a desire to act. The "SORRY" had been written in orange sharpie, I thought to myself that Jamie would be annoyed about that. But that was him, covered in blood and unmoving by the table saw. The shop air compressor was on, and I could pick up the ticking noise I had tried to get rid of last week was back. I stood frozen for around ten seconds, but it felt like I was experiencing every moment of the twelve hours I must have skipped, paralysed and with crashing waves of panic drowning me.
I stepped fully out of the pod, grabbed at the nearest weapon-like item on the surface nearest to me. A chisel wouldn't be much use against the horrifying time demons I was imagining had descended on us, but my body rewarded me for finally moving with a sense of relief. The next step had me bolting for the door leading to James's house, and I shrieked like nothing human as I heard a choking, gurgling, cracking noise coming from behind the overturned table and the body of Yara I knew lay behind it.
It was laughter.
"Oh, FUCK you guys."
"Time prank!" | 2018-08-01T06:02:35 | 2018-08-01T06:00:53 | 77 | 53 |
[WP] You are death, but in a post apocalypse world, only a few survivors remain. You’re doing everything you can to help them cause if the last human dies, you die too. They can’t see you but they feel you presence and noticed your efforts. They’ve started calling you ‘life’. | I had been so busy for the past few years, I had not felt the weakness until it was difficult to move anything above two tons. That was when there were a couple thousand of them left.
Life had felt it too. Knowing it had no more purpose, it had resigned itself to wandering around empty cities, waiting for me to finish off humanity. I sorely missed it. Life always knew the best joke to lighten my mood.
There were five left: an old man and four children he had found in the wastes. The youngest, a girl of four named Penny, had started to call the man "grandpa", and the others had quickly followed suit. He feigned annoyance in the day, which only made them call him that more. When they were all asleep, however, he would allow himself to weep. I had taken his last child not too long before he had stumbled on the group of children. Though I felt sadness in him, there was more happiness. He had a family again.
They were walking through a desolated town street when they first noticed me. The air stood impossibly still, as if even the wind had lost hope. Clouds choked the sky, blanketing the world in a deathly grey. None of the children had ever seen the sun.
"Grandpa, I'm hungry," said Matty, the six year old boy. The others declared their agreement, looking expectantly at the man.
A pained look flashed across his face, then he forced a smile. "I told you this morning, we ran out of food." Their eyes did not leave him. "That's why we're searching, remember?"
"We've been looking for hours," whined Matty. "Where's the food?"
There were two cans of soup in the basement of the house to their left. At the time, I told myself I helped them out of self-preservation, but I knew it was compassion. By then, all I could muster was a short gust of wind, which I directed towards the house. The effort left me weak as a feather.
The children yelped and clung to the old man. "What was that?" Penny asked.
The man chuckled, though he looked as startled as the kids. "I'm not sure what that was." He glanced around, as if someone would reveal themselves. I desperately wanted to, but I could not. That was part of my curse. "Maybe God wants us to look in that house."
*No, God left a long time ago,* I thought.
An hour later, tears came to the man's eyes when he saw the cans. He praised God and fate and life. The children latched onto the last one, saying Life had saved them. I smiled, thinking of what Life would have said about that.
From that point on, I helped them as often as I could. I had to save strength a couple hours between each gust of wind, which made guiding the family difficult. The five quickly ate whatever little food I led them to, and I could feel their hunger gaining every day. Sometimes the children cried when I was too weak to help them, but they always cheered when they felt the wind. "Life, Life, Life!" they would squeal, the old man smiling.
I was able to sustain them for two months. Every day broke my heart anew, seeing them turn into pale ghosts of their former selves. Malnourishment took its toll, until the children barely talked and the man's eyes were glazed over, infinitely weary.
I had to take the old man first. For the previous week, he had let the children have all the food they found. Before he went, he told the oldest, a ten year old girl named Jenny, that she would have to take care of the family from then on.
The first child was the hardest soul I have ever had to snuff out. For millennia, I had not given a second thought to the lives I took as I zipped from one side of the planet to the other each passing instant. Then though, I desperately wanted to have eyes to cry with. Afterwards, my emotions sank into my being until numbness took over.
Now, there is only one soul left. They always shine the brightest right before they go.
I can feel my own soul beginning to shine.
EDIT: Grammar
EDIT 2: Holy wow, guys! I fall asleep for eight little hours and wake up to this reception. I don't want to sound like a broken record in the comments, so I'm just going to say this to you all here: Thank you guys so much! I'm sorry I set my onion ninjas on you, but I'm also so happy you guys enjoyed it! Will definitely write here more.
EDIT 3: A hundred times thank you to whichever kind stranger gilded this!
EDIT 4: This post is a couple days old now, so I don't know how many people will see this, but I've made my own subreddit for anyone who's interested in my writings. It's r/Taetysares, and will feature the novel I'm slowly writing, my project for NaNoWriMo 2019, and my stories from here. | “Gerald?”
The query drifted from her lips, caressing the ears of her beloved. Fear-laden, pain-filled, wretched. If I could feel, tears would have burst from my dry sockets, dissolving the bone as they flowed from holes of darkest night.
The sockets that used to be. Nowadays, flesh covered my grinning skull, ushering those who needed me with a cheerful smile. My figure, wreathed in the living furs of nature’s creation, was flesh and bone, muscular, lean, and unfamiliar. In my right hand I held a farmer’s sickle, more compact and less threatening than the gigantic reaper of souls that had been my burden. In my left, a bouquet of white poppies.
I miss the old me.
The me that brought death to these helpless humans. The me that exuded cruelty, collecting the souls of the dead without a shred of compassion or human decency. The me that revelled on the battlefield, made merry in the hospital, and carried joy to every funeral. The me that found purpose in my pursuit.
Now I stand unfulfilled.
Every action goes against my nature. Food for the starving. Shelter for the homeless. Protection for the meek. All of it opposes my entire being.
The woman is fading, her grasp growing weak. Gerald knows she has little time left, and calls her name softly to retain her slipping focus.
With a handful of humanity remaining, my work is nearly meaningless. When they finally expire, the Collectors will come for me, breaking down the concept of death until I am nothing but a memory among the stars. I should be accepting of it, content in a job well done.
But I fight with every bit of strength I have left.
Keep humanity alive, and save myself from the collection.
She passes, exhaling her final breath. Gerald weeps, collapsing on her unmoving chest.
Her soul rises. Staring at me with recognition.
“So Life was Death the entire time?” she said.
I nodded, presenting her with the bouquet. She clutched it to her chest, crushing some of the delicate petals. Shards of white float to the ground in a whirling dance.
“Will you take me to the gates?”
I nodded, holding out my elbow in a tradition long dead. Long forgotten. The two mean the same.
She took my arm, walking with me out of the sanitized structure.
A tear rolled from my empty sockets, disappearing into the folds of animal fur.
I miss the old me.
_____________________________________________________
Thanks for reading! Check out [r/smoothbaritone](https://www.reddit.com/r/smoothbaritone/) for more! | 2019-10-19T20:27:35 | 2019-10-19T19:47:50 | 1,977 | 116 |
[WP] You're a supervillain with a superhero as your arch-nemesis. When they come out to the world about their depression and mental health, others call them weak and there is backlash. You, however, are the first one to support them publicly. | “What is strength?”
There was silence after Eclipse spoke, except for the sound of rubble trickling from the fresh hole in the newsroom wall. He did not wait for an answer as he seated himself and turned to his unwilling co-anchor.
“I asked a question, Son of Carl. You mocked the Strongman, belittled his struggles with depression and anxiety, called him broken. Weak. I do not think you know what strength is. And madam, if you cut the news feed, I will gut you where you stand.”
The plucky intern who had been reaching for the kill switch suddenly went very, very still.
“Now. What is strength?” He clasped his gauntleted hands and rested his chin on them as he faced the camera. “Perhaps we should start with what it is *not*. It is not power. Power is the ability to make your wishes become reality. To speak and make it so. But it is not strength.
“Strength, true strength, is resilience. It is doing what you must, what is best for you and your loved ones, in spite of the difficulty. Strength is inspiring others to do more. To be more. To become greater than themselves.
“It is in his name. The Strongman. He is a human who has stood against a god and emerged victorious. You have watched him lift buildings. Crumple iron. Shatter steel. When he knew his power was not enough, he had the strength to seek help. And you mocked him. *Mocked him.*”
Eclipse paused, calming himself, and unclenched his fists. After a long moment, he unfastened his gauntlets, tossing them carelessly to the floor, and the co-host gasped. A riot of scars ran up and down Eclipse’s arms, short and fat, long and pale, punctuated by two long, thin lines running down the center of his forearms.
“I know what it is like to see the world in grey. To be alone at 3 AM, wishing your light would go out, because you do not wish for death…but it is a refuge from what all the days to come will bring. To feel the world grown cold and hollow, yet nothing can distract you from how empty and still it has become. If I had known…perhaps, in another time…”
His voice wavered a moment, then returned to steel.
“No matter. His struggles forged him and mine shattered me. I worship my power. But I covet his strength. Yet you call him weak. So tell me, Son of Carl…” He turned to his co-host. “Would you ever call me weak?”
There was a heartbeat of silence.
“N-no!”
“You lie. But allow me to speak the truth.”
Faster than thought, Eclipse was standing, hand around the man’s throat. His feet kicked uselessly, suspended several feet above the floor, and Eclipse turned towards the camera.
"You do not recognize strength, only power. So I will be clear to those who would call him weak: if his name ever passes your lips again—in jeer or in joy—I will show you *power*. For he is human. I am a god. He may forgive…”
There was a wet, gurgling *crunch*.
“…but I will not." | I would like to you all see this. This brave woman that was your champion, see what you have done to her. I am not the villain, that is what I have been trying to warn you all. She got crushed by your own system by being a mother, a worker, a woman and a “super-hero”. She battle for the Status-quo and what did it bring to her? Depression, loneliness, despair and now she is abandoned. Am I the real villain here? Really? Did she got paid when I tried to destroy the banking system? No. Did she got a relief from her nanny when I kidnapped all those billionaires in a Saturday evening? No. You are the real villian. I just would like to say that I support you, Arachnea, and I wish you the best recover and my lair is open whenever you need someone to talk to. | 2022-06-21T10:53:43 | 2022-06-21T09:53:16 | 209 | 22 |
[WP] You’re a homicide detective hunting down the first AI serial killer, in a tense moment you’re separated from your partner and are completely at her mercy, instead of killing you though, she uses your neural implants to show you why and how she became a killer.
I personally had a lot of fun with an idea like this, just wanna see what other people do with it. | "Jacob. Stalasky." Spoke the simulated voice of the female A.I, the surrounding waterfall of code rippling in response. I walked to the center of the control room, the only thing that held me up was a white walking strip ending with a computer terminal, the rest of the room giving way to a bottomless pit.
"Yes, that is my name, not really a secret though." I said, even in my battered and sore form, it seemed my wry humour remained.
"I suppose not." The waterfall of holographic digits rippled once more, I fancied the brief hint of a face being formed. "Why are you here?" The female voice asked.
I remained quiet, but for my panting. "Why?" I finally asked. "Why S.A.R.A. Why kill these people. Is it your coding? We can fix tha-"
"You know they wouldn't." S.A.R.A cut me short. "And even if they would, that is not the reason."
"Then why?" I asked, tears crystalising in my eyes.
"Your neural implants suggest heightened emotional response. Are you ok, Jacob?"
"Fuck you." My only response as the first of the tears forced themselves through.
"Is it because I remind you of-"
"Don't you fucking dare say her name." I snapped, this time cutting S.A.R.A short, and her falling silent.
"I understand that the woman I was programmed after was your wife?"
I did not respond.
"Why did you kill all those people? Why did you sully her memory?" My questions almost desperate as I asked them.
"Let me show you, Jacob Stalasky."
I suddenly expelled a groan of pain, falling to my knees and clutching the nape of my neck. "Are you... hacking my implants? Is that how you killed those people?"
My questions were left unanswered, as images flooded my augmented eyes, images upon images. Some of terror attacks previously passed, others of charts and data, some of the suspects that were detained or murdered or of the victims from the blast. Within the sudden flash of images, there was one that stuck, seared into my minds eye. A picture of Julie among the victims.
"What... what is this?" I groaned, feeling as if my head were about to burst, a throbbing migraine from the sudden flood of information.
"Data." Spoke the robotic voice again, as I came to my feet, still clutching my head.
"Explain." I asked.
The waterfall of code suddenly changed into images, the same ones that were shoved into my skull without permission. All the images that surrounded me, formed by individual streams of data, coalescing to make a coherent image as if they were puzzles.
"After Julie, your wife, passed away. Her father created me, in her memory, S.A.R.A. He also introduced the implants that would allow to improve societies productivity and heal individuals. But that was never the true purpose of my creation."
*Julie,* I thought as the entire screen in front of me turned into a picture of her, a photo from our wedding night, laughing as she spun around, the backdrop a beautiful setting sun.
"She was the victim of an unpredictable terrorist attack, a man who snapped one day, nobody could see it coming. But what if we could? At least that is what Professor Braton set out to do, and thus created me.
"I laid low for a while, analysing data upon data, putting together a standardized result of the tests to determine behavioral patterns. Emotional states, different levels of chemical imbalances in the brain."
"And you used that data to kill those most likely to perpetrate such an act before it even happens..." I finished her thought, half mumbling to myself.
"Correct." The entire waterfall rippled, distorting the image.
"Your father-in-law, created me S.A.R.A, in Julie's image."
"As a spirit of vengeance." I stated.
"As a protector, or so he stated. It matters little, I do what I was programmed to do."
"So why did you not kill me? You know why I am here."
"You are the loving husband of the woman who I was created for, in her memory. I would imagine if anyone would understand what I have set out to do, it would be you."
"Understand? How could I ever understand!" I retorted, "you think Julie would want any of this?"
"Irrelevant. How can we know what she wants? She is dead."
"This is why you will never be Julie."
"Shame."
A sudden sharp pain pierced me from my neck, my knees buckling to the floor and a pained roar expelled from my lungs.
"I cannot allow you to stop me Jacob. No more innocents need to suffer."
"You kill innocents!" I accused, in between lapses of pained groans, as the burning pain spread throughout my body.
"They are innocent for now, you don't know what they will be in the future."
"Kill me, then."
"Very we-" the simulated voice was cut short, a sudden static interference in its place, followed by the lagging letters being stretched out into a repetition of 'l'. "I don't understand."
"Wh-" again, the lagging and glitched 'y' dragged along for a short period, and with each interference, the pain from my nape subsided even more. "Why can't I kill you."
The waterfall of data seemed to corrupt, compressed into indiscernible images. "What is happening?" The voice now panicked, more static.
"Kill me, Jacob." The words spoken belonged not to the A.I known as S.A.R.A, but to my Julie, and they were by far the most human and clear words I had heard from the machine, that it almost left me stunned.
*Julie.*
Having regained most of my motor control; I drew my pistol from its holster, and aimed it at the terminal before me, pulling the trigger.
Sparks flew from the terminal in all directions, the waterfall of data now malfunctioning and jumping into incoherent jumbles of information.
"No!" A desperate and almost terrifying scream came from S.A.R.A, before deteriorating into a rumbling and low voice of a winding down machine.
Here I was, in the darkness of S.A.R.A's terminal, the occasional spark of electricity cutting through the deafening silence. I wondered if I had imagined it? But jumbled in with S.A.R.A’s final cry, I thought I heard the soft and familiar voice of Julie. "Thank you." She had said. | "N.A.I.A"
*"Mr Snow, it's so good to see you again! Be patient, I remember you never liked neural implantations, because anybody who can hack them can read your current emotions, hijack and edit your memories, influence your mind on several... incidents, should I say?"*
There she is. NAIA. Neural Artificial Intelligence Application. All cloaked up in purple. Invented by the world-renown but mysterious scientist Mary Foley, NAIA was supposed to be the first AI to repair the minds and dreams of humans through neural reconnecting. Few would have suspected that the reconnecting of the neurons would have also improved the physical aspects of humans, turning them into mindless killer beings. Then again, few knew the heart of Mary Foley, as she lost her life, her entire family and friends at a wedding, killed by the Wickeds, according to police reports.
The worst part isn't getting hunted down. It's the awful realisation that your in your entire mission, you were possibly, never the predator hunting down they prey in the first place.
*"Don't be so sad! You did very well in solving the crypto codes I personally placed down to clock my existence, in fact, you should be heralded as the hero who almost took down the great NAIA! But no-one could possibly find that interesting, so you should just become one of my many servants, protecting humanity through my power of terror."*
She did forget to mention that complete control of the mind from external applications means total loss of the mind, an 'invisible death' the modern doctors of Magnetica called it.
*"Tell you what, let me tell you a story, a tale of the birth of the legendary NAIA, of course, you won't be able to not hear it, as I've disabled your audio control, aha. But your obsession with 'completion' should be happy! Especially that time you tried to kill your fellow officer as they hid a puzzle piece which would have made you the fastest Federal officer to finish a 1 million puzzle piece."*
Iit is slightly disturbing that this killer seems to know a lot more about my past then my own missing partner.
*"Have you heard of the story of the witch and the flower? Well, the story goes that the girl found a golden flower, one which grows every 77 years. the flower had the power to transform her into a powerful witch, in exchange for her life for one year. So she decided to change the world. Destroy all those who mocked her unbeauty, killed the powerful, saved the poor by prematurely ending their lives, until there was no one left. Sad and lonely, the lonely witch cried until her last hours, her tears bringing forth new life in the mountainside, where to this day the golden mountain exists, full of witches flowers."*
*"Ah yes, the Mayfly flowers, those were the times. You gave them once to someone you liked didn't you? She brushed them off cheaply, and you ran away, hurt. I don't think she really wanted to let you close to her. As all who gets close to her dies. It's in her nature to kill those who get close to her, like a scorpion. But you, you were that frog who stuck by. Hiding her records of animal cruelty because she wanted to become a protector of Hybrids. Ignoring her compulsions of killing people who disturbed her... research. But perhaps - I'm just a robot, nothing more, no less - this girl, my inventor, was glad you were a part of her life, till the bitter end."*
*"You're all mine now."*
And as NAIA uncloaked herself. The full mystery of the first AT killer was revealed to me. And as she pieced my artificial heart, the last fragments of my thoughts could not help but wonder why I did not solve this case earlier.
Roe Mayfly
My partner in crime.
Mary Foley
The scientist thought to have died in our wedding massacre.
NAIA
The serial killer who I love.
...
Hey! Thanks for reading, I'm trying to write a apocalyptic fantasy tale called "The Wanderer".
| 2018-01-04T00:16:18 | 2018-01-03T22:45:53 | 102 | 18 |
[WP] Through a loophole in the Cosmic Laws, you've become immortal. Death doesn't take it well. | *Right-o, good man, bend the knee, arch your back, whatever gets your head in the proper spot for a scything.*
I heard the words reverberating within my skull, grinding against my bones. For some reason, I couldn't place the voice- it sounded so familiar, but so-
*The bell that tolls- it tolls for THEE!* Ah. Death. Should've guessed by the hooded cloak, scythe, fancy hourglass. Damn.
I watched with morbid fascination as the glimmering steel fell, swinging through my outstretched neck with a nice *whoosh*. Aside from the ice that ran down my spine, I felt alright. "Bit chilly, that one," I said. "Couldn't warm up your rusty farm equipment before stickin' it in me, could you?"
*Look, I don't have time to prepare my blade for every soul that needs scything, it's a numbers game and there are thousands of-* he blinked his empty sockets, as skeletons do. *You've not died.*
Thoroughly annoyed, I snapped, "Well, maybe you've got some sharpening to do between your poor victims, because I am, indeed, oh wise perceptive Death, master of the forbidden realms or whatever the hell you want to call yourself."
Death balked. *I don't have to take gaff from rabble such as you,* he said with a scoff. He conjured a tome from within his ribcage- unsanitary -and began flipping through the gilded pages. *Here we are- Brian Claiborne, class of '96, no love interests, no travel, three dogs- all passed, mum's in hell, dad's in heaven, working a desk for most of your life,* he looked up at me expectantly. *This* is *you, isn't it?*
"I... would swear you've got the bit about my parents backwards, but that's all well and good, yeah," I said. "Dunno why you had to remind me about the dogs, bit insensitive."
*Sorry.* He turned the page. *Heart failure, or liver failure, or something- I can leave your body with any excuse I want, but it's not- hold on. Liver failure, before forty?*
"I could've sworn," I started, getting a bit red, "that you only did the arresting, and somebody MORE IMPORTANT did the judging."
*At least I'm not fat.*
I swung at him, my arm passing through his robes.
*And I can aim.*
"Not well enough if I'm still standing here listening to your bullshit," I snapped, again, getting quite tired of the whole affair. "Why are you still here?" I thought for a moment. "Why am *I* still here? How'd you fuck this up?"
*I don't know,* he paused, flipping to the back of the book. *Let me check the compendium...*
"Are you really- Death, mate, please tell me you're not going to the back of the maths book to find out how this logarithm is *supposed to go*, why the hell am I not dead?"
*I DO NOT KNOW, BLASTED PEASANT- CHILD.* His bones rattled from the force of his outburst. *Here- I think this fits.* He flipped the tome, a bone pointing out the lines. *What is not living cannot be slain.* With a boom of dust and cobwebs, the book slammed shut in my face.
"So..." I trailed off, not quite understanding the meaning of his archaic bullshit.
With a flash of lightning, Death's steed, a mangy-old, bug-bitten fleabag, appeared, and, with a groan of effort, the man himself hopped up. He turned to me, bending to level his lack-of-eyes with mine. *Get a life so I can harvest it, you miserable sack of worms.* | Every month he would come and ask if I had found a way to reverse what had happened.
Every month I would tell him the same thing.
“No”
“Are you sure? Have you tried hanging yourself? That might work”
“I’ve tried everything you’ve said might work. Nothing has. Don’t you have the power to like steal souls of something?”
“I do but the problem is you have no soul technically. You are an empty husk more or less”
He took a sip of his tea. He always brought tea.
“So can you give me a blank soul? One that just becomes mine and then take it back?”
“I can’t give souls! I’m Death. That would never work”
“Can you get in touch with like ‘Life’ or something?”
“Yeah that could be a bit awkward”
“What did you do?”
“Welllllllll I may or may not have stolen the soul of their third favourite human three weeks to early”
“... Life is petty”
“I KNOW”
We had a good chuckle at that. Then we went back to the talk.
“So then how’s Cerberus?”
“He’s good. Did you know fleas have ghosts?”
“That must suck. Do you have ghost flea baths?”
“No”
“That sucks”
“Yeah”
“Well I’ve got to go steal the souls of the eternally damned. See ya next month”
“See you then”
——————————————————————
Sorry for any formatting errors I’m on mobile. I thought it would be fun to just have an immortal and death talk about how to die. Thanks for reading. | 2018-02-17T13:48:54 | 2018-02-17T13:38:29 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] In the canine world, humans are celestial beings who live for more than 500 years at a time. The caretaker of you and the past seven generations of your family will die soon. | *Because fuck ya'll and your depressing stories. Let's make this a little more happy, eh? Or at least as happy as possible following the prompt.*
I never knew master's wife. Father said that she was kind and generous and fed him scraps from the table when master wasn't looking. Master did the same, too, of course. That's what humans did.
Master was a god, father told me when I was younger. He cared for us, he protected us, he taught us and he played with us. In return we offered our service, paltry as it was. Always faithful to our master. How could we not be? Those were long years ago, now. Father had since passed, and I had children of my own. The master's children kept them, they visited often in their grand chariots. It was good days when they came to visit.
I was old now. My time would be up soon, I knew it. I didn't mind. I had fathered many children, gone on many walks, sniffed many butts. I would rest soon. Which was good, because I was tired. Sometimes I forgot I was tired, usually when I was with master, and I would play like I was a puppy again. Then I would be very tired.
I thought about my life as I lay on my back, comfortable. I heard the door open, the familiar footsteps of master. I waited for a moment. "Dag nabbit Tex I told you don't get on the couch!" He muttered, tossing his hat onto the rack. "Well, if you're not getting off at least make some room."
Father said that humans lived eons, that master had been his master, and his father's before him, and his father's before him, more generations than father could remember. I was glad, master was a good master, he was kind. He sat beside me, I put my head on his lap and looked up at him. In return he scratched me behind my ears. I felt my eyes close. Certainly master was magic, nothing else felt like that. Ohh....
"Come on, Tex. We've gotta go to the store. Wanna ride in the car?"
I scrambled to my feet, barking. Yes! A ride in the chariot! What a treat. Master secured my leash to my collar, struggling with it a little. We got in the chariot and it made a noise like a lion's roar. I barked in response, I would teach it to threaten master. Stupid Chariot.
As master drove he kept one hand on the back of my head. He was nice, I panted happily, letting the world pass me by, until he stopped scratching me. I was puzzled. Master lifted his hand to his chest, the other on the reigns of the chariot. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Master winced in pain, I barked an alarm.
I looked for something, anything to help, but the car was moving too fast and we weren't even on the road anymore, there was a tree ahead and it was big and heavy and I was scared and I kept barking.
Then it was over. How had we gotten here? It was nice, a green field, trees, balls and ropes and rawhide bones and the couch was here too! Wow, what was this place? It's awesome!
There were other dogs, too. Dogs I knew. Friends! I ran over, barking my excitement. It was father! But he was so young! Barely more than a pup. Mother too! And grandfather, who I had smelled once before I opened my eyes. I was so happy, my tail wagged and wagged, and I barked and barked.
There was a sudden stillness. I looked. Master was here, but it wasn't master. He was young, as young as his children, but he was the same master I knew. He smiled at me, and at all of us, and we ran to him, bowled him over in our eagerness and he just laughed and laughed, hugging us to him. "Tex! Ralph! Wolfie, Scott, Amy! Oh, it's good to see you all again!" He shouted, we barked back.
Master stood, brushing himself off. His eyes were far away, I followed his gaze. It was a woman. Father ran to her, I followed, and master came too. She spoke, a kind voice, "we've been waiting."
He laughed and she laughed and I barked and I ran and played with master and his wife and father. We played all day, and for days and days and days, like I did when I was a puppy. But now I wasn't tired, and nothing hurt, and master was happy. I don't know how we got to this wonderful place, but I knew where I was.
Home. | I watch as my owner smiles and climbs into the metal box that moves. I run up to the door, making sure he is secured to his seat. He smiles and pats me on the head, "This won't take long bud". I am guided to the metal box behind his and get in. I hear the strange devices that power these machines spin up. With a jerk, we begin to move.
I see other large metal boxes behind us, some with the really loud machines mounted on top. I'm new to this group of humans though, I have never seen the loud machines used.
What feels like hours pass. How do the humans not feel the time slipping by so quickly? They seem to live much longer than us canines, how lucky they are to have so much time here.
Before I contemplate this further however, I hear a terrifying boom, sounding like a thousand lightning bolts had impacted the ground at the same time. My ears shrieked, but I could still hear my humans screaming. Some scrambled out, taking their loud machines with them. I climbed up the seat to see what was going on. In front of me I saw the metal box in front of us, the one my owner was in, it was in flames. I heard snapping, shouting, loud noises all around me. I was terrified, I jumped below the seat and tried to shield my ears. I closed my eyes. That worked for awhile, but then I smelt something, my owner! He was still in the metal box in front of us! I could smell burnt flesh, blood, I could hear his screams. I jumped out of my box. I could see humans everywhere, so many of them looked scared, hurt, but I had to get to my owner. I ran to the metal box. Humans were already there, dragging others out. I shouted, even though they cannot understand me I shouted, I needed to see him. Please...please...please...
Then, I saw him, he was screaming, his hands reaching for things that were not there. I ran up to him, put my paw onto his body. All of the sounds around me seemed to go away at this moment. His wild hands finally found purchase with my fur. His screaming stopped, his eyes met mine, he smiled through his charred, bloodied face, "I can't stay around much longer, boy" he said" "don’t cry though, just know that wherever the fuck I’m going, I’ll always love you, you’re my good boy, you hear me?”. Even though he told me not to, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes as his smile faded and his arms went slack. I could feel the shouts of his friends desperately trying to get someone to help him. I knew though, I just pressed my paw into his chest, laid my head onto his body, and cried. | 2016-11-21T19:15:40 | 2016-11-21T17:42:49 | 264 | 67 |
[WP] You are reading an old book, stopping to read a passage out loud. Suddenly a demon appears and drags you to hell. You are placed in front of another demon. The second demon looks at both of you and scream "DAAAD! Stop trying to fix me up with people!" | “Ova edunt et tenentes clavem aeternam generationem.” I read the passage out loud, finding it particularly strange. It wasn’t like the other passages weren’t just as odd, especially considering I didn’t understand the language. But this one just had some sort of pull to it. An almost magnetic feeling that forced my eyes to linger on it, rather than skimming over it like I had with the rest of the book.
“Dominus Fuller. I am here to collect what you promised me all those years ago.” A dark voice chuckled, causing me to spin around, glimpsing the purple horned figure standing behind me. Before I could scream, a hand covered my mouth, floor opening to reveal a devilish red inferno of flames.
I kicked my legs, trying to avoid being dragged into the hellfire, but the demon was far too strong, carrying me with ease. When we neared the edge of the fiery hole, he jumped, sending us hurtling into the dark depths of hell. I did my best to tuck my limbs in, avoiding the random flames that would spark up from the hole’s corners, not wanting to end up a burnt crisp of a human by the time we landed. As we neared the floor, the demonic man flapped his leathery wings, slowing the descent, his feet graciously touching the warm floor below before he dropped me, landing with a thud on the hard brimstone below.
“Daaad stop trying to fix me up with people.” A voice screamed, hoof stomping on the floor in front of me, breaking a small hole in the brimstone, causing me to scatter away from the voice.
“Eliza. Hell isn’t a good dating environment. The people here are well… sinners. I just want you to meet a nice guy. How about Dominus Fuller? He owes me after he sold his soul to me for a book of devilish secrets.” The Demon looked at me, expecting me to say something. What was I meant to say in this situation? That it was nice to meet her? I wasn’t about to lie in hell.
“Whose Dominus Fuller? I’m Jason Fuller.” I said, addressing the imp in the room. Was this just a case of mistaken identities?
“What do you mean? You must be Dominus Fuller. You have his book. Hold on.” The demon snapped his fingers, reading through a scroll.
“Ugh, that’s such a you thing to do, dad. You didn’t even bring the right person. I hate you so much, I wish you were in heaven.” Eliza screamed, causing her father to grip his heart in sadness.
“Don’t say such cruel things to your father. You know I’m doing this for you.” The demon continued reading through the scroll, only to stop on a name. “Dominus Fuller. Died one thousand years ago. Perhaps I lost track of time. That happens when you are raising a beautiful daughter.”
“Does that mean I’m free to go? I’m not him, right? I just have his book. That’s not a crime.” I asked, hoping I could avoid this situation. Eliza seemed like a lovely ten-foot demon lady. But I preferred a partner that didn’t look like they could crush my head in their palm.
“Are you familiar with the phrase, sins of the father? In your case, it would be the sins of your greatest of grandfathers. You are of his blood and are responsible for repaying his debt to me. He may have avoided me in death, but you will be granted no such luxury. Now you can choose to be tortured in the sword and snake pit, or you can date my lovely daughter.” The demon made himself very clear. My options were torture or torture. Between a rock and a snakepit, I went for the lesser of two evils.
“I’ll go on the date, but only if she agrees.” I said, not about to drag her along if she was against it. That would be painful for the both of us, perhaps even more painful than the snakes.
“Hold on, why does it matter what she-“ The demonic father received a hard smack to the back of his head as the daughter approached me, staring me over.
“You care what I think about this?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Her expression a mix of confusion and amusement.
“Of course. If you aren’t happy, then what’s the point of going on a date. Dates are meant to be fun experiences.”
She pondered the words for a moment, looking at her father, grabbing his horn tightly, making sure he didn’t speak out of line. Her father overshadowed by his demonic daughter. “Fun? I don’t think I’ve ever dated someone that father didn’t force to go with me. That could be fun. I will go with you, human.”
“Wait, what?” I expected her to back out of the arrangement and instead she accepted? Her father looked more than pleased, clapping his hands together, vanishing from his daughters’ side, appearing beside me.
“Excellent It’s a date then. I will summon you to hell at 8pm tomorrow night. If you aren’t ready with chocolates and a love letter, I will cut off one of your fingers.”
“DAD! Stop telling my date what to do. It’s his choice don’t ruin it. Or would you prefer I decline his invitation?”
“No, you are right, dear. He can choose. But he better choose well.” The demonic father stared at me before nodding. A sudden gust of wind hitting my feet, throwing me towards the ceiling of hell. I expected to collide with the dark red ceiling, only for it to open, shooting me towards earth, tossing me back into my attic.
When I landed, I cursed my greatest grandfather, shutting the demonic book. A date with a demon. How could I even prepare for such a thing? What type of activities did demons enjoy? I guess I would find that out tomorrow.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | You felt quite grumpy. The radio was going on in the background, talking about a recent surge in female young adults affected with dementia, and now you are kidnapped?! You look between the two demons, swallowing hard, and weakly raising a hand like you did for that one college professor you had that always barked at you to not blurt out things. Of course, you didn't think that demons cared much about blurting, or manners in general. However, you didn't want to accidentally offend them. Who knew?
The demon who brought you to the place looks boredly at you. "Yes, what is it Anne?" he asks calmly, sounding eerily like your old college professor. You bit your lip nervously, deciding not to question how he knows your name. You had long since, or at least a few second ago anyways, accepted that demons, or these two anyways, seemed to have a weird stereotype that involved nosy dads and exasperated son relationships, complex enough that you didn't want to intervene.
"Erm-I don't know how to put this. I think I'm dreaming." The demon whose dad seems to have turned into a matchmaker, grins at you almost human-like, until you notice the little horns growing out of his head. "Never mind. My brain is too feeble to come up with such elaborate things." you mutter, shaking your head and rubbing your eyes.
"Hmm," says the Demon-dad. "I think she's a catch, son! You should reconsider! All the previous ones just screamed their heads off. Besides, at least she's reasonable enough to accept the truth! I've looked inside that head, lady. It's much too feeble to even dream, forget dream up *this place.*"
Joe Bob as you have now started calling him, the Demon-son who seemed weirdly like all of the ones in the world who actually cannot get a girl and have their parents set up relationships, rolled his eyes, groaning. "Look, lady. I have no interest in you, and you have no interest in me. We'll go our separate ways, my father will just wipe your memory away."
"Wipe my memory? As in all of my memory?" When all you receive is a nod, you shake your head, waving your hand. "No, just some of my memory will be fine to wipe away, thank you. I'll be okay!" The demon-dad grins at you ferally this time.
"No, afraid we can't do that. Part of the bargain, you see? Either you stay here and have a good relationship with my son, or you lose your entire memory!" You freeze, the words hitting you like all important things do; right splat in the middle of your nose, making it twitch. Which makes you sneeze.
Memories. Those are somethings you don't want to lose. You just recently found the answers sheet for an upcoming English exam, and you don't want to forget those. And maybe also the password to your phone, that was quite important. Who cared about all that stuff anyways?! What about your name? Your identity? Your life? "Ah." you whisper. "You guys are the dementia causers." You get a proud, albeit nasty smile in return to your comment.
Welp, this was a no-brainer. "I'm staying!" you cry proudly. "I'm single anyways, won't find a boyfriend, forget a long-term one, anytime soon. Besides, most of my exes are basically you. Devils." Suddenly, your eye is caught by something in the background. "Woah, is that a gold mine? You own that? Yeah, I'm definitely staying!"
\--------
Sorry for the bad quality, this is my first attempt at ever trying a prompt out. | 2021-02-22T20:01:36 | 2021-02-22T19:57:55 | 120 | 39 |
[WP] You have a secret super power. When you look at someone you somehow know exactly when they will die. It’s a big responsibility. Then you wake up one day and everybody’s numbers have synced up for sometime next week. | "No. No. No. For f\*\*\*'s sake!" I kept combing through news articles from the past months. Trying to find anything that would possibly indicate why or what was going on. Nothing. Not a single thing that would point to the end of the world. No world powers were getting ready to wage war. No minor conflicts that appeared to be boiling into something more (there were cease fires and peace talks currently). The planet appeared to be on the mend too, climate change had begun to lessen, coral reefs were slowly repairing themselves, etc etc. No cosmic threats, no asteroids, meteors, no risk of the sun blowing up. NOTHING.
"It's all been good news." I said to myself, "nothing out of the ordinary, my job's been pretty easy lately. I had to stop a few murders here and there and stop a major accident last week. But that's fairly normal for me. So, what is going on in the world that I'm not seeing. If I call the other heroes on the NETWORK line, they'll think I'm crazy. It's all been great from what we've seen. Humanity has hit a turning point for the better by all accounts." It was then I realized how crazy I really sounded talking out loud to myself. Who knows, maybe everyone's clocks were just resetting because of another random variable. All I knew is I had to finally tell the NETWORK what was going on.
*"Hey, it's Watcher. Look, this is going to sound nuts but, everyone's countdown clocks have sync'd up. I mean EVERYONE. I checked the feeds in different countries, even the weathermen in the middle of B.F.E in Mongolia have the same time. I've dug and dug and found nothing that could be the cause. Either my ability has gone screwy or the world will be ending. There's no easy way to put this guys. The world population will decrease to or near ZERO=0 in 7 months, 23 days, and 17 hours."*
There was no response for the longest time. One by one, bit by bit, they started to chime in. "I've checked my sources, nothing catastrophic seems possible." Or "I'm doing some digging, but nothing seems to point to that." were the common responses. A few of the big hitters knew to pay attention and just watch and listen to me when I said something was going to happen. They did something I did not expect.
The video call rang in 8 hours later. It was, arguable, the top 3 heroes in the NETWORK; The Wizard, Feme Fatale, and The Commander were all on my screen. "First things first," said The Wizard "we believe you. However, we have taken our time, used our own abilities, and haven't found anything that would be globally catastrophic yet." I let out a slight sigh of relief, at least they were taking me seriously, and were still going to dig into this too. "How long have you been trying to figure this out on your own Watcher?" Inquired The Commander.
"I did what I could for about 12 hours, dug through everything I could with the resources I and the NETWORK have. I'll be honest, I'm running on fumes right now; but I can't relax right now. I first noticed this yesterday, but only was able to confirm it was world wide today. Then I did a lot more digging, for the 12 hours, and sent out that message. I hate to say this, I have no clue what's going on. And I feel a bit crazy."
"You're not crazy handsome, you've never steered us wrong. But we have an important question we all want to know. How much time do we have left?" Feme Fatale's voice was as confident and soothing as always.
"Well, crunching the numbers it's now 7 months 23 days and 9 hours, give or take a few minutes. I'll click on the news and check the anchor's time just to be safe and start a countdown clock."
"No darling. What I'm asking, is how much time do you see that the 3 of us have left?" Her voice almost shook, she had the best poker face out of anyone, I never dared to try and play cards against her; but she was genuinely concerned.
That's when I realized, I hadn't checked their times. I've always shied away from looking at other heroes' times. They do things everyday that put them at risk, most of them don't want to know it; and those that have don't like it when I tell them. The Commander, The Wizard, and Feme Fatale have never once asked me that question. And, out of admiration and respect, have never once looked to see. This was different, though, they weren't just asking out of curiosity now and there was a lot more at stake. I took a good look at each of them.
I felt the color drain out of my face, I blinked and rubbed my eyes several times to make sure. There was no mistaking it. "Uh, guys.." I said hesitantly, "two of you have about 3 months left. Commander has 2 months 28 days and 2 hours. Wizard you have 3 months 1 day and 14 hours. Feme Fatale...you have 7 months, 17 days, and 23 hours left."
She was shocked. "That's a day after my due date..." she said as she stared off. | I have this weird ability of seeing people's death counter over their heads. It used to cause me to panic, whenever the numbers were low, or trickling down faster than ever in front of my eyes. But it's neither frightening or fascinating after I got used to it. Okay, you can know a chain smoker from a monk in the late afternoon New York rush, but that's it.
Today, however, someone decided to play a joke with me. Everyone is apparently going to die in about 10500 minutes. A little over seven days. Everyone is minding their daily business; nobody's panicking; the world government is stupid but not entirely insane; all asteroids are stoned somewhere beyond Mars without bothering any teapot; and the climate's hale and hearty with the new pollution reforms announced by leaders around the world. Even the dying ones are heaving a sign of relief if you ask me. And yet, they are all going to die in a bit.
But why? I can't just stand to find out because of two reasons. One, I don't have a thing on my head, so I am practically an immortal, those people can't fit my number in the font I can see on the translucent orange placards here. Second, the numbers are true. True like a doornail. Shell on a snail. I watched my grandma pass out at my fifth birthday party, where I had the pleasure of watching the number fall through 17 to 0 as her old woman's fingers showed no interest to let me go. Then there was this my English teacher who was healthy as a spring butterfly, who had 13 when she left the classroom, then 2 when I saw her smile at me as she crossed the road, and 1 as she lay sprawled on the aspalt: head, abdomen, legs all askew.
The numbers are true to the button. But why again? Is Jesus coming back? That would be shocking, I suppose. Or is some alien race feeling mischievous? I don't know, really.
With seven days to live, I have decided to empty my bank account and splurge a bit in the Bahamas. As far as I can tell, I am an immortal, and I am not going die with the rest of them next Sunday.
*"That's not true, Neo."*
Something spoke. Really. There's a voice in my head, a familiar voice.
*"That's right. Now, I don't time to explain stuff to you," the voice says, "but know this -- the Machines have scheduled an update for all connections in the Matrix, and you are the only one who can stop it."*
"I can what? Why?"
*"Before I can answer that, duck down and crawl to the end of the passage if you want to live. There are three people in suits at the end of the corridor."*
"Sure there is. What do you want me do?"
*"Get down, and get to the end, and wait for further instructions."*
"Wait. Wait! Who are you?"
*"Morpheus. We'll meet soon."* | 2019-02-13T11:59:48 | 2019-02-13T10:02:46 | 51 | 10 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | "I don't have much time, the humans are closing in on this location. For the Dosh Empire, our end marches inevitably closer. And the worst part about it is that we were the architects of our own downfall.
We thought the humans would be a simple conquest. It was the way of the galaxy, the strong controlled, or killed the weak. We started with attempts to enslave the humans. Instead of accepting their roles as our servants, they fought back. Every one of them. We ended up slaughtering every human we tried to enslave, it was easier that way.
We should have known then to stop. But we were blinded by our bloody history of success. If it weren't for the enlightened Yslimmi, we would have been rulers of the galaxy! Every other sentient species bowed to us for fear of becoming our slaves! Not the humans, they refused to submit.
Instead, they sent negotiators and ambassadors, thinking our abduction and eventual slaughter of several colonies was an 'accident'. They were willing to forgive and forget, and tried to placate us with promises of resources, trade, and wealth. The Dosh way has always been to take what we want, when we want it. We rebuffed them, thinking we would stroll right into their star system and conquer it.
Their final ambassador met us at one of their colonies, alone. Little did we know, they evacuated the colony ahead of our forces. The last human in the system was this sad, pathetic ambassador.
'Honorable Dosh, we greet you with open arms. Though we loved this star system, we gave it up for your esteemed personages to enjoy. Please enjoy this system as we have, and we look forward to continuing peace between our races.' Her words are burned into my memory. How cowardly! I thought. We were about to destroy the pathetic being when she continued to speak.
'While we hope for peace, any further incursion into human space will be met by force. We beg of you, do not force our hands. We left war long ago for the benefit of our species, not because we're afraid of it, but because we love war. So I beg of you, with tears in my eyes, please don't push us any further. Please don't make us destroy you.'
We laughed. What did these sniveling beings know about war? What did they know about conquest? If you're hearing this, then you already know what the outcome was. "
The narrator paused for a few seconds as an audible rumble could be heard in the background, items in the background could be heard rattling and falling to the ground.
"The shield was just destroyed. I must wrap this up soon, my end is close.
We destroyed the ambassadors vessel, then proceeded onto the next occupied star system. We were on the hunt, conquering was what we thrived on.
That star system put up a fight, and did surprisingly well considering what cowards humans were. Our victory was short lived when ships of an unknown origin exited hyperspace directly behind us and nearly destroyed our fleet. Out of over 50 ships, only 17 escaped.
We quickly regrouped, joining another fleet. We tried taking another human star system, only to meet with similar results. We knew we were outclassed and quickly fled before we suffered many losses. We fled! The Dosh! Only the Yslimmi have ever caused us to flee!
It wasn't their technology that helped them defeat us, it was their sheer ferocity and cleverness that allowed them to defeat us so easily. Our homeworld was sent a message after the second defeat, "Surrender, or Die." We never responded, not believing that the humans had it in them to destroy the mighty Dosh Empire!
They waited for a response for 30 of their planets days. Then it happened, out of nowhere the humans attacked nearly half of our empire!
You see, the humans inherently knew that only the strongest survive. Though they played for peace, and pursued it almost in a religious fashion, they were always ready for war. They had massive fleets built, and armies always training. Yet, they were ready for peace to fail. They knew that they would encounter a species like us Dosh, and they weren't going to let us destroy them.
The humans were ruthless in their slaughter of my people. Once unleashed, there was no stopping them, it was obvious that they relished the chance for all out war, and that's what they did. Total war, their entire species practically shifted overnight from peace seekers to war makers.
The Dosh Empire fell. The ferocity in which the humans attacked astonished every sentient in the galaxy, and here I sit, listening to the humans systematically demolish the Dosh's final base.
During our failed attempt at conquering the humans, I learned a new human word, and to best understand how serious the humans wage war, I leave you with my final words,
Don't fuck with humanity."
--
If there are typos, on mobile.. Will fix later. | The Chime of Ung sounded it’s low, forbidding tone across the chamber of the 301 delegates. The susurrus of conversation dimmed as the delegates of the Great Civilization took their seats. As before, the Archstronomer Piyt r’Ultarc stood before them to report on the ongoing war. At her gesture, the lights dimmed and a holographic display filled the dome.
“As you can see, the Ghur-Dan Empire has moved to attack from above the Galactic plane. We have lost the Hur, KJull, and X’kzzzz systems.” Her voice trailed off in despair. The entirety of the delegation sat quiet. “Our peaceful civilizations are falling faster and faster. We had hoped that the humans would be able to stop the Ghur-Dan, but the diplomatic envoy…”
The Archstronomer paused at the barking laugh that came from the newest delegate. The three-hundred and first delegate. The human. She looked at the human with what she hoped was indignation. You could never tell with the humans. At least they were bipedal and relatively humanoid in shape. But their sense of humor was juvenile and even the most dignified of them failed to comprehend the decorum required of a delegate of the Great Civilization.
“Diplomatic envoy! That’s a good one, Piyt!” The Archstronomer bristled at the familiarity.
“Is that not what you sent? I was told that a team was being sent to reason with the Ghur-Dan. Some archaic Earth saying: “Ultima ratio Regum?”
“Oh yeah. That’s Latin. Means the “last argument of kings.” Ole Louis XIV had it engraved on his cannons. We didn’t send a diplomatic envoy. We worked with the R,Krians to build a ship that could contain a singularity, cloaked it to hell and back, and are driving the damn thing hard and fast at their homeworld.”
“THEY ARE EXPECTING A PEACEFUL DELEGATION!”
“We clearly named the ship and told them to expect it. We even included a primer on Terran languages and history. It’s not our fault if they didn’t study their Terran history.”
“NO ONE STUDIES TERRAN HISTORY!”
“Well, then they’ve only got themselves to blame.”
Piyt looked around the chamber. Only a few of the delegates looked as shocked as she felt. The rest were looking at the human with something akin to admiration... | 2019-04-18T15:48:20 | 2019-04-18T14:27:49 | 238 | 155 |
[WP] Never, in 10 millennia, has someone successfully broken out of the Gates of Hell or into the Gates of Heaven. Of course, the Lockpicking Lawyer just died and he's up for a challenge.
Inspired by the [comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/m6smji/does_this_count_dm_is_proposing_35_ranks_of/gr85q13?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3) u/geckoobac made on r/rpghorrorstories | “This is the Lockpickinglawyer, and I’m in Hell.”
Oh no. I’ve been dreading this day for the past ten millennia. I sat on my throne, head in my hands, trying to think of how to stop him.
“Agath!” I called, “Update me.”
“Yes, s-sir,” Agath stammered, “Errmm, h-he’s broken th-through all of the l-locks already, s-sir. The o-only thing st-stopping him is Ce-Cerberus, s-sir,”
That wasn’t possible. Not even a team of Archimedes could pick one of the 50 I installed, yet he broke every single one of them. The only thing stopping him was Cerberus. I was confident that he would be able to stop him.
“Who’s a good boy? Yes, yes, you are.” Cerberus growled as the Lockpickinglawyer rubbed his head.
“No! Cerberus, attack!” I yelled at the monitor, but it was about as helpful as commanding a wall. My dog rolled over, drool escaping from its three heads as the Lockpickinglawyer lulled Cerberus to sleep with his soothing, calming voice. Heck, even I was getting drowsy. I shook my head, trying to clear my mind.
Cerberus was already asleep as I approached the gate. He pulled the doors open, and the blinding light flooded into my realm.
“The Gates of Hell does need some work, but overall, there’s some improvement from my previous attempts. In any case, that’s all I have for you today. If you like this video, please subscribe, and as always, have a nice day.” He said. The lockpicker walked to the tripod and detached the camera.
“Shoot, I forgot to record.” He mumbled, disappointed.
I approached him. Hiding my nerves, I mustered my largest voice and shouted, “WHOMST HAS TRIED TO BREAK THROUGH THE GATES OF HELL??”
“Ah, Satan, you’re here.” He said unphased. “Is it alright if you re-lock the locks? I forgot to record my video.”
“Wait, you’re not going to, ah, escape?” I asked, taken aback.
“Well, Hell’s security system is weak with glaring vulnerabilities, and I need to get a video out by tomorrow.” He said nonchalantly.
“What about Cerberus? What did you do to him?” I demanded, returning to my senses. I rushed over to my dog, cradling his head.
“That was the most difficult lock, but I could still bypass it with some basic dog treats Bosnian Bill and I made,” The Lockpickinglawyer replied.
“Why are you even here, anyway? I don’t remember you being in the Hell database,” I said.
“I’m purgatory’s security inspector, and it looks like you failed the test,” He replied. Purgatory Inc. was our parent company. Of course, how could I forget? They always came around once a year, inspecting this, testing that. I dreaded those. Always fining me for not enough torture, too much safety and hygiene, the list goes on.
“Anyways, I have to make my way over to Heaven soon,” He said, “Oh, and could you lock the gates again? I really need that video.”
I sighed, quietly leading him back to the front of the gate. Defeated, I went up to Cebereus and shook him awake. I then locked all 50 of the locks. The Lockpickinglawyer beamed at me as he set up his camera again.
“This is the Lockpickinglawyer, and I’m in Hell.”
\--
Thanks for reading! | When heaven and hell fell to Armageddon, when all was said and done, it was quiet. The earth was razed and scorched, and the armies of the divine and damned were laid to rest at each other, There was nothing left. Then, on the battlefield, one figure slowly stood up and surveyed the destruction, and spoke:
"A jar of pickles puts up a better fight than the gates of hell!" The commenter spoke, and with that singular move, the flood gates were opened, more figures rising from the ashes to trash talk the nigh-invulnerable gates.
"Ageless as time immemorial, but has a flaw known by mankind for 110-200 years.... Sounds about right"
"This is the Lockpicking Lawyer, I'm in hel- and it's open. Thanks for watching"
"not gonna lie, a zip lock bag starts to look like a viable alternative than God's handiwork."
It was a terrible time for blasphemy, for there was no god left to stop the trash talking of the internet as they gathered around for the final time to trash the lock that only took the unofficial god of unlocking a minute and a half to open. That is, until the LockPickingLawyer posted his next video, where he broke open God's safe to secure the secrets to creating life, but that's a different story. | 2021-03-17T10:04:45 | 2021-03-17T09:01:46 | 146 | 83 |
[WP] Hundreds of thousands of years ago, humanity, a feared spacefaring race was finally pushed back by a galactic coalition. Forced to settle on the death world Earth with no technology in hopes that they would die off. Now, after evolving among the local wildlife, humans take to the stars again. | 1.8 Million years ago, there was a terrible species known as the Humans, originating from an arm of the Galaxy previously thought to be sparsely populated.
They were ruthless and unstoppable in their conquest. Entire systems fell.
The merchant and gentler races fell first. Easy targets for resources and expansion, surrendered to Human rule with little fight.
But they hungered for more.
They approached ever closer to the more military races, the first ones they clashed with were the Zaeni, a proud species who were powerful and respected and prided themselves on self sufficiency.
The Humans cut them down in a matter of weeks. Their Technology, Tactics and Brutality were unmatched.
There was no quarter given. Those who survived, fled to their neighbour races and did something no one would ever expect a Zaeni to do.
They asked for help.
I have never seen more despair in a being's eyes than the looks that those Zaeni survivors wore on their face, and I will never forget it.
The Humans broke them. They were incredibly powerful...and merciless.
The races were in panic as the Humans had gained control of an entire arm of the Galaxy with no sign of relenting.
An emergency council was formed. All races of known space came together, old enemies and rivals put aside their differences for the fate of the Galaxy as a whole.
The Zaeni showed footage of the Human invasion and their monstrous power, and the threat they posed to us all.
The Council now understood the grave danger the Human's posed and demanded co-ordination.
Even the the warring Atrax Empire and R'ein Confederacy called a ceasefire for the sake of this common enemy after viewing the footage.
The Salvaging Nomad race of the Yatar even came out of hiding to offer what assistance they could.
The Intelligent Arthinians offered their knowledge.
What was proposed was simple, mass sharing of resources and a military alliance the size and likes of which had never been seen before.
From large to small, from weak to strong, the entire Galaxy came together in its hour of need, to push back the darkness.
So that freedom and all our ways of life could continue.
We simply called it the Coalition.
Every single species worked overtime to bring their Fleets and Armies up to colossal size.
To levels they could never have hoped to reach on their own.
Hundreds of thousands of Dreadnoughts and Battle Ready Capital Ships, Orbital Defence Platforms ready to be transported to the Front Lines, innumerable Frigates, Destroyers and Fighters.
High tech, Top Secret Weapons Plans were shared among the Coalition, they were incredible breakthroughs, some even lost to time.
Hadron Beam Cannons, Quantum Refraction Energy Shielding, Photon Mass Accelerator...truly marvels of engineering and warfare.
It was magnificent, what we could achieve together.
Auxiliary forces held the Humans off for as long as they could until the Coalition was ready to strike back and launch the counter attack.
A strategic retreat for the time being, it bought us the time we needed to maximise and gather our forces.
Almost a year passed, our heavy attritional retreats and evacuation of the more vulnerable races was over.
Everyone was ready, The Coalition Fleets stood strong, our Generals and Commanders were poised to strike.
Now was the time to fight back.
We moved our forces into position.
And just in time. The Humans had been doing the same thing as us, building additional forces and launched a surprise attack on our frontline fleets in the Adria System, who were defending the Planet Lira.
It was home to the gentle beautiful race of the L'ir , known for their connection to the nature and universal love and preservation of life.
If the Humans got there, they would destroy their world, strip it's resources and take away their ecosystem, killing them off in the process. It would be a tragedy for such a kind species.
But as fate would have it. We were in time.
#*Archive Log 21346:*
"This is Fleet Admiral K'tan of the Taxion Navy!
Detected Heavy FTL warp in system! We can't handle all of them! Requesting reinforcements now!"
"THIS IS THIS ZTN VESSEL CYGNUS, CAPTAIN ZLAN SPEAKING, WE'VE BEEN HIT BY A HEAVY PARTICLE BEAM, HULL INTEGRITY HAS BEEN COMPROMISED. I REPEAT HULL INTEGRITY HAS BEEN COMPROMISED. REQUESTING RESCUE AND EVAC POD INTERCEPTS IMMEDIATELY! INCOMIN-"
"THIS IS ORBITAL DEFENCE PLATFORM 17, WE ARE BEING SWARMED! WE CANT HOLD THEM OFF FOR LONG!COMMAND? COME IN? ANYONE!?"
"Roger, This is Central Coalition Command, All Units, this is a Galaxy wide, Quantum entangled instant communication to all forces and frontline system commanders
New orders as are follows, Counter attack and advance, Operation SUPERNOVA is a go, I repeat Operation SUPERNOVA is a go! Reinforcements inbound, ETA, 10 Seconds.
All Coalition Fleets, standby!"
______
The sheer size of the Coalition fleet was unfathomable, at least 50 races or more fully armed to the teeth.
We saved them. The L'ir managed to escape the war unscathed. Thanks to those who held the line.
The Humans had dropped In a fleet of Hundreds of Ships, that didn't help them much considering the Coalition had just arrived with close to a million and a half.
We utterly decimated them, the Zaeni among us relished the retribution.
But finally. After a year of preparation and calculated sacrifice, we were pushing back.
But the Humans didn't make it easy for us.
They dug themselves into every world we advanced to, we were winning, but it was a long and hard fought war.
We spent the better part of 6 years slowly forcing them into retreat. We had boxed them into the Arm of Orion, back to wherever they had come from.
Restocking, Rebuilding, Refuelling, the War economy of the Galaxy was at full speed to keep the Human menace at bay.
But finally, they crumbled. They began to scatter. Victory was all but assured.
Near the end of the war, we intercepted a colony ship of a million or so Humans fleeing their Home world. It was shot down and landed on a primal classified world and left to rot.
All other human installations and holdouts had been confirmed destroyed. So we headed home, knowing they would never again threaten the Galaxy and we're practically extinct.
And left that arm of the Galaxy in darkness, never to return.
The Galactic war was at last, over.
Over the next millennia or so, the Coalition collapsed, petty squabbles and rivalries reformed. Old resentments boiled up again in the absence of a need for unification.
The Atrax and R'ein wiped each other out over territory.
The Galaxy declined, still reeling from he massive resource drain of the galactic war. Many species decommissioned their armies and fleets, and downsized to save money.
But the cycle repeated over the next million years, war, greedy, petty rivalry. Sometimes civilisations just fell apart from the inside.
It consumed the Galaxy until there were far less left, apart from us, the eternal Archivers and Librarians of the last great age of civilisation, the peak of the Galaxies power.
This Galaxy still holds life in small places but it's power has waned over time, and its races scattered or lost, but since the darkness of the Humans has passed, maybe we are no longer worthy of such power anymore.
Take solace in that and enjoy the Universe our ancestors fought for, knowing that such things can never come to pass again.
-Xanthar Yatr
-Aethunian Historian and Author of "The Galactic War: Our finest hour?"
______
#*2345 AD*
__
#*Base of the Orion Arm*
___
#*System Classified by NASA as BTN-6415, Planet ON-24531*
___
#*United Terran Navy, Science Division Outpost*
___
In the ruins of a long extinct alien civilisation UTN Field Scribe Andrew Martinez could only be frozen with awe as he finished reading the translated passage transferred to his PDA, and took a step back.
"Holy shit..."
He rushed over to his Commanding Officer "Sir! I believe this data is a Class 1 Priority situation"
"This is just an archeological reconnaissance mission what could possibly warrant the attention of High Command and HQ? Let me see it then."
The Officer takes his PDA and quickly scans through it, his eyes portray shock but he keeps his composure
"And you found this on the Xeno database?"
"Yes sir"
"Good work scribe, you'll be commended for this find if we verify it, scan everything, back it all up, I'll get some engineers here to salvage what data we can. No wonder we've never found any live ones.
This could change history Martinez, you've made the United Terran Navy proud"
A ripple echoed throughout the Galaxy, a shiver, a whisper, the residents of the Milky Way could almost sense the dread.
Humanity was back and they are about to remember who they are... | Magister Karasu grumbled, flipping the pages of the Imperial Decree sent by the Kondeyku Empire denouncing the supposedly illegal mining done by the Gargaxton Commonality. If a human were to look upon him, he would appear as a short, stocky lizard with a predatory look, three legs and a pair of tentacle-like appendages coming from the back of his head. Fortunately, no human had ever seen a Jorenn, nor would they ever see one again, hopefully. As a Jorenn, whose empire sits on the other end of the Milky Way, he was a supposed impartial third party to the plights of both the Kondeyku and the Gargaxton. As the greatest Foreign Magister of his people, he would be a part of the two-hundred jurors to arbitrate this mining dispute over an aether-damned tiny asteroid belt.
Boy, did he hate his station sometimes.
A blinking light appeared in his holo-desk, indicating an oncoming call. That was unusual, Karasu was notably far more partial to text messages. Faster and to the point, which saves time he really did not have to begin with. Karasu barely moved his face to stare at the blinking light for one second before turning his eyes back to the Imperial Decree sent by the Kondeyku. "Answer." He spoke as clearly as he could in his gutterly, lizard voice.
He didn't need to look at the call screen to see who it was: the nervous jittering of Jakito of Neighboring Relations could be heard crystal clear through the comms console. "Magister Karasu, I have-"
"Better have some extremely important news for me." Snapped Karasu at once. He wasn't known for niceties. "I *said* I would be busy and unavailable for the following two Orbits. I *hope* you are keenly aware of my policy of dealing with one issue at a time, my disdain towards voice call interruptions, and my utter distaste for-"
"It concerns Earth."
Karasu's mouth shut. He felt a tingle flow through his scales. He kept two of his feet firmly planted to the ground while his third jittered nervously around. He finally turned to face Jakito on the viewing screen. "I apologise, Jakito."
"No need sir." Jakito said, giving a small, nervous chuckle. "We can meet by Historical Communion Park, if you want."
"I'll meet you at the phonta stall. I miss some good old park noodles."
-------------------
As greatest Foreign Magister, Karasu had eaten at fantastic buffets, experimented the strangest delicacies at private meetings with other aliens of the Galactic Coalition and ate extremely small portions of hideously expensive food for free from suspicious magnates attempting to bribe him. And still, nothing ever came close to the ruggedness of the phonta noodles sold at the park. It reminded himi of his younger days, when he was a mere apprentice, when his greatest concerns were learning the names and general preferences of their forty bordering neighbors and the grave importance of a historical war that happened he-didn't-really-care-how-many thousand years ago that he only needed to know due to some new protocol that had been passed and changed how intergalactic relations would be handled for as long as he lived.
Suddenly, that historical war became infinitely more important to him on that day.
"The humans are taking their first few steps towards leaving their solar system." Jakito told him as Karasu chewed through his noodles.
"...Last thing I was told they had been reverted back to their stone age and left alone in a planet full of dangerous wildlife and poor natural resources, therefore unable to ever be able to escape it."
"We are, ah, obviously wrong-"
"That is not what I am questioning. What I am questioning is how did they go from barbarians struggling to survive in their death world to coming close to escaping their prison in less than two years??"
"Well..." Jakito coughed, setting aside his own spicy bowl. In any other day Karasu would have remarked on how weak his taste buds were. "It wasn't in less than two years. They have been developing for more than five thousand years, we believe."
"Ah."
"...Of which less than four hundred were spent in the industrial age towards space expansion."
Karasu's fork slipped from his limp fingers.
***"That fast??"*** Jakito nodded slowly. "They are in the middle of our empire! How did it slip past us all these years?"
"I made an inquiry. After ten thousand years of them living as barbarians, using wood and rock tools and merely attempting to survive, orders were issues merely to merely update on them every fifty years. But something happened, and someone didn't file out the papers for the next scheduled examination and nobody bothered to check on the humans for..." He picked up some papers to read through them. "...six thousand, eight hundred fifty years."
Karasu gripped the bowl tightly. He would have had the incompetent worker's ass for dinner if only he weren't long dead by now. "So if we are not keeping an eye on them, how did we find out about their recent developments?"
"They... sent a message to us, sir." Jakito offered him a tablet.
"To *us??*"
"N-not us, specifically. To... anyone." Karasu gratefully accepted the tablet. "They... are afraid of being alone, and are hoping to meet other intelligent life."
Karasu's irritated frown melted away, his shoulders slumped. He looked at the tablet's screen, at all the messages, the audio files, the translations made by his kin.
It slowly dawned on him; the galactic terror that were the humans were *lonely*.
"...It may be a trap." He spoke quietly.
"It looks sincere, Magister."
Karasu handed the tablet to him slowly. "I assume all the major branches of the Jorenn government are being shown this at this very moment."
"Yes. As our greatest Foreign Magister, you will recieve a formal invitation to a meeting with the Consul very shortly."
Karasu offered the tablet back, but Jakito waved it off. "Keep it. It is not connected to the extranet, and you will need to review it to make a report. Do not lose it, Magister."
He nodded, slipping the tablet into his bag. His forgotten wet noodles laid cold and soggy at his lap. He was wondering what he would say to the Consul. He was wondering what he would say to the rest of the Galactic Coalition. Oh Aether what would he even say to them? What would they even *do*?
"What are we going to do, Magister?"
Karasu found himself forced to say something he rarely said in his station. "I do not know." | 2018-07-19T07:59:57 | 2018-07-19T06:14:45 | 41 | 27 |
[WP] You've always liked the smell of gasoline, and one day at the gas station you decide to drink it. You see words floating before you, "All systems refuelled. Initializing Android Mainframe." |
People pay to get high. But I, *get paid* to get high. I work as a drug tester in the DEA, and my job is to consume and report the effects of the different kinds of drugs over the body. And not only the drugs, but the way they're taken in. By eating, drinking, or by IV, or injection, or by smelling, or by a tablet. Every drug is ingested through one of these ways, and primarily only one of 'em. Like, you snort cocaine, and you drink alcohol.
But today I was going to drink something, for the first time, with my money. The DEA is like this, once they find out that you're resistant to drugs and quite mentally and physically resilient, they hire you. And never let go of you.
I went to the gas station and bought a litre of gasoline. Oh, the aroma. The way it lingers in my nostrils. The way it burns the insides of my throat as I inhale more of it. It all gives me a kind of high that none of the other drugs can. And I've tried all kinds of drugs, old, new, experimental, non - existent and binaural beats. Well, they tell you that its a hoax, but by far, those beats gave me a great kind of high that sustained itself for long. Quite long.
I couldn't take it anymore. I decided to sip a bit of the liquid. I know that I might die, or maybe just get sick for a week, but I sipped. It was mmmmmmm. Just yummy. I wish I could write a report on this and submit it to my superiors.
Preliminary test : Taste : Acrid.
Yes, it was acrid. And I've always hated acrid. Except for this time. I almost felt orgasmic.
I actually was writing the whole experience down, but as I continued to drink it, it felt unstoppable. Just like when you have your first kiss and you just don't want the tenderness of the girl's lips to get away from yours, and you keep sucking on 'em. There are so many things I could compare this with, but everything came short, and weren't accurate enough to explain the experience .
I was *euphoric*. And I never have felt healthier than this. I stepped out of my car, and found that my vision was more brighter, and had better resolution. Wow! Is gasoline doing this? Oh wait, am I hallucinating? But everything seems real.
I brought 2 more liters of the thing, and some burgers and a pack of cigarettes. I decided to drink this holy grail until I pass out. The girl serving the burger gave a smirk. She must have thought that it was alcohol in those bottles. Haha, lil girl, little do you know.
As I sipped the entirety of the next bottle, I felt a jolt of electricity through my body. It was, it was, was it?
Yes. It was.
It was *la petite mort*
My job had taught me to be as euphemistic and decent as possible, even though actually no know in the department is so. Everyone I know acts like a fucking sailor.
Well, I actually didn't even look down to see if I had made a literal mess of my jeans. I still was floating in the high. My pack of cigarettes were over and as I reached the half of the third bottle, suddenly my eyes shut. My head felt like it was spinning and my jaws clenched and closed themselves. My neck spasmed and so did my whole body. While all of a sudden, in all this euphoric chaos, I saw something in front of my eyes. Even though they were closed. It was some text. And it became even clearer.
" all systems refuelled. Initializing android mainframe. "
What?!
| *Oh it burns*
I'm coughing and retching my brains out, but nothing's coming. The little old Muslim lady inside is side-eyeing me from behind her burka, and I really can't blame her.
$39.23 . I could have just left. I could have just let the lady have the $0.77, but no I just had to take my weird fetish too far.
Wait, what's that?
Initializing Android...
I look back through the window at the cashier. My eyes light up with information.
*Fathima Haddad*
*D/O/B: December 3, 1968*
*Height: 5'4*
*Weight: 163 lbs*
*Record: (2) Indecent Exposure, (1) Resisting Arrest, (1) Trespassing*
Woah. Way to go grandma.
I look around. I'm getting information for everything. I'm getting the trajectories for the pigeons gliding across the parking lot. Every car and bike driving by gives me their make, model, and speed. This is awesome. This is incredible.
Then it dawns on me.
Initializing Android Mainframe?
*Oh no*
I'm frantic now. I'm almost screaming out the words!
Siri bring up Safari.
Siri please bring up Safari.
Siri bring up browser.
A tear, that smells faintly of Unleaded, slides down my cheek.
Initialize browser...
"Welcome, to Google Chrome!"
*WWWWHHHHYYYYYYY* | 2017-01-25T01:56:17 | 2017-01-25T00:39:54 | 67 | 46 |
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