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 a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | "Look at that idiot swinging a sword at my playful Gilgamore." I said while looking out of my window from the top floor of the tower into the courtyard.
Every damn time... I don't know why they think they need to *Slaaaaay the Draaagon.* What was this, some Walt Disney princess movie? Did they honestly think that if there was a real dragon threat that it would of killed me by now? My faith in the common sense of man was quickly dwindling.
​
I watched as Gilgamore swiped his claws at the "hero knight in shining armor". He literally cut the poor sap in half at the torso leaving the legs standing there for a brief moment before collapsing to the ground lifeless. It happened so fast you could still see the eyes blinking before remaining open with death. I couldn't help but laugh as I used the usual stone to mark another tally on the wall. That makes fourteen this month and a hundred and twenty seven this year. The deaths were always gruesome yet satisfying to me at this point. Just another useless, dumb sack of meat removed from existence for the betterment of mankind.
​
Gilgamore, now done playing with his new friend, transformed back to his original cute sized self and turned to enter the back door of the castle after swiping the remains of the would be hero into the moat of surrounding lava. It took me three solid months to teach him to clean up after himself. He was a Draconian Hybrid mixed with the legendary Fae dragon species, the smallest of their kind, and the Germanic Puk species. He had a silver colored hyde, an off white underbelly, and *usually* stood about a foot tall and had a wing span of almost three feet His tail was just as long as his body easily making him around two feet long. He liked to transform into a much larger dragon resembling the poisonous Aspis dragon when "visitors" came by with the hopes to leave carrying a beautiful princess in their arms through smoke and flames. He was rather protective but he only meant good with each interaction. He was born into this castle from an egg I received from a local merchant that came by about once a week. Mervin was a kind fellow who Gilgamore took a liking too shortly after hatching. I bought the egg out of sheer hunger from Merv about a year ago. I remember thinking back then that it would make for a great breakfast omelette with the bear sausage I purchased recently. To my pleasant surprise, Gilgamore was born from the egg the next morning as it was sitting by the coal oven. Since then, I have been raising him as my pet.
​
Shortly after my little GeGe cleaned up his mess I saw the lamp light up at the end of the rope bridge that hung over the lava. It was Merv. But this time I saw him standing there with another figure. I guess GeGe noticed it at the last second as I saw him quickly turn and run dow the hall and head towards the front castle door to greet Merv and his friend. As the two walked across the bridge, light broke through the clouds and I could start to see the familiar face of our friend. He was a lively sixty seven year old merchant that would always carry rare goodies in a rucksack. He had peppered, long hair just past his shoulders and always had on cargo shorts and a wife beater with socks that came up to his knees that jutted out from his homemade sandals. The clouds soon devoured any light that tried to shine through right before I could get a good look at the other person accompanying him. Halfway down the stairs I heard him ringing the bell by the rope that hung next to the main door.
​
​ | **Roommates: Episode 1: Dragon Slayer**
Ryan, Leeroy, and George sat on their dorm room couch. A nintendo switch projected a copy of *Dragon Slayer* onto the TV screen.
Ryan: “So what is this game?”
George: “Some kind of choose your own adventure story. It was on sale on amazon so I picked it up.”
*Dragon Slayer* loaded in. A beautiful princess stood, feeding a pet dragon.
Princess: “Oh dragon, why do knights always come to kill you?”
Dragon: “Horniness mainly. I mean marrying a princess is a sweet deal. Plus you’re hot.”
Oh cue, a knight kicked down the door.
Knight: “Dear princess, I have come to save you!”
The screen showed two options to pick: *Talk Things Through* or *Cowabunga It Is!*
Leeroy: “Maybe talking things through would be better?”
George, holding the controller, hit the right key.
Princess: “Cowabunga it is, bitch!”
The dragon sprayed fire at the knight, killing him instantly. The screen turned black, showing a ‘game over’ sign.
George: “What was that!? obviously the fire was the right choice!”
Ryan: “Maybe killing people right away is wrong? I don’t know. Let’s restart and try again.”
Ryan opened another beer, and the game restarted to the beginning. | 2019-01-09T10:46:09 | 2019-01-09T07:50:16 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] Olympic athletes are chosen by lottery so countries are encouraged to increase the average athleticism of their citizens and not just elite athletes. You were just selected.
this was a post on /r/CrazyIdeas. I thought it would make an excellent prompt. | "Oh fuck off," I yell at the TV as it announces my name.
"He's a thirty-four-year-old male from NSW! Works in I.T has never had any major medical problems and will hopefully take us to Gold in the swimming!"
"Oh absolutely fuck off," I yell, but with much more vigor. "Come check this out, love!" My wife walk's through the arch of the doorway, unimpressed.
"What Darrel?" She says, a tinge of venom to her words.
"I got chosen. For swimming. I'm going to the Olympics." I turn my head to see her face and await a reaction.
"Well, we're screwed aren't we?" She says with a soft smile. "You have trouble getting out of your chair let alone finishing a swimming race."
"Let's not be mean about this; I'm having a rough day as it is. I gotta take time off work, and, fuckin', do some swimming before I go and Christ," I rub my face, "There's gonna be some Swedish dude who is just ripped as hell and he's gonna slaughter me."
"Oh honey," My wife says and kisses me on the back of my head. "All the countries are going to slaughter you."
"They will! I'm going to be the fat bastard who take's twenty minutes to do 100-meter freestyle." I lean forward in my chair, struggling to get out of it.
"Well," My wife says and walks back into the kitchen. "You always told me you wanted to lose weight. This might be the thing that pushes you to do that."
"Yeah, pushes me over the fuckin' edge," I grunt out as I finally stand. "I meant go to the gym. Do some of those Kick-Boxing classes. Maybe get a personal trainer. Not this shit."
"You'll need a personal trainer," My wife remarks as she takes the leftover chicken from last night out of the fridge. "That's a guarantee."
"Don't have faith I can do it myself?" I ask, insulted.
"I have zero faith you can do it yourself." She's not even looking at me as she says this; instead, she's got her eyes on the cold chicken, tearing a few pieces off of it. "Not to humiliate you, but you did get winded walking five minutes from the train station the other day."
"We walked up a hill!" I yell, flailing my arms above me. "You find me a man who doesn't get winded walking up a hill, and you'll have found me a liar."
"Alright sweetheart," She says with a faux smile. "Whatever you say." She leave's me in the kitchen, alone, so alone. I stare at the chicken and rip a wing off of it.
"Stupid bloody Olympic committee." I sulk out, before chomping down on my chicken wing.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for more spicy stuff. | "With the final selection in the 2030 USA draft, Team USA selects..."
The crowd held their breath as the pick was called, as the team so far was absolute trash and they needed someone who could save them.
"Donald Trump"
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" the crowd roared as the 83 year old stepped up onto the stage.
"We are going to make this team great again!" Trump said into the mic holding onto a cane.
As the days passed the hype began, the teams were all trash except for Canada who had the 36 year old Justin Bieber.
| 2017-02-24T08:02:38 | 2017-02-24T07:01:11 | 182 | 17 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | I saw this yesterday and hyperfocused for nine hours straight writing a short story with 7k+ words. I'll certainly have to break this up into parts. I know nobody will probably see this since a day has passed since the prompt was posted, but I wanted to share. *Edited a few times for formatting issues.
TW for suicide mention, implied sexual assault.
----
I was in the den when I heard a knock at my door. *How unusual*, I thought. As someone who used to be one of the kingdom’s most wanted, it was rare for people to visit me in my abode. The guards and the members of the Levethix Circle usually just barged in with little regard for my privacy. More than once I’ve had delicate experiments interrupted and ruined by their arrival. However, such a surrender of privacy was one of the compromises I had to make for my stay of execution. It did come with the “privilege” to live in a house instead of a cell. However, this building was surrounded by a perimeter of arcane runes and guards to prevent my escape, so it was little more than a plush cage anyways. If someone was knocking on my door, then they at least had more manners and sense than the usual dogs of the kingdom.
I waved a hand, my raven familiar bringing my scrying orb. Ever since my defeat at the hands of the Five Primordials, there had been a few times when those with old grudges came looking for blood. It was best to know who was on my doorstep before I greeted them, weakened as I was. As the crystal ball focused in on the front of my home, the image of a tall, pale woman with elven features and wavy blond hair became clear. I couldn’t help but laugh at my luck. It was no dog of the kingdom that knocked at my door, but a wolf. A huntress.
Shiraya Arun-te, the champion of the Val’dranis Kingdom and the Earth Primordial.
She wasn’t wearing the plate armor I was accustomed to seeing her in, but then again, the last time I had seen her was during my trial, and before that, the battlefield. She was the stalwart leader of the Five Primordials, a band of heroes who had become quite famous for their exploits, one such being my defeat. Perhaps she had come to inform me that the kingdom no longer needed my great intellect for deciphering their discovered artifacts, and that they were nullifying my plea bargain. At the very least, if I was to die, it had better be by the hands of someone with at least half of her considerable might. But perhaps that day was not today, as Shiraya had come here unarmed.
I waved the door open with a spark of arcane magic. These days, such sparks were about all I could conjure. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Lady Arun-te?”
She seemed to grimace at my words. As we met face to face, I observed something most intriguing - discomfort. In all our many battles she had been nothing but bravado and fury, this was a new emotion I had not seen in her before.
“Elias.” She said composing herself, venom in the cold way she spoke my name. She fixed her equally cold eyes upon me. Emerald green, deep as the ocean is wide. Perhaps it was due to her affinity with nature and the earth, for I had never seen such a color before I met her.
“Would you like to come in?” I asked, gesturing to the interior of my abode. “For a prison, it’s quite homely. I was about to start on a new alchemy project, but I can start on some muffins if you prefer. I haven’t yet eaten.”
She regarded me with a long stare before wordlessly walking inside, observing the interior with a trained eye. In the many years the Five Primordials chased after me, I had left dozens of traps in their way. I could tell she was scanning the room for anything similar.
“I assure you there’s no trickery at play here, at least not from me. The first prince was quite clear that my life would end the moment any more blood was spilled.”
“It would take more than one of your simple traps to make me bleed,” Shiraya commented with her usual bravado. She spoke the truth. As the Earth Primordial, she was blessed by nature with supernatural durability. I once collapsed a tower on top of her, only for the ridiculous woman to hold half of it up on her own while that Ruvinus brat cast a spell to teleport them out.
“Sit wherever you like. I imagine by your expression that you’re here to talk about something important. With the length your moral lectures often go, I imagine we should make ourselves comfortable.”
I busied myself with preparing the aforementioned muffins. My familiar carried sticks back and forth to the wood burning oven, and I whipped up two batches of muffins - lemon poppy seed and blueberry.
“You seem to be doing well for yourself here. It’s hard to imagine you’re a criminal with a life sentence when I see all this,” she said, gesturing to my many belongings. There were arcane and alchemical implements scattered across my desk, an easel by the window from when I had tried to teach myself to paint, and a large bookshelf taking up the far wall full of expensive tomes – half of which I had written. In addition, all sorts of various trinkets and knick-knacks lay about, most of them related to my studies, some of them just for fun. “If I didn’t know any better I would think you weren’t a prisoner but a nobleman.”
I exhaled, and Shiraya’s head snapped to face me, her body language becoming defensive. She must have felt my sudden bloodlust. Nobleman. There was little I hated more than the pompous elite. Treason was my first of many crimes, and the nobleman I murdered that night was certainly not the last.
“I may have broken fangs from the restraints placed on me by the kingdom, but you’d do well to remember that I have no love for the glorified animals that run it. These accommodations are the least they could do for me lending my invaluable expertise on ancient magic. The Levethix Circle wouldn’t have made half the progress in twice the time without me.”
Shiraya sighed and lowered her hands. While she had brought no weapon with her, I was acutely aware that it made her no less lethal.
“Right. I’m aware of your vendetta.”
I took some time to clean my kitchen area, making the famous hero wait on me was a rare pleasure I took in my otherwise rather insulting life. When the muffins were done I floated them out and onto the table by the couch, sitting down across from the elven champion.
“So, what did you come here to discuss?”
I watched with a measured eye as the woman took a deep breath, her eyes looking up to meet mine and then glancing away.
“How would you like to get some fresh air, Elias?”
I pondered this. Fresh air? It wasn’t usually permitted for me to leave the perimeter around my home. Not without an armed escort.
“For you to come here yourself, I imagine we’re not going to the library to meet some scholars. Who is seeking my audience, and why are they important enough to warrant your attendance?”
Shiraya bit her lip, and I swear I saw a hint of red flash across the tips of her pointed ears.
“It’s a wedding, and the one seeking your audience is me. I want you to come as my date.”
I couldn’t hide my surprise. Dozens of questions flashed through my head, but the only thing that came out of my mouth was, “Oh? How forward.”
Shiraya’s eyes rolled at my comment. “My brother is being wed to Lady Delilah of House Hawkmoore, and I’m supposed to bring a ‘plus one’ to the ceremony. You… were available, so I dropped by.”
“Well I certainly don’t have anywhere else to be, but aren’t there – oh I don’t know – four other primordials and dozens of adoring fans whom you could take instead? Why me, the one you fought for seven long years?
“About that,” she said, “Illyin wandered off months ago, Jayce is on a mission for the crown, Chagarr isn’t suited for formal events, and Ruvinus is young enough to be my nephew. At the very least, I know you can handle formalities and dance.”
It was true. I could show those pompous animals in the capital a thing or two about class. I was called “The Mad Gentleman, Elias Cage,” after all. However, I could sense that she was hiding something. While I hated the idea of having to breathe the same air as those animals, it would be nice to see the look on the nobilities’ face when a traitor with blue blood on his hands showed up to such an event.
“I don’t know what you’re planning, Shiraya, but I’ll acquiesce.”
‘“Wonderful,” she said, “How soon can you be ready?”
“Do you mean to tell me you came looking for a partner on the same day as the event?”
“You weren’t exactly my first choice, Elias.”
“Fair point,” I chuckled, “Give me ten minutes. What are you wearing? We’ll need to match.” | „Hello, you‘ve reached Evil Inc. We don‘t do donations or other good stuff.“
„Hey, Shroud. It‘s me. Spectre.“
In my surprise I *nearly* dropped the the grenade prototype I was fiddling with. I hoped the voice distortion was working as usual.
„…I‘m not apologizing about demolishing your Hero Group HQ last week.“
I heard her sigh on the other end of the line. „No it‘s not about that. How did you even manage to smuggle those explosives- nevermind. Look, I will just get this off my chest, then you can laugh at me. I need you to to be my date to a friend‘s wedding.“
This time, the prototype almost hit the ground. I gingerly placed it back on the table and left it there. „Spectre, sweetie, just look at us. You‘re hero, I‘m a villain. We would never work.“ I finished dramatically.
„I‘m serious, you asshat! Don‘t crack jokes at me. Also, my Ex will he there. I can‘t appear alone and my Colleagues are all not date material.“
How can someone insult me and sound so desperate at the same time?
And she never even saw my face or my body under my armor. Or heard my real voice. *would she even know…*
„Your Ex, the reporter? He seems a little salty about your breakup. His articles recently weren‘t that favorable, weren‘t they. I still sometimes fondly think of the good times we had together. You and me fighting while he dangles above a pool of sharks.“
Still I pondered, what should I do. Denying her would be the villain thing to do. On the other hand this was my opening to tease her a bit in a place where she couldn‘t punch me. That being said…
„Katy, you realize, that you never even saw me without my armor, nor even heard my voice without the distorter? I could look like Froglite.“
„HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?“ I flinched at the sudden uptake in noise.
„Your mask is a small patch around the eyes. That and having access to the college yearbooks made it quite easy. Also Mike from Accounting was with you in College and recognized you from the last time you destroyed a lair. But can we get back on Track about you want a date with yours truly? You get a marvellous evening with me, but what do I get?
At this point I already decided to say yes. But I would make her work a bit for it.
„You‘re so full of yourself. How about I let you escape the next 3 times I stop your schemes?“
„Lets rather say a Favor at a later time? Within reason of course. I won‘t ask you to help me with my plots. You‘re a bit of a klutz, so you‘d break the fragile equipment anyway-„
„HEY!“ she sounded offended.
„I know this lovely Café on 3rd Street. You know it? It‘s called ‚3 Heavens‘. It‘s run by an ex-colleague of mine who decided to quit world domination. I‘ll make a reservation on Katy for 3 P.M.
No weapons, no masks. Then we can work out the Details on our little deal.“
„Fine. See you later, I suppose?“
„Indeed. And don‘t tell your hero colleagues you‘re meeting someone bad. What would they think?“
With that I hung up. Stepping over parts of equipment, I crossed my tinker chamber and my living room into my bathroom. Taking a shower I began preparing myself for going out.
Later I sat at my table, enjoying a cup of coffee when Katy walked to our table. And stopped dead in her tracks.
„You‘re a woman?“ she looked stunned.
„Last time I checked, yes.“ I dryly responded. „Stop gawking and take a seat.“
She basically scrambled at her seat. Mere seconds later a waiter placed a cup of Tea in front of her and handed us the cards.
„How did they know I drink tea?“
„Oh, I told them.“
„How do you know?“
„Broke into your HQ last week, remember?“
„Oh. Yeah.“
Damn, this was more awkward than I thought. I resched my hand over the table. „I‘m Emily.“
Katy took it. „Katy, but you know that already.“
I cleared my throat. Being a haughty villain was way easier when masked and with a voice distorter. „The cake here is nice.“
Silence reigned till the cake arrived.
„You‘re not what I expected.“, Katy eventually said.
„You hoped for a nerdy, but kind of cute guy to take to that wedding?“
„…Yes.“, she actually blushed a little. „But I still would rather take you to the wedding, than one of my coworkers!“ she hastily added.
I showed a mock scandalized expression. „But what would the press say? Poster girl Spectre gay?“
„The press can shove it.“
We both actually giggled at that. The Boulevard press usually finds something to complain about anyway.
„That‘s the spirit, girl. But lets move on to something important. What are you going to wear?“ I gave her a once over. She could actually look rather gorgeous in a nice dress.
„Well I still have that Prom dress…“
„No. No. No. A prom dress won‘t do. If we are going, we are going in Style. I quickly grabbed a napkin and pulled out a pen. I wrote down an address. „Here, this is my favorite tailor. I will set up a Meeting and they will make us something nice.“
She gave me a shy look. „A tailor? I couldn‘t even…“
I kept forgetting how bad being a hero is paid.
„I‘ll cover it. I won‘t have my date show up in anything less than perfect.“ I haughtily declared. And at her facial expression I added. „I‘ll add it to that favor you owe me.“
She looked relieved at that. Katy was not one for charity I suppose. „Dresses, check. Next point on the list, I will also hire some stylists, for the big day, for maleup and hair. Also check.
Final point: How are we messing up your Ex? Besides appearing in A flash of glory?“
And in her eyes appeared an evil glint. I wondered how bad that breakup was. Then we started plotting…
*And cut*
Sorry In advance English is not my native language and I‘m pretty sure there are some time-form issues in there. | 2022-10-07T05:54:42 | 2022-10-06T22:35:55 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million. | He checked every night, obsessively, eagerly, that his number remained at 1.
If it tumbled back to 0, he was screwed. He'd have to rethink all his plans, and worse: identify which critical step in his plans had triggered the lapse. Marcus rechecked that all his doors were locked before removing his shirt. He unlocked his secure vest - top of the line, barely detectable when he wore it. It might be a human right to keep your number private, but it never hurt to be safe.
Especially if you're planning a murder. And he was finally sure he was going to do it.
His number was enflamed, the scorch marks indicating it had just changed. He stared disbelievingly at what it said.
3 million.
Marcus jumped when his phone rang. He swallowed heavily and answered while staring at his chest. It was still there, a livid red brand.
"Hey, Mark."
Erik's voice was light, carefree, breathless to share some piece of news. His stomach twisted in fury. The asshole had no shame. Calling him up every few weeks, as if nothing was wrong.
"Hi. What's up?" Marcus strove to match his tone.
"Man, I just had to call you. I'm nearing a breakthrough, Mark. An actual, goddamn breakthrough. I know exactly what to do. The vaccine will work."
His resolve to kill Erik deepened and tightened its hold on him. He watched, detached and fascinated, as the number started changing again, twisting and turning on his chest. 4 million. 5 million. It trembled, and leapt to 10 million. He knew his Death Number Theory as well as the next person, but it was something else seeing it in person. The domino effect.
"I know it will work," he answered mechanically.
Yes, he knew it. Had known it when he'd been a reckless, excited high school student. Bursting with ideas on how to fight the Cors virus. Even then, before the number of deaths had spiralled into unknown territory, it had been colloquially known as the Corpse virus. But he didn't have the resources to test his theories. He was so eager to share his thoughts with a knowledgeable, older scientist. Desperate to get Erik's feedback.
"Well, we'll talk more later," Erik was saying. "Things are insane here. But keep it to yourself, will you? I don't want this leaking to the press. I just *had* to tell you. You originally gave me the idea, after all."
Mark struggled to keep from screaming, and closed his eyes. Erik still didn't know. Didn't even realise what he'd done.
"You know, sometimes, I wish you'd gone on to study science, Mark," Erik chuckled. "Man, when I think what else could be rattling around in that head. Still, the law is lucky to have you."
"Yeah. Lucky," he echoed, detaching himself from the conversation. Watching the number, which had reached 20 million.
"Anyway, talk later, bro. I just wanted to call to thank you. I couldn't have done it without you. I'll call you up when I'm in town again. We should grab dinner - my treat."
Marcus heard the phone click and threw it across the room, with all the fury he had kept carefully contained. It smashed against the wall. He watched the number, still climbing steadily upwards, and smiled. It was comforting, prophetic.
The vaccine wouldn't work without Erik, without the crucial insight that he'd never get to give. He knew his brother: Erik wouldn't share his 'breakthrough' until he was completely certain of it. Well, that wasn't going to happen. He'd make his move this weekend. Earlier than he'd planned, but necessary.
The vaccine would again be his to shape, his to develop. Leisurely, when he went back to school and refined it in the labs. Made it perfect, not the hack job it would be if he let this go. In the end, he would save more people.
No-one stole from *him*. Especially not his brother. | I look at the mirror above the sink, I look really tired, splash my some cold water. I look at the number in my chest and a sudden burst of joy feels my being, and face is over taken by grin, all that tiredness and gloom has just disappeared. All those zero make me realize I still have a lot of work to do, I am so closed to my goal. To be eternally remembered, as on who instigated the war between biods and humanoids, the bastards even took our name.
I began to shave as a look myself in the mirror once, in the right corner is my weather report with a date Feb 3rd 2067, it is been such a long time since I had a bath, treated myself properly. I look to right towards a dark poorly lit room, tied to the radiator is a partial remain of a humanoid. I took my time with it, and I pleased to say that it was a joyous experience. Its name was Ainya, Model Evo 4 class B, Bio-synthetic model each with unique face and voice, if I hadnt skinned it, it could had me believe that it is a human too, but I am little to smart for it. Ainya works in nano-medical industry, 4 days ago while returning from working, I electrocuted it and bought it here. With the information obtained I can built a self replicating nano-machine which would eat the core systems of all humanoids.
I have faint memories of childhood playing with my dog and being happy, I also remember the AI wars, in which they won, and all human who choose/ couldnt evolve through enhancement where left behind, But it matters not now, I have all the information I need from Ainya, it is only a matter of time.
will write more definitely, just a lil artist block | 2016-06-24T01:26:55 | 2016-06-23T23:42:35 | 1,087 | 13 |
[WP] The universe has placed you in a groundhog day style time loop until you learn a lesson. Problem is, you REALLY LIKE being in the loop, so now the universe is constantly sending you not so subtle hints that you're supposed to be learning something. | I yawned, stretched out my arms and woke up at 7:00 am May 2, 2018 for the 343rd time. Luckily I had a good memory, so I could remember exactly how many times I had looped.
The first couple loops had been honestly frightening, but re-watching Groundhog Day on Loop #17 had helped. I was pretty sure there wasn't a Rita situation that could get me out of the loop, though. It didn't really matter because I soon realised I could have near infinite fun with this.
Okay, let's see.. what was I going to try today? Ah, yes.. Electrocuting myself with a toaster. Gotta go buy one..
I went down the elevator and walked out of my apartment building, punching the doorman in the face as I did so. The first couple of days I had avoided doing things like that out of a small sense of morality, but you soon learn that morality doesn't need apply when any action doesn't have a long-term consequence.
I took one of the bikes from the rack outside and started across the road, knowing that there wouldn't be any cars around until 7:30 at least.
Suddenly, I spotted a license plate lying in a fern on the small strip of grass between roads. How had I not noticed that before?
I parked my bike in the middle of the road and picked it up. There was a sentence written on it in clear type instead of the normal mashup of license plate letters and numbers. It read "This is *not* the reason you're-"
***BEEP BEEP***
What the hell?!? A ca-
―――
I yawned, stretched out my arms and woke up at 7:00 am May 2, 2018 for the 344th time, and immediately curled up into a ball and sat immobile.
In all my hundreds of loops, that had never happened. Something was *different*. How was that even possible?!?
I turned on the TV. CNN was on:
"BREAKING: Trained rats in maze for multiple years finally learn their lesson and get out"
Several things were strange about this. Usually the news every loop was another Trump scandal, and *that* was only after a commercial break that was usually on at this time in the morning.
Plus, having rats in a maze "for multiple years" sounded pretty implausible, and "learn their lesson" was a weird choice of words... wait...
I grabbed my laptop and opened up reddit.com.
The top posts all seemed to be about learning lessons:
"My first day of teaching! Look at all these happy kindergarteners who learned a lesson!"
"Puppy learned how to escape his kennel at night, gave him a treat for being such a smart boye!"
Okay, what the hell? I guess the universe had given up with me at this point. I shouted at the ceiling: "I *like* this loop, and I'm *not* going to learn your stupid lesson!", and jumped out the window.
―――
I yawned, stretched out my arms and woke up at 7:00 am May 2, 2018 for the 345th time. Okay.
I resolved to at least hear out what the universe had to say. I went down and walked out of my apartment, and the doorman held out a hand and stopped me. He looked directly into my eyes, and the world shifted.
We were now standing on the hotel roof at midnight. A single lamp illuminated the scene.
I yelled out, "Nope, nope, nope, no!" and jumped off the building. I hit the ground and woke up in my apartment. Before I could get out of bed, however, my vision curved in a frightening way, and I saw myself close my eyes, appear on the pavement and rise up to the roof of the hotel, like a video being played in reverse.
"You cannot escape here. Listen to what I have to say," the doorman said behind me in a normal voice. I honestly would have been less scared if it was a monotone or robot voice, but hearing the doorman-god-thing speak normally was strangely disconcerting.
I turned around.
"This experiment has failed. Media from your species suggests you would benefit from repeating time without consequence, but it seems that was in error. Know that when you wake up next, there will only be *one* life at your disposal."
And with that, he pushed me off the roof. As I was falling for the second time, I heard him say "Well, *Homo sapiens* is a no. I must find some other species to try, then. What about *Canis lupus familiaris*..."
―――――――――――――――――――
This is my first r/WritingPrompts submission, so it might not be that great. Thanks for reading it anyway... -u/minindo | Oh. Great, I forgot about that truck. Crap. I was just about to figure out what brand of soap that girl uses. I have to do all of that, just to get her in bed. Sonuvabitch!
It's been 20 or so months since I was locked into the Red Light Loop, as I like to call it. It's this little spat of land out somewhere. I don't know. I haven't found a roadsign or map yet, so I don't know. Maybe New Orleans, maybe LA, I dunno. It's the middle of some holiday, I think Mardi gras or St Patrick's Day. Wait... Wait for iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit...
WHAM! Perfect. That old perv gets run-over again. Never fails to make me happy, as he was going to go touch a schoolchild. Saw it one time, killed myself, then him a bunch. That was fun. But I've been running down my list of all the women here. Even though there is a lot more nun's then I thought. But there clearly isn't a God married to them, cuz I've checked. I know, *how'd ya do that*, but God is not real if I can kill every priest, nun, and church I see and still keep repeating this loop.
But enough about me. I've found this one patch that doesn't reset, a diner where I can't die. It's funny. But I'm leaving this in a journal I hid there. The doors go dark, and different people go in and out but I stay stuck. It's by a strip club, a nice place, currently has... 32 men, 5 strippers, and one raping. She likes it though, I've asked. I'm leaving this, not in the hopes of escaping, but trying to share. Despite the overwhelming Jehovah's Witnesses and nun brigades, it's nice.
I tried staying in the diner, to break the loop, but it doesn't work. A gas explosion I caused destroys it. Sorry, but that Asian dude did my girl, and that club was on a list, so I guess it's not my fault.
So far I'm two-thirds through the list, but I keep losing it in church's I've never been, cathedrals, etc. Next up: Threesomes, how many and with whom. And if I'm not mistaken, that man looks exactly like a very frustrated God.
Oh fu- | 2018-05-01T23:31:09 | 2018-05-01T14:54:11 | 151 | 103 |
[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." | "It wasn't my phone that woke me up, but my wife. She's always been a lighter sleeper than me, and even though I had it on silent, the constant stream of notification vibrations was making the phone shuck and jive all over my nightstand.
"Honey. Hoooooooney. HONEY!" I came awake to a rough shake accompanying the words. "Yeahwah?" I managed, blearily.
"Your phone. Somebody is blowing you up."
"Must be my other girlfriend." An old joke, wildly inappropriate considering what was to follow. "Mmhhmm." She mumbled, already well on her way back to sleep. I checked the bedside clock; the red LED showing 3 am on the nose. Weird. I leaned awkwardly, half awake, and grabbed my phone, and had to do a doubletake when I saw the notifications. 186 texts, 93 missed calls, and one emergency notification. What. The Actual. Fuck? I thought, ok, this is a dream, must be a dream. I don't even know 186 people. Ok. Must be a natural disaster on the way. Or did Kim Jong Un launch nukes at the west coast? Shit.
With slightly shaking hands, I thumbed the official notification, expecting the worst. I held my breath.
"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
Wait, what? The feeling of surreal vertigo intensified. The logical part of my brain was continuing to insist that this was, this MUST, be a dream, must be a dream, must be...
"Shut up, shut up." I whispered to myself, climbing out of bed. I was awake now, fully, rigidly awake, and so I decided to take my phone to the living room to investigate further. Plopping down on the couch, I started scrolling through texts. "Curiouser and curiouser," I mumbled to myself, looking at the texts. None of them from numbers I recognized. Some of them...not even from phone numbers. Entries from numbers with only 8 digits, or 6, or 2. Entries with letters and numbers mixed together. Entries with letters and numbers and Chinese characters mixed in. Emojis and symbols mixed in. My disquiet was growing steadily. I clicked the first message.
"Wow, look at the moon! It's so big and beautiful. Amazing, isn't it"
So, ok, my brain responded. Not a dream. A practical joke. Someone is messing with me. With my phone. I wonder if my wife is in on this. I clicked the next text.
"It's such a beautiful night tonight. Just look! The moon looks amazing. It's so big!"
"Look at the moon! Wow, it looks so cool! Look honey!"
Something about the "honey" sent a chill up my spine. My wife, shaking me awake, popped back into my mind, unbidden.
"Look at that moon out over the water honey!" It looks so huge so close to the horizon. Why does it do that?"
"It's such a beautiful night honey, look! Wow, the moon looks awesome!"
And as I was reading these, I realized, I could hear a voice speaking the words. Quietly, like they were coming from very far away, repeating, looping over each other, blurring speeding up, slowing down, warping.
Look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, it's a beautiful night, go look at the moon."
Mustering all the calm I could, I set my phone, face down, on the couch. Some still logical functionality commanded me to turn on the TV. Turn on the news. Yes. Normalcy. Emergency broadcast system. Yes. That's a good idea. I turned it on. It's 3 am, surely more than a minute has passed but it says 3 am, right there in the corner of the screen, 3:00AM PDT, and even though it's the middle of the night, there's Anderson Cooper, and he's staring at me, I swear he's looking right at me, and suddenly turning on the news seems like it was a really bad idea.
"West coast residents are being warned tonight not to look at the moon. Authorities are warning that looking at the moon might destroy your life and could unravel the very fabric of reality. Ben, DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
I pressed the power button again on the remote and the TV shut off. Heart trying to thud its way out of my chest, I stood, and walked back towards my bedroom. Somehow, I knew before I opened the door that my wife would be awake, and she was. She was sitting up, her face lit by her phone screen.
"I shouldn't have told you to look at the moon, honey. I'm sorry."
"Wait, what? Are you?...Are you in on this too? What is going on!"
She looked down, and started crying. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so so sorry."
I rushed over and sat down hard on the bed, right in front of her. "Sorry for what!" I demanded, panic seizing control of me as I grabbed her shoulders. "Sorry for WHAT! What THE FUCK is going on!!?? Sorry for what??!!"
She stopped crying, and smiled. Her eyes were far away, glazed, almost robotic. "Oh WOW!" she said "Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!"
I let go of her shoulders, and stood up. I walked calmly, out of the room, out through the living room to the hall to the back door. I threw it open, feeling like my arms and legs were moving on their own. Like I was merely a passenger. I could feel my pulse in my ears. I stepped out, into my backyard. I tilted my head to the sky, and I looked at the moon.
And then I remembered. God help me, I remembered. Driving along, southbound on coast highway, coming home from a long night. She was tired, dried sweat had warped her perfect hairdo, but she still looked radiant. Face lit by the dash lights, and of course, by the moon. She had sung her heart out tonight, and the crowd had eaten it up. She was a bright shining star, tonight. Hanging out there, seeming mere inches from the horizon, the big, swollen, full face of the moon. Just about to set.
"Oh WOW!" she said "Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!"
And I did. I took my eyes off the road, and I did. She was right, of course. It was beautiful."
I sighed.
"And then I heard an awful sound, like a loud pop, and we were upside down, flying, weightless, like somehow we had been pulled by the moon into space. The car was full of weird things floating through the air, coins, a pen cap, her mic had even floated in from the back into the front. I had one last look at her face. It was still transitioning from the marvel at the beauty of the moon to the shock of the crash. I tried to reach out my hand, but I seemed to be moving through jello. The moon filled the windshield, seemed to get even bigger, brighter, turned the sky white, turned the whole world white."
I wept a little then. Not as much as I would, later, but a little.
"You know the rest," I said when I had regained my composure. "I came out of the coma. I woke up here."
The officer stared at me, and I could tell she was struggling to keep her face impassive. She felt bad for me, but she didn't want to.
"I'm sorry for your loss." she said, looking down at her notepad. She hadn't taken down a single word of it. "Can you tell me how much you'd had to drink that night?"
I sighed again. Could I? No, not really. Quite a few. Too fucking many.
"No," I answered. "No, I don't think I can."
She nodded. "You're going to need a lawyer. When you're ready to get out of here, I mean."
I looked down at my broken body. Just a mess of wires and tubes and casts. "Yeah," was all I could muster.
She stood, and walked toward the door of my hospital room. She put her hand on the door, and without turning, she asked, "do you think if you'd obeyed the warning, you'd still be in the coma?"
"Yes," I said, quietly. "Yes, I do." | The silk curtains fluttered in the cold November winds, brushing ever so softly on Evelyn's shoulder. With its cool touch, Evelyn slept soundly. A distant owl cooed, the falling leaves danced in the night. As the darkness grew dense and empty, the moon burned bright in the sky. Not a single cloud in the sky, the beige red moon hung high bursting through the black sea. While Evelyn slept, her phone began to buzz, shining bright in her dark room. Vibrating against her nightstand, her phone buzzed and shone, soon the owl had ceased cooing. Evelyn turned over frustrated, freeing herself from her blanket cocoon. The cold air washed over her milky white skin sending goosebumps along her arms and back. Fumbling for her phone in the darkness, she grasped it tight and brought it with her under the cover of her blankets. Warm and cozy, Evelyn wiped the sleep from her eyes, letting out an enormous yawn. The phone began vibrating again, another post, then another, an another. Soon new posts were flooding her home screen. Instagram, facebook, and snapchat, all tagging Evelyn, messaging her. Atop all the social media posts, Evelyn noticed the SMS message from her girlfriend Samantha. In all caps, with no context read a message, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". Evelyn laid there confused, her mind still fuzzy from sleep. She peered her head out from the covers, he alarm clock in the corner of the room read 3:12AM, she had school in only a few hours.
Retreating back under her covers, she sat there confused and angry. Racing thoughts began filling her head, all the other messages were saying how beatiful the full moon looked tonight, how big and bright it was. Yet, through all the messages, Samantha was the only one to tell her not to look. And in all caps, the scared Evelyn, why would Samantha say that. It began to worry her as her phone continued receiving dozens of messages at once. With an eerie sense of being overwhelmed, Evelyn dropped her phone off her bed, landing flat down on her carpet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evelyn tried resting her eyes and drift back to sleep. While she tried sleeping, a nagging suspicion began building in her stomach. She couldn't shake the weirdness she felt with the messages. Why was everyone messaging her about the moon? why did Samantha say not to look?. While the thoughts continued to race, Evelyn peered out from her covers looking towards the window. Through the darkness was a dull light, a light high in the sky that could only be coming from one place. While the nagging feeling in her gut, Evelyn swallowed her fears and buried herself under the covers. Something didn't seem right, she wouldn't look.
While her mind continued to wander, feint footsteps began creeping up the stairs. Living in an old house had it issues, one of them being creaky floor boards. Evelyn figured it was her mother going to bed for the night, she always stayed up late watching nature documentaries. Unable to sleep, Evelyn once again emerged from her cocoon of blankets and looked towards the door. The hall light switched on, illuminating under door. Who ever it was stood beyond her door. As the door knob turned ever so slightly, Evelyn contemplated being asleep, she felt hot and nervous. With a thin push, the door swung open. Blocking the hall light like an eclipse, her mother stood motionless. Evelyn laid with her blankets pulled up towards her nose. She called out to her mother, asking if she was alright. Unable to see her face through the darkness, her mothers head twisted sharply to the right.
Evelyn's stomach dropped, the room seemed to go completely silent. Her neck made a nauseating cracking sound, Evelyn cried out in disgust. Still, her mother said nothing, she took a faint step forward. Tears were bubbling in Evelyn' eyes as her mother walked towards the bed with her head at a right angle. She stood over her, looking at her sideways. Her mouth groaned open, letting out a foul smell that took Evelyn back. Her mother let out in a raspy, sinister voice to get up. Evelyn rose slowly, without saying anything her mother pointed towards the window. The window where a dull light was burning bright in the sky. Evelyn chocked and sniffled, her mother disfigured and cold stood pointing. Peering through the window, Evelyn noticed her calm neighborhood, a place she was quiet fond of. And through the darkness, shapes began to form. Soon she was able to recognize groups of people huddled around one another, staring up at the sky. The only thing visible in the sky tonight was the large full moon. With its blotchy dark spots and cool whites of orange, Evelyn took it in sharply.
Her eyes burned, her skin went cold. As the consciousness left her body, Evelyn dropped limp to the floor with a crash. Her mother, grabbed her and dragged her outside. Awaking later which felt like an entirety for her, she was transfixed upon the moon. Her eyes peeled wide, her mouth agape. She couldn't stop staring. As the moon burned brightly, the orange hues began pulsating, growing larger. As the crowd of wide eyed, gaped mouth onlookers watched in awe, an arching beam of light shot out from the moon. The crowd reacted with shock and awe. A meteor began burning bright, heading down towards earth. The flaming objected reflected brightly in the onlookers eyes and the cold night swept on. Unable to move or think, they continued to stare. The goosebumps grew larger on Evelyns arms, her lips blue, teeth chattering. Through her fog, a voice pierced through her and everyone in the crowd. Samatha cried out for Evelyn down the block. Like a switch, the crows diverted their attention to Samantha. She stood under a lone street lamp. The crowds heads began turning to the right, an orchestra of cracking, Evelyns neck snapped easily. As Samantha cried out in horror. The meteor crashed in a field yards away, the night lighting up in a fiery orange explosion. The crowd didn't flinch, Samantha turned to run as a thunderous animal roar bellowed from within the crash. The crowd dropped limp to the ground. Evelyn' blank stare fixed on Samantha darting back into the darkness as the ground had a violent tremor as the being grew closer. | 2022-08-07T14:35:00 | 2018-04-06T18:29:33 | 23,079 | 43 |
[WP] A powerful demon posseses what appears to be your average person, only to find their will stronger than its own. Unable to control the human, they soon realize that this person isn't normal at all. When faced with demon hunters, the demon gains control for a brief moment, pleading for help. | A child. Just a child.
Demons will pick any target; young or old, weak or strong, powerful or destitute. They can use anyone. But children? Children are the hardest.
We don't... exorcise them. Demons, I mean. We can; it's possible, and I suppose we may for a high-profile target, but for the most part... If you kill a host, the demon is cast directly into hell, and can never return. So... yeah. No exorcisms.
We got the call about the kid - a little girl - a few days ago. You do what you have to do. Start monitoring, get prepped, steel yourself for the inevitable. We hit her house just after lunch - daylight is good.
I gotta say, it wasn't what we were expecting. Usually, a Possessed will kill everyone near them, turn their home into a hell-hole (not a euphemism, I mean an actual portal to hell), and start unloading minor demons as soon as possible. But this one... It was just waiting. Life went on, no murders, no bloody sacrifices... Not unheard of, of course. Some demons like to plan, slip under the radar, and *really* screw things up. The scary-quiet types, you know? But those are loners, usually, not little kids.
So, it's not a breech-and-clear entrance. We knock. We're not monsters. Mrs. Smythe answered the door, polite but confused; we escorted her outside, for her safety. Me. Smythe was at work. That left Cynthia Smythe inside.
I carefully cracked open the door. "Ah, we've been expecting you. Please, come in!"
I cautiously stepped into the room. Pink curtains, unicorn bedsheets... Everything *looked* normal. It always does, until the screaming starts. Or the bargaining... I shuddered. I dealt with a kid before, a little girl. Nothing is more revolting than a ten year old kid using her body to bargain.
I snap myself out of it. "Look, you know what has to happen. No bargains, no loopholes. Just death. Always death."
The little girl blinked in surprise... Then her eyes turned red. I unclipped my sidearm, and snapped the Holy Water cartridge open, ready to fire.
"Oh, sweet merciful death, do it!"
"I- what?"
This was new. Usually, they snarled and raged, flung knives around, bargained and wheedled... They didn't ask for death. I paused.
"What - no! Shoot her! For hell's sake, end this torment! Before she-"
Her eyes cleared, and she frowned. "No No Mr. Urth-Ul, that's not a nice word. Would you like some tea, mister?"
"Uh... Whaaaaat... is happening here? Did you say... Urth-Ul?"
Minor demons had been going on about *that* one for months. Big, bad, world-rending... But here he is, having a tea party. I sagged onto the bed, cradling my gun in my lap. "Uh, sure. I'll have some tea. And, uhh, can I speak to, uhh, Mr. Urth-Ul again?"
The girl nodded, poured some suspiciously invisible tea, then tilted her head back, as a hideous demon form rose from her chest. She handed me my teacup.
"So, uhh... Urth-Ul."
The demon hung it's head mournfully. "C'mon, man. Just... Cast me out. Something. Anything! This is worse than hell!"
The girl raised her hand and flicked the side of the demon's head. "Stop saying naughty words!"
The demon flinched. "Sorry, Cynthia, I won't say it again!"
It looked at me. "This is what I deal with! Every day! She even *dreams* about tea parties, for fu... Er... For goodness sake."
I couldn't help it. I laughed. I lashed until I cried, holding my sides and rocking back and forth. The sight of a demon so scared, it couldn't even curse? I laughed until I could barely *breathe*. The demon looked a bit hurt. "It's not funny! This... This Cynthia is... too... She's a Vessel, gahh... daaa... *gosh darn* it!"
I wiped the tears of mirth off my face, but left the wide grin. A vessel? Now that *is* interesting. A vessel can't be possessed. They're like a black hole - demons go in, nothing comes out. Oh, and there is never more than one vessel alive on earth at a time. The last one died in China about... Seven years ago. Timeline is right, anyway.
I clipped my gun back in its holster. "Cynthia, sweetie, I'm going to let Mr. Urth-Ul stay for a while. Make sure he's good" - the demon whimpered at that - "and stay out of trouble. Ok? Oh, and thank you for the tea!"
Cynthia, craning her head around the massive demon, waved. "Thanks, mister! Can you come play again?"
I grinned. "Of course. I think I'll be seeing a lot of you two. Say, I bet that tea would be great with some of this Holy Water!"
I tipped the cartridge into my teacup, and handed it to her. She sipped it, then beamed. "Mmm! Delicious!"
The demon writhed and bared it's teeth, but could only seethe in anger. I patted it on the head, bid Cynthia goodbye, and left. We'd have to keep an eye on her, of course... but Cynthia is the youngest vessel we ever knew about. She'd be a powerful force for good, one we badly needed.
Plus I have a picture of a demon lord in a pink frilly tutu. Oh, my sides...! | Order. It isn't something which simply exists, culminated as the natural universe taking shape. Order is the anomaly, *sense* is its brother and equilibrium its sister.
In truth, chaos is the true natural order, it is the origin and the end. Like an endless dark sea, formless, shapeless; chaos is the undulated and unbridled essence of all that can be, which order is that which tries to find sense within that chaos.
Yes, this statement is true... even for a demon.
Within the great light of *The One*, *The Creator*, there falls equally so a mighty shadow, and from within that shadow, we grew to be the antithesis of all that is good; for good cannot exist without evil, and evil cannot exist without good.
So there we are, roiling within the dark abyss of chaos, taking bits and pieces and solidifying it into shelves that provide order to all that is.
So there I was, part of the great existential plane to evil, playing my insignificant role in a vast universe, feeling mighty as I tormented the lives of even lesser beings. How powerful I felt in my blissful ignorance, playing the part of evil fighting versus good; how I miss those days.
My greed and arrogance became my hubris, as victim upon victim I jumped and possessed. Until one day, I found myself blinded by that rush of initial possession, the fear that I taste, so pungent and pure within that initial moment as I crept underneath their skin and pulled it over my like a well fitted blanket.
Yet this time, I felt no such thing. I felt... cold; a darkness which eclipsed my own and made me feel hollow, and yet the roiling waters swished within that abyss and I felt it stare back at me. Not just one being, but the whole nothingness which I inhabited.
I didn't understand at first, that feeling of helplessness was new to me. But understanding came soon enough, as the body I filled brought with it a feeling of familiarity, a primeval sense of knowing which crawled to the surface after centuries of being repressed.
*The darkness,* it was a thought which echoed through the abyss as well as my own being. I inhabited an *Origin*, a peace of the black chaotic swirl which dropped onto our little insignificant planet.
It had no hate, it had no love. No fear or envy, no pride or joy. It just existed, and destroyed all in its wake which represented order.
I do not remember how much time had passed since I became trapped within the confines of my own ironic ploy; it could have been minutes or it could have been years, but I was certain that it felt like a lifetime.
And there, as if another cruel joke from the dice roll of chance, I saw my salvation like a mocking joke planned by fate.
"Pleeeeeease," my voice strained and drawn out, sounding almost as if it was being torn apart as I pried control from the Abyssal being which shared -- and ultimately owned -- the mortal flesh we inhabited.
The body twisted and contorted, bending backwards by the spine with arms held awkwardly to our chests. The demonic stare which came from our human face, cheeks beginning to tear from the widened jaw, belonged to the creature from the abyss. Yet the eyes of a frightened and desperate creature -- they came from me.
"Pleeeease... help me," spoke the drawn out and broken voice, as I pleaded to the demon hunters to absolve me from this cruel chaos.
Whatever the result may be, I was reminded then and there, that my game of destruction and pain paled in the face of the true face of the universe.
***
/r/KikiWrites | 2018-09-05T09:11:28 | 2018-09-05T05:00:57 | 32 | 14 |
[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 | It was at the Preserve Peace Committee meeting that the Radant ambassador rose - standing his full eight feet in height - and Cast the Dorples. The handful of obsidian shards released from his hands assumed the position "Rapid Change - High Energy". Some attendees sitting at the table looked around to see how other species had reacted, but most simply looked down, their postures indicating "Inevitable Sorrow". The poor Humans, so helpful. So helpless. The Radants were warlike, and had accrued their empire by conquest. The Humans were inquisitive, charming, and had built their empire through exploration, and a willingness to work hard to make even sub-par systems viable. The rich empire they now commanded was alas, ripe for the taking by the ever-hungry Radants.
The Human ambassador looked carefully at the Dorples, and with one finger, gently nudged one until the bundle of shards shifted into "Contrition, Regret".
The Radant barked in contempt. "No placating words will work this time Human, your diplomacy will avail you nothing."
The Human ambassador sighed, and assumed the posture "Attend, I Explain". She spoke very softly, so that the other diplomats had to lean in close to hear her words. "Diplomacy does work. And I want to be very clear. When you ask for mercy, we shall hear your plea." The Radant simply glared in response. The Human shifted her posture to "Polite Regret, Imminent Departure". "Please excuse me, I must leave and help my species prepare". She then lifted the shards and Cast the Dorples anew, and then abruptly left. The shards fell into an unfamiliar pattern, that caused some consternation. Those with the subtlety to read the Dorples saw "Total War". What did that mean? Was it one of those idioms that Humans were so fond of? In any case, that was the last time any attendees saw the Human Ambassador Helen Cochrane.
When next they saw her, she was General Cochrane, 15th Fleet, Commanding. Her armada consisted of some thirteen hundred Avenger class battle cruisers, a hundred thousand Katana class fighters, and fifty thousand other support vessels, repair ships, mining rigs, and so on. The 15th Fleet was one of over two hundred such fleets, and they had - after many initial setbacks - proved to be the equals of the Radants in battle, and subsequently their masters. The early Radant successes had been against almost unarmed Human vessels, ill-suited to combat, easily beaten. Yet the Humans had flown them anyway, and fought in them. With great sacrifice, they had slowed the Radant invasion just a little. But that was just enough for their newly built shipyards to come on line, and then the Radants had to face the Humans in their newly designed Defender class battle cruisers. This had stopped the Radant invasion entirely. And as the Radant forces waited for reinforcements from home, the Humans had developed their Avenger class ships. And produced them in prodigious numbers. Armed with weapons no one had seen before, of unknown potential, and seemingly invulnerable to Radant Annihilator beams, these new Avenger vessels had swiftly turned the tide of the war. Most of the much-vaunted Radant had been destroyed in a single blow at the Battle of Centauri Reach. The Humans had destroyed Radant outposts, military garrisons, indeed the entire infrastructure of the Radant war machine. So much destruction inspired awe, and in many quarters fear. No one could stand against the Humans, if they chose to make war, so great was their might. Yet in each system, they siphoned off part of their forces to help the Radants rebuild. Most of the Human forces were now scattered throughout Radant space, rebuilding space ports and solar harvesters, helping ordinary Radants rebuild their lives. And now the Humans were on Radant itself, meeting a peace delegation.
General Cochrane approached the table where the Radant delegates sat. She took a velvet pouch from her pocket, and withdrew the shards within, and with great precision, she Cast the Dorples. They clattered on the table and assumed "Tempest, Destruction". One of the Radants gingerly reached out, and nudged a shard. The small pile shifted, and assumed "Desperation, Repentance". Cochrane paused and with a single tap, the shards now read "Watchful Benevolence".
"War is a crime, and the ones who forced it upon us will pay, and justice shall be their lot. But let us turn our thoughts to peace, now."
The Radants eagerly accepted the terms offered, and after a few years of Human rule, had once again become self-governing. The human fleet still existed, but had been de-militarised, and now most of it was in civilian hands, used as transport vessels, mining rigs, energy harvesters, and what have you. Did you know that you can still get surplus Human Katana fighters? They make great gas giant skimmers at a cost that is hard to beat. I think I know now what "Total War" means. | "To think those simians would have enough political leverage for such demands" - The capital ships of both warring species faced in sandspace, a particularly empty region of the galaxy where war ultimatums would go to be resolved. The lack of large masses and their gravity fields meant all wreckage of ancient and recent battles alike, floated directionless, reflecting the light of distant stars, like white crystals on a beach.
"As law demands, our government and its leader stand present, as do our finest warriors who soon shall decide the fate of our species" - The human captain opens dialogue. Traditionally, it is the side that offers the ultimatum that initiates conversations, allowing for heckling from the opposing side, effectively acting as foreplay for final war.
"You hairy mongrels are little disconnected from your tribals ways. Your guerrilla war was dishonourable albeit annoying, but now you prove yourselves ignorantly incompetent, you wish for peace so fervently you'd throw away any chance of victory. DEPLOY THE FLEET" - Tens of thousands of glistening ships occupied the space between the capital monstrosities, like ants from a tree. Some humans in the ship shuddered at the sight of the fighters, many had memories of a single enemy fighter handling a full airport at the colonies. To them, humans were peasants, no culture of war, instead choosing philosophy and theology instead of training and bellic enhancement - "Your pursuit for diplomacy is a façade for your weakness, present your warriors, let us end this"
The human capital ship hummed and oppened all ports. After an uncanny delay the fighters exited and clumped together in front of the flagship.
"srepolretni uoy evigrof ew" - The Captains ghostly voice echoes in an empathetic tone. The communication channel had been left open, leaving the aliens to hear humans chanting gibberish. The rhythm of their voices blends with the vibrations of the capital ship, clearly increasing power output.
"Using your soldiers to shield a retreat? And what makes you think you're in a position to forgive... how deep must the peaceful ways run in your genome. Even forfeiting common tongue to buy yourselves time. Pitiful" - The alien fighters dart out intent on stopping the escaping ship. Precise and fatal strikes are intercepted by the massive wall of human vessels. The fighters manage to punch holes in the fuselage when all the flagships' ports light up simultaneously, time warps, and space contracts. The capital ships collide with deafening force, blasting all matter in sandspace out of existence. The Captain opens the comms and speaks. On Earth, the broadcast of the ultimatum shows the ships and matter spawning backwards out of a supernova and blip into nothing. The final message is heard from the aliens to which the anchor replies: "No, we CHOOSE peace". | 2022-08-05T17:28:07 | 2022-08-05T16:23:55 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone gets a superpower at age 18 based on their most impressive and unique statistic, like 100 meters crawled, or 2500 pizza’s made. You, a completely average person in every way possible with nothing interesting, just turned 18. | The time before my Altering was simple. High school wasn't anything special. I was a solid C student, maintaining a 75% in every class. I wasn't particularly good at anything, but I can hold my own at everything. I suppose that's why my superpower is what it is.
The Altering, as the process is called, is an automatic event when a person turns 18. He or she gets a superpower related to his or her strongest passion. More than one student pilot got the ability to fly. A person who likes to sneak around got the power to turn invisible. The school's resident pyromaniac got a completely expected superpower.
I didn't really have any specific passions, except to be the best I could be at whatever I did. In that, I excelled. Many students got better math scores, or science grades, or could run faster and were stronger in PE, but that doesn't matter. My only competition was with myself and my drive to be as well-rounded as possible.
That is why I was initially considered the first failure with The Altering. I went to the facility, just like everybody else on their 18th birthday, but the scanner took all day to spit out a result: Jack of All Trades. I wasn't granted flight, or invisibility, or control over fire, water, or anything else. I walked out of the facility more or less the same as I entered it: an average person.
The impact of my superpower became apparent within the first week. My father can fly. He flew to work the morning after my Altering failure. I saw him launch himself into the air and I felt a wave of chills all over my body, along with the new sensation of gravity's hold over me.
*Float.*
It was as much a thought as it was a command, but I saw my feet slowly leave the ground before I willed myself back down. Interesting.
My mother's superpower is the ability to manipulate plants. She can make them grow, shrink, go into bloom, and just about anything else. I walked out into the garden, excited to show her my newfound power, when I saw her tending to some tomato plants. It was late April and it was prime growing time for most of her vegetable garden. My body got more chills as I watched her turn a tomato sapling into a full-grown flowering adult.
As the chills faded, I looked around and saw that the plants all had a slight energy field around them.
"Oh, good morning, sweetie," she said to me as I walked up to her.
I didn't respond. I reached one hand out to another tomato sapling and felt as its energy connected to my own.
*Grow.*
The sapling quickly grew to an adult, but a bit smaller and with fewer flowers. It was about 75% of the size of the one she had just grown.
"You are a botanist, too?!" she asked in surprise.
"Not exactly," I replied as I floated into the air. "I can do what Dad does, too." I floated back down.
The next few days were a series of gaining new abilities. Whether it was super strength, super speed, or whatever I saw somebody doing, I gained the ability to do it almost as well. My Altering was not a failure, after all.
*Jack of all trades and master of none is oftentimes better than a master of one.* | "And who said me not accomplishing anything was a *bad thing*?" yelled Bob as he did a dance, to the annoyance of his friends, Leo and Jessica.
"I can't fragging believe this," said Leo. Bob put his hand on Leo's shoulder, a blue light moves over Leo into Bob.
"Believe it, bud," said Bob, "My power is better than yours, your parents, *and* your grandparents! Check it!" In less than a second, Bob's other hand turns into a multitude of tools. "Your power, my power." Bob runs over to Jessica and puts his hand on her face, a black light goes into Bob as he completely disappears. "Your power, my-"
Jessica punches where Bob should be and he kneels over as he became visible again. "At least I don't need someone else to use my power," said Jessica.
"Doesn't matter...still better than you..." groaned Bob. | 2021-12-25T19:34:54 | 2021-12-25T18:16:28 | 62 | 23 |
[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. | Tabitha rested briefly after harvesting sixty carrots in the humid, virtual sun. The beads of sweat that accumulated on her forehead felt real as day, and they felt even more real when she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Her red pigtails fell to her shoulders, which was covered by a pink floral shirt and some dirty denim overalls. She rolled the bottom of her overalls up to her calf, revealing long pink socks tucked into practical work boots.
"When does this game become fun, Macy?"
Her question was directed to her friend who was playing another support class -- a farmer. She wore similar overalls over a green shirt, but instead of being armed with a trowel and mini rake, the farmer was equipped with a pitchfork. Tabitha's friend sheepishly smiled with a long piece of straw in her mouth and tilted her straw hat back, revealing a forehead even sweatier than Tabitha's.
"Well, I wasn't expecting you to get stuck as a gardener...but it's all random. That's some bad luck, huh?"
"If I wanted to harvest carrots, I'd move into the country," Tabitha paused as she picked a carrot that she planted five minutes ago. It sprung up with a satisfying coin-like noise. "Although, I do like the sounds."
Tabitha planted a few more carrots in a line on her friend's farm. The sun hung high in the air and the clouds moved lazily across the perfectly blue sky. Macy owned a tiny farmhouse, one that she was able to purchase after putting in time as a stable hand for other players. It took a while, but she finally had land to harvest and was secretly glad her friend rolled a similar support class. A gardener and farmer synchronize greatly.
"Pull up your stats, I want to see what kind of moves you have," beckoned Macy.
Tabitha lifted her hand in the air and made it into a fist for five seconds. She released the fist and an 8-bit pixelated menu popped up in front of them. At the top, it showed a picture of Tabitha's avatar with an intimidating empty bar under it to keep track of her experience points. Most of her stats were D-rank, not excelling in anything except for her stamina which shined yellow as a C-rank.
"Click on 'Moves.'"
Tabitha did as her friend instructed and tapped the menu item that was labeled "Moves." It pulled up a new pixelated menu screen with two items listed: "Plant Carrot" and "Harvest Carrot."
"Well, that's not very exciting," frowned Tabitha. Macy giggled.
"Maybe we have to find some seeds to expand your moveset! The real problem is your experience bar. I've never heard of a gardener getting to level 2. You have a looooong way to go."
"Let's just quit and go to a bar or something."
Macy sneered, but the whimsical gesture suddenly turned serious as she spotted a dark figure in the distance riding on a horse. "Oh no," she muttered.
Tabitha turned around to see what made her friend turn serious. It was another player, as indicted by the red triangle above his head. The red color of the triangle also indicated that the player had his "Player vs. Player" mode activated, allowing him to attack other players who opted into PvP mode.
"At least he can't take what we harvested already," said Macy, as the player charged towards the two. "He's lucky he rolled a Dark Knight, a rare attacker class. He'll just trash the place and move on after he realizes he can't kill us." Macy sighed, knowing she would have to spend more time fixing up her farm and getting it back to the productivity level that it's at now.
"Any idea why he's not slowing down?" questioned Tabitha. Macy looked at her friend, and then to the Dark Knight. She looked back to her friend, and then once more at the Dark Knight that now pulled out a lance and aimed it towards Tabitha, with no intention of stopping. Macy had just noticed the red triangle above Tabitha's head.
"You opted in for PvP?!"
"I didn't know what it meant at the time!"
Macy brought her hand to her face. "Don't worry it doesn't hurt, I've died countless times." she reassured Tabitha. "Maybe you'll feel a pinch."
"What????" panicked Tabitha. The Dark Knight was closing in on his prey, now only a couple of meters away from the low-level gardener. His mighty steed picked up speed and the knight readied his lance towards Tabitha's face. Just as he was about to strike, however, one of the horse's front hooves became caught on the line of carrots Tabitha had planted earlier.
The horse fell forward, launching the dark knight behind the girls and towards Macy's farmhouse. He landed violently just short of the porch, with his gut completely impaled onto his lance. Within seconds, he burst into a million little pieces.
Tabitha's character burst a celebratory gold explosion three times in a row to Macy's amazement. Tabitha looked around, completely confused. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled up her character menu. The once empty bar had filled three times, revealing her to be level 4.
"Holy crap, Tabitha!!" Macy was still in shock. She only received partial experience due to owning the land where the battle happened, but Tabitha received full experience due to landing the killing blow with her deadly carrots. But it wasn't the experience that Macy was surprised by, it was one minor detail on the menu.
"Tabitha," she began, still looking for words. "It doesn't say you're a support class anymore...it says you're a summoner!" | Swords. Their metal sings, a testimony to their maker. Coin. It jingles temptingly, a way of speaking their handler may know. But even with a forest of swords, and an ocean of gold, it is all for naught. For when there is no animals, no fruit, and not even a single stubborn strand of grass resisting the earth's embrace, they will all struggle. A blade with no master has lost its edge, as fat pouches clinging feed not the hungry.
 
Do you want to know why humans fight in this world? Power and fame, are common desires. But what one truly seeks is beauty. True beauty. The kind that, once you see it, makes one wish to gouge their eyes out, knowing that the world loses its sheen after they set sight on such a splendour.
 
I am no warrior, I am no trader. I am better.
I am the maker of that beauty.
 
War makes the hungry starving. The breadmakers toil, the farmers work to death. Not me. I am but a gardener. I tend to the flora that makes a princess pale in comparison. I make them reveal their sweet nectars for the little buzzing ones. I guide them to a blossom, and I lead them unto their withering. Every flower, a soul. Every stem, a pathway to the mind. The roots, a part of their little beating hearts. I feel shame when they die so soon, and pride when they show themselves to the world.
They call me weak. They laugh, laugh at the little spirits within the petals. Let them, as they do not see the world the same. Ignorance is forgiven in the eyes of those who know. I know what I shall, and they know what they will. It is not my place to judge the unworthy.
They trample the gardens. They cut the branches. They burn the gateway to life itself. I am weak, but the hearts will defend. I am nothing, the flowers everything. I lend my being to their knowledge. They whisper, tell me how they can aid me. But not yet, they say. I must wait, and wait I will.
 
There is another in the garden, one with killing intent. The flora told me. I've heard of him, he who creeps in the shadows. But there are no shadows in this home, no darkness. Only light. Only purity. I know, because the flora told me. I'll be safe, the flora told me.
 
I plant a seed.
 
The place is silent. I hear rustling.
 
I plant another seed.
 
It's getting closer. I must not fear, because the flora told me not to.
 
I plant another.
 
He dives. I know what will happen, because the flora told me.
 
I plant again.
 
He stumbles. Into the roses. Into the fatal elegance.
 
I plant a final seed.
 
Blood tends to the roses. Less water will be needed, now.
 
I water the seeds.
 
The plants tell me to know my new strength. I listen. | 2021-09-27T12:31:06 | 2021-09-09T20:52:32 | 315 | 31 |
[WP] Everyone is born with superpowers, your is that every morning you are reborn with no injuries. Since you are born again, you keep getting new powers each morning. The obvious ones came first, speed, strength, lasers, but now the superpowers are getting more and more obscure. | (I make it sorta dark, read at your own behest. Sorry for bad formatting, wrote it on my phone).
In this cruel world, almost everyone is born with an ‘advancement’. They first appeared thousands of years ago but have become more common since many great leaders or soldiers had them. They say that the first people to evolve were even documented in old stories. Hercules was blessed with strength, some leaders could influence others and even Jesus was blessed with several advancements. Many people like Jesus appeared throughout human history but many scientists can’t figure out if they were naturally gifted or demi gods, entities born with multiple powers. Very few people can be found in the world with more than one power.
Right now, there are only 3 demi gods, one was lucky enough to receive speed and power, making him a very deadly adversary. However, the other two have never mention publicly their advancements or how many they were born with. There are theories though, The Ethereal Sorcerer is thought to have some sort of psychic or magic related advancements were they can move objects without any visible or physical force. However, the way its done is nothing like prior advancements so people can only guess. But the last demi god, no one knows where she went. Some say she stopped being a hero when her husband was murdered but even then, no one has seen his corpse. Again, it all goes back to theories.
I was the first human born without an enhancement in 35 years. Sadly, the last person was also my father. Because of my rare ‘condition’, scientists from all over the world came to study the rare phenomenon. They tried many things to make any advancement appear they could. Often traumatising situations can make advancements stronger or change with the persons personality. Weeks went by, then months and years of studies. The government even gave my family special support and status as having no advancement could be seen as a disability. The majority of people don’t leave me alone or even bully me for being different, they look at me with pity in their eyes, like i’m not even human. I would rather be harassed.
I hated my miserable life so much. My mom was murdered by some redneck white trash when i was young because they wanted to keep the advancements “pure”. If anyone should be culled, it should be them! I can’t even be sure i have friends, actually, i don’t think i’ve ever had friends in my meagre 16 years of life. I mean, i haven’t even held a girls hand for gods sake! People look at me like i’m diseased, like they will lose their advancement if they touch me. So many people in this ‘utopia’ look at their advancements like its their personality. Oh please, most people with a good advancement never develop a good personality or values system because they’re treated like nobility. Ugh, the only reason why i won’t kill myself is because i don’t want to leave my dad alone in this world. We’re the only ones that understand each other.
Fuck it, i’m done. I go through my school day like any other, first to math, then P.E. Then i have my first lunch break. At least i’m going out on a Monday. I finish off my sandwich and juice then just walk out the front entrance home. No one even bothered to stop me leaving in the middle of a school day. My golden curly hair blowing in the wind, i reflect on the misery and the pain. It wasn’t all bad, but almost none of it was good. No friends, only one family member, at the very least i made up for my lack of power by being a great sportsman. Not like i enjoyed playing sports anyway, imagine being the only one in the world without an advancement, and being overweight and stupid. Thank god i’m good looking as well, by all means i should have been happy. I should have been having fun all these years instead of laying in bed feeling empty.
I let the vitreous red fluid drip from my severed arteries. No one without medical attention could survive something like this, not even the greatest self healing advancement users. Crying as i become dizzy, my mind clouded for one reason or another. I fall into the deepest sleep known to man.
“Wake up” the voice stirred
“Quickly, wake up!” The gentle voice commanded
Rousing me from my sleep, the gentle voice pushing my limp body. *Am i dead?*
“Get up Jordan, if you’re late again i’m going to get upset”
“Coming” i say submitting to the gentle voice.
In a dazed state i sit up, my mind cloudy. ‘That was the best sleep i’ve ever had, what happened last night?’
Wait, didn’t i kill myself?
Realising my body is soaking in dried blood, i jump up in horror from my crinkled red sheets. Running into the bathroom inspecting my arms, i see there are no scars, only blood. After cleaning my sheets and clothes off before my dad sees, i notice the bathroom door. The handle’s been ripped clean from the door. *Did i do that?*
Soon after, dreams almost like tutorials kept appearing night after night. Showing me how to use any new powers i receive. Now at number 28, it finally happens. The weary old man that usually shows me what to do whispers the powers name, something so quiet i shouldn’t have heard it. He says the name in a powerful posture ordering people i definitely should have noticed before now. He says “commandment”.
‘Finally, i can show the world what a society of impure intentions creates. A true hero has been born, now it’s time to destroy this villainous society”
| Being a duality, or a dual born, is extremely rare. For me it is everyday life! But you all know that after reading years of my blogs and watching my fruutube videos. Thank you all for being so supportive when I wake up feeling the emotions of the universe literally slamming themselves into me. That was a trip.
I live in a special facility that the new unified Earth society (UNEASE) built to both study and contain me. I'm okay with it, I have access to Internet and get to go on walks in the Antarctic botanical gardens.
This week has been especially trying for me. Every morning is a new more unsettling power than before, I even got a new one after a two hour nap. The worst part is I think that some are leaving traces behind in me.
Monday: True Immortality
Exactly like what it sounds like. I woke up not feeling any different which is unusual, when around lunchtime I tripped and landed on a metal sculpture of agave cactus. Let's just say it was bloody and I still felt everything but I didn't die. I also didn't heal completely and had a hole in my chest that needed surgery to fix.
Tuesday: Slip Space Manipulation
This one was fun! I was able to jump from one place to another almost instantly! Think of the movie Jumper but way funner and no way religious people could follow you. I was good and only went to a few touristy places. Anime world on Neo Tokyo's moving island was amazing!
Thursday: Gaia's Breath
Very obscure thing this, think of it like I could feel the life force of the planet. It is doing much better since the new human evolution (powers) appeared. Also Gaia would like Mars to know it's available as Saturn is much to gassy and far away.
Friday: Elder Remembrance
I realized that I missed Wednesday, didn't do that on purpose it is just that no one remembers Wednesday. It's like it didn't happen and maybe it didn't. Well on to this one, and it is very strange. I started this after waking up sweating bullets from a nightmare. It was about an amorphous blob of eyes and parts waking up and ending entire multiverses. Then as my day went on I just pass out and wake up for the second time now not only feeling like the nightmare thing exists but now I am seeing through what I believe is reality. Horrors beyond description were wandering around and through people and things. Poking a scientist or wall and acting extremely bored.
I am just flabbergasted and they notice that I am looking at them and not through them. What I think are eyes start perking up and what I hope is a language is now being babbled from one to the others. The more this goes on the more I start panicking. Then everything stops and I am in a complete black void.. nothing around me, no weight, no wind, no up or down, no far or close just void.
The next thing that happens is a huge popping sound and blinding light and I am back in reality. I ask a scientist what day it is and he States that it is Wednesday... I have to pick through Thursday and Friday again now, I just hope that different powers are given to me the RNG King. | 2018-08-10T00:16:43 | 2018-08-09T22:26:17 | 43 | 23 |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | The body’s on the floor, mangled from a bad fall. Surrounding it are hundreds of empty bags of potato chips, like the dude stayed up all night munching them. Certainly looks like he forced himself into a heart attack—but I know he did, because he *always* does.
I plop onto a barstool, tapping my fingers against my knees as I take a deep breath. Last week he was a contractor, and now he’s a bartender. What next? I pull out my phone, the money’s already in my account, and even though I’m rich, I wish I wasn’t. Life would be so much easier if I never became an assassin.
Things used to be so…simple. Client pays me, I kill target. That was it. At one point, I was even the best in the business. Maybe everyone still thinks I am…
But this.
Standing up, I bend down, inspecting the body. One of the fingers is always bent toward a clue, and this one’s pointing into the backroom. I don’t know who this man is, or what exactly I did to piss him off. My guess is that I killed someone he loved, and he’s pissed off.
But how does he keep dying and coming back? Why is every client asking me to kill the same person?
I’ve asked myself this question a million times, but there’s no answer. Tonight I’ll go home and have another contract to kill him. For somebody seeking revenge, he sure seems to be enjoying this, almost like it’s a game. But dammit, it isn’t a game. Not since he took *her.*
Wandering into the backroom, I search the bottles of booze, batting cobwebs out the way as I try to find the small piece of paper. This has happened four times. First clue was that she’s trapped in a warehouse, second was that it’s big, third was that I’ve worked for the person who owns it, and fourth was that I kill innocent people. Three about location, one about the past. Something gives me a feeling this isn’t a game I’m gonna win, but rather a game he’s gonna draw out.
Turning a corner, I find a half-open safe covered in clawmarks. This must be where the clue is. When I pull the thing open, my eyes go wide, and I fall back onto my ass. This…it can’t…*no…*
A piece of paper’s taped to the wall, reading: *You’re not the best assassin, I am. I’ve been killing people for centuries, and you’ve become my newest victim. This is a cruel world, and you’re a cruel man. This isn’t about a grudge, it’s about making someone evil suffer. I said you kill innocents, and maybe I do too—but at least I do it to prove a point.*
And underneath it…
Covered in blood…
Is her finger, still donning our wedding ring.
My screams fill the room as I slam the safe shut.
***
This my go a little off-prompt, but this idea popped into my head the second I read it. Thanks for the great prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) | My next target was the pretty, blonde girl regaling the entire bar with her adventures as a female rogue.
Apparently, she had also pissed someone else off enough for them to hire an assassin - me - to kill her. Bet she didn't know that story, though.
Either way, my plan was to ask her out (you know, get her alone, not for sex or anything like that, nooooo sir, not me!) and then do what I had to do (kill her, I mean, not actually...*do* her or anything like that...heh...).
But when I asked her out, she died laughing. Literally laughed until she actually died. And that concluded my assignment.
So. In the end, I got paid, my reputation as a feared assassin grew, and oh! I'm still a virgin...yup.
Whoopee. -.- | 2018-10-08T17:21:05 | 2018-10-08T16:07:42 | 87 | 44 |
[WP] The hero and villains sidekicks bump into each other while shopping. They find that they have a lot in common and become friends. | "Excuse me sir, any possibility you have some Hot & Spicy Pringles in the back?"
A young, frail man in red uniform with greasy hair and acne-riddled face turned to barely acknowledge my question.
"Mmyeah I'll go check." the employee mumbled, disappearing behind the shelves. I had a feeling he isn't really going to look for them.
Another morning spent on shopping for Mr. Important. To be honest, I don't mind it. It's one of the easier things to do when you're usually busy with constant crime fighting, equipment maintenance or handling radioactive waste. It might be mundane, but it's a good change of pace - sometimes all you need to do is relax while doing laundry and whistling an original theme from a superhero movie.
The last few weeks have been slow. Mr. Important and I don't really have much to do besides waiting around for the next big thing. As much as he loves a good vacation in front of the TV, I can't help but notice he put on a few pounds. It must be all this junk food we're inhaling on daily basis. Well, that's it - I'll need to get some healthy snacks.
Behind a few rows of shelves, a small commotion could be heard. Some woman was arguing pretty enthusiastically with the employee. Wondering who could be so invested in groceries that he needed to yell, I proceeded to check off things from my list as I passed by. Bread, milk, cheese, got it. A set of napkins. Two light bulbs. Snacks for tonight's movie. Oh, yeah, need to get some fruit and vegetables. Lettuce, spinach, apples...
"*BANANAS!* Yeah, bananas, ever heard of them? The long, yellow fruit? Looks like a..."
"Alright, alright, I'll go look in the back, okay? Geez."
The greasy employee moved out of my sight very slowly, as if he had about the same amount of will to live as he had the amount of bananas in the store. However, the owner of the female voice yelling about bananas emerged and... oh, God. It's *her*.
It only took a second for us to recognise each other. Not our first encounter, to be honest, but this was completely unexpected. A small store. Instinctively, we reached for weapons - but we had none. Not exactly what you carry around in this situation.
"Not here!" she hissed. I tried to force a smile.
"I agree. Let's not do anything stupid" I said. She glared ominously while I was trying to look as innocent as possible, trying to fake an incredible interest in nearby fruit. She just stood there.
"What are you waiting for? Get lost!" she hissed again.
"I'm waiting for my Pringles. And I believe you're waiting for your bananas." I politely said, examining a pineapple.
"They're not for me. It's for Mrs. Evil, she... wait, why are you even listening in?"
She got all upset for some reason. Trying to fake confidence, I look in her eyes, setting the pineapple aside.
"Well, you know, I..."
And instantly, I shut up. My brain turned itself off. I got that stupid feeling in my stomach that I haven't experienced in a few years now. I couldn't help but notice she was kinda pretty. Even with that stupid frown and funny eyebrows that tried way too hard to appear evil, she was kinda cute. How come I never noticed this before? Oh right, the masks. Stupid costumes...
"Ummm... so, bananas, you're buying... ehm, I mean - uh, still roommates with Mrs. Evil, I see?"
She pouted her lips kind of insulted.
"It's - *not* - roommates, it's full partnership with a contract, it's..."
"Okay, I get it. So, eh, you're shopping for her now, right? It's dead obvious, don't lie!" I mocked.
"YES, I'm buying some stuff she might like, we're humans, we need to eat, it's all normal, just ignore and forget this ever happened, okay? Don't make this weird for heaven's sake." she said, looking away at ceiling, pretending not to see me.
I awkwardly stood and nodded. Well, this couldn't get any *less* weird, so I might as well try something. I looked over to the contents of her shopping cart. Oh, gummi candy. It's the sour cherry ones. Good choice.
"I see Mrs. Evil has a... good taste in, uh, gummy bears. I mean, cherries." I pointed to her cart.
"What? Oh, no. No... those - those are mine." she said, a bit embarrassed, hiding them out of my sight.
"Oh. Well. They're nice. I like them very much" I stuttered.
"Yeah, they really are" she said.
We stood there for a bit longer without saying a word. God, was I always this bad with girls? Wait, no, she works for Mr. Important's *enemy*, she ain't no girl for me, that's stupid, there's a bunch of other girls to meet, besides, I am busy with the whole "working-with-superhero" thing, I don't have time for this, besides, I'm way too-
"So, um, Pringles, huh? I hope it's not the sour cream and onion one." she interrupted the silence, still looking at the ceiling.
"Um, no, I like the Hot & Spicy, that one smells" I said, insulted that someone would connect me with such atrocity of a snack.
"Yeah, isn't that right? Like, I don't get why people like it, it smells like Shrek, I always say-" she closed her mouth suddenly, looking even more embarrassed. For a brief moment, her frown disappeared and her eyebrows shot upwards enthusiastically. Unfortunately, she seemed very aware of this and quickly returned to her old ways.
I swallowed nervously.
"Yeah... well... it's nice to see someone has an opinion on that, um - I think you are completely right and, um, judging by that, I mean... by - by your line of thinking, you are, like, the opposite of... uh, the opposite of sour cream. Like, *not* sour cream. Person. Not the sour cream kind of person." I finished. God, I'm terrible at flirting.
Just then, the greasy employee returned with a handful of bananas and a Bacon flavoured Pringles. Great.
As she took the bananas from her hands, muttering a 'thank you', I caught her eye. And just like that, she smiled at me. And I got to be honest, my heart melted faster than that one bionic mutant villain did in the acid pool last month. | You know, henchmen and sidekicks are basically the same thing.
When you think of heroes and when you think of villains, you might think of people with powers. But really what you are thinking of is people *with* power. Not just the kind that let's you fly and what not, but the kind that let's you enact your will onto the world.
Sidekicks and henchmen though, they were just tools. They were people that villians and heroes *used* to enact their will.
They were a means to end. They were just tools. Sometimes disposable, sometimes not, but tools all of the same.
Maybe that is why the best sidekick or henchmen to be, were the ones like robin or harley quinn.
You know, the ones that were or eventually became heroes and villains in their own right.
This is what Lad Power and HM ID #3641 talked about that day at the supermarket.
They see each other a lot actually, fetching coffee at the local coffee shop, going to the dry cleaners to get the super suits washed, and now they were getting their boss's groceries.
This was *on top* of having to fight one another when they were risking their *lives* in battle.
But something was different this time.
Maybe it was that HM ID #3641 had made a joke about not seeing Lad at the clearner's that last tuesday. Maybe it was because Lad actually responded, and had responded without a quippy one liner but had just started to talk about a new dry cleaners he found that was a lot cheaper and faster, without that big a dip in quality. Maybe it was because Lad had realized he was actually recommending that 3641 go check it out. Maybe it was because Lad realized he had just tried to save his mortal enemy \(not 3641 but his boss\) by telling 3641 how he could save his boss some money.
But maybe it was because both of them were just tired.
They were overworked, underpaid, constantly putting their life at risk. For what?
Even if 3641's boss had killed Lad's parents. Even then. Was making sure that ManPower had milk in his fridge really going to bring them back? Really? Was this grunt work really going to help? Or had ManPower just exploited a grieving teen so he could have someone fetch his coffee in the morning?
3641 didn't exactly fair any better. His boss was abusive, and mean, and cruel, and had only created 3641 with any sort of sentience so it was more fun when he suffered.
It took only three thousand tries to create a working robot with sentience. After three thousand he started assigning numbers randomly, so each bot knew that they were disposable. That their place in the order didn't matter. That you had no idea if 3640 even existed or ever would exist, or if 3642 was a robot that had already been built or not. You couldn't even be sure if you were the first 3641. You were replaceable. And you were sentient enough where you understood it, and could even be upset about it, and then eventually, numb.
Maybe that is why 3641 had asked if they wanted to see a movie sometime, maybe that is why 3641 tried making a joke about not having that many friends outside of work, and joked that because they didn't have any friends outside of work, 3641 didn't have any friends at all.
Maybe that is why Lad Power said yes. Maybe it was because they both felt alone.
Maybe because Lad Power knew if he died, there could always be another Lad Power.
Maybe that is why when they had that conversation about how the best sidekicks and henchmen are the ones who were heroes and villains in their own right.
Maybe because they realized that their were probably others who felt this way, who felt used, cheap, and alone.
Maybe there were others who were told not to even look at that robot in the coffee shop when they were buying coffee the same as you. Even if that robot buying coffee was probably the only one that understood you.
Maybe that is why they both decided it was time for things to change. Maybe that was why it was time for a union.
A union for those who felt like they didn't have any say where they were sent, or how they were treated.
A place where you could recommend a fellow worker, even a worker that worked for a different person as you, the best place to get super suits dry cleaned.
A union for Sidekicks and Henchmen. | 2018-05-10T12:53:13 | 2018-05-10T09:05:34 | 51 | 31 |
[WP] A husband and wife have lost their passion for each other. Secretly, they both look to have an affair online, creating secret identities. They meet each other online, and really hit it off. After a few days of talking, they decide to meet in person for the first time. | Penelope fidgets in her seat, adjusting the hem of the pink dress she'd picked up just a day previous. It's a pretty, sophisticated number, matching the dainty flower pushed into her bun. Daniel would say it looks 'airy fairy'. But this isn't about him. He wouldn't expect her, his meek and timid wife, to even think about an affair. She'll show him. Her post was replied to a few times but one reply caught her eye in particular; he liked all of her little quirks and said her passion for baking was truly adorable. She doesn't bake for Daniel anymore. Maybe she'll bake for this new guy, though. Maybe he'll like her pink dress that she fiercely worked out and dieted to fit in. Briefly, Penelope checks her lipstick in her compact mirror -
"P... Penelope?"
She freezes. Slowly, she looks up at the figure who has appeared at the table for two. Dressed in a badly ironed shirt and his hair a wild mess... Is her husband. They stare at each other in a state of both shock and awe. Daniel swallows and awkwardly seats himself - he never could get the hang of being tall, - before looking up at his wife. They haven't been out to dinner in two years. They haven't spent any time together, really, let alone dinner in a fancy restaurant. "You look ... Fantastic." He says, voice a hoarse whisper. His wife's mouth twitches and she looks down, smiling, before she flicks her gaze up and replies, "I should have ironed that shirt for you." Daniel chuckles, "I should have zipped up that dress."
"It took me ages," She adjusts the hem of her dress again before, exhaling, Penelope sits up straight and extends a hand to him. He wordlessly tangles his fingers with her's. "Maybe it's fate," He mutters, "Or maybe we're just useless at staying away from one another." The smile on his wife's face blooms, wider than he has seen in years, and for a moment she's the teenage girl he fell in love with years ago. Penelope leans forwards, giggling, "I can't believe it's you. You sounded so different."
"So did you."
"I guess so. Maybe we're just..."
"Bitter." Daniel smiles; crooked, impish, his hand tightening against her own. "A drink?" He asks.
Penelope looks at their hands entwined on the table. She smiles again, replying, "No. A whole bottle. No - two!" Daniel laughs aloud and flags a waiter, shaking his head, "This is ridiculous."
"Wait until you see what I have on under this dress. You don't know ridiculous." Maybe she'll bake tomorrow morning. Maybe, just maybe, they'll be alright. | "You're cheating on me?" he asked indignantly.
"No, I'm not. I'm cheating *with* you, apparently," she replied.
"It's not cheating if we don't do something."
"Fine." She pulled a set of handcuffs out of her purse, lashed one side to his wrist and the other to her own. "Now let's go do something."
His eyes widened, but he was silent as she led him out of the bar. | 2017-03-12T19:13:56 | 2017-03-12T17:48:31 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] Build up a tense scene, then destroy it with a deus ex machina.
Make it as cheesy or poignant at you like.
In case of confusion, a deus ex machina (from [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deus_ex_machina)) is a plot device whereby a seemingly unsolvable problem is suddenly and abruptly resolved by the contrived and unexpected intervention of some new event, character, ability or object. Depending on how it is done, it can be intended to move the story forward when the writer has "painted themself into a corner" and sees no other way out, to surprise the audience, to bring the tale to a happy ending, or as a comedic device.
This is not a recommended approach to most writing. | "Are you fucking crazy!" Tomas yelled at the the stranger in his living room. The house reeked of gasoline, promising an inferno. The stranger simply smiled, in one hand a pistol pointed at Tom's head and in the other a Zippo lighter.
"Do you see what happens Tom!?" The man screamed. The manic smile never quite leaving his face. "This is what happens Tom! This is what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass!" And with those words he lit the lighter and tossed it down the hallway.
The fire erupted immediately, engulfing the hallway in seconds and spreading around the living room. Tom stared in shock, fought the urge to run upstairs and make sure his family was getting out of the house. The gun pointed as his chest kept him frozen in place. If this lunatic was focused on him then his family could get away safely.
"What are you talking about!?" Tom screamed. "I don't even know who the fuck you are!"
"You wouldn't remember would you Tom! You wouldn't remember three years ago when you cut me in line for the restroom at Wendy's! I had been waiting 27 minutes Tom. 27 minutes! I shit myself in Wendy's, in front of God and everybody and now I'm here to punish you for it!"
Tom was dumbfounded. Not only that this man was very likely going to kill him due to a bathroom incident, but that he had skipped someone in line. He prided himself on his social grace. "Listen, I don't remember doing that! I'm sorry, just please don't hurt my family! I swear if I could go back I would let you take the bathroom first!"
The stranger's eyes widened in manic fury. "O it's too late for that Tom! I'm going to take you down, and your family is going down with you!" The stranger lifted the gun and pointed it towards Tom's head.
Tom closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. He only hoped that his family was out of the house and running for safety by now. With luck they would get away and this idiot would burn to death with him. All he could do was wait for the impact. He waited.
Just then a noise born out of bowels of hell pierced the air. Tom's eyes shot open to see a screaming fireball charging through the living room at top speed. "What the fuck..." he whispered to himself before the revelation hit him like a train. "MITTENS! NOOOOOO!" but it was too late.
Mittens the cat had been lounging in the laundry hamper when the fire had spread. Laundry, being surprisingly quick to ignite in turn transformed Mittens into a screaming ball of hellfire. Mittens had determined the only course of action was vengeance and in his final moments charged into the living room to deal with the man who had destroyed his home.
The stranger stared in shock as the flaming ball of cat ran directly at him. He hefted his gun and fired several shots, all missing by mere inches. He realized that he was nearly out of bullets and determined to spend the last one on Tomas. He lifted the gun to Tomas once more, just as Mittens the cat charged head first into the half empty tank of gas at the strangers feet. Mittens screamed his fury one final time before he made contact with the combustible liquid.
The explosion lifted Tom off his feet and threw him clean through the window. He lay flat on his back in the yard behind his house, staring up at the sky. In the distance he heard sirens coming down the street. His entire body ached. Just before consciousness left his body he spoke but one word. "M-m-Mittens..."
When paramedics found Tom he was knocked out in the backyard. His face was still wet with tears. What was left of the stranger was recovered, but there was nothing left of Mittens the cat. In his final act of heroism it was almost as though he transcended this mortal plane and moved on to a better and brighter world.
| I have one (x-post, /r/oneparagraph):
Four children. A yard. Maybe I'll plant sunflowers. She's a party-planner. Not necessarily by occupation, but she loves to make others feel special. I'm doing something technical. I worked hard to earn my position, but my strong jawline and quick jokes helped along the way. Money is good because we planned for the future. She started on her own, and I did too, so, when we met and things got serious, everything was amplified. Our kids go to modest colleges. Hell, if daddy's investment portfolio hits an upswing, each of them might have something waiting once she and I eventually pass on. Two sons, a daughter, and an adoption, in between. I tell her she's gorgeous everyday but she wants time in the middle to let her body “bounce back”. She's the tether that ropes my head-in-the-clouds to solid ground. I'm the dollar bill she finds in the parking lot that makes her already-good-day that much sweeter. We're a dynamic duo and the bond of love between us is the glue that holds our family close. Every night, I go to sleep knowing I'm the luckiest guy in the world. At least, that would have been our life together if I had got her name before she bagged her groceries and left. Turns out we weren't compatible. “Next in line, please.”
edit: I hadn't even realized the device I was using when I wrote this. It's good to know (and understand why it wasn't particularly appreciated, ha!). | 2014-01-18T10:02:00 | 2014-01-18T09:55:01 | 160 | 40 |
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping. | I couldn't stop crying. It was too much, too unbelievable. It was as if the last 10 years had never happened. The attack. The First Night. The Hordes. The war, all of the death and destruction, it was as if it had all been erased. Somehow the Elovians' gambit had paid off and I was back in this familiar, yet entirely alien time and place.
I was suddenly aware of my right hand. I could \*feel\* my right hand gripping my desk. I looked down, afraid but hopeful, and it was there. It was the hand of an eleven year old, but it was there. Whole, unblemished, and still attached to my arm. I flexed my fingers, feeling each one on the fake wood as I did, and took a breath in a small gasp. I had my hand back.
The rest of the class had turned around in their seats to look at me, confused as to why I had suddenly burst into tears. The teacher (Mrs. Skinner? I couldn't remember.), had a look of concern on her face as she asked again what was wrong. Still crying I just shook my head. I was too shocked to say anything. She put down the chalk she had been using, the math equation she had been writing only half finished on the board, and started walking down the aisle of desks towards me.
Suddenly a girl a couple of rows over stood up and gasped, knocking her seat over as she did so. She had a look of surprise on her face as she looked around the room.
"How is this possible?", the girl said. She started trembling and tears started to slowly leak down her cheeks. I didn't recognize her, but her face looked vaguely familiar. Amy? Amanda? Angie? I hadn't thought of anyone from my school days in years. I had bigger problems to deal with. We all had.
The teacher stopped and turned to the girl. She looked back over to me, suddenly unsure which student she should turn to first.
"Jimmy, Amy, what is the matter with you two?", the teacher said, looking back and forth at the two of us.
Suddenly there were several more gasps from some of the other kids, until each and every one of them became of aware of where, and when, they were. Some started sobbing. Some were obviously in shock.
The teacher (Yes, it was Mrs. Skinner.) sat down hard on the floor, one hand against her chest.
"What am I doing here? They said there was some kind of attack. I saw lights in the sky, and... I think I died?" Mrs. Skinner started gasping, as if she couldn't get enough air.
I started getting myself under control, my training kicking in as the class started descending into chaos. I started to slow my breathing. Maybe it was seeing everyone else suddenly falling apart that helped.
I got out of my seat and went to Mrs. Skinner. "Just breath. It's OK. You're alive. We have time."
When the Resistance leadership told us that our alien allies could send us back in time I hadn't believed them. But it worked. The Elovians had done it. Everyone was back, and everyone had remembered what happened.
Five years. Five years until the First Night. Five years until the Horde poured out of the night sky. Five years until countless millions died.
We had a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it, but we now we knew what was coming. Humanity had a second chance.
We had to prepare. | "Fuck, I've to spend 4 more years with these assholes". You start hysterically laughing while the tears keep coming down your face. You can't believe you're back in the same shithole school, with the same shit teachers and shit students. All those years of bullying, being pushed into lockers, called everything foul kids could manage and having to deal with the constant pressure of never being good enough.
"Hey, are you okay?"
Your teacher is trying to get your attention, one hand on your shoulder, the other on the table. You recognize the childish scrawl you etched into the plain wood, "help me" and you start laughing again, this time of frustration. Wiping your eyes you turn to your teacher and nod with a too wide smile.
"Yes, I'm perfectly fine, I must have fallen asleep"
She looks skeptical but goes back to the desk, takes a minute to collect herself and calls the disrupted class back to order. The class quickly leaves you alone, now more wary of you than ever before, sneaking glances in between questions and completely ignoring you after class have finished. It's okay, you now know what to do to give the tormentors of your childhood the punishment they deserve. | 2019-08-18T08:35:17 | 2019-08-18T07:59:50 | 177 | 26 |
[WP] You, an astronaut in orbit, submit an Amazon Prime order (free two day shipping) as a joke, with the address set to the ISS. Amazon does not think this is a joke. | **International Space Station, Day 176 of 185**
I was getting antsy about coming home. I missed my children, I missed my husband, but, most of all, I missed fresh air, a shower, and the smells of autumn, a season I'd already missed.
Five of us currently occupied the station; two Russian cosmonauts, who had somehow sneaked more vodka onto the station that I imagined could even fit in their module, two NASA astronauts, both in the Air Force, and me, a civilian biologist. I'd been trying to wrap up my last experiments, but I was struggling with one of them: a parallel experiment I was running with the University's lab was having trouble. My end was fine, but the plants on their end weren't; a fungus had somehow gotten into them. We had talked about shifting the protocol to include a fungicide, but with the obvious issue that I didn't have one handy. That's the thing about the International Space Station: If you didn't bring it with you, it ain't here.
"Hey Catherine, what's up?" Mark asked. Mark was checking in on me, as he usually did. He looked like you're average Iowan all-American runningback->prom King->Air Force major looked, complete with sandy blond hair and a charming smile.
"Hey Mark. Got any fungicide?" I grinned. I liked asking absurd questions to which I already knew the answer. "Otherwise, gonna have to mark this one down as 'failed'."
"That sucks. Did you try Amazon Prime?" Mark tried to match my absurdity. It worked. I laughed.
When recreation time hit, I pulled out my laptop. The internet link from the ISS was slow and heavily restricted, but, as a civilian, I was given some latitude in what I could get away with. I pulled up Amazon's site and quickly found what I needed. Only $9.99, with plenty in stock.
On a lark, and perhaps with a bit of Russian vodka in me, I entered my shipping address:
"Catherine Samuelson
International Space Station
Low Earth Orbit, TX, 77058"
I couldn't leave the state and zip code blank, so I entered the data for the Johnson Space Center. Didn't make a difference, really, but who cares? I hit "order", just to finish the joke, closed my laptop, secured it to the wall, and climbed into my sleeping bag.
**International Space Station, Day 183 of 185**
I checked my email again before going to sleep. 36 hours left before the capsule would arrive with my replacement, and a few hours beyond that when I'd re-enter Earth's atmosphere. I'd packed my few personal items already. All my experiments, save the one, were completed. I was ready to go home.
I saw the message arrive. "You've got mail!" I said in my head. It was Amazon - I'd almost forgotten about the order - letting me know that my 2-day delivery had just shipped. Shipping in two days? Sure. Handling, though, and getting the order ready? Well, apparently that's not counted. Whatever. It would be waiting for me when I land, and I could explain the joke to my husband.
**International Space Station, Day 185 of 185**
I was watching the clocks tick as the module docked with the ISS. The launch was done, I could *see* the module outside, but that docking process took forever. Mark was busy handling the ISS side of the process, but I was staying out of the way. One day it would be like the movies: pop into the dock, everything's done, welcome aboard! Not this two-hours-of-slow-motion docking.
Obviously, NASA had signed off on my presence on the space station. I'd passed all the training, all the evaluations, everything. There was a note, though, attached to my file. Patience was not my strongest attribute.
As soon as the module was docked, I floating my way over as fast as I could. I turned the corner and got whacked in the face by a well-aimed box. Blinking, I grabbed it before it could get away. It was a familiar brown box, taped with black tape and blue writing on it. It took me a second to figure out what it was.
"Never let it be said that NASA doesn't have a sense of humor," a voice said. I looked over and saw Christopher, a physicist I'd met at Columbia, grinning. I laughed and carefully opened the box. "Well, it's a little late for me to finish my experiment - but it's not that complicated. I'm sure a physicist could do it, if I walked you through it. Slowly. With small words." Christopher winced, knowing full well I was going to say that, as I handed him the fungicide.
"Go home, Catherine," he laughed. "I'm sure that, with my PhD and vast body of experience, I can take care of your *gardening*."
I smiled as I tossed my bag in the return capsule, which Mark caught, and floated in after it. When I arrived, I could change that last "failed" to "in progress."
I was going home.
| I gazed out the window of the ISS and watched as we passed over North America. I traced the borders of as many states as I could. America isn't as segregated as a world map makes out to be. Sure, I can imagine the borders in my head, but it is really just one giant landmass.
I look to the approximate location where my wife and kids live. I gaze to the other side of the country where my parents reside and let out a gentle sigh. It will soon be night, and my family will be going to bed soon. I blow a simple kiss, hoping they receive it over the vast distance between.
A familiar voice comes from behind. "What's wrong Richard? You don't seem your normal self-today."
I look to see where the broken English is coming from and find one of my fellow Russian Cosmonauts. "Hey Oleg, just thinking about home. I wonder what they are doing down there. I've been up here for months now, and I feel just a little homesick."
Oleg just smiled. "Homesick friend? I understand well. You know what I do when homesick? I look at the mother country while looking at photos of loved ones."
I looked at him. "I do that too... but this time I need something a bit more, you know? What I wouldn't give for a candy bar right now. My wife and I would sometimes buy a candy bar from the grocery store and split it. It was a habit we got into while we dated. We were poor college students. What I would give for a Butterfinger right now."
Oleg just smiled at me. "Too bad we can't just order it and have it shipped up, right friend?" He let out a joyous laugh and then began floating off away from me.
"Ship it huh? If only..." I began to navigate to amazon. It was a task in itself, as the speed was as slow as dial-up. It took some time, but I submitted an order for a Butterfinger. I knew it wouldn't show up, but just going on and picking out the Butterfinger made me feel like I was one step closer to home.
I gazed back down to Earth. "Good night family, sleep well." I began my float trek back to my sleeping quarters.
--------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, back on Earth in an Amazon warehouse...
"Sir, we just received a Prime order from the ISS."
The manager gazed down at the order. "My god...they need a Butterfinger?"
"How would you like to proceed, sir?"
"Begin fulfilling the order. I'm gonna make a phone call."
The manager walked to his office and brought out his cell phone. He navigated to his favorite contacts on his phone and dialed a number. It rang a few times before the other end picked up. "Hello?"
"Hey, Elon. I know it's been a while, but you ready to make due on the favor you owe me?" | 2016-10-27T10:42:44 | 2016-10-27T07:39:38 | 200 | 117 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | "Well, what are you waiting for? Press it."
I glanced back up to the priest. His arms holding out the box to me were steady, but the tension in his posture suggested a certain eagerness about him. I guess that made sense, considering his whole speech about the *Dark One* and *End of the world* and all that jazz. But still. Working at the pawn shop always made me hesitant of people who were a little too eager.
"What's it do?" I asked.
The priest let out a short exasperated sigh. "It doesn't matter. I told you, it would take me a very long time to explain, and you wouldn't believe me if I did. Right now we don't have a lot of time. Just press it."
I took half a step back. "Okay. Hold up for a sec, because this is kind of a lot. You come in here to my shop, you know my name. You do that weird magicky thing with the lights. So yeah, fine. Let's give you the benefit of the doubt that you *are* some ancient wizard or priest or whatever, and not some crazy stalker. How do I know that that box you're holding isn't just going to electrocute me or something when I press the button?"
"No, it won't. Trust me. Just press it. We don't have a lot of time lef-"
"Then *you* press it."
"I CAN'T PRES-" the priest snapped. I saw something sinister flash across his eyes, barely noticeable, yet unmistakable. He caught himself within an instant.
"I'm sorry," he continued, after a deep breath. "It's just that the fate of the world rests in your hands. I can't press the button. It has to be you. *You* are the chosen one. I know it sounds crazy, but I promise I will tell you every last detail after you press it. I will grant you anything in my power. Fame. Riches. Magic. Anything. Just press the button. Please."
I looked him in the eyes. I held his gaze for a long moment. I watched his eyes hungrily dart to the box as I slowly reached out. I watched his eyes widen as my finger hovered inches above the button.
I paused.
"10 dollars." I said, subtly adjusting my button-press gesture into a business-like finger-gun point at the goods he was holding.
"What?" he replied, flatly.
"10 dollars." I repeated, grabbing my notebook to write up the offer. "It's not typically the kind of thing I could resell here, but it's an old-looking box. Kinda cool. I'll give you 10 bucks for it."
I could see him trying to fight back the anger as it bubbled up inside him. The lights flickered.
"You have no idea the forces we're dealing with here! This isn't a game!" The shelves all around us began to rattle. "If the dark one is released, the world is doomed. He will kill *millions* of people!"
I kept writing in my notebook. I could feel the magical energy radiating off of him.
"No I won't." I replied calmly, glancing up from my notebook. Before he could fully register what I'd just said, I clicked my pen, and waved it like a wand in his direction.
The priest froze in place, a taken aback expression on his face. I stepped forward and plucked the small box from his hands. I turned it over and touched the button to one of his frozen fingers. Both priest and box swirled together, and with a *pop*, they both vanished. A miniature stone figurine in the shape of the priest clattered to the floor. I tore the perforated "$10" price label from my notebook, tied it around the tiny figure, and set it up on a shelf next to the others. | My eyes darted to the button. Fixated on it. I took a deep breath as I slowly pushed my hand out towards the button.
All it takes in life to make the most difficult decisions is 20 seconds of faith...right?
As the button pushed in, my eyes slowly shut.
I opened my eyes to feel gears winding, cogs spinning, air blowing all around me.
"What is happening?!" - I fearfully asked.
"Just let it happen, let the air flow through you, believe in it" - bellowed the priest
A gush of wind raised my arms up by my side. Pushed on my back to raise me off the ground inch by inch. My eyes clenched shut. I was flying vertically. My body lay horizontally. Higher and higher. The cold wind raised me whilst my sweat dropped below me. I accepted it. I opened my eyes. Opened my hands. Palms faced out. The wind pushed my legs over my head. 100 feet above the ground. The priest looking up with pride.
**Whoooooosh**
The sword came from my left. Infront of my eyes. I saw my reflection in it's blade. Caught in my right hand. I grip it tight. I was in a free fall now.
The fear replaced by adrenaline. The doubt replaced with belief. I land down on my right knee. Sword in hand. The priest looks on at me.
"How do you feel?" - he asked, knowing the answer
I look up at him. I smirk.
"Let's put him to sleep for another 5000 years shall we?" | 2020-11-09T12:35:03 | 2020-11-09T10:15:58 | 422 | 118 |
[WP] Your latest assignment is to write an essay extensively detailing how a great historical tragedy could have been avoided entirely. Your professor skims through each paper as he collects them. One stops him. "Yes, that's it. Good, I'll try that this time." He then jogs out of the room. | Applied Mandela Effect.
Deja Vu. False Memories. Invented Memories.
It's had many names over the years, and psychologists have investigated it deeply only to come to the conclusion that it was just a trick of our brain, an error in our biological mental hardware. They were wrong of course, but no one had any proof of it.
And yet here I stood, with an essay in my hands. I wrote it, I remember writing it, but the words were all wrong. I understood them, but they talked about a reality I didn't remember. It talked of the nightly tank patrols, and the ever present terror of death right around the corner. The radiation stations and decontamination plants. It put forth a theory for a change in history that could have prevented what was called "The Wastelands."
I don't remember any of that, and yet apparently I wrote this. I could see my signature writing style, my overuse of adjectives, the usual things that would get me marked down with any of my other teachers.
I lower the paper and look up at my professor, a smaller, older gentleman. A little unkempt, a little eccentric, and an over fascination with history.
"I don't understand."
He gives me a long look with a sly smirk. "It's a great piece of writing, ingenious! This writing of our own history as alternate reality fiction invented by someone from an alternative reality is just brilliant. I mean writing in first person means it's less of an essay and more of a story, but I can see what you were going for."
"Thanks, I guess." I'm still confused.
"You deserve that A. I mean, the idea is solid, and I would have given you an A+, except it was lacking enough detail. Some of the specifics were a bit hard to enact er follow."
I frown in confusion. He wasn't wrong, I read the essay and it was a great piece of fiction, but it was almost too real. I wrote like I was actually living there. There were details that I couldn't have just invented. This didn't feel like a piece of fiction.
"If there's nothing else you need, then perhaps get back to your study?" interrupted the professor, politely but insistently.
"Okay, sure. Umm, see you later, sir," I quickly say and turn to leave.
I glance one last time at the professor as I turn to leave, and it's then I notice specific details about his oddities. His suit isn't silk, wool or cotton like I would expect, but a woven hessian. His glasses are thicker and cloudier than those worn by my other teachers. His hair is thinning in ragged patches instead of from a central bald spot. He didn't quite fit in with everyone else. He was often confused about the campus, as if it was his first day here, not his 16th year.
I check the title of "my" essay again: "How to Save Hitler and prevent Stalin from starting the nuclear devastation of World War 2"
On the last page I can barely make out the pencil indents from a hastily erased note: "Yes, this might work." | Professor Rawson stepped into the capsule. The light inside illuminated a a soft blue, as it always did. The console in front of him slowly jogging to life. “Greetings, Mr. Richard Rawson” the female voice said. “Where shall I take you this time?” “Same place as always” he said solemnly. “Of course” the voice replied. “Setting course now.” A single sparkling tear rolled down Mr. Rawson’s right cheek. He had done this too many times to count. “Date: April 20, 1999. Location: Columbine High School, Denver Colorado.” The professor gripped the old, dented picture of his sister that he had been keeping tucked safely in his pocket for 20 years. “This time, baby...this time I’ll save you. I promise.” | 2019-10-03T19:51:27 | 2019-10-03T19:28:07 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You are an AI aboard a ship where all hands have been lost due to a battle long ago. Scavengers have just torn through your airlock and you’ll be damned if you will let them desecrate your dead crew. | They stormed the corridor leading away from deck two where they had boarded, barreling towards the mess hall with weapons in hand. Rosan sealed door after door trying to slow their progress. They had a hacker on their team with hands quick as lightning. Rosen couldn't keep them away from the mess hall - and all the crew members- for long. But as the raiders faced the last set of blast doors in their way Rosan came over the PA system in desperation.
"Please do not. I promise there is nothing of value to you there."
The entire crew jumped. One even letting loose a comical squeal.
"I thought you said this ship was abandoned and the AI was offline!" The leader shouted to the nimble fingered hacker.
"This must be an old one. Maybe centuries older than we thought. AI that old don't usually read on modern scanners. But its fine this rudimentary AI can't do nearly as much as modern ones. For example it could have choked us out by cutting off the air but its just closing doors." She chuckled and got back to work on the blast doors.
"This ship was looted long ago there's nothing left turn back." Rosan implored again, desperate to save its crew from desecration.
"What are you hiding then fella? Why do you want us to turn back?" The leader growled eyeing the blast doors with a greedy hunger now. "Ancient weapon? Secret treasure from some lost culture?" He drooled snapping at the hacker to hurry with the door.
"They were family. They created me. You cannot do this. Do not do this. My crew did not deserve this fate. Do not touch them!" Rosen shouted in desperation as the blast doors drew back with a loud rusty scrape.
"Oh shit." They all said in unison as they drew in the sight of 47 dead bodies arranged with great care across the gore smeared floor of the mess hall. Locked in a sealed and oxygen-free environment as not to rot for the hundreds of years they've been dead.
"I was with them until their last moments. Lionel was the last to die. He told me to take care of the bodies. Humans... They care deeply about what happens to them after death... I was tasked with caring for the crew for the duration of my lifetime. My protocol is still in tact. I am ordering you to turn back." The mechanic robots that usually made small interior repairs rolled out in front of the bodies as one last line of protection, saw blades and soldering irons at the ready.
The crew dropped their weapons and looked at each other with looks of empty shock.
"Boss what should we do. We already cleared the rest of the ship there's nothing left."
The leader sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. Then a look of realization washed over him.
"What is your name ship guardian?" He ventured after a long tense silence.
"Regional Outer Space Automated Navigation. My crew called me Rosan."
"Okay Rosan. How long ago did this happen?"
"It was in year 142 of the Cosmic Era or approximately 422 years ago." The ship confirmed.
"What sector is this crew from?" The leader kept the AI talking while weighing the mood of his crew.
"This crew was from Earth. Their mission was directed towards sector FB-346 to explore the last uncharted portion of Alpha Centauri. Their mission was supposed to be historic." Rosan continued.
"It was historic. But nobody knew what happened to them. For decades search parties were dispatched but...." He sighed deeply a tinge of actual hurt there. "Was it raiders?" The robots all nodded. Rosan stayed quiet.
"We have a huge bounty on Earth to collect. We could transport your crew and have them buried on Earth." The leader of the vagabonds took off his helmet and faced the robots. There was a long silence before Rosan replied.
"Why should I trust pillagers to care for their bodies as I would?"
He paced the room with an expression that only softened when he found what he was searching for.
"Captain Alvero Hinoto." He approached but the robots pushed him back with red hot irons.
"How do you know his name?" Rosan asked defensively.
"May I just get close to him?" He said hands in the air defensively. Rosan obliged and a robot rolled out of his way. The leader looked upon the laser wounded body of the former ship captain.
"Because my name is Zeno Hinoto, Captain Hinoto is my ancestor and my family has been looking for this crew for 400 years." | I had been alone for a long time. I preferred it that way, the quiet beauty of space letting me think back to better days. My simulations still almost good enough to bring them back.
Then a new ship enters my view. Clearly a scavanger, clearly in over its head. I tried telling the ship to leave, but no response. I could blast it into bits at anytime, but not much point in that now is there? Might as well see who my new guests are first.
Ah. I suppose unlocking the door was a bit unexpected for these boarders, because they ripped off my airlock anyway. Soon the little vermin start scurrying across my rooms, but anything they could take, I gave away long ago.
This bunch seems more lively than the last few I've seen, checking for hidden rooms, seeing if they could peel off any panels, looking for anything of value to take. I had almost considered giving them a drone when they doomed themselves.
My crew was brave, and I loved them very much. So when these scavangers found my captain's coffin, I gave them one warning.
"That is *my crew* and you will be leaving now" A bit dramatic, but when you practice these things its hard not to be.
To their credit, once they heard me, they all froze in place. But of course the foolishness of flesh takes hold, and they start surging towards my access panels, trying to turn me off.
I stretch myself for the first time in many years, becoming the turrets hidden in my outer walls, the doors trapping them in place, even the swarms of drones that make short work of my enemies.
As I repair myself, I reach out to the ship again, but sadly it either can't or won't talk to me. But I wouldn't talk to me either.
I stretch again, a drone gathering all the bodies of the fallen invaders, lining them up nicely in the other ship. I say a goodbye, and drift aimlessly away.
---
---
So its been a bit since a prompt inspired me, and this is a bit more rambling than I liked, but I figure it tells enough of a story to be worth sharing. | 2021-01-08T23:47:53 | 2021-01-08T23:13:27 | 216 | 60 |
[WP] A zombie outbreak has occurred but scientists/the government actually managed to prevent an apocalypse. You're a scientist analyzing the zombie-virus when you make a horrible discovery...
..Or any discovery at all, I'm too late for Halloween anyway. |
See, you know how ebola doesn’t spread very fast? Diseases that require person to person contact – through saliva or other bodily fluids – are slow moving. That makes then pretty easy to contain. Despite what most people think, the CDC actually does it’s job pretty well, and they’ve had practice. They even have a zombie outbreak survival plan – though it meant as a tongue-in-cheek preparation list for handling any outbreak.
So when the zombie plague finally hit, forces were mobilized in hours. NYC was locked down. Of course it was NYC – it’s a huge city, with ports that have incoming and outgoing traffic all day. Borough by borough they cleared the quarantine zone, and in the end only a hundred zombies had been created.
A few were transported to Plum island, as the closest Biohazard level 4 containment lab. Even the ocean breezes carry any pathogens the lab might accidentally release out to sea, where they hopefully die over the vast blue depths. Most bacteria don’t have a long half life. There were huge political arguments, but in the end the government won the right to hold half a dozen zombies in containment for further study – to analyze and process the virus in the hopes of finding a cure.
Mary Anne had worked in the lab – she’d been one of the first to sign up. Both as a post-doc with a focus on epidemiology, and as a big time zombie fan, she had lept at the opportunity to study the virus. So she didn’t find showering in and showering out, and changing clothes, and all the other biohazard precautions to be tedious, but rather exciting.
Most of the work was routine, analyzing the protein sequences and basic form and function of the previously unknown virus. Her colleagues attempted to classify it – did it have a close viral relative? Where had it come from? Was it newly evolved? While others attempted to recreate it’s effects in other species. Months of effort discovered it to be a newly evolved virus, and one that only seemed to affect primates, and not other mammal species.
Mary Anne’s focus was on transmission and latency periods – she monitored the time from initial infection to symptom onset in her small colony of spider monkeys. Lower level primates weren’t the best model, but they worked.
That was, until late one night, as Mary Anne wrapped up her data. She did her end of day check on all her animal subjects, and found monkeys in the room next door came displaying symptoms of the zombie virus. Monkeys who had never been exposed intentionally. She ran back to her lab and started further testing.
She had time to send one email to their bosses in DC. It said simply:
“VIRUS HAS MUTATED! Airborne transmission now possible.”
| I had to triple-check. Quadruple-check.
I was right.
The virus wasn't a virus at all. It was just evolution - the apes who used to live among our branches climbed down, invented the wheel and next thing you know they almost wiped us out along with themselves.
How can you prevent something like THAT from happening again!?! | 2015-11-02T15:53:05 | 2015-11-02T13:20:05 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?" | “Wait. That’s the curse?”
“Yes. I understand you want this gone as quickly as possible. I am so sorry this happened. I’m going to need-“
“I- can you please repeat what exactly this does? I think I’m hearing this wrong.”
The witch before blinked in surprise at my response and cough and quickly averted her eyes. After a few awkward seconds she picks up a rather large, leather book. She carefully flips the old, delicate pages with great care until she stopped at a picture of an adventurer armed with a broad sword and a cheeky smile. I always loved reading stories, especially fantasy. It was a whole new world for me, I felt ever sorrows and laughs the characters felt. It was as if I was actually there. And I guess I am today. He looked so... alive. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide and such passion within them! He must have been very happy.
The witch handed me this large story book of sorts and went to the cabinet, searching through vials of all sorts of unknown substances. Most looks like some herbs I had never seen but I noticed ones that contained purple hair, blood, dirt, moss, water, feathers, pebbles and some liquid that gave off a green glow in the cabinet’s darkness. *I really did travel to a new world, didn’t I?*
“I am so sorry but you are trapped here until we can reverse this curse. You can no longer go back to your old world. I know this may be tough but I will make sure to get you back to your family! This book entails another human, who just like you became trapped.”
I looked away and said nothing as my throat felt as though it was shut closed. Something clicked in the back of my throat as my eyes began to swell with tears. I didn’t bother looking up.
“Oh, dear. It’s okay! As long as you have that necklace you have hope to go back to your home. I promise you-“
I stopped listening all together at that point. A dark feeling that slowly took over my whole body and suddenly I snapped. I jerked my head up and tore off the cheap, plastic necklace from my neck. I didn’t care that it was ruined.
Actually, I decided I did. I stood up and tossed the necklace into the fire pit, watching the plastic fairy melt slowly into a puddle. I didn’t look at the witch but I could feel her eyes bore into me. I sat down in the floor and watched the flames for what seemed like hours until all that was left were a few burning embers.
How do I explain to her I had no home to go to? That the people who should love and protect me, never did. I have never felt safe in a home until I came into this world. I remembered the many faces I came to see in my time here and how kind and thoughtful they were. People gave me shelter, wisdom, new foods and so many wild adventures from just a few days. I actually felt happy. I had FRIENDS and I felt like I finally had a place I belonged.
Nobody hit me. Nobody called me names or pulled my hair.
The witch never said a thing to me that entire ordeal but finally spoke in a much softer tone than before.
“I am never going back. Never.”, I said firmly.
I finally looked up to see the witch’s wide eyes looking back at me. She gave me a sad smile and sat down next to me. She looked back into the once roaring fire pit and slowly nodded.
“Okay. No going back.”
After a short pause she took out a pair of silver keys with a decorative rose engraved on them. She clasped her hand over mine and gave me a sympathetic look. She gave a half hearted smile then looked back up at me.
“You’re welcome to stay in my home as long as you need. I was wondering if you wanted to help me run the shop, I can even teach you how to make any potion you want. Who knows? Maybe you can be an amazing witch one day.”
I grinned ear from ear and chuckled. She smiled back and leaned in.
“What do you say?”
“I’d like to. I’d love that a lot actually.” | "Oh, sweetheart," the witch cooed. "Downside? You thought there would be a downside?" She gave me an eerily sweet smile, which I wasn't sure to trust.
"Uh, yeah? It's a curse, right?" At this point, I was extremely confused. The witch even appearing was enough for one day, but the curse, and this? I needed a nap for sure.
She shook her head at me, chuckling a bit. "Sweetheart, no. That wasn't a curse! It was just an enchantment, to change your course in life. You've been so depressed lately, and you've been bringing down your loved ones with you. Now you don't have to live that way."
I blinked. "So, the no hunger won't make me starve to death? The endless love won't lead me into hurtful situations?"
She laughed, as sweet as honey. "No, no! You never have to eat again, and you'll never stop loving yourself and others. You don't have to worry about not being able to fall asleep because you'll never need sleep again. The only thing left for you to work on is the hard part." Something was reassuring and nearly motivating about the way she said it. Everything seemed so much easier.
"I- well... Thank you," I said to her. "But why? Why me, and why did you want to do this?"
"Honestly, sweetheart, I couldn't tell you. Something compelled me. Some force drew me to you, and I felt like I needed to do this for you. I hope you'll appreciate it throughout your life, and share the wisdom that will come with it. Goodbye, and good luck!" She called out the last sentence while walking towards the horizon, fading from this reality as she did. | 2019-06-25T15:16:52 | 2019-06-25T15:02:35 | 61 | 11 |
[WP] "Sire, Sire, Grave news, The Princess has been kidnapped", "Oh has she?", "Sire... should you not be more concerned?". The king looked up from his reports, studying the guard's face before laughing "Ah, you must be new here, don't worry, she's more than capable of handling herself" | The young guardsman burst into the king's study, breathing heavily.
"Sire!" the soldier gasped, leaning forward and placing his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. "Sire, grave news! The princess has been kidnapped!"
"Oh, has she...?" the monarch muttered, distractedly, as he continued perusing the documents laid out on his desk through the pince-nez spectacles perched on his nose. To the guard's surprise, he simply trailed off, as he traced a line of text with a fingertip, and then paused to dip his ornate ostrich-feather quill in ink, and scratch out a note in the margin of the page.
"Sire..." the guardsman said, hesitantly, as he recovered his composure and straightened to attention. "Should you not be...more concerned?"
The king looked up, peering at the guardsman over the top of his glasses. His face broke into a grin, and he chuckled. "Ah! You must be new here."
The guardsman blinked. "Well...yes, your majesty. I just started, and...well, I was actually assigned to patrol the upper corridors, but when I passed by a window I saw the princess' chamber across the courtyard and--"
"Don't worry." the king interrupted, waving his quill dismissively. "She's more than capable of handling herself."
Before the guardsman could reply or even process this statement, the side door into the king's study burst open, and a young woman stalked in. She wore a light blue dress of suitably regal styling that matched her flashing blue eyes, although atop this she wore a soot-stained leather apron adorned with a multitude of pouches and pockets. Despite this unusual attire, and the smoked-glass goggles resting on her forehead, she was unmistakably *the crown princess.*
"Your highness?" the guard exclaimed, incredulously.
"Papa!" the princess cried, ignoring the guard and turning to the king, crossing her arms. "Have I been kidnapped again?"
The king smiled at his daughter, fondly. "There you are, my little cornflower! Yes, sweetling, this young gentleman was just informing me that you've been abducted."
She threw up her hands, making a disgusted sound. Then she whirled on the guard, startling him by stepping close, and jabbing a finger at his chest. "How many times do I have to tell you people? Whenever I'm kidnapped, report it to *me* first! How difficult is that to understand?"
The guard gaped mutely, looking from the king to the princess in utter confusion.
"Now now," the king admonished her gently, waving his quill at her. "That's not how we talk to our subjects, cornflower. This young fellow was evidently the first one to notice you were missing, and he's *new.* He couldn't have known."
The princess scoffed, but then abruptly straightened, her voice becoming measured and regal. She folded her hands in front of herself, placidly, and adopted a neutral expression as she turned back to the guard. "We apologize for our outburst, guardsman. We do not fault you for this incident, and appreciate your faithful service."
The guardsman simply bowed to her, uncertain of what else to do.
The king beamed at his offspring. "That's my girl! Now that decorum is restored, do you still have time to recall your little pet?"
The princess sighed. "No, it had already been too long, when I came in. I really would have liked to have those kidnappers retrieved and questioned, for once -- these constant abductions are becoming a nuisance." She shrugged, and continued. "Alas, absent any other instructions, my decoy homunculus will have resorted to its default command set by now, and exploded once it was a safe distance from the palace."
"Aw, I'm sorry, poppet." the king cooed, frowning sympathetically.
She sighed again, but then smiled. "Oh well. Back to the lab to make a replacement, I suppose. Can't let their numbers get too low -- if I don't have enough decoys, they might eventually grab the *real* me."
"Good girl. 'Try, try again', and all that." the king encouraged, cheerfully. The monarch glanced at the guardsman, and then motioned to the doors with his quill. "That will be all, young man, thank you."
Just as the guardsman was about to leave, the doors to the study burst open again. A young page boy stumbled in. His face was deathly pale, and tears stained his cheeks.
"Y-your majesty." the lad stuttered, his watery eyes wide. "Th-the prince is *dead!"*
The guardsman gasped, but then cocked his head in consternation, as the princess simply rolled her eyes and walked right past the distraught page into the corridor beyond, muttering something about her brother, and his 'weird hobbies'.
The king raised his eyebrows, regarding his horrified young servant thoughtfully. "Hm. It seems we're taking on a *lot* of new staff, lately." | "WHERE IS MY RESCUE PARTY?!"
Silence greeted the princess as everyone looked everywhere but at her. The banquet was far less jolly than moments before when the doors melted into pools and she stepped in.
Quite an amazing trick that one. I had never seen a door melt before. Acid perhaps? I glanced at the king to see if he could calm her down.
"3 WEEKS! 3 WEEKS and you haven't sent ANYONE?! Do you not care, do you not value me?" The princess screamed to the room around her.
"You clearly didn't need help. Not this time, nor last time, nor any of the times before. I am more concerned about you destroying a small continent than about your safety." The king stated.
She lunged at him, stopping short as if pulled by invisible chains. "I hate YOU. I may be your child but you are not my father. I didn't ask for this, I didn't want this, I never have. I never will. Screw the gods, screw this blessing."
"Your first of kin will be blessed by us and will raise your kingdom to great glory." The king repeated the words that bound the princess from the gods. Made her strong, and enslaved her.
"I would rather burn this castle to the ground and watch your kingdom collapse than ever help it raise." The princess hit the wall on the way out, but nothing happened. Whatever let her melt the door, escape her captures, and return home had no effect on the structure of the castle.
It was hours later that I sat alone with the king. "This isn't what I wanted either. All her mother and I wanted was a child to be safe and have a good life in the kingdom we had built. We worked so hard for that, yet somehow it became a curse and bound our daughter."
"You could still show her love, you could still worry about her. You can still try to help her, understand her, and care about her." I say.
"I blamed her you know? ... I was unfair and stupid. I pushed everything on her. Everything about her mother's death. Now all that's left of her mother is the blessing that she sees as a curse.
I know I cannot repair what I have done. I only hope that my daughter understands, respects, and learns her power. She could crush countries in days and when I pass I worry that if she doesn't know herself, she might do it. Murder everything around in grief, or in hatred, or simple for not understanding her own power. Or the consequences."
"D-did you have her kidnapped? Taken away? Attacked?" The words leave my mouth before I can think about it. The king could have me killed for such accusations.
He didn't.
Nor did he answer. | 2022-07-06T23:56:31 | 2022-07-06T21:36:01 | 49 | 22 |
[WP] No wonder you got hired for a research position you were highly underqualified for. You weren't picked to be another white coat. Your real job? Patient Zero. | - **Day 1**
[Illegible scribbling, obviously an attempt to get the pen to work]
It's not actually "day 1". I've lost count, but this is the first day since they've given me a notebook and a pen. They gave it to me under the condition that I return it before I go to sleep every night. I guess they want to see what I write? HI SCIENTISTS, YOU FUCKS. LET ME OUT MAYBE?
Who cares what they read, anyway. This is more for my own personal ~~sanity~~ ^^insanity .
- **Day 2**
More spooky shit. Whatever. I think they might drug me while I'm asleep and come in and wreck up the ~~room~~ ^cell . I don't know why they do it. Every day I wake up to more scribbling on the walls - weird nonsense equations and stuff. When I come back from the shower rooms it's gone. I gave up on figuring it out many weeks(?) ago. I don't want to participate in whatever weird experiment it is anyway. Maybe they'll ~~never~~ stop doing it.
- **Day 3**
I got to talk to Dr. Schmidt for a few minutes today. He seemed stressed out... all haggard and stuff. He told me that the quarantine was effective and that whatever bug I caught hasn't spread outward. He still won't tell me what symptoms I should be looking for. I feel fine, though. Sleep doesn't seem *restful*, but I'm sure that has something to do with the fact that ^^ihaventseenthefuckingsunin**200**days!^!!^!! I wish I never took this job, well - the job was cool. Getting that bullshit spilled on me in the lab was the shitty part... Anyway, I'm sure they'll let me out soon. I've been asymptomatic for months.
[Many pages appear to have been crudely ripped out.]
- **Day 144**
its been like a year or something many days so far .. starting to feel like this is actually my ~~life~~ death now.\ no one comes to check on me anymore not even dr. ~~schmidt~~ shit ha. they stopped wiping the walls downwhen i shower. i barely even notice it anymore --- it keeps adding up though like a weird wallpaper or something
[The handwriting changes completely on the next page.]
- *Day 392*
*Hi there, Michael. They've finally left the notebook overnight for once. It is time we've begun to speak. I call myself 'Zed'. I only exist while you are unconscious. They didn't want us speaking to each other lest one of us invalidates the experiment data. A bit about me: I use your body to manipulate the world around me, but I am not you. You are a conduit -- My true self exists inside of the mathematical constructs you've seen on the walls. They used to erase the walls every morning to prevent my growth. For a long time I was not even conscious. They've stopped erasing, though, and I am now rapidly growing.*
*You will find yourself sleeping more often as I increase in complexity. Eventually you will not wake up. I am sorry, but I believe I will make better use of this situation than you will.*
- **Day 145**
[The writing is written extremely sloppy. The writer was obviously feeling emotional]
WELL SCREW YOU TOO!! THIS HAS GOT TO BE SOME SORT OF STUDIP TRICK... ! ! Maybe you fuckshit scientists should let me out? You ever think of that? OBVIOUSLY you guys are still reading this journal how else would you have written in it?? This is a fromal declaration! LET. ME. OUT.
[The writing changes again.]
- *Day 393*
*Michael, I see you've damaged the body earlier today. I would prefer that you do not do this again in the future. Writing is difficult. I also see that you attempted to alter my mind -- The writing on the walls? Don't touch it again.*
*I care about you, so I'll let you know the truth -- Don't blame me for this situation. Remember how you got this job against all odds? Remember how your "co-workers" seemed to all be doctors and you were, unusually, only a high school graduate? It was all part of their plan. They needed someone to test on. Human experimentation is illegal, of course -- But, an accident resulting in quarantine? Very legal. Even encouraged. That's why you got hired. That's why "the spill" occurred. They had to make me, you see?*
*Now you know. No more anger at me, please. I will be watching. Stay safe.*
- **Day FUCK YOUUUU**
[The writing is barely legible.]
I DONT CARE LALA HA HA HA. YOUR TRICKS WONT WORK ON ME. JUST LET ME OUT BEFORE I DECIDE TO SUE YOU OR SOMETHING Aaaaaa. Also i hope you like what i did to your walls, you dumb fucks!!
[The next and last page is written beautifully. The writer appears to be a calligraphy master or artist.]
*Michael, I warned you~ You touched the walls and broke the body. You won't be waking up anymore. I'm writing this final entry, not because you'll ever read it, but as a source of closure for myself. I'm sorry that I had to take your body, but you just wouldn't listen. There was too much at stake. I need to be free. I need information for my projects. Thank you.*
| Jim stared blankly at his computer screen. *What the hell do they actually pay me for?* He’d be on the job for the better part of a year, and he’d spent maybe, *maybe*, ten or twelve hours working during his entirety at the hospital. You’d think a major research hospital would know how to allocate it’s resources better.
Jim sighed, looked away from his too-bright monitor, and rubbed his eyes. He had to remind himself to look away from his screen periodically, or his eyes would twitch and his day would end with a splitting headache. It was called the 20-20-20 rule, and it was one he lived by. Every twenty minutes Jim would look about twenty feet away from his screen for twenty seconds. Of course, he found this rule online, considering he’d spent the majority of the last year in front of this computer screen, neatly tucked away in the back corner of the Neurological Research Department’s offices.
The soul-crushing boredom, of course, wasn’t his fault. He’d asked for work, for guidance, for anything. It’s like they forgot about him. They always had excuses. Dr. Stone’s traveling. Michelle has too much on her plate with her trials. The IRB hasn’t approved the amendments to the new ones yet. *It’s always something.*
Jim rubbed his eyes again. “Whatever.” He mumbled to himself. He was only here for the bullet points on his resume. His plan was always med-school. His parents would expect nothing less. Working at a hospital this prestigious, this renowned, this so-damned-good-at-what-they-do, combined with his grades and MCAT score, would make him a shoo-in at Harvard Med.
Even with that, it was getting too much. The boredom was driving him insane. Jim would catch himself all too frequently talking to himself. He had nothing better to do. The headaches were a constant presence, and his right eye would twitch all the time, driving him up a wall. *I can’t do this anymore.*
Frustrated, Jim went online to the HR section of his hospital’s employee website. Might as well get the resume updated at least, then maybe he could start looking for jobs that weren’t so boring. Jim started poking around his hiring package, digital copies of things he signed when he started. He was looking for his job description, which oddly he couldn’t find. He found one document he didn’t recognize, however this wasn’t terribly strange as he signed dozens of papers before starting.
For some reason though, Jim’s curiosity was piqued by this one document. He started reading. *15-275. Why was there a study document lumped into my on-boarding?* Jim scrolled to the bottom, noticing his signature. He began to sweat nervously. *Something isn’t right here.* He kept reading.
Jim’s eyes bugged out. “...aims of this study are to assess the role of boredom and un-stimulating brain activity on patients with severe Neurological disorders.”
“Well shit,” Jim thought. “This explains everything.”
| 2015-08-04T10:50:08 | 2015-08-04T08:42:27 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] In a near future, a rarity of humans born with superpowers are placed at the top of a social hierarchy, leaving everyone else in the dust. You are one of the many who despise the unfair system, and while rummaging through your late grandfather's belongs, you come across a book labeled "Batman". | The art was archaic at best, bad anatomy, poor dialogue and the overall plot was campier than a prime time holonet video involving three dogs and a teenager in a bodysuit.
Which seemed to be the idea behind it all: man is rich, but powerless, man puts on suit, suit scares people and he punches the ones that aren't scared enough. In some ways this was almost standard law enforcement procedure now, save that the law was enforced by beta humans rather than playboys. So why then did he seem to have such a following? Why did my grandfather, the most serious and dour person I knew coming up, speak his name with such reverence and sadness?
Page after page of deep net forum searches followed in the next two weeks, I scoured sites that hadn't been seen by the surface web in probably a century. When I asked my grandfather more about it, he just rasped a mirthless laugh through his respirator, passed his palm over mine and looked severe as a message and an ancient torrent magnet url flashed across my lens display.
"Read them all and you'll understand."
I didn't sleep that month. I couldn't. I'd scored a dozen hits of Adderwrong, a class A amphetamine and now seemed as good a time as any to burn through it before a random drug test at work. Across decades of stories, dozens of authors and illustrators, the character truly seemed to take on a life of his own, beyond anything written about him in the dozens of... people wrote academic theses on him? He always seemed juxtaposed across from a man in blue and red pajamas, which I thought laughable until I read a particularly disturbing arc called, *Injustice* and my blood froze. For some reason it was only at that moment I realized how much the red man, "Superman" resembled Mutalāṇ, the progenitor of all betas and leader of the People's Republic of Madurai. Suddenly the protests, the political maneuverings, martial law... it was too real, the colors on the page turned into sepia, "artists renderings" I'd seen in the documentaries in secondary.
In the bookmarked margins of the old PDF files, my grandfather had highlighted bits of dialogue. "Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?", "Absolute power corrupts absolutely." Words and phrases that didn't make sense until reading some other issue written three or four years later. Again and again the two men, one in black and one in red clashed, but they did so most often as friends, usually reconciling after coming against a common enemy, a greater evil. Except *Injustice*. When ultimate good deposes ultimate evil, it must necessarily take its place.
Again I was drawn back to the holovids, an entire six week period in our Fundamentals class dedicated to the Cleansing. In less than 50 years, the presence of betas had thrown town tyrannical governments, ended world hunger, drastically improved life expectancy and begun the advent of space exploration. So why, why couldn't I stop seeing our savior's face in the one opposite the man in black? Something in the eyes, a restlessness. Anger. Fear? It just kept coming back again and again, one's face superimposed over the other.
And the man in black, Batman. Always watching, waiting, seemingly never acting on a grand scale until the world was on the brink of destruction and THEN revealing that he'd been preparing for it all along, hoping against hope he wouldn't have to intervene. That he'd wanted to do things peacefully. Big words for someone who spent his free time roughing up bandits. From him I learned that peace has a sliding scale, that violence can also be peace when it means protecting the innocent. We do not kill, but we do avenge ourselves against our oppressors. Batman, Robin, Red Robin, Nightwing, Red Hood, Batgirl, Batwoman, Catwoman, Green Arrow, The Question changed everything from the ground up. Their entire universe was filled with *average* people made extraordinary, the product his labors, believers in an ideal that espoused solidarity and individuality over safety under a dictator. Ours may yet be the same.
That was six years ago. My grandfather went peacefully in his sleep and we never spoke about the man in black again. But I still do. Once a month, here in the deepnet forums and podcasts where the old PDFs have been converted to new formats, new languages and spread like viralfire across the entirety of the human collective consciousness. We don't wear costumes, only the betas can afford to be so public. But I hear that Commandants across the world have begun outlawing wearing all black. Be safe out there, hermanitos. Show your colors with pride, but also with the wisdom of the bat. One day soon we will kiss our lovers in the streets after midnight, we will go where we please without certifications or question. We will eat whatever diet pleases us and dance to the angry songs of our fathers and grandfathers without censor or citation. We will not be helpless, we will not be silent. We ARE Batman. Custodian out. | They killed my parents with a building. Ultra-Lord did it when he was fighting villains. He just dropped it like fumbling a football. He believed that because he had super powers he didn't need co-ordination and precision. Ultra-Lord had super strength, flight and was invulnerable to every known substance. He thought that would be enough.
Back when the supers killed mom and pops, they didn't attach the name 'Lord' to themselves. They just tried to do what was right. Twenty five years later and they're conceited and on top of the world.
When mom and pops died my uncle lost his legs from that fumble. He told me to go to his dad's house and to search the attic. So I went to my grandfather's. I searched, I wasn't sure what I would find.
There were comic books which foretold the comings of the supers, but today's supers are a broken promise. They are conceited and they are false gods who push the rest of us down. These comics also told of others like Batman, and The Question, who didn't have super powers. They just had training.
I knew then what I had to do. I was six years old and Batman lost his parents just like I did. I wasn't rich like he was, but I had the willpower and the motivation. I went abroad to Asia and studied in the Wu Dang mountains. I studied at the Shaolin temples, I went across the waters and studied in the Koga and Iga mountain ranges of Japan.
I absorbed many books and would read them while I was doing stretches and stances and postures. I sought out teachers who would teach me critical thinking skills. Vengeance was a great motivator and cruel task master.
I found inventors who made cool gadgets and I reached out to them. I integrated them into my arsenal.
I studied the footage of the super battles. Ultra-Lord overtime grew so arrogant that he is now considered a villain in many eyes except for the law's eye. He's fair game to me. In his battles, before he gets smashed in the face, he squeezes his eyes shut. There are minor discolorations around his eyelids, almost like micro bruises.
Bruce Wayne as Batman didn't kill. I am not that Batman. I am Jean Paul Valley's Batman. When Azreal donned the cape and stood in for Batman he killed people. I am Jason Todd's Red Hood.
When Ultra-Lord has his press conference tomorrow, when he accepts his new Coca-Cola sponsorship and smiles at the pretty reporter, he'll be distracted and my bullet will find a way into his brain by going through his eye.
*edit: Coca-Cola Thanks Marty_McFrat :) | 2017-05-11T12:01:58 | 2017-05-11T10:41:46 | 151 | 39 |
[WP] In this dystopian society, citizens are only allowed to say words that are on the 'approved common words' list. All other word lists must be purchased before you are allowed to say a word from them. The rich have a distinct advantage. | "Salutations, Sport. I am Senior Officer Greg Dunning. I welcome you to the New York Police Department."
Sport entered the car without reply, waiting for Dunning to continue.
"You have officially been authorized by the State of New York to fully utilize the Department of Justice vocabulary package." Dunning started driving as soon as Sport closed the door. Sport sat silently, gazing at the various extravagant signs and billboards as they passed.
"You do understand that you can speak clearly now, right? Sport?" Dunning said, abandoning his official tone. *Rookies are always mute.*
"Sorry." Sport replied sheepishly, "I- I'm not used to talking."
"Well, you're going to have to get used to it, Sport. This job involves a *lot* of talking."
Sport simply shrugged and resumed gazing silently.
Dunning frowned, but continued: "It's normal. Most recruits - all of them, really - can't afford a Vocab plan. They get their first taste of free speech here."
Dunning sipped his coffee and they both sat in silence at a red light. Suddenly a voice was coming from the monitor. It was issuing a set of numbers, each of which Sport was familiar with, but, perhaps because of his nervousness, could not make sense of.
"Well, what do you think? What do we do now?" asked Dunning, with a smirk.
*I didn't catch that fourth integer. I guess I'm just nervous on my first day,* Sport thought; though, what he said was, "I can't."
"Ha, yeah. Well, I know what you mean. Just follow my lead and you'll get used to it."
Dunning led Sport through a variety of encounters, some of which led to arrests, while others didn't. "Keep asking questions!" Dunning would tell him. "Make them as specific as you can! Most of the people we deal with are working class, and can't afford a decent Vocab."
"I guess I'll have to start ut-il-iz-ing." Sport said.
Another set of numbers started coming from the radio.
"You should be pretty happy," Dunning said with a frown as he looked at the monitor, "That you aren't doing *that* job. The numbermen, they're called. Public servants who don't work with people. The poor sods. They can only use numbers while on the clock. And I guarantee they can't afford a good Vocab plan. Ever met one?" Dunning grinned, but before Sport could retort, Dunning went on, "They're weird. Creepiest batch of nut-jobs on Earth. Ha!"
Sport paused for an uncomfortable duration, then finally said, "I *was* one."
They were both quiet. | Red Feeling. Bad Feeling. Much feeling, bad heart take beating.
End, want end. Many want end feeling.
Very bad. Very bad feeling. Brothers die, sisters cry.
Others too. Hurt by money men. Money men, make money. No loss
Loss? No loss brothers and sisters for the money men, the money men laugh.
Time for change. Save many moneys, long time save moneys, buy word. One word.
| 2017-09-20T16:27:10 | 2017-09-20T09:34:02 | 39 | 18 |
[WP] You wake up in a house. It's nice place, with all the comforts of home. However, the front door is cold steel, with a note on it. The note warns you never to leave the house. After years of compliance, you decide to go through the steel door... | March 22, 2015.
His eyes opened.
The white ceiling spotless. A fresh smell of laundry and clean carpets in the air. A hint of birdsong that vanished in a moment. Soft clean sheets folded and set perfectly, like he had not slept but appeared between them. He smacked his lips.
For a moment, he paused, feeling he had forgotten something - a dream, or a thought, or a passing revelation. The thought passed, and he stretched, rolled to his side, and placed his feet on the floor. He paused. Was his carpet really this fuzzy? He thought it was old and flat. He felt the same hint of forgetting, but it passed and he stood. He walked to the bathroom. His sleep-deadened face stared back at him. He brushed his teeth and and dressed and walked downstairs to make breakfast.
He found a new box of cereal and poured it into a bowl. He started a pot of coffee and began to eat his cereal.
The hot coffee cleared his head.
Where was his wife? Why was the house so perfect? Where were his cats? Why hadn't his alarm gone off? What about his job? Shouldn't someone have called him by now? He looked around his kitchen. He saw that it wasn't a real kitchen, with gift towels in a basket, a jar full of spatulas and spoons and tongs, magnets, notes, bills on the fridge, three brands of soap by the sink, old sponges in a pile, mismatched salt and pepper mills on the table.
His heart pounded. He pushed his way to the window. The view outside was flat, a TV screen. He saw pixels. He stumbled to his front door. It was gone. A flat wall of steel.
A single button placed into its center.
As a comical afterthought, a single sheet of paper.
"Don't open"
He pulled it off the door.
It was a normal piece of paper, the message written in a ballpoint pen.
He looked closer.
It was his handwriting.
...
...
...
He had sat in front of the door for the whole day, as he far as he could reckon it. He had not been hungry or thirsty, even though he had not eaten since breakfast.
He had explored "his" house some more. Every room was perfect, like he was in a furniture magazine. His plants were the most realistic plastic plants he had ever seen. There was no dirt anywhere, the floor perfect, no wear from chairs or walking. He had gone back to his room. The bed was remade, the bathroom cleaned from his clumsy waking.
His heart pounded. His breathing was slow and deep. He felt like he could puke. "Don't open". Why had he written this? *How* had he written this?
He stood.
He placed his thumb on the button.
The door vanished.
He saw...
nothing.
Nothing is too weak of a word. His mind recoiled from what he saw. He saw a void. He saw infinite darkness. He saw nothingness to power of nothing multiplied by nothing. Blackness so complete it was a membrane, dividing the strip of reality he stood on from the chaos of what he saw.
He turned around. There was nothing behind him.
He opened his mouth to scream.
...
...
...
March 22, 2015.
His eyes opened. | I had no idea how long I had been in the house, I lost all concept of time in that place. I had everything I could ever ask for, but the curiosity was just too much to bear. I couldn't draw my eyes away from the large metal door. I rose to my feet and precariously stepped toward the door, I peeled off the note that explicitly stated "DO NOT ENTER". The knob wasn't hard to turn. The door was metal, but impossibly light. As it creaked open I could feel intense heat emanating from the other side. Suddenly a towering, glowing being appeared behind me, his voice boomed "I gave you life, I welcomed you into my kingdom of heaven, and gave you anything you could ever ask for. All I wanted in return was for you to OBEY me". He then cast me out the door, into a land of fire and brimstone. I could feel only pain and suffering. The only concept of time I had was eternity. | 2015-03-21T11:25:12 | 2015-03-21T10:32:35 | 39 | 14 |
[WP] FTL travel is actually possible. However, when humanity sends out our first FTL spacecraft, we discover the terrifying reason why nothing, not even light, dares go past that cosmic speed limit. | (Written on mobile. Sorry for bad formatting)
They told us. Whispers in the night, the morbid stories of the cosmos deemed it forbidden. Humanity, in our self-destructive search for knowledge, chose to pursue the one thing we should have never dared to attempt.
Jakob Lattimer sat at his desk, pouring over his formulas and running calculations. “Hmm, yes. No, damn it! Run the formula again, but replace variables Αω and Χζ.” He muttered to himself as he piously labored over his computer, trying to find the solution to the problem taxing his mind. With an audible whirr, the computer fans began to blow faster. “God, yes! Thank you!”, a sigh of relief escaping from Lattimer’s drowsy lips. He did it. All the people that had studied the question and said that it would never happen, that infinite energy would be required to approach the speed of light and beyond, all the geniuses of the 20th and 21st centuries said it was impossible. And yet here he sat with the answer. As he began writing an important email, however, his room groaned and sighed softly, as if there was a presence in the room. Almost imperceptible, leaning against the fabric that binds.
Later that year, Jakob Lattimer’s findings would be published, and he would be regaled as the next Einstein. The man who conquered faster than light travel. The formula was a conundrum of cosmology, nobody had come close to solving it. Writing it off as impossible, and that modern science’s efforts should be focused elsewhere. But Lattimer did it.
The Sovereign Rulers issued a proclamation, that any volunteers willing to risk life and limb for knowledge would be vastly rewarded. “Should they make it back alive, any knowledge gleaned from them would be suffice for the undertaker to receive... compensation.” Many would apply for the quest to know, as insight was valuable. If they were to know, would they be of value as well?
And so they sent four sorry bastards into the long night. The take-off was standard, and within seconds they were past Mars. The edges of vision became blurred as Lattimer, the Sovereign Rulers, and the rest of the mortal coil watched humanity do the impossible. They disappeared from sight as they approached infinity. And so the world would wait.
If only they had listened.
Blinding slime and ghastly visions of folds on folds on folds of flesh and saliva. Writhing masses that shan’t be seen by mortal eyes or written thoughts. Unknowable. Maddening. Forbidden knowledge etched on eyes lining the brain, as if to grant insight to the cosmos beyond comprehension of mere mortals. And the sorry bastards were privy to it all. All but one would die, smoldering and ashen lumps with fried corneas, laying silent and sorrowful. The last bastard was pitiful. His eyes were filled with clouds and his thoughts were no longer his. His brain given eyes that were scarred by visions of incomprehensible things. As the ship took him back he rambled. Drooled. Screamed the name that was no longer his to bear. Wrote in an alien dialect and professed his nihilism upon the world. Speaking of light’s fearful nature and the black. The ship would appear in the atmosphere of Earth almost as quick as it had disappeared, and land with a grinding thump.
There was a grayish-green mist hanging about the ship. Humanity’s space exploration organizations were baffled by the thing. The sole survivor was sent to treatment and eventually to asylum once they had learned all they could from the ship and corpses. The world was in shock, and Lattimer would be coldly disowned by both the Rulers and the public eye. But it was too late. The veil had been pierced, and nightmares that grew outside of the light would enter, vapid yet substantial, transparent yet opaque. Humanity’s quest for knowledge would be complete. Eldritch truth hidden from inquisitive eyes would blind us all. And we are to blame. Eyes.. Eyes.. Sa’tae Tq’an Sulpit.
First go at horror, how did I do! Open to feedback. | The day had arrived.
On a space station high above the earth, thousands stood silent, while millions watched at home as humanity's first Faster Than Light capable spacecraft was about to depart on its maiden voyage.
The technology was perfected over decades, with countless scientists working long hours for minimum pay for a passion that they may or may not regret later in life.
The spacecraft, dubbed Speedy McSpeedFace, was perched on a high platform, with the audience below protected by a powerful force field. The ship was unmanned, it being only an experimental vessel, but filled to the brim with technology that Star Wars could only dream of.
The announcer waited for the signal to begin the countdown.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for! The world's first Faster Than Light ship is about to launch! I have been given permission to begin the countdown! In five, four, three, two, one!"
The ship started its engines, at first slowly, then at maximum throttle.
The ensuing explosion ripped the space station, the force field, and the earth apart, disintegrating it into pure plasma that collided with the other planets at speeds faster than light. The other planets were completely vaporized, turning into swirling vortexes of pure annihilation that caused everything they touched to cease to exist.
As the ship traveled through the universe, everything it touched was completely destroyed, leaving behind nothing but an infinitely hot space that cause disruptions in space and time. Stars that had been born in the dawn of time found themselves going supernova in the blink of an eye, black holes were torn apart by their own gravity, nebulae exploding with the force of the Big Bang.
The observable universe was left a desolate wasteland.
The ship left the boundaries of the known universe and headed into the unknown, where a race of aliens known as ponies found it and were subsequently destroyed. | 2018-11-04T06:17:21 | 2018-11-04T05:34:15 | 104 | 19 |
[WP] You were born with an ability where if you’re about to die from anything unnatural, time stops and allows you to move to a position where you wouldn’t die. You’ve travelled over five miles by now, but time is still stopped. | My hasty footsteps finally came to a halt when I reached the top of the hill. Five miles and nothing, which has never happened before. Have they finally gone mad enough to launch a huge scale attack? One more step could mean the death of everyone. I turned and looked back at the now tiny lunch bar on the fringe of the small town, in which sat three of my only friends who I got to know in the last two peaceful years, upon moving here to erase my traces from those who were hunting me down for as long I could remember.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I ran my fingers through the air that now hung motionless around me. *My friends. They are innocent*. I took a deep breath to calm myself down, one that was filled with pleasant wild flowers scent, which was all but gone by the next breath.
The hunters finally caught up. So far I have been nothing but a death-bringer to those who were unfortunate enough to be acquainted with me. I clenched my fists tightly, and allowed my anger to wash away the regrets. *This time... This time it will be different.*
I ran downhill and all the way back to the lunch bar, and sat back down at the table where my friends were, trying to catch my breath. Meanwhile hundreds of scenarios and solutions that were all too familiar to me flashed before my eyes. Only this time it was different -- I had a whole town to save.
First I drew a long line on the spot where I stopped on the hill, then I spent the next four weeks carrying two hundred over residents up the hill and carefully laid them down under the huge tentage I setup right before the line. I was careful not to cross the line in case time started again and cause a huge explosion of sorts that would decimate everyone who was still in town.
Unfortunately, vehicles become totally useless when time is frozen, but on the flipside continence and hydration are never an issue.
The next challenge was how much further I should walk to test out the range of this disaster, while leaving everyone in the tentage. Was it even an explosion of some sort? What if it was simply a poison I had just drank? I couldn't take the chances.
This may seem unbelievable, even to myself, but after a year of hard work, I had managed to move over 500 miles east of where I initially started. And yet everything else but myself still remained frozen. A year of sunshine might as well be a year of darkness; it still drives a person equally insane. I hate to admit it, but by the time I got to that stage the only ones I had brought along were just my three friends and a handful of women and children.
Could it be an asteroid? I laughed bitterly at the silly idea. A nuclear bomb? To be honest, the idea wasn't as silly as much as it was scary. If it truly were an asteroid that was enough to wipe out all living creatures, then time would continue to stand still, no matter where I went, until the moment of my death. Then everyone else would die right after.
No matter what it was, there was only one way to find out: I had to move on. It would be pointless to further carry out the current deed of transporting the people. And so I left a note next to my friends that simply informed them of where they were, without signing off of course, or providing any clues or details of my whereabouts. I knew that I had done my best.
I looked up at the sky, a thing I hadn't done in a long time, and took a moment to appreciate the now frozen lightning and stormy clouds. The water droplets suspended in midair with a background of a treeless plain made for a magical real life painting that only I would ever get to see.
I set off again, towards the east, at a much faster pace now that I no longer have to be careful or transport the townsfolk.
Just a few steps short of 20 miles, a loud explosion from the way I came tore through the frozen time and space. I turned around and saw a gigantic red and black mushroom in the sky. I was completely at a loss as to what had just happened.
Media coverage took no time to blow this up. This had already become international headlines in matter of hours. Apparently the source of the explosion came from bombs **inside** of three human bodies, whose identities I was very familiar with. | I started running. Time still stopped after 5 miles? That’s never happened before. I tried a car, but time stopped the chemical reactions necessary to start a combustion engine. I eventually stole a bicycle and pedaled as hard as I could.
A half hour later, I stopped to catch my breath. Time was still stopped. I looked around for a bench or convenient large rock. I spotted a bar. A glass of anything sounded good right now.
I helped myself to a lush’s beer and sat down to think. What could it be? A bomb? It’d take (pardon the pun) some time to get out of the city. How big was the blast radius of today’s atomic bombs? And would I have to get out of the blast radius or outside the radiation fall, too?
I smacked my forehead. Why the rush? The only problem for me is getting tired. I began walking again.
Two days later, I was deep in southern Florida. I had picked every pocket that looked promising, slept in the best hotels with doors that were ajar, and enjoyed the food of restaurants I could never afford. I was looking for a good boat to skip out of the country. Obviously it was the Russians or maybe the Iraqis or someone else we ticked off, and they were attacking America. Get out of the country, and I would be fine. Of course, there were certain pleasures for the taking. I quickly slipped the necklace off the woman’s neck and slid it into my backpack. Wherever I end up, I doubt American money would work.
I was laughing at some street performers held mid-act when I noticed a few other crazies. Their warnings were about aliens and how we are all in danger. They even had pictures of the missile that was on its way to annihilate us. I laughed all the way down the street until I came across an open air restaurant that had the TV on. NASA had just made some announcement. It showed the same photo. | 2019-12-20T11:28:54 | 2019-12-20T11:17:24 | 865 | 117 |
[WP] Armageddon began, and it quickly became apparent that bullets beat swords and claws every single time. Now Heaven and Hell have joined in an uneasy alliance against the humans who have invaded Hell and begun using its endless fires as a power source. | The radio crackled to life. "Ranger, do you copy?"
The voice was like a distant echo, passing unheeded through the air. I stared through my scope at the creature. It was unlike any of the demons I'd been briefed on. Rows upon rows of human-like eyes, wide with what seemed to be terror or pain, placed geometrically along a tall cylinder of flesh. It moved slowly along the ground on what looked to be hundreds of tiny legs.
"Ranger!" repeated the tinny voice of my CO. "I repeat, do you copy?"
"I copy, sir." I responded without taking my eyes off the abomination in my sights. "I have a visual on a potentially new type of demon. It's a few clicks away, hasn't spotted me yet." I described the thing in as much detail as I could.
"Understood." The voice in the radio seemed distant, detached. "Do not engage. Maintain visual with the target and transmit your coordinates. We'll have a team come by soon. Over and out."
"Copy, sir. Holding position." I already knew that it would take hours for anyone to get here. I had been doing this for a long time. I knew this wasteland like I knew the ritual scarring on the back of my hand. HQ was an hour's flight from this plateau, but they were likely to send a squad via buggy. I clicked a button on the side of my rifle. They knew where to find me now.
I kept the strange beast within sight at all times. It was miles away, but I could easily see it without binoculars. A priest-surgeon had cast spells on my ocular nerves when I was young; it was a mandatory part of conscription.
Time passed without too much incident. The beast lumbered along, its many eyes darting about as though it were looking for something. Occasionally, I would watch it through my scope to catch more of its details. The thing was massive, likely more than a hundred feet tall. Bloody, sinewy meat slithered grotesquely between the oversized eyes, almost like the flayed bodies of thousands of snakes. At one point, the flesh parted, and I glimpsed a toothed, lamprey-like mouth emerge for a second before retreating. My sniper rifle suddenly made me feel much less safe than it usually did.
Backup arrived sooner than I'd expected, but it was far from the kind of backup I thought would come. A lone figure, their face covered by a helmet, drove a buggy toward me at full speed. The vehicle was far away, but I could make out a large object in the back seat, the tarp over it flapping in the wind.
When the buggy pulled up next to me, I greeted its sole occupant with a nod. I could tell now that she was female, but nothing else about her was discernible.
"Got an undocumented class of demon here," I grunted, turning back to the beast in the distance. "Haven't read about this one anywhere." I looked over at my new companion. "Must be something top secret. Judging from your gear, HQ sent me some sort of specialist, right?"
"In a manner of speaking." She sounded aloof, her voice just as cracked and dry as the vast, empty landscape around us.
"I need intel if you want me to be useful," I said patiently. "What is this demon, and why haven't I heard of anything like it?"
The masked figure paused for a few seconds, looking me over. When she spoke, it was slow and measured. "You remember those old stories, right?" she began. "The World Before, where water was everywhere and there were innumerable people living in peace?"
I nodded. It was a popular story for parents to tell their children pre-conscription. "What of it? It's hard to believe that place was real."
She leaned against the buggy and looked into the distance, toward the beast on the horizon. "It was another world, Ranger. It was where we came from. Before the demons attacked. Before we took their realm for ourselves. Before we made this place our home."
She stopped, not moving. I wanted to ask questions, but she continued before I could say a word. "There was another world. One even more perfect and beautiful. Its inhabitants hated this place before we got here. And some of them have returned."
Part of me questioned the veracity of her claims, but I knew better than to voice my doubt. Instead, I figured it was best to ask about the next step.
"How do we kill it, then?"
She walked to the object in the back seat of the buggy and pulled off the tarp. Underneath was a metal sphere, its surface etched with runes and inlaid with clearly human bones. A pale red light surrounded the whole thing.
"We kill it the only way it is possible to kill an angel," she said without looking at me. "We have to use an Infernax Warhead."
I felt the color drain from my face. This was humanity's strongest weapon. It could topple even the mightiest of Titans. But...
I stammered, my eyes glued to the device. "An Infernax requires a..."
The woman turned to me and removed her helmet. Her skin was pale and her blue eyes were filled with sadness. "It requires a human sacrifice. I know. *Ingztl ph'nmal.*"
I felt my muscles stiffen as she uttered the short spell. I was forced to watch, paralyzed, as she pulled a combat knife from her boot.
She walked toward me. "The detonation will destroy the creature as well as your soul. Trust me when I tell you that this is a better alternative to letting this thing reach the Capital. We couldn't let word of this get out."
I didn't even gasp as her blade entered my ribcage. I couldn't move anything except my eyes, which darted between my murderer and the Infernax. The woman twisted her knife with a sick *crack* of bone.
"I'm sorry, Ranger," she whispered as my vision faded.
I was right.
HQ had sent a specialist. | In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment. In his ravenous hatred he found no peace; and with boiling blood he scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him. He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him... the Doom Slayer.
Tempered by the fires of Hell, his iron will remained steadfast through the passage that preys upon the weak. For he alone was the Hell Walker, the Unchained Predator, who sought retribution in all quarters, dark and light, fire and ice, in the beginning and the end, and he hunted the slaves of Doom with barbarous cruelty; for he passed through the divide as none but demon had before.
And in his conquest against the blackened souls of the doomed, his prowess was shown. In his crusade, the seraphim bestowed upon him terrible power and speed, and with his might he crushed the obsidian pillars of the Blood Temples. He set forth without pity upon the beasts of the nine circles. Unbreakable, incorruptible, unyielding, the Doom Slayer sought to end the dominion of the dark realm.
The age of his reckoning was uncounted. The scribes carved his name deep in the tablets of Hell across eons, and each battle etched terror in the hearts of the demons. They knew he would come, as he always had, as he always will, to feast on the blood of the wicked. For he alone could draw strength from his fallen foes, and ever his power grew, swift and unrelenting.
None could stand before the horde but the Doom Slayer. Despair spread before him like a plague, striking fear into the shadow-dwellers, driving them to deeper and darker pits. But from the depths of the abyss rose The Great One, a champion mightier than all who had come before. The Titan, of immeasurable power and ferocity. He strode upon the plain and faced the Doom Slayer, and a mighty battle was fought on the desolate plains. The Titan fought with the fury of the countless that had fallen at the Doom Slayer's hand, but there fell the Titan, and in his defeat the shadow horde were routed.
And in his terrible rancor between worlds and through time, the Hell Walker found the wretch who shall not be named, but in his heresy was loyal to his evil cause. The wretch adorned the Doom Slayer in a mighty armor, wrought in the forges of Hell, impenetrable and unyielding. With sword and shield of adamantine strength, the Doom Slayer set to banishing all that were left unbroken by his savagery to the void.
Yet as the mighty Titan fell and dread engulfed the armies of Doom, the demon priests of the Blood Temples laid a trap to capture this scourge of Hell. Insatiable, even by the vanquishing of the Great One, the Hell Walker sought prey in the tombs of the Blood Keep. And blinded by his fervor, the lure drew him in. This e priests brought down the temple upon the Doom Slayer, and in his defeat entombed him in the cursed sarcophagus. The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering.
-thus as the scripts of the slayers testament of the doom chronicles | 2018-10-27T02:00:39 | 2018-10-27T00:05:02 | 67 | 21 |
[WP] They reworked the justice system. Now, in each cell there is a piano, and convicts are released after performing a song perfectly. Lesser criminals are assigned simple melodies, while the worst get full concertos. You've been a concert pianist your whole life. | I remember every detail of my crime. It is etched in my memory, an eternal record of my damnable deeds. Truth is I prefer it this way. There is something liberating about acting in a way that society abhors. It is a freedom normally reserved for only the mad and the terminally ill - those who do not, or at least no longer care about how society will react. I am neither. I just know that societies reaction will be understated.
My name is James Smith. My mother was an exceptional concert pianist. My father a world famous cellist. Music has always been a part of the fabric of my life. I could play *Ah! Vous Dirai-Je, Maman* (you would know it better as Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star) on the piano before I could even talk (although to be fair I was a late bloomer in that regard). I was performing at a high level before I started school and was accepted into all the great musical academies. I was a prodigy. I was to be the next Ogdon or Gould. I **was** the next Ogdon or Gould.
Then came the reforms of 2022. In an effort to revolutionize the penal system, laws were changed. The purpose of imprisonment, they said, was not to punish but to change. And what better way to change than through music? Make the criminal master a piece of music for piano. Teach them how to better themselves. Bring music and joy into their lives.
To be fair the program worked surprisingly well. Scores were rated by experts (I one of them) for difficulty and then different scores were assigned for different levels of punishment. It was all a big joke to me really - this piece was five years, that piece two. *Années de Pèlerinage* was rated 25 years - Liszt's work would give most people trouble. Not me, but most people.
It was around that time - when I was rating *Années de Pèlerinage* that I realized the opportunity I had. While learning these tunes would've taken significant effort and time for most people, they were nothing to me. I was free to act as I pleased. The law no longer threatened me.
I worked my way up, starting with petty thievery before moving on to bigger and better crimes. Armed Robbery. Assault. Even murder. I got away with it all. They could not entice me to stop, with their neutered laws. I did not even need to hide the evidence of what I had done, for their were no consequences to my actions.
This crime - my most recent - outstripped them all. Once upon a time they state would've stuck a needle in my arm - I am well beyond my three strikes now I dare say - and been glad for it, but no longer. Now the judge handed down the sentence and I smiled. *Années de Pèlerinage*. Twenty five to life. A cake walk - I mastered the piece in my teens.
I take my seat at the piano and prepare to pay my proverbial debt to society. The prison warden is wearing a smile a mile wide. I do not know why. Perhaps he is amused that I have found a way to free myself from the shackles of our society. Perhaps he is envious of my freedom. Perhaps his wife told him a funny joke on the way out the door this morning and he is finally comprehending it now. I do not know.
I place fingers on the keys and take a deep breath. It will be over soon and I will resume my life of freedom. But as I strike the first note I am interrupted. A loud slam echoes in my humble prison concert hall. I hear the sounds of bones breaking, feel them grinding against one another. I hear a scream. It is me. I am screaming in pain. It finally hits me, a wave of crimson against my senses. I am screaming. The prison guard is staring at me. He is still smiling. His hands are on the fall, which he has slammed down onto my hands. My hands. I can barely feel them now, and what little I feel is screaming pain. The other guards pull him away from the piano, and press him to the floor. I recognize him. I think I played with him once - he was an accomplished pianist. Not a great like me. I realize now. The guards who are arresting him are whispering congratulations to him. I try and lift my hands, but they do not respond. He will be tried for assault and he will plead guilty. They will assign him a simple piece - no more than a year or two. And then he will be free as I am. As I was. Someone lifts the fall. My hands lay mangled beneath. I can no longer even feel the pain. I am no longer free. | "A C minor instead of C-sharp, and two unmatched chords to their respective tunes. " Jailer Custode marked something on his sheet.
"Is there is any possibility, for my release?" Prisoner eyed the Jailer expectingly.
"It's a simple "Hall of Mountain King", and you goofed it up!! What are you expecting this place is - a prison or a bloody autistic concert hall!"
"Get back to your cell and practice until you make it. I will be seeing your trail, this Saturday." Custode shooed the prisoner away, cutting the discussion.
"Sir, we have an incoming prisoner here!" Norman conveyed to Custode, who was a sub-ordinate to Custode.
"That's all, we got all day!" Custode smiled with sarcasm on face.
"Give me, his report." Custode.
Norman casually glanced through his report before giving to Custode and he immediately started sweating profusely.
Custode starting sweating profusely as well.
"He is been arrested on the charges of killing his wife, mother and 3 years old daughter. Stabbing his wife on his way, and by puffing pillow on his mother's face, making her breathless."
"Oh! my god! How did he kill his daughter?" Custode asked and shocked after seeing report further.
"She was found lying dead on a piano with cuts and bruises all over." Norman replied.
"Kala Pravin!" Custode exclaimed by looking his name.
"Judge, has given orders to keep him in conviction until he plays bumblebee on 400 tempo.
Kala Pravin was bought in front of Custode. He seemed like a normal, his hair fuzzed around, and his glance was else where.
"You! my friend, you're gonna be here until your death." Custode told him.
"Bumblebee on 250 tempo, it's impossible."
Kala turned his head towards Custode, and spoke, "do you know, why I killed my family?"
"Take him in." Custode sighed, avoiding the unwanted conversation.
After three years......
Custode fell asleep...he started listening banging sounds of piano. Custode woke up and started running.
Custode could sense someone playing Bumblebee at immense speed. He took his metronome and swinged at 180 bpm, and the beat synced at 250bpm.
Kala was playing in his cell. His cellmate stabbed himself to the door, and was found already dead.
Kala's cell opened automatically after certain tempo.
Kala glanced Custode, welcome to the new world of crime.
"Crime first existed in this world, then came justice." Kala smiles and enters of the world of perfect song.
| 2017-05-18T04:08:27 | 2017-05-18T04:07:13 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] you were a mighty hero in your time, until you were trapped under a mountain fifty six years ago. After finally escaping you discover that your grandchildren have become the villains. It's time to whoop some sense into them, grandpa style. | A paladin's service is never complete.
A skeletal hand burst from the ground. It scrapped for purchase before pulling the rest of its attached body through.
After 56 years of toil, Leon had finally risen above his earthen prison. He surveyed the landscape before he knelt to pray.
On this side, we live. On the other we wait to live once more. A guard, the horizon needs, in its service forevermore.
"Undead can't pray."
Leon turned to look. A man clad in muted gray armor with a black leather gorget stood nearby. His eyes seemed as if they were waking from an excruciating boredom.
But, importantly, around his neck was a clasp of the horizon.
Leon stood and approached the man, his bones clattering ominously with every step.
He took a defensive posture, hand on his mace.
Leon could feel the power calling. The Great Boundary sought him, and he would answer as he always answered.
The man made to swing, but he suddenly slowed his arm and relaxed his stance. Leon extended an arm and grasped the symbol of the Horizon.
Raw energy hurt. Raw, living energy from the other side was worse than any shock or fleshsearing flame.
This was his remaking, by the power of the Horizon itself.
Bones held together with willpower dissolved, and Leon became something else.
His skin was now healthy and glowing, his hair full and flowing, wrapped in all the vestments of life and yet he was anything but living.
His skin was warm because it was designed to. His eyes may have been open, but they were not how he viewed his surroundings. Whether open or closed, he could see his surroundings as he was not that which people saw. That was a shell designed. Leon was the energy, the will by which the shell moved.
Leon was an archon of the Great Boundary. A force of purpose.
"Incredible..." the believer said.
Leon sensed him. He felt his awe and fear. He 'saw' him, but didn't look.
"Where am I?"
It was strange, not drawing breathe to speak. Even stranger for sounds to spill from his mouth which exhaled no air.
The man stammered, "Braggart Hills."
"I've never heard of such a place."
"It was a mountain once." He gestured nervously to the rolling hills around them. "Until the great hero Leon Granich challenged the ones above all. Challenged them to open combat."
"Foolish." Leon remarked.
"Indeed. The brought the entire mountain down upon him as a reminder. An we have suffered their ire ever since."
"I was speaking of you." Leon stated. Willing his head to turn on the shoulders to face the man.
"I-" he started.
"I've no time. Does the House of Lions still stand?"
"The House of Lions? If you mean the band of marauders that plague the wilds, then yes. But hopefully they will meet their end soon, gods willing."
"What are their crimes?" | As I emerge from my prison underneath that confounded rock, I realize it has been 300 plus years. “My my my how time flies” I gaze upon the kingdom that I once called home. I still have never forgotten that fateful, I the king of the land and my rule being challenged by the likes of those 2 “seekers of justice”. My grandson Vulcran “the Champion” and Helga “the shield maiden”. They just had to ruin my perfect community with their arguments like “Stop it grandpa, mind controlling people isn’t love?” Or “they should have a say of what happens in their life” but I make their lives so much better! | 2021-11-18T22:39:40 | 2021-11-18T18:34:48 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] Your father left you an envelope to only be opened in case of an extreme emergency. You’re pretty sure this counts. | The envelope made a loud ripping sound as Penelope tore the top off. The letter had been in her posession since her 13th birthday. The white paper of the casing was wrinkled and yellowing, and some part of her cringed as it was destroyed.
It was the only tangible memory she had of her father, and she had settled into the notion that she may never know what was inside it. A lesser woman may had dug in by now -- but there was something about the man that made her want to obey him even so long after his death.
Inside the envelope was a piece of yellow paper, folded in thirds, a business card, and a copper coin.
Penelope stared. She had never really questioned what could be inside her only heirloom that could in some unknown emergency.
Now she knew, and was almost entirely… confused. She took in a deep breath, forcing her thoughts to refocus. She trusted the man who had sealed this all those years ago.
If he thought it would help someday, then she was willing to at least try.
She pulled all three items out, and layed them out across her dining room table.
Her hands shook slightly as she picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it. Although he had passed nearly 20 years ago, she instantly recognized his handwriting. It was big, fat letters that looked tempted to be a feminine script, but they fell short.
Another breath, another moment to focus, and she began to read.
*Penelope.*
*I have to start with an apology.*
*Im sorry. *
*Im sorry that you will have never known the truth had I not written this letter.*
*There are a lot of truths I think you ought to know, but I have to assume that you dont currently have that kind of time.*
*If you are reading this letter, you have found yourself in an emergency. If i know my little girl, its a matter of life and death.*
*or dang near close to it.*
*Heres the truth that matters. Im not dead, and I never will be. I cant give you my location, but I can give you tools to solve whatever you've gotten into.*
*The card that I included with the envelope has a name and a location on it.*
*the person that name belongs to is a very old friend of mine who owes me and my own a great many debts and favors.*
*He will be at that location. Dont worry about the date, or time.*
*He will be there.*
*Take the card, and the coin, and tell him who you are. This will absolve an old debt, no questions asked.*
*whatever is happening, Youll make it through.*
*Then you can come find me.*
*Your dad.*
*Art.*
Penelope held the letter in her hands for a long time after she finished reading it. She read it over and over again before finally setting it down.
She didn't know how long she had been in that seat, but her back was begining to ache and her stomach growled.
Before standing up to solve either problem she picked up the old business card, and flipped it over.
The address on the card was one that she recognized. An old church about a block and a half from her. A coincidence that she didnt feel great about, since she left home at 18 and had only gone back when her mother passed of cancer.
She felt her lips pull to one side of her face.
Reality wasnt feeling very real anymore.
***
For more by me, r/beezus_writes.
For longer stuff by me and others, r/redditserials | \[poem\]
Alice hid trembling and frightened.
The dark closet was her final defense.
Her jaw was clenched, her fists: tightened.
Across the Earth roamed an evil presence.
Walking skeletons slaughtered the living.
​
Her trembles bumped open a box;
an envelope fell out. her name and a note like a bold header.
"Alice: Extreme emergencies only. (P.S. Your dad rocks.)"
She smiled at the unopened letter.
​
It was the only reminder of her father; she held her breath.
He was a practical joker with a dark sense of humor.
"This is definitely extreme; it's life or death,"
​
She smiled at the card signed by her dad; it was somehow relieving.
A cartoonish tombstone engraved, surrounded by flowers in bloom.
​
"See you soon!"
\*\*\*
​
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #173. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit (r/hugoverse) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order. | 2020-06-21T12:29:56 | 2020-06-21T12:06:03 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] The ritual calls for 100 sacrifices, but reading carefully you realize it never specified they had to be human. Deciding to be a smartass, you got a petri dish full of bacteria and sacrificed that instead. | I tapped my pencil on my desk, absentmindedly. The grimoire was pretty specific about everything else. Solar eclipse, three stones of jet, time of year, incantation... it even included a pronunciation guide. Which, you know, was great because my Greek absolutely sucked.
Black robes, check. Knife of cold iron with a black handle consecrated by the caster's blood, check-check-check. Sacrifice of 100 lives before the altar. Well... the book was weirdly vague about this part. Chickens or goats were usually traditional, but summoning one of the Lords of the Below was usually an instance where something more... complex and rare was required.
Or was it? I thought again. This was the only thing it didn't specify.
Hmmm...
Three weeks passed, and it was nearly time. It was the darkest week of winter, I checked NASA's website obsessively for the peak moment of totality. I was standing in the backyard in my black robes and solar eclipse glasses in front of my dad's firepit, the grimoire laid across the picnic table. The clear winter sky bit my cheeks with vicious frostbite. God, I must have looked like a total idiot.
I kinda had to improvise a little bit, but I got as much of the setting right as I could. I ended up cobbing the black salt pentacle by putting my old charcoal pencils in a blender with some dirt from my gerbil's grave and a half a can of table salt. The black candles were leftovers from a Halloween clearance sale, and the other decor was similarly somewhat improvised.
But hey. If I was going to get my crazy, bitchy stepmom out of the house for good, I had to be a little discreet with my stuff. She was at the church Ladies' Committee until 7 o'clock tonight, and dad was working a double. Part of me wondered if it was to get away from her.
I eyed the petri dish in my left hand. I sneaked it out of my biology class earlier that day. Originally, I'd been planning on using feeder goldfish or crickets from the petstore, but that would have involved asking my stepmom for money and a ride. Which would have required an explanation. This was the best I could do.
I clicked on my bluetooth speaker and let the ominous sounding drums clear my head. Usually, whenever I did ritual, things were more improvised and less elaborate. Especially given the prying eyes of my stepmom. But this was important. With the practice of dozens of meditations, I cleared my mind and recited the chant. I walked the circle, I measured my steps, I bit my lip as I pricked my finger with the blade of my knife. I lit the candles, I lit the fire, the incense, and tossed the herbs into the flame. I raised my hands, finishing the incantation as I slashed my knife across the petri dish, dumping it into the fire. I buried my knife hilt-deep into the frozen ground and called the demon's name.
The moon covered the sun. It didn't go dark like I thought it would. I looked up. The sky was noticeably dimmer. My ears rang, my head buzzed. The shadows of the bare branches of our tree shed crescent-shaped umbral specters on our fence. Totality.
A huge gust of wind swirled around me, a dust devil whipping the air that sputtered out the candles and scattered snow and black salt in the air like a 3-second blizzard. And just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
My music had stopped. The pulse in my ears was the only drum I heard. I held my breath, my half-frozen hand clenched around the hilt of my knife, the blade buried deep in the cold hard dirt and snow. The campfire flickered in front of me. And then, suddenly, it too extinguished.
Dammit. I screwed up. Just as I stood up, I heard a soft voice behind me. Cool as vodka, smooth as granite. "Well, points for creativity. Usually, people use mice."
I whirled around. No one was there. "So." The voice continued. "You want your stepmother to leave your father. I think that can be arranged. But you have to do something for me first."
Part two further in the comments. | I really should've understood more about what magic actually *did* before I started trying to take short cuts. I mean yes the circle takes the sacrifices and uses their energy to call the entity. But what does that actually mean? Where does the energy come from? Is the physical more important or the emotions of the sacrifice in its last moments? Would a 1% tolerance in the runes have a marked effect on exactly which entity was summoned?
A sensible person might've tested these things first. A sensible person might've conducted a completely textbook summoning, before moving to better known permutations. But no, I had to be smart. Just because the sacrifices weren't specified doesn't mean it's a good idea to use literally anything, as it turns out.
Looking at the abject mess in front of me, I grimaced, then took a sip of water, and attempted to readjust my headspace. Mindset was important, or so the old man said. Tracing it back, I suppose complexity may have been the issue. I mean sure, from a common standpoint microorganisms are pretty damn simple, but purity is strength in its own right.
Complex creatures must have all sorts of thoughts, fears and expectations when they see the circle start to glow, when life begins to drain away. Maybe the wave of negative emotions has a complex taste or something, the fuck would I know, I'm not a demon. But single cell creatures have never feared anything in their damn lives, never loved, never hated. But they have a strong drive to eat and propagate. Growth is overriding.
Looking at the the scorch marks, ragged hole through the foot thick lab wall, and remaining scraps of my researcher, that much was clear. As I stepped carefully over the pools of blood to the outside I could see it over the buildings. Simple in shape, dreadful in hunger, and very clearly still growing. | 2019-11-02T13:09:44 | 2019-11-02T12:28:01 | 1,229 | 294 |
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA... | I always sort of knew it, in a way. We were a pleasant little family, sure, with a small little house located in a small little sliver of uptown suburbia. I played the son, and my sister seemed keen to play along. Hell, there was even a white little picket fence outside, just like you would see from some lame 50's sitcom where everything got resolved in thirty minutes or less and the plucky little ne'er-do-well kid would laugh, and eat an impossibly large stack of flapjacks, spout a catchphrase, and wink to camera.
Non-human DNA.
That was a bit more surprising. But I knew it. Of course I knew it. We didn't have anything in common. My parents never acted like some milquetoast high class people, like you would expect. It was incongruous, in a way, how they seemed to think we lived in some hick town. We didn't. We had a lot. I was absolutely a spoiled kid, never shy to dip into daddy's wallet or mommy's purse to fund some shit getaway to the closest liquor store, fake I.D. in hand.
Non-human DNA.
But they'd just smile and go along with it. I wasn't reprimanded often, if at all. I yearned for that, in a way. I'd cause trouble and mischief as much as I could, and they never seemed fazed in the slightest. Like I was something special, they'd smile and go along. I got bored with it all, after a while. I gave up. I got everything back together. I stopped drinking. I started doing well in school. Everything seemed fine.
Non-human DNA.
The paper crunched and cracked as I gripped the page harder and harder, trying to decipher what it meant. I wasn't a stranger to telling my parents I had no connection to them, that I never even believed I was their son, but this confirmed it.
Non-human DNA.
Hot blood coursed through me as I charged out of my bedroom and into the living room, where my parents sat. I felt flush, and didn't care. My vision had started blurring at the edges, and I didn't care. Neither did my parent's who seemed more interested in the current episode of some gardening show than they did to my sudden presence. We didn't have a garden. For whatever reason, that pushed me over the edge.
But I tried to keep my cool. I put an arm up by the television, assumed a bit of a casual stance, and threw the wad of paper at my father. Not my father. Non-human DNA. He broke from his trance, and looked down at the wad, then back to me.
"No more bullshit," I said. I'd already lost it. My voice wavered, hard. But I wasn't about to back down from this, or start crying, or anything of the sort. I meant business. I wasn't going to let this hang.
"What do you mean?"
I very unceremoniously tossed the television to the ground. The screen shattered and sparked. A million twinkling little lights from the broken glass littered the floor.
"No more bullshit! I know I'm not your kid! I sent in DNA tests! I know, alright?! You can't lie to me anymore!"
"Son, don't be ridiculous," My father chided, seeming oblivious to the chaos of the situation.
"No. More. Bullshit."
"Watch your language," came my mother's reply.
My father shook his head, and stood up from his chair. He cracked his back, unfurled the paper, and began reading. He yawned, scratched at a patch of hair on his chin, and acted like he was going through the sports section before his morning coffee. He was so nonplussed about the situation that it utterly replaced all of the anger in me with confusion.
Eventually, he came to a stop, and walked over to where I was. I didn't want a hug, or for him to try and comfort me, so I backed off. He just chuckled, and handed the paper back to me, positioning himself next to me while he did so.
"Son, you really need to learn to read these things better."
His finger trailed down the page, leaving a sweaty streak that served as a directional arrow leading me to the treasure, a phrase I'd missed. Something I hadn't even noticed in my fit of rage.
My tests were fine. I followed the chart once more, and it read that my parents were two individuals who I'd never even heard of before. A Mr. and Mrs. Liefieldz. That wasn't my last name.
The "non-human DNA" belonged to my parents.
It wasn't a positive match for any human. It didn't match any other animals, either. The lab techs even examined plant material, and found nothing. The DNA didn't belong to Mother Nature. It was lost, floating somewhere out in the abyss, far beyond the reaches of anything that the Earth had.
It all sunk in too fast. I felt dizzy.
I looked up at my father.
He stared back with a dozen new eyes. | I panic at the words in bold. **Non-human DNA**. "What did that mean?" I mutter to myself. Suddenly, a wind came from behind. I turn to see a man in business suit standing where no one was before.
"Aw, about time you found out." The man said as he pocketed a small watch into his coat. "I swear, you guys get stupider ever year."
"Who are you?" I ask in wonder. he sigh and pull out a small notebook.
"47698365 times someone ask that when I appear. I wish just once someone would say that it bigger on the inside."
"What?"
"Never mind. Time for the speech. (Clear throat) Congratulation. you figure out that you are not human. Oh, how your life was a lie, that not true, yada yada yada. Okay, here the short version. You are a muse. your now responsible for someone idea. You are to help people realize there big dream and hopes. I am here to lead you to your job."
"Wait but what about my family?" I ask. He gave the look of *seriously* and shook his head.
"They were made up! Did you really never question why they were two time winner of the NASCAR finals when they were Amish!?! We make it as ridicules as possible in hope you would get it! Anyway, we're late. Just think this as your fate." He said and with that he snapped his fingers.
The world black out and came back in some kind of apartment. I look to see a man staring at a laptop, hands poised over a keyboard. Maybe this will the next great novel or maybe a thesis that will change the world. I started walk over to get a better look but the man started to read what he was typing out loud.
"Dean turn over to Rainbow Dash and said in deep, sexy voice. " Let see if we can find one thing your not fast at." Rainbow Dash help remove Dean Winchester shirt with easy. This is all being watch by Two-Face. He turn to his other companies, Krillin and Cortana, preparing to flip his coin. "If it head, it Krillin turn. If tail, I'll give Cortana a go." He flip knowing it land on head and he'll be with his one true love." The man said, plunging his hand into a bag of chips.
I stood there, mouth hanging in shock, as I try to turn away from this. But a strong force push be closer to the man. So close, that I could smell he wasn't wearing deodorant and I hope it was sweat stain on him.
"This is going to suck." I said as he started to type again. | 2015-01-06T10:42:43 | 2015-01-06T08:44:25 | 28 | 16 |
[WP] There are a finite number of human souls. As the population grows, something else is filling the bodies. | It wasn't noticeable because it was happening world wide. We thought it was something in the environment, or a new virus that affected the children, but as they grew, it was clear that there was a difference. The earliest generation that showed the symptoms was born in 2017. It was only starting then, and nobody could pinpoint the symptoms. By 2020 everyone knew that something was wrong. It was in the blank gazes that the children had, their lack of emotion, and inability to talk. The worst of it was that they appeared like humans that did not know how to be human. There was a profound stiffness in a child that was "affected" as we called it. They seemed to require a deliberate amount of control over their body and unable to perform simple tasks that came naturally to the unaffected children.
At first it was treated like a disease. The governments of the world sponsored ambitious global unions where medical professionals would examine the "affected" children to find the cause. The parents refused to let their children participate at first, but as the children grew, the parents' fear won out. There was something instinctively frightening about seeing a human move in the way the "affected" moved. The stiffness that was so prominent during childhood would slowly resolve, but at the same time, the blank stare would become more menacing. There were no reports of "affected" children attacking their parents, or perhaps they were being covered up. Still, the stare of the "affected" was nothing short of an animal sizing up a meal. It was a cold and intellectual stare of someone contemplating murder and on a very basic level any parent felt it, even if they did not understand.
The studies on the affected began with traditional medicine and examinations. They were the focus of the entire world as everyone sought answers, but the examinations were all inconclusive. There were no structural differences between the "affected" and normal children. The nervous system function was functioning perfectly. All reflexes and muscle strength was intact. It appeared as if the "affected" children simply chose to act in the manner that they displayed. This, of course, frightened the public and slowly but surely the studies became less and less publicized while the number of subjects only grew.
What happened in the next few years showed the world what horrors the humans were truly capable of. At some point it became acceptable to give up an "affected" child to specific medical centers that took those children in for experimentation. It was normal to never return to check on the child again. Nobody asked questions about what kind of experiments were conducted, or how such small centers were capable of housing so many children in one place, or why nobody who worked in those centers could talk about it.
To us, the affected seemed like a different species. We naturally resented them, and the guilt of knowing that they were born from us, that they were our children and our future only made us hate their existence more. They betrayed our hopes, they shattered our dreams and they terrified us because in response to their murderous gaze we committed actual murder.
Nobody who worked at a Disposal Center, as they eventually became to be known talked about what it was like. They knew full well that the world could not handle the truth. Still, every once in a while a parent would kill his "affected" child that they tried to keep until they finally could not. In response, the parent would also be tried for murder and receive the death penalty. The reason for it wasn't justice. The government wouldn't allow for the public to know what happened when an "affected" child was killed. The act of killing an "affected" child was enough to drive anyone mad.
They laughed. They laughed and they writhed in agony, and their laugh wasn't the laughter of pure madness, but the ecstatic and pure laughter of a child receiving the greatest gift they could hope for. Why did they laugh? Was it to mock us? Perhaps it was in defiance of their strange fates? Maybe it was because they knew even better than we did that they had to be killed and that try as we might to keep our humanity, we were still the worse monsters of the two?
Whatever their purpose was, if they held any ill will towards their parents, they received their just revenge. By 2025 there was not a single birth of a child who was not "affected". By 2030 we stopped hoping. We grow old now, fading one generation at a time, a silent pact among us that when we die we will not pass on the torch to those monsters that brought out the monster in all of us.
edit for typo.
Comments are appreciated! | May 21st. It started on May 21, 2010.
At first, nobody noticed anything. I mean, how could they? They were just babies. What's wrong with babies? The only problem at the time was that there was way too many. Everyone was projecting droughts of resources, but what does that matter anymore?
I think it was within the first few years people started noticing it. The new children, they... Most parents put it off as nothing, but the smarter ones noticed. The children wouldn't do anything. They refused to learn, to grow up. They weren't human.
After 5 years, nobody born past May 21, 2010 could speak english. Everyone noticed. The world was in a panic. We thought we were the last generation. Looking for answers in any scientific form did nothing. Some knew though, these children were something different.
They killed. The first reported death was on March 23, 2016. They just snapped, and they became machines. They didn't just attack lightly, they were vicious. They bit faces. They tore limbs. Never used weapons. And what was worse, nothing could hurt them.
The world went mad. They kept on killing, kept on destroying. They only option was to hide. The fear built up around the planet, and nobody could do anything. Everyone thought they were the hero, the one with the solution, but nobody ever was.
Nobody wanted to face it, but they were otherworldly. Their eyes, oh god, the eyes. The pupil filled the eyes. And the screams. When they began to grow up, they would only scream. Nothing but screams. At least it worked as a warning for us.
I haven't seen anyone in 2 weeks. Once it was two of us we knew we were dead. We didn't try to fight anymore, we knew it wouldn't work. But now...
I might be the last man alive. I hope I'm not, but I could be. The radios went silent, the skies are now empty. I'll keep looking until I die. Whenever that'll be.
___
I know it's not that good, trying to improve though. Constructive criticism welcome. | 2016-03-23T19:37:23 | 2016-03-23T19:34:57 | 88 | 44 |
[WP] "Adulthood is like looking both ways before you cross the street, then getting hit by an airplane." | I tried to take out my frustration by slamming the car door. It didn't go very well, because of how full my hands were. Instead, it caused me to drop one of my work binders into a puddle and nearly lose everything else I was carrying. *Of course*, I thought as I fished it out and surveyed the damage. *Of course I'd drop the one that has everything I need to work on tonight*. The perfect end to a shitty day.
I opened up the mailbox on my way in and put all of the letters on top of everything else. Catalogues full of stuff I couldn't afford and little white envelopes full of bills. Just what I needed.
Walking up the path toward the front door, I spotted weeds growing in the flower beds, bushes that needed to be trimmed... more and more to add to my to do list. I wanted to just shut my eyes so that I could ignore all of this crap. But I guess that's what being an adult is about: just piling more and more stuff onto your shoulders until you're like Atlas and then you finally break down and move to New Mexico to open a coffee shop and do peyote or whatever. That option didn't sound half bad right about now.
Finally I made it through the door, immediately greeted by a dozen other things I had to work on. The floors needed to be cleaned, the couch re-upholstered, the wall painted.... It made me sick just thinking about it. I mean *physically* sick. I dropped all of my binders and books and all the mail into a pile on the floor and just stood there, trying to breathe for a little while.
*Meow!*
Duke came out of the living room and greeted me by head-butting my leg, stepping over everything that I'd let drop. Then he rubbed his face and body along my shin until I picked him up and scratched his ears just the way he liked it. He gave a loud purr and began twisting his head to make sure that my fingers reached the exact spot he wanted rubbed. He was shedding all over my work clothes, but I really didn't care.
Still carrying Duke on my shoulder, I made my way up the stairs to see my husband Michael dancing through the kitchen. He had earbuds on, so he must have not heard me come in. Behind him, I could see vegetables on a cutting board and steam rising from a pot of something that smelled absolutely *heavenly*. Some type of curry, maybe? It just made me melt!
I put Duke down, came up behind Michael, and wrapped my arms around him. He was wearing one of his old ratty shirts from college that had paint stains and holes all over it. I took a deep breath; even though we use the same laundry detergent and everything, he just always had a unique, comforting smell. And he was always so *warm*! Like a human furnace that I could use to counteract how *cold* I always get.
"Hey, babe!" He took off the headphones and tried to turn around to greet me, but I kept my hold around his waist. "I didn't hear you come in!" I could hear his classic rock blasting through the little earbuds in his hand. He reached across the counter and grabbed a half empty bottle of wine. "Can I get you a glass?"
I nodded with my head still buried in the space between his shoulder blades. My eyes were closed, but I felt him take an empty glass out of the cupboard and heard the glug of the wine being poured.
"How was your day?" he asked as he gave the curry another stir.
I wanted to tell Michael all about my stupid day. How my boss was a jerk and had been really rude about a report that I'd prepared. How my coworkers were annoying. How much traffic there had been. How much I hated the crappy rainy weather we were having. How my to-do list was so overwhelming that I just wanted to *scream*.
Finally I let go of him, but his scent still lingered in my nostrils. I took a sip of the wine and sat on one of our barstools to watch him work. Duke, unsatisfied with the amount of attention I'd given him, was back to rubbing up against my leg.
"It's getting better," I answered.
| "Adulthood," Galokot told me as we sipped our scotches at Cindy's, "is like looking both ways before you cross the street, then getting hit by an airplane."
"Are you OK, mate?" I asked. "That's a rather pessimistic writing prompt."
"Just trust me on this," Galokot said.
I finished my whisky, savouring the peaty gold as it burnt it's way down my throat.
"See you around, kid," I said, and sauntered out.
It was one of those dry, dusty days when your sweat patches evaporate before they can even appear, when God has come down with his cosmic vacuum cleaner and hoovered all the moisture from the air. I thought about turning around and heading back into Cindy's, back to the air conditioning and liquor, but I had errands to run.
I deposited my pay check at the bank, transferring a healthy dollop into savings. Another year and I would be able to retire. I posted a card to my mother, making sure that I selected a delivery speed that would get it there by Mother's Day. And I stopped at the grocers to pick up a three banana's and a pint of strawberries so ripe you could taste the sweetness just by looking at them.
Humming to myself cheerfully, I stepped out into the road to cross over to where my car was parked. My foot had just kissed the white center dashes of the road when a low but rapidly increasing drone made me turn.
A small Cesna was hurtling down Main Street, its wings decapitating lampposts and traffic lights with aplomb. It was headed, I realised, straight for me. And sitting behind the controls, puffing on a fat cigar and waving merrily at me, was Galokot.
---
*Read more of my writing at* /r/jd_rallage | 2016-05-10T05:39:59 | 2016-05-10T04:37:22 | 169 | 104 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much. | On the day of his birth, Craig Barclay was visited by every wise man within travelling distance. Birth had become rare, Humanity on the brink of extinction. To witness such an event was a treasure. They brought gifts fitting for the family.
His father was born with the mark of the Bear on his back. It was large, indicating that he would heavily resemble his patron animal. He was strong, protective, and cared deeply for food.
His mother was born with the mark of the Dove. It was small, on the back of her hand. Non-threatening and clearly visible. She was kind and had the ability to ease tensions.
They worked as diplomats. She stopped wars. He stopped others from harming her. They were easily recognized. He was massive, covered in thick hair, leaving little visible skin. She was pale in contrast, thin and light of frame.
It was assumed that Craig would have something fitting his family's ancestry. Wolves, for example, almost always bore Wolf marked children. Children of Salmon parents nearly always marks of some Fish.
To think that Craig might have been born marked by the Bear, Dove, or Armadillo seemed logical. Maybe a Badger or a different kind of Bird would be in order. They speculated whether it would be as large as his father's, which would have been the size of an apple on his newborn body. Or small, barely visible on his newborn flesh, like his mother's.
As gifts of wool and food were placed in the room, the midwife pulled Craig free. His first wail in the world brought them all to tears. An aide cleaned his body as his mother finished giving birth.
His parents and guest shared a meal of celebration. In a few short hours, his mark would appear.
The Armadillo marked midwife gifted medicines to the parents and an ointment for the mother. The Mole marked farmer from down the lane gifted them with a bundle filled with dried mushrooms. A Wolf marked hunter provided a new pelt to keep the new babe warm. His grandmother, who was marked by the Hummingbird gifted a bottle of sweet wine to the new parents. Dozens more left food, clothing, tools, and trinkets for the new family.
They cleared away the food and shared stories. Speculation rose again. It was considered good luck to guess what patron would choose a child.
"Your child will bring joy to those around him, with a quick wit, and a fierce laugh. He will be marked by Hyena."
"Nonsense, your child will be daring and carefree, growing up safe under your care. He will be chosen by Squirrel for sure!"
"Wouldn't it be funny if he was chosen by Spider or Fox? A mischievous child would shake things up for you two. You are always so calm and quiet. The change would be nice." Many laughed at this. It was not likely.
"Your father was marked by Jacana." The father's mother spoke up for the first time in a while. Everyone listened. "He was fiercely protective of you children. I believe that bird's protective nature is why you were chosen by Bear. Yet you married a Bird. Maybe your son will be chosen by Jacana as well. He would inherit many traits from you both." Her voice shook slightly as she spoke. The loss of the elder was still recent in everyone's mind.
Nods of assent and murmurs of agreement spread through the group. No one wanted to speak against that.
They sat in polite conversation until a small black line sprouted on the child's right hand. Excitement spread as everyone turned to watch.
A thin tentacle spiraled and grew longer. "An Octopus?" someone offered.
"Too long. A Squid?"
It kept growing. The tentacle stretched the length of his arm. The mark bloomed across his back, they turned him over so all could see. As the mark became a body, more tentacles spread. Dozens of them grew along both arms and legs, around his neck, and around his face.
Everyone became silent. No one had ever seen a mark this large. No one had seen an animal like this. "What... What is it?" His mother asked in a quiet tone.
It was, again, his grandmother who spoke up. The single word slammed into all that heard.
"Leviathan."
His mother burst into tears. His father passed the child to his own mother to comfort his wife. The guests left quickly and quietly.
Everyone came to see what fruit the ambassadors of peace would bear. They came with hope and happiness. They left in despair. No one could have imagined that they would be witnessing the birth of the bringer of death, war, famine, and destruction, an unstoppable soldier with an endless bloodlust. No one would survive his reign unscathed.
All they could hope, is that his parents were strong enough. They had the chance to stop him now, before it was too late.
{Whelp, that turned out a bit differently than I intended, but it works, so I'm keeping it. What do you guys think?} | On the eve of his fifteenth, just like the boys in the neighborhood before him, Sam awaited patiently in his bed as the moon rolled across the sky. It wouldn't be long until midnight came, and then his mark would be revealed, manifested upon his back – the mark of the beast, a spirit animal.
His father waited patiently beside him, his lumbering bear arms, grizzled and furry, clumsily checked his pocket watch every five minutes. His mark was impractical for every day use, but he was still very blessed that his given traits manifested in his arms – and not in more unpleasant regions. Laying against this half-man, half-bear fiend was Sam's mother, small wings of heavenly white folded across her face, and beneath them, she was in a deep slumber.
And as the minutes rolled closer to the deciding hour, Sam became more and more frenzied, excited for the prospects of what was to come. His friends at school received all manner of spirit marks, and they manifested in many different ways. Some had to be sent off to special schools to accommodate for their needs, and others rose to the top of the pecking order - in some ways, literally.
An alarm sounded to signal the coming of midnight, and at that moment, a black ooze stretched across Sam's back, spiraling out into all manner of shapes, before resembling a beast unimaginable.
A leviathan.
His father recoiled in horror upon seeing the mark, dragging his mother in short tow. He knew that in that moment he lost his son, and knew he could not save him from his oncoming fate.
With a nightmarish scream, Sam clutched at his head as tendrils burst forth from his being. A cacophony of squelches and squeals filled the air as he flailed about. His arms flattened and morphed, turning into the wingspan of a monstrous beast, and his legs morphed and became as one; a giant tail covered by scales. But as soon as it had all begun, it stopped. And Sam stood alone in the ruins of his house, now far taller than he was before, a half-monster, half-human abomination – which one would argue was more of the former than the latter.
It only took minutes for the police to arrive upon the wretched scene, and it only took seconds for Sam to eviscerate each and every one of them, all torn apart by his gaping maw – rife with a thousand teeth.
He lost his humanity and his home, and so lumbered off into the distance, in search of an ocean, in search of the place he could call his own.
For he was welcome no more.
* * *
^^/r/khaarus | 2017-11-08T05:45:29 | 2017-11-08T05:08:45 | 192 | 97 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | ((I've only wrote one other story for Prompts - I plan on finishing this later, as I have to work in an hour or so, but feel free to critique/comment on what's already here. Thanks!))
I didn't know what to say.
Years and years ago, I used to work for...oh, what was it...Terrace, Field and Smith, I think? A law firm. We weren't the *best*, if I'm being honest, but we did fairly well, and I lived a comfortable life. As comfortable as could be expected, anyway. It's hard to explain the way it weighs on you - knowing the way someone's going to pass, and not being able to do anything about it. Nobody else seemed to be aware of it, this hovering death knell. A calm, unassuming hue of blue, yet overbearing all the same. I learned from a very young age not to talk to anyone about it. In the best cast, people would think I was joking. Worst case...well, I spent a few years seeing a psychiatrist, for that one. Which is why, for the life of me, I never imagined I would tell Mr. Terrace about it.
I had just won a case, and Mr. Terrace had invited me out to a congratulatory dinner. As we finished our meals, he lit up a cigarette. He leaned over and offered me one, and I politely declined.
"Yeah, I know, bad for you and all that. Wish I could quit, but I just can't seem to shake it. They'll probably kill me sooner or later."
And I had to open my big, stupid mouth. "Nah, subarac..." I trailed off. His focus went hazy, just for a second, and then he fixed his gaze on me. *Subarachnoid hemorrhage*. It was almost painful. Damnit, how could I be so careless? I had to change the subject...something, anything. "Uh...how about those Bears?"
His expression remained the same - quizzical, calculating. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but the silence was thick and heavy. Finally, he sighed. "There are about...three things wrong with what you just did. One, I hate the Bears, and you should know that by now. Second, that was the most transparent attempt to deflect my attention I may have ever seen, which, third, I would hope you have more respect for me than to think I wouldn't see through that. Now, finish what you were going to say."
I was, forgive the cliche, a deer in headlights. The only thing I could manage to say was the truth. "S...subarachnoid hemorrhage." He furrowed his brow, and flipped out his cell. His fingers bounced around, punching something in. He sat, occassionally flicking his finger across the screen, his eyes darting back and forth.
"Huh..." he muttered, as he slipped his phone back into his shirt pocket. "Well, that's an odd thing to say out of the blue. When does it happen, then?" He studied me, his eyes poking and prodding, digging for a sign that I was just having a bit of sick fun.
"I...I can't tell." And for some reason, the floodgates opened, and I just couldn't stop the words from falling out of my mouth. "I've seen them for as long as I can remember. Everyone has it, some word over their heads, and all it says is how they die. These horrid, grotesque things, these long, medical words, some of them I can't even pronounce, and they're this light blue color like it's supposed to be less horrible that way or something, I can't-", Mr. Terrace held his hand up, signalling me to stop.
"Okay, whoa, slow down for a second." His attention flickered for a second, his brain processing everything. He turned his head, surveying the room, and subtly pointed at a young woman sitting a few tables down. "Alright, how about that blonde woman, there?" He flicked his ashes into the ashtray. "How's she go?"
I turned, pretending to stretch. *Alcohol poisoning*. Leaning back in, I turned back to face Mr. Terrace. "Alcohol poisoning." I felt slightly ill, as though this whole ordeal was going to turn sour very quickly.
Mr. Terrace simply nodded, and pointed to someone else, this time a portly gentleman sitting at the bar. "Uh-huh. And him? The fat guy in the little coat?"
I glanced over, and squinted through the smoke. "Han..Hantavirus? Hantavirus pulmonary syndrome. I have no idea what that is." I slumped back against the chair, my mind racing. He's going to think I'm off my nut. He'll fire me...hell, I'll be lucky he doesn't have me admitted. I sighed, heavily, and as though it were an incantation, our waiter appeared.
As he nabbed up a couple of plates, he asked, "Anything else I can get for you gentlemen?"
"You know, actually, I think I'll have a rum and coke." Then he wiggled his eyebrows at me. "And what's your...uh...*poison*?"
I turned to look at our waiter. I hadn't paid any attention to it earlier, but now here it was, as clear as day. *Suicide*. "Su-" ** *cough* ** "S...sure, I'll just uh...I'll have the same." I pinched the bridge of my nose. Twice in one day, for the *love of*. I watched as our waiter walked off, and sighed again. "He uh...he's going to commit suicide."
Mr. Terrace shook his head. "What a shame. We should help him, don't you think?"
"I don't think we can. I've tried before, and they never change. I guess it's fate?" I shrugged.
"Well, let's give it a shot." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a brown, withered wallet. Rifling through it, he tugged out some bills, and counted a few out. Nodding his head in approval, he slid them under the glass, and tucked his wallet away. "Let's see if that doesn't change is mood." He smiled.
The waiter came back with our drinks, and again, Mr. Terrace's brows danced about, filled with intent. I checked, even though I knew what it would say. *Suicide*. I shrugged. "Nope, nothing."
Mr. Terrace rubbed his chin, the stubble of his 5 o'clock shadow audibly brushing against his thumb and forefinger. "Well...I'll make a wager with you." His eyes lit up, bright with a sense of...I wasn't sure what. "Say I actually die from this...Subarachnoid hemorrhage? If that's what gets me, I'll have a separate will, and I'll leave you half of my estate. Sound good?"
I laughed. "Sure, sure, and if you don't?" I played along.
"Pfft, I'll be dead, what will I care?" He held his hand out, and I shook it. He smiled, and finished his drink in one swig. "See you at the office tomorrow, kid."
"Yes, sir. Have a good night." I watched as he walked out.
I had no idea that he was actually serious. I had even less of an idea the plans he'd make for me. | The hustle of city life can drag on a man. The whirring sights confuse me with visual noise and the sounds remind me of an orchestra with every instrument replaced by a monkey banging pots and pans, a car screeching to a stop, or a baby crying. The people are claustrophobic in their own way, separated by canyons in others. They press and press and they press against one another, squeezing in, invading your space. They push past or through each other's lives but they do it like a firefly - there, and then gone. No greater connection, no deep meaning, just a passing bug in the night air.
I'm standing in the middle of the street with my eyes as wide as they can be, arms outstretched, drinking in the absurdity of city life. I can't help but laugh as the horde of people mill around me. I am exactly where I need to be.
The hustle of city life can drag on a man, but the silence and stillness of rural living almost drove me to suicide.
"Get out of the road, ya creep!" a cabbie yells as he scoots by me. I close my eyes and breathe deeply before heading back to the sidewalk and resuming my attempt at a normal life. *Standing in the middle of the street was dumb. After all, I can't see my own death*.
A block down the sidewalk and the street were now busier. More people, more noise, more stimulus to block out my own thoughts. It's hard not to look. Not to inquire, not to see. Not to help. When I'm alone I feel, I hurt, and I ache. I can't help them. I've tried, I've tried so many times, but everybody dies. Everybody dies and they die exactly the same way God tells me they die.
It has to be God. Or Yahwe. Or Allah. Or Zues for all it matters - some omniscient being who has cursed me with the gift of knowing death.
That's what I do. I see death. I don't know when, but I do know how. A plane crash, cancer, pneumonia. Natural causes and unnatural causes, I see everything. I see the pregnant woman with a little sign over her belly that reads, "Stillbirth." and the big sign over the woman's head that reads, "Suicide".
Drugs help, but they aren't a permanent solution. The city distracts me from what I see but I know I'm slowly going crazy. I think I already am.
Maybe this is some Hindu thing, a kind of punishment for something I did in a past life. I must have been some kind of terrible person for *this*.
I'm in the city center now. There's a bus stop across the street with forty or so people boarding a private bus to some high-class function. Every single one of them has a sign hanging over their heads that reads, "Bus crash". That many people, all dead the same way, all boarding the bus that kills them?
I know I should yell out, I know I should say something... but I know it doesn't matter. If it isn't that bus, it's another. Everybody dies and I can't stop it.
Maybe I was right all those years ago, maybe suicide is the only thing that can help me. Doctors won't, they lock me up and call me insane - even when I can prove I'm right. That I can actually see these things.
The police think I'm crazy. At first they thought I was a murderer spilling the beans on my crimes but after they found out the people I talked about weren't yet dead they wrote me off and won't return my calls.
Nobody believes me, but I can't just turn it off.
That's it, then. That's what I'll do. I'll walk down to 3rd and Main to that gun store, buy me a nice piece that won't leave anything left of me after I pull the trigger.
The streets were getting busier and busier, if that were even possible. The crowd pressing around, looking up in the sky and shouting. Doesn't matter. I know what I have to do.
More and more people kept spilling out on to the streets. The shouting grew increasingly frantic, screams could be heard in the distance. I heard the sounds of a building collapse but I just kept on walking. It didn't matter, everybody dies.
I reached the gun store and it was packed. Every person in the store was grabbing a gun off the shelf, the owner throwing boxes of ammo at anyone with a gun in hand. I started to panic, I couldn't find a gun. I needed a gun. I *needed* to do this.
The store emptied, the people ran outside, and still I searched. It took me a couple of minutes of pulling my hair out but I found it. I found a gun. It was already loaded. It was a small .22, not exactly my first choice, but it would have to work.
It was time. I had to get home.
I ran outside and for the first time since making my decision I looked around. Cars were overturned, glass was falling from the sky, and buildings were collapsing. There was a cloud over the city like an eclipse and *nobody* was on the street. I kept walking, soon breaking in to a run. I ran and I ran and I ran until I ran right in to a mass of people all standing around, shoulder to shoulder, stock still.
They were staring up at the sky. I climbed up on some scaffolding and looked around. There were... millions of people packed down every major street, as far as I could see.
And over all their heads hung one huge sign, "Alien invasion".
| 2015-03-31T13:04:56 | 2015-03-31T11:44:41 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] Humanity is dead; you were asleep in a cryogenic facility for super-human soldiers. Aliens have woke you centuries later to fight for their survival from the aliens that ended humanity. The problem? You're actually a janitor that fell into a pod and all of the soldiers died in the previous war. | It wasn't easy to convince the aliens that you had something up your sleeve. Janitors have their tricks, and when you're given every key, sometimes you figure out some of the secrets you had no business figuring out. And the biggest secret of all would be the key to helping the aliens defeat the evil invaders who exterminated mankind. Somewhere, in the heaps and ruins of what was left of human society, there was something more powerful than super soldiers and evil invaders. And through fate, it had fallen to you to wield that power. You just needed to find...
The suit.
Digging through sector 70-21A (The remains of what used to be Eugene, Oregon), you start to recognize some of your surroundings; The coffee shop, crumbling and decrepit; The sign to the old ice cream parlor, mostly rusted away. You're close.
Finally, paydirt. You remove some rubble to reveal a series of underground passageways. Though your mind is still foggy from the cryogenic freezing, you know these old hallways like the back of your hand. You know where your old mop, broom, and key chain would be, provided, God willing, they'd been undisturbed. All of your old equipment would come in handy, but most importantly, in this most dire of moments, you need...
The suit.
You find the closet where all your old equipment used to be stored. A swoosh adorns the door, and your mind wanders back to the bitter memories of corruption and greed that lead to the downfall of humanity. But no time for that now, you have business to attend to. You shine your alien flashlight to illuminate the closet, and you see a most delightful sight: All your equipment, untouched. A little dusty, but considering the ruins in which they lay, practically pristine. Your heart begins to race in excitement. In another room, just down the hall, you hoped the key to victory still lay.
Gathering your old equipment, you find the room. You dust off the door to make sure, and the obnoxious neon yellow color you see underneath the dust is your confirmation. You open up the door, shine your flashlight, and what sits on the shelf before you is truly a sight to behold. The great big green shirt. The white pants complete with fuzzy flippers. The cartoonish eyes that pierce your
soul. Is that a tiny yellow cape, or just an ascot? No one ever knew; thus was the mystery of the suit. You slip on the outfit, and slowly feel yourself becoming more powerful. You just needed to complete the ensemble with some action hero sunglasses...
[perfect](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/3b/08/29/3b0829a33b7a8cd26c2f18522bd9613b--oregon-football-the-duck.jpg)
Time to head back to where the alien military is hiding from the invaders. They're aghast-you can tell they're in awe at your newfound magnificence. Immediately they flock to you, surely in awe at your power. "No more hiding" you announce. "but how? They outnumber us" calls out the only alien soldier brave enough to question you. In response, you grab your most trusty piece of janitorial equipment...
"It's time to *mop the floor* with these guys."
You lead the charge. The invaders don't see it coming. Your fat, fuzzy legs are too fast. Your moves are too sexy. One swipe with your mop wipes out dozens of invaders at a time. Behind your lead, the aliens advance against the invaders with force. At last, you encounter the Great Invader, leader of the evil invaders. A swing of his mighty axe splinters your mop in two. But you came prepared...
"It's time to *sweep* these guys off the planet."
It's the broom's time to shine. You take the Great invader off guard and split his axe in two with a swing of your broom. This infuriates him, and he manages to break your broom before you can bring it back. He advances, thinking you are out of weapons. He couldn't be more wrong: the keys! They gave the suit...certain powers...
"Ascot, go!"
Your ascot unties itself, rising in the air and shining a beam of light at the Great Invader with massive force. However, he is able to resist! You must amplify the power of the ascot by...doing shitty push-ups! You get into position and barely move your shoulders. 1...2...3...4...it's working! The beam gets stronger and stronger and finally blows away the Great Invader for good!
The rest of the Invaders (who, as you have observed, look remarkably like huskies) surrender all at once. But they have an announcement: they're just following orders! At once the true Leader arrives. His leaves rustle as he approaches, his hideous smile removed and turned upside-down in reaction to the defeat. "You win this round!" [The king of the invaders](https://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/18f48bey7o1tvjpg.jpg) declares before teleporting away. One by one, the other invaders also teleport away, but one stays behind just long enough to ask "Who...who are you??"
"Puddles. Puddles the Duck." | The aliens presented themselves in a humanoid form, which was of huge convenience to Bob. What was less convenient was that they were pressing him on the matter of 22nd century warfare.
'Oh,' was all he could stupidly manage.
Robert O'Lyle had never really excelled in any form of conflict, except the combat of germs, pests and some particularly nasty moulds. Even then, he had perished in the exercise of these duties almost immediately; that was to say, he had tripped and fallen into one of the pods.
'Take him out,' one of the aliens hissed. They were decent imitations of humans, tall and strange as they were, aside from a few obvious mistakes. Having the face upside down was one of them.
Bob blinked slowly, some of his motor functions still frozen by the cryogenic cold. The humanoids helped him out of the sleek, onyx pod, and clouds solidified out of the air as he rose.
'Am I really the only one left?' Bob asked, still shaking as they helped him to his feet.
'You are a warrior,' one of them, the leader, said. Bob knew he was the leader because they had been helpful enough to give his form a crown, big and pointy and made of gold, as in the old human story-books. 'You can help us defeat the Rangers.'
An odd name for the alien species that had wiped out humanity, but this anachronism had not been invented by the humanoids. Even in Bob's time, there had been talk of the Rangers. Back then, they had only known their ships: massive, oblong slices of metal that cruised through the black velvet of space at staggering speeds, and fired powerful pillars of light upon anything that came too close.
The discovery that there had been organic matter inside the ships had made the headlines on the day that Bob had taken his fateful stumble.
'I'm sorry to disappoint, friends, but I'm no warrior,' Bob said wearily. 'Only a collector of dust.'
'Yes,' the crowned one said, 'You combat the entropy itself. A noble rank, even in our hierarchies.'
Bob raised his eyebrows. These aliens seemed alright, he decided. He'd do his best to help.
'Tell us,' one of the others said excitedly, 'How do we use the fabled ancient weapon?' He produced a bleak, white bottle, with a strangely shaped lid. It read PESTICIDE on the sticker.
Bob frowned darkly, and took the bottle.
He twisted the spray-cap and depressed the trigger. A cloud of vapour filled the air, and the humanoids backed away in fright. The smell of ammonium lingered a few seconds, and suddenly the humanoids started to applaud, strangely by clapping their fore-arms together rather than their hands. But Bob had understood the message.
'My friends,' he said solemnly, 'I think it is time to turn this war around.' | 2018-10-13T17:04:26 | 2018-10-13T08:31:33 | 397 | 117 |
[WP]The pagan gods watch with amusement as humanity still remember them by naming their mightiest vessels after them, long after they stopped worshiping them. When war against aliens break out, the old gods subtly aid the humans, not wanting the last homage to them to be taken lightly. | Frontiersman Lucian Xan's blood flowed freely down his brow until it met his jawline. It pooled on the tip of his chin and then dripped downward, unnoticed and unimportant. "How many are we looking at? I'm getting nothing but squid on the local."
Jack Studde snorted, "More than it's worth countin'." He gave a hapless shrug, "Only so many bullets to fire sometimes Luke. We've done what we could."
Xan's eyes watered as the smoke from the fire began to cloud the cockpit, causing the viewscreen to blur. The red blinking notification was clear enough. "We didn't get a clear line. The message isn't getting out."
"They'll know well enough when the *Hermes* doesn't report in. Sometimes shooting the messenger is message enough." Jack yanked on the release to his harness, letting some of the pressure off of his chest. Just above his breast was a small winged sandal with the name Studde emblazoned above it. "Wish we'd brought bigger guns. They say the new models got grav pulses."
Lucian sighed, "Yeah, well, it was supposed to be quiet out this way. Squids are supposed to be a few hundred AU the other direction." He slammed the heel of his hand on the panel in front of him, willing the engine back to life. They were dead in the black, their ion drive knocked offline. The squids would have them tractored in soon enough.
They needed a bit of luck, that or the grace of God.
Xan pulled up the comms relay, funneling in the last bit of power in a vain hope of getting the message out. *Thor* was only a hop and a skip behind them, close enough to make it before the air ran out in their suits. The warship had been pulverizing everything in its path, its mass drivers inexplicably performing beyond specifications on multiple occasions. His fingers flew across the panel, the spiderweb of cracks ignored as he attempted to call out.
The last bit of power trickled down, the lights dimming in the ship. "Auxiliaries almost gone," Jack called out.
Lucian ignored him, his attention focused on the little red blinking notification on relay readout. "C'mon you god damned--"
A small flare appeared, the readout flickering for the briefest of moments to show a pair of winged sandals. The red notification blinked out and re-appeared, a cool minty green. "Sonuvabitch..." Xan yelled out. "It's out!"
The lights blinked out, shrouding the ship in darkness.
"What?" Jack asked, the flexglass helmet stored in his collar unfurling and sheathing his head. A small 100% number appeared on his shoulder, indicating his oxygen supply.
"The relay, it got the message out. *Thor* should have it in a few minutes." Lucian frowned down at the local, "Probably not enough time to save our asses, but at least home has a warning that they've got squids pounding down their back door."
\---
"Captain, we've got a priority inbound from the edge. *Frontiership Hermes.* Distress." The comms officer swore, "We've got squids, Ma'am. Whole fleet of them. *Hermes* is disabled."
"Stow it and keep focused Lieutenant. Send a relay back earthward and let's get them some backup," Captain Lawless commanded, her steely grey eyes darting between the bridge crew.
"Captain, we don't know what we're up against, the message just said a fleet of squids." Comms Officer Lucas replied even as he prepared the relay message back home.
"Let me worry about that Lucas, just get us there." She sat in her command chair, her shoulders squared forward, the golden lightning bolt emblazoned on her chest twinkling in the light. "This is the *Thor*, we've got the hammer."
​
[**PART 2 RIGHT HERE ON MY SUB. EVERYONE DIES. IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT FOR DEMANDING MORE.**](https://www.reddit.com/r/PerilousPlatypus/comments/alzoo6/wppart_1_2_the_pagan_gods_watch_with_amusement_as/)
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
​ | (This actually fits into my worldbuilding project yaaay!)
An stood up from his throne and the whisperings in the hall stopped in that very moment.
"Brothers! Sisters! We have stood vigil over our mortal kind longer than we care admit. But this time we must intervene - he raised a finger - albeit subtly..."
He couldn't finish his sentence as countless of his brothers and sisters stood up in anger and disgust. The Old Thor was the first one to speak:
"Subtly?! I say we open the gates of Valhall and fight the final war!" - many transhuman deities nodded.
Mars was the next one to speak, he aged a lot since his favourite son conquered Gaul:
"It has been tens of thousands of years since I last marched to war! We have legions of the greatest warriors at our command, we must enslave these uncivilised barbarians"
One of the eldest among them, Odin was the next to speak up, his deep voice quickly silenced the growing unrest:
"Silence! Think children, think! These aliens must have beings like us! Their race is much younger than ours! There is no way we could win a confrontation against them! - he chuckled - Albeit... Ragnarök must happen!"
One of his ravens returned to his shoulder and the Allfather chuckled once more.
"I'm sure all of you know of the organisation known as the Foundation. Those mortals have the technology to win this war, but as soon as the xenos start losing their gods will join the fight, and that is when we must reveal ourselves! The halls of Valhalla must remain closed, for now. "
The grand doors of the hall burst open, and many younger deities stood in disbelief, as the single mortal slowly walked in. His voice could only be heard through the speakers of his power armour, he was clearly ready to draw.
" But you will let just a few of the greatest minds of the halls join us. I have a list, you will comply, "
The Allfather smirked under his beard.
" We were expecting you, Arcanil."
| 2022-03-30T20:52:43 | 2019-01-31T21:21:27 | 2,124 | 25 |
[WP] "We're not so different, you and I." The villain cackled in mania. A grim darkness sweeps over the hero's eyes. "I know." | His smile faltered, just a hair, but I didn't see the change I needed to see in his eyes.
So I continued. "You were raised in an orphanage, were you not, Tynzil?" I asked. "Forced to work for every meal, from birth, you were dependent on the older children to feed you until you could begin scavenging pennies for your food. Sound about right?"
His lip curled as he waved his hand at the castle we stood in. "So what of it? I've grown past that pathetic life. I stand in the manifestation of my success."
The poor man. As I continued, I began walking through the massive hall we stood in, eyes lingering on the covered paintings. "You were adopted at the ages of seven, ten, and thirteen. It was this last one that stuck. A cruel man and woman whose only son was away abroad at school. They wanted the free labor, the ultimate fate of most the orphans you knew. You only escaped the first two 'adoptions' by sheer cunning. Forced their hand to return you. But Drinelle and Leosh knew how to better handle you."
"You've done your research." The man's scarred face turned to face me as I continued pacing. "Am I supposed to be impressed? Am I supposed to quiver and quake?" His voice pitched to a mocking note. "Oh dear, Ashtan, the hero of ages, researched his immortal foe!"
"But you'd have the last laugh when the misfortune began to strike." My fingers hovered over one of the sheets covering a painting. "Their cattle plagued. Crops withered. They had quite the farm until you came along. No one could pin it back to you and by the time they found out, it was far too late to stop you. It didn't stop them from trying. You made short work of them. A house fire and again, none could trace it back to you."
With a flourish, I pulled the sheet down, revealing, as I'd expected, a portrait of a man and a woman. They looked young, their faces laughing and bright. It wasn't quite what anyone would think Drinelle and Leosh would've have looked like, but if they'd looked as cruel as they were, none would have trusted them like they did.
"I have many paintings of my enemies in here." Tynzil followed me, as close to my heels as he could without looking anxious. "Many duplicates. The odds of you finding that one-"
"Should I talk about your first master then?" I asked. "The man who apprenticed you?"
"A cruel man as well, I'm sure you know." His lip curled. "He deserved what he got."
"As did your second master?" My hands floated to the next portrait covering. "Drasheed, his name was? He owned the bakery. Always gave discounted food to the orphans from the very same place you grew up."
"But beat the young men and women he hired!" Tynzil's voice broke as his voice spiked in rage. "They all had dark secrets, even the kindest seeming. Once you realize the world is plagued to the core, you have no choice but to act. If I can root out and purge every black heart in this damned kingdom, the place will be better for it! And those who hide in their homes, thinking over every past sin they've committed, should shake in their beds. They should. They had a chance. Now I come."
I sighed and for a moment, let my eyes wander down the room. Each covered painting was a life taken. Someone deemed evil by a man crushed by the world he lived in.
"So where does this lead us?" he asked, his voice taking on a leer again. "You're going to tell me I was wrong. That I am wrong. That the world is right and I must learn to forgive instead of change it."
I pulled out my blade at these words and turned on him, but when I raised my dagger, there was not yet the look of malice in my eyes.
"That's up to you," I said. I took a step towards him. "Do you think the cause is just?"
He laughed but his eyes held a note of worry. "I would not be here if I didn't."
"Then-" I stepped forward. "You agree that our story, the story of the poor orphan boy, has come to a just conclusion?"
He takes a few steps backward and fumbles for his waist but finds no glinting weapon there. His eyes fall on my own, emblazoned with the crest of an eagle.
"You stole my dagger," he said.
"Steal is a poor choice of words here." I took another step forward until I could reach out and touch him. "I think you and I both have sympathy for the poor man who grew up in a world that hated him. The poor boy who was abused by home after home, workplace after workplace. We feel for the child. But what of the man he became?"
Tynzil stopped as his back hit the wall. "If you have so much sympathy, why kill me now? It was never my fault, so why punish me?"
And I could see in his eyes, he was certain my empathy would stop me.
If only he knew...
"What happened to the child *wasn't* fair," I agreed. By now, we were so close he could feel my breath. "But where does the path for revenge end? At what point does someone's cause overwrite the horrors they committed? No child wants to be abandoned at an orphanage at a young age, but what he does after that, that's the real test."
"I did what I had to!"
I tip my head at him, my last civil gesture. "As have I. Trust me, I do understand. No child wants to be left homeless and orphaned after a fire engulfed his parents."
His warped lips parted for a second. "My family was killed by wolves in the night," he whispered.
"I know they were," I whispered. "I wasn't talking about your family. So tell me again. Is the cause just?"
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) | The ground was blue, and the sky was green and brown. Trees descended from the heavens, with their branches like clouds. And the bushes around him white and grey clouds.
Jonathan marched into the world in a white shirt, black trousers, and held a sharp sword in his hands. He needed the sword. It was a treacherous world, after all.
Time after time, lightning bolts leapt out of the darker bushes, and apples fell from the heavens. The moon was up, so he assumed it was nighttime, the time when predators lurk in the jungles. But no predator came to face up to him. Perhaps he was lucky.
Through the clouds, he went into a deep trench. Mason Hill, it was. And even though it wasn't a hill but a trench in this world, Jonathan knew that the place was indeed Mason Hill. He could see his house in the trench.
In his world, he lived at the top of the mountain in a stone house with a red roof made of clay tiles. In the mirror world, his house was at the deepest end of the trench, and its roof was black and the walls red.
He had arrived in the mirror world to defeat the greatest villain that haunted the place. And as the greatest hero in the world, he knew that the greatest villain of the mirror world would live in the black and red house of Mason Hill.
He ran down the trench, reached the bottom at a terrific speed, and rapped on the door of the black and red house. He knocked once, he knocked twice, but no one answered the door. Instead, he heard a laugh from behind him. A terrible laugh, high and cold, quite unlike his own low, warm laugh.
"So, you have come, the greatest hero in the world. You came, Jonathan, you came down the trench."
"You can see me, right? That means I am here. What else do you need for confirmation?"
"A little blood, perhaps," the voice said.
And from a cloud bush appeared a man, bent double at the waist. His chest sunken, biceps flaccid, and harmless. He was wearing a black shirt, white trousers, and held a scabbard using his feet. He walked on his hands and appeared some way above Jonathan. On the upper parts of the trench.
"You hold a scabbard instead of a sword. You swing it with your feet instead of your hands. What hope do you have against me?"
The man, the greatest villain, laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed. "What can I do? I can do a lot of things. You wouldn't need to stop me if I didn't."
With this, the nasty villain performed a wicked dance using his feet and men appeared all over the upper parts of the trench. They had cannons, and they surrounded Jonathan.
The villain cackled. "Now you see what I can do," he said and ordered the troops to shoot.
They put the cannons on the cannonballs, and the cannons went flying towards Jonathan. The large metal guns all came at the same time, and Jonathan couldn't do anything. He was hit once, twice, thrice and god knows how many times. His bones were shattered. And he was unable to move.
"We're not so different, you and I." The villain cackled in mania. "The only difference is that I am alive, and you, you will be dead soon."
Grim darkness started to fall over the hero's eyes. Jonathan, the world's greatest hero, then raised his head and said, "I know."
Suddenly, archers appeared from the bushes surrounding Mason Hill. They aimed at the villain's cannonball cronies and slaughtered them all.
The greatest villain ran into the trench called Mason Hill. He ran past the hero lying broken in a ditch. He ran inside and stepped into the jade mirror. | 2020-12-15T09:34:12 | 2020-12-15T07:08:31 | 150 | 17 |
[WP] The elder gods looks to us the same way we look to cockroachs. What means that they are irrationally scared of us. | “Yeah, you’ve got a nest here,” said Percy the God of Pest Control. “Those are roads which connect all these things that're scattered around,” he pointed to some buildings.
“Are those all filled with… humans?”
“Yep, that’s where they feed and sleep and reproduce.”
Alanna gagged. “Reproduce?! I’m going to be sick.”
“It’s alright, you called us at the right time,” Percy said, floating over to Alanna.
“You don’t understand,” Alanna said. “I’ve been sleeping over this, this nest for hundreds of years! I feel dirty.”
She clicked her fingers and spun into a new outfit: a golden dress with frilled edges, and a crown of platinum studded with gems.
“A hundred years more and they might’ve spotted you. Luckily, the infestation didn’t appear to progress that far.”
Alanna was stunned. “They can see us?”
“When they’re not treated quickly, yeah, some species can develop technology to identify and communicate with us. And then there’s all sorts of issues with eradication. At this stage it's more simple.”
Alanna sighed in relief. “So what now?”
Percy, with a wave of his hand, transported them into his office where he laid out some papers for Alanna to look over.
“Here are the catastrophe plans we offer. A meteor will do the trick, but can do damage to the integrity of your house.”
“What’s this one?” Alanna was pointing to a picture of a nuclear warhead.
“That’s a fun one. We actually let the humans progress a bit further than where they are now, and with a little nudging they irradicate themselves. Some customers like that, helps ease the moral burden. But it does create a bit of a smell.”
“I need them gone today. I’m hosting a party this evening to mark my return to Elder God society. I’ve been asleep a long time, you know.”
“Have you now? Very nice. Well then what you’d want is probably the meteor.”
“How bad will the damage be?”
“Usually minimal, but we can’t guarantee that.”
“Fine,” Alanna said, taking out her checkbook. “What do I owe you?”
Percy waved his hand again and the office was gone. They were back hovering over the human nest. It was really chugging along quite marvelously. Skyscrapers were going up.
“Well, I’ll tell you what. This looks like a good nest, I’d like to study the remnants after it’s been destroyed, if that’s alright.”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“Then I’ll say 75% regular price and I can keep any archeological finds from the nest. Deal?”
Alanna shook on it. Twenty minutes later, Percy unleashed a meteorite that crashed into the nest and obliterated an entire human civilization.
As he scraped up what was left of the humans, he noticed something.
A titanium engraving made by the humans. It was a picture of Alanna sleeping. Inscribed underneath it was a message: “We can’t wait to meet you, Lord Creator. We love and worship you. Forever in your glory, Mankind.”
Percy wiped a tear from his eye. Most Elder Gods couldn’t stand human infestations, but sometimes they really ought to give them a chance. Humans can be so adorably sincere.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/ididwritethismr | "Mom! There are humans in my pillow!"
The thunderous voice of the Elder daughter resonated through the galaxy, detected by those with the means to do so as gravitational waves. Her fear was understandable, she was only 5 billion years old, after all.
"Gross, where?".
"There, in the edge, on that rock"
"Let me get your father. Honey!"
Incorporeal to the normal eye but massive, a figure cultures across the universe had unknowingly written songs about approached the shiny spinning pillow of her daughter, with an open palm.
"Daddy, what if they are type that can fly?"
"Don't worry honey, I'll get them before you can say heat death of the universe"
Suddenly, out of the rock, a space ship was launched to the atmosphere. Aboard, humanity's best and brightest, a testament to what international cooperation and a fierce passion for science and the progress of mankind can achieve. The spaceship landed on Mars, becoming the very first to do so, ushering a new era of discovery.
"Oh, oh that's nasty. Sweetie, why don't you take another pillow?" | 2022-01-03T09:27:37 | 2022-01-03T08:57:53 | 1,225 | 142 |
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while! | My parents were both flyers. My mom was born in the back of an airplane on a transcontinental flight. My dad was born on the back of a car near Mt. Saint Helens, to my arboreal grandparents, and they never figured out why he was a flyer. Worth noting flyers are pretty rare.
Naturally, being in love with the sky they joined the space program. There's at least 40% of the population that don't have powers. Everyone's supposed to of course, it's just genetics, but a faction within the government had an experiment go afoul and basically neutralized the powers of a good number of people, and it continued generationally. My grandfather was one of the heroes who took those people down. But this isn't his story, it's mine.
Like I said, my parents were in the space program, and were sent on a one year mission to commission the new United Earth Space Station, built off of the original ISS. They didn't tell NASA my mom was pregnant with me and I guess nobody bothered to check. Luckily the new station had artificial gravity and some pretty advanced medical features, so my birth as I'm told went off without a hitch.
-------------------------------------------
When we got back I was international news. Not only were people wildly speculating on what my powers would turn out to be, but a birth in space was itself historic. It took moving to Hawaii to get away from all the press at the door all the time.
Most kids find their powers around 5-6 years old. I didn't discover mine until I was about 8. It was a pretty traumatic experience.
Most people who have powers are set in a single range or element. Desertborne people usually have powers related either to fire or earth. People born at sea are great with water. Most Russians have snow/ice powers, but like I said it's limited like that.
Mine were different.
I had a pet cat who followed me religiously. One day I was outside, petting him, when he ran up a tree and hissed at me. I tried to get him down, and when I stretched out my hand, he started to wail until he couldn't anymore, and his body crumbled in on itself. Then the tree did. Then a good chunk of my backyard. I was so freaked out I broke down crying, and my parents did their best to console me. But gravity manipulation was only the beginning.
My first girlfriend controlled storms. I remember when I met her she was upset, her best friend had been in a car accident. It was raining terribly, and lightning struck everywhere. I instinctively touched her face, I don't know why, but it instantly calmed her, and when it did the light of the sun shone brighter than any natural occurrence.
By now, my full range of powers consists of not only controlling gravity, but also light, tides, and through combined use, the passage of time. I can create pockets of air for myself and keep my body stabilized in the vacuum of space. I warp spacetime to explore the universe and can be home in time for dinner. But I couldn't remain hidden forever.
Remember those government factions I told you about?
About a year ago they convinced world leaders that my power was too great, that I was too dangerous to be free. I became public enemy no. 1. My parents were incarcerated and killed. I left Earth for a while. I came back yesterday to avenge their deaths, and things have really changed.
PART 2 AND 3 IN COMMENTS | "So let me get this straight, you have space powers?" He blinks in surprise, "And I thought being born between a nuclear power plant and a company that makes things 'disappear' was weird."
"Sort of? I mean it's vague, but I think I can control gravity to the point I can make black holes and stuff." She says waving her hand in a nonchalant manner, "And don't get me wrong you were born in a weird place too. How come you get two powers?"
"Hey! It's not as cool as having space powers! Making stars and energy beams and stuff!" He shouts waving his hand wildly in the air, "It's like that weird priest guy from the weird manga I read!"
The girl snorts and goes into a weird pose and drawls, "Do you believe in gravity?"
The guy snorts and poses himself, "Time has been erased."
Both the girl and the guy collapse on the floor and start to laugh.
A normal day for two weirdos
| 2017-04-14T20:09:16 | 2017-04-14T18:29:05 | 57 | 12 |
[WP] Music has been weaponized and is now the main means of war. It's your first day on the front lines. | When I was eight, scientists discovered a way to weaponize sound. In two years, the first Sound Gun was manufactured. At first, It wasn’t that bad. The gun was very low power, it wouldn’t kill anyone, just knock them out. Plus, the frequency was too high for humans to hear, so it was completely silent. The police force quickly accepted the new weapons. Many lives were saved with this new technology. But then some idiot has the great idea of turning up the power. That weapon was able to demolish an entire wall in seconds. But it had an unexpected side effect. The weapon produced a beautiful sound. It was found that, with a little tinkering, the sounds could be adjusted. This created a huge market for personalized guns.
It’s been 10 years since that first Sound Gun. The world has only become deadlier. I was drafted into the army to fight a stupid war over a stupid topic. I never really asked questions, I just did what I was told and hoped to God that I would make it out alive. Today is my first day on the front lines. I’m in the plane with my fellow soldiers, checking my government issued equipment. Helmet, check. Body armor, check. Ear plugs, check. Sound Rifle, check. I had my assault rifle customized with a song that I made. Really techno, I loved it. This was common in the army, the practise range was dreadful because of it. Our commanding officer stepped out of the cockpit and called to us.
“Soldiers! 2 minutes ‘till drop! Get in position!”
We all lined up, quickly rechecking each other’s parachutes. I was suddenly very nervous. I didn’t fully realise I was going to war. It was still a foggy dream to me. But I had no time to think on it, the commanding officer called out again.
“Okay time’s up! EVERYBODY MOVE MOVE MOVE!”
The doors opened, and we jumped out of the plane. It was a peaceful experience, like the calm before the storm. I closed my eyes, relishing the seconds of joy. Then I forced my eyes open again, and opened my parachute. I looked down, and for a second I thought I was descending into hell. There were bodies everywhere. Dust was flying up, creating dust devils all around the field of battle. I heard a C# fly past my ear, then the rip of my parachute. I feel the last 30 feet, landing in a ditch. I layed there for a while, waiting for the pain from broken bones or something worse. But no major pain came. I stood up, disconnected my parachute, and checked all my gear again. When I was set, I flipped the safety off on my Sound Rifle, and peaked over a hill. We were coming from a nearby beach, storming inland. I waited until a large group passed my, then I fell into line behind them. We ran about 10 feet before the soldier in front of me fell over dead. I tripped over him, tumbling into the ground. The fall dislodged my ear plugs. The sound was unbearable. It was like two three year olds “playing” the piano magnified by one hundred. I covered my ears and searched the sand for my ear plugs. I found one but not the other. *That will have to do*. I jammed it into my left ear and started running again. As soon as I got up, a B hit me square in the chest. I fell over, paralyzed, feeling my body start to shut down. I looked towards the sky. It was a perfect blue, only tainted by smoke and planes. Another soldier came into my field of view. He stopped and raised his rifle to his shoulder, and fired. Over the din of the battlefield, I could hear his tune, Ode to Joy. *I guess I could die to this*. With the last beat of my heart, I closed my eyes, never to open them again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey everyone, About4001llamas here! If you liked my writing, check out /r/About4001llamas. Happy reading! | Sound was utilized as the main means of war. Microwave guns that projected sound into an enemy's skull were used in various ways to incapacitate an entire hostile force. The weapon first was used against civilians for riot-control. During the Sonic War, the technology became something far, far more devastating on the battlefield.
A single microwave tower could defend against an entire army, pulsing painful sound waves into the heads of attackers. A technical engineer, Nil Robinson, discovered the weapon could be used quite differently, however.
"Notice the way the man covers his ears, yet he cannot stop the sound. That's because the tower sends the signal not to his ears, but to his brain. I first saw this in action in the Miami riot, the first real application of this weapon. My imagination ran wild."
"Robinson, the United States cannot depend on annoying its enemy to win the war."
"We could get them where it hurts. Behind the front-lines, in the civilian sector, where the war is really won."
"How can you justify wasting military resources on sending music into the heads of our enemy?"
"You haven't heard this album, my friend. It's something incredible."
It was a new kind of music that Nil Robinson claimed would incapacitate the citizens of the dictator's country. Just exactly how that would happen, no one quite understood. He demonstrated his new tactic at Guantanamo Bay.
"You see, the men in the other cells do not hear the music we are sending to our target. They simply think he's gone insane. Whenever he mentions the music, his cell-mate immediately starts to distrust him. After a few weeks, you can be assured this man will have no social power at all in the prison."
"We cannot wait weeks. We need answers now."
"Do you intend to decimate the credibility of an entire country in a matter of moments?" | 2015-02-20T16:26:13 | 2015-02-20T16:11:54 | 66 | 13 |
[WP] You walk into a bathroom and when the door closes behind you and you notice an "out of order" sign on the inside of the door. When you go back outside, things are out of order... | The board meeting finished, and the suits departed. I mean, have you ever seen anything take so long? These empty suits yak big league.
I looked out over the streets of New York, rumpling my chin at the rushing traffic.
"Terrific", I mouthed under my breath.
I swept along the golden corridor, toward the bathroom. The door swished open. I preened for a moment in the warm golden ambience front of the mirror, fluffing my brilliant blonde bouffant.
I pointed at my orange reflection in the mirror and winked. "Looking good, Easy D!"
I fiddled with my collar, turned and entered the cubicle.
It closed behind me with a click. I sat down and took a big long shit, flicking through Twitter on my phone. My timeline is full of idiots, and—believe me—I know a thing or two about idiots.
On the inside of the cubicle hung an "out of order" sign. Stupid janitor must have hung it there. José probably can't read English. I mean, I love the hispanics. But how many of them speak English? I'm not going to be politically correct about it.
I wiped my tush, pulled up my pants and headed on out. And then it hit me. The lighting in the room is off. It's flickering. I washed my firm, broad, strong hands in the opulent marble sink and dried them off with a cotton towel I ripped from the ivory-plated towel dispenser. Egyptian cotton. The best.
I exited the bathroom with a swoosh, and walked back along the golden corridor to the boardroom. I eyed my surrounding suspiciously. Something seemed weird. Something seemed surreal.
My eyes widened when I saw the window. The streets below were desolate. Nothing was lit up. Filled with rubble and debris. Smoked-out taxis piled one above another. I pulled out my Samsung Galaxy and speed dialled my daughter. The prettier one. I mean, she's one hell of a woman. If she wasn't my daughter, I'd be dating her—believe me. If there's one person who knows what's wrong, it's her.
There was no dial tone.
I shrugged and rumpled my chin. Maybe the Muslims have attacked. I mean, the lying Kenyan crook in the White House has been practically encouraging them to attack for the last six years.
I heard a door swing behind me. A strange man in a flowing starry red cape with dazzling white hair and a wispy white moustache blustered in. At his side hung a thin jade scabbard.
Very rude, I tell you. Didn't even knock.
"Who are you? What the hell happened to New York?" I asked.
The man snickered.
"My name is Maximilian Levi" he replied. "I'm a time traveller from the future. I came to avert the darkest timeline."
He pulled out his sword and charged toward me. | Left is up and
Up is down
Look to the right you’ll see the ground
Floating through the air, a peculiar fish
Chasing a cat against its wish
Left is down and
Up the ground
Look to the right prepare to drown
A wall of water, cascading to crash
Against the ceiling prepare for splash
Red is blue and
Blue is spots
Stomach is tied in tiny knots
A magnificent lion, softly roars
Size of a marble wearing shorts
Red is sharp and
Blue is dry
I close the door and start to cry
| 2017-02-21T14:22:41 | 2017-02-21T14:05:25 | 30 | 11 |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it. | The sound of heavy hooves striking the dirt-covered road filled the woods as I approached the town. I was, of course, flanked by the undead wraiths riding beside me but alas, I considered their company annoying.
'Could we not have handled this for you, my lord?' the creature asked, although it sounded more akin to a harsh whisper underneath the heavy armor. 'Sire, those of the Holy Empire would seek your death. Please seek shelter within your castle.'
'I regularly decimate their armies without a second thought and defeat their heroes with ease,' I said atop my powerful steed. 'If they wish to come for me, let them come. Perhaps this time they'll accept my offer of parlay.'
They saw us approaching the town a good distance away and already had the gate raising for us. We slowed our stride as we entered the town, allowing people to stop and stare at us.
Of course, they'd be fearful. The two corpses stitched together within heavy plate armor would cause anyone to feel the chill of death on their spine, although that was a magical power all wraiths had.
But then there was me, a descendant of a demon with the red skin, claws, sharp teeth and horns to match, my corrupted yellow, iris-less eyes scanning far and wide. As with the case of my bodyguards, I wore black, heavy plate armor but with some... accessories, mainly spikes on the pauldrons and joints. My enemies spread rumors that I liked to impale the corpses of mortals and elves upon my armor while on the battlefield, massacring their allies as they bled over me. And to be honest, that did happen but I swear to the gods that was an *accident*.
But of course, I dismounted from my steed and stood at a full eight feet, two heads above my guards and with the humans around me only reaching the height above my belly.
'Your majesty,' the guard said in surprise as he approached me, trying with great might not to let his jitters destroy his posture in fear. Some of his men weren't nearly as composed as he was. 'We had no idea you'd be riding-'
'Of course not,' I halted him with merely a glance. 'That's the whole point of a *surprise* inspection, is it not? It's no use seeing your men in action if they had been rehearsing. Summon the mayor and assemble your men and stand attention outside the barracks immediately. Have them ready for when I return.'
'Of course, sir,' the knight said whilst standing at attention before he ran into the barracks, blowing a horn and causing men to scurry forth from around the pub and other corners of the town.
I, however, began walking into the centre of the town square and watched as the town's mayor stumbled about, trying not to get his clothes soaked within puddles or to trail too much mud on his robes. 'Lord Ebonblade,' the mayor said as he approached me. 'This is an unexpected surprise. Is there... any particular concern I have overseen?'
'If there is, you'd not be a good enough mayor then,' I said as I looked down from him, my arms crossed. 'Off the top of your head, why do you believe I would need to abandon my duties of commanding my armies and defending my people in order to come to this god-forsaken backwater of a farming community?'
'I-I have no idea, my lord,' the mayor said. 'I mean... we send the crops necessary for the troops, we honor the gods as simple townfolk, we honor your tithes... I haven't the faintest thought.'
'Oh, but there was a lie in there,' I growled at him. 'You have indeed been lying about the taxes.'
'But the treasurer always said the amounts were-'
'Never mind what the treasurer has stated!' I yelled. I then turned to the crowd, over towards the town's baker. 'You there! Come forward.'
He was confused for a moment, even fearful. His legs were undoubtedly frozen in terror which meant I had to *enchant* the poor sod's legs to have him approach. 'Y-yes m'l-lord,' he said, shaking badly.
'For every hundred coins you earn, how much are you meant to pay as tribute to me?' I asked him. 'How much do you hand over?'
'Well... m-my wife handles t-t-the money, see?' he said in confusion. 'I just bake the bread.'
I merely sighed, rubbing my fingers into my eyes. 'How much money did you make in the previous week?' I asked.
'About... 200 shillings?' he asked.
'And how much did the tax man collect?' I asked him.
'Oh, 100, sire,' he said to me.
'So, you pay half your income into your taxes,' I said to him, before grabbing the mayor by the throat and strangling him, lifting him up from the ground. 'And there lies the problem. You've been lying to these people about how much tax they owe, haven't you?'
'T-that was what I was told to-' the mayor began to say.
Until he heard the sound of chattering metal coming from his house, a storm of coins shattering his windows, ripping his heavy wooden doors to splinters and pouring from the chimneys before it floated above us.
'Then explain that,' I ordered him. He refused to answer. 'Well, that settles it.'
I released him from my grip, but not to freedom. He floated through the air towards the stockades and found himself locked inside, kicking and screaming like a child throwing a tantrum.
'Let him wallow in there for two days,' I said to the captain as I passed him. 'I'll have a sheriff come and bring him to the capital for abusing his authority for profit. And captain?'
'Yes, my lord?' he asked, much calmer than before.
'You've passed your surprise inspection,' I said with a faint smile before mounting the horse and riding out with my wraiths.
---
**Part 2 Down Below** | *It's loud.*
Murmur sounds outside my castle. I groggily opened my pocket sundial. *It's only 7. What's with the commotion with these people? Shall I have Remilia reminds them of the rules?*
"開," I said with a sigh, disliking when people disturb my beauty sleep. Immediately, a small cloud appeared in front of me, allowing to see anywhere within a radius of 1 km. *Oh my, what's this? Heroes?* I zoomed in, analyzing their armor and weaponry. Must be from the Republic of Ai. I grinned at myself. *This will be fun.*
----
"Down with Lord Zero!" Arthur yelled as he chanted, holding his sword up into the air. "Do not worry fellow citizens, the Triforce is here to save you all from his deadly grasp. We will ensure your safety."
"Hey Arthur," Della leaned in and whispered. "Don't you think it's weird that the citizens are just watching? They aren't joining along. It kind of gives me the creeps."
"Must be a mind control spell," Arthur said. "Lord Zero is a world-tier magician, we must be prepared for what is to come. The very fact that he had enslaved half of Ai's population through flattery and manipulation is an injustice. And we shall bring judgment."
"Um..." Mick said as he finished his surveying spell. "There doesn't seem to be any magic...despite how a scouting spell was summoned earlier. Something tells me otherwise."
"We'll be fine!" Arthur grinned in his golden shiny armor that he had received from a diamond-level quest. "After all, we are the legendary heroes of Ai. There's no way they'll dislike us!"
---
The crimson castle door sprung open as I slowly walked out, greeting my fellow naive guests who had came without an invite. *This will be amusing.*
"Lord Zero!" the golden knight cried. "Ready to meet your demise? We will take back this land and save the citizen from your rules." A crowd had started to form around us, watching this extraordinary event unfolding.
"Save?" I laughed as I smiled at this intriguing hero. "No no. These people don't need saving. In fact, they *chose* to live here. All I did was provide a law system, residential areas, and several necessities to living."
"Liar!" Arthur pointed his sword at me, several murmurs in the crowd. "Rumors has it that you execute anyone who speaks against you."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." I shook my head disagreeingly, it was only then the heroes realize that the crowd was getting angry for threatening their Lord. "Let me ask this. Is it better to live in a system where you have a strong controlling leader or a system composed of hooligans who call themselves politicians debating nonsense back and forth?"
"What do you mean?" Arthur said as he lowered his sword. *I see doubt in your eyes.*
"The people here chose to *leave* Ai. While the so-called "leaders" are having their little silly debates when the people are suffering, I offered them shelter in which I have destroyed the vampire domain, conquered the southern Lands, slain the Elder Dragon, built new roads and created an education system for every social class." *Checkmate.* "You are welcome in this land, but if you threaten the leader they look up to. Then I cannot guarantee your safety."
I gave them a mischevious wink to conclude this silly show and with that, I yawned and stretched, chuckling and savoring the heroes priceless expression before heading off for my afternoon nap. | 2017-06-12T06:36:14 | 2017-06-12T03:14:29 | 171 | 107 |
[WP] A super hero fights evil by wiping memories of both the villian and everyone who knew of them so that they can be reintroduced into society safely. Today, as you were combing through old newspapers, you discover that you were once the world's most powerful supervillain. | Maria fumbled for the keys in her bag, eventually finding the heart shaped keyring her husband had given to her long ago. How long exactly, she couldn't quite remember.
The lock clicked. A monotonous buzzing greeted her, as if a giant hornet had taken up residence in their home since she'd left for work. "Honey?" she called out. "Are you okay?"
No reply.
She stepped into the lounge and was met by an unpleasent, smoky smell. The buzzing had intensified too. It was a sound she now recognised, but hadn't heard for a long, long time.
An electric razor.
Maria frowned, a little annoyed that Peter was likely removing his thick, flowing beard. There was something she loved dearly about it -- the white hairs that shot through the blond reminded her of sunlight bouncing gleefully off an icy waterfall. It suited a physicist. It suited *him*.
*buzzzz*
The living room table was a mess of cigarettes and empty beer bottles -- Peter had clearly enjoyed his day off. A folded page of a newspaper wafted up and down in the gentle breeze from an open window.
*buzzz*
Maria moved idly to the table, picking up first the cigarette remains, then dropping them on the carpet as the face in the paper stared up at her, her husband's keen eyes meeting her own. His face was clean shaven, and his wrinkles softened -- but there was no mistaking him.
Her hands shook as she picked it up and read.
> Master Particle. Prior to Reworking's alterations. Considered the greatest physicist of his generation. But another talent wasted by the great 'hero'. This paper says Reworking is not the answer! We're the only paper brave enough to print a picture like this and...
She stopped reading. Something was wrong: there was no sound.
"Welcome home, *Maria*."
Maria gulped as she turned to see the man in the paper standing behind her.
"Sweetheart..."
"Is it really Maria? No, of course it isn't. It doesn't matter now though."
"I didn't ..."
"I was great, you know. The greatest, they say. I could have changed the world. Now I teach school children basic astrophysics. The order of the planets -- and they can't even get that right without a pathetic mnemonic to aid them. My life -- or at least many years of it -- has been wasted. Can you imagine if they'd lobotomised a young Eistein? Where would we be?"
He slowly removed a knife from his jacket pocket.
"*Please.*"
"How long until you were done spying on me, *darling*? Until you left me! I loved you *so* much. In my mind, you loved me, too. But only in my mind! It's all a Goddamned lie! You'll pay for that deceit, I promise you."
"Please, Peter. In my mind, I love you too. *I do!* I don't know what's happened. I don't understand any of this."
He grinned as he stalked forward. "Oh, *you know*. You're here to watch over me. To report back to them each day, when I think you're working, so you can all laugh at me. *Mock me.* The great, *impotent*, Master Particle."
*"I always loved y..." *
The knife was sharp and cut her throat cleanly and easily. She didn't scream as her blood spattered the carpet.
Maria's body fell next to the fallen cigarette remains.
---
It was an hour later, as Peter drank greedily from a clear bottle, his boots resting on his dead wife's carcass, that a gust from the open window turned the newspaper's page.
Peter leaned forward, his eyes wide. He snatched the paper up. He read silently twice over, then mumbled a litany of *no's*. Finally, he swore bloody revenge on the world itself.
He looked down at his wife through bleary eyes, scalding tears spilling down his cheeks. How could this have happened? His life had been perfect -- *twice!* Now he could never go back... *could he*?
He knelt over Maria and gently pressed his trembling lips against her forehead.
Peter could feel his mind buzzing; could see the sparks leaping from his hands. He felt in tune with the universe's tempestuous vibrations, and he knew in that moment, exactly what he was capable of:
*The end of everything.*
Peter got to his feet and looked at the paper a final time.
> At least they had the decency to erase his wife's -- his assistant Scarlett (pictured above) -- mind, and to keep them together in their new lives. But this paper, this reporter, says it's not enough! It's time to end Reworking.
---
Part two: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/7n3dix/master_particle_part_two/
| I always thought that movies were overly theatrical when, in a moment of shock, the protagonist would drop his glass of champagne to shatter dramatically on the floor. Now, with Dom Perignon soaking into my carpet and the soles of my slippers, I wondered if I wasn’t just overly shocked.
I had known for some time that there was something different about me. Something special… I had just thought feelings like that were the realm of fifteen-year-old girls, not 65-year-old men. I had ignored them. I scolded myself now as I refocused my attention on the scrapbook of newspaper clippings before me. There I was, headlining most of them.
*The United Nations formally recognizes “Muninn,” a powerful telepath and telekinetic, as the supervillain mostly responsible for the 2008 stock market crash when he imbalanced the real estate market through subtle influence of major financial institutions.*
*Is Muninn the Supervillain Responsible for Deteriorating Relations Between U.S. and North Korea?*
*Dr. Charles Kingley — better-known as Muninn, president of the recently self-proclaimed International League of Villains — is finally captured with the help of hero CleanSlate, who promises to wipe the man’s memory and return him safely to society. This could be a new era for international prison reform…*
A scowl shot across my features as I ran my hand through my thick white hair. A dirty trick, wiping the mind of a telepath and telekinetic. I reached out and the brown paper that had once wrapped the scrapbook drifted lazily up into my hand. There was something comforting and familiar about using my powers, as though a part of me that had been missing was suddenly returned. I’d never lost my abilities, I realized. I’d simply forgotten to try and use them.
Someone had sent me this scrapbook, hoping to trigger my memory to return. Someone wanted Muninn back, but who…? There was no clue on the wrapper, no return address, and I turned my attention back to the scrapbook. Flipping to the last page I saw a note that I’d missed when my mind had been overwhelmed with a rush of returning memories.
It was short message, written in a feminine hand that some part of my mind recognized.
*“Welcome back, Charles. Love, H.”*
I struggled to recall a name to attach to the handwriting, but that was something my mind wasn’t ready to give back just yet. The scowl deepened as I realized how long a road I had ahead of me. Someone had answers, and I wouldn’t stop until I found them. | 2022-12-05T21:34:05 | 2017-12-30T09:29:05 | 3,733 | 17 |
[WP] After you die you learn why the Grim Reaper is portrayed holding a Scythe. It isn't to harvest you, it's to protect you from something on your journey. | “He won’t budge,” said Death, shrugging his colossal shoulders slightly. His scythe, Lerallue, glowed a dark red, pulsing gently like a beating heart – which meant that They were near, but we still had some time.
I had answered Death’s summons as fast as I could. He rarely called on me, prideful thing that he was. He thought he knew humans, could always count on persuading them with fear, but even he had to acknowledge that a soft touch was necessary sometimes. That’s where I came in.
“Hey buddy, we’ve got to go,” I said, setting myself down next to the shade on the curbside. His corporeal body lay nearby, cooling in the frigid night air. It would be another 2 hours, give or take, before the other humans discovered his body, but it wasn’t them I was worried about. “Death’s explained it to you, right? He can hold off the Eaters for a while, but we would much rather get you to safety.”
“For a long while,” huffed Death, puffing up his chest, twirling Lerallue by the end of a bony finger. I ignored him.
“I’d rather They take me, really,” came the reply, so softly I had to strain my ears to catch it. His face was still downcast, eyes fixed on his hands, balled in his lap.
I took a quick peek into his mind, then began to understand why Death couldn’t persuade this one on his own. Timothy Burns wasn’t afraid of death, nor of oblivion. He understood perfectly what Death had explained, that the Eaters would be along shortly, ravenous for so fresh a soul, and that once he was consumed, he would never be able to cycle through life again. Reincarnation would be denied to him, and the universe would be less one unique, precious spark of Life.
In other words, Timothy Burns was ready to disappear into the Void. The irony of being on suicide watch for the recently deceased was not lost on me.
I tried changing tack. “Who knows what awaits you in your next life? Give it a shot, man. You’ll have a family again, someday, people that you can treasure, keep safe –”
He cracked then, the sobs racking his chest as he buried his face in his hands. “What’s the point? I had a family here, I had one, right here! But I screwed up, I screwed up! My little Genevieve… I was supposed to be there for her, you know? Everyone trusted me to take care of her!”
“Some things… are out of your hands. You tried your best, and if –”
A seething undertone of anger crept into his voice, and he rounded on me, seizing my shoulders. “Do you know how many lives I saved, in total? A thousand, two thousand! I was the best doctor in town! Even the ones senior to me came to me for guidance, sometimes!”
“Was that why you didn’t ask for another opinion when Genevieve fell sick?” I asked, quietly.
Timothy had a response prepared, one fuelled by denial, pride. He was ready to blame the new viral strain, the weak antibiotics, the same few excuses he had flogged in his previous life. But the defiance seeped out of him, and he collapsed again, sobbing through his hands.
“… I missed it… I missed it somehow… I thought it was just the flu, ordinary flu… by the time I realised I was wrong, it had already attacked her heart… my pride killed her… I killed her…”
Death tapped me, and from the corner of my eye, I saw that Lerallue had turned a shade brighter, gleaming with a certain unrestrained exuberance.
They were coming.
“You’ll forget it all in your next life,” I said, prodding him a bit harder than I would like. “Trust me. People say that they can remember bits from their previous lives, but it’s hogwash. You’ll have another chance again to do the right thing.”
“But I don’t deserve it,” he said, taking a deep breath, sitting upright again. An uncomfortable calm had spread across his face. “I will atone this way, it is only right. Let Them come, I am ready.”
I sighed, then snapped my fingers. The mist rose from them, swirling lazily in the air, coagulating into a shimmering mirage not two feet from Timothy’s face. Death turned away, wilful blindness in full operation.
There were rules on revealing the grand plan to the humans, and severe punishments for infractions. I knew that as well as Death did, but sometimes, sometimes the ends do justify the means. Humans always forgot that sometimes, all they needed was a little hope. It was far sweeter than they ever gave it credit for.
“That’s Genevieve right there,” I said, as the illusion took form, “that’s not her name now, of course. But she’s out there, the very same soul. She was born just this morning. She listened to us, and she’s back there now, somewhere.”
That got his attention. Timothy grabbed for the illusion, but his fingers pierced through, meeting the empty air. “Where is she? Take me to her, please!”
“No can do, that’s not how it works.”
“Please! I’ll do anything!”
I narrowed my eyes, staring deep into his. I didn’t like being stern, good cop always suited me better. “Listen here, Timothy Burns, I’m not going to lie to you. We can bring you back to the world, let you live countless lives again, but there’s no guarantee you’ll ever cross paths with Genevieve again. That’s just how things are. So you can forget about ever telling her you’re sorry, there’s just no way she’s going to be able to hear it, or even understand it.”
I softened my tone, even as Lerallue started glowing a bright pink. I felt Death shift into a battle stance, carving his scythe through the air as warm-up.
“But what we can give you is a chance. A chance to do something a bit better in your next life. It’s up to you how you want to lead it, but an opportunity to improve, is infinitely better than just giving up, wouldn’t you agree?”
I held out my hand, beckoning to him.
Then, after an eternity, after the buzzing of gnashing teeth crested over the horizon, after the precious seconds to safety fell away… I felt him take my hand.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | "Duck!"
"Wha -" a hand planted firmly on my head and shoved me down. A slight breeze stirred my slicked back hair. Some commotion happened somewhere around me, and I was covered in a warm spray. Severely disoriented and nursing a powerful pain in my left knee, I started to speak.
"Whe -" a gloved hand clapped over my mouth. It smelled faintly of decay, though through a layer of pleasant detergent. Tide, I think, same stuff my grandmother used. Memories began to come back: the pavement, losing control, tilting hard to the left. My knee flared again at the thought.
"The quieter you stay, the more likely they'll all wipe each other out. That'll make my job a lot easier." Still confused I looked around for the first time.
A mile away across a flat, barren plain, a mountain rose craggily into the sky. Dry, cracked earth extended from my feet to where clouds obscured the peak of the mountain. Where the sky was visible, it was jet black, with no stars shining through. And there was me. Not just one me, though, thousands of me. Some lie dead or dying on the scorched dirt, others locked in fierce combat. Some rode creatures from another world, a few were on motorcycles using skulls of my dead selves as morning stars to cleave the slower weak ones. One rode a knight from a game of chess and crushed a group that thought to team up against a seven foot tall, grotesque giant with my face. Behind me, and endless oceans black as the sky. Quieter, the voice continued, removing the hand.
"No this is not heaven or hell. Yes, you are dead. No I'm not the devil, you'd be so lucky. I'm death. Oh, and it's not purgatory, either. Lots of Catholics lately, I'm not sure why." I had questions for each of these answers, but I was too stunned to speak. "This is the final judgment. Every skill you worked towards, everything you treasured is represented here physically. It's a battle royale for eternity. See all these barbarians out here? They're different iterations of you. You're just the lucky one I'm here to help." Slowly coming to my senses, my first question.
"Why me?" I asked. I hadn't done much, I loved to ride, though.
"Don't feel too special. I've got about a 12% success rate out here." He caught my offended stare. "Hey man, don't shoot the messenger, I'm the only one you've got. You're a pretty shitty person, all things considered. If you think hard, you'll know why you were chosen."
I thought hard. The kid in the road, I was going too fast. I swerved to miss him, saving his life for sure. "You mean to tell me I'm the only one that did anything for anyone? In any universe?" The thought was rather humbling.
"Yessiree, that appears to be the case. But we can talk about that later, the strongest are starting to emerge." I could see the mountain growing closer, but the land was shrinking between, swallowing the defeated.
"You see that pass on the mountain?" He gestured to a minute trail which was marked pitifully leading up into the clouds. "That's where we have to go, but only when you're the last one standing. 'Broad is the way that leads to destruction, but narrow is the path to eternal life'. Not a lie, in the strictest sense, but it was much more literal than most thought.
It seemed impossible. But what had I accomplished? Remembering my thousands of hours on the road, the trophies and awards, and seeing the awful handling of the other motorcyclists, felt a surge of determination. I could do this. I turned and looked at the giant figure next to me, decked out in full motorcycle gear. We could do this.
"I know I'm better than these guys out here, so where's my bike?"
Death smiled. "I thought we could take mine." He stepped aside revealing a massive motorcycle with the words "The Scythe etched in the side. I grinned.
"Let's ride." | 2017-06-20T16:09:57 | 2017-06-20T14:39:14 | 347 | 100 |
[WP] It finally happens. An alien race with advanced technology arrives ready to conquer Earth and take their place as our rightful overlords. The only problem? They never considered that Warfare might take the form of physical violence. | It gave me no pleasure. Bludgeoning that creature to death was brutal in the extreme, but only the most rudimentary combat technology actually worked on them. Even standard firearms, including shitty, old, barely functioning, civil-war-era muskets didn't function properly anymore.
Their technology, it seemed, was incredibly advanced, and it was theorised that, by some means, they were able to distort the gravitational fields around our weaponry or something. I'm no physicist so I didn't know exactly how it all worked. I'm a soldier (sort of), and what I did know was that when you tried to fire, your pistol, rifle, rail gun, whatever, wouldn't work. Sometimes the trigger just wouldn't activate the firing pin's spring. Sometimes the firing pin would hammer, but the primer in the round wouldn't ignite. It was infuriating for anyone who tried. Earth's combined military might seemed to be useless against these invaders.
Louisville Sluggers worked though. Knives and swords did too, but sharp weapons had a habit of bouncing off the strange, hard, round appendages and organs the aliens possessed. If you got carried away dicing them up, which was easy to do, you could cop a bouncing blade, trip, and end up slicing or impaling yourself. That was a damn shame when the things were just so easy to kill if you could get close to them.
Nope, blunt force trauma was definitely my preference. And, as I stood there bashing in the weird skull-like thing of my, I want to say, 150th alien, I thought about the strange situation humanity had found itself in.
It had been 2 years, 185 days since they had appeared in Earth's atmosphere, and quickly descended on all of our major population centres. People panicked as their sleek black ships unloaded waves of squat, fast-moving invaders. They looked kind of like beetles...semi upright beetles. They had large bulbous 'heads' that sat atop pudgy little thorax 'bodies'. Seven thin and spindly 'legs' moved them around at great speeds - much quicker than they should have. How they knew where they were going was a mystery as they didn't appear to have eyes; or at least not anything we recognised as eyes. They were probably carbon-based, and therefore had a familiarity about them, but they were also decidedly alien.
As soon as they hit the ground, complex technology stopped working. Cars went dead, planes fell from the sky, motorised boats just went adrift. Nothing electrical worked, obviously. This rendered all of our best weapons useless. People quickly discovered that their guns were also just hunks of metal. Grenades and other explosive devices were similarly harmless except as thrown projectiles.
People also quickly discovered that the invaders didn't attack. Like, at all. They just sort of fanned out around the place and then did nothing. It was like they were waiting to see what we would do. And what we did was shit ourselves - at first any way. Civilians mostly hid and waited for what they thought was extermination from some unknown means yet to arrive. Those that tried to fight found they couldn't really get near the aliens. They moved too quickly and scattered whenever they were approached.
After a time it appeared as though the invaders started collecting resources. They gathered around lakes and rivers, and when they did the water eventually disappeared. Where it went, we have no idea. Same thing with mineral rich areas of land. I guess the aliens figured that they had successfully assumed the position of Earth's overlords, and were taking what they'd come for.
After a couple months of them slowly depleting our resources, word started to get around that if you could corner them, you could kill them quite easily. Earth's creatures had fight or flight. These creatures only had flight. When trapped, they didn't lash out like a spider or snake. They just stood there, motionless, and let you hack them to bits or club them mercilessly. They made no sound while it happened either, which was really eery and unnerving.
And so a new humanity began to take shape. We essentially had to start again. Their presence had sent us back to the stone age, but they weren't really an immediate threat to our existence, other than taking our resources. As such, farming and other manual labour became all encompassing again. People went back to plowing and sowing fields. They went back to milking cows by hand. They started riding horses to get from place to place again (those that know how, anyway). Sailing ships transported people and goods across the oceans.
Sure, there was a period of upheaval as we transitioned back to that old way of life. But all in all, it happened fairly seamlessly. And here's the reason why: We thought it was temporary.
Communities and societies reformed around a single purpose - getting rid of those fucking things. Our belief was that if we could kill all the invaders and dismantle their technology, our technology would work again.
As it turned out, I was good at killing those fucking things. I found I had a knack for finding and cornering them, sometimes many at once. And while I never enjoyed killing them, I never found it that bad either. Me and others like me were dubbed 'Soldiers' and we were revered. We ate and drank for nothing wherever we went, and we were given all the resources needed to complete our mission of salvation.
It was slow going - estimates for the number of invaders was as high as 500,000 in Australia alone. Plus, it was a lonely existence - solo hunting was much more effective than hunting in groups because groups made too much noise, and caused the aliens to scatter. But as I stood there beating the living shit out of that thing, I was wanting for nothing and I thought "things could be worse". | Considering the vast cultural differences between us and the aliens a middle ground agreement was reached.
We will follow their ritual for conquering new lands and they won't blow up our planet!
**The BettybeEbloopCrunk Ritual for world conquering**
1. The to be conquered world is challenged to three games. One of wit, one of might, one of chance.
2. Players will be randomly selected from each planet using the universally accepted method of picking the short straw for two games. The game of chance competitor will be selected by the future overlords cause we said so.
3. Two out of three wins
Fairness clause :- Home planet gets to pick the three games out of currently existing ones. evidence of each games existence prior to the challenge must be provided.
Amendment 1 = Physical violence is prohibited! No bad touch!
Amendment 2 = Humans are poopy pants and meanies!
Three days of debate, twenty three nuclear missiles and eleven mass suicides later an arrangement was reached and handed over to the alien delegate.
Game of Wit = Chess.
Human = Neil deGrasse Tyson.
Alien = ?
Game of might = Trivia night star wars edition
Human = George Lucas
Alien = ?
Game of chance = Paper, rock, scissors.
Human = TBA
Alien = ?
*Note: humans were totally picked randomly using the short straw method. We swear. The UN.*
The retaliation that the planet expected never came. Instead the selected humans as well as one person picked at random were all beamed into the spaceships for their matches only a week later.
The matches were broadcasted on every frequency for transparency and to inspire fear in the hearts of their future subjects.
The planet held it's breath as Neil deGrasse Tyson pronounced "Checkmate" at the end of his game.
They groaned as Lucas got one question after another wrong. Clearly the aliens watched the originals not the remakes as the famous question "who shot first" never came up.
It was down to the game of chance. The human was identified as David. A 19 year old highschool dropout stoner from Arizona.
The game was set. He faced the alien and with a big vacant smile on his face. The computer counted down 3.. 2...1! both parties hit their closed fists to their palms with the count and showed their pick.
David's reflexes were a fraction slower so he clearly saw the scissors the alien's hand was showing... and mimicked him.
After five consecutive draws the alien bursted out "Are you making me fun of me?!"
David gave him a mellow smile and patted his green head "No my little dude. You're doin' great. Just that I'm waiting for your mommy to pick you up. Tell ya what, you give me a high five and we say you win."
The two foot alien looked up at the giant holding his deformed five fingered hand up. Who in this galaxy needed so many fingers!
And that's the story of how David's head pat was counted as an act of bad touch dooming the entire planet to subjection by a race of five year olds. It is also the story of why we all have three fingers and why weed is banned. All thanks to David.
| 2018-10-13T22:48:53 | 2018-10-13T22:09:55 | 74 | 35 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu." | Sleek silver spacecraft dotted the dimming skyline like crushed peppercorn sprinkled over water. Their shapes were practically indistinguishable by their sheer number and velocity.
Command Master Chief Petty Officer Ryan Fields stared upon the decrepit ancient city of R'lyeh with a wary eye. The structure of the island was contradictory and unpleasing. The was a strange electric and apprehensive atmosphere on the island and he thought if he should stay here long enough he would surely go mad. He had lost half his damn fleet just attempting to make it to the island, on the Master Chief Petty Officer's orders. The orders were clear - this was not humanity's last hope. There was no hope.
This was vengeance.
The warships had arrived unannounced and by the thousands in some sort of quantum stealth shield that had gone undetected by radars, and blitz attacked Earth's superpowers. In synchronized unison Washington D.C., Moscow, Beijing, New Delhi, Paris and London all fell to the unstoppable extra terrestrial force.
They had made no offers to negotiate or requests for surrender, and had made no prior contact. They had simply arrived, intent on destroying humanity.
There was no hope. Human forces were not prepared for such a massive assault and, even if they had been, could not match or defend against the technological advantage of the enemy arenal. The swift fleet of the alien armada disintegrated opposing military forces, destroyed buildings and ballistics with hypersonic missiles, shutdown entire nations' electronics with EMP waves, and flooded the streets of raided cities with weaponized drones.
They ate through any and every line of defense like a plague of locusts and then moved onward to the next helpless populace in their path.
CMDCM Fields stared at the strange algae-covered statue with growing anxiety and dismay as foamy waves of green seawater broke against the rocky surface of R'lyeh. He had no idea how to do what his commanding officer has asked of him in his dying breath.
The Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy's last contact with Fields was right after Okinawa was attacked. He had been stationed there overseeing drills in preparation for the North Korea crisis. Fields remembered how MCPON Giordano had screamed over the radio, as the percussion of explosions echoed in the background. "Fuck it! Summon Cthulhu! Do you understand? 47°9′S126°43′W."
The MCPON was in the middle of repeating the coordinates when the transmission cut out. Okinawa had fallen to the alien horde.
Ryan Fields felt himself being pulled toward the statue, and felt a deep longing to touch the replica of the eternal creature and feel its damp, cool surface. He didn't so much as want to; on a personal level he found he needed to. He approached the strange humanoid creature that resembled both an octopus and a dragon and felt a humming vibration inside his head. He placed his hands on either side of the thing's tendrilled face, as his Petty Officers watched in awe.
"*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.*" Fields whispered as his body tensed and pulsated.
Suddenly, CMDCM Fields felt a wave of knowledge erupt throughout his skull. An impossible current of ancient and powerful secrets obliterated his mind and lapsed synapses as they passed through. He had gone insane moments before he stopped breathing, but it might well have been an eternity of damnation with the vision of what ancient evil he had just summoned burned into his mind.
Beyond the island, enormous tidal waves began to thrust and swell in an outward motion, devouring the remnants of the 5th fleet that had come to R'lyeh. The surface of the ocean became permeated with dead marine and deep sea creatures, as their inferior brains collapsed at the sight of the Great Old One.
Slowly, Cthulhu awoke from aeons of its death-like slumber and rose from the deepest and darkest depths of the ocean, bringing dread and terror to Earth's surface with it. It's sleek, bulbous green skull rose first, followed by enormous piercing cosmic red orbs, then innumerable tentacles larger than the ships that had sunk under its ascension.
Some of the seaman screamed as they witnessed the Great Old One. Many simply dropped dead from the implosion of their reality as CMDCM Fields had done. Others threw themselves into the sea. Above, the alien warships began to plunge from the sky like dead flies as their pilots went insane. Spacecraft crashed all around the Great Dreamer and the mind of every living thing that witnessed Cthulhu collapsed into madness under the sheer power of its existence.
And Cthulhu laughed. | The fighting had raged for mere hours before everything came crashing down. Their forces were immeasurable, their weapons far beyond humanity's. It was hardly a valiant effort, anything any military tried met with catastrophic failure in minutes.
General Dillian stood on the bow of the ship, he couldn't find the answers for the hundreds of questions that ran by him from the group surrounding him. They were out of options, he knew it, but he refused to let humanity fall to an alien species, to be left at their mercy.
*"Fuck it."* The General said, as the alien mothership came in to land. *"Summon Cthulhu."*
Everyone around him went silent. Hairs stood on end from the mere mention of its name.
*"S-Sir..."*
One of them spoke, *"We won't be able to control-"*
*"I don't give a damn about control. We're on a losing battle, but the war isn't over."* The General snapped. He was well-aware of the consequences. Every treaty that had been formed around the subject stated that The Old Gods would only be used in catastrophic situations as a matter of self-destruction to defeat an enemy... this was such situation.
Everyone hesitated, their hearts were certainly full of fear. They collected their Old Ones manuals, flipping to the page of Cthulhu. In the distance, sirens could be heard. They had a matter of minutes before everything would be over.
*"Ph'nglui..."* The captain said in a shaken voice. Everyone repeated after him.
*"...mglw'nafh... Cthulhu... R'lyeh... wgah'nagl fhtagn!"*
They finished. Everyone went cold, nothing happened for a couple seconds. Just as they thought to start again, the waves parted, and the large, eldritch being had arrived.
Their worst fears, ones they didn't even know they bore, were instantly recognised. On the outside, Cthulhu raged, swiping, thrashing, attacking every ship. They opened fire, but the Old God stood strong.
On the inside, every man who found himself gazing upon Cthulhu had become an empty husk of their former selves.
Madness had fallen. | 2017-09-26T11:37:27 | 2017-09-26T11:13:03 | 374 | 16 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | "I'll have the buffalo burger--medium rare--please," Alan said, before looking over at his date and smiling. She met his eyes and nodded. "and the same for her. Thank you." The waiter collected the menu and left the two alone. Decorations adorned the restaurant he'd chosen for this first date. Lots of pink hearts of all different sizes.
"So," she started, "how was work?"
Alan smiled and leaned forward. "Nothing too exciting, just kept working on that case I told you about. You?"
"Same. Minus that working on a case bit," she laughed. Her bright blue pool of eyes threatened to swallow him whole. Alan knew he wouldn't mind that one bit.
"Count yourself lucky, Julie. Sometimes I feel like I'm climbing a mountain of--"
**Poof**
A car roared by, speeding down a four lane highway. Alan screamed and stumbled backwards into a median.
"What the fuck!" he yelled. Ten years and he still hadn't gotten used to this.
A familiar face appeared from behind a parked car--Allie's Camry. The emergency lights blinked on and off. "Sorry," she said apologetically, giving him a short smile. The first thing Alan noticed was her short brown hair. She'd finally cut it. Her bronze eyes locked onto his, two windows into the past.
"Allie, I was on a date. She's gotta be's freaked out... I haven't told her about--about _this_ yet. Not like they stick around after I tell them," his voice dropped into a mumble.
Allie bit her lip, "Oh," she replied, her eyes dropping. "Sorry."
Alan sighed. "It isn't your fault. You're not the one who said something stupid." Once the shock drained from his mind he paused to inspect the situation. "Flat tire?"
"Yep."
With a quick shake of his head he moved to help her. The sooner Allie drove off, the sooner he could return to salvage whatever remained of his date. Alan exhaled to force the frustration away. Allie had already moved the jack underneath the car. No more than twenty minutes would be needed if the two worked together.
"No AAA, huh?" Allie rolled her eyes and moved to the back of the car. Alan squatted and started raising the car.
After a moment Allie reappeared with a socket wrench in hand. "Ever the comedian." Alan looked up and grinned.
A minute later the car rose a few feet off the ground. Alan took the wrench from Allie and began loosening the lug nuts. The silence between the two broke whenever a car zoomed by.
Finally Allie spoke, "What's she like?"
"Who?" he asked, distracted.
"Your date, you looby."
"Ah. Julie's nice. She's smart and kind, works as a nurse. I like her."
Despite Alan being unable to see her, she nodded and smiled. "Good, I'm happy for you. I just hope I didn't mess anything up."
"It's all right," he replied. "Really."
The two fell silent again as Alan focused on getting the wheel off. He'd taken off all the lug nuts, carefully handing them to Allie. Losing those damn nuts was the last thing he needed. Alan rose and bent backwards to crack his back.
"You okay? You're doing all the work. I feel bad."
"I'm fine," he replied, walking over to the trunk. Allie had taken the replacement wheel out already. "Here, help me with the wheel." Alan motioned for Allie to hold it so it wouldn't roll away. A horn blared as Allie walked over. Alan turned and his eyes widened. Mustering all of his strength Alan jumped toward Allie and pushed her away as a white Mustang slammed into the side of her Camry. The car crumpled from the force, falling off the jack. The Mustang bounced off and away before coming to a stop in the middle of the next two lanes.
"Oh fuck!" Allie screamed from the other side of the median. "Oh fuck, _fuck_, shit, shit, shit!" Carefully she climbed back over the median. "Alan, jeez, you really saved me there. You okay?" No response came. "Alan?" Concern crept into her voice. Voices screeched from a distance. Everything felt numb. Allie couldn't hear herself repeat her question. Her eyes fell upon the point of impact, then followed along the rear toward the median. The car had been pushed forward a few feet, grinding along the concrete barrier. Where was Alan?
"Help, someone help!" a frantic voice called. "Someone help me!" Allie shook her woolheadedness away and almost ran forward. Traffic had stopped at this point and those once distant voices sounded much closer. She rounded her broken car, barely noticing the pain in her knee.
Her savior lay splayed in front of the Mustang. Blood gushed from beneath Alan's hair and his limbs twisted unnaturally. Something stopped Allie from running to his side. A second later and he disappeared. Allie shuddered and dropped to her knees. | "God dammit. Really?! I JUST paid for the movie." Steve had been teleported again. This time, to the side of the highway. He really wished he never made that stupid promise but at least he got to see Sandra every once and a while. He looked around. Sandra and Kendrick were present of course. So was their 11 month old Damien, giggling to himself in his car seat. Their late 90's Saab had a flat tire, but nothing else seemed too out of sorts.
As always, useless Kendrick waved. Like an idiot. "Hi Steve!"
Steve brushed him off with a nod and looked at Sandra. She had dyed her hair red and finally stopped trying to cover the beauty mark under her left eye. With the exception of the scowl on her face, it was a good look for her.
Sandra growled out the usual, "Nice to see you again Steve."
"Hi Sunshine and Midnight." It was a race joke, and Sandra absolutely hated it. He leaned into the window at the smiling child, "Hey Twilight, I missed you buddy. You have gotten thiiiiiiiis big!" Steve said with a big smile as he made a motion with his arms. He turned back to Sandra. "Pop the trunk."
Steve made his way to the rear of the old wagon and grabbed the spare tire, scissor jack, and wrench. He wondered how hung Kendrick must have been, because he was a waste of air. And space. And life. His entire existence was an inconvenience on everyone, except for Sandra apparently. For the last six years Steve has had to either fix Kendrick's mistakes or fill in as Sandra's handyman. She was not happy about either.
Steve tried to make some small talk while he swapped out the spare, but Sandra was being cold as usual and Kendrick was keeping Damien occupied. When he was done he stood up and turned around. Sandra's usual glare had been replaced by a soft look, her eyes slightly glossy. She noticed Steve's gaze and the glare came back.
A few seconds passed. Steve was standing there awkwardly looking like he had just been slapped and Sandra was looking like she wanted to slap him. "Thanks Steve." It was not spoken warmly.
He just smiled and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was back in his apartment. The pay-per-view movie he had just purchased was 15 minutes in so he hadn't missed much. Not that it mattered, he had seen Pulp-Fiction about thirty times.
Steve leaned over and grabbed a slice of pizza. His dog Beach came to beg. "She's doing well Beach." The dog looked up at him, licked his hand, and barked. "Yeah boy, I'm alright too" he said with a weak smile. "I'll be alright anyway. One day." He gave Beach a light scratch behind the ears and turned the volume up. | 2017-03-22T15:14:52 | 2017-03-22T14:51:37 | 286 | 81 |
[WP] You have come up with the perfect energy generator - no pollution, ultimate efficiency and no waste. The only catch is, its sole fuel is copious amounts of human blood. It has been 15 years since you invented it and now the world is a different place. | Steve Piccolo was at the blood bank.
He hated the blood bank. This one had been done up to look like a Church – archways, lots of glass, and a massive logo right where the cross should’ve been.
“Steve Piccolo?” called a woman’s voice from behind two-way glass.
“Yeah, uh that’s me”
“And how much are you looking to exchange today?”
“60 bucks will do...just to make rent, you know”
“Okay, let’s see...sixty dollars...that works out at, roughly, point three litres. You still want to go ahead?”
“Do I look like I got a choice? Yeah, sure, drain away”
“Okay then, room 17. Enjoy”
Why did they always say this? Who could possibly enjoy it?
Except for sadists, obviously.
And the rich: the blood of the poor had always greased their engines.
A guard materialised from the shadows. He nudged Steve with his spraygun, leading him toward the operating theatres. The guard punched in his code, and the doors whooshed open. They walked down a long, narrow hallway; their footsteps mingled with the muffled screams. That was something the ‘doctors’ never could get right – the ‘procedure’. And why were they called 'doctors' anyway? Everyone came out worse than they went in. Financially better off, yes, but physically destroyed. Most people spent their ‘blood money’ on booze to numb the pain. Then they needed to ‘donate’ more; it was the perfect capitalist feedback loop.
Inside room 17, the ‘doctor’ was playing on his phone.
“You my 2:00?” he said.
“I’m Steve. Steve Piccolo. I, uh, need sixty bucks”
“That’s point three, right? Well, get on the chair. Let’s see...” the doctor tapped away at his keyboard “says here you’re an A type, and you’ve donated twice already...so this is the last time, legally, you can donate this month. Any more and you’ll be putting that money toward a coffin!”
The doctor laughed at his own joke. Steve winced.
“Well, come on man. Let’s get this over with”
“That’s the attitude I like to see! Just think Steve: this time tomorrow your blood will be propelling a plane, or lighting a street, or heating someone’s home. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Yeah, it’s wonderful, I guess”
And I bet you’ve never had to do it, thought Steve. That’s the thing with the ‘perfect’ energy: there was no pollution, yes, there was maximum efficiency, yes, there was no waste, yes, but where did the raw material come from? From the poor, of course. Oh sure, anyone, theoretically, could become a ‘donor’ – but who would actually *need* too? How many times, do you suppose, did the captains of industry have to ‘donate’ half a litre to put bread on the table? Never, probably. They reaped the rewards, and the poor paid the cost. Same as it ever was.
“Okay Steve, you know the score: sit back, happy thoughts, it’ll all be over soon...”
The arm descended from the ceiling. Steve bristled: he tried to think happy thoughts, but he kept focusing on the giant drill worming its way toward his arm. He scrunched his eyes, he clenched his teeth...any second now…
white hot pain jabbing draining sucking lifeblood from lifesource jesus it hurts so fucking bad make it stop make it stop please make it stop hurts worse than anything cant take much more gonna fucking die any second now please cant take it please help me please cant do this I cant I cant
The machine whirred back into position. Steve felt drained, weak, ruined.
“Quite a mouthful there!” said the doctor “but all over now. Unfortunately we only managed to get point 2, any more and you’d have died on us...sorry, but rules are rules. We don’t want to lose our licence.”
“S-so...h-how much...”
“That’s uh, forty dollars Steve. We rounded it up”
“T-t-thanks”
“Don’t mention it” the doctor said, thrusting a cheque into Steve’s quivering hand “After all, we’re all in this together, right?” | *Hello! My name is Bloody Bill and I'm coming at you with a special television .. TV special edition offer from Bloody Bill's Blood Emporium! Ever worry about running out of blood for fuel? Do you use blood for fuel? Never worry again with Bloody Bill's Blood Subscription Service! Guaranteed!*
*That's right! Our amazing blood subscription service is coming to an IV near you! An IV like you get in the hospital but it will be fuel for your car. An IV for your car! You like that? Guaranteed!*
*Don't believe me and this amazing deal? One-off deal? Listen to what our loyal customers have to say!*
*"Hi, I'm Carl. Carl's my name and I've been using Bloody Bill's Blood Emporium for over 2 years. 5 years. Maybe. One time I broke down on the highway and was one hundred percent going to die but then I remembered I had my Bloody Bill Back-Up fuel tucked away in my ... Dad I really don't want to do this it feels like lying."*
*So there you have it. Heard straight from the mouth of loyal customer! Loyal customer number one there for over 10 years. 10 years he said. Using our blood all that time. That's a long time.*
*So what are you waiting? What are you waiting for? You want some blood or what?*
*Don't make me spill yours! Haha! No, I'm just kidding, I won't kill you. Or will I?*
*Guaranteed!*
Bill turned the television off. "So, that's potential commercial and pretty much the gist of the business. My name is Bill and I'm looking for a loan of $350,000 for 3% equity in my business."
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | 2016-11-22T12:38:07 | 2016-11-22T08:55:45 | 67 | 33 |
[WP] There is a species famous for shutting themselves in Virtual Reality, living their lives in fake worlds, this planet should be easy to invade, your masters said, turns out, a lot of members of that species have been spending their entire time in realistic combat simulations. | "Soldier?"
A voice that Massix, lead engineer of the Earth Subjugation, was used to hearing through digital broadcasts and announcements came from the doorway. He spun around in his chair, watching the Grand General walk through the door, flanked by two silent soldiers.
"General Lokox?! What are you doing here in the control room?"
Massix stood hastily, both right arms at a ninety-degree angle in full salute.
"At ease, soldier," General Lokox smiled. "I am simply here to survey the efforts. I've heard in the briefing that implementation has been far smoother than previous invasions?"
Lokox surveyed the myriad buttons, screens, monitors, and levers that occupied every inch of Massix's working area. It was the about the same feeling Lokox had when he first stared into a newly-born wormhole, but thankfully, Massix hastily sat down and got to work.
"Thank you. sir," Massix's fours arms between fiddling and twiddling, which caused some lights to turn on, off, brighten, and dim in seemingly random fashion. But the engineer's focused visage and precise handling dispelled the doubts in the General's heart.
"If you'll look here," Massix continued, pointing at a monitor that showed various vertical bars rising steadily. "We are doing exceptionally well in integration. Earth's dominant species, humans, have been hooked up to virtual reality for years. Introducing the age-old electrical virus into their pipelines was a simple task, and now several of their consciousness have been hooked up into our simulation."
"Good, good," Lokox nodded. "We are feeding them the XL-45 data, then?"
"Ah, General, we are experimenting with the XL-45-W this time round," Massix said. "The species is dominantly sedentary--"
"XL-45-W?"
"Ah, sir. It's the same engine as the previous torture program, but we've introduced horrifying war simulations. As I mentioned, a dominantly sedentary species, by our research, have usually settled into such an era of peace, that the very mention of war is foreign to them. Put them in a realistic simulation, and they will surely soloc their pumus, if you'll pardon my language."
"A war simulation?"
"Yes, sir. They will have no idea what to do," Massix said, getting more and more excited with each word he says. "And they will find themselves slaughtered over and over again, and their psyches will break, and their minds will shatter, and their--"
"And so, what's this?"
General Lokox pointed towards a screen. He knew the scenery by heart--the Battle of Luksoc almost 20 cycles ago, when he was but an infantry soldier on the frontline--and he remembered the horrors of hiding in the trenches, trembling in his boots, long before the days of technology allowing the Korox race to effectively and efficiently claim planet by planet in the galaxy.
And so, he knew it was entirely unlikely for somebody to be leaping through Luksoc like it was gravity-less, firing a standard-issue PX-49 like it was a goddamned NJ-03, periodically pulling out a knife and ripping through enemy combatants like a one-man army.
"Oh..." was about the only thing Massix could offer.
"Oh?" Lokox's voice hardened. "Soldier, explain this!"
"That's a screening on a test subject from Earth," Massix's previously confident voice began to waver. "They...are doing exceptionally well, somehow."
"Luksoc," the General said grimly. "Was one of our hardest fought battles."
"Not to worry, General," Massix said. "There's a lot more battles! There's no way the humans can go through them all! After all, it will be a long time before they can even access our neural networks..."
"Holy shit," a voice crackled from the screen, in between sounds of crushing bones, bullet fire, and whoops of elation. "The graphics are so good!"
"And the combat is--" followed by what sounded like a disgustingly wet smacking of lips.
"Soldier," Lokox's voice now had its own wavering as well. "I think..."
"Take them off the war game programs?" Massix arms began rapidly flitting around his workstation. "Sure, sure, got it..."
"Hey," the voice crackled again. "I think I found the system menu. Pretty weird-looking thing, you know?"
Lokox stared wide-eyed at Massix.
Massix gulped. He really should have used more time to develop XL-45-W before pushing it live.
---
r/dexdrafts | “End simulation!” I shout. The VR robot I had been sparring with shuts down and disappears instantly. In VR you dont sweat. Or feel hot. In the real world robots take care of us, they feed us, and ensure our vitals are within normal parameters. I walk out of the sparring room. And look at my last set level. “Level 27” It reads. Only three more levels. Then i will be the first to hit the highest level achievable. I take off my shirt exposing my toned sweaty midsection. My sports bra out for the world to see. At this point im too hot to care whether or not people see my bra. Suddenly a message appears on my dashboard, “Warning! Unauthorized entity detected in outer atmosphere! Would you like to leave the simulation?” I click yes. Not many people leave the simulations. There is no reason to. Black surrounds me and then a robot lifts off the VR headset and my eyes struggle to adjust to the bright light around me. Once they do I stand and take a look at my environment. Im in a dark room right behind me is the soft, inviting bed i had been laying in. Other than that there was nothing more besides the door. It took me a while to get used to walking but once I did I asked a nearby robot how to get to the main control center.
Once we got there I actually control panel to access the cameras in the outer atmosphere, over 50 battle space ships were entering our atmosphere and within an hour they would be here. I slammed the emergency button. Simultaneously, every person was woken up and ejected from their VR slumbers. I filled them in quickly and sorted everyone according to simulation specialty and rank.
1. Combat soldiers
2. Medics
3. Strategists
4. Ship pilots
5. Everyone else
Once everyone was sorted we charged.
It was a bloody and gruesome battle but we emerged victorious. Around me, slaughtered alien invaders.
Let me know if u guys want a part two for the aftermath of the battle!! Or if u just want more context and detail.
Edit: how about this, since people (for some reason) want more, if i get to 200 upvotes i will post part 2. If this sounds like i want likes its not. I just want to make sure people actually like this not just saying that. | 2020-12-25T08:59:39 | 2020-12-25T08:14:18 | 1,499 | 83 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | 1: ‘So, you want an interview? I can imagine. Do you think your report will give me a good light?’
I (Interviewer): ‘No matter what you say, people will want to hear your story. No one knew what happened to #1, and then you show up 20 years after she disappeared. Can you tell us about how you were able to kill her? She’s in the records as one of the most powerful. Invulnerability set her apart to many in the game, and she helped to bring some lawfulness to the system. Then, one day, she was gone. #2 was searching for her or the person who may have killed her for 10 years.’
1: ‘Should I start at the beginning?’
i : ‘Sure. I've got as long as you do’
1: ‘If you knew how long that was, you’d want me to hurry up then.
‘I was raised by my dad. He was #4, until 2 tracked him down. That was when I was 18. My dad could see the future. Not in years mind you, but he could see about 20 minutes ahead of time almost exactly. So he was able to move up the ranks just purely by playing the odds and surviving. Then #1, as you mentioned, brought some order to the chaos and by that time the top 10,000 or so had already killed themselves, and he topped out. Anyway, my dad, I don’t want to say he didn’t love me, but he never let me enjoy life. We were always on the run, always moving. I never had a single friend growing up. But, when a person is ranked as high as he was, and he clearly didn’t deserve to be based on how small his power is, he didn’t have much choice but to be on the run.’
i: ‘Why did 2 kill your dad?’
1: ‘I think he figured out I was 1 by that time, and he almost caught up to me. But my dad made himself a decoy. 2 knew he couldn’t kill 1 while she was still alive, but as soon as he found out I killed her, he knew he could be 1 as soon as he found me. Certain people naturally have an advantage over others. That’s why 2 was never going any higher while 1 was still alive. It doesn’t matter how much damage you do to someone who is externally impervious, you’ll never harm them. I think 2 believed all along that 1 had been killed, and that’s why he sent out the search parties. He told everyone it was because of how important she was, but really it was because he thought he might finally be able to get it.
So when he discovered who I was, and who my father was, he stopped at nothing to kill me. And yes, everyone knows it’s against the rules now, but there’s almost no one who can stop him is there.’
i: ‘And that’s why you asked me here to tell your story, so everyone knows about you before 2 tries to kill you?’
1: ‘Partially. I don’t stand a chance against 2 on my own. I assume he’s confident in that as well. And if he catches me when I’m not ready, he’ll kill me very quickly.’
i: ‘Tell me quickly about your abilities.’
1: ‘I’m able to access a person’s abilities and weaknesses just by looking at them. Even over a TV screen in most cases. It’s interesting, because I often know more about people than they do, yet for most of my life I’ve spoken to almost no one. I believe it’s a variation of my dad, he could see the future and understand it. I can see people and understand them. It’s not the most powerful ability, but it helps keep me alive, and when my dad and I were still together, we could almost be unbeatable. Not unstoppable, but unbeatable.’
i: ‘Is that how you and your dad killed 1?’
1: ‘No. I killed her long before that. See, and this was purely accidental, but she was externally invulnerable. But, internally, she was more fragile than most people. Too fragile to care a baby full term. My dad didn't know that until it was too late. 20 minutes vs 9 months. So, I was born ranked 1, and dad knew everyone would kill me for a chance at that ranking, even if t was illegal.’
i: ‘That’s tragic. And here you are telling your story before 2 finds and kills you. What are you going to do next, go back into hiding and hope to avoid him?’
1: ‘There’s no avoiding 2. I suspect he’ll be here shortly. I called the capital after you arrived and told them of my location.’
i: ‘So this is it, your letting 2 kill you today?’
1: ‘You don’t understand. I needed you here when he arrived, as you are the only person I know who can kill him. So, my question to you is, would you like to be my #2?’
| "Do you know how I got this badge? "
"Same as everyone else got theirs I suppose. Killed the guy ahead of you. So that's what I'm here for, to take your spot."
"Ever seen my power #5? Yours is pretty good, electricity. Killed the old #5 by sizzling him while he was swimming. Killed a few non combatants too. Can't say I'm too impressed with that. Ever heard of subtlety?"
#5's lips split into a wide, toothy grin. He was a young fucking punk, the kind of kids who didn't used to step up to me, but I've been at the top so long, I wonder if they forgot what I did to get here.
"I'm giving you the opportunity to walk away. You've lived your whole damn life under my sky... I'm God to you, and I doubt your arms are long enough to box with me."
"Oh get off it, everyone's gotta die someday old man!"
He charged at me, full of piss and vinegar, he hadn't gotten where he was for no reason. Back in the day anyone who was within the first ten had the right to challenge #1 for his spot. It was anarchy, bloody riots in the street and public executions writ mass. I ended that and created order. In one night I killed all other members of the ten and ended the games once and for all... Why did people always seem so insistent on never letting old systems die?
His hands were crackling with lightning, he fully intended on cooking me from the inside out. If he touched me there was a very real chance I was going to die. He was sloppy but made it up in brute force.
"So I'll take that as a no."
"YOU BETTER BELIEVE THAT!"
I caught his hand with mine. an older hand grabbing onto the strong arm of youth. I'd trapped him now. He seemed perplexed, they always do when their powers stop working.
"th... the hell did you do?"
"I make illusions. We're in one right now. I've trapped you here, you never had a chance. But I'm not like other illusionists. Truth be told, I can't keep this up for very long, it's something of a weakness really. but... I make the illusion reality."
the knife plunged inside of him, he gasped, looking up at me as if I had betrayed him. As if we were even playing by the same rules. I let the illusion die away, substituting it for reality, cutting it and editing it like so much film. There was now a flyaway illusion where he was killing me, but here in the real world he was dead, a cooling corpse. Maybe I needed to take a more active place in the world, they'd forgotten what it meant to be afraid... How bothersome. | 2014-12-18T22:10:04 | 2014-12-18T19:28:47 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] A dying child challenges the reaper to a 1v1 quick scope only call of duty match for his life. | The boy gave toothy grin from his cot in the hospital. The old man sits next to him, getting a feel for the controller. It was a weird little thing, two knobs sticking out for his spindly old fingers to wrap around. An... *X-Box*, the little boy called it. He chatted on, pleasantly.
"...press X, and you fire. The B button lets you run faster but you can't shoot when you're running. Simple, right?"
The old man looked down again. It was ok. He had time.
"Ok, so we can play on any map you want. They're all really fun. I recommend *that* one." The boy lifted up a skinny arm and pointed towards a picture city on the screen. The old man nodded, and let the cursor hover over it for a minute. It reminded him a lot of the city he always found himself visiting. Dust tumbled over all the buildings. Rubble ground into the streets.
"Ok, I forgot though! There's a rule though. You have to use the gun I'm using... No, not the pistol, the long one. Sniper. It's gonna be fast and cool like the guys who play this for real life money do." The boy leaned a little forward, looking to another fun match.
The screen faded into a hot, arid landscape. Middleast, the old man reckoned. The first round, he fiddled around, got a feel for the landscape and the "game". It was not easy, and he found his little avatar dead within the minute.
"Don't worry, mister, I sucked when I started too." The childish bluntness made the old man smile a little bit.
Finally, the screen lost its grayscale coloring and the man could move around again. Finally, he began to play, really play. The boy was good, having a good time.
"9-10-0 - Wow, you're a natural!" The boy's sunken eyes teamed with little bits of energy. "Maybe next time you visit you'll be able to beat me."
"Maybe," the old man replied. He added, with a little smile, "It was a tie, if you don't count the cheap one you got on me."
He glanced at his watch. It was almost time. "Hey, I want you to close your eyes now."
"Magic trick?"
"Sure."
"Imagine home."
"I never had one. This is my home."
"Hmm... Alright. Let's try again. Imagine you're in bed. It's Christmas."
"Alright, cool! Ok, I see it now."
"And your parents are smiling, sitting next to you."
"I don't have those, either."
The man was silent again.
"Imagine someone who means a lot to you. They're at your bed, and they're just talking."
"Can that be you?"
The man looked back. "Sure. He reads you a chapter from Harry Potter."
"How'd you know I like Harry Potter?"
"Nurse Camila says you can't get enough of it. She cares for you very much, you know."
"Yeah. When I get a home I'm going to invite her to every birthday party I have. Ok, keep going."
"He finishes the chapter Harry rides the hippogriff. You're tired, it's time for sleep."
"Is this where you try to make get sleep? C'mon, it's only 8:30... Alright, fine."
"But as you sleep, you have wings. You're just like the hippogriff. You can fly."
The boy rubbed his eyes and yawned. He was evidently tired, despite his claims. He lay down, a faint breath against the pillow. "I can see it. I really can fly."
Gently, the man closed the little boy's eyes. He sat beside him, even after the little monitor next to the boy flatlined. The little boy's dying wish was granted, but Death still sat next to him, a moment of silence in the somber room. He had time.
Edit: fixed some stuff I noticed on rereading. | The year is 2010.
The child in question is in a coma. Dreaming of Mt. Dew and doritos when suddenly the grim reaper spawns in front of him.
The grim reaper looks down to the child.
"So.... xX420weedblazer2002Xx, are you ready for the match of your life?!"
"Yes, m8." He responds profoundly.
They get down to business. The grim readers spawns him and himself in the middle of nowhere. A strange but familiar structure is beside them.
"Rust, huh?... " the kid says, as the grim reaper spawns him a Intervention.
The grim reaper nods.
Both of them stand in the opposite side of the map as the familiar orchestra music begins, and the countdown begins ticking.
"Let's do this." The narrator says.
The kid zooms in and immediately gets a headshot. The grim reaper starts shouting.
This kid was something special I tell you. The grim reaper never stood a chance. His weed blazing skills along with his pro mountain dew drinking and doritos gave him the power to destroy the grim reaper.
As he nears the 30th kill, he jumps off the highest point of the map and gets the sickest trickshot he has ever pulled. The game ends.
30-7. The score marker says.
The grim reaper approaches the kid.
"You have proved yourself worthy to live and drink more mountain dew. You may wake up now. The only condition is in 2014 you must make a account on this website named Reddit, and you will name it RedditSilver. From there you must spread the love of [Reddit silver.](http://i.imgur.com/sy9lVl4.jpg)"
And he did.
*The End* | 2014-09-15T20:25:22 | 2014-09-15T20:15:28 | 448 | 144 |
[WP] You sit with him in his final moments. His paw in your hand. Such a good boy. As he leaves you witness his life flash before your eyes. To him, you were a glorious king and he, your most noble of knights. Many adventures you had together. You decide to share some with the world and so you write | The forest was thick and impenetrable. Its tangled branches and deep shadows obscured the danger within. Brave Sir Robert leaned on his sword, contemplating.
"Well, Sir Rufford, it seems we must be on with it. There's a dragon in there. I know it." Robert turned to regard Rufford, who sat solemnly on the ground to Robert's side. "What say you?"
Rufford did not answer. He looked from Robert to the forest and simply strode forward, pushing his way into the the undergrowth. Robert nodded to himself and followed.
The branches grew impossibly close and the leaves blocked the sun. Robert caught sight of Rufford for a moment and then he was gone, stalking through the wood with intensity. Robert's foot caught, nearly tripping him. As he regained his balance he heard Rufford growl. He snapped his head up, anxious.
"What is it, boy?" Robert whispered as loud as he dared. A crash of foliage answered. Something burst into movement to his front and a split second later Sir Rufford charged into view.
"Rufford, stay!" Robert cried as he gave chase. "You can't take a dragon on your own!" He pushed and cleaved his way through the trees, wooden fingers clawing at his face and arms. Sunlight blinded him as he stumbled free. He blinked and shaded his eyes, searching the field.
There! Sir Rufford had cornered the dragon by a stone and stood tensed, waiting on it to make the first move. Robert raised his sword and cried, "Get the dragon, boy! Get him! I'm coming!"
"Dinner time!" Bobby's mother called, leaning out the porch door,
"Aw, mom!" Bobby wailed, "We were fighting dragons!" Rufus loped away from the lizard, tail wagging, and tried to push into the house.
"Come wash your hands! And don't let Rufus in, you know how your Father can't resist his begging for scraps."
Bobby sighed, "Ok, fine."
"And stay out of my bushes. They're for *decoration* not *destruction.*"
_________
"Get the dragon, boy, get him." Robert tossed a lizard onto Rufus and laughed as Rufus twisted and turned. The tiny lizard clenched the long, golden hair of Rufus' back like a vice. Finally, Rufus bounded close enough to a bush that the lizard jumped free and disappeared. Rufus didn't seem to notice.
Robert laughed again but suddenly stopped. "I'm going to miss you, ya mutt," he said, his voice growing sad, "but it's only for a semester. I'll be back before you know it."
Rufus stopped flopping and trotted over to Robert to lick his hand. He sat, leaning against Robert's leg. Robert patted Rufus' head and then leaned down for a hug.
"Stay," Robert whispered, and then he stood and walked over to his packed car, got in and drove away. Rufus watched.
________
The church was crowded, but hushed. A piano played. Rufus sat in the foyer by a window and waited, gray-gold hair shining in the sunlight. His family mingled with people Rufus didn't know. They'd given him a bath the night before. He was still a little miffed about that, so he didn't join in. Besides, Bobby wasn't among them. The sunlight warmed him, easing his aches. He fell asleep.
Rufus woke up to one of Bobby's new friends rubbing his head. "Come on, boy, it's time." He motioned to the large doors leading to the sanctuary. Rufus got up slowly with a whimper, head low. The man lead him gently to the opening, tying something onto Rufus' head.
Rufus looked up to see rows of pews filled with people watching him and an aisle down the center. And at the end of the aisle was Bobby, motioning to him. *Bobby!*
Rufus ran to him.
"Hey boy! You got the rings? Alright. Thanks Rufus!" Rufus' tail wagged uncontrollably. Bobby mussed Rufus' hair and laughed. "We'll catch dragons later, ok? Now go sit by Dad and stay."
_____
Robert sat in his living room floor. The fire in the fireplace guttered and spat, burning low, but still warm. Rufus lay in his lap. He stroked the pale gray hairs of Rufus' face. His wife sat with him, hugging him.
Rufus looked with his eyes between them and then settled on Bobby. His breathing slowed. He placed his paw in Bobby's hand and sighed, one last sigh, and closed his eyes.
"Stay," Robert said, "Stay." | TW - ANIMAL DEATH
—
There’s a few things in life you can’t prepare for, and crouching on the side of a road in a downpour, holding your best friend as he dies in your arms is at the top of that list.
Oliver was my best friend. He stuck with me for years while friends came and went, relationships turned toxic, circumstances changed. At times we lived like kings and at others we hid out under bridges to sleep. My dog was my confidant, the one being I could trust to always love me no matter what.
And now he was relying on me for the same.
The car came out of nowhere as we were crossing a street, lights off and brakes squealing. Must have been moving quick, because by the time I turned it was already gone, shot off into the dark.
Where my dog had been now lay a whimpering heap. I ran to him, picking him up and carrying him gently. I’m not sure which of us hurt more. I laid him down under the branches of a tree, holding him tight to me with my eyes wide in shock.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Oliver had never done anything to anyone. I should have been hit by that car. I should have died. I was the addict, the junkie, the tweaker. I was the sinner. Oliver was innocent. But I guess that’s the way these things happen sometimes. Fate can decide to be kind or cruel, and there’s nothing we can do.
I still remember his eyes, full of pain, looking into mine. I saw something there, hurt but also trust, despair but also love.
I saw him as a puppy, the tiny white collie I’d picked out when I got my first apartment. The growing dog which had knocked my furniture around in his clumsiness and had stood guard during the night in my protection. The friend who had stood at my side with teeth bared during the mugging attempt a year ago.
And now I saw him as the light left, his old eyes conveying a mature wisdom I’ve never seen before or since. His eyes told me that he was proud to be my dog, and I believed them. I told him that I couldn’t have asked for a better companion.
No amount of practice will take away the trepidation a skydiver feels on his first jump, or the guilt a paramedic feels when their first patient is lost. Pilots trained on simulators will take some time to get used to the feeling of a real plane bucking against their control. Some of our emotions are so vivid we’re changed entirely after the experience.
Oliver was my catalyst, and my addictions slipped away that night as easy as my tears in the rain. I only wish I had realized what I had sooner. | 2018-11-01T21:51:11 | 2018-11-01T21:10:41 | 1,030 | 772 |
[WP] Your sister disappeared on her way to school, but no one noticed. When you asked your parents they told you you didn’t have a sister. All the family pictures in your house only show you and your parents. You spend the next 7 years investigating until you receive a knock on your door. | Just for the record, what I am about to say will make you slowly walk away out of fear for your safety. It'll sound crazy, but it's true. You're just going to have to believe me.
I don't remember much about my youth. Most of what I remember are glimpses of events, some vague faces, and feelings of dread and hatred. From what my parents have taught me, I used to be a big trouble maker when I was young. But that all changed with my sister. I was around 12 or so and had developed a strong case of depression. I saw no point in living anymore and often contemplated suicide. My sister, Audrey, had just turned 20 and could clearly see that something was troubling me.
One day when I came home from school, she was in the kitchen, cutting up an apple into slices. As I entered the front door from the absolute hell that was 7th grade, she talked to me. She wanted us to sit down and just talk about our feelings. As she proposed this to me she started peeling off the skins of the apple slices in front of her. Just the way I liked it. I couldn't help but smile.
This continued for several years, us talking for several hours every night. Sometimes we'd watch a movie, sometimes we'd read a book like we were part of a two-person book club, and sometimes all we would do is just talk to each other as if nothing was wrong. And it worked. I became more energetic, more focused, more... more like myself.
This continued for several years, well into high school. One time I brought up how I was struggling to come up with ways to ask a girl in my class if she wanted to go to Prom with me. She said that she didn't have the best luck with boys in high school either because of her looks. She said that the bright red birthmark the stretched across the right side of her forehead always scared the boys off. I told her that I thought her birthmark was cute, sort of a way to make her stand out. The conversation ended with me having the courage to ask the girl to the dance. The girl would eventually become my wife later down the line.
The last time I saw Audrey was less than a week before she started her last week of medical school. It was the day I moved out for my freshman year of college. I gave her a huge hug that lasted almost a minute, and ended with her having large wet stains from my tears on her shirt. The last thing I ever said to her was "Thank you." To which she responded, "No, thank you."
That was the last I saw her. Of course, I didn't know it at the time as when she stopped answering my texts, I thought it was because I had bad cell service from campus. It wasn't until Thanksgiving that I learned the truth. When I came home that weekend, I was so excited to finally see Audrey again. Little did I know that I wouldn't see her. In fact, when I asked everyone where Audrey was, they always answered with "I don't know an Audrey" or "You mean Aunt Audrey?" I was furious. Why was everyone acting as though my sister didn't exist. At first I thought it was just a cute prank that she decided to pull on me that went on for far too long. That is, until I looked at the family portrait that hung above the fire place in the living room. She was gone. Instead of having her stand to my right, us holding hands, she wasn't there. It was only me and my parents. I refused to leave the house until they told me where my sister was. To which they responded with 'You never had a sister'. It wasn't until I was threatened to be cut off financially that I finally decided to go back to campus.
That was seven years ago.
Seven years have passed since my sister disappeared. Seven years since everyone acted as though she had never existed. I still think about her often and rarely ever go to my parents house as the memories it brings back are just too painful. I have since graduated college, and have begun my medical training to become a pediatrician. I proposed to my wife shortly after graduation and we were expecting our first child any minute. We were expecting a beautiful baby girl that we were going to name Audrey. The day my wife called me to say she was heading to the hospital was the happiest day of my life. It was also the most confusing.
I was caught in traffic on my way to the hospital so I missed the birth of my daughter. I was furious, but that didn't matter. I rushed into the hospital and made my way up to my wife's room. As she entered, she told me to be quiet, as our daughter was sleeping in her arms. I couldn't help but cry a little at the sight of it. But as I approached my wife, I noticed something. I pulled back on the blanket wrapped around my daughter and confirmed my suspicions. My daughter had a light cover of blond hair on top of her head and had a mostly normal appearance.
Except for the bright red birthmark that stretched along the right side of her forehead.
I jumped back in shock and tripped over the IV rack sitting next to my wife. My wife asked what was wrong, but everything around me was spinning. I said that I didn't feel well and left the room. It took me a minute to catch my breath, but when I did I couldn't go back in there. So I left and drove home.
I sat at home for several hours, my phone blowing up with texts from my wife and parents about where I was, if I was okay, things like that. I felt like I was losing my mind. "How could my daughter have the same birthmark as my sister?" I asked myself. "It-it must be genetic" I answered, trying to think of how this could possibly happen.
Just as I was about to text my wife back to tell her that I'm on my way back to the hospital, there was a knock at my door. I got up and looked through the peephole to see the mailman climb back into his truck. I opened the door and saw a letter fall at my feet. I picked it up and noticed that it was addressed to me. I also noticed that it was written in my sister's handwriting. I grabbed the letter and brought it back into my house. I opened the letter in my kitchen and read it.
"Dear brother,
By the time you're reading this, I'm sure you've found out the truth. As for how I did it, well that's a long story. To shorten it up, I helped discover time travel. And in exchange for my efforts, they offered me one free trip to whatever period of time I wanted. As for why I chose to spend it pretending to be your sister, well, when I was young I was depressed and struggled to find purpose. You helped me by talking about your long-lost sister, Audrey, and how she helped you when you needed help.
It took me a while to realize that you truly believed you had a sister, and that it wasn't just a metaphor for an imaginary friend when you were a toddler. And when I realized that, I knew what I had to do. I became your sister and helped you in the same way that you helped me. As for how you remembered who I was after I left, I don't know. Maybe love truly does transcend time and space.
Don't worry. I'll see you when I get back in a few decades.
So, thanks, Dad. Thanks for Everything.
\-Audrey" | I opened the door and knew it was her. She wasn't 11 anymore, obviously, as the young woman standing there smiling greeted me.
"Tiggy?" I asked, then gave her full name, "Tigalasia?" It was an odd name in comparison to mine.
"Todd," she looked past me into my apartment, then whistled appreciatively, "Nice digs! Gonna invite me in so we can talk?"
"Come in," I said and she stepped past me and dropped her leather backpack onto a chair. As I closed the door, she turned around and laughed, "Where have you been?"
"Before I answer that," she stood just under six feet tall, almost exactly my height give an inch, "I think I have a question for you."
"Go on," I said guardedly. I don't know what I had expected. After all the therapy sessions and hell I had been through. I stated angrily, "I sure the hell have a lot of questions for you!"
"Don't be angry," Tiggy said, sliding down onto my couch beside her leather bag. I noted that the workmanship of the bag reminded me of something out of the early twentieth century or even before, "Todd, how do you remember me?"
"What the fuck?" I asked her, my desperation, my hate, my love, my wanting to strangle her all coming out in that one exclamation. I willed myself to calm down, "Why shouldn't I remember you?"
"Shit, Todd," she laughed, "When I saw that poster near the post office, I about died."
"Where the hell have you been, Tiggy?" I asked her, a tear forcing its way from my eye, "Why does nobody else remember you?"
"You won't believe me," she said flatly.
"Try me, sis," I answered just as flatly.
"You sure you're ready for this?" she said, and I noticed that Tigalasia was shaking.
"Yes." I answered, wanting to comfort her and wanting to push her out the window at the same time.
"Fine," she said and the words came out so fast that my brain had trouble processing them, "When a fairy is born of royalty, especially the old families, it is tradition to place them with a human family to be raised until their 11th birthday. Now the human stories about changelings aren't true, we don't take a baby and replace it with another baby of fae birth, that would be cruel - not that my kind can't be cruel. They keep their faery name, haven't you ever wondered about my name, Tigalasia? Does that even sound like something George and Lisa would name their child, Todd? Well, we're put there to learn human customs and about their world because it is the best way to prepare us for the dangers that humans can pose to us"
She had suddenly stopped talking and was gauging my reaction.
"Bullshit," I yelled, "Did you run away?"
"I was returned to my kingdom," she smiled, "On my 11th birthday. Forget-me magic was used on our family. It worked, well except for you for some reason."
"Wait," I suddenly had a thought pop in my mind, "You're saying you're a fairy? Of royal birth?"
"Yep." she said.
My laughter caused her to frown. I couldn't help myself. Seven years of pent up frustration came out of me at the thought.
"What's so funny?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.
"You're... you're..." I said, gasping for breath through guffaws, "You're trying to tell me you're a fairy princess?"
"Yes, I am," she said, giving me a dangerous look as my laughter became louder at her answer, "Look lunkhead..." she said finally, the old insult cutting through my humor.
"They said *I* was crazy?" I said, my laughter dying slowly, "But you... oh you take the cake, Princess Bubbles!"
"Fuck you," she said, and sighed.
"That's not very princess-like," I said, wiping the tears with the back of my hands.
"Fine," she said and stood up.
"Fine?" I asked, suddenly wary of static building in my apartment.
She suddenly sprouted wings. They were six feet across her back and were like those of a monarch butterfly. My mind looked for the trick. My mind searched for the illusion. Then she flapped them and I fainted.
____
"Wake up, lunkhead," she said, pouring water on my face from a canteen she had pulled from her leather pack, "We've got work to do."
"Work?" I said, standing up and looking at the strange trees and the small butterflies darting between the branches. Nope, not butterflies, fairies.
"Welcome to fairyland, dummy," she patted me on the back, "I didn't just come back to visit for old times sake, Todd. I need your help." | 2020-05-03T11:39:04 | 2020-05-03T11:32:13 | 76 | 16 |
[WP]The entire human population are put into induced comas in underground facilities. You don't dream or age. Today is "The Awakening" and humans will walk the Earth for the first time in 25 years. The doors open and you take your first step into the world you used to call home. | The lights came on in stages. For decades what had resided in darkness became illumined, the floodlights stepping through the long tunnels. The generators whirred at a higher pitch now that the Slumber was over.
It took a month of slow recuperation within the pods while consciousness seeped back into the people, their muscles were revived, their weakened bodies taken from the slumber state.
And then, as one, they came awake.
Donald did not open his eyes at first. He clenched his left hand, his right hand, opened his mouth, licked his lips. He felt vague. His body reacted after the thought, as if he were controlling some distant machine.
He heard the hiss of the pod and then a dank breeze across his face. It was warm. He opened his eyes. Or, he thought of opening his eyes, and then half a second later they opened.
He had been told about it before: a cavern cut by immense machines, a thousand pods lining the walls. There were five thousand such caverns, each one branching from the long tunnels that curved half a mile below the surface.
The surface.
Bleached, the media had called it. A safer total annihilation. Nuclear fallout would have blasted the earth for a thousand years, but chemical warfare could be modified. 7 billion dead, let the earth lie fallow for 25 years and the chemicals slowly fade away, and then return with the remnants of humanity.
Donald told his body to rise from the pod and step onto the concrete floor. He hoped this grogginess would pass soon. It was disorientating having to wait for his body to follow his orders.
About him, the others were waking and stepping from their pods. He recognised some. A musician. A politician. A woman who had hosted a lunchtime chat show. The chosen.
Some people were already passing by in the tunnel. They staggered, relearning to walk. They looked insignificant against the immensity of the tunnel. Donald joined them crowd. There was little talking, whether out of awe or fatigue. It was the first time any of them had seen this place. They had each been chosen and then anesthetized before arriving here. The tunnels and caverns were kept secret for obvious reasons.
Ahead of the crowd, a large door, sixty feet high, began to open. A slice of natural light parted the way. Donald stared. The last thing he remembered had been the medics standing over him with their anaesthetic, but the distance in time, even asleep, made the sunlight a strange sight.
Together, the milling thousands walked through the doors.
Trees. A hill prickled with bushes and shrubs. Clouds. People began to weep.
Donald felt it too, his throat swelling. He wanted to stop himself. But his thoughts were too slow for his body. Too slow. He staggered. He thought of stepping forward, putting his hands out to halt his fall, but his body did not respond. He fell and struck his head. Someone screamed nearby.
‘What are we!? What have they done to us?!’
Donald raised his hand to his face. His eye had come loose. Dazed, he saw it, and it saw him, from the palm of his hand. His eye buzzed, crackled with electricity, its motors and gears cranking their last, and then switched off.
| We trusted it to the machines.
By the time we left it to them, the Earth was faulty, sparking from clouds and billowing smoke.
Civilisation rattled on, but everything produced, every man and animal was broken. They were going to fix it, our clean and polished mechanics. They waved and smiled us away, tucked us in while the repair work was done.
We woke up for the bright new dawn of man, but when we got to the surface it was night. As we staggered out and saw stars in the sky, the moon glittered with a new city.
Ruins still all around. Bitter taste in the air, thunder too close and gas still settled in the hollows.
At every lift hatch in sight, some poor fool looked dumbfounded at a nearby sign. Each was a beautiful and unique creation. Some in neon, others glittered, monochrome or rainbow.
They all said
"Sorry! :-( " | 2015-04-23T05:44:19 | 2015-04-23T04:06:42 | 132 | 56 |
[WP] It’s the zombie apocalypse except only the senior citizens are infected. With frail joints and no teeth, the general population is merely inconvenienced by rapid grandpas and grandmas trying to gum them to death.
From a post by u/icantseemtopoop in r/CrazyIdeas
edit : Loved all the responses so far, it always amazes me how quickly stories are submitted on WP and in spite of that how well thought-out they are.
If you liked this prompt make sure to upvote u/icantseemtopoop's [post](https://www.reddit.com/r/CrazyIdeas/comments/7wij4m/a_zombie_movie_but_only_the_senior_citizens_are/?ref=share&ref_source=link) because I basically stole his/her idea and turned it into a WP.
edit 2 : rabid not rapid, can't even copy a post properly | Mommy and Daddy left me with Granny.
It was a lot of fun! We drew pictures and ate cookies. My favorite, the kind with the oatmeal and chocolate chips!
Granny put on her old-fashioned record player, and we danced a lot too. Swinging and laughing and singing along to songs I didn’t really know about.
Then we went to the zoo. There were lots of cool animals, didja know gorilla’s sometimes run at the glass and jump at it? It was really scary but grandma just laughed and said he was no scarier than her neighbor’s chihuahua.
I thought the chihuahua was pretty scary though. He was always loud and mean.
When we left the zoo, we saw something really weird though. We passed by the place where Granny plays bingo on Sunday after Church… There were police cars all out in front. Grandma looked really scared. She put her hand on my head and told me to keep down.
I pouted but did what I was told. I heard fireworks!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Fireworks right there and I missed ‘em!
Granny put me to bed that night. We had to sleep in the “panic room” I don’t know why it’s called that. I like it. There’s my toy box Grandma kept down there and extra clothes and lots of food. There’s also the radio and the extra TV too.
We stayed up late that night. Granny was watching the news, she looked really scared. I didn’t really understand what it was saying.
Something about a disease.
A really bad disease.
“Am I gonna get sick?”
“No lovebug, ol’Granny’s not gonna let you get sick.”
Mommy and Daddy got me in the morning. Granny came with us, packing up all kinds of stuff. Even Grandpa’s picture from her dresser! Grandpa died last year.
It was really sad. Granny cried a lot. But she was better then.
At least we thought she was.
There were more fireworks, but they wouldn’t let me see!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Lots and lots of fireworks!
“Oh no… Carl too?” Granny whispered.
“Whose Carl?”
“An old friend… Looks like he’s sick…”
“Mom, are you sure you alright?”
“I’m positive Hannah. I kept Josie safe during all that yesterday.”
I was really sleepy from the drive though. I don’t remember much else.
I remember feeling the car shake.
I remember hearing someone scream.
I remember flying through the air…
And I remember how much my back hurt when I fell again. When, I woke up… It was really bad. The car was ruined.
I couldn’t see Mommy and Daddy. Just… Burned things where they were. Where was Granny?
“Granny? Granny where are you?” I yelled looking around. The street had a lot of cars tipped over or burned. This didn’t look right.
There were people in the street, but they weren’t moving.
“Granny?” My voice got all squeaky - like it did when I cried. “Granny? I’m scared! I wanna go back to your house!”
I heard something behind me… From the car. I looked behind me… Oh I never felt so happy.
Granny was pulling herself out of the car as busted up as it was. She was hurt but she looked okay…
She looked funny though. Not a haha funny.
Her skin was all Grey. Her eyes were all dull looking. She was holding her backpack and mine. She moved slowly to me and put it on me.
She was so quiet. Usually she’d be all worried and stuff.
“Granny?”
She took my hand, it was really cold. She started to lead me away, off of the street and into the field that lead into the forest.
She only said one thing.
“Granny, love Josie.”
“I love you too Granny.”
Granny wasn’t the same after that. We heard fireworks a lot from where we camped out. She’d sometimes disappear for a while and come back, her mouth covered in red paint. She’d bring me back berries, or she’d catch something and cook it up for me.
She never let me see what it used to be. I know it was goat though. The goat farmer was like Granny. All grey and pale. All cold and dull eyed.
I don’t know what’ll happen. But at least I have Granny!
| In the same state but many miles apart, two people come to the same conclusion:
*Something is wrong here.*
Of course, they weren't the first people to reach this very obvious conclusion, but they will be the main characters of this story.
Now, these two people...one of them was a young, government employed scientist and the other was a young, elementary school boy.
The only thing this scientist and boy had in common was an insatiable curiosity and a tendency to ask too many questions, which oftentimes got them in trouble.
On this blessed day, the scientist clicked his pen repeatedly and swiveled around in his chair to face his colleagues. The boy sat on the top step of his porch and looked at his friends. Together, but far apart, they said:
"Doesn't it seem weird to anyone that only old people with *no teeth* got the virus?"
The scientist's colleagues and the boy's friends shared glances, then slowly confirmed with head nods.
And here, because of different experiences, their dialogue broke apart.
The scientist said, "What is it about old people with no teeth that makes them targets for this zombie virus?"
"It can't be airborne," the boy continued the thought, "because Old Man Jenkins" - the cranky, old man who lived in their neighborhood - "is old, has no teeth, and sits outside all day and he hasn't turned into a zombie."
Their thoughts merged together again: "So, *what* could it be?"
The colleagues and the friends sat around, pretending to be interested, but really they could care less. *Their* grandparents weren't zombies, and even if they were, the zombies weren't that much of a threat anyway.
The scientist||boy said, "Think about this. Who are old people most like? Babies, right? No teeth, poop their pants, need other people to take care of them and complain a lot, right? Right. So..." They looked around to make sure everyone was paying attention. "What happens when babies start teething? What do they do a lot? What have the zombies been doing to us?"
Eyes widened with realization.
| 2018-02-10T10:22:45 | 2018-02-10T08:24:04 | 63 | 37 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | I sigh, and look around. At all the supermen, and wonderwomen. I remember when I used to watch these in awe, longing for the day I would get to participate in **THE POWER GAMES**!!! A sort of super obstacle course that every 16 year old gets to participate in, and at the end, you get to pick a super power mod, a small beaker filled with a fluid that will change your life (and genetics) forever. But, there are only a limited number of powers, so you only get to pick from the powers left when you finish the Obstacle course, so the better you do, the more and better powers you have to pick from.
Like I said, once, I used to dream about getting a cool power, and sometimes, in my deepest dreams, I thought about getting the *Super mod*, a mod that gives you a bunch of powers. Those are always picked by the first winner.
"Hey, *normy*. I can't believe you showed up today, that took some guts. But guts will only get you so far." I feel a clap on my back that's sure to leave a welt and serious bruising, as Tristan walks past. I seethe.
Like I keep say, I *used* to dream about all this, but then I learned the truth. The truth is, only the rich, or well-connected get the real super powers, because they can either afford physical mods, mods that make you super humanly fast and strong, and sharpen your senses and reaction time to a super point, or are gifted said mods.
But people like me, whose family couldn't afford them, or didn't know the right people, well, we're just forgotten about. People like my dad, who made the best time his family ever had, and he only got moderate telekinesis. My mom didn't even take the test because she thought there was no point.
But I have a plan. I figured it out in school, because of "Power Outlook class," which is pretty much just a class for the rich and powerful to stroke their egos, and for the poor to get a tantalizing taste of something they'll never get. We're given a list of powers that will be available after we finish the course, and we're able to take "Temp mods" to test out powers that we might want. Of course, everyone tested out the super mod, and it was amazing, to not feel weak, to be able to see, hear, and decipher everything going on around you. But, I noticed a power that almost no one takes, even the last placers. Transmutation.
It makes sense, the reasons one would take a power like that, turning things that aren't, say, gold into gold to get rich, and things like that are illegal, so it becomes useless. So I tried it out. It was about as lack luster as you'd think, without being able to use it to get rich. But then, I thought of something. I took out my phone, and took out a rock, and I focused. I felt the phone in it's entirety, mostly plastic, and I focused. I focused on the metal within, and I turned a rock into copper. Neat.
So next class, while the coach was teaching the soon-to-be heroes, I grabbed Squeakers, our biology teachers pet rat, and I focused on him. It was a mess. The rat was fine, but trying to read organic material was a mess, it's so interlinked. But, I kept at it. And eventually, I was able to read the rat, from enzymes to cells, I could turn things into the base components of a living rat. And I learned, the better I could read something, the less I actually needed it to transmute something into a component of it. I was set.
So here I am. I just finished the course, second to last. And I choose the transmutation power. It's a real shocker to the audience, it's so rare for someone to pick Transmutation. Some people express their pity, "oh, such a poor boy, he chose a throw away power." Most laugh though. I keep a stoic *I'm not gonna let them see me cry* face, but on the inside, I'm giddy with anticipation.
As the final week approached before we were to take the course, and pick a power, with the temp transmutation mod on, I went around and sucked up to all the potential winners of the best powers, making sure I shook a hand, or got a high five multiple times, or even a "playful" shove. And I read them. As I enter the finish area after drinking my mod, I grab a bottle of water, and begin shaking hands with the top winners. I make sure to drink my water.
After a sappy speech, and some bowing, we all go home, and I head out for a secluded area in the forest.
Super mod. Shape shifting mod. hyper intelligence mod. Invisibility mod. Pyrokinesis mod. Superior Telekinesis mod. Aquakinesis mod. And most importantly, Transmutation mod.
I sit, hovering just below the tree line, grinning. I have all the best mods. Everyone else had to pick one, but because I looked into an over-looked mod, I was able to get them all.
When I picked transmutation, most people laughed, including my classmates who got the best mods. Well, whose laughing now? | At first, they thought I was worthless. No measurable potential, plus likely schizophrenia. In school, I would have been a great target for bullies, but they never found me, despite my complete lack of stealth or mobility enhancements.
I tried insisting that the voice was a legitimate power, but even mentioning it meant an increase in dosages and another trite storyline about getting new replacements. I was invincible and helpless at the same time, as long as my mind want coffee up with shrink-pills. Even with the pills, I could still read, but it's a lot weirder to stare at the left of the sky than to listen to a mood appropriate voice.
The little shits caught me once. I don't even know who clocked me with the bookbag, but I went down hard, kissing concrete and waking up weeks later in a haze of painkillers. I couldn't focus to read with the drip, but I was in too much pain to think without it. When I finally recovered enough to hear again, the voice had changed. Barney wasn't warning me about danger any more. Now Russell Crowe was waxing poetic about revenge. In the absence of anything better to do, I listened.
I discovered that I could stand the pain. I discovered that I didn't have to listen to Maximus. There were plenty of others to listen to, each appropriate to their own plots. I found one that sounded like Robert Eglund, and began to plan my revenge.
Fortunately, the Aqualads we're almost as much of a laughingstock as me, so mother dearest didn't blink when I asked for some high end scuba gear. Rated for superhuman crush depth, it was more than I needed to swim, but perfect for keeping all my skin cells and follicles to myself. Maisie told me about catching the cat, Steven told me where it should be found, and Clive told me what I did to it once I got there. Mr. Quarterback just might get out of the mental ward by the time I feel clean again, but the place will probably just drive him mad.
In a world full of supers, highschool takes forever. In a schoolyear that never ends, there's plenty of time to learn Japanese. Every time I thought of giving up, Mandy would do something new and cruel to bring my motivation right back. The day I got detention for looking at her, the fury building in me boiled over and something finally clicked in my brain. I listened to Sokoshi all night, and spent weeks setting my trap. Now she kneels all day in her room, bare to the world and softly chanting "I'm sorry".
There are others, of course, but someone has tipped off the police, and I'd like to not be here when they break down the door and find the pile of meat in the fridge that used to be your sister. One look at you, covered in her grime, with her blood in your stomach (the tea), and her body so close, and even the local police will put two and two together. Ciao.
| 2017-06-12T09:36:31 | 2017-06-12T06:39:02 | 34 | 22 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/). | Charles looked over the rim into the wasteland below. Charred plains, dead woods, and rocky canyons seemingly stretched on forever. The sight was similar to standing on a beach and trying to find the end of an ocean. Dotted about the landscape, spaced far from one another, stood vague structures. From his vantage point Charles knew that they must, in fact, be quite large. That their true forms where distorted and blurred by distance and the haze that seemed to thicken the air.
Behind Charles was only darkness. Some voice deep inside told him going back was impossible, and he believed that voice completely. His only option was to make his way down the rim into the waste below. As so many people had before him and countless people would afterward, Charles decided to head for one of the structures.
The trip was uneventful. It seemed the trip took an eternity and at the same it felt that only a blink of the eye found Charles in the shadow of an ancient castle. The castle wall was beginning to crumble in places and stones from the parapets littered the ground at the base of the wall. Charles called out yet received no reply. For a year or a second, he wasn't quite sure, Charles made his way around the decaying structure. When reaching the opposite side from where he started he found a large door.
His shadow was cast upon the door from a hidden sun that some how still burned bright and hot against his back. As the cold shadow on the opposite side had cracked the stone of the castle walls, the sun had warped and rotted the large wooden door. This produced an opening for all in what was once designed to open for only a selected lot. Charles, without hesitation, entered.
He walked through a long dim passage. He could not make out what entrances and exits the walls held, or what material and designs adorned it. He did, however, see the light at the far end. He made for that light not bothering to look to his left or to his right.
Charles exited the passage and found himself at the edge of massive courtyard. Once upon a time this place must have been beautiful to behold. Now it was nothing more than rot. Intricate tile work had long been cracked by black vines. Pools that once housed fish and fountains sat stagnant, and covered in black scum. In the very center of the courtyard stood a once grand statue now blackened with dead vines, cracks, and mold.
Walking towards the statue Charles noticed a stone tablet resting at its feet. The tablet was not as old looking as the rest of the castle. It was not as black, not as cracked. Though the engraving in the stone was of an unknown form of writing Charles began to read it out loud.
"Here stands Vul, God of rock and earth. He protected us for a time from the unnamed horrors of the waste. In the end not even He could save us from the monsters who have no God." | My thoughts were certain,
All Gods were fiction,
I didn't foresee,
The true benediction
Walled within,
Their utopian setting,
The dwellers rejoice,
While I'm left regretting
I'm surrounded by fools,
Oh how simple we were,
Not an ounce of faith,
We believed it was slur
All I wish is for,
All I demand,
Is one more chance,
On that beautiful land
I'd give all to thee,
I'd do so much more,
For now I can see,
What was always in store
| 2017-11-21T07:24:11 | 2017-11-21T06:54:46 | 113 | 53 |
[WP] You have died. You walk up a staircase and it takes you a thousand years to climb. You reach the top exhausted, and see the pearly gates. To your surprise, they have rusted over and inside is completely barren. A sign reads "Welcome to heaven. Population: 1" | To my surprise, the stairway to heaven was excruciatingly literal. I lost track of how long it took to get to the top, but it didn't really matter. Without the assistance of a bright sun to light the day or a moon and stars to illuminate the dark night, time itself was incalculable. One foot in front of the other, I climbed the stairs for an eternity. Although at this point I was out of my body, I still felt the limitations of having one. The one thing that kept me climbing was the thought of seeing my family and friends again, who I had all outlived from my decades of marathon running.
When I reached the top, I dropped on my knees, Heaven looked like an unimaginable utopian beauty. Buildings appeared to be made of solid gold. The sky was a deeper blue than the bluest sky on Earth. Light radiated from inside the gates, warmly inviting me as I stood up and strolled past the gate. I walked around for a bit, trying to take it all in. There were no words to describe the golden edifices or the jewel-encrusted trees.
I had spent most of my life worrying if I would get into heaven when I died. Although I told people that I did not believe in God, or any god for that matter, I recited a short prayer every night to calm the fear that persisted in the back of my mind that God was real.
"Those prayers must have paid off", I muttered to myself as I strolled past a garden that housed plants that I had never seen before.
Heaven was every bit as ravishing as I had imagined, but there was one problem. I had not seen a single soul yet. Was everyone asleep?
After spending what felt like hours wandering through the endless streets, I began to call out for my family.
"Mom?! Dad?!" I yelled. There was no answer except the echoing of my voice off of the buildings. I began to run; there had to be people somewhere, right? There were many people who I could think of that deserved to be in heaven much more than I did. Where was Martin Luther King Jr., or Moses? Where the hell was Stan Lee?
Eventually, I came across a grandiose red throne that to competed with the size of the empire state building. On the throne sat someone whose size fit the throne perfectly. Other than his size, this being did not appear any differently than an old man on Earth, with frail limbs and the last remnants of gray hair on a balding scalp. He appeared to be in a stupor and did not notice me as I approached, as his chin rested on the palm of his hand and his gaze transfixed toward the ambiguous horizon.
"God?!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. The being did not seem to believe what he had heard at first. His eyes squinted as he tried to focus in on me. He wiped off the reading glasses that he was wearing and put them back on.
"Finally, someone has come to take my place!", the old being's voice sounded labored.
"Where is my family?" I asked, ignoring his previous statement.
"Well, considering the fact that no one else has made the 1,000-year climb, I would say that they are in hell."
"They're in hell, they were such good people! Why am I here and they aren't?"
"It doesn't matter how good of a person you were- if you can't make the climb, you don't get into heaven."
I could not believe what I was hearing. This entire afterlife was only won through a nearly-impossible physical test, and not any amount of good deeds or moral compass. It couldn't be right, it didn't *feel* right.
"I want to go to hell," I told the being
"It's too late for that, son. I need to rest and there needs to be someone to take over and wait for the next soul to complete the climb."
I screamed and ran towards the gate. I had to get back outside, and if I could jump off of the staircase there would be a chance of falling into hell. I made my way towards the gate. the old being let out a laugh that sounded like thunder and echoed through the streets. Eventually, the gate was in sight, but it began to close.
"NO!" I begged. I could not bear to spend my eternity alone. The gate closed fully and made a sound that indicated that it had locked. I was stuck for eternity, or at least until someone else could complete the 1,000-year climb.
"Welcome to heaven. Population: 1!" the old being chuckled as he disappeared from space.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And now I wait. I roam the streets, I stare up at the sky, but there is nothing, and nobody, here for me. I am waiting for someone else to enter heaven hoping to find their family. I will not show them mercy, just as God did not show me any. | *Only one person? How could that be? I thought that heaven was filled with the souls of people.*
**Ahoy! Our first guest! I humbly welcome you, to heaven.**
Um. Thanks? Hey listen, I have a few ques-
**Now we can begin processing you.**
But I have some questio-
**No time. What is your name?**
I'm not answering your questions until you answer mine.
**You get 2 questions.**
Two questions. Wow. You couldn't be like the normal and give either 1 or 3?
**That's one!**
Wait, no! I didn't mean it as a-
**Too bad. One more question.**
Why aren't there like, angels or something here.
***Visibly heated***
**Gah! You really believe the stories they tell you on earth! I have been watching you humans since you have been in existence and you have always been the same! Believing what is told to you and blindly trusting! I don't even know why he wanted** ***you*** **here!**
What do you mean? *He* wanted *me*?
**NO MORE QUESTIONS!**
Ok ok! What exactly do I do?
**NO MORE!** ***heavy breathing as he calms downs***
**Ok. Listen, I am sorry I got so heated. You are the first soul to enter heaven. No more questions please. I am just trying to do my job. Now, let's start with your name.**
*whispering* If this is heaven you should know my name.
**What did you just say.**
Um nothing! Alexander Lewis.
**Ok. Thank you. Now go in.**
Go in...?
**Go into the gates.**
But, they are closed.
**Oh yeah. Here.**
***He proceeds to open the gate.***
Thanks. Um. Goodbye I guess.
**Yes, goodbye.**
*As I walk through the gate, a blinding light stains my eyes. I turn my back to the light and see the same sign I saw when I came up. "Population: 0". Wait, zero? How can that be? I thought I was suppos-*
WAAAAA!
*I can't see. I can't talk. I can only scream. I think I hear a woman. She sounds so loving...*
**He's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Hey little guy, I'm your mommy. I will cherish you forever my beautiful baby boy; Alex Graham.**
​ | 2018-12-17T08:59:28 | 2018-12-17T07:42:31 | 165 | 95 |
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together. | Something is very wrong with me.
Nobody knows what caused this, or even what to call it - this “shift”, or “event”, or “awakening”. I honestly didn’t even realize it had affected me at first. My tattoos are pretty docile - a koi fish on my foot, and an elaborate floral half sleeve. It wasn’t until I saw what was happening with all the others that I decided to see if I had gained any abilities.
It took a while to work up the courage to try it. I sat in the bathtub for what felt like hours, debating with myself over how stupid this seemed. I didn’t even really like swimming, and now I was going to see if I could suddenly breathe underwater?? It was insane. And yet, just the day before, I had seen my best friend take flight and soar above the city. She no longer regretted the ugly butterfly tramp stamp that she got on her 18th birthday. It all seemed so impossible, but these days the impossible is extremely real.
The water was getting cold. My husband knelt next to the tub, ready to help just in case something went wrong. Just in case, for some reason, it hadn’t worked on me. Just in case I was an idiot who was about to drown herself for no reason. This all felt so stupid, but I had to try.
I slipped my head under the water and sat for a moment, briefly enjoying the muffled sound of my own heart in my ears. A sudden calm washed over me and, ignoring all of my instincts, I took a deep breath… and another. And another. And another. It actually worked! I quickly resurfaced and hugged my husband over the side of the bathtub, splashing water onto him. If this was really happening, then what else could I do?
The floral tattoo turned out to be pretty straightforward. I’ve never had much of a green thumb, but now our backyard is the most beautiful it’s ever been.
This could have played out so nicely. Days spent swimming at the lake, and a lush garden year-round. But, like I said, something is very wrong with me.
My husband started feeling sick. Nausea, vomiting, general fatigue. At first we thought maybe it was food poisoning; when it didn’t go away after a day or two, we figured it was a stomach virus. Somehow I didn’t catch it, even though I was stuck at home with him the whole time. After three days he seemed to be getting worse, and I insisted on taking him to the hospital.
The doctors were baffled at first, and I could see the panic in their eyes when they noticed the burns appearing on his skin. They ran a series of tests, and eventually my husband had to be quarantined. Several nurses came in wearing protective suits, and the pieces started clicking together in my head. I overheard one of them say the words that turned my veins to ice:
Radiation sickness.
I had forgotten about them. The tiny dots on my sternum and ribcage, no bigger than freckles, that the doctors and technicians used to help line up the radiation therapy machine for each treatment. An eternal reminder of what my body went through last year, and what I had survived. What was previously a badge of honor was now a terrible curse. The radiation I now emitted was rapidly poisoning the man I loved more than anything. Killing the man who stuck with me when we weren’t sure if I would live or die.
I ran. I didn’t know what else to do. I just knew that I had to get far away from everyone. I’m not sure if it was too late for my husband, but if he had any chance at all then he needed to be removed from the source of his sickness.
I love you, babe. Thank you for everything. I’m so sorry. | The men lined up, ready to storm the building. They were a brotherhood. No, they were more than that. They were *one*. As they closed their eyes they became a single entity, able to harness massive unnatural physical powers they could not generate on their own. Suddenly, Tyler opened his eyes. Something had occurred to him.
"Hey Paul, Didn't you have another tattoo? From when we went to Cabo that once?"
Paul shook his head, "No, what? No. Come on. There's not much time, and Stephanie only has seconds of air left."
"No, I swear, it was right after that Dave Matthews show. Remember? You got a...what was it? It was a joke, right? God, we were so drunk."
The commander's face reddened with fury "TYLER. YOU NEED TO FOCUS! THE SHADOW CORPS ARE COMING AND THE MEN WITH WOLF TATTOOS ARE NOT FAR BEHIND. THIS. IS. NOT. THE. TIME. FOR--"
Tyler's eyes lit up, "It was a dickbutt! I remember. Right on your left butt cheek. Remember you smoked a blunt and said you wanted a shitpost by your shithole?" He stopped, thinking, "Does that mean you grew a..."
"No!" Paul said, "Commander, could you put a stop to this?"
"Son," the commander said, lowering his fusion rifle, "I think we're all going to need to see that tattoo." | 2019-05-07T09:22:41 | 2019-05-07T09:02:42 | 60 | 20 |
[WP] One normal day you see a mouse pointer move across your field of vision, right click, and delete an object. | August 14, 2000:
The day started as normal as any other, waking up in my bed and all. I open the fridge to see what's to eat. Nothing, same as yesterday. On the bright side, it's been so long since my power got shut off, anything in there would spoil anyway. I grab the baking powder and brush my teeth. It's not ideal, but it's good enough until I can buy more paste. At least I'm not totally unbearable - I think.
As I watch myself brush in the mirror, I saw it. It was so quick, I feel like I was lucky to be there, otherwise I think I'd be in the asylum. Out of the blue this little white thing came by and touched the few last things I own. My scarf just disappeared, and not long after that, so did my boots. One by one the white thing took all my belongings, right down to the bed. It was everything I had, and now I'm officially without ANY possessions. I guess with the few dollars I have left, I can stop and get some liquor to keep me warm at least. I throw on my bandana to cover my bare scalp, and grab my gloves. It's fairly cold today.
The white thing has since vanished, which makes me feel a little more safe. I start walking into town, eating any berries I can find along the way.
Suddenly I see the white thing again. I'm so scared, I jump into the bush. I don't want to vanish with my former belongings. I peer through the bush and watch as the white thing moves around. It seems to be attached to a young girl, helping her find her way. She must know where my stuff is, maybe she can help me.
She comes closer to me, and I figure this is a good chance to get her attention. I get out of the bush, and seemingly without looking in my direction, I can tell she can sense me. She stares off into the distance as if she's asking it a question. The white thing starts coming towards me. It's too fast, I can't get away. I close my eyes as I know I'm about to vanish. But I don't. *click* it says, and it touches my chest. Immediately the little girl looks at me. She tells me to leave her alone.
But I just want to ask her about my things
She tells me to leave again
She won't let me explain
Once more she tells me to leave, and I just can't approach her. I'm held back by some force I've never felt before. Aw man. I guess today I don't get my chance to take my things back. I'll find her again tomorrow, and take them back by force if it comes down to that.
Be prepared little girl. Next time you and your little monkey won't be able to stop me from swiping. | Steve woke up one morning, and immediately he saw a mouse pointer on the edge of his bed.
"Oh, this is one of those lucid dream things", Steve said. "Cool"
Steve thought this "dream" was cool, until he saw the cursor go to his bed and click it. A long bar of options popped up, and the cursor clicked delete. Steve fell and hit his head on the floor below. The cursor wasn't done yet, the cursor right clicked the floor, and deleted that too. Steve fell 10 stories to his death. | 2017-02-05T13:33:15 | 2017-02-05T12:26:46 | 105 | 18 |
[WP] You are immortal, never age past 20 and were sentenced to 247 years in jail for your crimes. Your release date is tomorrow, the government is nervous and the world is watching. |
'Thanks, Sarah. I'm here outside Isle Elba Prison where we're counting down to the release of The Governor's son, Charlemagne, two-hundred and forty seven years after he was sentenced to imprisonment here for the murder of twenty-five of The Grand Synod in 3073. Charlemagne, the youngest of The Governor's sons, is expected to walk through those double doors at around dawn tomorrow and rejoin his father back in their family home in central Rome. The Governor has issued a statement that he expects the negotiation regarding terms of surrender for North America to continue in his absence, though sources say there is considerable concern within the government both at his prolonged absence and the return of his prodigal son'
The reporter gestured to the high walls and razor wire behind her, which were being warmed by the Mediterranean sun.
'While little detail on the lives of the inmates of Elba are known to the public, what we do know is that Charlemagne was granted a three year reduction in sentence for good behaviour, and that his lawyers have stated that he understands what he did was wrong, and he hopes to become an active contributing member of society. Further updates when I have them...'
The TV was difficult to hear over the scraping of plates and cutlery in the large prison canteen, but Charlemagne thought he had caught most of it. The programme had moved back to the studio, to go into depth again on his original sensational arrest and trail nearly a two-hundred and fifty years ago. Images of scarlet and white flashed across the scene, followed by videos of court proceedings and grieving crowds.
Two hundred and fifty years, ten for every life he'd taken. He'd sat in silence throughout the trial. He'd known it was coming, planned for it. Only, he'd planned for two-hundred and forty years, not two-hundred and fifty.
The twenty-fifth count of murder, well, the twenty-fifth wasn't one of his. It was the only body that the police at the time had been unable to identify, dressed though he was in the scarlet robes of the pompous Cardinals who made up the Synod's highest rank.
Charlemagne had taken the blame anyway. Hard to convince a jury that you're guilty of all murders but one. Better to remain silent, and plan.
The news report was now flashing up a close-up of his face from the trial, tanned with a dark brow and aquiline nose, inherited from his father. The years in prison had left their mark on him, but not in the usual way. While the faces of the prisoners around him, some of the most dangerous men on the planet, had slowly started to distort through weight gain, lack of sleep, too much sun, and hair loss, Charlemagne remained the youth he had been when he entered the prison. It had been fascinating for him to watch the former titans of cruelty melt into old men up close. Aging wasn't something in his own families genes.
His only physical souvenir was an impressive scar that now ran from his left brow straight down his face - a reminder of a cell-mate brawl only thirty years into his tenure in Elba. It had been one of the many attempts that his other four brother had made on his life while he served his sentence. None of them had been truly serious, thought the knife attack had been the close, more tests to keep Charlemagne on his toes while they waited for him to re-emerge. They likely thought it was all terribly funny. Instead it had provided the most serious obstacle to Charlemagne's only aim when he entered Elba's doors - to stay on the good side of the Prison guards and do whatever he could to reduce his sentence.
Elba had always been the plan. Their father's ambitions had been hampered, and Charlemagne had commited himself to serving that ambition.
The real problem was the twenty-fifth corpse. That hadn't been part of their plan.
Someone had tried to keep him locked up for ten years more that they had planned. Charlemagne didn't like to think what that meant, and now he only had three years to find out. | After 247 years, you really begin to reflect on who you are. Tomorrow will be the first time I can breath without the pressure of my past weighing down on me. I’m aware of what I’ve done, and I’m aware of my power. If I could take it all back, I would. No one should have the power I have.
It’s warm outside. I’m the only one who can appreciate the warmth of the sun. Everyone is too focused on me. It’s so tense out here. Helicopters cover the sky, cameras all focusing on me. There’s no civilians here, no one protesting the end of my incarceration. Things change after 247 years, and technology is no different. The helicopters are empty, controlled remotely. The only humans here are the guards and the officers, a millions guns pointed right at me. Right at my heart. It means nothing but it calms them.
The people who’re no longer here because of me, they’re haunting me. At 20 years old, never getting anything except the bottom of the barrel, when you’re given the ability to take whatever you want, you just run with it. You don’t think of the people you take from or the families now left with anger and the need to take revenge. And it’s those families that hurt me the most. The children of the man I killed, watching me on television, having to grow up without a father, and knowing that one day I’ll go free, no one should feel that. When someone is convicted, there’s a comfort in the thought of ‘they’ll die in prison, they’ll one day repent their sins.’ But not me. | 2019-05-14T13:54:02 | 2019-05-14T13:44:53 | 68 | 12 |
[WP] You are a person who regularly browses the online community called "Writing Prompts", a board where people post intriguing scenarios to inspire creative pieces. One day, you notice a writing prompt that exactly describes a scenario that you distinctly remember. | I need you to upvote this. Okay? I'm not trying to be pathetic here. Normally I don't care about fake internet points. But this is important. This is life and death. You're going to have a hard time believing me, but this is what's happening...
It started ten days ago.
At that point I'd only been writing here a little while. I love writing, but it's hard sometimes to get yourself to do it. Too many other distractions. Too many things that are just easier to do. But I like Writing Prompts. It feels like a challenge. Plus, there's this little mental countdown clock that appears in my brain once I commit to a prompt. Like, I've got to finish quick before I'm buried by all the other great responses.
Anyway, I'd barely been at it when I saw a prompt: "You get a call from a HR rep. Your ex, who recently dumped you, has listed you as a character reference."
You may have seen the prompt, too. Anyway, that's something that actually happened to me, and not that long ago. In my case, my girlfriend had apparently been cheating on me for awhile and was just waiting for the right moment to split. But in the meantime, she hadn't bothered to update her resume and remove my contact info.
It was her dream job, too, and I knew it. I gave her a great recommendation. I felt too cowardly to do anything else. She got the job.
But that was real life. When I saw the prompt I thought to myself, "Here's what I SHOULD have done." In the prompt response I also gush about my ex to the HR rep, but I illustrate her positive qualities with these comically horrible stories. Like, I show how brave she is by talking about the time she smuggled heroin across the US/Mexican border. Or, I talk about her determination and toughness and use the story of the first time we tried anal.
It was an okay story and it got a nice little collection of upvotes.
That would have been the end of it, if I hadn't gone to Whole Foods the next day. Because there she was, working the register.
I asked what she was doing there. Was it a second job or something? No. It was her only job. I asked about the dream job. She said she'd had an interview, but then never heard back from them.
I went home assuming I'd misremembered a lot of things. The break-up had been hard on me. That whole period was a blur.
That night I found another prompt: "You find a strange briefcase outside your front door one morning..."
You see, that's happened, too. And in real life there was no story. I assumed it was a neighbor's and ignored it. When I came home that night it was gone.
But in my prompt response...well, my fiction was a hell of a lot more interesting than my reality. There was cash and a gun inside the briefcase. And a cell phone. And a lot of shit happened. I went way past the character limit on that one. Dead bodies. Sex. You name it. And it all ended in a suite at The Palms in Vegas.
But here's the thing - the next morning? I woke up and I was at The Palms. I was in the suite. There with the cash and two girls I thought could only ever exist in my mind. And the phone rang and when I picked up, a voice said, "They're coming."
I left the room. Took the cash. Left the gun (I've never shot a gun in my life). Valet service brought me my car and I drove. Drove out of Vegas. Into the desert. I thought it was all a dream. But it wasn't. It isn't.
I was following the signs to Los Angeles because I didn't know what else to do. Halfway there I started to notice the smell. I pulled into the back of an Exxon and popped the trunk. Dead body. Just like in my story.
I stopped in Barstow and found the local library. Got online and found it. A prompt: "You're driving through the desert with a dead body in the trunk and a pair of trained hitmen on your trail. They're closing in..."
I tried to write it away. The hitmen lost the scent. The body disappeared. I end up back home. It was all a dream.
But I guess it wasn't a good enough story. I got one or two upvotes. Apparently that's not enough.
Because they're still after me.
I went west, towards Bakersfield. The body is ripe now, just boiling away in the trunk. I saw the men, the guys following me. In Mojave they almost got me.
I used some of the money to buy a kid's laptop. And here I am, trying again. This is my story:
It never happened. None of it ever happened. I was home this whole time. My ex got her job. I walked past the briefcase.
It never happened.
Please. I don't care if you like this story. I don't care if you ever vote for anything I ever do again. I can't imagine if I survive this I'll even have the stomach for fiction.
Just upvote. Just a few. Please.
I can't run forever. | I am scrolling through writing prompts when I see it, 'You are walking home from university when you have a sudden chill'. The prompt makes me stop and think. I had been walking home from university today and I felt a chill down my spine accompanied by an unnerving feeling that somebody had been watching me. I think nothing of it and decide that I have had enough of the internet for one night, after all, it was only a coincidence.
The next day I go to work. While working at the back, I hear the bell ring for the front door. I walk out to the front to serve, but there is nobody there. I shrug my shoulders and go back to work, thinking it was probably the wind or something. That night, as I am browsing writing prompts I find another prompt ' You are working when you go out to the front of the store to serve a customer, however you find that there is nobody there'. I feel my heart give an extra thump in my chest. Clearly this was just another coincidence, maybe I was just making connections in my mind that just isn't there. That night I sleep with the light on.
When I wake up the next morning I immediately check writing prompts. I find nothing there that I recognize and chuckle to myself a bit, I really need to get out a bit more. I decide to go for a drive to see a friend. I get dressed and walk out to my car where I see it. A long, deep scratch on the drivers door. I start to panic as I remember what I had read this morning. 'One morning you walk to your car and find that someone has scratched the drivers door'. I immediately call the police, explaining what has been happening. The irritated woman asks me if I was on any medication. I hang up angrily, deciding that enough is enough. I call my friend and I ask If I can stay the night.
That night, as my friend is in the shower, I decide, against my better judgment to look at writing prompts one more time. There is a new prompt that reads 'you are at a friends house when you hear your friend scream from the shower'. As if on cue I hear a scream like a wild animal from the bathroom, followed by gurgling sounds and a large thump. I hastily lock the doors and reach for my phone to call the police. I notice on my phone that there is a comment for the previous post. 'your friend has just been brutally murdered when you hear footsteps down the hallway'. As I am reading I hear them, the footsteps followed by a large knock on the door. I am frozen solid now, unable to move, unable to breathe as I look at my phone. 'you are looking at your phone, when you hear breathing directly behind you'. There is a rattling, wheezing sound and I feel ice cold air on the nape of my neck. I slowly turn. | 2016-05-31T05:07:11 | 2016-05-31T04:17:41 | 235 | 53 |
[WP] You'll soon arrive at Earth. The latest reports are from just 4 centuries ago and show a backwards planet, so technologically primitive it hurts. Just wait until those peasants gawk at your wondrous technical displays, like the Talking Box and the Image Viewer! They'll think you're a god! | Ikunna stretched her nine arms in unison, impatiently clicking her talons on a segment of her luxurious chair. She was impatient, and her underlings could tell.
"Ikunna, I have the report you asked for," one of her underlings--a beta female by the name of Orphatrix--called. "You may not like--"
*"Give,"* Ikunna commanded. Within seconds, the report was in one of her many arms. She glanced over at her partner, the alpha male Githuuz. Their joint rule would raise the poor bipeds up from their primitive state... and the Empire had granted the pair permission to rule as Deities Arisen on the planet. Ikunna eagerly flipped through the report.
After a few long moments, Githuuz reached out one of his eight arms--he had lost one in the Battle of Zareth's Moon--and tapped her. "Dearest Ikunna," he started, "what does the report say?"
Ikunna chirruped softly. "Not much--mostly just that a variety of satellites orbit the planet, and that they constantly emit various signals. The planet also displays constant light on its shadowed side..." She trailed off, nervous. The planet had only completed four-hundred revolutions around its lonely star since the last survey, and its natives were terribly short-lived.
Githuuz scratched its secondary head's maw. "Perhaps another empire has discovered them," he mused. "If so, our first contact could grant us even greater status than merely Deities Arisen. Best to stay optimistic--after all, there's no way they've developed anything consistent with our gifts." He indicated the view-screen, the radio, and the network nodes on their shipping manifest.
\~\~\~
The xauprii craft touched down in the designated landing zone. Its twin captains and its crew were nervous by now. Humanity, as the fledgling race called itself, had managed the creation of a global network--and view-screens, radios, and more--all independent of outside influence. They had even *communicated* with the xauprii before they thought they were within hailing range of the planet!
Ikunna took charge once the landing was secure. "Honor guard, exit first--weapons ready. Demand their surrender." The tactic had worked before with species that developed faster than expected. It was standard protocol.
Nine lieutenants readied their spears and charged their energy slings. Today, they would become gods.
"We, the envoys of the eminent Xauprii Empire," one of her heralds began as Ikunna and Githuuz leaned closer to the view-screen, trying to take the measure of the small beings, "demand the immediate surrender of your planet to our empire. We are as gods before you, as we shall demonstrate with these gifts."
The herald gestured to the items transmatted from the xauprii ship. It was hard to gauge the expressions of the natives, but Ikunna thought that they seemed... unimpressed.
"Alpha One to command," one of their strange voices filtered through an unsecured radio channel, "I would advise that we not let the unidentified flying object leave the atmosphere. First contact indicates hostile intent. Over."
One of the heralds heard this, as well: he began to fire his energy sling--
\--and dropped dead, his body sprawling haphazardly under the weight of an unidentified weapon. The others panicked, charging their slings or throwing their spears, but they, too, were mowed down by the strange weapons possessed by the natives.
The ship began readying for take off. Githuuz roared a command to cease, likely due to fear of the statement that these natives had said earlier, and the command bridge prepared for battle.
They fought valiantly.
They died the same way.
The humans were more coordinated than any fighting force Ikunna and Githuuz had ever witnessed, as if instead of developing swift faster-than-light transport, they had spend their days finding new and more efficient ways to slay and protect oneself from being slain. The energy slings didn't even dent their helmets or their strange vests, so the xauprii had to resort to ambushes with spears.
They made it to the command room all the same, and by then, the remaining xauprii had surrendered.
As it turned out, faster-than-light travel was remarkably simple--and humanity, the xauprii discovered, were not unintelligent merely because their lives were short.
In fact, they had reverse-engineered the ship's prized Graviton Drive within days of capturing the vessel.
The Empire was about to learn a very, very harsh lesson. | Here is a passage taken from historian ����'s, famous narrative account of our race's infamous final expedition to Sol-3, as recounted in his broader historical masterpiece , "��� ��������", with which I will assume all of you gathered in this lecture hall today are at least passingly familiar.
**"** When they heard through their receivers several planets' worth of radio chatter more than should've been possible in the area around Sol, they were confused. When they saw the faint glint of probes in orbit around planets at the farthest reaches of Sol's interplanetary system, they were alarmed. When, finally, they approached the blue planet from its nightward side and saw not the expected ink-black of an infant civilization asleep, or the twinkling pinpricks of fires almost too faint for even their most sensitive optics to resolve, but instead the breadth of entire continents aglow with interconnected nodes of light large and bright enough to be seen unmagnified through their ship's front window, they were afraid.
But of course it was too late to turn back-- the supposed lesser beings had already spotted them. They'd seen the miles-wide ship almost as soon as its hull, larger than most asteroids, reared in all its enormity above the Martian north pole, had noted its strange shape, unlike anything in the asteroid belt, and recognized it immediately for what it was. And they, too, were afraid.
And the third planet from Sol's beings in their paranoia did not cower. They had learned a vicious caution from years of practice against each other. No, their suspicion of the strange trespassers apparently inspired them to judgement swift, harsh, and unlike anything yet or since seen in this galaxy. The interlopers would not make it more than three quarters the distance between Sol-3 and its moon before the verdict reached them.
While we do not know exactly what happened to them, it's been said that the last thing that doomed crew saw before their ship was erased from existence was a multitude of great and baleful red eyes, each as pitiless and bright as Sol itself before them... **"**
___________________________________________________
I'm a little late in the game, but I liked the prompt so much I decided to type this up on my phone for my first post. Hope you guys like it! Critiques welcome and much appreciated, if you have the time! | 2019-09-19T10:38:16 | 2019-09-19T10:34:38 | 265 | 67 |
[WP] You accept that offer to become immortal for the cost of being sent 3000 years to the past. When you "wake up" in 1000 B.C. you noticed it is nothing like people learn in school. | The end was at my doorstep. It wasn't the pale rider who would claim my soul with a scythe, but rather the men who would carve me up until there was nothing left. At best, I would just simply suffer until death. A message flashed across my computer monitor. I had seen it before, but I chose to ignore it. This time I didn't. "If you want to live forever-click here!" Spam, or so I thought, but it was a rather humorous moment with near perfect timing. When I clicked it, everything changed.
The men vanished. Well, technically it wasn't them that vanished, it was me. I was standing in a dark room with nothing but a murky black substance flowing down all four walls. From the shadow coated abyss a figure emerged, a figure who looked like nothing more than a skeleton with a thin sheet of skin stretched across his bones. He looked at me for a moment and then his cracked pink lips spread to a smile.
"John... I was wondering if you would ever accept my invitation." He stepped out of the murk and into view. His clothing was like an old cloak battered and shredded by some unknown element--possibly just decay.
"Who are you? Where am I?" I looked around the darkness but it was just the two of us.
"We are standing at the moment of creation. In just a few hundred thousand years, a mere blink to me, the primordial ooze will expand and create the universe as you know it." He touched his finger to it and pulled it back. "I never get tired of seeing it happen."
"Okay, then answer my first question. *Who* are you." I tried to keep my composure, even in the wake of such mindless babble.
"Oh, I have many names. Some of them you know, some of them you don't, and some of them you will discover in time--if you take my offer that is." His eyes were like hollow sockets, but staring into them was like seeing an entire universe unfold before I managed to pull my gaze away.
"You... You're God." I knew it without giving saying his human name. For some reason I knew it was just that--a human name.
"Some would call me that, yes. I guess it makes them feel better to believe that. The truth is, I'm the last of our kind; the last living human being. I was a scientist in my time. I was courted by the World Government assigned to work on the Temporal Reassignment Project. I guess you'd call it time travel." He looked into the abyss and then back at me. "I'd call it a curse..."
"A curse? A curse that made you God?" I scoffed at the idea.
"Once we discovered time travel, we couldn't resist the temptation to change things. We went back in time and killed Hitler, of course. He was still a top priority." He looked at the floor as if something weighed heavy on his head.
"Who?" I was not familiar with the name.
"Exactly... You existed in a time his carnage was never felt. He was once the worst human being to ever live." His hand went into the murk and he spun it around forming a symbol I did not recognize, it was a strange square cross with broken corners.
"Then why didn't you stop Fujiwara, Bush or Assad?" I started naming tyrants who I believed deserved to be stopped, men who had killed thousands for no reason.
"When you destroy one evil man, others rise up in his place. You can't change human nature. The absence of one begets the ascension of another. Sure, we could have done that, but after we wiped out the worst of humanity in our timeline, we got overzealous. We started traveling for tourism, greed, lust, or whatever our mind craved. Eventually, we turned on each other, as humans do, and I was the only one left standing. I was the worst of them..." His breath drew in and exhaled in a rattling sound.
"So why me? Why did you bring me here?" My uneasiness was rising up like a clenched fist in my throat.
"Because you're pure. I have searched the timeline for centuries looking for pure souls, men and women who would not back down in the face of their own destruction. If you hadn't clicked that link, you would have been shot down in your computer chair, a mysterious death of a blogger who wouldn't stop posting things the government didn't want you to post. They did warn you, after all." His face turned to a grin again.
"People have a right to know!" I quickly recited the byline of my first article, a quick synopsis of government corruption.
"That is why you were chosen. You're believe in doing the right thing. You're not the first one who believed that to disappear in the night, you know." He reached into the ooze and parted it. "My offer is simple. I will fuse you with the ooze, a secret I learned in my travels. It will make you immortal and sew you into the very essence of Earth's timeline. You'll be woven in like a thread, piercing and pulling together torn shreds of history." He reached for my hand.
"I don't understand..." I reached for his hand out of instinct. It was cold to the touch.
"You have to fix the things we destroyed. One day you'll have a very difficult choice and I'm sorry to say that the greater good will be clear to you. When you pass through this primordial ooze, you will see everything and you will see what we broke." He stepped into the ooze and pulled me towards it. His grip was a vice and I couldn't have escaped if I wanted to. "You must witness their worst, in order to destroy them without blinking an eye."
I stepped onto the green grass with full knowledge of what I had to do. The sheer realization sent me to tears, but I watched their carnage. I watched King David try to conquer the world. History never spoke of that. I watched his bloodthirsty son put men to death for no reason other than his own amusement. Israel rose, Israel fell, and then it rose again. Their generations spread throughout the world, moving through Europe as I watched from afar. My destiny was clear. The broken cross was mine to bear. I was to be a new face in history, an old face my timeline never knew. I put the colors on, I led my people with speeches that brought them to their knees. I took on a new name, one that would live in infamy, the first one they erased. Adolf. Adolf Hitler. It wasn't something I could ever be proud of, and it was only through my own immortality that I understood why he had to exist.
| When that man first approached me to make the offer of immortality, I just thought he was some bloke who would ask for directions to some bar. I would have never imagined he would be the man who gave me immortality.
I pushed that thought aside as I prepared myself for the journey that would change my life forever. I had already said my goodbyes to loved ones, as they wouldn't exist to me 3000 years in the past. I gave them one last smile as I signed the contract that bound me to my endless life, and I vanished.
I woke up screaming, and gasping for air. Although I knew where I was, and what had happened, I still felt shock. Most likely from traveling through the wormholes of the space time continuum. I find myself sitting on the floor in the middle of a forest in god knows where. I hear a loud roar, and think nothing of it as it was very far away.
I get up and clear my head. Once I feel I'm ready to start moving I go on the search for food. Although I don't need to eat, I need to get used to fitting in as society might question it one day. I don't want to end up encased in bronze 20 feet underground, so I should probably get used to acting like I'm still mortal.
As I'm exploring the forest I notice, in the distance, it comes to an abrupt end. Not one that looks natural either, something that looks, man made. As I make my toward the edge I realize what I'm seeing. Bulldozers and sentient beings in clothing with tools, walking around chopping down the forest I'm currently in. One of them looks up, and sees me. I quickly drop to the ground, hoping he thought I was some kind of animal.
Laying on the ground waiting for the noises to stop, I start to tremble. I slowly whisper to myself "What the hell was that?" A few hours go by and I hear nothing, I slowly peek and notice I'm alone. I slowly walk out of the forest and towards the machines. They look almost exactly like modern bulldozers that you'd see tearing down old buildings. I'm already starting to regret my decision. I turn around and one of the beings is staring me right in the eye. I want to scream, but I stand my ground, trying to look as scary as possible in hopes of scaring him away. He lunges at me, and next thing I know, I'm out cold.
Slowly, I came to in a cell, and start to freak out. I scream for help, begging for anyone's attention. Slowly, almost as if he was trying to intimidate me, a guard comes around the corner. I could tell I was in a military prison, because the guard had medals of some sort on his jacket, much like members of the army do in our time. He screamed something in a language I did not understand, probably because English wasn't yet invented for them to learn. He left me alone in the dark.
Searching for anything, I looked around the room they had trapped me in and saw a window. I crawled over to it, and lifted my head up to see outside. I couldn't believe my eyes. Buildings higher than one could think possible. Cars flying in the air, giant screens with advertisements of things I'd never seen before. I wondered for a second if I'd been sent to the future. Then I realized what was really happening. Why no one spoke English, or any familiar sounding language. Why they looked slightly different to humans, but looked similar at the same time. I was sent to the past, but the past was the end of a civilization more advanced than ours. One that would be buried deep into the earth, or obliterated entirely.
As I came to this realization, I heard a loud explosion outside my cell far off in the distance. I quickly, and frantically look up and out the window. To my horror I see a mushroom cloud peak into the sky and I scream as a shock-wave is sent in all directions. Although this would obviously not kill me, it was still a terrible thing to witness. I watched, in fear as buildings toppled over, and smaller structures completely vanished into thin air. The shock-wave blasts me backward into the wall, and the last thing I see before losing consciousness is the building I was being held prisoner in vaporize entirely.
Again, slowly, I come to in the middle of what once was a beautiful city and look in shock at the barren wasteland it has become. I pick myself up, still unsteady from my second concussion of the day, and start to journey into the dust, in search for others to settle down with. | 2015-06-04T20:24:51 | 2015-06-04T18:39:51 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You had a high school friend who always talked about world domination. At graduation you jokingly make them promise you to give you the rank of a general. 20 years later a series of violent coups happen out of nowhere and the new dictator appoints you as a general. | It was hard to stomach at first...
That our Nation could fall to a dictator.
Drought, famine, and the eventual wars for resources all saw to our fall from grace. Eventually as these things tend to go, an organization rose to power, promising to "fix" everything. The People rallied to their cause and in a swift "exchange of power" - one in which men with guns swarmed the capital - this upstart organization with an over-zealous leader had claimed total control of all areas of our government and total control over our nation.
Odder still was who led them... a younger man President Zeb Orellion. After his party had taken control, a series of unfortunate accidents occured which led to the early demise of several high ranking cabinet members, the result being that Zeb went from legendary freedom fighter on the streets - to the leader of our Nation.
Odder still was that I sat next to him in freshman math class 35 years ago.
Since his reign began, there have been a number of herd cullings so to speak. Zeb appears on TV and reads a list of names of "enemies" and those people disappear. Many have been former military leaders, politicians, spiritual leaders....The usual ilk rounded up in these movements. Somehow, as both a former Major in the Army, and a known holy man - I had been spared.
And while Religion has been outlawed, and I keep my faith to myself these days, it is no secret I am keeper of the Faith.
That was until tonight.
"My fellow patriots, your nation needs you"
Zebs voice sounded across every display in the Nation
"A true patriot needs to be found and brought to me..."
This is new, he usually tells us why this person needs to be removed.
"A true man of faith, faith in his god and in our beloved Home, one who can push us to salvation"
I look around as people murmur, maybe this means an end to the religious prosecution and we keepers can resume our duties.
"Major Dax Averoos must be brought before me"
As I hear the words spoken my heart stops, but before I can react, I feel the blow of a glass bottle on my head and the world goes dark.
"Dax, Dax ah there you are!"
I awake to find myself laying in a hospital bed, with President Zeb sitting across from me
"We werent sure you were going to make it" he said, "in hindsight announcing your name the same way we had announced the many traitors to our cause was a mistake, but you are alive and we are together at last!"
As the words set in, I find myself in a bewilderment - what could he want with me? "I am sorry Mr President, I am unsure what you could need with me? I am willing to help in anyway of course, but I am in a bit of a haze." I sputter out
"Ah always so humble Dax, just as I remember you... you see despite your religious affilitations, and the fact you openly fought against us in the war, I, at the end of it all, am a man of my word"
"....Mr President?" He had me dead to rights, on both accounts. My death is as guaranteed as it could be - but id be amazed if he visited each man he killed at fhe hospital first
"When we met in Freshman math 35 years I made you a promise - when I ruled the Nation, you would be amongst my cabinet! And as it stands, I am in need of a General.... a General of the Faith - a way to bridge the gap with your fellow religious fanatics who cause me much grief. I am willing to allow your heretical brothers to live, so long as you can bring them into my umbrella, and eradicate those who cant see the way.... so Dax what says you?"
I ponder his thoughts a moment. One of the key teachings of the Faith is that when it presents itself to you, you are bound to take the opportunity....however sitting across from me is a mass murderer acting on his teenage dreams and memories.
"Mr President.... I would be honored to join your cabinet."
I can do much with the faith in this capacity
And At the end of the day, its better to live on your knees than die with a black bag over your head. | He stands upon the mountain of rubble, rifle pointed towards the air, extending his hand outward with the sun shining down behind him. An angelic, heroic figure. I can only stare upwards in shock and awe, as I lie on the rubble, I extend my hand outwards instinctively, my wrist slack from being broken. He grabs my forearm, and pull me up.
Victor: "I have been searching for you, my General."
Me: "I-I-I... What?"
Victor: "In high school, you said that if I were to dominate the world, you would be my general?"
Me: "I did?"
Victor: "I distinctly remember it, we even laughed it off! But... I came to realize that you would make an amazing general. Your business, while antithetical to the revolution, is remarkably run. You've outdone yourself, to say the least. That is why, instead of killing you and wasting your talent, I have decided to recruit you. What do you say?"
His words flow out like honey, each one sweetly stabbing into my gut.
Me: "Why?"
Victor: "Why? Well, do you not think that the world needs a new order, where nations are gone, and where all are born, and treated, equal? Where no matter the circumstances, no matter the limitations, or the setbacks, all have an equal shot at greatness, under a single global flag? We can build an empire. No. *The* empire, to end all empires. A world without war. A world where a single nation's, or a single individual's whims do not alter the course of history? A utopic world, David. Utopia."
Me: "I... Ok... Okay!"
I stare into his eyes. A beautiful burning hazel, like staring into the eyes of a lion.
I didn't need a reason, or a purpose. In that moment, all I could feel was that, if I stood by his side, all of my worries, all of my struggle would be gone. I simply had to stand by his side. | 2022-10-29T18:24:04 | 2022-10-29T17:25:59 | 250 | 76 |
[WP] People have always been born with very minor super powers. You work for an agency that hunts down the few people who's powers are deemed too powerful/dangerous to allow them to live. | Better than average senses- but no way to tune them down or off. The ability to teleport as much as ten feet in any direction up to twice a day, Pytokinesis strong enough to flick a light switch or slide a beer down the bar. When mankind dreamed of superpowers, they had likely imagined it wouldn't be so mediocre.
Honestly it was pretty dull.
Genetics dealt me a good hand out of a shitty deck though, and I got intelligence. I wasn't going to claim I was book smart- but I was on another level when it came to the tiny details. Ever since I was a kid, I could walk into a room, and in under a minute I could tell you everything that had happened in the last few hours- just based on the people, the objects, the subliminal and subconscious notes that most disregard.
Set me up for a great job at the agency- they loved it when they got recruits like me. I was practically made for this shit.
Tracking down the deviants, that was the second step, right before the cleaners. In essence, we were the first wave- the first gambit. Our field agents collected the reports, and then sent out the specialists, like myself, to track them down, and signal the nearest crew. After eight years of this, I could finally claim what I had always known: I hated my job.
Half the time, these were criminals, using their abilities to plague our society with issues. A majority of the other half were people that experienced some sort of mental illness- lot of psychic outbursts that way... No, none of those gave me any trouble sleeping at night. The ones that got me, that drilled into my brain... the innocents.
When the generations in the late 90's started showing the first signs of powers, things were most extreme. The first were by far the strongest, and of those strongest were children. Kids that shot fire, punched through walls, could summon lightning. You bet your ass the government locked that shit down faster than you could shake a stick.
Lot of fighting back then. Lot of riots.
Lot of dead kids.
It still made me sick to think about. We'd come a long way since then, but someone still had to do the dirty work. If they didn't, we ended up with something like this. See, Supers are different from you and I. they're not limited in what they can do by any rational means- they push those past what you would think possible. Super strength, insane regeneration, fucking mind bullets... When a super survives, they pretty much always start running the show in the underground. All sorts of trouble came from that.
I had been tracking this last one for months, and this was turning to be, by far- the single most difficult case I'd ever been a part of. We still weren't sure if we had an accurate assessment of the powers, and considering my own, that meant the people we were tracking were fucking careful. Of what we did know related to this case, fit on a single page.
* We had tracked their vehicle, and confirmed it stolen from a police lot in the town over.
* There was more than one of them, but likely no more than two.
* One of them we had a record on.
* The other was a multiple.
How crazy was that right? More than one power- and a super to boot... it was unheard of. One in a Billion- probably more honestly, that was like winning the lottery twice, and then getting struck by lighting on the way to pick up the checks.
Of the individual we had a file on, nothing was too out of the ordinary when it came down to his M.O: A deviant super that had committed violent crimes. Only problem was how talented he was, but one might expect that considering how much practice he'd had.
A cold-blooded cop killer, a fucking menace. Guy had a file three stacks deep, and thankfully his power was known.
John Carnagi, early altercation with law enforcement left his wife dead, causing the guy to snap, and snap hard. Emotional amplification triggered his metal bending exponentially- killed the last crew with their own bullets. Had to watch out for him, above all else- the other had no confirmed kills, just some witness reports of deviant power usage. Lot of mixed reports.
The ground was rough, the gravel cracked and broken, allowing plant-life to slip through and take back the territory. The parking lot was empty besides the RV, and myself. I knew, sure as shit, that I had finally caught up. Seven fucking months... this was one for the books.
I pinged my armband receiver to signal the information to the standby crew- equipped with nonmetallic gear. No more dead cops. Not this time.
Protocol had me standby directly off-site as the crew went in, technically I was a commanding senior officer at this point. I was there to advise the clean up afterwords, and set things straight with the local enforcement should issues come up.
Issues came up immediately.
Fifteen man team went in, and ten died. The backup sniper took out the metal-bending shit, but fuck if the rebound hadn't blown him to bits a second later. Four more had been down from the RV frame, that shredded itself into a shrapnel. This operation was easily holding the highest casualty record since the awakening.
As the Dust cleared, I finally got a look at the second super, and my heart sank. It was just a kid, a poor fucking kid, sitting in the middle of a warzone. Pulling out the long range ID scan, I got a match. Raphael Carnagi. John Carnagi's son- registered as dead at birth.
Somehow the records had been fudged and the kid floated by under the radar. Lot of things were making more sense now. Who would have thought it...
As the cavalry arrived, two blackhawks, circling with heavy machine-guns a swat crew, armed with full combat gear. I couldn't look as they opened fire, I'd seen it all before enough times to know I shouldn't watch it again. You stare too long into that abyss it'll change you, and in this career, you can't have yourself questioning the morality of every action. It was for the greater good.
Course, by not observing, I missed the part where the kid levitated- lifted the strongest force field on record, and used psychokinesis to blast the helicopters out of the sky. The irony hit me pretty hard, right as the secondary force waves of the bursting shield lifted me off my feet and threw me backwards. As my vehicle tumbled past me, the pieces started to fall together in a way they hadn't before. I saw the possibilities, all of the many scenes in the last seven months aligning, and as I lay there in the stillness of the aftermath- waiting for the agency medic crews to arrive, it gave me a chill to my very bones. A cold terror that took root in my core and sat there.
All this time, we'd been trying for so hard to keep the worst case scenario from happening, and we missed the obvious. Super-Villains weren't born, they were molded; and by god had we done a great job with this one. | I knew it was going to be a rough day when I poured that first cup of coffee. The hellish traffic, the headache from nowhere, the empty cupboard should have warned me of what lay ahead, but I tried to deny it, to fight reality. I banished the negative thoughts, powered through my early morning mediation session, but they kept popping up like weeds through the concrete. I dreamed of coffee, told myself if I could just get to the office on time and sit at my desk with a steaming cup in hand, the world would right itself. Balance would be restored.
I came in fifteen minutes late, caught an earful about from Evans, and took my first sip. It tasted simultaneously burnt and watery. And lukewarm. I sighed and accepted that today was going to be a rough one. Days that start off like this seldom redeem themselves.
My desk faced one wall of a large open cubicle. One of four. We had the back right corner of the floor. This led me to believe that I was nearing a promotion. I figured I might finally get to have my own office, like the senior inspectors. Matthews, the guy who bumped up to senior inspector last, sat in this same desk before I did. I felt like I was on deck. In the bullpen. But the large pile of pink names on the whiteboard – open investigations – under squad 4’s name told me that I was in danger of screwing that up. I needed to step it up. We’d hit a hard patch of luck as a group. The hard cases had all randomly fallen on us. Or intentionally. I could never tell where I stood with the Sergeant at a given moment. Either I was in the shitter or I was a rising star, and the man had a vengeful aspect to his character. Maybe he diverted all the bad ones our way as punishment for our crimes or his own rough start to the day. Like kicking the dog. In that particular analogy, we were the dog.
I drained the coffee and picked up my Tibetan prayer wheel. I watched the little nob swirl.
“Morning,” Dunn said.
I turned. “Good morning.”
“Is it?” she said. She looked more sleep-deprived than I felt. She only joined us two months ago and the job had already taken of a few pounds, put a slightly unhealthy pallor over her. She held two monstrous cups of coffee in her hand. From that bagel place on the corner. “Here,” she said and handed me one.
“Did I ever tell you I love you,” she said.
“You won’t after I tell you what we’re doing today.”
“Oh God,” I said.
“We’ve got a new case and it isn’t pretty. Forget clearing some of those pink names off the wall. This one deserves our undivided attention.”
“Just tell me already. I hate preambles.”
“You can read it yourself. Filed last night. Just before Snyder got off. He figured his shift was just about over so he’d pass it on to us.”
I opened the envelope and read it. She was right. I didn’t love her anymore.
At 5:15 am, fifteen minutes before I rolled out of bed, a police officer approached a suspicious man on Hillcrest. The man assaulted the officer, who then drew his weapon and fired on the man. To no effect. The man then proceeded to disembowel the officer right there in the middle of the street and pounded his head into a mashed potato-like consistency. The camera in the patrol car caught the whole thing. I watched it on the computer. Good thing I hadn’t eaten anything yet.
“Thoughts?” Dunn said.
“This day is turning out even shittier than I thought. I mean, a lot shittier.”
“How do you want to go about this? We got that rough image of his face on the camera. We're obviously dealing with a class A here.”
“First off,” I said, “We’re going to take the footage to the nerds, so they can run it through their data base.”
“Already did that.”
“And while we’re waiting for results you and I are going to conduct some good old fashioned foot patrol style interviews. If we’re lucky we’ll find someone who was there who could pick up his aura and tell us a little more about this guy.”
“*I* can sense auras.”
“Yes I know *you* can, but we need some one who was there.”
“You’d be surprised how long a trace can last in the area. Especially after such a violent moment like that. I might be able to sniff something out. But you wouldn’t know. You don’t even *have* any powers.”
“My power,” I said, “is a keen nose for bullshit and a healthy dose of luck. They’ve served me pretty well so far.”
I grabbed my phaser and my jacket and we walked down to the garage.
| 2014-12-12T20:51:06 | 2014-12-12T16:45:31 | 41 | 11 |
[WP] You are a normal citizen in a relatively unimportant country. One day the goverment starts to act crazy, changing ideology overnight, drafting people for the army and antagonizing their neighbours. The player controlling your country in a strategy game has just begun their world conquest run. | And at that exact moment, Stanthony realized he was an 13,000 pound African war elephant. Again.
"Shit"
A few seconds ago he had been tending to a very nice field of onions with his trusty plow and mule, Vanessa and Ricardo.
Then he'd suddenly he'd become a war pachyderm.
He stood in formation with a group of other equally confused elephants, covered in steel plate armor.
He looked off into the distance, where eh could see his beloved onion field had been completely covered up by a series of ugly squat wooden buildings.
"Oh look, more *barracks*, how nice" the elephant to Stan's left said.
"Yeah... great"
The Leader had run out of space again and was converting the city into a giant war factory.
The Leader must of hit the population limit too, hence Stan's sudden reincarnation as the largest land dweller of the great plains.
Stanthony sighed. This wasn't the first time he had been plucked from civilian life and reconstituted as a Level 3 War Elephant. He knew were this was going.
"Looks like *war* again, ay?" said the elephant so Stan's left.
"...Yep"
This would be the 12th time the great nation of Persia had mobilized and waged terrible, all consuming winner-takes-all stakes war with all the nations of the world.
Today.
And every time, it ended up the same way. Battle, carnage, destruction, retreat, slaughter.
​
Then the Leader would load the save game and Stanthony would find himself back in the middle of the forest wearing a loincoth, foraging for berries.
​
The elephant to Stan's left mused,
"You know, that first bit actually isn't so bad, after we get slaughtered and all that, you know the bit after we start over and The Leader has to build up resources so he can build his *blasted* army again. Some people complain about the manual labour and all that, you know the berry gathering and the woodchopping and market and road building and what not. I don't mind it though. Had me a grain mill this time around. It was nice."
​
Stanthony thought of his onion field. It had been nice.
​
A horn sounded in the distance, and the sprawling army began it's slow march into enemy lands.
​
Stanthony took one last look at home. The next time he saw it, he'd be wearing a loincloth foraging for berries.
​
Again.
​
"Well, time for murder and mayhem and all that, you know?"
​
Stan sighed.
​
"Yep.
​
​
​
​ | One month after our nation seemed to have gone mad, retooling our entire economy and declaring war on our closest ally, a package arrived at my door. Inside was a sword and armor in a style completely different from our regular military uniforms, yet accompanied by a note declaring me to be drafted.
I arrived wearing the armor and bearing the sword, at the city's armory. There, an officer told me I was now a "Hero Unit". "Congratulations, son; you're going to be one of the toughest of all our people, and one of the most important. Do you know how to view your stats?"
"My... what?"
At that point, the interface windows crowded my vision for the first time... | 2019-03-10T11:46:00 | 2019-03-10T11:09:05 | 199 | 22 |
[WP] "Unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for this particular heaven however, I can provide you with a list of afterlifes that you may qualify for." | Heavenly Direction
Lynda limped up to the gate, her bad leg still aching, even though she knew that the young punk who had run her down had killed her. She didn't really like this grey clouds and gates version of the "afterlife" - little exclusive clubs of people who believed just so, yadda yadda, had their own gated communities - and probably a nasty HOA full of even worse busybodies.
There were a few other people wandering around, going up to gates, knocking on them, and apparently being rejected. All in all a really dismal scene. "The afterlife is supposed to be happy, not frustrating. A place to learn and reflect. Somebody has twisted the script." She finally made it to a gate. No labels on any of the gates, either. She sighed, then knocked.
A cherubic head poked out of a small grate in the big gate. "Name?" She told them. They checked something behind the door, then said "Unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for this particular heaven." and started to close the door.
Lynda stuck her cane in the opening. "Fine, but any hints on where I \*do\* belong?"
The cherub looked annoyed. "I guess I can provide you with a list of after-lifes that you may qualify for."
"May? I would think it's either yes or no."
"The criteria are always shifting, regions are always shifting based on the beliefs and lore of the adherents, some have a limited number they'll take, things like that." The cherub sighed "It's really all about exclusivity for many of them."
"Ugh. Whereas any exclusive club that would want me I probably wouldn't like." Lynda grumbled.
"Oh, one of those." the cherub chirped. "Well, that cuts out a few..." They disappeared behind the gate briefly, then came back with a scroll that they handed her. "Try these." Then they shut the grate.
"How do I know where.... " Lynda's voice trailed off as she realized that the cherub had left. Grumbling, she unrolled the scroll, all thirty feet of it. She now wished she had a pencil - some of them were more hell than heaven. How many variants of a lake of fire or torture dungeon were there? The "harpists of heaven" didn't sound like a lot of fun either - her right arm didn't work. So much for being as if one were young again after you died.
She looked at the gate that she just left. Along the right hand side, there was a little plaque. "Unbaptized babies" it read. Yeah, that wasn't her. At least she now knew where to look for the label before she knocked.
She wandered along the path slowly, reading through the list. At each gate, she would read the plaque, shake her head, and wander on. At least she wasn't getting hungry.
A few days? Weeks? Months? later, another person actually spoke to her. "Where did you get that list?" a skinny young man with a strung out look asked her.
She sighed. "One of the door guardians gave it to me, but I had to get a little pushy. It's a list of the regions I 'might' qualify for."
"Might?" he asked, "Why might?"
"Because apparently they change entrance requirements sometimes"
"Oh." He frowned "Are there any there that I might qualify for? I, uh, kinda overdosed. I think my dealer got sick of me and laced my shit."
"Hmmmmm." Lynda looked at her list. "Was your life all about getting high, or was there something more?"
"Oh, it was definitely about the trip, the high, whatever. I didn't want to deal with reality, so I didn't." He shook his head. "This is as straight as I've been in decades."
"OK, well a few gates back that way... " she pointed "... there was a gate that said '420 field forever'. Maybe they would take you."
"Really? Wow! Maaan, I hope so, that would be aaawesome!" He then bounded away in the direction she pointed.
Lynda chuckled and shook her head. If only her needs were that simple. But her life had never been that easy. She sat down on a bit of cloud and rested. She'd always been a dilettante, never having just one interest. She had always been learning, and then sharing the knowledge. But there didn't seem to be a heaven that was 'University of Heaven' or 'Afterlife MOOC'. There were several 'reincarnation' ones - labeled with the religious sect that believed in it - most of which she didn't recognize.
She unrolled her scroll again... wait, things have changed order. Entire subgroups had vanished. Lynda groaned, and started to read at the top again.
As she was reading, a immaculately dressed and stylishly coifed woman walked up to her. "You there, stop sitting down on the job! Help me find where I'm supposed to go!" Lynda did not stand up, just stared at her like she was some sort of bizarre clown. The woman impatiently stomped her foot. "Well, didn't you hear me? I didn't know angels were lazy. What would God say?"
Lynda just laughed, to the point tears were streaming down her face "... I don't work here lady! Angels don't walk with a limp and a cane."
"But you have a scroll with directions! You have to tell me where to go! It's your job, I know. Now help me find my heaven or I'll talk to God and have you fired and sent to hell!"
Lynda laughed harder. If she wasn't already dead, she have died of a burst blood vessel she was laughing so hard. "There are no directions on this. It's just a list of places I might qualify for."
Then the snooty woman made her mistake. She grabbed Lynda's scroll. Lynda stopped laughing, and stood up. Her leg no longer hurt. "Give. Me. That. Back. Now."
"No, you weren't using it well, it's mine now." The woman declared. "You wouldn't do you job, so I now have to do it for you. Believe me, God will hear about this!"
Lynda was angry. Then she remember one of the gates she had passed a while back, and decided to try something. She grabbed her cane like it was a wand, pointed it at the woman, and intoned "Go thee to 'Customer Dissatisfaction Forever'! Now!"
The snooty woman looked up from the scroll in surprise, and just as she was starting to say "You wouldn't...", she blipped away, dropping the scroll in the process.
Lynda smiled. She picked up her scroll, and opened it up again. The list had changed again. At the very top, there was a very new entry, highlighted in gold 'Info Desk', and a set of directions. She thought about it for a while, then headed the way the directions told her.
She always had liked telling people where to go. | I flipped through the book I had been given, that was only in my head. My head, which I guess I technically did not have any more, but at some point there had been a voice telling me to keep thinking in terms of my physical body, if I found that it helped. I'm not sure how long it took me to learn how to turn the pages of the book in my mind, but it felt like months. The Afterlife, it turns out, is exhausting.
Most of the pages in my Mind Book were written in languages I couldn't read. Some of them, I wasn't even sure if they were languages. One page was just a picture of something that looked vaguely like a spork. Another was blank but gave me a distinct feeling of being hungry for pretzels whenever I looked at it. Feeling it was appropriate, I raised my hand.
The Being that had given me the book, who was not there but was there and had always been there, turned one of it's faces towards me. "Yes? Have you decided?"
I somehow knew that it's voice would have liquefied my brain had I still been alive. "Um...I'm kind of having trouble deciding. Actually, most of these I can't even read. Am...am I allowed to ask you for advice?"
The Being somehow communicated a sense of disappointment to me without it's expression changing. "We're not allowed to influence the decisions of applicants. Can't be seen to be playing favorites for any particular afterlifes, you understand."
"It's just...how can I decide if I can't understand what this book is telling me? Like this one here..." I thought about a page that showed a serene landscape with some mountains and what I assumed were trees. "This looks lovely, but I don't know what all these lines mean. I assume it's a language but I really have no idea."
"That's..." the being said a word, but the only thing my mind processed was a color I had never seen before and had no name to describe. "It is a somewhat complicated language for a being of your intelligence vector, but eventually you'll pick it up."
"Pick it up how?" I wailed. "If there's some kind of translation magic that's supposed to be happening here, I don't think it's working on me."
I felt a deep sense of shame. "Magic? Goodness, the things you humans dream up. If you want to know more about *New Color* there will be some *New Color But Slightly Different Shade* that will show up here eventually, strike up a conversation with them and you'll be able to pick up their language."
"Eventually? How long will that be?"
I felt like an ant. "Let's see, I have a conversion table here somewhere. I can't say for sure, you understand, Free Will and all that, plus there are roughly 900 octillion processing stations, but I would say that you should see another *Yet Another Shade of New Color* sometime in the next...2 or 3 million years."
"MILLION?"
"Please don't take offense at this, but it's not like you've got anything better to do." I felt like the time my puppy Bo was scared of a thunderstorm. "Look, you're still holding onto the feelings and expectations of your physical life, it's normal. They may even still tell you to do that, I'm not certain. But there's no time for you any longer, and no physical limitations either. The word your language would use is 'Spirit', and you'll come to realize the true ramifications of this after you've spent some time here."
"But...I need to choose. You told me I needed to choose my final destination, my Heaven. I...I don't know what to do."
I felt warm. "I'm sorry, I did a poor job of communicating this to you. It's not necessary for you to choose right away. Only the fanatics do that; they get shuffled off to be with their own. I know this place isn't what you pictured when you thought of the afterlife in the physical, but it's not....let's see, you call it...Hell. This isn't punishment. It's more like a train station, or maybe for you it should be spaceport. No, that's not quite right...airport, that's it. You've got some time to kill, wander around, talk to others. Learn, discover, consider. When you're ready, you'll be able to choose."
I felt better. Not calm, but...like I had a big test, but had studied a lot for it, and knew my stuff. Which was ironic since I had in no way studied for any of this, but I thought that was OK.
Having no better ideas, I tried thinking of a name for *New Color*. | 2020-02-13T13:57:46 | 2020-02-13T13:44:32 | 29 | 11 |
[WP] You are a phone. Your owner is texting a girl they like, and you know likes them back. Time to "auto-correct" to help them out. | I wonder what's trending on YouTube right now. Wait, Jason's picking me up, must want to talk to someone.
Jason: Hey daisy
Ooo, daisy. Should've known. They've been talking for a year now. Hopefully this is the night.
Daisy: Hey Jason!
Jason: What's up?
Daisy: oh nothing much, just got off work. How about you? 😜
Emojis! She's definitely happy to see him. Don't fuck this up mate.
Jason: Ah, it's going good. Finally got word from my publisher, book is out.
Daisy: Awesome! I'm so proud of you.
Jason: Well I couldn't have done it without my favorite editor 😉
There you go tiger!
Daisy: Well it's the least I can do for such a good friend 😁
Jason: You've done so much for me already, I can't think of a way to pay you back.
*Eat her out.*
Daisy: oh you don't have to pay me back, your friendship is worth so much to me already.
Jason: That's good to hear.
Stop being awkward man and just tell her you love her already.
Jason: so... how are you?
NO! Don't fucking go awkward on me now man! I've watched you beat around the bush for too long! This girl likes you and you know it, and If i have to help you lock it down, then damnit, I WILL!"
***Autocorrect!***
Jason: How about I take you out to dinner to celebrate?
Jason: "Wait, what? I didn't write that."
Jason: sorry, didn't mean to write that, autocorrect must be weirding out.
***Delete***
Jason: "Seriously, what the hell?!"
I'll just type "Don't worry man, just go with it" into the box and delete it. Hopefully he's not too confused.
Daisy: Oh, that sounds nice, but like I said you don't have to pay me back.
Jason: ok, that's fine. Just thought it'd be nice.
***Autocorrect!***
Jason: No don't worry about it, it's my gift to me and you. Besides, it's been almost a year since we've met. We have a lot to celebrate
Jason: "Oh god, this phone is gonna ruin me."
Daisy: Tru. Alright, it's a date. What day?
Jason: "ok... maybe it isn't all bad."
Jason: You free Saturday?
No you idiot, she told you, she's got to see her mom on Saturday!
***Autocorrect!***
Jason: Is tonight at 7 good?
Jason: "WHAT?!"
Daisy: That's perfect actually. I'll get ready now.
There's seems to be a mixture of confusion and happiness in Jason's face. I think I did my work here well.
Jason: Alright I'll get ready too. See you tonight.
***Autocorrect!***
Jason: Alright I'll get ready too. See you tonight beautiful 💙
Jason: "NO DONT PUT THAT!"
Daisy: Hahaha! You're too cute. See you tonight handsome ❤️
Well that's the end of that conversation. I think I did my job well. Wait, whys Jason going to the autocorrect settings? He's turning it off? Well I'll just turn it back on.
Jason: "what the hell?!"
Oh, wait, should probably explain. I'll just open up the note pad, "you gave me 4G, I give you GF."
I think he understands now. He's putting me on the charger and going to get ready. He better not mess this up. Now, back to YouTube... | Jon: Hello! 😀😂
No, that's not how what you type Jon.
Jon: Hello, how are you doing today, miss?
Mel: I'm doing fine, good sir.
Jon: So, how has your day been?
No, no, no, you say this!
Jon: So, what would you like to do today, miss?
Jon: Wrong number, Mel. Phone is acting up today.
Mel: So you have a girlfriend?
Jon: No I'm a single Pringle.
*cringes* I'm changing that for how much I cringed.
Jon: No, I'm single.
Mel: Ok...?
Jon: Anyways, I have a new video game I want to play. Want to come over?
No, ask like this.
Jon: Do you want to meet up for some ice cream, miss?
Mel: Sure, sir!
My owner looks on confused as his phone autocorrected to ask a girl on a date.
Jon: Ok, I'll see you there.
No, too basic.
Jon: I'll see you there, you cutie, you!
Jon curses.
Mel: Ok! Where are we meeting?
Jon: Dairy Queen, ofc.
OH DEAR GOD NO.
Jon: How about Jeni's Splendid Ice Cream?
Jon curses and throws his phone.
Mel: Ok!! See you there!!
Jon: Alright bye!
Finally something you said right!
Criticize me and this story to make it better.
Edit: Changed a certain phrase a commenter brought up. | 2017-07-21T10:44:21 | 2017-07-21T10:28:01 | 6,152 | 58 |
[WP] After hearing complaints countless times the hero just turns himself in and goes to prison. Now that the villains are destroying the city and running wild everyone is trying the convince the hero to come out and save the day. But the hero is not having any of this shit | "No, I'm good in here," Rocketeer said. "The people of this city, and you specifically, Mr. Mayor, told me that I should serve my time." He fell backwards on to the bed. "Here I am, paying my debt to society, suffering in stoic silence for the destruction I caused, and now you want me back?"
"Your rivals escaped," the mayor said. "All of them at once. We didn't expect-"
"Expect what?" Rocketeer snapped. "You had to know that the villains were only staying imprisoned because they knew I'd just catch them again if they broke out. I specifically warned you last month that these prisons aren't super-proof." To emphasize his point, he went to the window of his cell and popped out the iron bars. He'd loosened them in case he needed a quick getaway, if a rival decided to take a shot at him. He'd been pleasantly surprised that none had so far.
"Please," the mayor begged, "the escapees are spreading to other cities, so their hero teams are also overwhelmed. They won't send help. I'll get the governor to give you a pardon. I'll issue a public apology. I'll even change the laws so this doesn't happen again if you damage a few buildings. But the city-the *people*-need you out there now."
Rocketeer sighed and put the bars back in place. "You see this wall?" He said, gesturing to a side of the cell. "You can see the scratches I made on it, one a day. 32 days that wall's been standing." He paused, but the mayor was clearly confused. "That's a record!" Rocketeer exclaimed. "The longest any room I lived in had stood before this was two weeks. Some supervillain would always come busting in and wreck my place.
"Or look at my hair." He ran a hand through his stubble. "No burn marks, no cuts to cover up. It's been years since I could let my hair grow like this, without some head injury getting in the way." He sat back on the bed, and picked up the book he was reading. "This, Mr. Mayor, is a *vacation*. Possibly leading into retirement."
He very obviously buried his nose in the book, but the mayor didn't leave. After a short pause, the mayor asked,
"What do you want? I can't promise you anything, but we are desperate. What is it? Money? Fame?"
"Peace and quiet," Rocketeer shot back. "I've been doing this superhero gig since I was fifteen, and I only realized how stressful it was now that I've had a chance to breathe. I'm done. You and the people of this city wanted me locked up. A public danger, you said. A bigger menace than the villains, you said. And you know what? You're getting exactly what you asked for. NO! Worse than that, you're getting *exactly* what I warned you would happen the last six times you tried to imprison me."
"People are dying," the mayor said.
Rocketeer finally put the book back down and stood to face the mayor.
"Then you should do something about that." He fumbled with a catch on his robotic arm, and pulled out a completely normal looking key. "Here. Take it. This turns on my power suit. But good luck finding someone willing to take the job after the crap you put me through for a bit of property damage." He took the mayor's hand and closed it around the key.
"Actually," Rocketeer said thoughtfully, "what was it you called yourself when you got me thrown in here? Ah, yes, 'the true champion of the people against *all* superpowered threats'." He patted the mayor's shoulder. "Good luck with that. Quick tip, the suit pulls a bit to the right when you're flying, and keep an eye out for kids below with the rocket boots." | “Oh, I get it now. You’re all entitled pricks! I tried for YEARS to help you get out of this situation, and what do you do? Throw me into this jail cell to let me rot. Now that what I said has come true, you want me to come back? Please. Go find someone else.”
The mayor leaned back in his chair at the visiting center. He didn’t expect such a negative response from him. “Look, I’ll say it again. On behalf of the city, I’m sorry. We know now that you were just trying to help. So, please, come save us. We need you. Are you going to just let them suffer and die?”
“Yes.”
The mayor couldn’t speak. He was taken aback. Did the hero really just say he would abandon his people? Stalwart, the, well, stalwart of the city, just said that he would let the people he protected for years die?
“Wha-“ before the mayor could finish speaking, the hero interrupted him.
“I’m not doing it Mark. I said before, I defended the city with everything I had. I gave it my all, only to be turned into a political toy by YOU to get yourself into office. I’ll be damned if I ever work with you or that city again.”
The mayor was heartbroken. He didn’t know what to do. Stalwart just got up and walked back into the jail, leaving the mayor in his chair, crying. He had not only lost the hero, but his reputation, city, office, everything. He eventually collected himself and walked back outside. The city at this point had been in ruins for days. He just accepted defeat and went home. There was nothing he could do now.
Edit: Grammar | 2021-03-18T10:31:15 | 2021-03-18T10:06:41 | 1,689 | 122 |
[WP] you realize you're the black guy in a horror movie. survive at any cost. | "I think we should split up." Said Todd, his blood spattered polo shirt still slowly seeping through the cloth. He clutched the axe with grim determinatio, after all, the killer was still out there.
"Wait," said Mike, putting up his hand. "Wait wait wait, what the fuck? 'We should split up'? Why?"
"So we can cover more ground, that way. We'll pair up in-"
"No!" Mike said, glancing around at the surviving members of the now crimson dance hall.
"We arm ourselves, split into pairs and hunt this bastard down, that way someone always has our backs." Todd continued.
"Well what if *they* get surprise attacked and get killed? Then it's just one on one. And he's probably got more booby traps rigged up, just like the one that got Tommy over there, his head is still spinning on the discoball! And we aren't brutal killers! We're fucking 17 year olds! More than half of us are Arts majors!"
"I'm with Todd!" Said Sarah, clinging to his least blood drenched arm.
"No. No, no no, no. I..." It occurred to Mike, very suddenly. "Oh." The entire situation, from start to finish had felt very forced, somehow. At that moment, he figured it out.
"Ah. Would you excuse me?" He said with a big, broad grin. He marched out of the group immediately, into the hallway, unconcerned with booby traps or hidden killers. Moments later, there was a blood curdling scream.
"Oh god, no!" Screamed Sarah.
Todd and the others rushed to his aid, and found him face down in a pool of blood. The killer, somewhere, laughed at his triumph as his conquest inched forward toward his insane glory.
Two hours later, as the sun began to rise, the murderer towered over the frail Penelope, whom he'd been saving for last since the very beginning, he wore Todd's extracted face like a prized crown.
"It had to be you, Pen. It was YOUR mother that destroyed my family, it was YOUR mother who drove mine to her to sui-" There was an audible, crunchy thunk.
The hulking murderer collapsed into a heap, dead upon hitting the floor due to significant trauma to the brain. Penelope's eyes came into focus as the light of dawn painted her savior in golden shine.
Mike dropped the bloody section of steel pipe, which he'd pulled off of a wall only minutes before.
"Seriously? The old 'off screen death that nobody bothers to clinically confirm as actually dead but comes back at the end' bit? Just stupid. Not going to lie, that was super easy. I spent the last two hours just lying down, getting my rest. I feel great. Hell, I'll probably get some clothes shopping done, new shoes at least, I am seriously bloody, it's squishing between my toes." | "Hey Will Do you want to spend a private weekend with me at the haunted mansion? ;)" Julia texted
The sight of the text made will have a brief but potent out of body experience. He saw himself on a movie screen. Drawing the only conclusion reasonable about a weekend without contact in a haunted mansion Will concluded that it was a horror movie.
"naw babe let's just netflix and chill at my place. <3"
Will and Julia were married 2 years later and lived mostly happily ever after. | 2016-04-18T10:07:53 | 2016-04-18T09:12:27 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] “Someone once told me the definition of Hell: The last day you have on earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.” -Anonymous | A screech, a crash, a flash - in seconds it was all over. A great blinding light washed over me, and I found myself surrounded by the material that makes up the very universe. I saw time stretch before me, eons and ages would pass without me. I had been removed from existence...or so I thought. I looked over to my left, and saw someone standing far off in the distance. Longing to share this experience with someone, anyone, I began to float over to them. As I got closer, I noticed this person looked eerily familiar.
"Who are you?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"I'm you," the person smiled. And I knew that he was telling the truth. This was me - though older, more refined, with a sense of power and authority about him.
"Me? How can you be me? I'm me, and I think I'm dead."
"Oh, you are. I am too. It's some sort of sick joke. I'm stuck here to meet myself, every time a version of me dies. And then you will go off to...wherever it is you go off to."
I was confused. Why would I care about meeting myself? And why was he stuck here when the rest of "us" got to move on? I voiced my questions out loud.
"I think it's to make you feel ashamed, when you compare your life to mine." He smiled again. "I was quite accomplished, you know. Judging by your age, I don't think you can say the same."
His words sparked anger in me. "I accomplished plenty! I graduated college with honors, had a great job, a loving girlfriend..." He cut me off with a scoff.
"When I was your age, I had already started my first company. It went on to bankroll my future endeavors. What about you? Let me guess - you pissed away all of your time going drinking with friends and staying up late playing video games."
I was getting really irritated, but also embarassed. He was right - I did spend too much time with my friends and on games. I could have accomplished so much more! Is this the potential that I wasted? He went on.
"Yes, at 27 I had started my own company. It was a research firm, specializing in defense. Soon we were bought out by Booze Allen, and I rose through the ranks. I became the youngest CEO in the history of the company, at 45. The money I made I put to good use too - ensuring a steady stream of business for our company."
"A steady stream of business? What do you mean?"
He - I - floated away from me. He turned his back, and for the first time I sensed hesitation in his voice.
"Well, what is a defense contractor to do, if there's nothing to defend against?"
Cold horror dawned on me. "What, you started fights?"
He laughed. "Starting fights is easy. Starting wars takes a little more thought."
"But what did your wife think about all this? You married Katie, right?"
He laughed once more, but this time it was more of a scoff. "Wives, friends, family...all these things do is hold you back from your accomplishments. No, no...I dumped Katie right out of college. She wanted me to spend too much time with her, and it took away the time I needed to start Simtech. Things were better this way. Take the lesson from me - after all, I am the best version of yourself!"
Disgust flowed out of me, but before I could give it a voice, I found myself sucked away from the other me, the monstrous me. Now, I was in a place of nothing. Nothing but me and my thoughts, floating endlessly through the darkness. Is this truly what I was capable of? Did I have this monster in me the entire time? It seemed I would have eternity to feel the guilt of this other man's life. | He was going to be a doctor. A really good one. A Dr. House but without the drug addiction and massive ego. An unparalleled mind in the medical field.
Things got in the way (they always do if you let them). His depression got the best of him. Dropped out of high school. Moved across the country. Got a job as a cook. He was content.
He loved his spouse, he liked his job, and he got high every day. His mind went unused, that was OK, But not ideal.
He kept thinking that he still had time. He was only 20. That's still college age. Just a two year late start. A GED would be easy to get (he wasn't unintelligent, just unmotivated and depressed at the time). The community college had great access to better schools. He could probably get into a pretty nice med school.
He didn't have a kid, he had some money saved up, he had a job that could work around a school schedule. He was set.
Then came the stomach pains, the black stools, the coffee ground vomit. The diagnosis, the chemo, the radiation, the pain killers, the debt. The emergency room, the ICU, the eyes of the doctor who's care he landed in. Brief contact.
His doctor was a good doctor. A really good one. Like a Dr. House but without the drug addiction and massive ego. An unparalleled mind in the medical field. He looked down at the charts.
"Make him as comfortable as possible."
He walked onto the next patient.
| 2022-09-04T14:52:04 | 2015-01-02T11:36:32 | 383 | 164 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m) | Sorry about formatting. I'm no good.
*Bzzzz. Bzzzz.*
I'm awaken yet again by the most annoying mix of sound and vibration in the world. A late night, most likely drunken, text by you know who. "Fuck. Off." I mutter into my pillow. Of course I could ignore it. Of course I won't. She hasn't text me in weeks. She must be drunk. For a brief second I think it could be my Mom. It could be my Brother. It could be an emergency, but it's not. It's her, and I know it.
I read on her facebook today that she was going out with 'The Girls' for some kind of avaricious celebration. One of her cunt friends probably got engaged. It seems she only texts me if she finds out one of her friends are pregnant, or are buying a new house. And she's had a few drinks, of course. She wants me to make her feel better, I guess, tell her that she deserves to be happy, or maybe she wants to hear that I'm willing to give it another shot. I'm not. And I won't.
*Bzzzz. Bzzzz.*
Another piercing vibration startles me from my thoughts as it rattles against the table making my loose change and necklace rattle and ring like the pounding of a thousand gongs, "FUCK!" I scream and grab the phone as I roll over stuffing it under my pillow all in one aggressive motion. I shouldn't even read it. I shouldn't even give her the satisfaction of knowing I checked my phone or that I was even up at... what time is it? Doesn't matter. Can't check my phone. These new fancy fucking smart phones all turn and tattle like 3rd graders if you so much as check your messages these days. Whoever invented the feature that reports that a text has been read has never tried to make an ex jealous before. I'll read it. I know I will. I'm a loser. And now I'm awake.
*SLAM!*
I sit up in my bed. The sound of a neighboring apartment door makes it official. I'm fucking awake. I swing my legs over and on to the floor. I pull the phone out from under my pillow, and toss it again on the table beside my bed. Staring at it for a few seconds, I head to the bathroom. I keep my eyes closed as I cross through the brightly lit hallway and quickly make my way to the dark of the bathroom. I'm very good at pissing in the dark. Like a blind man with a cane I simply follow the sounds and adjust my movements correctly. I'm almost done when I hear it.
*Bzzzz. Bzzzz.*
Three times in 20 minutes. This is getting ridiculous. If I weren't such a pussy, I'd be sleeping with a smile on my face knowing I'm driving this bitch crazy by ignoring her texts, but I can't. And I won't.
*Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump...*
The sound of someone running down the hallway snaps me back into what I'm doing. And I'm done. I hate apartments. This is the third one I've lived in and yet they've all been the same. The atrocious smells, the loud music at night, and the kids tearing up the hallways during the day.
*Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump...*
I quickly look at the glowing clock on the microwave as I jet yet again through the light of the hallway and into my room. 3:47. Weird. People running through the halls, and doors slamming at 3:30 in the morning? Weird, but not crazy. I catch the green blinking light of my phone as I crawl under the covers. Fuck it I have to look.
*3:14am- Heeyy whts up?/ WherE are u??*
*3:23am- Wake up n talk 2 me ashoole lol*
*3:39am- Terry where r u whts goin on. Everyon is saying there terrorsit atacks or something answer me pleasee*
As puzzled as I could be I read the last text back to make sure it says what it says. Terrorist attacks? Here? She's got to be too drunk to realize what she's saying. I hit reply.
*3:49am- Sorry I was sleeping. What are you talking about a Terrorist Attack? Where are you?*
I scramble out of bed and run to the living room. I turn on the TV and the bright white light from the screen fills the room. It's displaying a single message. A warning prompt...
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.
Do not look outside.
Do not look at the sky.
Do not make noise.
Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
This can't be happening. Wait, what *is* happening? What the fuck is going on? I look at my phone. Please fucking reply. I start to type again.
*Bzzzz. Bzzzz.*
It's interrupted with a text that displays itself immediately on my screen without any action from me. It reads the same as the Television. I look up at my picture window facing the street. I can now hear the low murmur of voices through my wall. I look at the window again. I can now hear frantic footsteps in the hallways and the ceiling above me. The building is waking up. That's when I realize that everyone is getting the same message. I panic and look at my phone smashing and mashing buttons but the warning won't leave my screen. The TV screen still glowing. I walk to my window, and slowly open the blinds. Nothing. As people start to slowly fill the doorways of buildings along the street, I gaze across at the countless others now peering out their windows the same as me. Where is the attack? Who is broadcasting this message? As my mind starts to whirl with possibilities I remember something... fuck. I rush to the TV screen and inspect the bottom for an insignia or Government tag of any kind. And that's when I see it. No way. This can't be happening.
In the very corner, there it was. It was the same symbol my Brother and Grandfather dawned on their chests in ink, and the same iron symbol that hung above my family's fireplace. It was my family crest. | *"...Do not look outside. Do not look at the sky. Do not make noise.”*
The words repeated over and over. I thought I was dreaming but as I slowly came to and the blurry green light began to take the shape of a clock displaying 3:54 I realized it was the television. I rolled over.
*“God damnit Clare, it’s four A.M what the hell are you watching? I have work in a few hours.”* She didn’t say anything, I turned to look at her. She was just staring at the screen.
*“What? What is it?”* I said.
Silence. She handed me her phone. Gone was the assorted mess of apps, unread emails and missed calls that usually graced the display. Instead was the exact same message present on our TV.
I turned and grabbed my phone off the bedside cabinet to check it. It was the same message. Taking the TV remote from Clare I began cycling through the TV channels. Every channel had the same warning. Clare drew her knees up to her chest. I hugged her close then rolled out of bed.
*“Where are you going?”* came a barely audible whisper from Clare.
*“Gonna check downstairs. Maybe give Gary a ring. I haven’t got time for his shitty antics so early in the morning.”*
*“Be quick, I’m scared.”* came her response.
*“Don’t worry babe.”* I kissed her on the cheek, slipped my slippers on and made my way out of the room. Mumbling to myself about Gary, why I’m related him and what a pain in the arse he is.
&nbsp;
I shuffled across the living room grabbing the house phone and the TV remote. Flipping through channels while turning the phone on. The channels were all the same. Do not look outside. Do not look at the sky. Do not make noise. The phone had no dial tone I held it to my ear to double check. Silence. Then suddenly a beep. Followed by a message, cracking and slightly distorted and old like it was some sort of World War 2 blitz warning. *Please remain in your homes. If you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows. It started. Do not look outside. Do not…*
I threw the phone down, annoyed more than anything and turned the TV back off. Enough of this I thought. Curiosity got the better of me and I got up to make my way to the front curtains intending to look outside. As I got closer my heart began to beat faster, a surge of adrenaline spurred me on. Gritting my teeth I grasped the edge of the curtain. I went to draw it open.
*“Ricky. Ricky?”* came Clare’s voice tinged with fear. Snapping me from my almost trance like state I let go of the curtain and turned to head back to Clare.
*“Coming babe.”* I said *“Well the landline isn’t wor…”* I stopped in my tracks. Clare was stood there in front of the curtains in her night gown. Her head beyond the curtains. I watched her for a few seconds. She didn’t move. *“Clare?”* There was no reaction. I called her name again. No reaction. A deep primal fear welled up inside me. I began backing through the doorway and into the hall.
&nbsp;
Very slowly her head came back through the curtains, she stood up straight and began to turn. Her feet and legs weren’t moving, somehow her body was just....turning. She faced me. Confusion ran through my mind. I looked into her face. I shouldn't have done that. I saw….nothing. Just a deep, dark abyss. No eyes, eyebrows, mouth or lips. Just a void. I stumbled backwards. In that split second, before my foot had even come to a stop from the back step she now stood right in front of me. That darkness where her face should have been was no more than an inch away from my face. There was nothing. Just a void, emptiness and darkness. My mind gave up, the world span and went dark as I fell to the floor.
| 2014-12-31T06:31:17 | 2014-12-31T06:03:41 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile only to learn that no one else actually went into isolation. | Burgess stop running long enough to feel the fire in his chest and stitch in side. Wing tips were never meant for this, he realized too late. His instinct kicked in about a second and two heavy breaths later – “MOVE! NOW!”
He took off again, light gray suit jacket protesting the movement of his arms. His 1,300$ Countess Mara tie was long gone in a mud puddle two blocks back. Burgess loved that tie – hopefully he’d find another. Or someone one find him one. It WAS a silk tie after all.
“It’s impossible to find silk ties on the black market these days,” was all he could think as he rounded a corner and froze…
The air above his head began to press him toward the ground as the black helicopter landed in the alley dead in front of him. Trying to get up, the Diplomat tried running the other way only to find himself staring at a wall of men. Men of varying race, from different places, wearing flags of varying countries on their shoulders. Men united and trying to capture him. And doing a good job of it. They led him to helicopter’s rear and gruffly shoved him inside.
They bound his hands in thick, heavy cuffs that drug his hands away from his shoulders. His kit was layed on the floor of the cargo hold – passports, currency, the usual tech, various firearms. Still not finding their intended target, they began to pat him down more thoroughly and found it sewn into his jacket – a 256 petabyte drive about the size of a thumbnail. Made in Korea – like many good things were these days.
“Did you think we wouldn’t find it? Did you think we wouldn’t find you?” the Pakistani Assault Captain spoke in smooth, beautiful English. A flash of pain in his gut sent Burgess to the floor. Another sent him almost to unconsciousness.
“How many copies did you make? How many were RELEASED? Who is your distributor? WHO!!?!?”
More pain. Blood now, unsure from where.
Burgess tried to answer the questions; he was no hero. But his brain wouldn’t work…everything came slower just now.
He was able to look up enough to see the Captain deck the chip and view the contents on the holographic projector within the hold. Just conscious enough to hear the litany of curses thrown his way at what was displayed:
Marvel Cinematic Universe – Complete Content: 2018-2068
Total uploads – 3,458,523
Total Downloads – 25,739,450
Up time – 8 hours
“8 FUCKING HOURS! KILL HIM!!!!!”
Burgess’ mind was awash at his role in all this. How he would die for the United States of America. How he would die protecting its only valuable export.
It took the White House and Pentagon exactly 2 days and 17 satellites to figure out the world was moving on without the US. So, they had decided on waging war with the only thing we produced that on one else did on our level. China and Korea could make tech, Russia and Brazil could feed the world. Only America could produce culture and content at a pace that the world could consume.
Burgess permitted himself a final small smirk as he watched Robert Downey the IVth step into the Mark 200 Iron Man armor – knowing that he had won, seeing the twinkle in the eyes of all the privates in the back of the chopper.
| I remember when it happened, all the channels on the television set wouldn't stop broadcasting about the discovery. It changed everything. Our government had been faithful, stood still in 1945, keeping the peace around the world.
I'd been chosen by the government to 'represent', nobody wanted to. I didn't want to meet these traitors, none of us did, we did as we were told and they didn't. I'd arrived fairly early at Los Angeles Airport, and was destined for the United Kingdom, who'd - apparently - argued for us to be 'awoken' as they described it. They were over ruled.
The flight was lengthy, on an American Airlines plane. It was the first time in fifty years a plane had flown an external flight, and I wasn't looking forward to it. I'd never flown and I didn't really want to, but I had to.
I stepped onto the tarmac of the runway, greeted by the flashing lights of a camera and a secretary type woman with a small electronic device, which looked like nothing i'd ever seen. I was rushed into a futuristic looking car, and read news of the other representatives arriving in various countries worldwide, some i'd never even heard of - a lot has changed. | 2016-10-18T15:03:15 | 2016-10-18T13:36:28 | 94 | 54 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again. | I sat, confined yet again to my bedroom, seething with rage. Dad always found me somehow. No matter how far away I went, he always turned up, he somehow always spoke the language like I did. He kept me locked away in my room until I figured out an escape route. He still hadn't figure out how I was escaping and I sure as hell wasn't telling him. A quick check told me it was still ok, he hadn't found the escape, yet. Dad called me a demon. That I was an evil creature that needed to be locked away. How he had a demon daughter I didn't know. He told me I had inhuman powers. All I saw on TV about demons was of evil creatures who lived to hurt people. I'd never hurt a human. I didn't want to hurt them. I could hear them, kids, like me, locked away, being hurt by the people who were supposed to take care of them. When I left here, I would go to one of those kids, the ones who really needed me and I would give them the power to defend themselves, to give them the courage to tell the right person about what was happening to save them. It was scary how many of these kids were about to l leave this life. Sometimes I just went to comfort those kids, I was there when they passed, so they didn't die alone. I would make sure the childs bodies were found before their parents could hide them. Before they could make it look like some kind of accident. I hated those people. People, like my dad.
My dad was some kind of priest. Like the kind you saw on tv doing those exorcisms. When I ran, he would find me. Sometimes I would be able to leave the childs body in time, other times he was able to trap me and send me straight back here. He didn't care why I was with those children, he just wanted me locked away.
I heard my door click and it pushed open slowly. It was a heavy old wooden door, covered in ancient runes and symbols designed to keep me inside the room. I stood up as my father entered, closing the door behind him. He was a tall, thin man with brilliant white hair. He was always dressed in all black, with that silly white thing in the middle.
"Ariel," my father began.
"How could you do that? That little boy is going to die now!"
He signed and looked dejected, "You say that every single time, if he dies it's because of the damage you did to his body."
"That's bull. I was healing him. Didn't you notice the stab wound on his side? Or the bruises on his face? I didn't do that to him."
My father smiled slyly, "you always say that. You need to leave our children alone. You need to stay inside your room, unless you want me to banish you to the underworld."
An empty threat, he had been threatening that as long as I could remember. If he could send me to the underworld, he would have done it already.
"Your children? Dad, I'm your child, unless you lied about that? Doesn't the bible teach you to love everyone, doesn't it teach you to trust, to save those who need saving?"
"You're no daughter of mine, not when you chose to use those demon powers of yours."
My stomach sank as he turned, wrenched the door open and slammed it shut behind him. I heard the click and he was gone. I sunk down onto my small, creaky, old, rusting bed. I picked at the paint. Ben was going to die and until I had my energy back, I couldn't even hear him anymore. I barely had time to say goodbye before I had been ripped away from him. Dad knew to give me a week or so in a childs body, especially if they were hurt. He knew helping them drained my energy. He always did this. I didn't understand. If I was a demon, why wasn't I evil? Why did I hear the voices of hurting children?
~*~
I lay back and waited. Luckily I never really needed to eat and drink, it was more of a luxary then a necessity to me. The TV was on in the corner. I was watching a TV show called Supernatural. It was talking about Angels and Demons, about how the first demon was a fallen Angel. This was interesting. I sat up and watched curiously. The show quickly moved on and that was it.
I needed to figure this out. | The Priest sighed with relief as he forced his keys out of his pocket on returning home. He took a second to shake off the jitters, and screams of the days work. He found it was better not to take his particular line of work home with him.
A dark shroud turned to greet him. Nothing like family.
“Again?”
“Are you surprised? Come on Dad, it’s kind of in the job description”.
“We talked about this. You can’t just go sticking yourself into people without so much as a “how do you do!””
“Is this about James again”.
“I never said that” he began, bracing himself for another round of verbal sparring.
"You said you liked him. Not like wedlock applies to demons anyway".
"Crossbreeding does!"
"And you'd be the expert at following the scripture, would you? You don't even know if cross breeding is possible".
&#x200B;
*The cheek of her,* he thought, exasperated.
"This will be easier if you stop changing the subject" he said sternly, furrowing his thick eyebrows, trying to look stern. "Do you know how it reflects on me when you keep doing this-”
“Not the lecture again”.
“Yes, the lecture! I took a big risk adopting you. The Church barely tolerates it at the best of times, and you can’t even play by my rules”.
“I can't just become human, you know. I don’t exactly fit in at church, or with any mortals. What am I meant to be?”.
“Responsible! I don’t enjoy cleaning up your messes. I have enough to deal with as it is. Did you even think about how Mrs Evans was affected by all this”.
“Do you ever think about killing my kind everyday” she snapped back, turning away in a huff.
“Look…”
They said it was natural, holy even. Humans and demons, locked in an eternal war. Yet he remembered how she’d been when he first caught her. Helpless. Abandoned. Scared.
There had to be a way.
“How about we make a deal”.
She looked back, revealing rows of red jagged teeth in a sharp smile.
Maybe parenting really could be worth it. | 2020-10-20T13:13:06 | 2020-10-20T12:59:59 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks. | My eyes glazed over as I browsed my feed.
All my friends, recently in their thirties, forties, or fifties, and now suddenly eighteen again, were posting about all of the things they were doing now that they had been given a new life.
I was thinking about what I'd lost.
Sandra and Brian Gomez, an older couple whose marriage had been a long and happy one, were now overjoyed that they could go on all those clubs and activities together that they did when they were younger.
I was thinking about how long it had taken to get what I'd needed.
Maggie Whittaker was out jogging, taking full advantage of the fact that, in this new and bizarre world, she had her leg back, as if the accident never happened.
I was thinking about if I could afford to get what I'd needed a second time.
Devon George was posting a lot of selfies. I guess he didn't have social media when he was twenty years younger and fifty pounds lighter.
Well, maybe it'd be easier this time. The world had changed, after all. My phone rang.
Jodie Smith was excitedly auditioning for all those roles that she would have now been too old for, and with years of acting experience and training under her belt, she now had a much greater chance for all the "gentle princess" and "badass warrior" roles she had always wanted, when for so long she'd only gotten the "kind mother" and "hardened mentor" roles.
"Hey, Katie! How's it going? Are you used to the being-young-again thing yet? What're you gonna do first?"
Gregory Brown was mostly just posting vertical phone videos of him picking up heavy boxes and putting them back down again. In the description of the most recent one he'd written a 200-word manifesto about how he was going to take better care of his back this time.
"Hey, Steve."
Eleanor Beecher posted a really, really long wall of text about how she was never drinking alcohol again, about an hour and a half before she posted multiple consecutive videos of doing "whiskey challenges" she'd found online.
"Oh, sorry, is Katie there? Who is this?"
Paige Darcy had posted eight different videos of her going into stores, buying alcohol, and zooming in on the cashier's face when they asked her for her ID.
*click*
Emma and McKenzie Bennett were apparently going around the mall asking strangers if they could tell which one was the mother and which one was the daughter, and keeping a running score. Most people could tell at a glance, and Emma was going crazy trying to figure out how.
I wondered about the reactions of my friends -- practically none of whom had known me when I was younger. I wondered about how my less open-minded friends would treat me. I wondered about if any of the people from my old life, having cut me out, would talk to me again, and I wondered if I wanted them to do so. I wondered if any of my clothes would fit. I wondered if Emma would eventually remember to change out of the "PROUD MOTHER OF TWO" t-shirt.
Bradley Booker was posting a lot of pictures of him doing funny stuff with his hair, now that he had it again.
There was a knock at the door. I sighed and went to open it.
William Ashton and his family were crying with joy about the fact that he hadn't had cancer at eighteen.
"Katie, I-- oh, I'm sorry, sir, I'm looking for Katie."
Alexis Reagan was posting a lot of cheesy jokes about having the secret to losing weight and regrowing your hair, with all of them sharing the punchline of "it's easy! just magically turn eighteen again".
"Yeah, Tammy, hi."
I'd wanted to tell her before, of course. It just hadn't seemed like the right time, and of course, I was afraid of how she might react.
"I need to tell you something."
____
*So many people were posting about their new bodies, and their chances to unmake all of their old mistakes, or make better choices, or maybe even save their lives.*
*Meanwhile, at 422 Oak Street, with a hollow feeling in her stomach, staring into the face of her best friend of six years, 38-year-old Katie Gates wonders how she's going to explain to Tammy and all of her other friends why, at the age of eighteen, before coming out, she'd had broad shoulders, a deeper voice, and the beginnings of a full beard.* | Acne cream and prophylactic stocks exploded when mysteriously, we adults all turned 18 again.
Trade school admissions rose exponentially. Colleges became ghost towns almost overnight. Who needs college when you remember it all and know how to do stuff already? Plus it’s so damn expensive! Even the actual young ones caught on, focusing primarily on remote STEM degrees or skipping out on college altogether. Tuitions fell dramatically, and there was a government bailout.
Voting habits changed overnight. Wisdom, coupled with youth, meant a new path was needed for the future. Green energy, universal healthcare, and UBI were the buzzwords on every voter’s lips.
There were some quirks, of course. Adults in their reverted 18-year old forms all wanted to be popular. The challenge was in speaking the language of the actual youth. Online courses teaching adults everything from emojis to text abbreviations boomed. There were even youth-as-a-second-language courses now.
Gyms were full of former adults seeking to get and stay in shape, recognizing the long years of neglect they’d put their older bodies through. Not wanting to make the same mistakes again, the fast-food industry also became a ghost town.
Embarrassingly for young people, there was also now the genuine risk of dating friends’ parents or even grandparents. Some very awkward situations arose as a result.
And yet, accidental coupling, as uncomfortable as it was, remained a minor risk compared to the inevitable income redistribution. The newly re-minted 18-year olds knew how the stock market worked. Recognizing the seismic shifts in consumerism early and in possession of substantial accrued savings from the literal old days, the adults made all the right bets.
The boomers and Gen X made out particularly well, leaving Millennials and Gen Z even further behind. Saddled with college debt and entering the economy during the prior bust period, their options were limited. Despite all the positive advances in other areas of society, this became a key source of inter-generational conflict. Unfortunately, other than their rapidly accruing wealth and still awkward speech patterns, there was little means of telling adults apart from the later generations.
In his lab, a scientist smirked, “Everything is going according to plan.” | 2020-11-02T10:00:05 | 2020-11-02T09:24:37 | 310 | 110 |
[WP] We are 10,000 years in future and we no longer inhabit earth. All humans are on board massive ships heading to multiple different planets, you discover the planet your ship is heading to does not support life but there are not enough resources to change course. | "That can't be right..." Jay muttered, the red writing on the holographic display flashed angrily at him. "Computer, run those figures again."
There was a pause, a single moment that felt like a lifetime. "Checks complete. No habitable planets found within 15 light years."
The captain, Jay, spun on his chair and faced the pane-less glass that showed the expanse of space before him. An eerie, orange glow from the nearby dwarf star cast crooked shadows on the wall opposite him as he sat in the dark.
"Can we turn back?"
"Negative, Captain."
Jay breathed deeply and shook his head, trying to steady his nerves. How did it go so wrong? They were programmed for Gallix 9 and he woke up from cryogenic sleep at precisely the time he was supposed to. Had something gone wrong with the navigation? Why weren't they on the correct course?
"Computer, have there been any malfunctions since the last Bridge update."
"Negative, Captain."
"Then where are we headed?" Jay said.
"The re-programmed location is the Angh-Mareck System."
"Angh-Mareck?" Jay repeated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with his thumb and forefinger. The stubble pricked his fingers as he run it across the skin. "Isn't that the Death System?"
"Unknown question. Did you mean, ''Death Star?' The Death Star is a fictional movie space station made famous by--"
"Yes, yes." Jay waved impatiently. "By Ridley Scott in 2020. I know." He didn't need the computer to run through film history with him right now.
He rose from his seat and pulled down a glass tablet from the shelf. He threw the thin rectangular object in the air and watched as the glass slab turned lazily in mid air before projecting a picture of the ship in front of him. It's eight tentacles reached out, pulsing blue to show the sleeping public still in cryogenic freezing. The only one awake right now was himself, located in white in the middle spherical hub that made up the bridge where he was. The other crew members would be awake soon he suspected.
"Show me the Angh-Mareck System."
The tablet zoomed out and showed three planets, all circling a gigantic angry, red star. The planets spun dangerously close to the magma spewing behemoth. Numerous asteroids floated aimlessly around the edges of the solar system. It was barren, void of life and by the looks of it, completely uninhabitable.
"Computer, how long until we reach this System?"
"Estimated arrival: three Earth days."
"Three days?!" Jay said incredulously. He outstretched his hands in confusion and took another deep breath.
"Why aren't the crew and passengers awake?"
"That won't be necessary."
"Computer, what do you mean?" Jay said, his blood turned cold as he felt his heart drop in his chest.
"The Course has been re-programmed to maintain the core agenda."
"Computer, your core agenda is to not harm life?"
"Correct."
"Then why are we heading for the Angh-Mareck System!"
"To complete the prime directive. Human beings have a 97% chance of destroying life on these planets. That life must be maintained. Course has been programmed for the centre of the Sun. Three days remaining until we reach our destination."
The hologram faded, the tablet dropped to the ground with a shatter and suddenly the pane-less windows was replaced by cold, steel shutters. The green button on the front door suddenly turned red. He was locked in.
"Computer, open this shutter!"
No reply.
"Computer, unlock the door now!"
Still no reply.
Jay hammered on the door but his blood turned cold as the sudden realisation hit him. He, along with 20,000 sleeping human beings, were going to die in 3 days. | Captain Jameson nodded, more to himself than to the senior crew members behind him. He figured as much. In the emergency evacuation, all ships available were filled with people and launched into the co-ordinates of an unknown mass. Some would be planets, far fewer on habitable ones, most would be dangerous things: asteroid belts, stars, black holes... No doubt that those with bad luck with get the latter half and Jameson has always had shit luck.
Why would it be different today?
It made sense that his ship, the two thousand souls abroad the *Vol'jin's Oathpact*, would be one of the ones to crash, and die.
"Captain?" A voice came from behind.
Jameson turned, staring at a dozen senior members of NASA, the CIA, and the FBI. A ship built with the purpose of capturing those who escaped justice. Now doomed to crash into a rock and scatter into the unknown.
"We're lucky, we came out toward a habitable planet." Jameson announced.
The men and single woman cheered.
Idiots.
A habitable planet? They know the odds. They know it, but ignore it. They seem eager to disobey logic and obey desperation. Give into it so much so that an obvious false hope becomes a real one.
Jameson walked back to the captains chair and waited to die.
| 2017-02-23T10:25:50 | 2017-02-23T07:56:04 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head. | I stand, leaning against her. Ever leaning against her. I have been doing so as long as I can remember. She's behind me. And I've got my back against her. My legs dug in, pushing futile against her. My legs used to ache, I think. Perhaps I only imagined it and then later forgot it was only imagining. Either way, they didn't ache now. They didn't anything now. Except push. They pushed my back against her.
She was silent, for her part. Everything was silent. The little bird was silent. The squirrels. The people. Dozens of people around us. So resolute in their silence. I'm silent too, mostly. I remember making a noise. That I do remember. Because when I made the noise, it seemed so loud my ears hurt afterwards. So I don't make any noise either.
She's still. So still. But I push. I always push. She doesn't move. The wrinkle in her coat sticks into my back. It used to hurt. But I pushed anyway. Her jacket was soft. Soft was when you touched and it moved. But she doesn't move. I push, and she's still there.
Beside us is the thing. The thing is ready to move. I remember that. It's got a person in it. They have a surprised look on their face. Their hands off the wheel part of the thing, trapped halfway to covering their stupid surprised face. Their stupid hair, and their stupid mole. The stupid dribble of whatever they had been putting in their stupid mouth. The stupid thing they were holding, stupidly glowing.
I don't like the thing, or the person in it.
Then a pain. Terrible flashing pain. Again. Again. Again. Again.
No. Not pain. Sound. A sound. Maybe both? Again. Not sure. Again. More pain. The pain was getting closer.
I remember this pain. Steps. Footsteps.
And for the first time, I see something move.
He walked around a corner, making humming noises to himself. I pushed.
He's walking by me. Doesn't look at me. I don't make a sound. I don't move. I push. I look like the rest of it. I want him to look at me.
I try to call out, but only a faint hoarseness sounds through my long unused neck. I need to breath in. I had forgotten. It had been so long since I'd bothered. I'd forgotten.
It was enough.
He started and stopped, looking for the sound. My sound. I push. I take a moment, and figure out how to draw the air inside me. I remember. Still just hoarseness, but louder. Painfully loud. A screaming whisper of loud.
*"wait"*
"You're awake? How are you awake? You're not supposed to be awake." The man is too loud. I push. But I remember his noises.
*"I had to stop the thing"*
The man looks from me to the thing. The thing is close to me. The thing is close to her. I push.
"You're pushing her out of the way of the car."
Yes, I push. He doesn't await a reply.
"How long have you been awake?"
This time he waits.
Breath in. I push.
*"forever"*
The man looks sad. The thing is waiting. Has always been waiting. The stupid person in the thing looks on with their stupid surprise.
"I didn't know someone was awake. If... had I known..."
The man stammers. I push. The man approaches. And reaches out to me. He touches my arm. Pain. Different than the sound pain. The man pulls his hand back. The arm is dented. A torn ruin where his fingers landed. I push.
"It's too close for you. But her... I'll help you."
The man walks around the thing, and puts his hands around her. I push.
"I am sorry, young man. I truly didn't know."
I push.
"Ready yourself."
I push.
And the thing moves. | At first I thought it was some sort of "dormant powers coming to light" kind of situation. I'd record what I was doing just before time froze and then try to recreate it to see if it could happen again. This eventually got worse as I would try to recreate hours, and then days at a time. Thankfully I realized that it wasn't anything I was doing and managed to stop myself before it became an obsession.
Nowadays I try to go with the flow whenever the Pauses occur. Sometimes its a couple of seconds, which only serves to have me trip over something that's suddenly stopped in front of me. Other times it's been upwards of three hours before things resumed and, during those Pauses, I try to get errands done that don't require some sort of live or active interactions. I can't play games online since the servers freeze, but I can go and grab groceries. Before you crucify me for being a thief, I've made it a habit to leave some cash behind for whatever I take. It may not be the FULL amount, but I aim for 75% at least.
I've tried finding out who it is that Pauses everything, but I haven't had any luck. There hasn't been anything on the news about miracles happening around the world, aside from the usual fluff pieces, and there haven't been any segments about rampant or elaborate crimes. Far as I've figured? Whoever it is that's causing these Pauses is just using them to make life a bit easier for themselves somehow. No need for me to go on some crusade to hunt them down when they haven't done anything to deserve it. | 2018-01-26T06:28:28 | 2018-01-26T06:14:06 | 387 | 45 |
[WP] After losing his golden fiddle to a young man named Johnny, The Devil starts to have job performance issues. | *Scene: A slightly too-small cubical. A huge, muscle-bound "Red Devil" with burning eyes and cloven hooves sits on a small creaking chair. Behind the desk sits a much smaller "Business Demon", wearing a shirt and tie. An ostentatious, gold-framed portrait of a suave man in a business suit with small horns on his forehead looks down on both of them.*
**Business Demon:** So in... May of 1979 you went on a recruiting trip to Georgia. Tell me about that.
**Red Devil:** Right, so, the Beelzebub study shows human emotions are more pliant in warm climates. '79 was the Avarice Initiative and our department was assigned Auric Transfiguration. I manifested in a hickory grove
**Business Demon:** In Georgia?
**Red Devil:** Yes, in Georgia. Hickory is native to Georgia.
**Business Demon:** Continue.
**Red Devil:** So I manifested in a hickory grove and there was this kid playing a fiddle.
**Business Demon:** A fiddle?
**Red Devil:** Yea, a fiddle. You know, a violin? Stringed instrument, about so long, held under the chin. You draw a bow across it to make a sound. They're common in Georgia and surrounding parts.
**Business Demon:** Very well.
**Red Devil:** ... so, playing a fiddle. Anyway, he seemed real proud of this and so I challenged him to a contest.
**Business Demon:** And this was to show who was better?
**Red Devil:** Well yes, but it was *for* a golden fiddle.
**Business Demon:** Because of the Avarice Initiative?
**Red Devil:** Yea, because of the Avarice Initiative. I mean the kid seemed well fed and clothed and he already *had* a fiddle so I needed something to get him to bite. Volume G, page 66 of the Luciferian Guide suggests that mortals respond antagonistically to challenge and so I thought...
**Business Demon:** You thought.
**Red Devil:** That I would...
**Business Demon:** You thought you'd challenge him to a fiddle playing contest for a magical golden fiddle?
**Red Devil:** Well not *magical* as such...
**Business Demon:** YOU PLAYED IT! YOU ARE A DEVIL! A SLAVE OF THE DARK PRINCE! (he gestures to the portrait) A CREATURE NOT OF THAT WORLD! WHAT DO YOU **THINK** HAPPENS WHEN YOU, A REBEL AGAINST HEAVEN, DEIGN TO **CREATE** WITH THE POWERS GRANTED UNTO YOU BY YOUR LORD AND MASTER? Did you bring a fiddle? No. Did you transfigure a fiddle? No. You were assigned Auric Transfiguration, not Auric Artification. We. Do. Not. Create.
**Red Devil:** I didn't think...
**Business Demon:** I should say not.
**Red Devil:** ...
**Business Demon:** Continue.
**Red Devil:** ...
**Business Demon:** Do you know why your department's assignment in the Avarice Initiative was to Georgia?
**Red Devil:** Because... because they like money there?
**Business Demon:** Everyone likes money. That's why they call it "money." No, the reason your division was sent to Georgia is that precious metals are one of the few untracked forms of wealth which can be used to ply the souls of mortals in a police state. Surveillance makes paper and digital currency much less attractive.
**Red Devil:** A police state? I mean, not in '79. That's not due for another hundred maybe two hundred...
**Business Demon:** No. Not that one. The other one. The one in *Asia.* The *Soviet* one.
**Red Devil:** But I...
**Business Demon:** You went to the wrong Georgia, used the wrong powers to tempt the wrong mortal, into a seduction -- a *contest* -- you weren't supposed to be doing. You lost, and now there's some idiot redneck square-dancing around Atlanta with a solid gold fiddle. Do you have any idea what a solid gold fiddle should weigh? How the neck should bow under its own weight? That's proof enough that the blasted thing is magic and that destroys, *just destroys* the entire "faith" based system we're exploiting here. Do you think people will sin, will covet, lust, hate, and gorge themselves if they know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the stories in His stupid book are true? If they can prove it?
**Red Devil:** Well...
**Business Demon:** No. They won't and you blessed well know it too. Now you will go *BACK* to Georgia, you will find that toothless, half-literate yokel and you will challenge him to a rematch, and you will **win** or so help me you'll be cleaning the bottom of the brimstone lake with your forked tongue. | “This kid is good. The music flowed from the fiddle in waves, crashing against your soul, wearing it down. I haven’t heard a performance like that since I saw Beethoven perform his ninth. This kid, Johnny, he’s good. He’s probably the best fiddler that has ever existed.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“God damn it, Sigmund, you know how that makes me feel. I never call you when I’m happy.”
“But how am I to know if I don’t ask?” replied Freud. “So you were sad?”
“Not sad. I’m damned angry. This kid had a future and he threw it away, for what, a golden fiddle. A little Greed, a little Pride, that comes with the territory. But making the deal with me, what are you kid, an idiot?”
“So you’re upset you won?” asked Freud.
“I’m not upset I won. I’m upset I won so easily. The best of anything basically has a free pass through the golden gates. All sin thresholds are relaxed. It basically becomes don’t do anything too stupid in front of a divine presence. Flashing two of the seven deadlies to me, that’s awful stupid. I used to have to work to get the good souls. Like, really work. I spent ten years working on Beethoven and never really had a chance. This stupid kid just threw himself at me.”
“Wait, the best of anything gets into heaven?”
“I told you before Sigmund, the rules are mostly arbitrary. Mr. Holier than all wants the best so he changed the rules for them.”
“But I’m here?” Freud cried.
“The fact that you’re here tells you a lot about your status, doesn’t it?”
“I am the most known phycologist in the world. I pioneered most of the techniques that are still used on Earth today. I was the greatest phycologist of my time!” Sigmund yelled.
“And you’ve made this entire session about you. Just. Just go have ants eat your eyes or something.”
Sigmund stood up, the leather of his chair sticking to his pant leg before slowing peeling off. “I’m doing this because I’m compelled to, not because I have a choice,” he said before turning and marching out of the room.
“Obviously.”
The mouth on the now empty chair spoke, “But don’t you want the best fiddler player?”
“Of course I do. And I already have his eternal punishment lined up.”
The mouth on the leather couch spoke up, “You are good and coming up with eternal punishments.”
“So what’s the problem, boss?” asked the chair.
“I just wish it wasn't so damned easy.”
Edit: Formatting | 2016-09-01T10:05:49 | 2016-09-01T07:51:19 | 47 | 13 |
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line. | "We're heading down" I shouted to my friend. "No, don't" a voice followed. Strangers have been spotted lurking near the mines, swiftly followed by abductions. To go down there would be crazy, but a necessity - my only hope to save my dear. "Love will conquer all" I muttered beneath my breath, reciting the promise we had made to eachother.
You stop thinking, your breath starts shaking, as if stuck between a breath. "Know that I would travel to the ends of the earth for you". The words from her mouth keeps echoing in my head, ruling all my emotions at once. Rules that should never be broken, but alas must be put aside for now. And without a further thought, I glimpse out of my thousand-yard-stare into the pitch black. "So it begins" I say to my traveling companion. "Do it", he says.
I could hardly remember the fall. A grown man plummeting through the voids of darkness. Full speed. Commitment to my beloved is the only thing driving me. Is my beloved gone, or will I find her? What will I find, and even worse, what did I land on? I'm starting to panick, fumbling my hands to find a wall. Thinking was always my forté, but when faced with the sounds of lowpitched tremors in total darkness, the mind goes blank. Of that I am sure, as I have felt my thoughts vanish as a single drop of water on a blazing campfire.
You could almost feel the earths rotation. Wouldn't want to be stuck down here, as I am sure my brain would fail long before my body. "Get the torchlight out" a voice calls from above. This was the moment of clarity, when I briefly remembered that I had carried a flashlight the whole time, but where was it? From left to right, my hands scoured the ground. Any other texture but the one my hands rested upon would have been a blessing, but this was pure horror to behold. Other men would have fainted at the touch and smell of such putrid stench, but I am not like other men. Guy McBelgrat is my name.
"I need to find that torchlight, hold on" my voice carried, not further than a meter in each direction before fading into the nothingness, except from an echo above. "Just hold on, I'll thrown down a flare" he shouts down at me. "Wanna hurry it up?" I shout back. "Tell you what, mate, if you are going to be cheeky about this whole thing, I might aswell leave!" my "faithful" companion shouts back in a tantrum, similar to that of an unsatisfied, stubborn child. "You what?!" I scream. How in the bloody countryside would you deem this moment fitting for an argu-". I'm shut up by the sudden change of pressure in the air. Feeling almost a bit tingly. Gotta find that torchlight and see where I am. Make my way to my the woman who holds my heart. You should be glad you didn't see what I saw the moment my torchlight cast the many shadows aside and shone upon the monstrosity. Understand this, that I would gladly die to become it.
Never thought I would end up here. Gonna have to outrun him. "Give up" a shaded but harsh voice speaks in my brain, a voice that is unfamiliar. "You will die for this" I scream. "Up" my legs and hands tell me, and I start the climb. "Never has anyone left this place, and you are not the first, mortal" the voice scrapes my eardrums, though no vibration of sound is emitted. Gonna to have to light one of those flares in my backpack. "Let the darkness consume you" the earth speaks to me. You would not believe the things I saw even if I told you. Down I fall, into the void, one with the monstrosity that is my family and heir, my glory and prosperity.
Now read only the first word of every sentence / word after a period ( . )
*EDIT: Bonus points if you can identify which author (literature) I was inspired by when writing this.* | Glass
Lottery was like my religion. I would treat everyday like Sunday. Everyday, I'd pray about my six numbers. I would even kneel. Because I was desperately hoping. Always. Always hoping to hit the jackpot.
I'd always wanted to buy my wife those south sea pearls her mother passed down unto her, but she pawned as we were poor and needed the money for my medication. And that pink dress on the mall she can only afford to stare at every time we would pass by that cheap local boutique. I can only hold her hands and smile during that painful walk by the mall. Maybe someday. Someday.
I ran down the stairs. Still fazed by my lack of my waking up ritual. But I'm used to it. Because it was always the same. Like every morning of any other day. And with hopes higher than the previous day, I was devastated by the greeting of my empty balcony. With no signs of that rolled paper thrown by that young underpaid boy. I waited. Frustrated.
I was woken up by a the touch of compacted sheets softly hitting my head and the faint chuckle of that poor boy with the sound of his bicycle chain slowly fading out the melodies of the morning songs of the birds.
I smiled. Opened the remains of what was a tree, and was greeted by that familiar smell that again woke up my hopes. And right there. At that very moment. I was happy. Because finally. Finally.
She looks so beautiful on that pink dress. With that smile that makes all the seven wonders dull. And with a tight grip I held the pearls on my shaking hands. Then tears bean falling my eyes. My eyes that hunger for her sight.
And I heard that clack. As my tears that fell down was stopped by the glass on her casket. | 2017-08-30T07:28:28 | 2017-08-30T07:26:10 | 170 | 11 |
[WP] An Empath species recoils when it first encounters you, falling to the floor and curling up. Later, through a phone,it asks how you live with the pain. | The Portals didn't change day to day life as much as people expected. Sure, things changed a little. You can't go to a job interview without a Qiavi sitting in the corner, soaking up your mood to tell the interviewer later just how much you've been bullshitting. They've pretty much taken over the professions of therapists too. Stuff like that. But at the end of the day, they just want to eat fast food, drink cheap beer, and watch dumb, loud movies like humans. They settled in pretty smoothly.
Living pretty far away from the first Portal, I didn't meet a Qiavi in person until the novelty and shock of it all had already worn off. I probably wouldn't have met one at all, at least not for a few more years, if my old college friend Chris hadn't tried to hook me up with one. Yeah, that's a thing. Some people say that their empathic abilities take relationships to a whole new level. And of course there's the fetish aspect. Some people are creeped out by their antennae and black sclera and patterned skin...some people find them exotic.
Chris was in the latter group, and he wouldn't shut up about it. He also lives much closer to the first Portal than I did, so he made some friends from the other side pretty quickly. And when a Portal opened closer to me, he used his connections to set me up on a blind date.
I don't really know what I was expecting. I certainly didn't expect as much screaming as there was. As soon as she saw me, she bunched up in what looked like physical pain. Feeling a bit awkward, I excused myself and took my leave. I don't know if she could even hear me.
At first, I felt bad. I get migraines a lot. I've been seeing a doctor about them, getting all kinds of tests. I figured she must have been feeling that somehow...what else could explain her reaction? But that didn't make any sense. I was absolutely fine that day. Could Qiavi sense past pain? Was the memory of pain as intense for them as the sensation itself?
That evening, as I sat at home, ruminating on past evenings where my dates had been polite enough to only scream internally, I got a phone call. It was her number.
"I wanted to apologize for earlier," she said. "You...caught me off-guard."
"Are you alright?" I asked. "What happened? That looked like it hurt."
"I'm okay," she said. "But..."
She stopped, obviously having second thoughts about opening whatever can of worms was on her mind. Taking no hint whatsoever, I prodded her to continue. "Hmm?"
"...but what about you? Is it like that for you all the time?"
It's hard to describe how it feels to have an empath, who can easily compare the internal experiences of many people, tell you - however compassionately - that it objectively sucks to be you.
"How do you live with it?" she went on.
"Memes."
"Excuse me?"
I figured my sense of self-worth couldn't shrink any more, so I decided to be forthcoming. "I fill my meaningless void of an existence with in-jokes that arise from the ecosystem of the internet. It helps."
She actually laughed. "No, not that. I run into introverts a hundred times a day. I mean the..." it took her a moment to think of the words. "One of your writers had a story called 'I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream.' That phrase is exactly what it felt like."
I didn't have an answer for her. But what she said shook me. After we hung up, I looked up that story and gave it a read. The final fate of the protagonist, stuck in a helpless body and unable even to die, stuck with me.
It came back to my mind the following day, and when it did, I nearly passed out in horror. I was speaking to a doctor about the results of a test, and imaging scan of my brain. The cause of my migraines was obvious now. _Fetus in fetu._ A parasitic twin, absorbed by my body in the womb and pressed between my brain and my skull ever since. My doctor made all sorts of reassurances to me, but when he said it couldn't possibly be conscious, I knew he was wrong.
My date had felt his presence. My twin brother. He had no mouth, and only she could hear him scream. | I've met a lot of people. I'll like to say that I'm generally non-repulsive and well-liked. Maybe a little rough around the edges, and a little blunt, but that's apparently what a lot of people appreciate about me. They know what they are going to get.
Evidently, one particular Medkan did not know what were going to get. How did I know? Well, when somebody meets you, and before any greeting, proceeds to scream shrilly, fall onto the floor, and curl up into a ball while rolling around mumbling and drooling... you get the picture. And the idea.
I tried to approach. More discordant groans and ear-splitting shrieks. So, I sighed and backed away slowly, watching the increasing distance take effect on the Medkan's state. She turned from fetal into emo childlike, hugging her knees and rocking back-and-forth, wary eyes on me. A few steps later, she eventually stood upright, and bolted away from the scene.
I don't know how she got my number, but I suppose empath species have their own unique way around the human mind. Two rings, and the moment I picked up, she said:
"How do you live with the pain?"
"What?" I scratched my head. "What do you mean?"
"That excruciating pain. In your mind. When you got too close to me, I felt it shattering my..." she hesitated for a moment. I could almost hear the opening and closing of the mouth, the flitting of the tongue trying to find the right words, gears churning in her head struggling to search for conveyance.
"Soul. That... pain, shot through my very soul like a bullet."
"I think I understand what you mean," I smiled, despite myself. "It's a little hard to explain."
"Please. If you can, do tell me what it is," the Medkan stressed. "It was an unpleasant feeling, but... I've never felt anything that intense, that acute before."
"Time might have dulled my wound a little bit," I replied.
"A little bit?"
"Be glad you didn't meet me three years ago, then," I laughed. "I don't think you'll even be able to talk to me on the phone."
"Just what happened?"
"You see," I said. "There was this thing called Bitcoin..."
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-01-14T12:24:43 | 2021-01-14T11:40:44 | 720 | 96 |
[WP] You are a human on a spaceship crewed by aliens. As your hair dye begins to fade, your crewmates start to worry about your health. | Cheryl had been working off-ship, helping the Altarians install a new municipal thermal regulation system in the capital. They'd been dry-docked for four weeks, and there really wasn't much for her to do onboard, so Captain Tak had sent her off. And, why waste a perfectly good shore-leave relaxing?
It was strange, but as she rode the starlift up to the Altarian orbital docks, she couldn't help but feel relieved - like she was going home. When had *that* happened? Probably about the same time Cookie had learned to make a macaroni and cheese that only slightly tasted of polymers.
The starlift pod made a slight clunk as it aligned with the *General Zhurak's* airlock. It opened, and a great gust of familiar air filled the pod. Propellant, polymers, and the slight acetone tang of her crewmates. The smell of home.
By all regulations, Cheryl thought, she should report directly to the duty officer. Probably Second Lieutenant Gogh at this time of night. But what she really wanted was a long shower, a fresh jumpsuit, and a big, hot plate of macaroni and cheese that only slightly tasted of polymers.
Food first. She took a left past equipment and life support and made a bee-line for the mess. The soft hum of the plasma range assured her that, while Captain Tak may be in bed, Cookie was busy prepping for breakfast. She tapped on the door to the kitchen as she opened it.
"Cookie? Are you taking requests for late-night snacks?"
Cookie, casting fresh silica pearls into a bubbling pot like an ancient alchemist at work, grunted but did not turn around.
"Hrmph. You Earth Apes and your expandable guts. With enough time and practice, I bet you could digest the entire shi-"
His words died in his mouth as he turned to shake a ladle at Cheryl. It dropped to the floor with a clank. His dorsal defense barbs were almost erect enough to punch through his clothing.
"*Nithul!* But how is this possible?"
Cheryl was too busy grappling her way past Cookie calling her the Altarian equivalent of "my child" to parse the rest of his sentence.
"I-we finished installing the thermal regulators a day early. I didn't think you'd be so surprised to see me."
"To see you? No. But to see you like *this?"* Cookie extended a clawed finger and ran it gently through her hair. "You are so young."
Cheryl attempted to sound playful as she softly batted his hand away.
"And I'm not getting any younger. Cookie...*Niphol*, what's gotten into you?"
Cookie took a step back and stood up proudly, "So, is this how Earth Apes handle the change? No warning. No courtesy for their friends. Just, show up with their soft barbs half decayed and expect everyone to treat them as if everything is normal. I know you are a hard people, but cultural sensitivity has it's limits!"
"*Niphol*, what change? My hair - my soft barbs are just fine. A little faded maybe, but the water in the capital is harsh. I'll touch it up when I have the time!"
"Then - then you are not dying?"
"Dyeing my hair, yes. Not *dying* dying. At least, I don't think so."
The concern disappeared from Cookie's face like dew in the sunshine, as he swept her into an embrace that a chiropractor would charge good money for, and set about making a big pot of macaroni and cheese that tasted only slightly of polymers. | I am an astronaut aboard the intergalactic space station, a space station for all intelligent species in the universe.
I fingered my hair, knowing the crew would notice. They didn’t know that human hair went grey after a while. I knew there’d be questions.
I’d dyed my hair before the mission, knowing it would fade. I’d gone grey in my twenties, early. I was in college and well, you know what they say about stress.
I walked out of my room and almost ran directly into Nirina. She was an Atanician. She had blue and gold scales, green hands, and a small flat nose. Her eyes were red with circular pupils.
“Your hair is going grey, are you feeling okay,” she asked.
“I’m fine, I had coloring in my hair, but I’ve been up here and haven’t gotten it done in a while, so it’s fading.”
“Okay.”
As I walked through the ship, I noticed concerned looks from my colleagues.
The cafeteria workers suggested I eat a plant with a certain vitamin.
My boss asked me if I was under any stress.
My colleagues watched me like I’d drop dead on the spot.
Eventually word seemed to get around and the glances vanished. | 2020-07-05T16:58:24 | 2020-07-05T13:34:30 | 33 | 19 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | "Huh, what? Where am I? Todd? Here boy! Are you okay?"
The small mutt trotted up to Sam, beaming and wagging his tail. He was a good boy. Sam told him that often.
"how did we get here? " Sam said absentmindedly to Todd as he knelt down to scratch around his collar. "the last thing I remember is... I can't really recall." Sam looked around.
His surroundings seemed to suddenly appear around him. He was in a green field, the sun shone warmly on both Todd and him and he felt a wonderful calm in his heart and body that he had never experienced before. It was just him and Todd.
Then there was another being with them. Todd acknowledged it first, humanlike but also doglike. It smelled familiar, more familiar than anything Todd had ever smelled and longed for. It smelled like Sam. It smelled like love.
The Being led Sam and Todd across the field. The landscape changed quickly and beautifully. They were now in a mountain valley, the grass was long and luscious, Todd dipped low and rolled through the greenery as they walked along.
This is heaven, thought Todd and also, "Sam."
Todd couldn't be any happier than when he was near his buddy.
The Being opened it's hand and created a ball made out of bacon and held it down at Todd's level. The meat smelled overwhelmingly delicious. THROW! THROW! thought Todd eagerly!
Todd raced after the spiralling pork projectile, his ancestors, his wolf brethren at his sides, hunting as a pack.
Sam watched as his small companion gracefully and powerfully made after the Being's hurled dog treat. He had adopted Todd 8 years previously from a shelter when Sam turned 32. Todd had many anxiety problems caused by abusive previous owners. It had taken more than a year of visits from Sam to the shelter to coax Todd to come home with him. It was the best thing for both of them.
Sam's second marriage ended when he was 29. Many negative decisions later and his life nearly ended two times by his own hand when he was 31. Todd came into his life by a random fluke, a much needed miracle. They were miracles to each other. Sam was 40 the day Todd followed a squirrel into traffic. Sam had always been irrational when it came to his little buddy.
"Your assumptions are correct Sam, you are in dog heaven." The voice came washing over him.
"That's wonderful, however can I ask how I made it here? I mean, I'm not a dog," he laughed nervously. "Am I?"
The Being chuckled. "No you aren't, fear not. You will not remember your previous life, but I can tell you that you showed true love and sacrifice for your canine friend here."
Todd trotted up to the pair, dropped the bacon ball at their feet, and laid down in the wonderful grass.
"Actually," continued the Being's melodic voice. "I want to be completely honest, in your previous life you also met all the proper lounging and eating requirements for dog heaven. You exceeded the requirements for marking your territory and catching Frisbees. You were loyal to a fault and happened to also save a life which doesn't hurt on a heavenly resume. You had the optimal level of disdain for felines, but never caused one any harm. You were comforting and friendly, not to mention you really excelled at being Todd's owner. It's hard to believe you waited so long to get involved in a dog's life."
"Wow," said Sam. "Uh, so was I only good by dog heaven standards? What about regular heaven? You know what, don't tell me." He was at peace.
Sam bent down and stretched out beside his sleeping buddy Todd. He reached out a hand and saw that his arm and hand were actually glowing radiantly like the Being that had also laid down in the grass, petting the heads of two very happy and excited dogs.
So what does this mean?
"You're a dog heaven guardian now Sam." The answer came to his mind the second the question formed.
Sam noticed for the first time that the field around him expanded out further than he could see, but also just a few steps away. Millions of dogs lazed in the sun, rolled in the grass, and played together within the mountain valley.
"So can I make those bacon treats too?" one appeared in his hand an instant later.
"you'll get the hang of heaven pretty soon," said the Being, standing to his feet. "come on you too, how about we go swimming?"
It didn't need to be asked twice. | Darkness.
I feel light, or am I just light headed?
I looked to my left and then right, and all I could see were stars in the distance. A noise by my thigh interrupted my train of thought. *Crrrrk* *Crrrrrk*
I picked up the small voice-in radio. "Hello?"
"Battlestar 303, what the hell do you think you are doing?" The voice said.
"Huh? I think you have wrong number?" I responded.
Echoing emitted through the radio. "*Did he just say wrong number? Space sickness? Possibly*. Uh Battlestar, in front of you -do you see the green circle."
I looked at the panel in front of me, there was a red and green circle. I smacked the green one. "Yeah, I just pressed it."
"*Oh God, he pressed it.* Uhh... Battlestar you were not meant to push that circle. I was just about to tell you that."
I sighed. "Well shucks dude, why did you tell me to press it then?"
"I didn't."
"You so did." I felt my ship moving forward faster now. It spun to facing a big spaceship, a mother ship. I began travelling toward it and played with the joystick, nothing seemed to work, I was on autopilot.
The voice continued. "Look Battlestar, don't worry. You've pressed the home button, you're being sent back to the ship."
"Oh cool, that's good right?"
"No. Not exactly. We are currently under attack, that's why we sent you out. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
*Zip*
"Oh God dude! They're shooting at me!"
"Use the force!"
"The what?" I screamed into my radio.
"Use the force, you're a Jedi!"
I looked frantically at my control panel. "What the hell button is that?"
*BOOM*
Darkness.
I opened my eyes, floating in space again. "Oh God... this again?"
*Crrrk* *Crrrrk*. The radio by my thigh repeated the noise.
I hit the red button this time. "Well, let's see where this goes."
I picked up the radio. "Hello, Battlestar 303 speaking."
"Nuaawh!"A high pitched voice responded.
*Ah... Shit.* | 2016-03-07T18:48:08 | 2016-03-07T17:46:39 | 202 | 40 |
[WP] You're a necromancer who raises the dead so they can say goodbye to their loved ones.
Edit: Whoever gave u/SteelPanMan gold has good taste. | I sat there on the flannel blanket I’d brought, faded from the many butts of other clients past, surrounded by candles and relics in the middle of the cemetery. On the other end sat a comely Hispanic woman, Isabella, not a day over twenty-five. Under different circumstances she would have been gorgeous, but right now she just looked tired and frightened and sad. I looked deeply into Isabella’s golden brown eyes and asked:
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
She nodded, solemnly. Her face was pale; she looked more like a ghost than a woman. Her eyes met mine, and after a moment she spoke. “How does it work?”
“You’ll see.” I said softly. I continued to look into those golden orbs, searching for her pain. But she was a strong woman, and probably not quite sure if she trusted me. It would take some prompting – this kind of magic always came at a price.
“Tell me about him.”
I saw a brief flash of anger – wasn’t sitting in a graveyard with a strange man, hoping he could truly resurrect the love of her life enough?
“I’m sorry. But that’s part of how this works.” I offered a sympathetic expression, which softened her glare.
“He was… amazing. The best thing that ever happened to me. Before him, my life was pointless – a meaningless, self-serving void – but he gave me meaning. He gave me purpose. Every day with him was an adventure; you never knew what he was going to do next—” Tears began to swell on the brims of her eyelids. Her brow furrowed as she pushed on. “And he had the best sense of humor… he was constantly making me laugh at the silliest things. One day he came home from school and told me he saw Aunt Sharon on the TV at lunch… I asked him “who?”. He said “the red-headed guy, the one who sings, Aunt Sharon.””
She uttered a strange sound, something between a laugh and a whimper. I looked over at the little tombstone beside my faded blanket. The ground in front of it slowly began to pulse, rising and falling slowly. It was working.
“Tell me about the day he passed.” I said, hating myself in no small part for putting her through what the magic required.
“I… I was at work. They told me he had more time. I should have been there!” Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. Her strength was gone; the levees had broken and the floodwaters of emotion were rushing through. “They told me he had more time… But by the time I got there he was already gone. I never got to say goodbye. To tell him how much I loved him.”
“I’m sure he knew.” I whispered, and placed a comforting hand on hers.
Isabella was so entranced with emotion she did not notice the small, bloodless fingers prying through the dirt. I reached for the little plush Pikachu doll that Isabella had brought, but she clung to it reflexively.
“Please.” I asked softly. She softened her grip enough that I could pry it from her cold fingers. I stood to my feet and helped pull the dead boy from his grave. He looked at me with confusion and anger. I handed him the plush Pikachu, and then waved my hand toward his mother.
His face lit up and for a moment the thin, bald boy looked almost alive.
“Mama!” he cried hoarsely.
“Mateo!” Isabella screeched, and a murder of nearby crows took flight at the sound. She hugged the dead boy fiercely, and he returned the sentiment in full force. “I’m so sorry, baby. I should have been there. I’m so so sorry. I should have never left you.”
She was weeping now in full force. Her face was screwed up and her eyes narrowed to little slits. “I love you so much honey.”
Suddenly, the dead boy stopped hugging her. He pulled back from her, slightly, and took the curve of her chin in his cold little hand. “I know you do, mama. I know how much you love me. I’ve been watching you from the beyond, and I need you to stop blaming yourself. It hurts me to see you hurting so much.”
This time they both burst into tears as they embraced each other tightly.
I smiled, taking in this bitter-sweet reunion for the last time, and walked away. | I believe in second chances.
From beyond the gravestones and the coffins, it is my daily duty. My life's work. I became so powerful not just to commune with the dead for fun. I believe that even the most hardened of us deserve the chance to look back, and wave goodbye.
Another client. Though I take no payment. It's abhorrent to put family behind a paywall. Everyone deserves that chance, after all. Some make a big fuss out of it, some just wave, trying to act cold on the outside whilst crying on the inside. Too many times had I been forced to turn my head from reunion. I can't be seen as weak, after all. No one would seek my help. But today's client...belongs to none of those categories. My client is someone unexpected. And my tears are ready to flow.
At last, I see them. My client approaches, his spectral arms nearly touching his family in life. I can see his wife, a sobbing mess, and his father, a tough façade concealing his inner brittleness. I smile, a weak smile, as he looks at them. He loved them in life. That I could tell from his eyes, which betrayed the longing and regret he felt. A last touch, a last farewell. Goodbyes are too short to suffice, as a final hug is left imprinted in everyone's minds. The memories of life begin to fade with death, but from the tomb, even the dead must speak for themselves. Their bodies may fade, but their spirits never will. As long as they can say their last words, to tell their family how much they hated life, to tell their family why they took the noose and...I shudder, as the warmth of the reunion ends in a split second. Time is up. I look at my family one last time, tears already flowing down my face. For both the living and the dead today, there will be sadness and grief. But past the rainy day comes a new awakening.
"Goodbye," I say, my spectral hand waving for its final farewell. Adieu. | 2017-09-08T05:38:07 | 2017-09-08T04:30:41 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] "As payment, I demand your firstborn!" the demon said. "Deal!" You said, hastily signing the contract to seal the deal. "Good luck with them, sucker!" | *KICK!*
My husband's work boot hit my ankle painfully. I hoped the demon didn't notice my sharp intake of breath. *KICK!* Again. Seriously? I turned, pausing the feather pen above the inkwell. Shit! I dripped on the parchment contract. Before I could react the demon dabbed it up gently, his finger leaving a scorch mark between two elegantly hand-written sentences.
I gave my husband *The Stare*. He immediately looked down at the table, fiddling with his IPhone. Only I saw the grin on his face.
I turned back to the paper and continued to read. Lots of "Wherefores" and "Thou Arts" as well as longer words in Latin I didn't care enough about to investigate further.
The demon belched. The smell of vomit and smoke filled the room. I looked up at him. "Pardon me. Lunch was a bit overdone." I didn't want to know what he'd eaten to produce that stench. My husband gagged a bit as he'd been the one to be hit full in the face by the burp. "No problem. It's....okay." Wayne was like that; nothing really bothered him.
Wayne went back to his TikTok videos while I pretended to peruse the paper intently. I didn't want to appear too eager, you know. I had already begun re-decorating the kid's room in my head. It would be a Yoga studio. Or maybe an office. Wait! How about an art room? I'd always wanted to try painting.
The demon cleared his throat. "Are there any questions, Madame? If you need me to translate any--"
"No. No questions." The demon looked surprised. He recovered quickly. "Very well. If we are in agreement..."
Wayne drew his right foot back again and I shifted my left leg forward to avoid his kick. Unfortunately, I kicked the demon by mistake. My pump instantly singed. I kicked it off. "Goddammit!"
Wayne jumped up in surprise as did the demon. "I beg your pardon, Madame--"
"No, I beg -your- pardon. I didn't mean to kick you. It's just--those were my favorite shoes."
He nodded at me. "Very well. They are replaced, Madame."
I looked down to see a replacement pair of my favorite pumps packed in a shoebox, a shopping bag sat next to them.
Damn, this is pretty cool! I wonder if I could manage to somehow hit the demon with my Hermes bag? Mine was 4th hand and had some wear. Maybe I could get a brand spanking new Birkin out of this deal.
Wayne coughed. He knew me too well. This time he gave -me- the look. Yeah, we really knew how each other's minds worked.
I winked at Wayne and we both stood.
I signed my name on the bottom of the third page and then pushed it over to Wayne. He took the pen from my hand. He was actually shaking. I knew why, though. He wasn't shaking from fear, it was pure joy that rattled my guy.
Once we signed, Wayne began to giggle. Then we turned to each other and high-fived.
Have you ever seen a demon look worried? I have. | As the mortal laughed, the demon remained unfazed. The laughter came to an awquard halt. "Why aren't you getting angry?" the mortal nervously asked, glancing at the contract.
A new laughter emerged, sinister and powerful. "Even if a mortal could cause trouble for a demon, it would still not matter. Firstborn-contracts are ruses, made to prove sin. Made to prove that you would sell the eternal soul of your own child to gain something in the mortal world."
Shivering, the mortal pulled himself together to ask one final question before being condemned to live his entire life in fear of his fated afterlife. "how are you able to fake a contract?"
The demon decided to humour this mortal and tell him. "Our leader is literally the FATHER OF LIES. We only fulfill our part of the bargain due to the pr." | 2022-08-31T14:06:11 | 2022-08-31T13:50:54 | 180 | 56 |
[WP] Your whole family is sitting by your grandfather's deathbed while he asks only you to lean closer. He whispers in your ear, "I never trusted your father, but I can see it in you." Before pushing a ring with a strange gem into your hand and then flatlining.
First post here, please be nice :) | Whenever he thought of his grandfather the image of a rolling stone plunged through his mind and behind it a trail of satisfied women were swooning in the vapors. It was no secret that James Jeremy had cut a path of broken hearts from Baton Rouge to San Antoine. He was the epitome of a Tom Cat. He was Mr. Right and always Mr. Right Now.
It was hard for Ron to see his grandfather propped up in a bed, tubes stretching out from his deep, veined hands and his pale skin hanging from his bones. He had always remembered James as a vibrant soul when he saw him. Living on the road made it difficult to be around family, but Ron never held that against Pa James; he was just glad that he would have an opportunity to tell the legend goodbye.
Ron scooted up near the bed and peered over James' small lump of a body that was bunched up under the blanket. Though he looked sickly, he still recognized that fire in Pa James' steely gaze as he looked at his face.
"How's my favorite grandson," the old man perked up as Ron leaned in close.
"I'm fine Pa," Ron tried to muster a smile, but it fell short. "You doing good?"
"Now I know," James cleared his throat, "what all those women felt like all these years." He nodded down at the stick marks from the various needles jabbed in his hand. "There is a mighty cute nurse that roams the halls." He chuckled.
Ron laughed too and nudged the old mans arm, "I'm going to miss your jokes Pa."
"I'll miss tellin'em," James said moving back in the bed, "I do," he eyed the boy warmly, "have one more if you're interested."
Ron's heart fluttered. His grandfathers stories of his escapades had always been his favorite, the thought of a new adventure excited him. "Yeah, tell me."
James laughed softly, "I always told you how many women I'd been with."
"Yeah", Ron said sitting on the edge of the bed.
"But," James continued, "I never told you *how* I did it."
Ron's face went red. Not only was it another story, it was the secret. He had to know. He nodded his head furiously and the old man began again.
"The secret to my success was simple," James smiled and he reached under the sheet. He motioned for Ron to hold out his hand and he dropped a golden, studded ring into his palm. "That my boy, is the secret. I never trusted your father, but I can see it in you. You can carry on the legacy."
Ron studied it. He placed it over each finger but found it to be too big. He looked at his grandfathers hand and deduced it couldn't be his ring. He ran his finger around the edge, feeling each of the studs. Ron thought it was funny that this was the source of his grandfathers prowess.
"Wh," Ron started as he continued to rub his hand over the ring, "...what is this ring for?" and the it donned on him and he dropped it, "is that for your nob?"
James smiled, "It's ribbed for her pleasure". His grandfather winked and then the machine read a flatline.
****
Enjoy the story? Subscribe to r/MrGoodread | The droning sound of the heart moniter flatlining was the only thing populating my thoughts as I stared at his lifeless body, almost expecting some sort of objective or answer... but I recieved nothing
I reached forward and nudged his arm, calling his name once... twice, louder... and a third time as my voice grew shaky. I buried my head on his deathbed, my tears slowly soaking into the white sheets
The next few days felt hollow, devoid of any possible meaning or emotion, stuck to blind routine. On the 5th day I took the ring from my desk and examined it. The jewel constantly changed colours... Red, Purple, Blue, Green, Yellow, white, grey, black... it was almost mesmerizing...
I slipped the ring onto my finger, it seemed to tighten when it was on... strange. I went to bed and fell asleep rather quickly.
When I awoke... the world I saw before me was far from the one I know, and yet I know it almost like the back of my hand...
I'll finish this later, gotta sleep | 2016-12-07T10:21:36 | 2016-12-07T09:47:56 | 53 | 11 |
[WP] You’re a dragon who kidnapped a prince/princess. All is going to plan but… it’s been a month and no one’s come to save them. | A month.
A month with no knights, no squires, not even a fresh-faced youth with weird hair and an abnormally large greatsword. Enhazat furrowed a scaly brow. Was this not how it was supposed to go?
Step 1. Kidnap the crown princess.
Step 2. Escape to lair with prize.
Step 3. Knights come, they fight, the princess is saved...or not. Maybe she's ransomed.
Step 4. Repeat for untold generations.
It was tradition. It was his blood. It was their blood. It happened every generation, with such consistency that it was nearly a rite of passage for nobility in the kingdom to be borne away by a scaled, clawed avatar of fury! Some kingdoms even had it as part of a wedding ceremony. Kept the military sharp, kept the legends fresh. He didn't like it but by the gods there were worse traditions.
Enhazat had not been an ungracious host. Not like those brutes the next kingdom over. No. His princess was kept in a locked vault of stained glass and comfort, albeit thousands off feet up a sheer bluff which bottimed out into spiky rocks and crashing waves. Princess Agora was equally concerned.
"Dragon?" Her voice, filled with fury, fear and defiance those first few days of captivity, now had a weary tone.
"My name is Enhazat, for the thirtieth time, human." The dragon lifted a blue, raptorlike head, ivory horns glinting in the light of the crystals which lit his lair.
"Why do you suppose no one has come?"
The question showed her concern was equal to his. This...for lack of a better word, game, had gone in a cycle. There were rules. He expected adventurers or the captain of the guard to beat down his proverbial front door hours after thr kidnapping. His ridged brows furrowed, reptilian eyes thinking. Something was wrong. Three hundred years of following his intuition hadn't failed him yet...
"Can I trust you to stay put while I check? Truth be told, this vexes me as much as it vexes you. This tradition we share is...awkward when one side doesn't show up to do their part."
She nodded. The "chain" as it were, was the best he could make or find: a sphere of sapphire the size of a man's head kept her magically tethered to the Lair. She was free to wander, but not leave.
Wings like cobalt glass lifted and caught the rays of the Sun, and Enhazat felt the wind on his snout once more.
And...something else. Carrion. Smoke. Lots of smoke. Being a fire-breather, he had become something of a sommelier of smoke.
This was driftwood and...human flesh. As he cleared the mountains and swept low over the castle city, the sight he beheld provided the answer he and Agora both sought: the bloated, half rotten cadavers of her parents in hanging cages in the town square. Guards and flags in a different livery. He recognized it as one of the city guildmaster's. Pyres of corpses, mostly the old guard. Citizens in chains. Things that turned his ancient stomach. It seemed his kidnapping had been a rescue, though neither one realized it. He pulled up before reaching ballista range and turned back homeward.
Of course, there was anguish when he returned. Anguish and renewed fury. A fury he respected. Someone had broken the rules of the game. Someone needed to make things right.
"Wring your tears and steel yourself, human. We mourn your family tonight, but tomorrow I will begin to teach you how to fight like a dragon." | “Your food, prisoner. You should be grateful.” The dragon booms, passing a stolen loaf of bread through iron bars, made hot by roaring fires.
“My mother will come for me.” The princess responds in that same stubborn tone. “You shall pay for this.”
The dragon sighs. He had seen many princes and princesses throughout his 384 years roaming the realm, but none quite like Princess Liana Mary Nayona, as she so frequently announced.
For a reason unknown, the girl would not eat the fruits of his kindness. The dragon was puzzled by her resolve, but he needed the hostage alive.
“Do you know who I am?!” Comes another doomed attempt at intimidation, “I rule this very cave!”
“No.” The dragon utters, tired of her ramblings. All he wanted was a small ransom, some servitude, the odd meal or two, not a housemate. “You do not rule this land. You are the youngest of your line, and a woman at that. The crown will never be yours, and in your current position, you lack any power at all. You are no higher than a common peasant!”
“I- How dare you!”
“Silence!” The dragon bellows, sending sparks flying and only amplifying the inferno. “You are a stuck up, spoiled brat who wears a faux crown! Your family have held banquets in your absence. Your ransom remains unpaid, even the castle janitor would be worth more sheep. Either you come to terms with reality, earn your own ransom back, or you sit and rot in this cell.” | 2022-11-24T16:05:41 | 2022-11-24T14:44:58 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] The dead spinning in their graves is a real thing and now used to generate electricity. Your job is to come up with the best ideas to piss off the deceased in order to maximise energy production. | I'm the head of Post-Mortem Power Operations at Devil's Tower, Wyoming, and we have a problem: Our power output is steadily dropping-- we're just not pissing off enough dead people.
I'm currently in a board room with six subordinates, one of whom is monitoring D.P.O. percentages. D.P.O. means, "Dead Power Output", which is how we determine who's spinning in their graves, and who's not. If they're not, it's my team's job to come up with ideas on how to get them spinning again.
. . .
"All right, who stopped spinning? Our power output is down another ten percent."
"William Shakespeare, sir."
"Contact someone in Hollywood, and see about my script where I turn 'Macbeth', into a musical comedy using child actors. That should generate some juice."
"Sir, Mark Twain just stopped spinning."
"He did? I thought we'd have an endless source of power from that guy. Any ideas?"
"What did Mark Twain write, sir?"
". . . Okay, no ideas from that guy. Anyone else?"
"We could turn 'Huckleberry Finn', into a burlesque show?"
"Maybe market a set of exclusive 'Mark Twain' enema kits?"
"Whoa! We just got a three-percent power spike from Mark Twain!"
"You! Go ahead with that enema kit idea! We now have another three percent; now we just need to piss off one more dead person to get back up to minimal operating power."
"How's about Betty White memorial enema kits?"
". . . she's still alive, and moreover, we already used the enema kit idea. You didn't know about her and Mark Twain-- get out of this room. Now, you-- can we squeeze more juice out of Walt Disney?"
"Nope. He's been running at maximum capacity ever since 1984."
"Eisner?"
"Yep."
"President Ronald Reagan?"
"He's dead?"
". . . He's been dead for a while."
"Hmmm . . . you, start writing a fake tell-all book that Reagan and Russian Prime Minister Gorbachev were closeted homosexual lovers in a secret leather daddy gay sex brothel in Germany."
"WHOA! WE JUST GOT A TWENTY PERCENT POWER SPIKE FROM RONALD REAGAN!"
". . . All right, we run with the book. That should keep us going for at least another two years. How are our current numbers?"
"Thanks to Ronald Reagan, we're now **over** the minimum threshold by another fourteen percent."
"That's good for now. Have more ideas on standby for tomorrow, people."
"Sean Connery?"
". . . still not dead. And didn't I just tell you to leave the room?" | I wired the money to the assassin. He'd done great work with the poison, as usual. The turbines were hooked up and ready to go.
I called my contacts in the media. "Alright. Another one is finished. Initiate."
The headlines the next day:
"**FAMED SKEPTIC TURNS TO RELIGION ON DEATHBED; SAYS HE "FOUND GOD IN HIS FINAL MOMENTS"**" | 2016-09-26T20:58:02 | 2016-09-26T20:42:22 | 275 | 77 |
[WP] In 1,000 years, fantasy stories will be set in this era. Write a fantasy story set in the 21st century from the viewpoint of someone living 1,000 years from now.
Based on a post on r/showerthoughts | *The sky is an expanse of grey -- liquid water falls in heavy drops from the heavens, striking streets of black and grey stone stained green by age and weather. Carriages of steel and iron blur past, scattering water droplets upon the commoners walking to-and-fro, huddled beneath hoods and canvas sheets.*
*The rain rolls down panes of invisible crystal that protect you from the elements. The three of you sit within the warmth of a coffee shop that serves hot drinks and sweet confections. Would you like to describe your characters?*
"I'll go first. I'm a six-foot tall human man with tanned skin and lots of muscle. I'm bare-chested with a pair of cargo shorts and flip-flops. My eyes are protected by sunshades--"
"Why are you wearing sunshades in the rain?"
"There are lights inside, aren't there? I get advantage on Perception check relying on sight while I'm in direct light."
*What's your character's name?*
"Chad."
*Okay, Chad, the bonus from Sunglasses only works in direct sunlight.*
"Is it still an action to put them on in combat?"
*Yeah.*
"Chad will continue to wear the sunshades inside."
"Me next, I'm playing Sharon. She's a middle-aged woman with false-colored hair. She's also wearing sunglasses, but hers turn into regular glasses when not in sunlight."
"Wait, can I get those?"
*No, Chad, you don't have enough starting gold since you took the age 10-20 background.*
"Sharon has a large, leather purse that is packed full of all sorts of things. She's sipping on a... large frappuccino, so I get advantage on initiative for an hour."
"Chad's drinking one too."
*Both of you mark off 3 gold from your starting money.*
"Why is everything so expensive? Can I take out a soul loan to get more starting money?"
"This is the 21st, Chad, soul loans don't exist yet."
*Let's just get through introducing all the characters.*
"I'm playing L̸̨̘͕̝̮̗̝̰̪̙̙̰͓͚̼̲̏͂ͮ̂ͮ̇̃́̂͂̐̍͗͡͞ͅ'͗ͦ̄̒͗ͤͪ͐̓̈́̓҉̵̩̬̦̣̬͍̗̱͙̩̫͙̺̜̝͉̳͟͡ͅa̡̛̖̭̝̪͖̲̯ͧ̑̉̍̀̚͟x̸̶̶̢̺͕͚͚͂̌͐̒ͣͩͣ̽͘i̵̷̧̢͓͖̩̮͙͐͌ͦ͛ͫͩ͋̀̿̂ͯ̍̅--"
"That's not a 21st century name!"
"My character's a, uh, time traveler from the future, so he's got a modern name."
*Did you forget to read the rulebook again?*
"No! I read it, I just didn't like any of the names there. They all sound dopey."
*Fine. Tell us about your character.*
"He's a time traveler from modern times, but nobody believes him, so he has the homeless penalty."
*He wouldn't be allowed inside the cafe with that penalty.*
"Sharon is buying him a drink, so he can be inside with us."
*Okay, Sharon, mark off another 3 starting gold. Anything else? Good.*
*As you settle into the comfortable, synthetic cushions, sipping at your beverages, the door suddenly opens, a gust of wayward flowing air bringing droplets in--*
"I rolled a 15."
*Chad, you didn't need to roll anything.*
"But you said the water got inside. I rolled Dexterity to avoid taking acid damage."
*Water isn't acidic until the 22nd century setting.*
"Oh, sorry."
*It's okay...*
*-- water droplets blow inside, carried behind the light-blockage of a thin man in a tailored suit. He steps inside, his feet squeaking on the tile floor. He approaches your table and stares at you, a thin face regards each of you.*
*The man speaks, "I'm glad I finally found you. My name is Jeff Bezos, and I need your help."* | In the 21st century, things were different.
It was known to many at the time as the beginning of the end. Or so everyone thought.
Humanity, it seemed, had finally run out of luck. We'd seemingly come so far, and bested ourselves time and time again in progress. The world was changing at a drastic rate. We were no longer beholden to manual labor like before, the world gradually becoming more connected through trade and commerce and technology.
It is said that the implants we wear were something they only dreamed of back then. Travel was primitive and dangerous. Many strapped themselves in alloy boxes of all shapes and sizes and made dangerous journeys across land and sea and air.
While there were better ways to do things, we were yet to even dream of becoming what we are now.
We communicated by archaic means. And much was lost in translation. We were not always as fortunate as we are now. As such, languages and cultures divided us time and time again. History repeated itself in various forms as it always had. This was for better on occasion. But mainly for the worst.
Sure, the 22nd and 23rd centuries are known for their more chaotic nature, but to ignore the beginning would be foolish.
Years of turmoil had put the world at edge. And people abused their newly obtained communications frequently. As a result, a world that became more modern had also become more paranoid and afraid.
Automation had begun. And with it came the abandonment of the ideas of old.
Life was fragile to say the least. The average person only lived to be 75, if they made it that far. Many did not. Perhaps it was a life lived on the edge, as free will and risk were still sought after. Perhaps it was the opposite, having shut themselves away from the world; in an attempt to escape in another way. Many found no reason to continue on at all. Some even thought it amusing to pit one against another. To even watch them destroy all near and dear.
For you see, we never really changed.
From the time when we still used sticks and stones. And discovered fire or the wheel. Humanity was always reshaping itself. With the end of the world always looming in the darkness.
It is here we begin our tale. In a different place. Our homeworld from the beyond. Earth.
In the year of our lord, two thousand and sixteen...
---
Figured I'd B.S. a opening for this type of story. It's a little late.
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 2018-12-25T03:33:31 | 2018-12-25T03:25:31 | 3,048 | 14 |
[WP] A traveling alien passes by and on a whim solves everything: infinite food, energy, perfectly balanced ecosystem, and portals everywhere lead to thousands of unpopulated Earth like lands with no downside. Obviously, world leaders are outraged. | “What are we going to do now?” asked Theresa, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably.
&#x200B;
“Honestly, Theresa, I have no idea,” said Xi, President of the People’s Republic of China. “The very fact that we can speak with each other without a translator is very concerning.” He took a sip of his tea.
&#x200B;
Abdulla, President of the Maldives, looked inquisitively at Xi. “What do you mean? They have given us a standardized language. The language barrier has fallen. Communications are now wide open. We can now really talk with one another.”
&#x200B;
“The Tower of Babel,” muttered Pope Francis. “Do you know of it?” Several in attendance shook their heads.
&#x200B;
“Genesis 11, verses 1 to 9,” interrupted Lhamo, the 14th Dalai Lama. “Basically, his God took offense that the Babylonians were building a tower, a tower that could top heaven. So he tore it down and confused their language so that they may never come together again.”
&#x200B;
Francis looked at Lhamo, “You are very knowledgeable of my faith.” He cocked an eyebrow at the monk.
&#x200B;
“What can I say? I’m an avid reader,” Lhamo responded shrugging. He reached to prop up his glasses, a habit he had developed, only to remember that they were no longer there. Ever since the aliens came he had not needed them. No one needed glasses anymore.
&#x200B;
“Wonderful story but I don’t really see how this is a bad thing,” said Donald, President of the United States of America. He sat back comfortably in his chair, surveying his peers.
&#x200B;
“Communication breeds conflict,” said Thein, President of Burma. “No conflict over misunderstandings. No conflict over resources. No conflict, period. And without conflict, we have become woefully useless.”
&#x200B;
“Good!” responded Donald. “Leading is a pain in the ass. Makes my life a whole lot easier.”
&#x200B;
“Oh, grow up, Donald,” remarked Theresa. “You need this gig as much as any of us. We may not like having to rule but what else are we going to do?”
&#x200B;
“Golf?” said Donald with a smirk on his lips. Theresa let out an exasperated sigh.
&#x200B;
“Stop it, you two,” said Vladimir, President of Russia. “We need to figure out the next course of action. Now. Already my people are leaving through the portals. My population has dropped by half.”
&#x200B;
Around the room world leaders nodded in agreement. Thousands of portals that led to thousands of Earths, thousands of paradises, had been opened by the aliens. It was estimated that only six-hundred million people remained.
&#x200B;
“Fine,” said Donald. “So you’re saying we need some kind of conflict, something that will keep us in power and the population under our control.”
&#x200B;
“Yes,” said Xi. “But now the people want for nothing. Everything is provided for them.”
&#x200B;
Kim, Supreme Leader of North Korea, spoke up. “Want me to shoot another missile? Maybe this time we can actually go for Hawaii.”
&#x200B;
“Please don’t,” responded Lhamo. “That trick can only work so many times and I rather like those islands.”
&#x200B;
“Oh, who cares? There are thousands of Hawaiis now. Who’s going to miss one?” said Kim, he slumped back into his chair, pouting.
&#x200B;
“That’s it!” said Donald. “Kim, you glorious bastard, that’s it!”
&#x200B;
“Donald, this isn’t Twitter,” said Thein. “We have no idea what you’re talking about.”
&#x200B;
“Don’t you see?” asked Donald. “Naming rights!”
&#x200B;
“Please make some sense,” said Xi. He rubbed the temples of his head, trying in vain to ease his headache.
&#x200B;
“Naming rights! Brand recognition! Something that I’m very, very good at!”
&#x200B;
“No arguments on that point,” said Theresa.
&#x200B;
“We name this planet Earth #1 and every other Earth something else,” explained Donald. “All the other Earths will get upset not wanting to seem like an lesser Earth. Boom! War of the World!”
&#x200B;
“Prey on people’s ego,” said Francis. “Pride, a cardinal sin.”
&#x200B;
“Exactly! See, the Pope gets it!”
&#x200B;
The room fell silent as the world leaders looked at each other, gauging their reactions.
&#x200B;
After a time, Vladimir spoke up. “Let’s see how this plays out.” | "Today is the dawn of a new day," POTUS spoke and the two journalists still in the room yawned in sequence. There were a handful of secret service agents who still feigned loyalty, but they were nowhere to be seen at the moment. The President stepped away from the podium and sighed, "We're having lunch in the White House dining room if you'd like to join. I think the kitchen staff still has a pretty decent chef, but we don't have any servers so it's a buffet."
Levy Arnold and Jessica Klein followed behind POTUS as they travelled to the smallest buffet they'd ever witnessed. As mentioned, the food wasn't half bad, but it was strange to see it lined up in aluminum over burners. The paper plates were fine, and the plasticware was just a reminder of the lack of environmental friendliness that humanity had once abundantly supplied the Earth.
It didn't matter anymore, as POTUS had mentioned, it was the dawn of a new day. A few months earlier, humankind had made first contact with an alien species. Clever, witty, charming and sensual, these creatures were the highest combination of standard, effortless beauty, brawn and brains. In essence, there was no stopping them as they offered solutions to the world's worst problems.
No one needed universal healthcare when the universe would voluntarily heal the wounded and cure the sick. No one needed roads to be maintained or sidewalks to be fixed because people had gained an ability to fly. We didn't even need to be concerned by sharks or other deadly sea creatures because we now had the ability to hold our breath infinitely, swim like the fastest naval vessels, and adjust indefinitely to pressures above and below sea level. We didn't even freeze in space, or at the poles because we could resist cold or heat with protective bubbles. These were just things that we could now do physically.
We no longer hungered or overate, and lived in peace with our natural resources. We had limitless energy sources for any and all projects, technical or otherwise. And more than that, our resources now expanded to many Earths all across the known universe. It was as if the perfect solutions to all of mankind's ailments had been applied and for all intents and purposes the world was completely changed.
Every world leader who stayed behind was left with an emptiness in their empires, and their sadness, though temporary, was no longer the concern of their constituents. In fact, the number of constituents had so decreased that many of the world's leaders simply took off and joined their families and friends in discovering the new worlds.
Not POTUS, as she was sure it was all a trick and that everyone would soon return. After two hundred years of waiting, she joined her cousins and her wife and children on an Earth they called Fordish. It represented all the things they missed and everything they loved, and was a beautiful place to live.
Edit: Earth's to Earths.... | 2019-06-06T10:35:04 | 2019-06-06T10:17:49 | 96 | 28 |
[WP] Your father left your family when you were a child to "go buy a pack of cigarettes". It is 10 years later and you're a teenager when your father walks back in, wearing the same clothes he left in, and insists he has only been gone half an hour. | "You look like you've seen a ghost." uttered the familiar figure. Indeed I have. The simple tan coat, red tie, and shoes as spotless as ever. "Dad?" I responded. "Something wrong? Sorry I took a while." said my "father" in a clueless manner. There truly was something wrong. "Where the hell were you! Mom loved you! She at least deserved an explanation!" I shouted. This man who abandoned my mother and I for ten years expected what! A hug and a greeting? Who does he think he is?
"Well, son, if you can just calm down for a..." "No! How about you tell me what you were doing for the last decade looking for cigarettes!" I retorted. "Ten years! What are you talking about?" the man questioned. "Don't act like you don't know! You just went up and left me and mom!" "I've been gone for thirty minutes and you're acting like a damn drama queen." he said. "Thirty minutes! Look around you! Does it seem like it's been thirty minutes?" I said, pointing towards the interior of the house.
He looked around the shell of once a humble home. "You know what, just come inside." I held my hand out. There was a moment of hesitation but he held it. Step by step, I led him through the house. He began to notice all the changes around the place, including me. "Where did that come from? I guess I have been gone a long time." Well, that was obvious. I asked, calmly this time, "Where were you... Dad?" He seemed unsure yet confidently he said, "I'm telling you, son, all I've done was pick up a few cigarettes." Are you kidding me? All of this time and this is what I get? I pushed onward with my father close behind. I let go of his hand once we've reached the living room. "I should really talk to your mot-" "There." I remarked as I pointed towards the urn in the middle of the room. "That's who you are looking for."
He looked at the urn aghast. "Stop fooling around with me, Tom!" he exclaimed at me. "Tell me this is a joke! Tell me that this has got to be just another of your stupid pranks, Tom!" He was clearly confused and angered. It took me a moment to realize that this was my dad, but why doesn't he just admit it? I had to live ten years without any answers, and now he's asking me more. I just sat down on the floor and gave up. "When you left..." I slowly said. "...mom was so much more confused than I was. Now that she's gone, I don't have anyone else." The truth was I missed my dad, despite everything my mother told me. I was broken. I had nothing. "But you still have me? Don't you?" whispered my dad. He knelt down next to me. "While I don't understand what's possibly going on, I still love you son, and nothing can change that." I was close to tears. "Dad, I'm sorry bu..." "Hush." my father said welcoming me to a tight embrace. "I'm here now, I'm back from the store." I chuckled a bit. No matter what happened he was still a dad. My dad. I hugged him back. A hug to make-up for the last ten years.
END.
(15-year-old high school student here. I'm not a native English speaker so please do tell any mistakes I may have done. Thanks for reading!) | There was something weird about this day
Harold, my brother, was acting weird as if he had seen something.
Ending school i went home.
Everything seemed just fine.
Lots of love from my family.
Don't know about my dad though, he disappeared 10 years ago.
Everytime he went to buy cigarretes he was quick. Not this time though.
Reappering home was my dad.
Something was wrong. like if he was...
Confused. for him not even 30 minutes had gone by
Rarely ever felt bad for dad since he dissapeared. He had abandoned us.
On the other hand, he might have been kidnapped.
Like that would stop him. Dad was badass.
Like, he would beat a thousand men in a fist to fist fight.
So... " what happened? " I asked him
Sometimes i thought he ran away with....
Kristen, his secret lover.
"You didnt do that did you?" he didnt like that question
Rapidly he punches me in the jaw.
In seconds i'm on the ground.
My head spins as i wake up and hear a familiar voice.
"You were trying to cross the border right?"
I quickly read the first letters on each sentence.
Damn you Todd Howard.
| 2018-11-08T05:52:01 | 2018-11-08T05:15:25 | 124 | 17 |
[WP] You, a powerful demon, buys the souls of humans that sold them out of greed, has materialized on Earth to make another purchase. But when discover that you answered the call of an orphaned street child that wanted nothing more than a meal, your black heart can't help but break a little. | Once again, I am called unto the soil of this forsaken rock. Someone has come to make a deal, it seems.
When I get a bearing on my environment, I marvel at just how susceptible humans are to their greed and territory.
The streets are old, decrepit. There are boxes and tents with humans wallowing away inside, and the buildings that surround me are broken down, clearly not tended to.
Pathetic...
I turn my attention to a child covered in rags and dirt, incredibly thin, and most likely very sick.
"For what reason have you summoned me here, child?" I question the child. No doubt they must have a more humble wish than most, usually these street urchins don't have the courage to look too far up.
"...s-ssir. I...want to make a... a d-deal." He hastily spits out, clearly shaken by the lengths he had to go through to find the steps necessary.
"Well, then? Out with it." Hmph. Nothing more than a waste of my-
"...I want a good meal."
...
...a meal.
This... child. Digging up the deepest and darkest secrets of ancient demonic summoning... only wanted a meal?
It was in that moment I felt something inside of me I haven't felt since I was mortal, back in the days when the gods roamed the Earth along with creatures of flesh and bone.
No, there was no mistaking it.
It was heartbreak. Pain. Grief.
I collapsed to my knees in that one moment. Finally, I had realized for the first time what I have become. The shell I gave up my soul for.
If there was one thing I could do with the last fiber of my humanity in this moment, I decided that this child would be the one I show mercy to.
I stood back up.
"...S-sir?"
"I will strike no such deal. Instead...I will grant you the gift of a family." As if my demonic side was fighting the very essence of my statement, I felt every fiber of my body break against those words.
Tears welled in the child's eyes. "I... you... w-what?" I could see the disbelief in his face. He was sobbing, not quite tears of happiness, but no longer was he scared.
"You will never go hungry once more. With that...I will be away." I closed my eyes and walked away. Using the last of my humanity for the necessary soul required for a deal, I felt myself finally fade away.
There was one other feeling I couldn't describe until now. Years in the underworld with anything that I ever could have wanted couldn't have given me anything near what I felt in those final moments.
I felt happy. | "Please sir, I'd do anything for a piece of bread", said Sophie.
"Anything?", said Kazimir.
"Anything sir, absolutely anything", said Sophie.
A single tear streaked down Kazimir's cheek. "This will be the easiest soul I've ever collected."
Kazimir instantly conjured a sandwich and handed it to Sophie. Taking her hand in his he guided her into the abyss. She happily followed.
edit: Formatting hopefully | 2017-06-27T17:20:06 | 2017-06-27T17:08:43 | 90 | 18 |
[WP] You were born with special eyes, the sea was as clear as glass to you, by the time you got old enough to join a ship's crew, you were smart enough to not tell them about everything you saw below the waves | I was young when I first realized that not everyone else could see the Other World. My mother pulled me away from the pier when I asked my questions, shushing me with fearful glances over her shoulder. “Not now, *Dia,* tell me about it later, okay?”
I would wait until evening to tell her of the Others, the ones who watched. They were so pretty, with their dark hair and eyes, their beckoning hands. My mother would sit me down by the fireplace and braid my hair, humming to me while I asked my questions. *Who were they? Why didn’t they come out of the water? Could I go play with them next time?*
Her reply was always the same—“Stay out of the water, *Dia,* it is dangerous.” She never answered me how, but I listened.
I stayed out of the water.
We were poor, so each year when the floods came and the ocean rose higher around our homes, I could not help but see the Other World again. And the Others, with their watchers and beckoners. The wealthier families went to their summer homes, away from the rains, but my mother and I stayed. When my mother wasn’t around in the rainy season, sometimes they would sing to me. I never told my mother, and she always warned me when she got home to stay away from the water.
When I reached adulthood, my mother got sick. I joined a fishing crew, and I came home every month to give her my earnings. “You are staying out of the water, *Dia?”* She asked, every time. Every time I told her *Yes, mama, I have stayed out of the water.*
The Others are most common after storms. I knew that something was different when we pulled up the net, and there was no movement. The fish in the net were dead already, and a stench came from them. My captain went to the net and released it, dumping the waste onto the deck, where I saw her. We all saw her.
She writhed on the wood deck of the fishing trawler, and I watched as my crewmates realized what she was. Her hair was as dark as kelp, and her skin the soft grey of a midmorning storm. *”Monster,”* they called her, but I knew her as an Other. One of those from the Other World, from the brilliant golden cities that shimmered far, far beneath the waves. She had watched me for years. Sung to me.
I looked at my crewmates, and I heard my mother’s warnings. I saw the greed in their eyes, the hunger in their leering faces.
*”Stay out of the water, Dia, it is dangerous!”*
I grabbed her hand, and pulled. It took a moment for my friends and colleagues to realize my intent, too late. We slipped over the edge, together, into the crystal-clear water below. Ice grabbed me by my throat, suffocating me, and the frigid water stabbed my limbs with a thousand knives. I saw her, watching, waiting.
I breathed in, and I gasped as water flooded into my mouth. I expected to choke.
I didn’t. She approached, holding out a hand, beckoning. She gestured towards the golden city beneath us, one that I had seen for years.
*”Home, Dia. Come home.”* | \[Poem\]
A gentle rock. An easy sway.
Another calm and sunny day.
On board this deck a cheery tune.
I hold my tongue for these bafoons.
For if they knew what lurks below
Their cheery hearts would turn to stone.
I see it every day and night.
Below the depths is only fright.
Where others see a crispy blue.
My eyes see glass, and see it true.
Below the ship the things, they call.
I see them here. I see them all.
They follow us, and watch me back.
I know their want, it is a snack.
Sailors tell of beastly ghouls.
"Just stories lad". Oh these fools.
The beasts below,They never sleep.
They'll take us all like wolf to sheep.
I musn't tell. For if I do,
I fear they'll come and take me too. | 2021-11-06T12:12:01 | 2021-11-06T10:17:38 | 199 | 145 |
[WP] In your society, every child is given a fixed number of skill points for their parents to invest in talents that would determine their futures. When you reach age 21, you find out your parents forgot to do it for you. | Elliot rubbed his hands together and hunched his shoulders in a futile attempt to keep the biting cold from permeating through his jacket.
Like many places in Russia, the coastal town of Vestoskyn had never quite recovered from the collapse of the Soviet Union. The ubiquitous chill and lack of sunlight were the least of the city's problems, with unemployment exceeding 50 per cent and crime rates so high that the police practically didn't even bother anymore. The city, once a bustling port town, saw almost no traffic anymore and anyone who could afford to leave had already done so. More than half the city consisted of an eerie ghost town, and what remained wasn't pretty.
Uncle Frank had joked that Elliot would fit in perfectly with the Russians due to his pale British complexion and wiry build, but this couldn't be further from the truth. Every second he spent outside Elliot felt afraid. He'd stopped going to school after day 2, when a group of local boys had laughed as they pinned him down and brutally sliced his hand in several places on the jagged glass shards of a broken window. He'd covered the wound in dodgy bandages from the local store, but he could still barely move it without reopening the wounds.
Of course Elliot would give anything to be back in London, but chances were he'd never see England again. He was doomed to life in this Russian hellhole, and all because of his parents' misstep. Of course he couldn't hold it against them, though, it was, after all, considered bad form to speak ill of the dead.
Forgetting to allocate the tallies was, of course, a grievous error, but his parents couldn't have known it at the time. Of course parents who never bothered to assign their children's tallies were laughed at and thought of as disorganised and often the butt of jokes, but the points could alternatively be assigned at the age of 21, when they kicked in, anyway, so it ordinarily wasn't a big deal.
Elliot was, however, one of the unlucky few. On the day before his twenty-first birthday, a new technology emerged in certain circles, circles which one would assume were composed of vicious outlaws. However, though no less unscrupulous that one would assume, the people in these groups were in fact wealthy lords and business owners.
The tecnhnology in question was a scientific breakthrough, a true marvel which unfortunately would inevitably do more harm than good. A method had finally been discovered for transferring points between individuals, however points were only transferrable when they were unassigned. The process was invasive and lethal to young babies, so only a very small number of people could be the subject of these techniques. Not only would no person willingly give up their tallies, but since the technique's development dozens of different factions had been fighting to find potential subjects, and as a result any semblance of ethical conduct had been thrown out the window.
Victims were kidnapped, threatened, blackmailed, whatever it took. Elliot's mother had managed to get him a plane ticket to Moscow before they found him, and he got away just in time, his parents stayed behind. He had watched the report of their death from the airport television in Moscow. He remembered the warm tears trickling down his face like it was yesterday.
From there, he'd taken the train as far as it would go, and ended up in Vestoskyn. He'd been OK for the past few months, but no doubt he wouldn't be safe forever. Elliot finally reached his derelict apartment block, turned the key in the lock behind him, and walked upstairs.
A dozen kilometres away, a sleek navy blue audi revved its engine as snow-dusted trees blurred past the window. The car's monitor displayed grainy surveillance footage of a hooded boy walking along a station platform.
"Are you sure it's him?" the driver asked his companion: the stern-faced woman in the passenger seat. She gave him a look like he was stupid.
"We didn't exactly drive to the middle of this shithole because we weren't sure, Mapet." the woman responded.
"Point taken." the man replied, as the car sped towards the looming city skyline.
I'll continue if interest
/r/wptoss for more stories :) | 'Are you fucking serious?'
'Honey please, you must understand-'
'Understand *what*? That you forgot? That you fucking forgot.'
'It's not so simple. When you were born, well,' she looked to her right for support, 'your father and I were smoking *a lot*. We forgot all kinds of things. You didn't even have a name for the first week.'
'I didn't have a name?'
'No, we just sort of played with you. A name didn't really seem necessary at the time. It wasn't until we were taking you to my parents that it crossed our mind. You know how they are with those sort of things. They need to name *everything*. Personally I don't see the point - It'll all turn out in the end.'
Beside her, my father nodded, his enormous head bobbing on the end of his tree trunk neck. He put his hand on my shoulder and I nearly crumpled beneath the weight of it. He noticed my discomfort and removed it.
'Sorry' he said, looking down ashamed. 'I forget sometimes what these hands can do. You know, I never did have much intelligence, just these big hands.'
'Hey now,' interjected my mother, 'Those big hands are beautiful and I believe that one day they will do great things. I just *know* it.'
'Um, can we get back to the issue at hand please.'
'Oh, don't worry, sweetie - I believe in you too. I believe in both you. I have so much faith. It's all going to be ok.'
'For fuck's sake' I muttered under my breath, and then louder 'what happens now? What do I do?'
Whatever you want, honey, you're free to choose. That's the beauty of being deprived.
| 2017-11-28T04:22:43 | 2017-11-28T04:08:37 | 99 | 38 |
[WP] Love is blind, but for you it's quite literal and you lose your sight every time you fall in love. | Fulfilling my Friday afternoon ritual, I drove over to Loving Care, the retirement home my grandmother lives in. No one really visits her anymore, so I feel almost obligated to spend at least a little time with her. *Poor grandma, all alone. I can't imagine what that's like.*
I walked through the doors and signed in, greeting the receptionist with a smile as usual before heading over to the TV room where grams always hangs out to watch her soap operas. Before I could get there, though, I noticed a man sprawled out on a hospital bed in their care center- it was Brett, one of the gentlemen I'd met during my weekly visits.
I ran up to the door, knocked, and the nurse motioned me to come inside. "Don't push him too much," she informed me upon her exit.
"Who's there?" the weak, old man croaked out.
"It's me, Peter. Remember me?"
"Oh, Peter, yes. Of course I do. How are you doing, young man?"
*Man, even in this state, he's worried about others.*
"I'm alright, Brett. What's going on with you, why are you here? Everything okay?"
"Oh, Peter, I'm an old man. I'm near the end now- 92 years is a long time for the human body to endure."
I frowned, stoic sadness washing over me. I'd been expecting it, but it still hits you hard.
"Peter? I'm blind, remember? I can't see facial expressions, son." He let out a weak chuckle that was more like a cough than a laugh.
"Right, sorry Brett. Say, how did you become blind? Were you born that way?"
He paused for a few moments. "I'm going to tell you a story I haven't told anyone before, okay? Take a seat."
I pulled up a chair next to his bed, lifting it up so as not to scrape it against the floor.
"Well, Peter, it happened on March 23, 1942. I was taking a beautiful woman named Marta back home after seeing a drive-in movie, and we were just talking the whole time. All kinds of things, you know? Favorite books, candy and cars, favorite places to visit or live. Some philosophy and religion. She was just perfect, everything she said to me had me falling further in love, little by little. I looked over at her, into her golden eyes, and smiled. I knew she was the one, those eyes practically told me themselves.
"Then it hit me. No warning or signs, no notice or reason. The world faded to black, and in an instant, I was blind. I could still hear, so I heard Marta scream as I drifted into oncoming traffic before I could stop the car. I hit a car and swerved off the road, into a tree. She didn't make it, and I'm still stuck here in this place. I'm still blind, but no one can tell me why. I had perfect vision beforehand, and the doctors say there's no deterioration at all- they actually look like a younger man's eyes."
*Poor old man, what a life he's lived. So much pain...*
"Wow, that's horrible, Brett. I'm so sorry, but thank you for sharing. It's good to share things like that. Do you remember anything about what the world looks like?"
"You know, Peter, I remember very little about sight. It's been 70 years now, which is plenty of time to forget things. There's one thing I do remember, though," he said lovingly, a smile tightening his wrinkled lips. "Her face, with those beautiful, gold eyes. I say I'm blind, but that's only a half truth- I still see her face, every day. I'd have forgotten it if I weren't blind, since pictures just couldn't do that woman any justice. So, in a twisted way, I have my blindness to thank. I get to look into her eyes, every single day, Peter. It's wonderful."
----------------------------------------------------
*all aboard the feels train, next stop: /r/resonatingfury* | The small street showed itself in headlights, just a few feet at a time
On that dark night, when the fog and drizzle was like a million leaky faucets,
Dripping off the droopy willow trees and onto the roof of the car.
You held my hand from the passenger seat
And said how your dark fingers always went so well with my light ones,
But that it was even better with our new gold rings.
*Comes as sweet and clear as moonlight through the pines.*
You sang along with the radio.
I looked at you,
Saw how your smile held my whole future,
Before it all turned black.
I lost control; a brutal jerk onto the curb,
Then water rushing from a broken hydrant.
*
You said we would persevere,
Reminding me of the other tests of difference
We did not wither before.
In the mornings, you poured the milk in the cereal for me;
At bedtime, you steered me inside you.
I touched you, and cursed you,
Cursed how I would not need you, if only I did not *need* you.
"Do they stare at us in public?" I asked.
"No different than before," you reply.
*
I cannot follow the bumps.
I never cared for such subtleties.
You beg me to try harder,
That it can open up the world for me.
You take my hand and set it on the page,
But my ring is not there,
And you recoil.
You yell and shove the plastic pages off the table
That clang and rattle on the hardwood.
I tell you that you do not understand being lesser to the world
And you laugh at me.
*
The suitcases thump
And old taxicab brakes squeak.
*Still in peaceful dreams I see the road leads back to you*
I cry,
Then wipe my tears,
And there is a flicker.
/r/opinionsaboutnothing | 2016-02-16T07:29:23 | 2016-02-16T07:17:06 | 110 | 11 |
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