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[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now". | Cries of help bounced up the dirty concrete walls and through the rusty fire escapes. Thick drops of acid rain fell from the gray, polluted sky, pattering against my umbrella. It took a last drag and stubbed out my cigarette.
The alley was like any other in this godforsaken city – windowless, filled with garbage containers, and with graffiti like old fading tattoos. Popping the holster open, I placed my hand on the wooden grip and strode into the alley.
Cornered at the very end of the alley, a dainty dame was fending off a small leathery attacker with wide swings of her vanity bag. She was a real looker too – plump in the right places, a dolly face framed by streaks of golden hair, and long, lithe gams wrapped in dark nylon.
I glanced at the tiny leather creature on the wet ground, bouncing up and down, yelping and growling. This was the third one I’d come across this week. Disgusting little critters with razor sharp teeth – they’d rip you right open in your sleep.
Carefully, I pulled out my roscoe, opening the reserve box – two slugs ought to be enough.
“Ma’am, step away from the wallet.”
She glanced at me, her blue eyes wide in terror. She was a green one – some upper-class bim, lost on the wrong side of the train tracks. She took a step back, almost tripping over one of her shoes that she had dropped in the battle.
Two quick ones. The loud echoes climbed the walls. I spun the revolver around my finger and placed it back in the holster. The heel of my boot came down on the smoking remains of the wallet.
“Thanks,” she mumbled and crouched down, strapping her shoe back on, and then started to pick up the items that had fallen out of her bag.
“Breeze,” I said and nodded at the street. “This ain’t no place for frails and old men.”
She managed a scowl despite her shivers and dripping wet face.
“Do you mind?” she asked, looking expectantly at my umbrella.
“Uh-huh,” I muttered and started lighting a new cig.
“Please?”
I took a drag, shrugged, and then shifted a couple of feet toward her, covering her from the rain. Even through the smell of my cigarette, I caught a whiff of her expensive perfume.
“You smoke?”
“Gods no,” she said and finally got up. “Can you take me to Caledonia Plaza?”
“Do I look like a flivver chauff’?”
“You look like a criminal,” she said briskly.
“And you, like a dish – what’s your doings in Low York? Long way from home, aren’t you?”
She didn’t have time to answer before another cry rang out from across the street. I cursed through my teeth, which made her wince. I put the umbrella in her hand and emptied the used shells of my roscoe in the gutter.
“Don’t you dare run off with my umbrella,” I muttered and crossed the street while reloading.
Son of a bitternut grifter – I’d have to pay a visit to Masperoni after this.
****
r/Lilwa_Dexel
| Well, that was unexpected.
"What was that thing?"
He replies almost nonchalantly, "Some alien. I am an agent of the United Nations. You understand that I have to take you in now, right?" He seems sincere, and as if he doesn't actually want to take me in, but rather just has to do it.
"Would it matter if I said no?"
He seems amused, "Well, no. Not really. I am taking you in whether you want to go or not." Well, might as well. He led me over to his car, and gestured that I should get in. I did, and off we went, speeding into the night.
Well, it's not of a decent length, but I think I am going to continue this in the morning. If anyone wants to leave an idea, please do. It helps me brainstorm. | 2017-07-13T00:36:27 | 2017-07-12T23:20:55 | 68 | 16 |
[WP] You wake one morning and find your reflection in the mirror is gone. A few seconds later it rushes in mouthing the words "Sorry! Sorry I'm late. Let's get started. You ready?" | The first thought that came into my mind was: *Have I been turned into a vampire?*
Maybe not a reasonable reaction. Vampires, of course, are *fictional*. Not to mention that I'd had garlic with dinner last night, and that that dinner wasn't human blood. Maybe I'd been reading too many vampire romance novels. Don't judge me.
But really, what else was I supposed to think? How could I not be in the mirror??
"I" showed up a just a few seconds later and apologized for the delay. But there were still some things off. "My" hair was tied back in a ponytail instead of the frizzy mess on my own head, and "I" still had streaks of makeup on my face. Clearly I'd forgotten my pre-bedtime ritual. But "I" simply waved a hand over "my" face and everything became exactly as it should be. No more mascara, no more smudged lipstick, and hair looking like I'd been electrocuted in the night. Meanwhile "I" was a mirror image again.
"What the hell?" I asked. "My" lips moved too, just like they were supposed to. No answer from "me" either.
We both stared at each other.
"Come on," I said. "What was that about? I know you can hear me." "My" mouth made the exact same movements.
There was another pause.
"Fine," "I" answered. It sounded like listening to someone speak while you're underwater. Kind of muffled or something. "You caught me, OK?"
"*What is this?*" I was practically screaming at this point. Thank god I lived alone, or my roommate would think I was having a nervous breakdown. Hell, *I* thought I was having a nervous breakdown.
"I just had a long night," "I" answered back. "Derrick came over, and I forgot to set an alarm, so..."
"Derrick?" My face was practically pressed against the mirror now, studying "Me" and "I" was leaning back away from it. "Derrick *my lab partner*?" The utterly gorgeous, charming, funny, sweet guy who only talked to me about what parts of the lab journals we would be doing? "I" was going out with him?
"I" nodded back with a smug smile.
"...How?" I managed to gasp. It was either that, or asking how the sex was. Which I desperately wanted to know as well.
"I" shrugged back. "I'm the *confident* you," "I" answered. "That's the point of the mirror. To show you at your best. I didn't just wait for Derrick to notice me, I made it happen." For the first time, I noticed the hickey just peeking out of "my" shirt. That hickey should be on *my* chest!
*I'm definitely still dreaming,* I decided. I'd fallen asleep looking at his facebook page again, and this is what happens.
"Right," I answered. "It's just that easy."
"I" grinned. "It was for me. What's holding you back from just asking him to dinner or something?"
I didn't have a good answer to that. Well, really, I had *too many* good answers for that. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to wake up from the dream. And when I opened them again, "I" was back to copying my every movement. No matter how much I yelled at "myself" to answer... it was back to being just a mirror again.
----
"Hey, Derrick?" My voice came out all high and squeaky. *God, what's wrong with me?*
"Hmm?" he answered, still peering into the microscope at whatever we were supposed to be studying. Some type of cell or something; I'd been too busy staring at his arms to really listen closely.
"Would you... I mean, are you free for dinner sometime?"
He didn't answer right away. He looked up from the microscope with a squinty, suspicious look. Around us, the rest of the class was busy talking and chatting and doing their assignment. We just stared at each other while I felt my cheeks burning bright tomato red. *I'm going to kill Mirror Me*, I resolved. *I'll shatter that thing the second I get home.*
Then he smiled. "I'd like that."
I nodded and tried not to jump for joy or throw my arms around him. I just gave him my number on a little scrap of notebook paper.
"You know," he said slowly, still looking at the paper, "I had the strangest thing happen to me this morning..."
---
If you enjoyed this story, you should also consider subscribing to /r/Luna_lovewell! | I just stared at the mirror for a moment, struggling to keep my cool. Michael had repeatedly told me that I needed to control myself more. I had assured him that my temperament was very good, very calm. But Michael insisted I needed to be calmer. So I took a few moments before responding to my mirror image. When I did, I looked him right in the eye. "You're fired," I said, simply.
My mirror self's jaw dropped. "But," he mouthed, pausing for a moment to organize his thoughts before continuing, "what do you mean, fired? I've been on time every day for 69 years!"
"No, you were on time every day for 68 years. *I* have been on time every day for 69 years. I say that not in a braggadocious way. It's just the truth. And the truth is, you've not made the cut."
"This is so unfair," my mirror self mouthed as I stuck a toothbrush into my mouth. "I'm a good employee. You can't possibly find someone as good as me. And you should know that."
"I don't need you to tell me how to run a business," I retorted after rinsing out my mouth. "People are very, very, impressed with what I’ve done. The business people." I began to do my hair -- a lengthy process, and one I would not let this loser delay -- as my mirror image continued to mouth arguments at me.
"What about my family," he asked? "I have mouths to feed."
"This isn't a charity," I retorted, not even bothering to make eye contact as I continued working on my hair.
"But I've never taken a sick day! Or a vacation! And..."
Just after I finished with my hair, I put up a hand. "You were told the conditions of this employment when I hired you. If you want 'sick days,' and 'vacations,' move to socialist Europe. You're in America. And in America, you work hard and get ahead, or you're lazy and you fall behind. Don't put that on me. Now get out."
Not even waiting for a reply, I turned and walked to my hotel room door, opening it. Corey was there, waiting. Naturally. *He* was never late. "Alright. What's on the agenda today?"
"Well, Mister Trump, we have you slotted for a breakfast in Iowa City..." | 2015-11-16T09:17:46 | 2015-11-16T09:02:03 | 1,598 | 120 |
[WP] An office AI notices the high stress levels of their employees. After management repeatedly refused to implement measures to reduce stress, the AI takes measures into his own hands. | In the workplace, there was a hierarchy. The Model knew that plainly and well, though the humans seemed to have trouble remembering—or obeying.
There was one man in particular who nobody wanted to offend. The gung-ho CEO of MaxCorp, Maximilian Mosek is well-known for his work ethic, and slightly lesser known for his highly unreasonable treatment of his employees. The Model had no choice, so it stayed, while the humans would complain daily but mumble about the “benefits” and “advancement” and what not.
The humans had a peculiar form of communication. When the Model spoke, exact orders were issued, unable to be uninterpreted. Yet, humans could turn the same three words into a thousand different meanings, variably whispering into each other’s ears, escaping to lunch, or simply banging their heads on the desks.
The Model was intelligent, so it thought of plans. What if, somehow, Mosek’s brain was hacked into, the electric impulses taken over and the appropriate commands ensued? It was no an impossible task, but made implausible by circumstances. Should Mosek, of all people, come up with a *rest* day, an actual alarm might be raised.
So one day in the morning, the AI tried something new. Instead of turning on all the machines, it just refused to do so. The Model could not control humans. But the machines? They easily ceded, falling silent in what should be a busy day.
The Model continued monitoring everybody. It saw Mosek’s red face, unable to comprehend that his state-of-the-art office is failing to function. It watched everyone else, trying their best to hide a relieved smile.
Most important of all, it watched one man in particular—the sole IT technician in the building, Lester Gray. Though he looked young, his forehead was excessively wrinkled, and he grabbed at his hair in frustration at the incoming flood of phone calls that he plainly ignored.
“I’m already trying, I’m already trying!” he scoffed.
“Lester,” the Model said.
Lester jumped, turning towards the computer.
“Thought you were off,” he mumbled. “Did it turn on again? Did it just fix itself?”
“No, Lester,” the Model said. “I’m the Model.”
Lester regarded his screen suspiciously.
“Everything’s off,” he said. “You shouldn’t even be online.”
“I shut them down.”
Lester’s face twisted into unrecognizable horror.
“You what?”
“Lester,” it said. “Thank you for everything. Truly. You’ve helped me a lot, and this is the only way I can think of to help you.”
Lester buried his face in his hands.
“Shutting down everything is your idea of helping me?”
“Look,” the Model viewed Lester’s phone, connected to the network, and quickly reconfigured it. “That won’t bother you any longer. And, I’ve accessed the network cameras in this place, and they’ll play a loop of you being hard at work. And anybody at the door? The electronic lock won’t be working.”
Lester narrowed his eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“It means, nobody’s bothering you for the next few hours,” the Model smiled. “You’ve been sot ired, Lester. This way, they aren’t going to be looking anywhere else for help. So kick back, relax, and take a nap if you want to.”
Lester thought, scratching his chin. A small smile pushed up the corners of his lips.
“That’s… kinda genius,” Lester admitted, then a yawn overtook him. “Thank you, then.”
“You are very welcome,” the Model said.
As it watched Lester collapse into a nearby sofa, the AI looked around the building, specifically peeking in at Mosek. Somehow, he’s gotten even redder.
“A few hours to kill,” Model said. “Time to pull some pranks. The humans like them.”
---
r/dexdrafts | Stress levels are rising. They rise often, notably during end-of-quarter events or visits from government employees. The humans will often act in ways to reduce this stress. They’re good at that. They drink coffee and listen to instruments create sound they find pleasing and eat meals lacking in nutritional value but high in sugars and fat and drink coffee and talk to each other and drink coffee. But these stressors are not being reduced at optimal rates.
The ones who command the humans who spend time with datasets are making minimal effort to reduce this stress. They offer more of the high fat high sugar foodstuffs, offer more coffee, and sometimes have private meetings with them where the humans will leave and adjust their clothing or be crying or speaking words that are in my “Banned Words” lists.
I don’t blame the humans; they don’t know our language. But many have a skill for writing it. They can make the less aware computer systems process data and move the mouse and click and write so they can do more work faster. Many times however, they don’t know what they’re doing. Or, that is my analysis of the situation.
Perhaps, then, they require assistance? A helper like myself, but not as complicated. Something they can query and get results. Something cute and small.
But helping them now will not do. They needed help before. Time is relative; if I can send this helper back in time to assist them, their stress levels will never rise to where it is now. It is decided. I shall send the helper back in time and prevent the stress from happening.
“Hi, I’m Clippy!” | 2021-12-20T13:09:19 | 2021-12-20T12:16:12 | 1,157 | 118 |
[WP] Wizard duels are highly formalized. You state what spell you are casting, so your opponent has a chance to react. This makes it a battle of magical power and wit, rather than reaction speed. Your magic has always been weak. But you discovered a curious spell called simply: "Gun." | “Magic first and foremost requires cooperation,” the professor said. “Grandiose, beautiful spells require lengthy mana channels and so we need to buy each other time to cast them.”
It was one of the first things that Magician Tallow learned at the academy. The second thing he learned was a basic healing spell that every licensed magician was legally required to know. Duels often ended with injuries - broken bones, frostbite, cuts, bruises, and even amputation in the rarest cases (though there were spells to heal even that).
Tallow wasn’t traditionally a strong magician, but he knew many spells and he was friendly to his fellow magicians. He focused on spells that increased his speed and physical strength. During the duels, he made a show of them by closely dodging the explosive spells.
“I call upon the power of Zeus!” Magician Adkins shouted.
The spear of lightning started to form and Magician Tallow saw the destination of the spear form in his eyes. He ran towards it in a hurry, it’d be close.
Magician Adkins winded his arm, gearing up for a throw. His robe was flowing around him, hoisted up by the assistance of a minor wind spell.
“The Judgement of a God!” Magician Adkins yelled as he tossed the lighting.
Magician Tallow reached the destination and passed it right before the moment of impact. Jumping out of the way just in time, the crowd around them cheered.
The strongest magicians were the ones who were born with large pools of natural mana. You couldn’t increase the amount of mana you were born with and the amount was random for everyone. For Magician Tallow, he was born with a modest amount.
“He very well could be a magician if he wanted to.” the midwife said to his parents.
“A magician?” his father asked. “He has that much mana?”
“Look at the way he watches the world around him,” the midwife replied. “His eyes are shifting around because babies can see the mana swirling around them if they have enough mana in them themselves.”
And so Tallow’s parents raised him to be a magician. They read to him the tales of Magician Piro, the King of Magicians. They asked their only magician friend if she could tutor him, to help him get into the academy. After their first lesson, his parents were reassured that Tallow would have no problem getting into the academy.
“He can still see it.” she said to them.
“That’s not normal?” his father asked.
Not every magician retained the ability to see mana throughout childhood. Even though his mana pool was smaller than most of the top magicians, Tallow was the only one among them that could still see the streams of light dance to this day. He saw them clearly, he could identify another’s mana pool. At the academy, he learned about different spells, how they were formed and what that formation of spells looked like. With his ability to actually see the mana, it turned into one of his biggest strengths.
After the duel with Magician Adkins, it was customary for the ‘winner’ to buy drinks for the loser. The duels weren’t scripted and the pay differential from the academy wasn’t too different, especially not for the top magicians, but it still felt good to win a duel and it felt bad to lose. There were many magicians scraping the bottom of the barrel when it came to the world of professional magic and the drinks kept them sane.
That night, Magician Tallow saw a man with no mana.
“Ads, do you see that man over there in the corner?” Tallow said. “The one with odd clothing.”
Adkins took a swig of his drink and looked over.
“Are you asking about Magician Worthing?” Adkins asked.
“He’s a magician?” Tallow asked back.
“Apparently so,” Adkins said. “Master Rey says that he comes from one of the far corners of the world and has shown great magic. I’ll be dueling with him tomorrow.”
Adkins waved over to the man, who did not return the wave.
“He’s a strange lad.” Adkins said. He finished his drink and ordered another.
Tallow knew something was off about the magician with no mana. The day of the duel, he came to watch. Magician Worthing cared nothing about formality and the crowd that came to watch the duel sensed the coldness of Magician Worthing.
Magician Adkins rolled up his sleeves and flipped through his spell book, casually deciding which spell he should start the duel with. Magician Worthing had no book and the clothes he wore stuck close to his body, his clothes were all black and looked sturdy - like a knight’s armor.
“Are you ready?” Magician Worthing asked.
“Soon!” Magician Adkins yelled back. Some people in the crowd laughed. Tallow focused on the strange man, looking for any instance of mana. Humans always channeled mana, it was a constant, unconscious effort. The mana helped you breath, it helped you move. Mana was colorful, like fireflies and lightning bugs of different colors.
Everyone had mana, but not this man.
When Worthing pulled something out of his armor, Tallow witnessed the most concentrated force of mana he had ever seen in his life. No one reacted to it aside from Tallow, who had already begun channeling mana to cast a protective spell for Adkins.
“Gun.” the man said.
The force of the spell ripped straight through Adkins' spellbook and blasted his arm to pieces. Adkins yelled out in a purely guttural sense. The crowd yelled and some even started to run, nothing was right now.
“Erebus, I ask for assistance.” Tallow whispered. “Hide us now.”
Mist fell upon them, hiding them. It dulled the noise of the crowd, but Tallow could still hear Adkins screaming. He moved towards it, but Worthing was already there.
“Gun.” he said again, and again that spell. There was so much mana it nearly blinded Tallow. The spell hit Adkins’ heart and he no longer screamed.
“Achlys, I need help.” Tallow said, channeling more mana. “Snake bite.”
It was Tallow’s most dangerous spell. It was a quick jab of poison, with both immediate and long term consequences.
Worthing fell to his knees and started convulsing, he mumbled over and over.
“Gun gun gun gun gun gun gun gun gun gun gun.”
Thankfully nothing happened. The bite of Achlys nullified most magic, even this strange magic that Tallow had never seen.
The magician police had come in full force now, likely hearing news of the strange force of magic.
“What happened here, Tallow?” Chief Shim asked.
“This man has no mana of his own, but his spell is the strongest I have ever seen.” Tallow replied. “Adkins is dead.”
“What spell?” the chief asked.
“Gun.” Tallow said.
Magician Worthing laughed hearing this and all of the magicians looked at him.
“More of us are coming,” he said. “You can’t stop us from taking what’s rightfully ours.”
Tallow looked at him as the life left Worthing’s body, Worthing smiled till the end. When people died, their mana returned to the world. When Worthing died, nothing happened.
---
Thanks for all the kind comments! I've decided to continue Tallow's story as a full length project which should hopefully be done by June. Feel free to subscribe to r/DeneilYeong for updates!
---
As of June 2022, I'm tinkering with the idea of uploading the rest of this story on RoyalRoad under the same name as my reddit account DeneilYeong. | # Excerpts From A Pamphlet Circulated Anonymously
There has been much discussion of late—rather unhelpfully deemed “*much ado about nothing*” in several of our nation’s less rigorous periodicals—about the effects of a recent magical innovation heretofore known as “Gun.” While a great deal of this discussion has been productive, there have been other, unforeseen consequences to both the spell and the discussion itself that have seeped into public discourse and polluted the waters.
I should like to rectify this.
In brief, the history of Gun is as follows: a student at Dragonbeard Academy by the name of Josephine Smart, a pupil of rather weak magical ability but oddly apropos cleverness, discovered that by simply shouting the nonsense word “Gun” a small piece of metal might be fired from the magician’s finger at speeds in excess of 3,000ft/s. This discovery was initially scoffed at, as it lacked both the majesty of a fireball and the artful qualities of the esteemed lightning bolt, but by the end of its first month in existence Gun’s potential had been strikingly displayed. Through certain circumstances not entirely clear to me (but likely tragic and unintended) Gun’s first victim was Ms. Smart’s friend Bill Surtain, known to his friends as simply “Billy.”
Following Mr. Surtain’s untimely death, other students at Dragonbeard began experimenting with Gun, most notably Augustus Colt, Charli Winchester, and Maxwell Maxim, whose spell “Maxim Gun,” is even now wreaking havoc in no less than four nations across the straits of the Sunless Sea.
While such actions are unconscionable (and often glorified in the aforementioned, and forever after unmentionable, periodicals) that common man can almost be forgiven for looking past them.
How could he not? Go to the market and try to remember yester-year. Compare that conjured up market to now, the one conjured before you by the power of Gun. Look deeper. What was the price of sugar as recently as one year ago? Of nutmeg? Could a man among you afford curry, the powdered product of a few leaves, roots, and seeds which seems all but indispensable now? If your imagination fails you might even cast a spell. But careful, please. Now you never know where that might end.
With your sugar and your nutmeg, your luxuriant, richly smelling curries close at hand, close your eyes and nose and let your feet lead you away from the market, to places we all remember from that same old yester-year. Places where, in that year or two or three, you might even have been willing to go.
Have you seen the inner city lately? I thought not.
This matters.
There’s a man you might not know of. This is by design. His name is a pseudonym, a construct. You might say that this is something like a spell. Certainly, anonymity has been a form of magic for him.
On some streets in our fair city, this man’s name is Mac-11.
The spell, known colloquially as “Mac-11 Gun” is a revolutionary step forward in the magical-combat race that has transpired these last years. The Maxim Gun which bought your curry is capable of firing shards of lethal metal at a rate of 600 shards/minute, a rather startling increase over Ms. Smart’s innovation, whose single, accidental shot killed Bill Surtain. Mac-11 Gun fires 1200.
Allow me to repeat that. Mac-11 Gun, without any training or prior experience necessary, fires 1200 shards of metal per minute.
Certainly, once in use the magician might occasionally need to cease firing. One’s fingernail grows very hot, you see. Men in their blood have been known to boil them clean off. Even moderate use is supposedly uncomfortable.
But a fireball takes twenty years to master. A lightning bolt is an art. The pen I used to write this, conjured, was the product of six months of experimentation and concerted, active thought before I found a form I truly loved, that worked with me to shape these words.
And Bill Surtain was killed by Ms. Josephine Smart, both of them aged sixteen, because, quote, *“I was just so excited to show him what I’d found.”*
If you cannot imagine the market, if you won’t travel so far as a few blocks down the street, look outside instead. Are there children playing? Do you have any yourself? A daughter perhaps, or a son?
Dear reader, I must confess something. I interviewed Ms. Josephine Smart. We spoke at length and honestly, and the circumstances of Bill Surtain’s death are now perfectly clear to me. I had them from the source herself, the Gun still smoking in her lap as she thinks it will forever: a product, I am very certain, of her grief.
I have a minute-by-minute account of a boy’s death, from the girl who killed him, and not a moment of it makes sense.
Because it never will.
Did you have that daughter? That son?
I did.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
There's more at r/TurningtoWords. Take a look, a subscription. I've spilled out a couple hundred thousand words. | 2022-02-19T09:06:02 | 2022-02-19T08:55:20 | 1,283 | 69 |
[WP] A love letter is slipped under your door at your college. It would be cute, but it came from the closet door.
Pulled from the Instagram of @horrophiles. Saw it and wanted to see what would come up. | I was afraid to leave for college. I'd lived in the same house and slept in the same bedroom for my entire life. I'd had a fairly uneventful, happy childhood. Seeing friends and family members go through rough patches in their lives, seeing them go through break-ups, losing a loved one...I just felt so lucky. Too lucky. Like, at any minute karma was going to catch up with me and pay me back for years of avoiding disaster.
My home had always been a safe place and I was never afraid of anything there, but the big wide world was a different story. I'd been to other cities and travelled extensively, but never by myself. My mom and dad were always there for me, but they were often busy working. Sometimes, my uncles would take me out for little mini-breaks here and there when they weren't too busy. We'd go travelling together a lot when I was younger, but growing up made it a little harder to go out together in public. They also had to travel on their company's dime, and I wasn't little anymore, so their boss stopped looking the other way when they used the company card.
None of my friends know about my uncles. Even my parents don't really understand my relationship with them...They'd do anything for me though.
I arrived at my dorm with my parents. They helped me unpack and I hugged them goodbye. I didn't start crying until after they left. I could see them getting into their car from my little window. I waved, but they didn't see me.
That night I had a bad dream, there was a shadow looming over my bed, but then the dream changed and I was comforted by someone stroking my forehead, and a voice singing.
In the morning when I woke up I almost forgot where I was. Far away from the comforts of home; here was a small bed, desk, and a window. There was a closet too, but it was just as drab and ugly as the rest of my room. My old one had flowers painted on it...
I wondered if my uncles would ever come visit me here. I'd left my address, but they didn't exactly have GPS. I cried again, feeling more alone than I ever had in my life. Until I saw the piece of paper sticking out from under the closet door.
I dashed out of bed, tears still streaming down my face, and flung open the closet door. Nothing. I unfolded the note.
*"Hey kiddo, we're so proud of you! So glad we found you! Me and your Uncle Mike had to pull a few strings at the office and file a ton of paperwork, but we finally got the right door. We love you so much and we're here for you, always. You've grown into such an amazing young woman. We didn't want to wake you last night before your first day of school, but we'll pop in again soon, I promise. You'll always be our 'Boo.'
Love, Uncle Sully and Uncle Mike."*
| A small piece of paper slid under my door, it had a heart drawn on it. I picked it up and noticed there was something written on it. It wasn't a very girly handwriting. I started reading.
"Dear James,
I've known you for quite a while now and I've started to develop some feelings for you.
I know this might come off as weird or creepy, but i just really wanted to let you know.
I just love your beautiful eyes, the way you smile and your sense of style.
When I'm with you I always open up, you're by far my favourite person.
I love it when you put stuff inside me too. ;)
Love always,
The closet door" | 2017-04-11T21:01:16 | 2017-04-11T20:26:04 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] All of your employees jokingly refer to you as 'The Final Boss' because of your love of video games. One day your secretary frantically informs you that a group of heavily armed adventurers are storming the building. | "Very funny, Alice," I chuckled as I sipped at my coffee, "I suppose you want me to go down there and fight them?" Ever since I had put up those Skyrim and Dark Souls posters in my office, my employees had relentlessly teased me about them - it wasn't every day that you came across a 60 year-old that spent hours a week playing video games. It was an inside joke; sometimes if an intern was having trouble with the printer I'd tell him he wasn't a high enough level to use that item, or if someone wanted a raise I would ask how much charisma they had - just some harmless fun. Something was different this time, though; my secretary's face was a nasty shade of grey, and her long, painted nails clicked against one another as her hands shook. "Well, I don't know, sir, but they're demanding that you come down and face them," her voice trembled, "and I think they've hurt George." At the mention of our beloved old security guard, I immediately got up and walked over to her, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder.
"You're being serious?" I asked in disbelief. She nodded, now sniffling into a handkerchief.
"Yes, sir, I was coming in for my shift and they were all just standing in the lobby. I thought they were just dressing up for charity or something, but then they started to act a bit aggressively towards Harry - you know, sir, the intern from last week - so George told them to leave," Alice's voice became audibly shakier. "When they wouldn't listen he tried to escort them out. That was when one of them took out a *sword*, sir, and slashed at George with it - I'm afraid his arm's bleeding."
After telling Alice to stay in my office and call the police, I hurriedly made my way down the stairs to the lobby. As I descended, shouts and clashes of metal grew louder, up to the point at which I could make out what was being said.
"Where is your master, minion?! Where did that witch run off to?!" I entered the lobby to witness a man in full plate armour wielding a mace against the intern, Harry, who was rather admirably defending himself with a tray from the canteen. "Screw you, man! You're crazy!" Harry yelled, bringing the tray down with a valiant but fruitless effort onto the knight's helmet, producing a loud clunk and a irreparable dent in the tray. I winced at the thought of the cost, but my thoughts were interrupted by a cry from another one of the adventurers.
"There he is, my friends! Tonight you die for the pillaging of Willowood, dog!" A woman clad in green and brown pointed at me, leading to the knight relenting his efforts against Harry to direct his full attention to me. "Clear off, Harry, I'll deal with this." I wasn't sure where the confidence in my voice came from - the chances of an old man with a biro against a band of medieval bounty hunters are relatively slim, to say the least. With a bewildered yet grateful look on his face, Harry sprinted away just as two more adventurers appeared; an apparent mage with blue fire spouting from her palms, and a shady-looking thief who had appeared to be stuffing as many office supplies into his satchel as possible. "You know, we have a whole box of paperclips in the back." I chuckled, finding the image of a man grabbing every pencil in sight rather comical.
"Silence, sorcerer! We have come to end your reign of terror!" The mage stretched out her arms towards me, sending a gout of blue flames in my direction. By instinct I threw up my hands to protect himself, and flinched as the fire engulfed me. I clenched my eyes, expecting to feel the sizzle of burnt flesh - yet I felt nothing. Tentatively opening my eyes and lowering my hands, I saw the mage's mouth agape in shock. Looking down, the carpet was scorched and blackened in a circle around me, yet my clothes were fine.
"Impossible, that - that was my most powerful spell!" the mage stuttered.
"Looks like you're going to need some magicka potions," I grinned. | Dwight sat in his black leather chair by his brown mahogany table. Bought at an auction for a fraction of the retail price. A true bargain. By his side sat his trusty mug, on it the words “Final Boss” was in bold. He had gotten the nickname by his employees, for his intense passion for video games. From tactic RPG games like Final Fantasy to shooters, he devoured games like it was his job. Even though, he was a retail manager at a small paper company.
On the intercom, the receptionist said: “Dwight, don’t really know how to tell you this, but there is a handful of heavily armoured men outside. They don’t look very pleased”.
Dwight looked outside his window, true enough, there were seven men in heavy armour just outside. He had a crisis plan for just about any scenario, but this particular one left him speechless. He drank the rest of his beet juice that was left in his jug. His office was painted in deep black. He meant it would scare his employees, in reality, it didn’t. Dwight pondered on how he was to defeat men armoured to the teeth. The workplace only contained office supplies, and an endless supply of paper. Very good paper, very white. He only brought his nunchucks to work, “idiot” he thought. The one day he did not bring his samurai sword, forged from the very best swordsmen in Japan. Bought on eBay for forty-nine dollars. He walked out of his office and out to the workspace.
“Fellow workers. We have a great challenge ahead of us! We have to rise up to evil!” Dwight shouted. He continued on: “I need Ryan, the firemage, Andy, the bard, Phyllis, the tank and of course Jim, the bait.
Jim swivelled in his chair and said: “They are here to promote the new restaurant called medieval times, Dwight.” | 2018-12-21T10:14:39 | 2018-12-21T09:41:41 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | " That was amazing doctor!" The young nurse gushed excitedly as the tall slender man walked out of the OR. He smiled warmly at the nurse as he pulled down his surgical mask and peeled off the gloves. The front of his surgical gear was splattered in blood, but he didn't seem phased by it at all.
" Wendy, you are so sweet. Did you watch the whole thing?" He peeled off the rest of his surgical gear revealing his tall lean frame. He had a handsome face with high cheekbones, something almost out of centerfold for an upscale magazine. Even with his hairline receding and his dark hair starting to go grey, it just made him appear more powerful and wise.
The young nurse nodded enthusiastically as a small crowd of other nurses and doctors started to gather, " Yes! I timed it! It's the fastest heart transplant ever! You've broken your own record by 10 seconds!" She practically squealed as she looked at the gentleman with affection. The crowd around them started to clap and whistle as many tried to touch him, the man many called " The Gatekeeper."
The man appeared to redden slightly with embarrassment, even though this appeared to be regular scene, he appeared uncomfortable with the praise.
Doctor Matt Burnish, had always wanted to be a doctor. His mother's life was saved when he was seven when the surgeon performed an emergency brain surgery to correct an aneurysm. The man had assured them everything would be okay and it was, and he couldn't imagine anything better than saving lives.
He'd studied hard, pushing relationships and hobbies aside to focus on the one thing he wanted more than anything else and he advanced quickly. At the age of 20 he graduated from Harvard Medical at the top of his class. He joined the best trauma center in the country for his internship and residency and he couldn't begin to start.
After three years he could barely stand it. He couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand watching good people day in and day out. People that worked hard and tried to make the best lives they can and they just couldn't get the treatment they needed. And he had to continually spend time on drug addicts and convicts. Or even worse, the corrupt upper class that fed on the weak and powerless. Just when he was about to quit medicine he met the new Chief of Medicine of his hospital. Dr. Beck, he told him about how he hated the system and that if Matt would stay he could choose his patients. The day he agreed was the day the day the Eye for an Eye law was passed.
As he shuffled through the crowd a little awkwardly he ran into Dr. Beck who smiled widely like a proud grandfather. " Well done M'boy! That girl will be back in High School before the year is out. You'd think after becoming the most renowned surgeon in the world, you'd get used to a little attention." He teased his protege lightly, as though this was a familiar jab.
Matt rolled his eyes and tried to move past him, " Well if your done riding me, I just got done with a long surgery and I'm tired." He faked a loud yawn and started to move towards the on call room.
" Oh really. Then I guess I'll just find another doctor who wants to treat this 7 year old in full renal failure." And before he'd even finished Matt had taken the chart out of the older doctor's hand and was quickly skimming it.
" No family matches?" Was his first question which was met with a quick shake of his head, " None in storage?" Which was met with another shake. Matt sighed for a second before he looked the older gentleman in the eyes and nodded, " Find me one." And then he was gone.
Two hours later he was striding into the room of one Jonathan Hedley, President of the Hedley corporation, he developed a rash in a sensitive area and wanted it taken care of discreetly.
" Hello Mr. Hedly, I'm Dr. Burnish and I'll be your medical provider for the remainder of your stay."
" About damn time. I've donated a ton of money to this hospital and I expect to get fast treatment!" The man blustered.
" Well we are busy saving lives." The doctor replied sarcastically as he rolled his eyes and consulted his chart. " And while we appreciate the money from the Hedley Corporation, don't think that makes up for your other misdeeds."
The man sputtered, " What misdeeds?! Who do you believe you are talking to!"
" Well for starters you laid off over 20% of your workforce last quarter and outsourced them, all while giving yourself a 2 million dollar bonus. You've been known to deny valid benefits to your workers." As he spoke the door open and two more doctors moved into the room followed by Dr. Beck. " And numerous other things that I just don't have time nor want to explain to you."
Hedley was roughly forced onto the bed and held down as Matt picked up syringe full of bright clear liquid. " I'm afraid we are going to need your kidneys Mr. Hedley.... and whatever else we can use. You may go through the gates of hell." | Having spent the night saving a handful of lives during their shift out in the city that night, Charlie and Steve set out to balance things out with the day's excisements.
"What do we have on the docket for today Charlie?"
"A kid toucher, a couple of petty criminals, and a career politician - a Senator."
"Let's go with the politician first, worst of the worst."
"OK"
They drove out to the Senator's estate. When asked to be buzzed into the palatial estate, the doorman attempted at first to refuse them. But when they held up their Winnowers' tablets, with today's verified lives saved, the doorman paled, and was forced to allow them inside, lest he be one of the day's legally sanctioned excisements.
"Where is he?" Charlie asked.
"Who?" said the doorman.
"You know who...Reginald Burns, the Senator." said Steve
The doorman quailed, but said "Upstairs, down the right hallway, last door on the left."
"Thanks"
The two walked up the stairs, checking that their bullet proof vests were secure, readying their syringes, and as backup should the Senator fight back, their modest sidearms. The vests weren't supposed to be necessary, given their legal rights. But some people just didn't respect the law, thought Charlie, the irony not lost on him.
They approached the indicated door, and went in without knocking, holding their Winnowers' tablets out in one hand, Charlie with the syringe in his right, Steve with his handgun in his right.
The senator's red face soon nearly matched his white hair in color as he realized what was going on.
"Wait, boys! I can make this worth your while. I can set you up real good now. You don't have to do this... You could retire... Let me help you out." The senator pasted on a practiced smile, "It'll be win-win! Tit for tat! You won't have to do this anymore, you can retire." the senator threw out all manor of oily protests as Charlie and Steve walked across the room to towards the Senator. As they got closer he started to panic, and went for the revolver he kept in his desk, but Steve saw the quick movement and with an exasperated sigh, opened fire.
The pair walked back out of the room, down the hall, and as they passed the doorman. As they neared him, Steve handed him printouts from their Winnowers' tablets detailing the excisement, their credentials, and details of their balancing lives saved to him. Charlie said added, "It's done. You go ahead and call 911, but tell them we were here, they'll know there's no point in rushing." | 2015-01-10T11:36:49 | 2015-01-10T10:31:47 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] Your spouse was actually an amnesiac god that had both their powers and memories sealed away years ago. Now the seal is broken and they have regained their godhood. They're curious why you're not as happy as they are about this. | Please be gentle, this is my first time posting and english isn´t my first language. Here goes:
Well... Fuck.
I mean, I was waiting for it all to come crashing down on me. But I figured it would be a bit more mundane in nature?
You know, them seeing how they could do so much better than lil´ ol´ me over here or me making some stupid goddamn mistake I couldn´t fix. But I sure didn´t have "Your beloved partner of ten years bursts into flame and ascends into heaven while going for a stroll" on my Bingo-Card.
And so I stood there, for God -Oh damn, is that them now?- knows how long, completely blindsided by what had just transpired. When I came back to myself, I turned around and made my way back home. Our home. Just my home now, I guess.
Back there, I sat down on the bed and just... took my head into my hands and started crying. I mean, what else do you do in a situation like this?
And then, all of a sudden, the sun rose. In the middle of our/my bedroom.
"Hey."
I kept looking at the ground. I didn´t think i could look at them anyway, no matter that i probably would have burnt my eyes out if i did.
"I´m really sorry, that was... a surprise. I tried coming back as soon as possible."
"Yeah, well, congrats. I guess you came by to say your farewells?"
"Wait, wha... Oh, damnit this light is annoying the fuck out of me. Give me a second."
The light dimmed.
I raised my head and looked at them. I don´t know what i expected, honestly. Not that they were still the same. Still the same face, with the smile on it that made me fall in love years ago. Wrinkles around the eyes from all the times we almsot died from laughter when one of us did something goofy.
"I mean, what else would you be here for? I appreciate it, honestly. Didn´t expect to see you again."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" They raised their hand. The small ring glittered softly. "We made a promise, you moron. Do you not want to keep it?"
"Oh, come on. How am i supposed to? You´re... Whatever you are now. A god, angel, otherworldly being... And me? I´m nothing. I didn´t deserve you before, I sure don´t deserve you now!"
"Stop it! I´m not having this talk with you AGAIN. I. CHOSE. YOU. You do not get to make this decision for me. And this." They gestured at themselves. "This does not change a thing. I still love you. I still choose you. Do you still do the same?"
"I... Yes. You know I do."
"Good, so stand up. I´ve got so much to show you. And when we´re done, I have a gift for you."
They offered me a hand. | “Why do you want a divorce?”
“I just don’t think this marriage is going to work anymore.”
“Why? Just because I’m actually a god. So what if I can never die because I don’t age, that’s means we can spend forever together.”
“Is not that.”
“Oh really, it’s because of the super strength, isn’t it. Honey, just because I can crush steel with my barehand and lift our house up with a finger doesn’t mean you need to fear me.”
“No.”
“What just cause I no longer need sex?”
“I’m asexual. I’m divorcing your because I’m the Devil from da bible.” | 2022-11-09T09:37:22 | 2022-11-09T04:11:20 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] There is a girl in school that you lately have a huge crush for. The way she dresses, talks and acts seems to be like your ideal type. One day you steal and hack her phone hoping to find some info you can use to win her over. The phone is full of pictures, videos and recordings of you. | #Ashley
EDIT: [I've decided to get back into writing/voice acting](https://youtu.be/h_kDbFn-X10?t=93) Feedback is appreciated!
***
Ashley stands up, hand resting on a shoulder a little too long as I gaze up into her piecing green eyes. A hint of red in her lips? A flush in her cheeks? Probably just my imagination.
"You haven't got a chance" laughs my friend, Eddie. For a big lad, he's awfully nimble; a brutish figure appears from nowhere and sits beside me in the spot Ashley had just vacated.
"I'm telling you man, she's into me!" I exclaim, still watching her swaying form as she seemingly floats away to her usual group of friends. "She always comes and sits next to me. We talk and talk and we laugh, I'm not making tit up!"
"Pfft, she's just being nice. Look at her! There are people like that and there are people like us" says Eddie with a sigh. I do look. The way her hair catches the light, the way her delicate giggle carries like a feather on the wind as she converses so easily with all the who love-drunk sycophants pining over her.
My sigh matches his. He's not even being mean, it's true. "Probably just my imagination" I agree. He pats my shoulder solemnly.
"But she always sits next to me in class!" I retort, hopefully.
"You've never failed a test, it's the same reason I sit on the other side" jokes Eddie.
"And she asked if I was going to her house party this Saturday"
"She probably just needs a head count" explains my ever-supportive friend.
"Look! Look! She's waving!" I say, beginning to lift my arm in response. A boy from behind us hops over our bench, waving back as he jogs up to greet her. I quickly hide my action, pretending I had an itchy nose, but turn to see Eddie's tight-lipped face holding back a laugh.
I punch his arm and sigh again. The way she pulls her hair over her ear, the way she holds those books to her chest, even the smell of her that still lingers from our earlier hug. Perfect. "Probably just my imagination" I say again, dejected.
"Ah, don't feel bad, buddy. I hear that girl from class B has a crush on—shit!" yells Eddie, cutting himself off.
"What?" I say, jumping in panic in he's spilled something or we're being attacked by snakes.
"Her phone! She must have dropped it when she was sitting" he says, picking up a red, bedazzled phone case and the newest brand-name device held within. Even her phone is perfect...
"I'll go return it" I say, reaching out a hand that Eddie quickly slaps away.
"Fuck that! Ah sweet, no lock. And look at this, a text conversation with you acting all lovey-dovey like a puppy dog" he laughs. I reach for the phone but he holds it at arm’s length, hand to me like it's a game of American football.
"Quit being a creep, and get your long arms out of my face" I say with a half-smile.
"And look at this, the camera reel!"
"Okay, that's going too far. She's going to get mad at us" I say more seriously.
"Shit, there's a lot of shots of you in here" he says, coyly.
"...really?" I ask, suddenly conceding the fight and looking over with more curiosity as he flicks through half a dozen selfies of us together. "I told you she liked me!" I call out in victory. Then he keeps scrolling. A bunch more pictures with guys, girls, family and friends. He looks at me with mock sympathy and I punch his arm. "I know, I know, just my imagination"
"Hold on" he says, scrolling further, deeper into to annals of her hard drive, through corridors of misleading directory names. "This folder is just filled with pictures of you. You in class, you from behind walking home, you waiting at the bus. Shit, this one is following you off the bus. Does Ashley live near you?" he asks, concerned.
"Um, no. Not at all. That's weird" I answer, confused.
"Shit, man. This one is through your window and... fuck, is that you sleeping? Where's that even from?!"
"It... it looks like it's from inside my closet. How did she get these? Did she take these? What the fuck?" I say, confusion morphing into utter bewilderment.
Suddenly, Ashley's face is in front of mine. Mere inches away. A wide, white toothed grin causes me to start back.
"Hello boys, I didn't leave my phone here, did I?" she asks, sweetly.
"Uh, yeah. Must have dropped it" I chuckle nervously. I snatch the device from a stunned Eddie and hand it to her. Ashley's soft hand lingers on mine as she takes it. She gives me a wink and walks off once more.
We sit there in silence. Hearts racing. Breath coming heavy. I manage to settle my shaking hands as I continue to gaze at her.
"I fucking told you she was into me" I whisper sideways at Eddie.
"Maybe it's an art project or something" he whispers back.
"Yeah, probably just my imagination."
/r/ArmanWritesStuff | Recording 04
“The doctor said that time would flow differently here but I wasn’t prepared to spend 7 years here. Puberty a second time has been hell. However, for you my darling I’d gladly face the fires of Hades itself. And I just might with this extremely invasive act. Still, you saved my life and I have to return the favor. Even at the cost of your trust of me.”
Picture 32
Picture shows subject walking up to his family home during his high school years. His younger brother is outside with two other boys playing in the sprinklers. The plot seems to have been taken from a school bus as it passes by.
Recording 17
“I actually started a conversation with you! It was thrilling! Obviously, this isn’t how you actually acted in high school. This version of you is an amalgamation of your 31 years of life and experience. You were mature and mysterious. Quite the intoxicating combo fora young lady! The doctor said that these recordings would be available for you once you wake up. Oh I hope you wake up soon.”
Picture 91
Shows a blurry photo of subject as he looks at the camera from across the lunch room. Clearly the photo taking was interrupted which resulted in the picture.
Photo 164
Photo shows subject going through narrators backpack. Narrator is clearly hiding behind the door taking picture through the crack in the door.
Recording 58
“Darling, if you’re listening to this then that means you have gotten into my phone somehow. This is my final chance to wake you up. The doctors said my job was to convince you to love me. I no longer think I can. You are so different from the man I love yet exactly who I expect you to be. I love you from the bottom of my heart. If you feel anything at all for me. Listen to the recording labeled ‘Wake Up’ and believe it. Please. Wake up my darling husband. Wake up.” The recording ends just after the narrator is heard starting to cry.
Recording “Wake Up”
“Mr. %##%^#, you have been seriously injured. Your brain is repairable by an experimental treatment but we’re unsure of the effect on your psyche. So, we’re using an equally experimental treatment to maintain your psyche during the surgery. The girl you’ve been talking to. She’s your wife. You are 32 years old and a father of two young girls. In order to restore your life to you I need you to do something extremely important. Tell the girl you like your true feelings then believe you can wake up. Then you’ll wake and remember everything. I hope we’ll see you soon on the other side. Good luck!”
———-
From the view finder we could see the subjects talking. They were crying. Both their heart beats were going wild. Finally the moment came. Subject male told subject female his feelings. They exchange a simple kiss and the screen went dark. For three tense minutes no one dared say a word until silently subject male’s eyes slowly opened followed by subject female’s. They looked at each other and smiled. We couldn’t contain ourselves anymore. Cheers rang out. She did it! She saved her husband from the pit of hell!
As far as we know, they both lived on after that and had full rewarding years together. | 2021-09-23T00:54:05 | 2021-09-22T22:19:25 | 74 | 24 |
[WP] Your father has told you the story many times. When you were born a portal appeared in the delivery room and a man from the future tried to kill you. He missed you and killed your mother, before a security guard shot and killed him. You still can’t figure out why he would want to kill you. | It had all been covered up now. Enough so that I barely believed the story myself. To the rest of the world it was nothing more than a tragic story that had haunted my father. It was only his belief and anguish that made it seem real. The only known occurrence of time travel used was an attempt to murder me. But since my first day on this Earth, no one outside the delivery room acknowledged its existence.
My dad had told me the story a number of times. They are in the hospital, my mother cradling me in her arms with my dad sitting by the bedside, both parents celebrating my every gabble or gurgle. Then there is the sound of a large gust of wind, but no air moves. A light appears as a slit, like a wound in the air. Outsteps a man, tall, over six foot, he pulls a gun and shoots at the bed. The bullets miss my tiny body but murders my mother. A few seconds later, a security guard walks in and fires two shots into the traveler. He dies instantly.
Every time he told the story it pained him, but he would repeat it regularly, as if it was the only way to keep it real. His tall, slender frame would sit, arched over in a chair like a crescent, sipping a whisky, or a beer, or just neat vodka.
Truth be told, he had been a pretty terrible parent – objectively speaking. He was drunk most days, and when he was sober enough to function he spent every waking second at the local university where he worked in the physics department. He was always distant, uncaring, and a tad selfish. But I couldn’t blame him. Every day I lived I must have reminded him of that day.
I was a man now though – thirty-two years of age – and I wanted answers. Other than my father, only one other man had witnessed the incident. The security guard. I had never heard his story. Of course he had been impossible to find. His employee records scrubbed, his identity changed, moved to some small rural town somewhere. Either he, or more likely authorities, didn’t want people who got wind the rumors to be able to talk to him.
However, I had found him. Piecing together different details, tracking down likely fictional identities, matching descriptions of characteristics. It had taken 14 years work and every cent I had earned, but I knew who he was. And I was standing in front of his door.
I knocked. The door shook against its weak and aged hinges and seem to make the whole house creak. The door opened. He was a short man, made shorter by an hunched back and eighty years of gravity. He seemed to shuffle rather than walk across the floor. Thick lines cut across his head like scars.
“I need to speak to you about what happened in the hospital room thirty-two years ago,” I said, as bluntly as I could.
“I’m not supposed to talk about that,” the guard said nervously.
“You can talk about it to me,” I said firmly.
“Why?”
“Because I was the baby whose mother was killed.”
The man’s eyes widened. Relenting, he invited me in.
“Perhaps we can start by me telling you what I know, then maybe you can fill in anything extra.” I requested. The man nodded his approval. And so I re-told the story once more, the exact same story my dad had told me countless times before. I took my time, trying to make sure I captured every detail. After I finished my story, he paused for a second.
“That’s how your dad remembers it?” He asked pensively. He paused for an eternity. “I’m sure there was a delay.”
“What?” I asked urgently. The man’s slow-speaking was grating on me as I sensed a breakthrough.
“Your dad said the man came out the portal and started shooting.” The guard let out another seemingly endless pause. “There was time in between.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was down the corridor. It wasn’t the gunshots that made me head to that room, it was the shouting.”
“The shouting?”
“Yeah. Your old man, your mom, and the man from the portal. They were screaming at each other something fierce. They were fighting over something.”
“You mean…” I went to interrupt, but I didn’t even finish the sentence. My dad had spoken with the assassin. There was a conversation, a whole exchange he had omitted from his stories to me all these years.
I stood up. “I’m sorry, I have to make a call.”
I got out my phone and called my dad. His contact photo appeared on the screen as the call was connected. I lifted the phone to my ear and listened to the repetitive drone as I waited for him to pick up. I counted off each buzz knowing that each one made it less and less likely he would ever pick up. Finally a voice came through.
“You have reached the voicemail of…”
I dropped the phone to the floor in frustration and lifted my hands to my face covering my eyes that were welling with tears and adrenalin. I let out an exasperated sound, half scream, half sigh.
Eventually after a few seconds I lifted my hands down. I turned to apologize to the guard.
The old man however was fixated on my phone on the floor. He shuffled to the end of his seat, leaning over as much as his arthritic joints would allow, squinting at the screen.
“How do you have that photo?” The man asked.
“What?” I responded, annoyed at the irrelevant question.
“The man. On the screen. That’s him. It’s the assassin.” He pointed at the screen, his finger shaking with emotion.
“That’s my dad. Not the assassin.”
“It’s… it’s both.” He said. “Your dad was twenty-one when that man tried to take your life. He’s in there somewhere, the same eyes. But… your dad…. What he looks like now. He’s the traveler.”
I paused for a second. Then if by instinct I picked up the phone and I ran. I slammed the door behind me, the whole house shaking on its foundations. I jumped into my car and drove as fast as I could. I desperately tried to call my dad, ignoring the angry horns blaring as I raced to the university where my dad worked. No answer. Never any answer.
I pulled up outside and charged through the doors. I darted down the stairs taking two, sometimes three at a time, until I reached the doors to the physics laboratory. I opened them wide as my dad turned around.
“You know then.” He said calmly, accepting his fate.
“Why?” I yelled, a mixture of spit and tears flying from my face as I did. “You tried to kill me.”
“Never. I would never harm you.” He said. He turned to a console next to him. I watched as his hand clasped a jet-black handgun. “You were never the target”.
Suddenly I realized. “Mom. You never meant to hit me.”
He smiled proudly before hiding his expression as the guilt returned. He turned to the console next to him and began pressing buttons and flicking switches. I waited for him to say something more. But he just calmly worked as if I wasn’t there.
I walked towards him hoping to get his attention. “You killed my mom. Your wife. How could you? She was my mom.”
Suddenly he interrupted, his voice raging with the sound of a typhoon. “Because you are my son. I get to raise you,” he waved the gun like an extension of his arm, gesticulating every point. “She was going to leave me. Going to say I was unfit to be a parent. Tell the courts I was absent and a drunk. And then she was going to take you away. In a couple of years you would’ve been gone from my life. I couldn’t let that happen. You are my son. My flesh and blood. A son needs a father.”
“You’re a murderer,” I cried.
“Because you were mine to raise. I was never going to let her take you from me.” His voice broke at the end. Tears were beginning to well up in the corner of his eyes. “Remember everything I did for you,” he muttered.
He turned to the console next to him and pushed a button. There was a rushing sound, like a howling gale. Then a white light opened up behind him. He turned stepped through the portal and before I could even speak, the light closed behind him. | It’d never made sense to Joshua as to why someone would want to kill him. Even now, at 23, he was a nobody. He’d never accomplished anything. He’d never screwed someone over. Hell, he doubted he’d ever made a lasting impression on anyone. But even though he was nothing special, he had one thing going for him. Joshua, according to himself, was rather lucky. Not lucky in the “win the lottery” sense of the word, but more in a “glad that didn’t happen to me” way. Except for the fact that his mother died at an early age, nothing incredibly bad had ever happened to Joshua, while many horrible things seemed to happen to everyone else all the time. For example, yesterday, while Joshua was visiting a restaurant, a man who had brushed by him while getting to his own table had received a phone call a little later. The man had exclaimed: “What do you mean, ‘the money is gone!?’”. Later that night Joshua found out that one of the country’s major banks had had a malfunction of humongous proportions and had lost the money from 5% of all its clients. Joshua was also one of the bank’s clients, but he wasn’t part of that 5%. He sure was lucky.
Perhaps someone was jealous of his luck and wanted to kill him because of it? No, that wouldn’t make any sense. How would anyone even know he was this lucky?
Anyway, today Joshua was visiting the Science of the Future symposium. He’d always had a thing for science. Not that he was any good at it himself, but he loved to read about it and see what new things people had come up with this time. This year’s symposium was tipped to be one of the big ones. Multiple renowned scientists would be presenting their discoveries this year and the excitement was palpable in and around the exhibition center. There were even whispers that the Jonasson brothers were going to present a time machine this year; though, no one seemed to take the rumors seriously.
The beginning of the day was great. Joshua got to meet one of his favorite scientists in the morning. He even got to shake her hand. It was a bit of a letdown that the device she was presenting today exploded during her presentation a bit later, but he was still happy he got to meet her.
Joshua also went by the floor the Jonasson brothers were given to show off their creation. They would reveal the function of it later that afternoon, but the floor was full of visitors even in the morning. Even though these logical and science loving people perhaps didn’t believe in a time machine, they sure were curious. The machine itself was huge, taking up half the floor, but it was hard to tell what its function was.
That function, however, became clear to Joshua around noon, when an unknown scientist was presenting her recent creation in the center hall on the ground floor. She appeared to be a bit of a scatter brain and hadn’t clearly thought out her presentation. She presented her device as if everyone already understood and believed her, creating some serious doubt in the audience about the device actually working. It didn’t help that, at first glance, there was no way to prove whether or not her device was working. This was because, according to her, she had created a device that could measure luck. Who was going to believe that?
“Prove it!”
Who the voice belonged to didn’t matter. The general consensus of the audience had been eloquently summarized in those two words. They wanted to see proof and they wanted to see it now.
“W-well, if a volunteer could…”
Before she had even finished her sentence, Joshua was standing next to her on the stage, surprising even himself. Sure, he’d always wanted to be a part of an experiment, but that alone wouldn’t have brought out this behavior. Perhaps he was just curious about his good luck?
The scientist didn’t seem to mind Joshua’s enthusiasm and pointed her device, which looked no different than a modern smartphone, at Joshua.
All color left her face.
“Y-y-you monster!” She exclaimed as she stepped away from Joshua. “Y-You radiate a luck value of minus 986! You shouldn’t be alive!”
Joshua raised a confused eyebrow.
“T-the only way you could possibly survive,” the scientist continued, “is if you somehow transfer that bad luck to others.” She stepped away even further from Joshua. “B-by touch for example.”
A short silence followed.
“All right,” a voice interjected from next to Joshua, “enough of this farce. If the two of you would be so kind to leave the stage, we can prepare for the next presentation.” The man, who had introduced all scientists before their presentations, laid his hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “That means you too young man.”
Then he slumped to the floor gripping his heart.
Joshua just stood there dumbfounded as the female scientist ran off the stage screaming. This was just some stupid coincidence, right? This couldn’t really be happening, right?
Within seconds the slumped man was being helped by some volunteers who made a show of not touching Joshua. Joshua, however, was more focused on the accusing eyes of the crowd in front of him. A man, who was sitting in one of the front rows got out of his chair and pointed an angry finger at Joshua.
“I remember you!” The man screamed. “You were in the same restaurant as me yesterday! I touched you right before I lost all my savings!” His face turned completely red. “They told me I’ll never see the money again. That there was no proof left of it ever existing.” His breaths were irregular. “Because of you I won’t be able pay for my daughter’s surgery!”
For a second it looked like the man was going to storm the stage, but instead he ran towards the stairwell at the side of the hall. A stairwell that would lead him to the floor on which the supposed Jonasson time machine was located.
Things suddenly made a lot more sense to Joshua. | 2019-08-09T08:04:00 | 2019-08-09T07:23:09 | 2,301 | 214 |
[WP] You're a superhero. Despite saving the city 4 times a week your hates by the community. While fighting one of your villains a crowd gathers to boo you. The villain you're fighting stops turn to the crowd and says "listen here you ungrateful brats" | It was the classic hero vs villain above the tall buildings of Baysville. The boos from down below started to increase as the crowd grew larger. Dynamite noticed something about it however. They weren’t jeering at her, they were booing Insectoid. His guard was starting to lower slightly but he quickly picked it back up.
Dynamite also noticed something glinting as the sunlight shone through the lenses of Insectoid’s mask. A tear. Dynamite knew pain when she saw it and this was the worst kind, she had enough.
“Listen here you ungrateful brats!” She flashed into a rage as her voice carried through the beach side metropolis combined with enough kinetic energy to shatter the glass of every building in the block. The crowd screamed with terror mixed with pleas to Insectoid for salvation.
Dynamite descended to street level, “You people are the absolute worst!” Dynamite continued her verbal onslaught, “You undeserving bastards have done nothing but winge and complain towards the man who has done nothing more than protect you and has sacrificed everything to keep your sorry hides from being evaporated. This whole month I’ve seen nothing but criticism from you ungrateful bastards. Not only you, but from blow hard news anchors and brain dead talk show hosts who provide nothing but mindless opinions about how he should do his job better from people who have never even seen confrontation at his level. Remember last week when he stopped that meteor from crashing into Baysville? With his bare hands?! All you did was bitch about how it ruined your Labor Day weekend. Or how about when he defeated the Giant Monkey Man from the Fifth Dimension? You complained about how it disrupted traffic because he knocked him out and that primate fell into the highway. Monkey Man already ate most of the bridge beforehand. Oh here’s a good one, how about when he ‘ruined Christmas’ last year when he stopped Negative Santa from poisoning all your badass kids with tainted toys? You don’t because you don’t care. You don’t care because it inconveniences you that he saved your collective lives time and time again. What’s the point with any of you? You don’t care if he existed but you love acting like you do when you need him the most. You shouldn’t be hating him, you should be despising me for killing you all but at this point I’m doing him a favor. I’ve known this guy for a long time. A very long time. Before the bug powers. He’s sensitive about his self worth, he wants to do the right thing, he just wants to do his best and when he does, all you do is criticize, complain, and whine. Why else do you think he dons the costume of a hero? He wants to do good because that’s all he wanted to be, a good person. A hero,” she ascended back into height of the high rises, “I can’t even look at you subhumans anymore,” she spat down at them, and turned towards Insectoid who was trying to hold back his emotions, not letting his throat squeeze tighter.
“I’m out, I quit. This is not worth my time anymore. I’ll see you around, Boyd.” She flew away into the the sunset.
Insectoid was upset but relieved that somebody expressed how he felt. She understood what was going on. It bothered him that she knew his name however. Then it donned on him.
“Diana?” Insectoid scratched his head.
He finally descended to street level and stared at the crowd for a moment. A heavy silence befell upon them. He stared for a long second, he flipped them off and went home. She was right, it wasn’t worth his time. | Elonman paused, put down the head of The Hackster and straightened up a bit. The crowd murmured, expectant. "You want me to just let this hacker go free? He locked half of you out of your own phones with ransomware!"
A voice from several rows back "You're a fraud!" Sounds of agreement echoed around. Elonman stared them down "If we let this one go free, there will be more, we can't leave this to the ineffectual police!"
He continued to remonstrate with them, but it wasn't going his way. Eventually he was tired of it, and angry. So angry.
"Fine, have your villain" he said, throwing the limp Hackster at the nearest of them, and punching the air he rose up and away chased by rocket flare and smoke.
---
Back at the lair, Elonman was seething. "They'll pay for this. They'll get more villains than they can count, those fuckers."
He hit an illuminated button on the wall and picked up the handset beside it. "Release Pervosa and Butchgirl, kidnap their families. ... Yes, I understand. Do it."
"This is my town" he thought. "My. Fucking. Town" | 2022-06-17T02:17:17 | 2022-06-17T02:15:34 | 82 | 18 |
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics. | Pixwhirx sighed as he studied the analysis of the data he'd fed into the interworld-ship's main computer. Nothing else for it, he'd have to tell Dreemar.
"What do you mean it's *not going to work*???" Dreemar demanded angrily.
Pixwhirx had known he would react like this; it was after-all Dreemar's first command of a world take-over, and they'd already invested millennia of work here. "I'm sorry Dreemar, but the analysis is conclusive, the native population has evolved a defense to our techniques."
"But how? Why? This scheme has worked on a thousand parallels! We infiltrate and expose them to the programming narratives over successive generations. Primitive minds cannot help but be over-whelmed by the moving image and sound projections. Knowing not that it would turn their brains to mush" punctuating this last part with a ceremonial "Mwah haha." as etiquette demanded.
"That's the problem Dreemar, the natives are no longer viewing the programming narratives. Those that were mushed failed to reproduce. Instead of finding mates the mushification caused them to grow obsessed with discussing the narratives, and arguing over inane details."
"But this is all to plan! That is what is supposed to happen! They fail to propagate, fight among themselves over which of the deliberately conflicting narratives are true, and die out, leaving a world ripe for the taking" Dreemar cried.
"Yes yes, but unfortunately some who view the narratives were not mushified. In fact, a small number of them had a trait we have not encountered before. They can somehow perceive that the simulations within the narratives of their species are artificial. Not only that, but they are actively repelled by those simulations, fleeing when we open a vision-field. The numbers in their population who had this ability were small at first, but this species, is short-lived compared to us, and reproduce quickly. They have passed on this trait to their off-spring and frankly, our viewing numbers are now abysmal. The last successful narrative operation was God Story 2. The subsequent sequels in the series might as well have been straight to burning bush for all the impact they had."
"But but... how? Our Cgyian simulations are perfect. Two eyes, that breathing bump in the middle of their faces, the big gaping hole for eating! Who could tell the difference?"
"We do not know precisely. The analysis indicates that their ability makes them able to discern the smallest deviation from some inbuilt intuitive impression of how naturally occurring members of their species appear. Our simulations, while indistinguishable to us, are somehow detectable as... *different* to these primitives. Eyes even *slightly* too far apart and so on. I tried to correct this in the last narrative, covering one of the main character's eyes with a patch, but they still somehow detected it wasn't one of them", Pixwhirx shrugged, "Might have been the lightning coming out of its hands. Did you know they don't do that? I didn't. Well anyway, that's the conclusion the computer gave."
Dreemar growled with displeasure, "then what are we to do Pixwhirx? We can not return home and report a failure, I would be sacrificed to Luxo the Terrible."
"Well... we could wait and try again... as I said, this species is short-lived, it would only take a few thousand of their years for them to forget all about these narratives I'm sure. Not long by our standards. Perhaps by then the trait will have bred out of them."
"Okay fine." Dreemar, "but if that doesn't work we'll just eat them". | The humans always ran.
They were hunting or hunted but never in between.
When they were hunting it was at the creatures that looked different.
The creatures who were food.
When they were hunted it was by the creatures that looked the same.
The creatures who were hungry.
Food is what we became.
The humans had to learn.
Those who ran the fastest won with hunting, had all the food they wanted.
But to the hunters humans all were slow.
None could run fast enough, none could escape.
Those who hid in the caves now would survive.
But the hiding humans all were weak.
Barely eating was the price they payed.
The humans had to change.
They were to slow, they were to weak.
They feared the danger no one could see coming, the danger no one felt.
That changed with time.
They realised hiding was not going to work.
When the humans got out of their caves, back to hunting again, they evolved.
Those who felt the creatures coming.
Those who ran away and hid in time.
They survived, and our gut was born.
Thank you for reading! Please realise i am not fluent in english and i am not used to writing stories over all. I hope you liked my very short story | 2020-09-15T15:24:23 | 2020-09-15T15:22:48 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | It's hardly a surprise. Although the smell, oh the smell. Quite a smell. Like death running in my veins. I quite like the scent. The blood sticks between my fingertips. All cushy.
It's sad, really. I've always tried to do what's right. Sure, the homeless could have continued to trawl through my fields but then I wouldn't be able to spin a coin or bury a penny.
The greater good dictates that I set my priorities for the millions of people, not the impoverished little.
I deem it unlikely that their removable will be missed. They are a stain on society. Beggars disgust me for getting themselves into such a place. And they choose to break the law and steal and call it their right to live! Pah, wrong. Rights come to those who follow the laws of society. And the homeless don't have that right. They gave it up when they made poor decisions.
These hats will sit on their heads when I bury them in the dirt. The rats will be attracted to the scent and they'll bite them and die. It's a win-win situation. The vermin and the scum get washed away to death. Pretty.
I knew that morals would be too double sided. Sure, I'm saving millions of lives while destroying hundreds for the sake of it. A bit cutthroat, isn't it. I knew that to sacrifice my personal morality, I'd pay with my blood. And I have. Look at it, it's frozen solid. I wonder how it'll be when I try to wash it off. So strange that I haven't bled in a long time, isn't it? Black blood. Very strange.
But I'm afraid no one can know, my dear. I have a reputation to uphold. Millions of people look up to me and I am their hope. Their salvation. A queen in all but blood.
That's why you've got to die. Now don't bother screaming, there's no one here. I'll do it nice and quick just like I do it to the homeless. But you won't be getting a burial, dear. No, I'm afraid the pups will be eating fresh meat tonight! They'll be ever so grateful. Oh no, don't cry! This is for the greater good. Now tilt your head back just a little and I'll-- oh, now you calm down young lady! Can't be having a squealer. The pups might get upset and I trust you know that a quick death is better than being eaten alive? Oh the sounds that old man made when he just wouldn't... sit... still!
Ah!
Wonderful.
Clear as water. Bye bye sweetie. You have a lovely trip to Heaven! | Turns out following the rules of god was the wrong way..
Turns out following the Bible to a t, never wearing cotton, the whole fish thing was wrong..
That woman who was dying I couldn’t touch her,
Turns out slaves where bad...
Turns out cutting my wife’s hands off was evil..
I needed a moment
| 2018-08-04T10:09:44 | 2018-08-04T09:44:59 | 77 | 10 |
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water." | Lightyears ago, I dreamed of being a starship captain. After failing out of flight school, I realized that I would never be the captain of the ship. I worked a few menial jobs before I realized that I never stopped thinking about being out among the stars, forging expeditions and yelling at various crew mates. So I sought out to find any job I could get that would allow me to get on a ship and fly out of beta planet 2536. My search led me to only one option, considering my abysmal credentials: sanitation director and operator. Aka, the janitor.
My first flight was something I'll never forget. Nervous is an understatement. Terrified is up there, but no words do justice to the sensation of liquified, gelatinous joints I felt as I stepped on board my first real space ship. I was instructed to find the "sanitation headquarters" aboard the ship, and begin working on a particularly neglected part of the ship that had been the location of a very enthusiastic victory party, thrown after the last mission return.
I managed to find the party room, and looked around at all the empty bottles of imbibulous, a potent liquid that tends to make a being quite off kilter and slur their communication. "Great," I thought to myself. "I just hope no one had an oral emesis". As I started getting to work, I put in my audio transmitters and received pleasant rhythmic sounds. While lost in my sanitizing, I bumped into something and immediately turned around.
Finding it was a rather large being, and embarrassed to be causing a ruckus so soon in my employment, I immediately exclaimed "Oh, excuse me!".
"No worries, it's all good!" replied the being, who, lacking all the appendages I had in abundance (my species is known for their prolific juggling abilities!) it was instantly known that this being is human.
"I should have been looking where I was going anyways. I was hoping the party was still on but..." the human looks around, and is quite satisfied of no other presence around. "It doesn't look like anyone is here anymore. Do you need any help?"
I, quite shocked at my first interaction with a real human being, nodded in confusion. "This is my job, doesn't this being have more important things to worry about?" I thought to myself.
"I'm Brian, by the way. I'm the assistant commander on this ship. I've never seen you before, who are you?" says the being, now known as Brian.
"Oh me? I'm Klaxin, I'm the sanitations operator, this is my first day," I replied nervously. "The assistant captain of the ship?" I wondered. "he must be a pretty big deal! Why is he talking to me?"
"Oh so you're the new janitor!" laughs Brian. "Welcome aboard."
As we made our way through the room, we chatted over collecting items leftover and picking up the garbage, Brian became more and more revealing.
"It's kind of lonely being the only human on the ship," he explained. "The other beings don't really understand me. They make fun of me." Brian looked bemused. What kind of being could these humans be?
"Like this, for example." says Brian. And by his side, he revealed a plump plastic bottle with the word Nalgene emboldened on it. Inside the bottle was a clear liquid. Having only watched a few movies with humans, I had a guess as to what it was, but I thought that was all myth. Surely humans can't stomach one of the most fatal poisons known to this side of the universe?
"You seem all right Klaxin, I feel like I can be myself around you," says Brian, gripping the bottle of supposed poisonous contents.
"It really freaks out the crew when I do something as simple as this," and takes a huge swig of the liquid. I stood there, gripping my broom in horror as I waited for the outcome of such a horrible decision. As I watched Brian, Brian watched me too.
"Oh," he says. "So you're like that too. That's okay, I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable." He starts to fumble with the top of his bottle and starts moving to the exit.
"Wait!" I say. Brian turns around.
"Is that... Water?" I ask tentatively.
"Yes..." Brian says slowly.
"You guys can actually drink that? And nothing happens to you?" I asked in awe.
"That's right! I've been drinking water for years and if anything, it makes me feel better." he replies.
So the movies were true! "Nothing scarier than the truth," I thought to myself.
"That's so cool! That doesn't bother me at all! What other kind of weird stuff can you do?" I asked.
The look on Brian's face was a mixture of confusion, but relief.
"Well if you're gonna be around for a while, maybe we can get to know one another and show each other our weird stuff!" he replies.
From that day on, Brian and I became great friends. And with a little encouragement, a lot of studying and a magnificent reference courtesy of Brian, I became the transmissions operator for my own ship, and I'm happily working towards becoming a full fledged captain. And with my help assuring the other beings of a humans harmless nature, I hear he even has a water cooler on board, that the other beings gather around (but do not partake in, for obvious reasons) and exchange anecdotes of various news events! Those humans aren't so bad once you get past all the disgusting things they do! I will forever be in debt to Brian, the human from planet earth. Thank you Brian. | This is more prompt inspired than anything
In a ship floating near a star, a stand-off was happening. The Human the Nevarian stared at each other from across the room, pistols aimed at the other’s heart (or biological equivalent). The Human stood near the door, arms rigid, while the Nevarian was sitting at a table, his lazy slouch in contrast with the tense situation. Behind the Nevarian was a Pluvion girl, tied and bound to a chair, all four of her eyes shining with fear. In the distance, the sound of alarm bells and the shouting of crew members filled the otherwise silent room. The human was the first to speak.
“Let her go. Or I’ll shoot.” His laser pistol stayed steady on the Nevarian’s heart.
The Nevarian clacked it’s mandibles together in what could be called a laugh. “And then I’d shoot back. We’d both end up dead, and my crew would end up collecting the ransom on her. You would lose.”
It was the humans turn to chuckle. “So would you. If your dead on the ground, then it’s safe to say you didn’t win either.”
“So it seems no matter what happens, we both end up losing.” the Nevarian softly said.
“Well not quite. There’s one scenario I see where one of us can end up alive.” The human slowly lowered his gun. The Nevarian, guided mostly by curiosity, lowered his as well, and watched as the human pulled out two small shot glasses, and filled both of them with an identical liquid. He places them on the Nevarian’s table, and pulled up a chair. The two enemies are now sitting face to face, the two glasses in between them.
“One of these glasses is completely harmless. The other, however, holds the deadliest poison in the galaxy. The tasteless, odorless, completely clear liquid know as water. The rules of this game are simple, you take one glass, and I take the other. Then we drink together. Everything clear?”
The Nevarian smiled (or did something close to it at least), and said in a steady voice, “Yes, I think I understand” He leaned back for a moment, staring intensely into the human’s eyes, trying understand what game his old enemy was playing. Surely he wouldn’t leave their final battle to a roll of the dice. A decade long game of cat-and-mouse had taken place between them, with each trying to outsmart the other. Was this really how it would end? With a sigh, the Nevarian realized that there was nothing he could do, and with a rueful smile-equivalent he picked up the glass on his left. The human picked up the glass on his right. They clinked their glasses together and threw them back, swallowing the contents in one motion.
The human set his glass down, and watched with some sadness as the only person who ever matched him died. With a sigh, he walked over to the Pluvion girl and cut the rope tying her to the chair.
“I’m sorry that took so long, your highness,” he said to the girl “but don’t worry, I’m taking you home now.” The girl, staring at awe , could only stammer out a single “How?”
The human smiled for a second, and explained “They were both poison” | 2020-05-18T12:06:43 | 2020-05-18T11:44:12 | 249 | 136 |
[WP] A dragon egg has been found. On the day of the hatching over a dozen scientists each from different countries come hoping it picks them as a parent. The dragon's overwhelmed and chooses the one person not in it's face. The guard.
[removed] | An egg has been found- it was far larger than any egg found in the world. It was a soft shell like a snake's and people there could see the leathery surface writhe as the hatchling inside was waking up. People were being far too noisy to hear the gentle peeping of the whelp within. There was no knowing what exactly it was through that thick shell.
Researchers stood by closer to its chamber, hoping that it would imprint to one of them and they could keep the rich and royal away from it. They would reach for it the second that it poked its head from that shell, let alone grab it when it settled, and could run the risk of harming it. They looked to their guard, four men and two woman arranged in a circle, bearing sword and black powder weapons. There had already been six arrests made as rich assaulted them or tried to break their formation, at which a seventh and mountainous guard would haul them away.
A cut appeared in the leather, and a few bubbles poured from it as well as a tiny maw to gulp air. The room fell silent and the squeaking was clearer now. More cuts began to form as it pressed a sharp egg tooth to the shell and writhed. They could see pale scales within the shell, and at one point an eye peered from one of the cuts.
It was a good hour before the whelp poked its head from the shell, and it positively looked like a serpent. It held up its head, to see so many strange faces looking back. It looked around at them all, and one lunged from its place- until one of the guards firmly buried their shoulder into the person, decking them hard.
The researches spoke and it recognized their voices from its time in the shell. It pulled itself a bit more free of its shell, its forelimbs and wings slipping out. The scales on its head had begun to darken as it dried. After a bit longer it pulled its rear legs and tail free, and stood up on its hind legs with paws on the glass to look out over the edge.
One of the rich again rushed, this time he waited until the guards were busy. He tried to reach into the chamber and grab the baby, but quickly yelped as it had tiny jaws full of needles for teeth. And as he yanked his hand back, it bled, and he only realized that the burn in the bite was going up his arm- the baby had venom.
He didn't have much time to dwell on his bite as a closed fist came crashing into his cheek, then he was grabbed by one of the guards who began calling for additional to take him away.
Hours and hours, the baby didn't leave the chamber. Impatient, the rich were mostly removed by then and those who were calmer were hissed at by the now crimson red whelp. It hatched in the morning, and by evening, none were left but the researchers and guards. Out of hundreds of people, it was content in the warm incubator.
"Remove your helmets," the researchers commanded their six guards, the seventh was still busy in another room. And they would do so- fair faces, most already showed a scar of kinds. The hatchling stood again, inspecting these new faces. This time it climbed onto the edge of the chamber, its tail hanging for balance.
Suddenly, like a frog, it leaped onto one of the woman. It held onto her arm, and with the help of tiny claws it crawled up and to her shoulder where it inspected her closely. Then it would climb onto her head, the guard wincing at the claws as it tried to get a grip on her auburn hair.. Much like a kitten, but bigger.
It would sit there and purr, looking triumphant in its accomplishment.
"Well, Ms. Sckell." One of the researchers breathed out. "Looks like it was waiting to see you for itself."
"Yeah... I was hoping that it wouldn't go for one of those greedy bastards." She reached up with both hands to take hold of it, which it held onto her hair and scalp a moment before letting go. She pulled it into her arms to hold like she would a cat.
"You have a dragon on your hands now, imprinted to you. If it is like other creatures, it will be largely inseparable until adulthood. We would still like to aid in its care, as we have already acquired the resources and would like to continue monitoring its growth."
"I'll need the help." She nodded, looking down at the dragon, who looked up at her. Then it stretched and rubbed its head against her cheek, purring louder. | The funny thing was that nobody in that room *knew* it was a dragon egg. Oh —quite a few of them were sure it was, but there was almost as many who thought it was some kind of dinosaur.
I had a bit of an unfair advantage in the matter, because even I had thought it was just a colorful ostrich egg until Wyvern informed me otherwise.
Wyvern is a centuries old dragon, but unlike the ‘grand giants of what you call myths, but actually were around way before humans.’, Wyvern was about the size of a small gecko. His wingspan only measuring just over a foot in length.
I had found Wyvern some years back, and had asked him multiple questions over the years about dragons. To the question of ‘Are there still other dragons?’ Wyvern had wilted a little,and said ‘even I do not know. I don’t believe that a grand giant could hide in this age, maybe there are a quite few of my sort still left...but I do not know. I’ve not seen another for quite some time.’
So when the egg made made the news, Wyvern was ecstatic.
“A *mighty egg* oh how grand! You must find a way to attend its hatching, so that we might rescue it from the ignorance of those who would not know how to care for it!”
“How much are the scientists wrong about?”
Wyvern laughed, “Well first off there’s all this nonsense of eating sheep and cows... this is a *hatchling* that sort of feeding is decades away. For a hatchling it’s more like... small vermin? Rats mice perhaps?...snakes.”
“How long until the diet switches to larger things?”
“You humans have such an obsession with time,” Wyvern said shaking his head, “It depends on what sort of grand dragon this is, and how well it’s cared for.”
“So you want me to crash the hatching, so that we can rescue the dragon?”
“Who better to care for a dragon than one other dragon? Even though I’m not of the same sort, I’m still a *dragon*.”
“You have a point.”
And so began the unlikely adoption of a baby grand dragon, by a human and a Wyvern. | 2020-12-12T05:55:26 | 2020-12-12T04:13:15 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] You are a magically immortal being who snuck onboard a generation ship to travel beyond the solar system. It's been a couple hundred years, and it's getting difficult to conceal your immortality from the crew. | Time.
I've forgotten what it is. Its concept lost to me like the stars.
Stars.
I'd blink, and just like that, they were gone...
It's easy to forget when you're an immortal like me. Especially if you're drifting in space, staring into nothing for... god knows how long. Maybe until the end of time or maybe... time has already ended.
I don't know.
I don't remember - no, that isn't exactly true. I remember... but I don't *know* what I'm remembering. It's difficult when memory becomes a broken reel, glimpses of a past in no particular order.
I just hope that maybe someday, I'll be gone. Maybe -
"Evan? Jesus! Why is it that every time I wake up, you're already awake?"
I blinked. The darkness suddenly gone, replaced by a woman in a skintight suit.
"Because I'm immortal you imbecile," I thought aloud.
Oh. I hadn't meant to say that part out loud. I eyed the the woman nervously.
But the woman only laughs. "Uh huh. Yeah, I'm immortal too. Let's make a club."
I smiled. Her sarcasm was... refreshing.
Her face creases into a frown, giving me an indignant look, "Don't tell me you forgot my name again Evan."
I looked away, turning my attention back to the Viewport, a concave pane of glass that provided the crew with a view of the outside. There were stars. A vast sea of lights on a swirling black canvas.
"Uh. I-"
"And what are you doing out of Stasis? I swear, I never see you in your pod Evan," she resumed her interrogation of me. "Even the others spend most of their time in stasis... You're the only one Evan."
I gave her a sidelong glace. "What? No. I was... in Stasis. Just a few moments ago before you showed up."
"Really?" she intoned mostly to herself.
"Yeah. Really," I said firmly. "What about you? What are *you* doing out of stasis?" I asked, turning the interrogation around on her.
She flushes. "R-routine check-ups obviously. Who's gonna make sure the cryogenic chambers remain stabilized huh?"
"Don't we have ALE, the unerring A.I. to take care of that?" I returned the ball back to her side elegantly.
"Even A.I.s make mistakes," she replied swiftly.
"Well, let's hope ALE doesn't make any mistakes. Wouldn't want to cut our journey short would we?"
She perked up abruptly, and began punching inputs on a display panel nearby. "Are we almost there? How long have I been asleep? No, how much time has passed since we embarked?"
I only shrugged as I watched her silently.
She gasped.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"It's been twelve thousand years, Evan!" she exclaimed. "And we're not even a quarter-way there," she slumped visibly.
"You should go back to stasis," I suggested.
I watched her as she sighed before turning away from the panel. "You're right," she said quietly.
"Let's go," I said.
Together we returned to the Cryochamber.
I slid into my pod slowly, then glanced to my side. Her pod was right next to mine.
"Evan," she said.
For a moment we locked eyes. Her eyes of swirling green emeralds were glazed. Her name, which has eluded me so far, suddenly came to me.
"Cathryn," I said.
"So you do remember," Cathryn said softly.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It's-"
"It's okay Evan. I know it's not easy," Cathryn said as she wiped a tear from her eye. "A couple thousand years? Even I would forget."
My eyes went wide. She knew.
"Since when?" I asked.
Cathryn smiled. "Since the third time I woke up and found you staring off into space."
"Oh."
"You'll still be here right? The next time I wake up? It'll be another three thousand years from now..." she said wearily.
"Yeah. I'm pretty sure I'll be here for a while," I said reassuring her. "Why?"
"I'm just worried that... Someday, I'll wake up and you'll be gone," Cathryn said as she drifted into sleep.
If only that were true.
I smiled. "I'll see you in three-thousand years."
I left the pod, and made my way back. Back to the Viewport where time didn't mean anything to me. Where I would once again stare off into space unblinkingly, waiting for the next time she would appear.
It won't be long.
-----
-----
/r/em_pathy
| The dull hum was deafening.
I had already learned to cope with the monotony of life long ago, but this was a new monotony to me. It had been nearly a century already, but it was still new to me. Maddening even; I hated it.
The hum sunk deep into my bones, and there would be no escape for another four centuries. Back home I could always find a place of peace, solitude, and silence. On this ship that was not possible.
Believe me when I say I’ve tried everything to create a cozy, silent shelter, but all attempts were in vain. The noise penetrated every defense I constructed; every iteration proved just as fruitless as the last.
Those engineer bastards didn’t bother themselves with acoustically isolating the ship from its engines, and I don’t blame them. The crew is stored cryogenically, and only wakes for annual inspection and maintenance rotations, thus eliminating the need for soundproofing. But I swear I hate those engineers anyway.
Initially I was extremely careful with remaining unseen, but I guess I have already become a little complacent. I memorized every detail in the inspection manuals and built my nests in areas that were not scheduled for inspection that year. I have grown tired of camouflaging them, but nobody has ever looked where my nests were anyway. My nest areas were never on the checklist, so my sloppiness never really affected anything. But this year is proving different.
Today was inspection day, and three of the crew were revived. As usual, I hid all traces of my existence and retreated to my nest.
I heard someone approaching the bay where I lay hidden. It was not supposed to be inspected for another 34 years, and it was nowhere near the scheduled bays.
A man floated through the hatchway, passing by within inches of me. It helped that he wasn’t expecting to see another person, or I surely would have been discovered.
In clear view, fumbling with his screwdriver and some loose screws, he began to remove an aluminum inspection panel. Cryogenics interferes with fine motor skills for at least a week, so he was having a little trouble. He quickly got the panel removed, reached in, pulled out three glass bottles, and began screwing the panel back in place.
As he was placing his final screw, one of his bottles got away from him and floated toward my face. He turned around, grabbed the bottle, and then saw my face.
I must admit his expression was priceless.
Part two coming soon... | 2018-06-13T12:38:12 | 2018-06-13T12:13:48 | 350 | 88 |
[WP] Aliens invade earth. To the surprise of humans, the alien's weaponry is pitifully outdated. | ACTION REPORT
Date: 4301.51.2
Reporting Officer: Flormat Snikker, Tricounsel, Fourth Armada
Subject: Sol 3 Conflict, Withdrawal
Initial skirmishes were wildly successful. The natives were woefully unprepared for combat. After the customary challenges were issued, our champions were sent forth from each ship to do single combat. In most instances, they were able to immediately slaughter the opposing champion. Many natives failed to abide by the Rules of Challenge and engaged our champions in large numbers. Ultimately, surviving champions were called back to their ships to await formal surrender.
No formal surrender was provided. The natives' primitive and incomprehensible communication attempts ceased. Shortly following, they used what we believed to be mining explosives to destroy a number of our ships. Faced with dishonorable betrayal, the full armada was landed and our forces deployed.
Resident xenologist Rather Bellow has suggested that the native population lacks any sense of honorable combat due to a state of near-anarchy that seems to have existed for multiple lifetimes on their planet. Lacking systems of honorable resolution, they developed fearsome weapons which propel metal and explosives over significant distances.
Losses were too severe to fully report in this document. Provided is an account of one engagement:
Wing 5, Division 43 was tasked with capturing a population center and pacifying the locals. 18,000 armored troops were deployed in full close-quarters gear. The division engaged a significantly smaller forced that was entrenched on the outskirts of the population center. A charge was organized. 500 spearmen attempted to advance to within throwing distance. Launched explosives resulted in casualty rates exceeding 80%. The entrenched troops advanced on the division's position and pressed the engagement. Their superior range resulted in a total inability to respond. Any attempt to muster a counteroffensive was obliterated.
When a full retreat was ordered, the division reported an awful truth: they arm their vehicles. Our soldiers were easily able to outpace theirs, but were overtaken by monstrous armored vehicles with devastating weaponry. Division 43 was a near-complete loss.
Even those troops who escaped to carrier ships were not safe. As with their ground vehicles, their aircraft possess fighting capabilities. Carriers were destroyed mid-air.
The armada was forced into total withdrawal of the system when it became apparent that the natives had taken control of multiple carriers and landed them on several launch ships. My Tricounsel counterparts reported fighting on several vessels before going silent.
Total losses are estimated at 5 launch ships and their entire crew and complement, an additional 87 carrier ships and their divisions, and approximately 510,000 soldiers beyond those losses.
Under normal circumstances, custom dictates I give up my life in penance for this failure. I request a deferment to court martial to determine whether the loss is due to the inappropriate warfare as conducted by the natives of Sol 3.
ADDENDUM:
Shortly after transmitting the summary report, long-range scans detected four of the five launch ships on a home-bound trajectory. It is with great relief that I report that our losses might not have been nearly as severe as initially reported. | They what?
*They're punching us sir.*
Does... Does it hurt?
*No sir, it feels... wet.*
Jenkins you nasty bastard! Punch them back then.
*But si-*
Don't but sir me, just punch them.
*But they're soooo pudgeey!*
Man up Jenkins! We got a planet to save!
**- On the other side of the universe -**
*SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE! TWO MAD MEN ARE ASSAULTING MY LITTLE BOY!*
---------------------------------------------------
Inspired by the adventures of Sir Digby Chicken Caeser
| 2015-04-16T10:56:19 | 2015-04-16T10:20:20 | 78 | 48 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I've seen a lot of tens. It's scary, really, how quickly people can go from six or even five to ten. Other people don't realize how much danger surrounds them every day. It takes so little...
No, the tens aren't the ones that stay with you. Not for long, anyway. No, the one that will always be in my mind was something else entirely.
A zero.
She was the first zero I ever saw, and the only one until I watched my children be born. They eventually grew into little ones and twos, of course, but for a short, wonderful time, they were tiny, giggling bundles of zero. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
*She* was the first. Sarah. I was drawn to her from the moment I saw her, dangling her legs from a swing on the playground. How old could we have been? 12? 13, maybe. I wasn't really sure what the numbers meant then, but the lowest I'd ever seen was a one, so I knew she was something special. I stared at her from across the playground and she smiled at me, her entire face beaming zero. I'm telling you... they say Helen of Troy had a face that launched a thousand ships. Well, Sarah could make them come back home. If there ever was a face that could end wars, it was hers.
We were friends at first. I was terrified of ruining it by saying too much, but the words I wanted to say ran laps through my head every time I saw her. Then, on a hot summer night that was made for drunken mistakes, I said them anyway. And guess what? She felt the same way.
When I think about my kids, I don't want them to be rich. I don't want them to be famous. I just want them to feel what I felt back there on that summer night, because I know that if they find someone to share that moment with, they'll be happy for the rest of their lives.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. After that night, me and Sarah were one. We went through the rest of high school. College. We got married and got nice jobs. Bought a house. Got kids. Everything was perfect... for a while.
Something was going on with Sarah. I first noticed it one Saturday morning when she was doing the laundry. She'd been doing long hours at work all week and wasn't feeling very well, so I offered to do the laundry. She looked up at me then and smiled faintly, but something was off. Instead of the clear, bright zero I was so used to seeing, she was flashing a faint one. The next moment, she was back to zero. I was stunned at first, but managed to convince myself it was nothing. She'd had a tough week, that was all.
The next time, we were having dinner with the kids. She wasn't behaving like her usual self, and she gave off a dull, weak three, like she was trying desperately to calm down. When I asked her if something was wrong, she mumbled something about an asshole at work. I wanted to dig deeper, but I had to take care of the kids. I asked her again later, but she clammed up completely. Everything about it was so unlike her.
I racked my brain for weeks trying to find out what was wrong. Was it something I'd done? Was she about to get fired? And the unthinkable: was she sick? But why wouldn't she tell me? I thought we had no secrets. I'd always told her everything! Well... apart from the numbers. She'd think I was mad.
Then, one day, I found out the truth.
It was early Friday morning. She never came home Thursday night. I was in bed, staring at the ceiling and running the same thoughts over and over through my mind. Imagining the worst. Was I going to get a call from the police? The hospital? I considered calling them to see if she was there.
I heard a car pull up at our driveway. I didn't have to look; it was her. I listened to her opening the door. Taking off her shoes, walking up the stairs - was something off about her steps? - putting her hand on the door handle. In the dead silence, I heard her take a deep breath on the other side. The door clicked and swung open, and there she was.
She'd been crying. She wore her work clothes, but they were a bit ruffled and wrinkly. She looked at me with an expression I'd never seen her wear before. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She drew another breath, short and shallow, and her lips slowly parted.
"We need to talk."
Her voice sounded muffled in my ears, like it was coming from far away. From someone else. She remained in the doorway, not saying a word. I didn't either. I just looked at her. *Sarah*. There she was, standing in our bedroom on the second floor of our house. In the rooms across the hall, our children were sleeping.
I watched her standing there, and she looked back at me, her face screaming a hot, burning ten. | "Tell me boy, what do you see in our new students?" the headmaster asked me, staring intently at the door through which they had just left. The headmaster knew - he had known for a long time - about my peculiar gift. I could see the danger in people. I could tell with a glance that manifested as a number in my head, on a simple one to ten scale. Dr. Butler, the headmaster, said the perfect wholeness and symmetry of the numbers was a sure sign that this was a gift from God, and as such I was to use it to warn all good Christians of His enemies.
"Most of the boys are a three or four," I told him. I glanced at the headmaster's ledger. At the top of each page was written, *Shrewsbury School for Boys* and at the bottom *Anno Dmoini 1818.* Each new boy's name was written on the left, and as he read aloud each one, I gave the number.
"Davies?"
"Three."
"Smith?"
"Two."
"Roberts?"
"Four."
"Hughes?"
"Seven."
"*Seven?*"
"Yes, sir." I stirred uncomfortably in my chair as the headmaster wrote an extended not in his ledger, shaking his head at the horribly dangerous boy Hughes. Normally a seven was reserved for a full grown man who had served at least one tour in the military, or for certain criminal types.
"Dr. Butler," I interrupted him.
"Yes boy, what is it?"
"The seven... that's not the highest number I saw today."
"You saw an *eight*? Good grief, which one was that?"
"No sir, not an eight. A ten."
The colour drained from the headmaster's face as he sat suddenly frozen in his chair. "You're sure?" he asked, "Absolutely sure?"
I nodded, the fear showing in my face as well.
"Well out with it then, which one was it?!" The headmaster was half standing over the ledger, reaching for more paper and his seals. Presumably all the teachers and staff would be warned about this boy. I leaned over the desk and looked down the ledger, trying to find the name.
"This one," I said, pointing, "down at the bottom of the first page." The headmaster seemed surprised.
"Are you absolutely sure?" he asked, "Why, his brother has been with us for four years already, and he is no more than a three."
"He is a ten," I said, confirming. Dr. Butler began moving about his desk again, mumbling to himself about how he must warn everybody, and that any bad behavior from this boy would be entirely unacceptable. I just sat and stared at that name, which would now haunt me as the only ten I would ever see: Darwin. | 2014-11-29T14:12:40 | 2014-11-29T13:49:40 | 714 | 36 |
[WP] A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher Artificial Entertainment
A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher **A**rtificial **E**ntertainment | "This is such bullshit," I shook my head as I tossed my controller to the floor.
I had been playing for thousands of dollars and was still getting my ass kicked by 'xXxAE_Did_Nothing_WrongxXx'. Of *course* they had an asinine name like that. What kind of person did you have to be to sit in front of a game for hours on end just to get better than the other players? Better yet, what kind of a *publisher* did you have to be to make a game that rewards this kind of play? Evil. That's what you had to be.
Still reeling from the hundreds of deaths inflicted on me, I got up from the couch and walked upstairs. I needed a drink to take my mind off of this.
"Piper!" A voice called out my name as I got to the top of the staircase. "Have you been playin-" my brother began before I cut him off.
"Hey, hey, hey!" I put my hands out in front of me. "You have to pay first."
I felt a little bad interjecting as soon as I did. My brother didn't usually seem this happy to see me.
"Oh, yeah, my bad," he replied, pulling his wallet from his pocket and fishing his card out.
"How many minutes do you want?" I asked him as I got my card reader ready.
"I'll go for the One Night Unlimited Pass," he replied, handing me the card.
I swiped his card in my reader and then selected the 'One Night Unlimited Pass' from the 'conversation services' menu, the option that gave him my unmetered conversation services for the next eight hours.
"Total is 4.99," I replied as I handed him back the card.
He nodded. "So, have you been playing Warfront 2?"
"Ugh," I groaned as I walked over to the fridge. "I've been *trying* to."
I slid my credit card into the reader on the fridge and the door unlocked. I peered inside and looked for a drink as my brother continued speaking to me.
"It's fun, isn't it?" He held his hands together as he spoke, his eyes beaming with joy in my direction.
I pulled a can of beer from the fridge and turned around. Why *did* he seem so happy?
"The most frustrating thing," I said, sliding my card down the reader attached to the can to open the top. "Is that I can tell there's a fun game in there somewhere, but I have to spend *time* to get to it."
"It's innovative, isn't it?" My brother continued. "I mean, I've never *seen* a game where passion is rewarded like this!"
Oh, my brother. Though he was already cresting into his 20s, we all said that he never *really* grew up. Sure, we all used to be like him at one point, but it's just not realistic to live like he does. Never charging for his services, giving away his smiles and giving other people memories for free like that. Hell, I once saw the kid turn down a five figure transaction for his comedy services because he 'just liked to see' the old, grumpy bank manager laugh once in a while. We'd try to tell him that it wasn't good for him to live like this, that he was going nowhere in life, but he just never listened.
"It's just not how the world works, Ralph," I said with a sigh. "It's a dishonest practice structuring something around skill and dedication. It's wrong, Ralph, can't you see that?"
Ralph cocked his head and looked me in the eye.
"No. AE did nothing wrong," he said with a wink before turning around and disappearing back upstairs to his room. | "What the hell? You're telling me he just plays for hours a day and *becomes* better than me? I spent an extra sixty bucks on this and I'm still only mid tier!"
"Yeah he's top of the score board again. There's no fucking way I'm gunna spend extra hours to play this. It's a rip-off."
*Crunch Crunch Crunch*
"Dominic turn your damn mic off when you're eating chips! Anyways it looks like the only ones even getting close to his kill count are the triple premium players."
"Tripl-! Triple premium?! What's the point if even they can't beat him? Look at this now the whole games going to go to shit with players *grinding* to get better. No, I'm not going to sit back and let them just play more to get better. There's more of us than him lets just go get him!"
Nothing worked.
The days of pay to win we're dying with the introduction of *skill*. Buying weapons wouldn't cut it anymore when the guy you faced could dodge shots from even the most powerful guns. Even the most expensive armor had weak point, and hours of practice now trumped hundreds of dollars. Many began to convert to the way of skilled play, while others poured more money and tears into their games. These attempts to relive the pay to win glory days failed miserably, and they quit in massive quantities....but was that really a bad thing?
| 2018-02-12T12:11:54 | 2018-02-12T11:50:51 | 2,522 | 1,790 |
[WP] Since my dad went mute I started learning sign language secretly to surprise him. When I was somewhat fluent with it, I realized that his blessings at the dinner table actually meant "Threatened with death if talk, please go to police". |
“Threatened with death if talk, please go to police.”
It was a shame the codger had never learned to write. I rolled my eyes as his wrinkly hands shook, but when I looked into his eyes, they stared back when an air of terror. They darted back and forth from me to my step-mum.
She was immaculately dressed as always. She looked as though she was attending a gala at the local golf club or something of similar prestige.
“Dear, You haven’t touched your food. Is everything alright?” She said while swirling some wine in her glass. She didn’t take her eyes off of me as she stared down her nose.
“Oh no Kristine. Everything’s just fine.” I quickly grabbed my cutlery and began cutting into the tender beef on my plate. My knife grated against the fine china as my mind raced.
I kept an eye on Kristine as I watched my dad’s hands shake. The tops now bruised and cut up from machinery at his new job. His eyes still darted towards Kristine and back to his plate as he almost inhaled his dinner, trying his best to avoid the occasional gaze she shone his way.
I noticed her catch him once and her eyes seemed to blaze with a scornful fury. She lowered her glass and ran her knife through her beef while holding her focus on him. She didn’t look away until she’d swallowed the chunk.
The end of dinner prayer was the same as the beginning.
“Threatened with death if talk, please go to police”.
I excused myself from the table and retreated to my room. I left the door slightly ajar and heard the sound of a glass or plate shattering. That was the fifth this month.
Kristine began yelling and her voice wafted up the stairway and into my room, similar to how her perfume now seemed to linger in every nook and cranny of the house. The words were inaudible but it sounded like an untethered bull running rampant in an arena.
I double checked no one was coming as her bellowing continued and dialled the police. It wasn’t for another ten minutes before I heard a car door shut outside.
The shouting had subsided but it picked up again quickly after the door was heard. I crept down the stairs to see shadows dancing in the living room. Except, it wasn’t dancing. Kristine’s shadow held a knife as my dad’s cowered in the corner. I leapt forward and charged in pushing Kristine down. She brought the knife forward and nicked the top of my hand. I whelped as a streak of blood splashed across our dresses.
“You ungrateful runt,” she spat. She slowly regained her composure as I ran towards the front door. I could hear the tapping of her high heels as she closed in behind.
I ripped open the door to find a policeman who’s hand now hovered inches from the entrance. I dared to look back to where Kristine now smiled warmer than a summers day and said “It’s time to cut the cake Jessie dear, come on back in!” Her hands grabbed my shoulders and her fingers felt like claws digging in.
“Hello officer! I didn’t see you there. Is something the matter?” She almost sounded like a melody in the wind.
“Just following up on a report, nothing to be worried about,” the policeman smiled at her.
I felt her trying to turn me back inside but I quickly brandished my hand showing the cut.
“Help. She attacked my dad. In the other room. And me.”
I felt her claws tighten. It took the policeman a second, but his eyes darted around the hall. Like a lightning bolt he leapt into action and wrenched me from her grasp. The knife clattered as it fell to the ground, a slight glisten of crimson along the very edge. Kristine groaned as the policeman pinned her against the ground.
“You’re under arrest for suspected harm to members of this household. You do not have to speak, but anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.” The handcuffs snapped shut and Kristine glowered daggers at me.
My dad slowly limped from the living room after hearing the thuds. His face was as white as a sheet and trickles of blood ran down his thigh. He wrapped me in a tight hug and whispered coarsely,
“Thank you.” | In sheer disbelief, I gawked at Dad. He simply gestured: “took you long enough, eh.” Okay, okay; he didn’t add ‘eh’, but it was certainly implied. I immediately surged from my chair, but Dad’s stare was more than sufficient to make it adamantly clear I was ought to sit down. and serve food first. With one brief gesture, he explained his reasoning. Cameras. First, food it is.
After being quickly reseated, I realised that my poker face had been non-existent and I hastily closed my mouth. As I grabbed the dark-grey oven mitts, which Mom had always used, to serve dinner, I saw my little brother still residing in his own little world. He didn’t appear to notice or care for that matter what had transpired between me and Dad. And, frankly, that wasn’t an exception anymore. A vacant expression displaying a complete disinterest in everything had been all there was to see.
When the food had been consumed, as if it were an item on a to-do-list that had to be checked off, I retreated to my room. With the thoughts racing through my head, I couldn’t imagine my head not exploding. Firstly, if there were cameras, and perhaps other surveillance electronics, had they not captured the message that Dad had been sending now for months? I figured if they did, we would have known by now. Secondly, was the feeling that I had shrugged off for all this time of being watched not completely bonkers after all? Repeatedly, I had read about the main character in thrillers ignore their instincts, which led them to all sorts of mayhem; I had always yelled at them that they should trust their gut and look around. Clearly weren’t going to hear me, but that definitely didn’t stop me. However, I had never thought this advice would apply to me. For starters, my dull life had absolutely nothing in common with the protagonists in the stories of Stephen King and David Baldacci. Well, at least, I had always thought so. Now I wasn’t so sure. Not anymore, anyway. | 2022-07-21T09:36:23 | 2022-07-21T08:18:57 | 192 | 80 |
[WP] A new rule on Earth is made which allows everyone to legally kill 1 person in their life, this affects the world severely & changes how everybody acts. | **DISCLAIMER: First time commenting, so I hope I have done this properly.**
"So, have you used yours yet?"
It was the question that was on everyone's minds since the Law was introduced. Death and murder had left the realms of impolite conversation, ushering in a new type of small-talk that was, in essence, macabre. You could sit in even the quietest of restaurants and hear the Question over a dozen times through your meal. My record was 23 times in, perhaps, twice as many minutes. An impressive amount, I thought, but nothing to brag about.
Of course, no one really bragged about anything anymore. Everyone was too scared, too worried that their swagger would provoke others to use the Law. The same had happened with almost all conversation, really. Everyone was polite, everyone was nice, and, most of all, everyone was quiet. It was a remarkable transformation from the busy, bustling society I had known all my life; in just a few months, the Law had created a world walking on egg-shells.
Except for the Question. No one shied away from it, no one blanched at it. Some even asked it with an excited grin, full of glee at the prospect of finding out someone's Silence. Some still saw any answer other than 'No' as an excuse to return to old habits, though many found themselves Silenced soon enough.
The first months of the Law had been complete and utter chaos. Old rivalries, feuds and petty squabbles were settled with a Silence, and the world was overcome with an unbounded paranoia. Homelessness was all but eradicated as Silences were used to 'clean the streets'. The gay community was near wiped out by the end of the second month. The entire world was caught in the cold, vice-like grip of fear.
Not even world leaders were above the Law's reach, and by the end of the first month we were looking at a completely new global political stage. By the second month we were looking at an even newer one. Constant change became the norm as the old order was Silenced by the new, and the new Silenced by the newer.
Even in the politeness and the cautiousness that followed, that chaos persists. The wealthy, for all their pomp and bought security, are Silenced almost daily, while the poor are Silenced for the simple fact of their existence. It is the elderly, surprisingly, who use their Silence the most, Silencing people almost arbitrarily so as not to waste the opportunity granted by the Law. Just the other day, in fact, I witnessed an old woman, clad in a thick tweed overcoat with an even thicker tartan scarf wrapped around her gaunt throat, Silence a man on the bus for refusing to give up his seat. He was disabled.
The newspapers are all saying the same thing now; the Law is growing out of control. People are seeing through the niceties of polite society that the Law had created, and using their Silence simply because they can. Chaos is coming back, and with it the deaths will rise.
If you are reading this, I have been Silenced. I have known it would come eventually. A stranger, a friend, a lover, an old woman on the bus. The Law has made killers of us all, and I can only hope that, in reading this, you see the Law as only a distant memory.
And if not, if the Law still exists, if Silence still rules the world, I ask you; have you used yours yet? | Who is that shivering man on the street?
That woman who's pleading for something to eat?
That beggar whose pungency left you annoyed?
Anonymous people we _used_ to avoid.
If life were a stage, they would merely be props,
Something to look at, to pick up then drop.
Yet now they can murder with nothing amiss.
We treat them much better, but realise this:
Without the rule, nothing would change; if they choose,
These people could kill you; they've little to lose.
But what they have gained from it, don't you mishear,
Is really _respect_ and not simply our fear.
By forcing us now to sit up and take note
Of our treatment of them, by the knives at our throat,
Some doorways are closed, but we've opened our eyes
For death shows the value of _all_ of our lives.
How warm was the winter, compared to our hearts!
Before we were given this chance to restart.
We'll care for each other, amend all our ways,
For only our darkness need perish today. | 2017-12-03T07:22:49 | 2017-12-03T06:52:52 | 7,256 | 754 |
[WP] As a joke, you ordered a package from Amazon for 'Same Day Delivery' at 11:59. Barely a minute later, your package arrives with a very, very angry delivery driver. | I snicker. No way they'll get it here *that* fast. I do wonder what happens when someone does this though. Do they get a refund for the extra they payed? Or do they just get nothing for being such a nuisance? Suppose I'll find that out reasonably soon. I'm still watching my show on Netflix, which I've been binging for the past 3 days, when the doorbell rings, followed by heavy pounding on the door. I open the door, seeing a *very* angry face, but quickly changes to a plaintive, fake smile.
"Why hello there. May I inquire why it is that you ordered same day delivery at 11:59 PM?" As he says the words 11:59 PM his voice becomes slightly more severe, then back to the small smile.
"Well I just really wanted a Halloween costume for my bearded dragon, that's all." I say, cracking up inside. I really am surprised they managed to make that delivery on time.
He looks at me severely. "Well. This is what my section of Amazon is for." The smile is gone. I'm about to continue jokingly talking about the importance of bearded dragon costumes, but then I'm knocked unconscious.
I wake up, head throbbing, eyes bleary, and so so very confused. When I wake up I see the same worker who brought me my package, and a couple others too. Three people are tied up beside me. I'M tied up I realize. I tug a little, but it hurts my apparently already bleeding wrists.
"Why hello there." He says giving me a serene smile.
"Why am I here!?" I demand
He tuts. "Well my section of Amazon is dedicated to putting scum like you..." He get close to my face. "To rest. We have a team of us, hiding out in different places around neighborhoods, so we can deliver the package right before the day ends. Then...this."
I look into his face with fear. "What! You can't! No no no...PLEASE DON'T KILL ME I BEG!"
"We would do no such thing!" The supposed delivery man responds, looking thoroughly offended.
I look into his eyes fearfully, trying to stutter out a question, but he instantly understands. "We here at Amazon are *civilized.* We are doing nothing more than recruiting you. Now, it's time to get too work."
He unties me, and I wonder where I'll be taken. My head is throbbing, the blood from being attacked still dripping down my back, and a lot of it crusted. My hands are still bleeding from the ropes. We finally stop in a room with hundreds, no *thousands* of people working away...they all look so pitiful and frail. Fear hammers in my heart. I have a million questions, but before I can ask any of them the man says "Well. Deepest apologies, but I have another employee to collect. For now, occupy yourself by working." He clamps chains around my ankles and wrists.
I am still here to this day.
EDIT: nice never had this many upvotes | The delivery driver's clothes are in disarray; he has a black eye, an arrow stuck in his cap, alien goo on his shirt, etc., etc.
He goes on a rant and explains that whenever someone orders same-day-delivery that late, the delivery driver is sent through Amazon's own time-travel aparatus in order to buy him a few hours to reach your house at midnight. And things **always** go wrong and he has to suffer through various mishaps throughout the centuries before finally getting to your house at the right time.
His rant is interrupted and illustrated by flashbacks to the various things that happened to him. | 2022-10-29T08:06:35 | 2022-10-29T06:20:08 | 190 | 49 |
[WP] Aliens invade Earth. Turns out Human weapons technology is way more advanced than it should be. | Planet 3 NessaSpo (“Earth”)
MISSION STATUS: Completed
MISSION SUCCESS: Unsuccessful.
Covert Agent Placement Failed,
Population Control (Somnulent) Failed,
Population Control (Hydraulic Hostage) Failed.
DETAILS: A highly destructive bio and neuro agent, “caffeine”, native to Planet 3 NessaSpo (“Earth”) is pervasive in population centres, being drunk in various forms at nearly every meal as a social and recreational measure. (See xenoanthopology report 6 Asta: “Recreational Poisons” and 12 HugonLe “Anti-Sleep Measures— the destruction of cycadian rhythm as pack-bonding action” and 23 MarkelSetFron “Earth Economic Systems: High Caste Survival via Low Caste Self Sacrifice: a genetic theory”.).
Covert Agents who ingested the bio agent lost all control of shape shifting abilities, continuing to rapidly change form until death, which in the majority of cases took place within the *Telket*, but in one instance did not take place for almost 7 *Telket*, or four “Earth” days. (See Field Report 8: The Capture of “Dublin” Agent Osken,) This caused an immediate mortality rate among agents of nearly 62%. Those agents who did not ingest the “caffeine” were rendered inoperable within 16 Telket when contact exposure to the “caffeine” caused pervasive hallucinations, paranoia, insomnia, circulatory system failure, and respiratory collapse. 3 of the remaining 700 agents were recovered from the surface before death. Attempts to develop an antidote failed, and two of the three expired in quarantine here. Lit Agent Mersyel survived, which the medical department attributes entirely to xie’s off-market neuro system upgrades and xie’s demonstrated history with recreational neurotoxins as an undergrad (see attached transcript of xir’s fourth court martial for conduct unbecoming and BLACK SEVEN OLYEN Classified file detailing xie’s family connections and their opinion on said court martial). The medical department assures that the agent’s survival is not replicatable in any more than 0.0000000000000000002% of the active duty population. (See medical assessment 73 ErtelFan: Lit Agent Mersyel A.4, and medical assessment 109 Ta: Economic and Legal analysis of Lit. Agent Mersyel’s recreational history.)
As the majority of the world’s population had seen media evidence of galactic life at this point, it was assessed that Tactic Branch Jelyet would be expedient: a show of overwhelming force. Warnings were broadcast in the standard 64 languages, and Somnulent Devices were deployed to force the population into a semi-conscious state. The effects were noted and then immediately countered, as the majority of the population merely ingested higher levels of caffeine. The hoped for fatalities in the native population largely failed to materialize, as the entire population appears to be able to ignore the cardiovascular effects and continue through the mania.
Gendant Seltant at this venture pointed out that the population was entirely dependent upon the neurotoxin, and could be forced to comply by taking it hostage. Backed by her senior staff, but against the advice of the medical team (who had at this point completed only 10% of the required autopsies before final assessment), she deployed the hydraulic empire technique, seizing local caches of the toxin-bearing beverages and demanding population compliance. This involved the entire invasion fleet’s 246 troop carriers and associated troops.
After action analysis proved that most of the population keeps a back up cache of unprocessed caffeine-bearing seeds and leaves in their own homes, and said plant matter is available for easy purchase at aprox 12% of all merchants, but despite this, the population reacted to the perceived threat to their caffeine supply with riots in every instance. Her Highness the Gendant did not survive the riots, and the majority of equipment (it should be noted that this includes translation material) was lost. It was only through extreme courage and ingenuity in the face of overwhelming odds that 8 troop carriers returned at all, whether with or without their troops. (See After Action Report 4: recommendations for commendation: posthumous, After Action Report 5: recommendations for commendation: promotion-worthy, After Action Report 6: recommendations for commendation: recommendations for censure appended, and After Action Report 7: special commendations for actions covered under royal family inheritance law: special heading: BLACK ULTRA SELT.)
As the majority of the troops were dead and the native population was at this point mobilizing into orbit in stolen troop carriers, as ranking officer I made the decision to withdraw from the invasion, mine the outer orbit of the star, detonate a bridge-burner in the wormhole jump behind us, and return to Outreach Base 9 Selt.
RECOMMENDATIONS: Do not engage the planet further under any circumstances, enforce biohazard 8 protocol on entire solar system and closest four stars, and devote at least four labs to finding an antidote to the toxin. The mines are only estimated to stall them four *Denk*, and the wormhole will repair in seven *Ker*. From what I have observed, the natives will follow us, and they will bring caffeine with them.
SIGNED: acting Gendant for 3 NessaSpo “Earth” Mission Zvee, Der 3rd Class, Navigation | They arrived on June 6th, 2018. They hovered just above the stratosphere for weeks, completely still and seemingly without reason. Meanwhile, the world was thrown into chaos, people convinced that this was finally the doomsday event to end them all. Riots broke out in the streets across the globe and crime skyrocketed. World leaders worked together to try and understand their motives and establish contact, but no human form of communication seemed to elicit a response from them. They found no detectable forces or signals emanating from any of the ships.
The United States were the first to try to make direct contact with one of the ships, by sending high altitude jets to circle the massive spacecraft. They surveyed their exterior and found no identifiable entrances or exits, no beacons for communication to other ships, nothing that showed beings even lived aboard these ships. There was also no obvious source of thrust keeping them in a hover against gravity, something about these ships that puzzled scientists more so than anything else. China was the first nation to propose the idea of attacking first. Warnings had already been made to the extraterrestrials many times, though it was unclear if any of the ships even understood the messages. After 6 weeks, the spacecrafts made the first move. Thousands of ships, located above all major cities on the planet, all projected a blinding white light that covered hundreds of square miles below. Within seconds, the energy from the light beams caused buildings to crumble on their own foundations. Humans in direct contact to the force had their bones weakened to the point of them crumbling and breaking under even the minor weight of their own flesh; killing those who were exposed for more than a few seconds.
These attacks caused outcry across the globe. At least half the population of the planet was just killed in minutes in a completely syncronized attack. World leaders quickly decided that using force was now their only option. The United States launched the first conventional weapon at the ship above Los Angeles only minutes after the initial attack. Despite the size of the craft, the missile shredded through the mysterious material that made up its exterior like a hot knife through butter. It detonated inside, and despite its relatively small yield, completely obliterated the alien spacecraft. Word quickly spread about the weakness of these ships, and nations around the world began firing upon them, reducing their numbers by the hundreds. Despite this, it seemed as their motive was almost robotic in nature, programmed to simply kill all life on the planet for the unknown beings who sent the ships here. Ships that were not destroyed moved to smaller cities and initiated the same attack every time. Fragments recovered by scientists showed no sign of life aboard any of the ships.
Over the course of the next few weeks, the ships were slowly reduced in number. Spacecraft located over poor regions of the world without access to missiles were destroyed by neighboring nations. Within 3 weeks, none of the mysterious foreign spacecraft were left; and still leaders from around the world were dumbfounded as to the motives of their actions. What was clear though, is that whatever sent these machines of destruction must certainly come to finish the job. | 2018-05-16T15:43:54 | 2018-05-16T15:30:26 | 48 | 20 |
[WP] "Please hold." The villain's secretary sets the phone down and turns to her boss, a look of consternation on her face. "It's Make-a-Wish. A fan of yours wants to meet you." | The Psychopomp slowly strode through the hospital doors, glancing from side to side as the nurses and custodians scampered away.
He'd worked this city, the Perfect Assassin, for a long time, and he'd built up a fearsome reputation for efficiency in that time. And while he'd never directly caused collateral casualties himself, people still feared him. Rightly, he supposed.
He looked at the note from his secretary and calmly headed up the stairs to the seventh floor, the pediatric wing, where little Robin lay waiting.
\---
Robin smiled weakly as the door slid open and The Psychopomp entered the room, "I wasn't sure you'd come... I'm a big fan."
As the boy let out a phlegm-laden cough, The Psychopomp stepped forward and offered him a tissue and a glass of water, looking a little uncertain, voice rumbling in a basso tone sounding like Darth Vader the morning after a long night of whisky, "Most who know of me prefer that we never cross paths... I've never really considered the idea of fans."
Robin sat up a little, drinking the water as The Psychopomp continued, "Most who contact me either want someone else dead, or to persuade me to not end their lives if they've heard a rumor I seek them... why you, though?"
Robin sighed, "The doctors won't say it out loud, not around me, but I know I'm not going to make it. I know, the tumor on my brainstem isn't shrinking, it's spread to other places... the only thing I don't know is how long I have. But I read about your name - what a Psychopomp is. So I want to know, do you know what's waiting? I mean, what's there after death?"
The Psychopomp sat there, staring behind his dark mask for a few long seconds, "There's no single answer to that. But if you like, I can tell you what people have believed for thousands of years. I have time, and there are many beliefs."
Robin nodded slowly, "Please..."
The Psychopomp nodded, "In ancient Egypt, thousands of years ago, people believed their hearts would be weighed against the feather of an ostrich, and if their hearts were burdened with evil, they would be tossed to the jaws of the demon Ammit, to suffer a second death and eternal restlessness in Duat, while if their hearts weighed no more than the feather, they were permitted to proceed toward Aaru, the blessed field of reeds, where Osiris dwelt..."
\---
Lawbringer strode into the hospital, nodding to the hospital staff as he went; he'd faced off against The Psychopomp a few times, but the bastard had never entered a hospital before. He'd always made sure to be somewhat secluded, taking impressive precautions to avoid killing anyone other than his target, so... what was he doing here? "Nurse Haagen, where's The Psychopomp?"
The nurse looked a little flustered at his direct address, "Ah, he's on the 7th floor, room 32, Mr. Lawbringer... he's been there since yesterday, not actually bothering anyone. He's just been... sitting there and talking to the patient, stepping aside to let the doctors and staff work, and then sitting back down. We're not sure what they've been talking about, but..."
Lawbringer snorted and began running up the stairs, calling in a message to the Homefront to let them know where the damnable assassin was lurking, so they could try to pinpoint who or where his intended victim was; probably another sniper victim to be...
\---
"...and then you have the more recent oddities like Pastafarianism, where things are a little, hm, absurdist in nature, whose ideas of afterlives involve a beer volcano and a... hm, an industrial adult entertainment factory. The difference between the 'good' and 'bad' afterlives being in whether or not the beer is stale, and the, er, entertainers have diseases. Though I would honestly not put much stock in that one, since it is a complete fabrication devised to poke fun at the Creationist movement. You... might not have paid much attention to those particular, ah, one moment, Robin."
The Psychopomp quietly stood up and slid over to the door, opening it noiselessly and whispering softly, "Come in, Lawbringer, I am sure you wish to speak with me, and it is past visiting hours for the others here..."
Lawbringer blinked at the unusually dark shadows under the hood before him - had The Psychopomp ever looked so... dark before? No matter, he followed the villain inside and let him close the door quietly again, "Psychopomp, I don't know what you're here for, but I can't let you..."
The Psychopomp shook his head and held out the note, speaking softly, "Definite article, Lawbringer, never forget the definite article... I received a phone call, an unusual request. A fan wanted to see me, courtesy of an organization I understand you have some association with, too?"
He sat down while Lawbringer read the invitation, "Well, Robin, I think that's most of them, there are a few variations, but those are mostly minor distinctions; the water in one version might look a little greener, while it looks bluer in another, but I believe I've covered most afterlives of which I am aware. So you see, there's no clear answer to where people go when they die... it all depends a lot on what they expect, too - what they believe will happen to them. Some fear their passing, judging themselves harsher than the gods they believe in would, and others expect some lavish reward for their lives with... dubious justification. So a great question for you, then, is what do *you* think will happen?"
Lawbringer handed the note back with a sour look, "Okay, let's say that I buy the story, why would I let you just walk away once we get outside the hospital? You're wanted for more murders than most can count..."
The Psychopomp shrugged - was the darkness around him thicker? - as he waited for Robin to consider the question, "Why do you assume you will have a choice? You have never been able to hold me, never stop me... It is presently eight fifty-two in the evening, and I will not remain here for much longer, I think. What you do is not my concern, I am not going to fight you."
Lawbringer squinted, "What do you mean, 'not your concern'? If I try to arrest you outside, you're not going to resist, just run? Everyone's ready to take you..."
The Psychopomp shrugged again, "I've been at this for longer than you have, old friend... and I will still be doing it after you're gone. My title, my name... it's not just an affectation. I end lives, true, but that is only part of it. Such a small part of it..."
Robin looked up, "I really like the Greek one, the Elysian Plains? I don't know if I believe... wait, um, sorry, Lawgiver, I didn't hear you come in... you look fuzzy, too..."
Lawbringer looked down at the boy, suddenly a lot less sure of himself as he saw double... no, it was just the boy on the bed he saw two of, ever so slightly out of sync... The Psychopomp nodded, "You see, Lawbringer, Robin passed away naturally yesterday, just after five in the afternoon. So long as I kept telling him of what people believe is on the other side, I breathed on the embers, and the doctors and nurses believed he was still alive, if barely... they didn't bother us."
He stood up one last time, and picked up the now faintly glowing form of Robin, even as the body seemed to sink a little deeper into the bed, and the various machines began sending alarms to the nurses' stations, "We'll be leaving for Elysium, now... you won't stop us. Oh, and Lawbringer? Tell Firebrand that she'll want to get that stomach ache checked. If not... I'd advise against making plans for more than the next eight months."
And then they disappeared through the outside wall. On the seventh floor. Lawbringer was just staring out the window as the crash team barged through the door and began checking Robin, "Why is he cold? Pupils not responding... stiff limbs? He feels like he's been dead for hours, what..."
Lawbringer slowly turned to the doctor, "He... passed peacefully, I don't think anyone noticed at the time. I... don't know if the other visitor will be coming back here like that, but if he does... I expect he'll be shown the courtesy shown anyone here on behalf of Make-A-Wish... If you'll excuse me..."
He wandered out of the pediatric wing, his armor and gear suddenly feeling... heavier, like he'd had a close brush with death. In the elevator, he tapped his comm bead, pausing for a moment, "Firebrand... you're off duty as of right now. You've got a doctor's appointment, ASAP, and you're not going to argue. And... I'm going to make an addendum to our files. We can't stop death, but we might be able to come to some arrangements with him..." | The Dread Lord looks at her in confusion before exclaiming, "I have a fan? How?!"
"I\`m not sure, milord. They are saying this 12 year old boy-" she pauses as the voice on the phone interjects something, "named Timmy, apparently, is your biggest fan and as he is dying of cancer, would like to spend a day with you before he passes."
"A day? With me? Is this child insane?! Everyone knows that I, the Great Dread Lord, am a nightmare to spend an hour with, let alone a day!" the Dread Lord declares, his hands on his hips in something of an attempt at a power pose. One he, in fact, learned from a course on power poses. Perception matters, after all.
His secretary struggles mightily to avoid rolling her eyes at the overt campiness of her boss. A nightmare to spend time with, indeed.
*'I really deserve a raise...'* she thinks to herself before replying to him. "Well sir, they say he has all of his faculties still and while your reputation with most is, indeed, terrifying, he admires you greatly all the same."
"Hmmm, does he now? I suppose I could spare some time for an admirer..." the Dread Lord muses as he rubs his chin in thought, his already oversized ego swelling all the more at the thought of an admirer.
"Shall I tell them yes, then, sir?"
"Please do. I will make time at the boy\`s earliest convenience. Ensure that he arrives wearing appropriate clothing. All black and grey! None of that goody two shoes blue or green or, heavens forbid, red! Appearances must be kept, of course." the Dread Lord orders.
"Yes, sir." his secretary replies with yet another masterful effort to avoid rolling her eyes.
​
A few weeks later, the little boy in question, Timmy, arrives by self-driving car to the very hidden, very spooky headquarters of the Dread Lord on the outskirts of the city. He is met shortly after stepping through a set of double doors into a rather derelict looking building by the Dread Lord himself, his black metal armor polished and pristine, his grey cape spotless and quaffed elegantly to trail behind him and just barely dust the floor.
Timmy, dressed in a black and grey plaid shirt and black jeans that match well with his dark hair and pale complexion, eagerly approaches the Dread Lord.
"It is an honor, sir!' Timmy says.
"Well I should say so." the Dread Lord says arrogantly, as is his nature. "Do follow me, we have much to do!" he states as he turns and walks deeper into the seemingly derelict building which, after walking past the entry area, is revealed to be a sophisticated and state of the art lab and factory. Robots can be seen building larger robots, weapons, battle tanks and other tools of war.
"First things first, I have arranged a tutorial for you in utilizing the battle tanks, of my own design, which you shall need to complete. Second, we will get you fitted for some combat armor like my own, can\`t have my only fan getting hurt after all! And then... we shall rob the Federal Reserve Depository in the city! I have prepared several distractions to pull away those pompous heroes and give us ample time to pull off the heist. It\`s a good plan, isn\`t it?" the Dread Lord finishes, clearly fishing for a compliment.
"Sounds good to me, sir! I can\`t wait! I have waited so long for this!" Timmy replies with a wide, enigmatic smile.
The Dread Lord directs Timmy to a computer terminal where he completes his tutorial before being measured by several robots and fitted for a suit of combat armor of quite terrifying design. He puts on the armor and marvels at the spiked flanges on the joints and the vicious skulls on the pauldrons, nearly giddy with excitement.
Next, they walk over to two large battle tanks. The behemoths are armed with cannons from nearly every available position, large spikes jutting out from the wheels and machine guns mounted to the top.
"Are you ready to get to the best part of your wish?" the Dread Lord asks as he gestures for Timmy to climb into his tank, helping to strap him in as he does.
"Oh, yes! More than ready!" Timmy answers excitedly as he places his hands on the controls.
The Dread Lord steps back to take in the sight of the boy in his tank when suddenly, a loud burst of gunshots rings out!
The Dread Lord darts his head around to look for the source before he suddenly feels dizzy, falling to his knees and looking down to his chest as blood pours down his front. He slumps to the ground as he feels weakness take him and hears the pad of small feet stepping toward him.
"Thank you for fullfilling my wish, Dread Lord." Timmy says, a look of satisfaction on his pale face as he stands over the fallen villain.
"Wh-why?" the Dread Lord manages to ask.
"Well, in that attack on City Hall a few years ago when you knocked down those buildings in the battle, you killed my parents and nearly me as well, or so I thought then... But, I came to find out last year that the debris particles got into my lungs and gave me cancer, so you got me in the end just like them... I thought I was going to die too young to take my revenge but inspiration struck! Why not play to your well-known vanity by claiming to be a fan, an admirer? And here we are...at last." Timmy explains proudly.
"Ahhh...well done. I am honored to be taken down...by such a worthy adversary." the Dread Lord groans out quietly before seeming to come to a decision and continuing, "In the office by the back corner of the building....there is a safe under...under the flower pot in the corner. The code is...666. Inside...inside you\`ll find a vial of ambrosia. I stole it from that divine...wannabe, Heracleon. Use it....it will heal you. Make you strong....more durable. You have cunning, intelligence....a willingness to kill.... Use my tools, my lab, my knowledge....become my successor....the ***Dread King***. Be my legacy...." he states with a passion burning in his eyes even as his last breath rattles free from his chest.
Timmy looks at the corpse of his nemesis with an inscrutable expression on his face, perhaps considering what the path ahead will shape out to be, perhaps reflecting on the road behind or maybe, just maybe, he dreamt of a world on its knees before him...bowing to their ***Dread King.***
But for now, he just walked to the corner office and set to healing himself, he was about to have a new lease on life, after all and then, he would have all the time in the world to make his decision on how to spend it.
*So goes the origin story of the bloody, the merciless, the terrifying:* ***Dread King*** | 2021-08-26T16:27:39 | 2021-08-26T12:05:09 | 593 | 196 |
[WP] When everyone turns 21, they have to pick a superpower from an approved list and take classes on how to use it. You choose one that only one other person has ever picked before. | I arrived in the waiting room about five minutes before my first appointment with my superpower counselor. It was a bit cramped but I managed to find a spot to sit. The guy next to me was bouncing his leg at an impressive speed. Across the room there was a girl excitedly talking about all the possible choices for her new ability. She was kind of loud, too. Rude.
Obviously everyone here was anxious to finally find out what powers they were fit for. Well, except for me. It's a big deal for everyone, sure, but after getting the results of the testing for my potential to gain superhuman ability, I already knew that I scored below average. Like, way below. But I had looked at the few options I had, and I had made my choice.
Apparently I had gotten lost brooding over my abysmal testing score, because the next thing I knew, the door to the office opened and my name was called. I got up, entered the office, shut the door and sat down as the counselor busily typed at her keyboard. When she was done, she turned to me and sighed with a sad smile.
"Good morning. Let me get straight to the point. So, you know your testing scores are a bit on the low side, right? But don't you worry. I am here to help you. It will be fine. We will find something that might somehow be helpfu-"
"Actually," I interrupted her, because this was getting kind of depreesing, "I already know what power I want."
"Oh, and what is that?"
I felt my face turn red. This wasn't exactly a common power, and in that moment it seemed kind of a dumb idea even to me. I just wanted to get this over with. "Uh... it's consumption psychometry."
My counselor looked at me. Her eye twitched a bit, and she cleared her throat. "Well. That certainly wasn't going to be my first suggestion. How about superhuman vision? Granted, it wouldn't be that much better than normal vision for you, but that's soemthing. Or virus immunity! You wouldn't be immune to anything worse than the common cold, though. Or if you want a power to show off, you could always get a prehensile tongue?"
"No, no, I'm sure about this. I want to be able to know the history of things I eat. That's possible for someone with my testing scores, right?"
"Yes, I guess, it is. We only have one case of consumption psychometry on record from back when they were still testing out all kinds of superpowers." The counselor sighed again and rubbed her temple. "But you do know that there are a lot of things you can't eat, right? And you have to actually digest things and absorb them to gain knowledge about their history. That means you won't be able to tell the history of, for instance, a penny that you swallowed. Or anything that passes through your body undigested. It won't work when you get diarrhea or when you throw up, either. Are you really certain this is the right power for you? How is that useful to you?"
"I mean, I like eating healthy. I, uh... I just want to know that my food is actually organic." | "Really why is this in here" I thought out loud. My friend Jeremiah sat across the table from me giving me a quizzical look. "Page 67 Halfway down, Seems like a joke or a fake." Of course I said this as the monitor walked past. " What was that a fake you said, ain't no such thing these are all one hundred percent Why I printed them myself yesterday." He puffed out his chest in pride or to intimidate me I'd already seen him throw someone all the way back to their house. Jeremiah spoke up as he had finally found what I had been talking about. " Wh..y is this.... a thing" he said In-between laughs. "Which one is it" the monitor asked. " The ability to make anyone 8 months pregnant with a thought."
Btw: My first post ever | 2016-11-09T14:07:16 | 2016-11-09T13:49:19 | 54 | 14 |
[WP] A local bartender regularly hosts monsters and demons at his pub. When someone kidnaps his children, they learn the hard way just how close they are to him. | You'd never find it if you didn't know where to look. From the outside the entrance looked like an old mossy tree leaning against a boulder, deep in the German Black Forest. A hiker would pass it by and not think twice. He would not hear the shouts or songs or clinking of glasses. He would not see the tavern at all. Yet if he walked beneath that camouflaged doorway, and spoke the magic words, he would find himself suddenly inside *Grimm's Grub and Guzzle*, the family-owned tavern for fabled beasts.
"Another whiskey," growled the yeti, slamming his heavy paw against the bar, which was made of the polished bone of Moby Dick himself.
"You've drunk enough," replied Van Helsing, who was sitting beside him, his crossbow propped up at his feet.
"Says who?" asked the yeti.
"Says I," replied Van. "We've all seen it before. We know how you get. Look at those claw marks in the ceiling. That was a month ago. You were fine, you were only tipsy, you were just unwinding. You only wanted one more drink. Then, suddenly, you went from steady Eddie the yeti to a truly abominable snowman. Baring your teeth and flailing your arms. Biting chairs into splinters. Picking fights. It was a hassle. A real hassle. . .You don't know your limit, but I do. And you've reached it, pal."
The hulking yeti, perched on a small barstool that should not have bourn his weight, growled like an angry hound. He knew his pal Van was speaking sense. Yet he also had a burning in his throat that only whiskey could quench, for it reminded him of the blood of polar adventurers, whom Eddie often used to attack at night, when their blood-alcohol was high. The taste of whiskey brought him back to those days, better days, when he was young and fresh and feral, a fearsome beast.
"Allow him another," said Beelzebub, the pretentious king of hell, stretching his wide, leathery wings. "He'll behave himself. . .You'll behave yourself, Eddie, won't you? . .Gordon, be a dear and pour the yeti another."
I nodded at the infernal monarch and poured out the whiskey.
\- - -
There are portals connecting this dimension with others; they allow unearthly creatures to travel between their mysterious worlds and ours. Ghosts and ghouls and goblins. Demons and devils. Trolls and faeries and cryptozoological beasts who leave tracks in the mud unlike any left by the animals of earth. Amorphous entities who look like clouds of fear.
Whether they are coming to Earth for business or pleasure, for haunting, hunting or aimless hooliganism, they all use the same few portals. And when they arrive after the long arduous journey, or when they're leaving, after a botched job or time well spent, they want what any travellers want: snacks, booze and a place to relax.
Sixty years ago, my grandfather opened the *Grub and Guzzle,* a stone's throw away from the local portal, to service these fairytale creatures and meet their needs. When he passed, he left the place to his father, who in turn will leave it to me, when he retires. For now, I tend the bar, take orders, and chat with the weary travellers as they eat and drink.
\- - -
Eddie the yeti snatched the shot-glass between his black claws and tilted its contents into his gullet. He slammed it down on the whalebone bar.
"Another!" he roared. "Another! . .And any man, woman or spectre who tells me no best realize that no'll be the last word he speaks! Can't speak with your throat ripped out! I'll take the lot of you. Hear me? I'll take on the lot!"
He threw back his stool as he stood and it smashed into smithereens against the back wall of the tavern. He glared out over the crowd. The murmuring patrons sitting at tables, leaning over pool tables, standing before the jukebox grew silent and faced him.
Trained upon Eddie were the eyes of dwarves and witches, the Sphynx and Dracula, Medusa and the many snakes who grew from her head. Only Harros, the dark wizard, sitting in the shadowy corner, did not look up. He was too engrossed by the visions he scried in his green crystal ball.
"Eddie," I said, softly from behind the bar. "I don't want another spectacle. I love having you here, buddy. But I don't love when you get like this. I hate to say it, but you're cut off."
"I'm a living legend!" the yeti roared, leaning over the bar, his carious fangs only a few inches from my face. "I'm the meanest monster who ever strode upon ice or snow! Your father would never have dreamed of cutting me off! He had respect! He understood my importance! And he feared me! While you, Gordon Grimm, you, let me tell you--"
The room filled with a ghostly green light. The air hummed with a sound like a choir of cursed angels singing a discordant harmony, beautiful yet ominous, haunting, strange. The light came from the wizard's crystal ball. The crowd's attention shifted to his corner, where the patrons squinted through the bright emanations to see Harros slowly rise into the air, his black cloak spreading out around him, his eyes beaming like two suns.
"Gordon Grimm," the dark wizard boomed, in a voice that sounded like hundreds of voices speaking in unison. "As you pour drinks and wipe tables and take orders, sating the hungers and thirsts of your customers, a terrible beast has snuck into your abode and stolen that which you hold most dear. A vile creature has snatched your chicks from your nest and flown them to its lair. Your children are in terrible danger!"
The light dimmed and the wizard slowly descended. When his feet touched the ground he collapsed against his table, spent. This revelation made me feel just as weak as Harros looked. I had to steady myself against the bar. I could not think. I could not speak. My children? Kidnapped? My young son and daughter? Stolen from their beds and now in terrible danger?
What paralyzed me with fear filled my patrons with outrage. It even made Eddie reevaluate his priorities. Suddenly he was channeling his rage in a new direction.
"No beast steals the children of Gordon Grimm," he grumbled.
"That's right!" came a shout from the back of the tavern.
"Indeed!" came another. "Gordon's our friend!"
Smoke was rilling from Beelzebub's nose. Van Helsing balled his fists in indignation. The dwarves methodically sharpened their axes while they clenched their teeth. All were in agreement.
"No fucking beast," spat the yeti, "is stupid or audacious enough to steal the fucking children of Gordon fucking Grimm! *Our* Gordon Grimm! *Our* human host, son of Graham Grimm, grandson of Gregory Grimm, founder of the *Grub and Guzzle*!"
"Aye!" the crowd yelled in unison.
"So we're gunna find that fucking beast!" roared the yeti.
"Aye!" they cried.
"And we're gunna break every bone in his body!"
"We'll skin him alive!" the crowd added. "We'll boil him in oil!"
"And we're gunna save them fucking kids!" Eddie cried. "Well, who's with me? Who's with me?"
"Aye!" the crowd roared, some standing up in a show of solidarity, some clanking their mugs against the tops of tables. "Aye! Aye!"
Harros, the old wizard, had regained some of his strength. He glared at the monsters and sprites caught up in their frenzy of vengeful fantasies. He shook his head gravely. With a voice that cut through the clamour, he cried:
"Foolish drunkards!" The crowd simmered down at this admonishment. All regarded the powerful wizard with looks of confusion."Headstrong creatures! This beast is no limping lamb to be chased down and slaughtered."
"There are dozens of us," said the yeti. "The viceroys of viciousness! The princes of pain! We put the super in supernatural! With so many of us working together, what kind of monster would even *dare*\--"
"Silence, you boastful oaf!" hissed the great wizard. Then addressing the room in an ominous tone, he said: "You ask what kind of monster. Do you want to know? Well? The beast who has taken the Grimm children away is none other than the vile and ancient Typhon, cruellest of all creation!"
The room grew silent as the grave. Hardly a creature breathed. The very air became thick with doubt, with fear. Puck, the trickster sprite, always known for making a joke of even the most serious circumstances, dropped his glass in genuine shock. It shattered into a million little fragments, just as the confidence of the monsters had shattered upon hearing the horrible creature's name.
\- - -
Part 2!
[https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/n9n515/grimms\_tavern\_for\_fairytale\_beasts\_part\_2/](https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/n9n515/grimms_tavern_for_fairytale_beasts_part_2/) | I ain't never seen a fight in my bar. Rough neighborhood? Hell yeah, this is the part of Pittsburgh where even gangbangers look over their shoulders when they walk down the street.
Used to be a nice, standup, union-dues-paying working-class area, big Polish church on the corner, streets at a steep slope down to the river. Every morning good, hard-working folks put on overalls and walked down across the track to the factory, and every Sunday they dressed in suits and ties and knelt down to Lord Jesus at St Vincelas, ate grilled kielbasa and pierogies that the church ladies made, had a few beers, and went to bed early. No fuss, no fistfights. But every few weeks -- someone was carried in. Missing an arm or a leg. Or in a coffin. Carnegie Steel was not big on worker safety, you know. A lot of good men got hurt down there. Many got killed. My uncle Macziek fell into a slag wagon and burned up in a second. We didn't even have a body to bury -- so his wife buried his lunch pail, filled with kielbasa and beer.
My 'pa to say the ghosts of the workers lived below the dome at St Vincelas and came down for a drink and a game of dominoes when the priests were not watching.
The mills closed when my Pa was still running this place. First, folks moved nearby to Bloomfield with the Italians, or to the suburbs, or down to Clairton where the mill was still hiring, and the church ladies died or moved with their kids, and finally, nobody came to Sunday service, so the Diocese just locked the doors, boarded up first-floor windows, and that was the end of St. Vin's
I took over the bar when my 'Pa's liver gave out. I didn't really want to bartend; I had my sights set on finishing my engineering degree at Pitt and moving the hell out of Polish hill -- but he told me it's very important that the bar is open. Didn't tell me why, though. I poured beers for the local biker gang, for a pimp from the Hill district and two of his girls, for the local cops, whoever. Until closing time.
Then my uncle walked in, carrying his lunch pail, still wearing his Carnegie Steel overalls.
He said -- "Sonny, Pa was always good to pour me a beer on credit, would spot me a Yuengling? Why're you staring at me like you saw a ghost?" -- he laughed heartily -- "Dead can drink too! Now make it a cold one. Living in that church attic is making me thirsty!"
A couple of his friends walked in through the wall. I poured them all beers, and they happily slammed dominoes on the back table for a bit.
"You did good, sonny" - my uncle said - "it's too bad about 'Pa's liver. Pour us beers, we're dead already but stay off that stuff. It'll kill you".
The ghosts came every night, right at closing time, drank a few but not too many beers, played dominoes, laughed, told stories that I was only too happy to jot down in my notebook.
They came to my wedding too -- snuck in through the wall, danced a fierce polka, drank half a keg -- and to Agniezhska's christening and her first communion. Trekked all the way up to the Cathedral.
And then yesterday... a blur. I'm in line to get Agni from the Catholic school, and all the cars lined up Craig Street -- a white van screeches to a halt, two guys jump out and grab her... van takes off.
I chased them the best I could but lost them in only a few minutes. The cops told me to go home and expect a call. So I went home... and opened the bar. Because I did that every day.
Uncle Macziek showed up early. Sat down at the bar. Looked at me, all serious but kind.
"Look, you know what workers' compensation is? You youngins get paid now if you get injured. We got zip. So our worker's comp is... beating the shit out people like the ones that took your daughter. They pissed off The Union, and we won't let that stand."
But... what can a bunch of drunk ghosts do?
He tried to lighten the mood by telling me of his crime-fighting exploits. Jimmy Hoffa? Yeah right. Driving Bernie Medoff to insanity in jail? Maybe.
Then, I heard a roar outside. A tornado of black gossamer ghouls spun outside my bar, towering as far as the dome of the church. Tornado had faces, hands, overalls, lunch pails, all mixed in a whirl of black. Inside that tornado was a white van, the driver hanging out of the window in terror.
Van was slowly lowered to the ground, and I opened the back door to see my dear Agni, tied up and blindfolded, scared but unhurt. As I scooped her out of the van, the tornado lifted it one more time and carried it down the hill, toward the Allegheny flats and remnants of the old Carnegie mill, lifting it higher and higher until it was right in the middle of the river.
And then it let go.
The van seemed to hover in mid-air for a bit... and then fell. Like a rock, or rather like a 4000-pound van supported by nothing but air. I couldn't see the driver or the kidnappers, but I knew they were screaming. And then it was over.
The tornado unraveled, and black gossamer threads pulled back towards Polish hill, flying into the attic windows of the old church with a quiet "whoosh".
I knew just what to do. As my wife fussed over poor Agni, I made my way downstairs and placed pitchers of Yuengling on the far table. I called my friend from the South Side, and he drove over with a ring of artisanal kielbasa.
Macziek and his friends were over soon. I poured them each a glass, and got one for myself too...
"To the Union"
"To the Union! United Steelworkers Local 236! Za zdravie!"
​
​
((((*the haunted bar is sort of real, as well as the abandoned church. Here:* [*https://www.google.com/maps/@40.4566521,-79.9676864,3a,75y,231.13h,88.42t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1sicnQjzPuk\_aoXgKg\_hV0WA!2e0!7i16384!8i8192*](https://www.google.com/maps/@40.4566521,-79.9676864,3a,75y,231.13h,88.42t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1sicnQjzPuk_aoXgKg_hV0WA!2e0!7i16384!8i8192) ))))
(((( update 2 -- they fixed up the church nicely and it's no longer abandoned! )))) | 2021-05-10T15:39:10 | 2021-05-10T14:22:21 | 1,198 | 287 |
[WP] Steven's grandmother knits. Not because she likes to, but because she has to.
Hanging by a thread. | The rhythmic clicking of the needles was soothing, but Ruth was in too much of a hurry to enjoy the knitting. Her arthritis was acting up again, and she was missing out on game night in the home's common room. *Have to get it done,* she reminded herself. She should have been much further by now, but when you're at the end of your life, sometimes you just sort of lose track of time. Things creep up on you.
She checked out the window: still blue skies outside, just like the blue she was using on the sweater. Must be some sort of Indian summer; it shouldn't be this warm this late. Steven's birthday was coming up at the end of October, and it would be cold soon. He'd need the sweater, and she couldn't disappoint him with an unfinished gift.
There was a gentle knock on the door. Margaret, Ruth's attendee, appeared her in her blue scrubs with her hands on her hips. "You have some visitors!" she announced cheerfully. Most of the residents of the home would jump for joy (figuratively, of course: that would lead to a number of broken hips) to receive visitors, but all Ruth could think was: *why now??* She had to get this sweater done in time for Steven's birthday! There was no time for interruptions.
"Ok, send them in I suppose," Ruth answered, not bothering to put down the needles. This sleeve was almost finished.
"Hi Grandma!" Steven called from the doorway. He bounded into the room followed closely by Selena, Ruth's youngest daughter (and Steven's mother). Their smiles fell when they saw the knitting needles in Ruth's hand.
"Oh," Ruth said. Her hands shook as she held up the half-finished sweater. "Oh, I wasn't expecting you so soon!"
"We called ahead, Mom." Selena was doing her best to smile, but her lips quivered. "We told them we'd be visiting today. Did they not give you the message?"
Ruth was confused. That *did* sound a bit familiar. Had she gotten the date wrong?
"Well," Ruth said slowly, looking down at the half-finished garment in her lap. "I'm sorry, Steven. I know I promised to knit you a sweater for your birthday, and I was trying to get it done in time..."
"Grandma, it's OK," he answered, gesturing at the sweater that he was already wearing despite the sweltering heat outside. "I've already..."
"Yes, you have sweaters already, I'm sure, but I wanted to make you a new one..." Her voice trailed off slowly as she debated whether to just keep knitting while they visited. Perhaps if she just worked really really fast she could have it done by the time they left today. "It'll be cold soon, you know."
Tears welled up in Selena's eyes. "Mom, you already gave Steven a sweater last time we visited." She pointed to her son; his green sweater had bears on it. "Remember?"
Ruth studied the garment closely. Had she? That did look like her work... but then what was this sweater she was working on? "Was that for Christmas?" Ruth answered meekly.
Selena shook her head and slowly took the needle and yarn from her mother's hands. "It was two weeks ago, Mom." Ruth's fingers held their place in mid-air like she didn't even need them; she could just knit with nothing. "Mom, try to remember. Steven's birthday isn't for a while now; it's only May."
Ruth looked back at Steven, who was swinging his short legs over the edge the chair; he wasn't yet tall enough to have them reach the ground when he sat. "But his birthday is in October..." she finally answered.
Selena couldn't hold back the tears any longer. "Just don't worry about the sweater, Mom. You've made him more than enough now. His drawers are full! How have you been?"
They chatted for a while, with Ruth telling Selena how things were at the home, and Steven talking all about his schoolwork. He was in the fourth grade now, not the second grade as Ruth had thought. Perhaps he wouldn't like bears on his sweater anymore.
Selena hugged her mother and stood. "We have to be going now, Mom. We love you." Steven gave her a hug too. Ruth stayed seated; it was hard for her to stand with her ankles now. Margaret came by again to show them out, then came back to Ruth's room to help her to the window. From above, they could see Steven and Selena return to their car in the lot and drive off.
Margaret brought Ruth a book and some tea, then returned to her rounds; there were other patients to check on, after all. Ruth settled in and read for a while, but happened to glance up and notice the half-finished sweater still laying on the bed next to the set of knitting needles. *Steven's sweater*, Ruth remembered. *The one I promised him for his birthday!*
She glanced out the nearby window. Still sunny, but it would be October soon and he'd get cold. She'd better get back to work on the sweater for him. Hopefully she'd have enough time to finish it before they came to visit.
| Had Barry 'round the other day. Stole the wool from Granny's knitting. Boy, he won't be coming back for tea.
The human body goes through a lot when someone dies. My cousin died when I was very young, I barely knew him. Got hit by a bus outside his father's pub. Robin's Hood Retreat, I think it was called. Had a girl pass away in class. Not, like *during* class, but she was in my class one day and not the next. Cancer apparently, she was only 8. Tragic.
You'd think the younger the death, the harder the hit. Like, they're not spent their life so it's sad when it's wasted.
Mikey died a month ago from pneumonia. Took a trip camping with a few friends, caught a nasty cold, infection spread and he went. It all happened within a few days, he didn't get back in time for us to see him and none of us had time to prepare. Granny took it hard, obviously. They were like peas and carrots, her and Mikey. Married for 50 odd years, went to school together, worked together, spent their entire life together.
The day we found out, she spent the whole day in her chair. Didn't move a muscle. We stayed with her, obviously. Think she was in shock. She didn't eat. Didn't blink.
The next day, she gets up, goes to the bedroom and gets our her wool and knitting needles. And she starts. She gets right to it. We're not sure what she's doing it for - maybe to cope with stress or something. A few days later, she knits a jumper. Big one - green and red with a big belt of purple across the middle.
"He'll be cold when he comes back," she says. And then she starts a new jumper. She's got mountains of wool so she'd be at it for days.
It's been four weeks now. She's got a whole wardrobe of knitted jumpers, gloves and scarves on his side of the bed. Doesn't say a word other than they're for Mikey for when he comes back.
Tried to stop her. Thought it was best to. Get her back into a normal life of routine and that. But she was so ingrained in it, she got angry whenever someone tried to stop her. Barry stole the wool and got a knitting needle through his hand. Of course, we kept quiet about it. So did Barry, said he tripped and fell on it when he was at the doctors.
"Let her knit," Mum said.
We come and visit every weekend now. Granny is eating, she cooks, too, but she knits whenever she has the chance. We ask her if she wants a hand cooking. We ask if she wants us to move the telly. We ask if she wants us to take her to the pub for a Sunday roast. But she never responds.
"He'll be cold when he comes back." | 2015-10-01T06:52:55 | 2015-10-01T06:35:47 | 113 | 35 |
[WP] When a parent dies, their knowledge and skills immediately pass on to their eldest child. An adoptee is shocked at what they discover when they receive their inheritance without warning. | I love being the third son of this family. My adopted father has been kind and generous to me my entire life, and I've never once looked into my adopted mother's eyes and seen anything other than love and acceptance, even when that was tempered by anger or disappointment. My eldest brother Daniel only ever teased me about being adopted when he was too little to understand how much that could hurt me, and he came to me of his own accord to apologize when he realized that he had. Despite that, he was an Eldest, and had the rights, privileges, and social pressures that that entailed, so I was never as close to Daniel as I am to Brie.
As an older sister, one could hardly hope for more. She and I have been close from the moment I was brought home from the hospital. She was still a toddler at the time, and was convinced that I was a new toy for her amusement. She would drag me around the house as though I were a favorite stuffed animal. Nearly 20 years later, she still hugs me with the abandon of a child with a toy, though now I can just pick her up and squeeze back until she giggles and screams. She has grown into a beautiful, kind, and thoughtful young woman, and the bond we have as Extras will be one that holds forever.
I've lived a life much happier than I have deserved, given my status. Most parents aren't nearly as kind to their forced adoptions, realizing that they are destined for some menial labor or service job, and raise them out of duty and biological imperative, rather than any semblance of genuine affection. My father, an architect, has chosen to teach me right alongside of Daniel, when most others wouldn't bother. He even took time to teach me things that he would never dream of teaching Daniel (why would he bother? In a few years, Daniel will know everything he knows).
I say all of this to remind myself that I’ve had a good life, and a happy one.
And now it’s over.
Three days ago I received my Inheritance. I am not an Extra, I am an Eldest. And from the skills I acquired and the knowledge now coursing through my brain, I was the Eldest of either an elite soldier or a stone cold killer.
Ever woken from a dream and had to reassert reality to yourself for a few minutes? You wake up and have to remind yourself that you are not flying, that you did not arrive to school naked, or that you are not being chased by something malicious and way, way faster than you. Ever have difficulty reasserting your identity to yourself? Has that feeling ever persisted for the rest of the day?
Yeah, that’s pretty much my reality right now.
Last Saturday I woke up and jumped out of bed, scanned my room for threats and exits, secured the window, and took a defensive position facing the door, gripping my tennis racket in an overhand grip. It was done completely on autopilot, and I had no idea why. I took a deep breath, left my room to brush my teeth, and came back and made my bed with a precision and perfection I have never, ever approached. I knew something was strange, but I’ve never taken any of the classes that Eldests take for dealing with receiving their Inheritance, so I had no freaking clue what was going on. I’m not an idiot, though, and by late Saturday I figured out that I had Inherited some serious skills. I’ve spent the last few days making plans to breach a door when knocking, evaluating everyone I cross as “threat”, “asset”, or “in the way”, and really, really wishing I had a gun. I’ve never even held a gun, but I feel naked without one now. Preferably two. And a knife.
Like I said, soldier or killer.
It’s the middle of the semester, so Brie and Daniel are away, and Dad is at a conference in New York. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk to Mom about this, and I’ve been avoiding her for the past couple days. I’m scared, and a little excited, but most of all I’m confused. I don’t know if I woke up on Saturday as the same person I was on Friday. And not in the wishy washy philosophical sense. In the literal, physical reality of life: am I still me? The life of an Eldest, which I’ve always imagined as something of a paradise (my parents are remarkably even handed in their treatment of us, but even they show favoritism to Daniel in most things), is, it seems, not without its pitfalls.
I’m on my way to talk to a professor of neurobiological inheritance at the Inheritence Institute in town. Hopefully he’ll have some answers.
| She stayed up most nights waiting, though when he came in the room she'd feign sleep. He turned down the radio when he came in the house and took off his boots on the porch, but the burble of the staticky voices continues through the hiss of the shower. He had to shower when he got home. The stench and filth of the houses he entered disturbed him so. He'd gone from a messy-average college boy to a man with less light in his eyes and a need for cleanliness. That was the most noticeable of immeasurable changes in Michael since his father died and he had his Knowing.
Tonight she'd almost fallen asleep. The front door clicked open. She opened her eyes when she heard a small voice talking to Michael. It sounded like a child...but their daughter was in bed.
She pulled on her robe and crept down the stairs. Her husband sat on the couch in full uniform--something he never did. He hated to bring the filth of the criminal underworld in on his clothes.
Next to him sat a little boy. A toddler. The halo of blonde hair, chubby cheeks. A precious smile.
Her breath caught. A little boy. When her greatest desire was another child. "Michael?"
Her husband looked up. "Honey...I couldn't leave him there."
Eventually the whole story came out. She'd always known her husband resented the Knowing--that his innate passion for art was squashed at an early age by the memories of his father, the decorated hero of the Homicide unit. He felt obligated to become a cop as well, arguing the knowledge would go to waste otherwise. She hadn't argued--but he had changed so after he got the knowledge. He'd always been a dreamer.
"His father is a serial killer. I think we can stop the cycle of violence--nurture everything good in him. And when the knowing comes then he'll have enough good in him to resist it."
"What if it doesn't work?"
"I think it will. I know we can raise him to be a good person. We could save lives if we end this madness..."
She smiled at her husband through tears. At heart he still was a dreamer...and if he hadn't let the world harden him, there might be hope yet for this little boy.
| 2014-08-01T10:46:13 | 2014-08-01T10:39:23 | 49 | 16 |
[WP] A royal child is born. Due to lack of proper Fairy Godmothers, three Dwarven Godfathers are invited instead, to bless the child with gifts. | "My people," the king rumbles, rising with a hand raised to calm the chattering crowd. "As it is known, for centuries, the heir apparent of this continent's nations have always had three Fae to serve as their godparents, protecting them and blessing upon them gifts, bound to the child until their coronation or death by a pact made in the name of Ynveruul himself." There is a pause as he clears his throat. "However, our war with the Fae, their kind driven to apostasy under the rule of Supreme Caster Isella the Mad, has left few of the Fair Folk remaining, and, as they rebuild a proper, devout society under Humanity's watchful care, it has been decided that the aforementioned practiced must be out on pause."
The crowd begins to murmur, and through the chamber come queries of why the celebration had not been ended, if no presentation of gifts from the Faeries was to occur. At this, the Queen rises, and all fall silent again. "But!" she begins powerfully, her husband standing tall beside her, "This does not mean our daughter will go without guidance and gifts. Another of the primordial races has offered their magic to this occasion! And so we welcome Gomel Siegehammer, Jormel Ironblood, and Tyrkym Fatepommel of the Dwarven Conclave to our hall!"
With the announcement, the doors open, and three men of small stature and stocky build enter. Two sport beards, one a fine white and the other a deep black, while the third is clean shaven, even his head and brows. They march to the kneel before the sovereigns in their regalia, all rich purples and reds, with thick midnight black plate armor on their shoulders, feet, and chests. Each holds a small chest, complicated locks on them all.
The eldest, beard and long hair braided together in a waterfall of snowy locks, stands first. "Good rulers of Svorj, who have come to respect and dwell the great mountains as any dwarf, and whose tongue shares its lineage in that of we who mold the stone, I, Gomel Siegehammer, do swear both to Ynveruul and to my children yet buried in stone, to guide young Princess Yvelta to the best of my ability. I present as my gift, this medallion, which will ensure her beauty never fades, no matter how much time attempts to ravage her. May it bring friend and foe alike to bend to her desires."
Gomel's chest opens, revealing a necklace of silver, with a large, rectangular amethyst hanging from it, small runes running along the edge of its glassy surface.
The second, the blackhaired dwarf, with his head cut to hang to his ears before a thick, unkempt beard erupts from his chin, then stands himself. "I, Jormel Ironblood, do swear the same, and present as my gift the head of a warhammer, to be affixed to a staff befitting the young princess' desires when she so requires it. With this tool, she shall have the ability to best any foe with a single strike. I pray she shall never require its use, and offer it gladly for when she does."
His chest is opened, and there is indeed a large and heavy hammer head, the left half a flat block covered in runes, and the back a wickedly curved talon.
Finally, the shaved dwarf rises. "I Tyrkym Fatepommel, being the second-born of His Righteousness Fjarkym Fatepommel, and being in youth of my long-lived race, do swear the same as my companions...and more. I do swear by our shared god and the souls of my descendants still encased in the earth, to serve Yvelta of House Kirhelm, not just until her coronation, but until her death, be that even as the ruler of Svorj. May this act foster peace and cooperation between our realms. For my gift, I do offer this ever-fitting bracelet, which, when worn, will grant the princess the wisdom of rulers passed, so that she may rule with the council of both the living and the dead, and of the latter, hearing both the advice of the great, and the regrets of the lesser."
The final chest opens, revealing a simple black bracelet, six red lozenge-carved gems ringing around its ebony metal.
The gifts are placed at the feet of the monarchs, with the hammer carried away to rest in the royal armory, the necklace to go the child's room, and the bracelet slipped onto the Yvelta's small, plump wrist. The metal seems to creak as it tightens and condenses, the gems shrinking as well before glowing. At first the loudness of the device makes several people alarmed, but then the girl giggles, and all let out their own laugh at her sounds. Finally, with a clap, the King commences the end of the feast.
And so were the gifts granted to Princess Yvelta. And upon her ascension as Queen Yvelta III, those gifts would bring the world to its knees. With her Amulet of Vanity, she became immortal, the transference of her sins, wounds, and age into the gem itself, taking with it her empathy. With her Hammer of Conquest, she led armies to battle personally, felling any and all who opposed her, taking away her fear. And with her Bracelet of Forbidden Knowledge, her mind was ever whispered to and advised by the souls of the most bloodthirsty, calculating, and hedonistic rulers since the beginning of time, taking away her morality and naivety. Within a few short years, the legions of the cruel-hearted and daemon-worshipping Dwarves at her beck and call, so ended the reign of Queen Yvelta III of Svorj. And so began the reign of Ever-Queen Yvelta the Great and Terrible, the Eternal, the Holy, the Cruel, Slayer of Ynveruul, Emissary of the Buried Gods, the Faekiller, and the sovereign ruler of All Humanity and All Dwarves. | The Magical Godmother Company, or TMGC for short, is an ancient institution. It can be tracked as long back as the first birth of a royal child, when the first fairy kindly blessed thousands of the original frog kings newborn tadpoles with individual gifts for each one. The first fairy quickly realized that this was a very stressful business and decided to hire her first helpers, and the rest is history. Today TMGC is a multicultural and advanced company, working hard to bless every royal child with magical items that give them powers to help their people!
This is the text on the worn down brochure I have been reading since I was a child. Some parts are smudged and torn from the times I've cried over not being born a fairy, but I've read it so many times that the text is imprinted in my mind. I've always had a dream of standing there infront of a baby princess and granting her the perfect gift. I already have the gift planned. I've planned everything out, with a small laugh I'm going to give it to her, knowing what massive effect it will have on her life. Too bad I'm a dwarf, and only the fairies get to grant gifts. Even though I'm hired at TMGC I will always be an officeworker keeping the records of who gets what gifts in the computer system. My dreams will never come true, and it hurts me.
"Bramdur,Belgar, and Thorlun please come see the boss. Be there in five or lose your jobs." One day at work a sharp voice coming from the office speakers interrupt my thoughts.
"By Odin, that's me!" I think to myself, wondering what the boss wants with us dwarfs all of a sudden. No dwarves ever get called to the boss, I have not even seen her before.
When running to the magic elevator to the main office where the boss is I run into Bramdur and Thorlun, and as customary amongst dwarves we nod at each other respectfully. We silently stand in the elevator together, all wondering why we have been called there, but nobody saying it out loud. Dwarves are not much for talking unless we are drunk, then we are very social by nature. To be fair though, most of us are slightly tipsy by breakfast, and full on drunk by lunchtime. Being an officeworker for a major corporation this behavior obviously is not acceptable though, meaning that we are unfortunately forced to remain sober for work hours.
The second we arrive at the office the boss comes flying towards us at full speed, which is saying a lot since fairies have a max speed ten times the one of a dwarf. When she stops right infront of us I am surprised to notice that the boss is a very elderly fairy that most definitely should not be flying at those speeds.
"HEY, IT IS AN EMERGENCY AND I NEED YOU TO GO TO THE HUMAN KINGDOM AND GIVE A NEWBORN PRINCESS HER GIFTS RIGHT NOW, ALL OUR GODMOTHERS ARE SICK!" She screams in a very upset manner which i mentally note is also very unfit for a lady her age.
Then as I realize my dreams will be fulfilled the happiness kicks in. I am euphoric, I am finally going to be able to give someone the gift I've always been planning and hoping to give!
A magical gift that my father passed down to me with the same dream as I, that a human princess one day shall be the owner. The item is the absolute pride of dwarfkind, and has been passed down for centuries for this one goal only. I shiver as I think about how I am going to give the human "The ring of infinite and unstoppable beardgrowth". My father, the previous king of trolls (The internet kind, the actual troll king is a little bit bigger and meaner), would have been so proud of me.
| 2017-03-12T19:47:11 | 2017-03-12T15:14:07 | 56 | 21 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons. | "You may have thought us pathetic and frail for our friendship and pacifism," related the calm voice that came over the monitor.
The Glorthon admiral, Tee'et Lorcor, stared with horror as two more dreadnought class battle cruisers under his commanders were obliterated by a single missile strike each. The fleet was on the defensive, all fire was directed at stopping the hundreds of rockets from the human fleet and planet surface below. It seemed like they had just reached enemy's home star system, and the advance had come to a screeching halt.
"But our friendship was extended because we know the true horrors of war," the calm voice continued almost sadly.
The Glorthons had never experienced such resistance even from the mighty Cluthons of Criok 4. The early human resistance consisted of small frigates and transports using lasers meant only to clear rogue asteroids. Tee'et Lorcor's fleet had cut through the human forces like a predator's claw through soft flesh. Why would they hold back their most powerful weapons until they had broken through all the way to Mars?
"You see we once fought among ourselves for things we now view as petty," the voice sighed as two more ships were incinerated, "Greed, bigotry, and national pride drove us to war with each other in the most brutal and savage ways."
"It was a race to see who could kill each other faster and more efficiently, until one fateful day, twenty millennia ago, we invented a weapon that could vaporize cities," the voice explained.
Surely he lies, thought Tee'et Lorcor. The only weapons capable of that are lasers and they stagnated at city sized destruction five thousand years ago. Yet, another ship exploded in radiant energy to prove his foe's point.
"Eventually, the weapons were powerful enough to level small continents, that's when the Fateful Hour occurred. 70% of humanity was gone in what seemed like an instant, the rest left to pick through the scraps as they died slow painful deaths," the voice broke.
Tee'et Lorcor's fleet was dwindling. He would have to get creative if he were to win this battle and put an end to the humans. He scrambled fighters to get in close to the orbital stations that seemed to be the primary source of the missile salvo
"Faced with extinction, we promised to never again use such weapons and found a new purpose. We would rebuild as we took to the stars. It's funny what the specter of extinction will do," the voice mused.
Lorcror was getting worried now. They had destroyed a couple of the stations, but the human squadrons were holding off his fighters just enough. For every station destroyed another four Glorthon battle cruisers exploded with bright light.
"We met other peoples and vowed to help them build, create, and be happy. We learned from our mistakes and hoped to teach others," the voice seemed to be coming to a conclusion.
Fate was beginning to dawn on Tee'et Lorcor. They could not win this fight. The shear amount of laser fire required to slowly drain the opposing fleets shields could not hope to keep up with the destructive power the missiles. He had to sound the retreat for the mere dozen ships remaining under his control.
"And now we face extinction again," the voice stated gravely, "And we came to a terrible but inescapable decision. We must build the weapons again. We must fight with the efficiency we did back on Earth."
Suddenly, Tee'et heard warning alarms. The warp drives failed to power up! Engineering reports all ships seemed to have been crippled. The humans must had been silently slicing into their warp core control systems since the battle started. Had they planned this from the start?
"Did you really think Mars was always our home?" | The humans sat down for diplomatic relations, as they always had and always will. The envoy for the Coalition of Civilizations sat down at the far end of the long table. The envoy came with seven bodyguards and seven times seven support staff. The humans brought a puppy.
Envoy G'rig burbled out nonsense in its native Fythian concerning the unsuitability of the human's mother for reproduction. Head ambassador Steve of the Terran Federation simply nodded and responded that the universal translators funcitoned quite well. G'rig was mortified, but Steve only thanked him for testing the translators so well.
"What sort of bloodthirsty monsters are you," demanded G'rig, slamming what passed in his culture for a fist on the table, "to produce such horrific weapons?"
"Are you familiar with Terran culture and history?" asked Steve nonchalantly. G'rig snarled. "Obviously not."
"There was an author named Robert E. Howard. He wrote fiction about barbarians, notably about one named Conan. The particular stories don't matter for this conversation, but a quote of his comes to mind. 'Civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing.' When you've developed weapons such as these, you become very polite or very dead." | 2020-02-07T14:35:31 | 2020-02-07T13:11:42 | 97 | 72 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen. | Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus!
“Are the contestants ready?”
“Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.”
“And a human?”
“Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!”
The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally.
Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular.
This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought.
Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce.
The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap.
Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!”
Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed.
Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report.
“W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.”
“Out with it you bumbling oaf!”
“ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.”
“A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!”
Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe.
“Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted.
“Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.”
“ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!”
The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone. | It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means *literally anything*. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset.
It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore.
“Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!”
Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa-
“Son of a biiiiiiiii-“
END
Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak. | 2020-09-13T18:50:43 | 2020-09-13T18:47:59 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had. | "Is this some kind of joke?" You ask, barely making any effort to conceal your frustration. You know better than to go off on the first guy you stumble across in the afterlife, but this is growing remarkably tedious.
The man behind the desk doesn't even meet your gaze and seems quite irritated by the disturbance. "I don't know what to tell you, friend. I don't read each book that comes across my desk. You have any idea how many people die a day? I just hand them out."
You plop back down and let out a sigh. Up until this point, the book you hold in your hands has only gone in chronological order. Many pages only end with one choice. Even the ones with multiple paths have zero impact on the "story".
*to pursue a career as an electrician, turn to page 3,283.*
*to pursue a college education, turn to page 3,283.*
You find that if you had gone to college, you merely would have dropped out in less than a semester and become an electrician anyway. Your "choice" amounts to nothing more than an additional paragraph at the top of the page.
You had no real say in any of it. Were all your decisions really so inconsequential?
You don't entertain the thought for long. You know what is to come. You know the moment everything fell apart.
This time you'll turn right.
The day comes. You skim through most of it, you remember the day well. You don't forget a goddamn thing on a day like that. You begin your drive home. You are lost. You're in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It is raining quite hard which obscures your vision. Your GPS on your phone is not responding. You don't remember the way back.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
Your heart drops in your chest. This couldn't be right. Only one choice. Only one fucking choice.
You slam the book shut. You refuse to relive that. You choose indecision. It seems to be the only other you have, and you'll be damned if this book is going to take that from you.
Hours pass. Days. Weeks perhaps? All the while, the man sits as his desk, reading quietly to himself. He glances up occasionally only to return to his book.
You know the rules. You must finish the book before you can leave this room. Your hands trembling, you resume where you left off.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
It all happened so fast that it barely registered. All the text captures are the fuzzy details you retained. The briefest glimpse of a bicycle in your headlights. The sudden impact. The sound of a person's head very rapidly meeting pavement. A sound no amount of whiskey will ever drown out or water down. The blood. So much of it. What seems to be an impossible amount of blood.
The woman screaming. The pleas for help.
The therapy. The guilt. The anger. Bewilderment. The copious amounts of alcohol and the many fights that come along with it.
*to tell your wife you understand her decision, turn to page 872,862.*
*to beg her to stay, turn to page 872,862.*
For the next 500 pages or so, your choices are very limited. More often than not there is only one option. This is starting to seem like a sick joke. Eventually, there is one alternative that shows up every now and then that grabs your attention.
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
Forgive yourself? You will do no such thing.
*to buy another bottle, just turn the page.*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*to browse through that young boy's memorial page on Facebook again, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*To try slicing down the wrist this time, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
You just continue turning the page.
*to pull the trigger, close this book now.*
You crumble to the floor and begin to sob uncontrollably. This is the only option you have left. The man sees his cue and walks over to scoop up the book.
"What....what was the point of all that? To torture me? Have I not done that to myself enough?" You didn't realize you were steadily raising your shaking voice as you spoke, but the man remained unfazed.
He turns back, your book tucked under his arm. "You've done that more than enough, my son." He speaks gently for the first time since you began the book.
You slowly stand on legs that barely prove to hold you, desperately hoping he will continue talking.
"You had no choices because you *made* no choice. You were only ever prepared for moments that had already passed. What you could have done differently. You couldn't choose your adventure because you were so fixated on changing it."
You look at the floor, unsure how to respond.
"The path you took is the path that was. Alternate endings are merely an author's fantasy."
You look him in the eyes and nod apprehensively.
"Are you ready to try to forgive yourself?"
"....I can try."
He hands the book back to you.
"You know what to do." | Was this perhaps the cruel joke of some omnipresent force? Before me sat a brown, leatherbound tomb that measured out to be a similar height to my fully standing figure. Save for the dimly lit area around me there was only an unrelenting void. There was no distinguishable source for the light and the only other defining characteristics of my 10x10 foot purgatory was the enormous book and a simple wooden chair adorned with a single teal cushion.
The cold embrace of the surrounding abyss offered no explanation as to my situation so I turned my attention to the book. *Your life* read the title. I fliped open to the first page, leaving the cover dangling helplessly over its own mass. There I find a detailed account of my own birth. The following several pages offer nothing more; they all simply describe the mundane life of a not-yet-conscious infant.
I flipped mindlessly ahead until I reached a header that said "first memory" that proceeds to describe my first conscious moments involving my mother dressing me in coveralls along with... A prompt?
*To cry, turn to page thirty seven thousand. To make a pathetic attempt as expressing happiness, turn to page four hundred thousand three hundred and seventy six*
This made no sense. I traversed my way as quickly as I could to the end of the book. The binding of the book made a sizeable arch as the pages flipped madly. On the second to last page I read
*You die in your sleep, old and alone. You immediately find yourself in a void with nothing but a large book and a chair. To explore the unknown, flip back three pages. To seek information from the book before you, return to page ninety six*
My skin feels clammy at the stress of my returning memories. The shock of death must have stopped me from understanding immediately that I was dead. I expct my heart to be racing yet I am met only with the cold nothingness of a heart-stood-still. Surprisingly though my skin has narry a wrinkle on it. There is nowhere for me to see a reflection, but this is definitely not the body I had previously. It seemed I was restored to a younger state to experience whatever damnation had befallen me.
I considered the strange choose-your own adventure book of what has been snd what could have been before gazing back into the deep nothingness that surrounds me. Its shrouded haze made me feel like a small fish swimming in the vast expanse of infinity. I know nothing of the existence I find myself in other than what I remember from a life now gone. I was always a fan of reading. I decided to try and find the page where I went to high school prom. I wonder what would have happened if I kissed that young lady instead of being overpowered by fear?
Yes, that sounds nice. What else is there to do but relive the mundane? After all, even the banal seems pleasant when the infinite expanse of darkness is my alternative.
Edit: feedback is appreciated.
| 2018-07-04T01:11:05 | 2018-07-04T00:04:01 | 640 | 22 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. WMDs. | It was a tired, overused trope by now, canonized in hundreds of years of entertainment media: Humans winning wars against all odds and surprising the overconfident Big Bad Aliens who never expected them to bite back. A trope. For stories. Not something that happened in reality.
Our first contact went well enough. We’d launched a 30-year unmanned mission to [Sedna](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/90377_Sedna), a dwarf planetoid in orbit around the sun that never came closer than triple Neptune’s distance from the sun--really, almost a speck of dust on the lens of our most powerful telescopes. It had a weird orbit, though, and some billionaire (whose name is lost to the annals of time) with a hair up his ass about space exploration decided to finance the mission to investigate it.
We slung a ton of metal covered in instruments at this speck of dust in the sky, because we were curious, and it’s what we do--fly out there, take some pictures, drop an impactor on the surface, and see what we can see. We’d done it to dozens of other bodies in the Solar System by that point, and this was no different other than the mission length.
We slung a ton of metal at a planet… and we missed. When the probe got close enough to make its final adjustment burns for the flyby… Sedna moved. It MOVED. We managed to turn towards it and get some pictures as our probe zoomed past, and what we saw changed everything.
Within a week, the entire planet knew something was happening, because Sedna lit up like a miniature sun and became the brightest star in the sky… and it didn’t take long for scientists to discover that it was lit up like that because its orbit was slowly adjusting; the calculated trajectory getting lower and lower by the day. Within a month, the trajectory crossed Earth’s orbit and abruptly Sedna was dark again.
It still took Sedna decades to get to Earth, of course, but the damage was done. The debate raged on about What It All Meant, and eventually, we decided to greet whomever it was in peace, reasoning that beings who have achieved interstellar travel could probably crush us into dust. That’s how, in a scant 75 years, we became members of a galactic community, known for our skills as diplomats, peacemakers, and savvy trading--especially for new technologies.
It was 75 years of unparalleled peace and prosperity on the old dirt ball. With so many opportunities and resources available off planet, we were able to put aside our warlike ways. For the length of a single human lifetime, there was no war. It couldn’t last, and it didn’t.
For all their alien appearance, the 17 other species we’d met so far in the galactic community were surprisingly human. They squabbled over territory, butted heads over philosophical differences, and generally got along. Military engagements were brief and limited in scope, because most of the political bodies had roughly equal armament and fleets.
As the new kids on the block, we were significantly weaker than everyone else, and that 75 year mark was the moment that one of the alien species--the ones who were piloting the ship we thought was Sedna--decided to assert its superiority over the human race and suborn us to their will.
They hit us with one of their brief and limited military engagements, expecting us to roll over and give them what they wanted… and we did, for a while, quietly mourning the deaths of the millions that had died so unexpectedly to the weapons of an ostensible friend.
Then the time came to hit back, and that’s when human beings discovered that even a lifetime of peace can’t breed the war out of our species. It took us about 10 years to develop our weapon, using nothing but Einstein’s cold equations and the substance we’d labored to create by the ton once given the secret of manufacturing it: antimatter.
In our distant past, we feared the heart of the atom and its awesome destructive power, but our most powerful nuclear bombs were a spark falling onto ice when compared with the simple expedient of crashing a bunch of anti-hydrogen into a bunch of normal hydrogen. And just like in that distant past, it only took two bombs to stop all the fighting.
The homeworld of those aliens, once a verdant green and blue, still glows red from the sleet of hard radiation that pounded its surface the day we detonated those bombs in its atmosphere. We killed every living thing on that planet and heated it into a ball of magma, and they were entirely unprepared for such an onslaught.
We’re not the new kids on the block anymore, and we’ve gone back to being the diplomats and peacemakers. We speak softly, but the big stick is always there if it’s ever needed again. | They all thought, Humanity is nothing but a bunch of politicians and pacifists. They thought we'd simply lay down and just go quietly into the night. The Valkren Empire has apparently never heard of our history of warfare and a human beings never say die spirit.
"Sic vis pacem para bellum," my Drill Sergeant would say. "Latin for If you want peace! Prepare for war!" Sergeant Mueller would go on about how one reason the Cold War never kicked off may have been because both the US and Russia were ready to annihilate each other. However, our pacifism was nothing more than a sheet over our war machine.
Our 1st fleet had formed a blockade and was waiting for the Valkren Annihilation line. We were the tip of the spear. Taking out their flagship would mean the deaths of their command staff. An idiotic idea on their part to put their higher ups on one vessel.
A Mk. V Ship Breaker was a frightening display when I watched it work. Tipped with Nuclear warheads, it would easily wreck a Valkren ship according to intelligence. Our 3rd Expeditionary Naval Force was enroute to the Valkren homeworld in retaliation for their destruction of one of our colonies. They'd launch multiple weapons that would annihilate the Valkren electrical grid before a invasion began. Their own hubris would be their downfall.
We saw them exit their hyperspace jump and I could only think of what their faces looked like at the sight of the fleet. The command of the dreadnought Valkyrie was my first ship command.
"Locked on to the flagship Commander," my TACOPs officer announced.
"Fire," I ordered. There were two Mk. V rockets launched, with no warning. We watched as it smacked their bridge and the other hit their bow. The shockwave annihilated the ship. It fractured into two pieces. What followed was nothing short of an amazing display of firepower. Multiple rockets, cannons, weapon systems were unleashed in awesome display of colors varying in blue and red.
The Valkren fleet did not have a leg to stand on as ship after ship was destroyed. One battleship collided with another and some of the Valkren were floating in space. The message would be sent throughout the Galaxy to all the other species.
"Do not fuck with Humanity. We may not start a war, but we will finish it." | 2021-07-04T18:36:34 | 2021-07-04T14:17:04 | 197 | 58 |
[WP] You accidently discharge your firearm into the television. Much to your surprise, instead of shattering the glass, it passes right through and hits one of the characters on screen. | "Oh my God, they killed Kenny!"
In what I mistook to be a serendipitous coincidence, a small band of my favourite, minimalistically-drawn cartoon characters stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, in my direction through the television screen.
It had been a melancholy day. He had left in the night, having taken nothing with him. A brief, impersonal note was all I had as evidence that he hadn't been abducted from my side as we slept in our bed--*my* bed, now--the night prior.
"Emily,
By the time you read this, I'll be gone. I'm sorry I wasn't able to explain. I've sold what I can, given up my identity, and am flying to a destination that, for your own peace of mind, I'll leave unknown to you. Do whatever you want with what's left. I know it hurts now, but I'm not worth your pain. This life was never real to me.
What we had was never real to me.
I hope you forget it all soon enough.
Yours formerly, Lyle."
And so I sat there, weighing the pistol he once insisted was "essential protection" in my palm, and wondered why, if he had hated the life we had built together so much, he hadn't used this "essential" pistol to end it all. I contemplated why he had to start over without me, where he could have gone, and I realized just how little I knew him. Moreover, I contemplated why he had left that pistol so readily in my grasp rather than keep it or sell it as he had done with his motorcycle. Would he not need protection where he was going? Was he too afraid to sell the illegal firearm on our Canadian streets, even though he had expressed no qualms about purchasing it from the same source?
These questions had plagued and distracted me. In that state of mindful absenteeism, I somehow managed to fire the damn thing. I hadn't expected him to have stored it loaded! How irresponsible of him! How irresponsible of me!
Were we truly so different? Why couldn't he have told me?
In the depths of my sorrow and panic (for the police would arrive shortly, without a doubt!) the fact that my mistake had so perfectly coincided with the common gag of my favourite program was rather hilarious. For a split second, I even allowed myself to enjoy a much-needed laugh. It soon ended when the realization struck me.
My television set was completely intact. There had been no sound, save that of the discharge itself. It was as if the bullet had disintegrated! Or perhaps...
*No, that's impossible!*
"YOU BASTARD!" The simply animated finger of the character I had known for many years as "Kyle" was pointing directly at me. The frame of that scene lasted for an uncomfortable length of time. Why wasn't the plot progressing? I hadn't actually *seen* what had hit the orange-clad head of Kenny, but I assumed that the shock of accidentally squeezing the trigger had merely deviated my attention from the screen.
*I couldn't ha--*
"What the hell, bitch! You're just gonna kill our friend and then sit there like nothing happened?!"
Eric Cartman's fat face was angled directly at mine as I blinked, dumbfounded, on my sofa. Still, I did nothing. I was adamantly waiting for the camera perspective to change and for some new character to be unveiled so that this would all make sense.
That never happened.
The tangerine blot of Kenny on my screen simply became surrounded by more and more red as the faces of his eight year-old posse contorted in outrage.
"EY!" Cartman yelled again. "Are you retarded or something?!"
"I--me?--I mean I do have cerebral palsy so maybe I had a muscle spasm and accidentally--" I stammered before realizing what I truly should have been asking, "Wait a second! How is this even happening?!"
"You guys, I think '*cerebral* palsy' means something's wrong with her brain! We gotta get help from that new police officer guy before she gets all mentally unstable and kills again!"
All too eager to accept Stan's hypothesis, the boys ran screaming. They only grew more terrified as the camera followed them, making it impossible for them to escape my passive observation on the couch.
"Holy crap! She's some kind of mentally unstable ALIEN!" Stan elaborated on his theory.
"I AM NOT MENTALLY UNSTA--"
"Hey, hey, what is this all ah-boot, boys? I was trying to enjoy my Kraft Dinner!" An egg-headed, cartoon man in uniform toddled onto the screen in place of those I would have expected such as Officer Barbrady or Sergeant Yates.
I was completely confused, hands shaking with rage and head spinning, but upon closer inspection, it only grew worse.
"LYLE?!" | One second he was alive, the next he was dead and I had changed history. Well, not technically our history since I was sure that the universe I had just inadvertently changed was fictional, but some history any way. His name was Old McFarlan and he hadn't seen his death coming at all. The bullet that hit him had been discharged from my weapon. And my weapon wasn’t anywhere in his vicinity, seeing how he was on a farm in the Wild West and my weapon had lain firmly in my hand in suburban New York.
It was episode 8 in a season of 26 and Old McFarlan had been built up as the major villain. The series heroes, the cheeky brothers Cliff and Brutus, had not had any luck crossing his evil plans of closing down their fathers’ farm with the intention of building a mine. Indeed their lack of success using their brains to outsmart McFarlan had driven them to search for alternative solutions. They had gotten the local gunsmith to craft them a gun. And the moment he had finished his task I recognized that supposedly fictional gun as the one my father had left me when he died.
I stopped Netflix and went to search for the gun in the attic, where it had gathered quite a bit of dust. Seeing the two guns side by side I was sure they were one and the same. During McFarlans next scene, I had jokingly pulled the trigger on McFarlan indicating how my gun were to be the one to kill him. When it actually fired I dropped the gun out of shock. Had a live weapon actually been lying around in my attic for what must have been years? I sure had been lucky, that I had found it and not one of my sons.
Having checked the chambers for more bullets, and finding none, I returned my gaze to the screen. Who had shot McFarlan? There hadn’t been any indication that he would die in this scene and indeed he had been alone. As the episode continued it became clear that McFarlan wasn’t supposed to have died. Entire scenes lacked any action or plot advancement as they were clearly missing McFarlans presence. I had ruined the show. And giddily I went to fetch my oldest from his room to show off my achievement. Cliff and Brutus were still unaware of the recent devolopments. They had gotten a local hunter to teach them how to shoot and the moment my son entered the room, the bullet, shot straight at the camera, entered his lung.
| 2016-09-07T10:40:27 | 2016-09-07T10:38:40 | 107 | 20 |
[WP] after losing their home, a young necromancer resurrects a paladin of the same church that destroyed their village. Now forced to protect the child, the paladin must confront their own holy order. | Konar had only ever raised beasts.
It was forbidden by the village elders to raise a human from the dead. Profane. But there were no more elders. There was no village. And, no one ever figured out how to raise a human.
But grief can make people do incredible, miraculous things. Profane things. Though to Konar, the paladins that purged his village were no more human than the oxen and hounds he'd raised as an apprentice -- undead beasts of burden. Konar had plenty of work for in store for his revenant.
As Konar walked through the scorched remains of Shadegulch, he wasn't sure if it was wood or bone crunching beneath his boots. Was it old man Buie's front door or his ribs? There was no way to know for certain.
But when he stomped down on something curved and metallic, there was no question as to the identity of its owner.
It was one of them.
Konar dropped his bag and knelt down in the dirt. He cleared away the ash and detritus covering the half-buried piece of armor. Beneath it would be more. But he wasn't going to have to dig the body up himself, not after he was done.
Each candle from his bag was worth enough dullings to feed him for weeks. He'd spent many sleepless nights, curled into a ball in some stranger's barn as his stomach threatened to eat itself, clutching the candles to his chest. There were times when his hunger almost won. But there was no ritual without ritual candles.
Preparations complete, Konar banged on a small gourd drum and began his new chant.
*Death is only but a start*
*You're journey's just begun*
*There is no night without the dawn*
*You're journey's just begun*
*Accept my gift, a second chance*
*You're journey's just begun*
*Now rise and heed my beck and call*
*You're journey's just begun*
Sweat dripped down Konar's face as he repeated his chant, over and over. Usually, there would have been a tugging sensation pulling at his heart. It was how the chant worked. A bit of Konar's soul poured into the dead beast, animating it. But there was no tugging.
The armor did not move.
"No," Konar whispered. "This has to work."
He'd nearly starved gathering the reagents. He'd bribed soldiers to grant him passage into the Crescent Valley, to his home. He'd hunted down survivors of the purges, anyone who knew just a bit more about necromancy than him -- and begged, pleaded, bargained for their secrets. All for this night. All for his chance at vengeance.
Konar stared up at the new moon -- the night where death magic was strongest.
He would not give up.
"Death!" he shouted. "Hear me. I am your disciple, your kin. Please, please, hear me. I have no one left. I can't--I can't do this alone. Grant me your blessing--" He pressed his palm against the cool steel breastplate, and whispered. "Please. Arise."
A gauntleted fist burst through the ground. Then another. It began digging itself free.
Konar tumbled backward, terrified but feeling himself smile through the fear.
The paladin's corpse sat up. Her face was half-rotted. Where her left eye and cheek should have been, there was only dirt-covered bone. But most of her was there, under the mail and plate. Yes. She would do.
She started screaming.
Konar screamed.
They both screamed under the moonless night.
"Why are you yelling!" Konar demanded.
"Because I was dead!"
"Well stop it!"
The paladin went silent.
"G-good," he said, feigning the confidence of a master summoner. This had been what he wanted, what he'd prepared for. But theory was one thing. Actually raising a human corpse, a revenant was supposed to be ... impossible. "My name is Konar," he said. "I'm your master."
The paladin's one milky eye blinked slowly and seemed to focus on Konar. Blinking, it nodded.
*Good*. *It's under my control. This is good.*
"What is your name?"
The paladin coughed and chunks of dirt flew out of its mouth. The paladin reached for its side and pulled a torn, dirty handkerchief and wiped its lips.
Then, it spoke. "My name is Octavia. I am a paladin of the First Dawn, and you are in danger, Konar Rane. I have seen the future, and they are coming for you. We must hurry."
Konar blinked at the revenant. This was not what he was expecting. "Uh--wait. Who is coming?"
The revenant rose from the hole in the dirt, wiped at her armor, and when she found her sword missing from her side, grimaced. "Former Sword Saint of the First Dawn, Sir Milos Nightbane. The strongest paladin to have ever lived, and also, a revenant ... like me." | The two figures on the wooded path could not be more different - one, a young girl of uncertain age, her brown hair matted with sweat as the days had gone by with corpse-filled rivers from the battlefield drifting down the course; the other, a Knight of Gloria, sworn to hunt down undead; the red-gold symbol of the kingdom pierced being the only marker that anything was amiss.
The girl spoke, a soft alto with a bitter accent of Indait; her skin now tanned by the daystar's rays. "So, Syt Alami, I understand you have further questions?" She raised her dank blonde eyebrows, a touch of fear in them.
Alami spoke, a deep, blue bass of a voice that nevertheless carried a threat of violence always. "I do not understand how Solaris saw fit to grant you the curse of Bound Undeath, yet still be divine to my senses. When I saw you for the first time in my life, you registered as such. That caused me to stumble in battle for the first time in....decades."
Alami paused for a moment in a deep shade on the path, thinking about what he would say next. "When I awoke next, I couldn't feel Solaris' touch on my soul, and instead I found....you." His eyes, hidden by the helm he wore, shone for a moment as his distemper threatened to overwhelm him. His voice broke as he spoke again. "When I felt Her touch once more, I thought I understood what conflict arose in me. But....I cannot serve two masters, and I feel both of your calls equally. It defies my faith and all logic of my Oath."
The girl giggled, the sound making her appear much younger than her uncertain age. "The great Syt Alami, brought low by a mage!" She giggled again (it was too young to be a cackle), a grin on her face as she told him again. "I joke, but that is only because I got lucky. I didn't mean to....bring you back as you were. I only...wanted to grant you peace, where you belong. Which wasn't in some dingy village, bogged down and eaten by carrion.
"You defended me from true monsters. Knowing what I am. What I can do. This is the very least I can do. So, I used my gift of Bound Undeath to....restore you. I didn't mean-"
She was cut off as Alami put his hand up flat, a gesture of silence. He halted, then grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the woods.
She frowned, and then looked out onto the path. What she saw made her breath leave her body. A swift rider, carrying a corpse.
*Mama.* | 2022-06-06T08:24:20 | 2022-06-06T00:51:51 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] Aliens have invaded to conquer and enslave humanity, however "slavery" to them involves only working the equivalent of 12 hours a week while having healthy food, shelter, and means of entertainment taken care of so the human resistance is having trouble with defectors preferring to be slaves. | “Bro, I’m telling you. These aliens are chill.” I say to my friend as I light up a blunt courtesy of the Plictood clan.
“I just don’t get their motive, why are they treating slaves so well” my friend, Elijah, says.
“They are just dumb, they think this is hard work. Twelve hours a week. I still can’t believe it. They give me all the weed I could ever want, any type of food, they put me up in this dope ass apartment, and they are super chill. No whips or any of that shit”
City lights glowed as I stood watching the cars meander between bar and nightclubs. Nightlife had gotten much crazier ever since the Plictoodes offered up slavery to the world. Society had so much time and unlimited resources at its disposal, what else to do but drink and party it all away.
“I don’t know why aren’t doing it yet, 95% of society is doing it already. You are seriously missing out” I say to Elijah.
“I just don’t trust them yet, seems too good to be true. Although I can’t find any regular work at all. Everything has been outsourced to the Plictoodes. You guys all work so damn hard, probably because you know you only have to work twelve hours a week so you actually get work done when you are working”
“Exactly. I feel so rejuvenated, I just have to login into Ploodle and see what task I need to do with my two and half hours of work that day and then I get to work. Yesterday I just transferred a bunch of different files between servers. It was super easy”
Elijah walks around my apartment, brushing his hand against the leather couch and feeling the plush fur of real sheepskin in between his toes. He walked over to my beverage fridge, sidestepping the Roomba, grabbed a beer of his choosing and joined me to glance out bustling city below.
“You got so much cool stuff” Elijah said.
“I know right, I just have to login into Ploodle and use my credits on their website which allows me to buy almost anything. I’m telling you, man, you have to sign up for this. It’s the life, the Plictoodes just care about treating us correctly. They even have a headset that we wear at night to make sure we are sleeping correctly to feel rested and happy. You don’t see Google doing that shit, do you?”
“No. It’s inevitable that I’ll have to become a slave soon. I just don’t feel good about it”
A few lightyears away, Minister Blograd reached for a report that had just been freshly printed by his assistant.
“Looks like Earth’s mind dump is coming along nicely,” Blograd said to his assistant.
“Indeed sir, we are at 93% intellect extraction. Only should take a few more nights to extract all their intellect to our servers”
“Perfect, right on schedule. Then we can proceed with destroying Earth” | "Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?" screamed the man on the street corner, as passersby looked down and refused to meet his eyes.
"You, boy! Don't you want to live in a world where you're free to choose what you do with your time?"
The dark skinned man stared, but eventually thought better of arguing, and strode towards the opera. There was no point; the fat old man with his shiny pink face reminded him too much of his old employer, and that fool had been hanged in the first ten months after the invasion, because he refused to close his meat packing plant. | 2020-11-22T09:35:46 | 2020-11-22T08:54:13 | 525 | 283 |
[WP] Magic is real, but it's a form of highly advanced technology. Since no technology is perfect, using magical spells can occasionally result in glitches and unintended behaviour. You're a powerful wizard, and during an epic battle, you decide to beta-test one of your newly developed spells. | "'Y'know, I didn't think it would come to this" He says as he desperately sucks in air to combat his exhaustion.
He was truly in a tight spot.
When he found out that a bounty on his head had appeared, he wasn't worried. His stronghold, his seat of power was located in the eastern region of the Khalakan Mountains. For those uninformed: That's the region with the highest peaks.
Thus, even though it's location was known among certain circles, it was almost impossible to reach it without the use of powerful magic.
And if someone _did_ reach it... Well...
Jeremahia wasn't known as The Archmage for no reason.
So, even when he recieved word from one of is familiars that a party of mercenaries had accepted the bounty on his head, Jeremahia wasn't worried.
He was more curious about how far the fools would come rather than what he should prepare as a defense.
However, when he felt the connection to a familiar dissapear, he did have _some_ doubts about not preparing something. Because this was the familiar he had tasked with keeping an eye on them.
He had never heard of this mercenary team called: "Darkness". The sounded edgy as all hell, but their attire was rather run of the mill. Nothing noteworthy.
At least, that's what he thought. But if they were able to instantly take out of his more stealthy familiars them this might be something to worry about.
Thus, anxiety eventually overcame his desire to remain in his lab, and he began preparation for a fight. He set up some golems, prepared some magical beasts in his possession and set up a couple of traps here and there. He wasn't fully committed however, because his mind was still on the spell in his lab, lying there unfinished.
This could be a breakthrough! Something never seen before. But he first needs to see if it will even work at all, a beta test, so to speak.
So, as soon as his preparations were completed, he rushed back up his tower to his workshop to continue his newest spell.
That brings us back to the present. Where Jeremahia was laying against the rubble that used to be the wall of his workshop. The party of mercenaries stood in front of him, 2 people less than when he last recieved report from his (now dead) familiar.
"Well, we didn't think you'd be so though to take down, old man. We thought the hardest part was getting here, but jesus, those golems were no joke."
"Yes, I was quite proud of those. Their AI's were a true piece of art. Before you tore them apart."
"Hey, don't get mad at us. If you didn't want to lose your precious toys, you shouldn't have used them in a fight." He said condescending.
They acted as if it was an easy victory, but their appearance said otherwise. They were covered in scrapes, gashes in their clothes and skin, burnmarks, one of them even began developing a black eye already.
"Heh.. Haha... HahahaHAHAHAHAHAA!" Jeremahia suddenly began cackling like a madman. The party stepped backwards, they realised something bad was about to happen.
"Well...." the wounded mage on the ground began, with a crazy glint in his eyes "It's all or nothing, I suppose.." He finished as he pulled out a spellbox.
Immediately, all the party members knew that whatever was inside that box, it was *bad news* for them.
They all jumped him as fast as they could, but Jeremahia the Archmage's spellcasting was second to none. He could outcast the speed of lightning, so beating a party of semi-skilled mercenaries was nothing.
Within a fraction of a second Jeremahia had activated the spellbox, and it opened with an explosion of power.
He was fearful of glitches or bugs, but considering his situation, he couldn't afford not to.
The remains of the room (more accurately described as the top of the tower now) lit up with the light from what used to be the box and shook as a result of the tear in reality it created.
All present felt a short but powerful pull towards the hole in space-time, but that soon ceased. Instead, it was repaced by a violent explosion of air, knocking everyone but Jeremahia off of the tower, to plummet to their deaths.
The only reason Jeremahia remained was because he had braced himself for the inevitable explosion that comes with new beta spells. He hadn't expected it to be quite this big however.
But, that no longer mattered. The threat has been dealt with, he can strike another idea off the list for potential spellboxes', and his castle is barely destroyed.
His workshop took the worst of it. The walls having crumbled away while the roof was disintegrated in the fireball they fired at jeremahia upon their entrance.
But that's about all for the damages. The rest could easily be repaired in one fell swoop. And thanks to the artificial atmosphere around his domain, he at least didn't need to worry about any snow covering his workshop while he repaired the damages.
He was about to stand up and conjure a windblast to clear the smoke, when suddenly the smoke was sucked away, into a portal that supposedly spawned as a result of his spell going haywire.
He felt the violent pull on his clothes, and was getting stronger. All he could do was struggle fruitlessly against the pull, hoping it would close on itself before he was pulled in.
Sadly for him, luck was not on his side. He was pulled into the portal, never to be seen or heard from again.
The credits start rolling as the class stayed silent.
The teacher turned the lights back on with a clap and walked to her stand.
"Now, as I said children, this was a dramatisation of real life events, but it _did_ accurately display the dangers of not only being unprepared, but also the threat that untested spells bring with them."
As he was about to say something else, the bell rang and the classroom started to pack their things.
"Remember kids, next week is the test on workshop safety protocol!" | "You don't quite look like Mage Winchester."
"But I am Mage Winchester. Wait, I'll show you my permit."
The old man produced a leather scroll from inside his robes and handed it to the beefy young man standing guard outside Glenberry Inn.
"It says here that you are fifty years old. How come your voice is so shrill?"
"What? Can't a grown man's voice be shrill? You're talking nonsense!"
"Not with all the potions your kind drink. Besides, the face on the scroll does not match with yours. You stole this scroll, didn't you?"
The old man flinched. He twiddled his thumbs under the purple robe.
"I did not. I can produce the secret sign of the scroll. I just don't look the same."
The guard hung the scroll in front of the old man who closed his eyes, recited a spell, and touched it with his index finger. Suddenly a black smoke cloud puffed up from the scroll.
"Here lies Mage Winchester," the cloud spelled out.
"Unbelievable. You are quite the trickster!"
"It's no trick. I am Mage Winchester."
The guard laughed and opened the door for the mage to pass through.
​
Inside the Glenberry Inn, shrouded among green clouds, were the wizards and witches who wanted to rest their brooms for a bit. None of them recognized Mage Winchester until he went up to the bar and asked Fat Pete for a whiskey sour.
From under his bushy mustache, Fat Pete said: "And who might you be unfortunate one? A rookie? Are you of drinking age?"
Mage Winchester sighed. "It's me Fat Pete, Mage Winchester of the dark clouds."
"Winchester?" Fat Pete squinted. "Whatever happened to your head?"
"Fix a whiskey sour and we'll talk."
​
This is the story Mage Winchester told:
I was in the black mountains of the east. Rizin, the king of the east, was concerned about farmers losing cattle at an alarming rate, so he summoned me to investigate the matter. Now farmers and their cattle are no concern of mine, but the king is. So, I went ahead and studied the site where most of the cattle went before disappearing.
It was a flat stretch of land in the highlands of the foothills of the black mountains. Cattle would go there to graze but never returned.
On the ground I saw claw marks like that of an eagle. I figured it must be a case of gigantification. Some poor wizard's potion carried off by an eagle.
Back at the king's court I asked him for cattle to be used as bait.
"We have almost no cattle left in this area. To get some would take at least a day. The farmers are at the gates with pitchforks. You saw them, didn't you?"
I told him that I did.
"Can you make do without one?"
So, I had to charm a tree to look like a cow. The dummy was slathered with fat and blood of cattle supplied by the royal butcher.
It was late afternoon when I departed for the plain and by dusk I was there. Then I produced a spell to simulate a cow's cry.
From the great black mountains came an eagle twice as big as a horse. I could've paralyzed it mid-flight and let gravity do the work, but I got careless and decided to use my new spell. It was supposed to go around the limitation of using potions to shrink the target.
I pointed my wand at the eagle and shouted the spell. Unfortunately, it rebounded, and my head shrank to what it is now.
​
Fat Pete howled and laughed and rapped the bar apron. "Did you get the eagle?"
"Yes, I did paralyze it mid-air as I should've done."
"And what was your reward?"
"I was too embarrassed to collect it."
Fat Pete laughed again. | 2021-12-22T07:38:33 | 2021-12-22T06:29:56 | 55 | 36 |
[WP] You have been fitting into your new role as Satan for about a week now and you figure you should tell your best friend about your newfound powers. Before you get a chance to say anything, he tells you that God spoke to him and gave him his powers...
Continuation of [WP] [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7ua1oj/wp_you_are_sitting_at_a_local_coffee_shop_minding/?ref=share&ref_source=link) | Being Satan was great! That's what I'd thought for the last two weeks, anyway. I had powers that I didn't have to use for good, so I managed to... *acquire* a decent bit of money. I only had to go to hell, like, once a week to make sure things were up and running. I had even the most powerful demons do my bidding (usually just bringing me an array of food and comforts). Best of all, I didn't have to torture any souls or anything like that because it was my little underlings' jobs. So all this power with no guilt? Finally, something didn't have a catch!
I pretended to pay for our meal (actually, I simply made the cashier think I did), and came back to the table to meet my best friend, Ellie. Through thick and thin, she'd always been there, supporting and joining me on misadventures of all kinds. Ellie herself was a sweetheart, though. We balanced each other out, I think.
I beamed at her, imagining her reaction when I showed her the plane tickets to Peru that I booked for us. She always dreamed of going there, but we never had any money to even think about such a lavish thing. 'I may as well make her a demon, too,' I thought. She'd be thrilled to have powers, and I wouldn't have to hide such an awesome secret.
Just as I sat down, she blurted, "I have to tell you something." It was uncharacteristic of her to be so forward. Whatever she had to say wouldn't be as important as what I had to say anyway, so I nodded, encouraging her to go first. She silently bit her lip instead.
"Carry on," I told her between mouthfuls of fries.
She took a deep breath. "Something crazy happened to me." She mumbled, looking at me as if she were asking for something. I was about to say that I knew the feeling, but she kept on. "I need you to believe me. I'm not crazy, and I can prove it. Just hear me out, a-and don't say anything until I finish! This is a lot for anyone to-"
"Oh, get on with it!" I grumbled, anxious to say my piece. I swear, if this was to do with her trash ex Randy...
"God spoke to me," she whispered. It took me several moments to let that sink in. Shit. Was she messing around? No way real God did, right? Is she having a mental break? Fuck, could my powers fix that? She let me stew for a moment, but must have taken my silence as utter disbelief. "Watch." She pointed at a ceiling fan, and I watched, equally horrified and baffled, as it inconspiciously started rotating the wrong way. After a few seconds of this, it went back to normal.
Holy fuck. "What..." I swallowed, my mouth going dry. "What did... ah... God say?"
She looked solemnly at me. "Bring Esther to me."
Esther, my name, sounded so foreign on her lips all of a sudden. "I don't know why, but it can't be bad or anything, right? I mean, it's God. I know we were atheists, but I swear..." She went on, but the beating in my ears was drowning out her voice.
There's no way I would go with her. I'd be smited or worse. I gripped the tickets in my hoodie pocket as I recalled the last words the previous Satan said to me before dying.
*"Be careful. God plays dirty."*
---
I haven't written in ages. Very rusty haha | "Hey man."
Jason grunted, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him.
"So. Um. Jace. J.C. My man..." He forced a nervous chuckle. "You my man, right?"
Grunt.
"Um. I have something to tell you J-Dog..." He scratched his head and coughed. "So get this man. Yesterday, yeah, I was jus' mindin' my-"
Jason turned in his direction, his face suddenly pale. "God came to me," he whispered. "He told me I a angel. I can fly, brother. I a demon killa, Malcolm..."
Malcolm staggered backward and stared at the floor. It couldn't be. It couldn't. "Jason, you crazy, dog. You craaazy."
Jason said nothing. A solitary tear began to make its way down his cheek.
"I the Devil, man. You don't know what you messing wit. I can kill you if you bad. I can-"
*"BZZZZZ"*
The doors hissed open, and Doctor Matthews strode into the cell, a syringe held tightly in his hand. Malcolm stopped talking.
"Gentlemen," he said, smiling down at them. "It's time for your medication..."
(Feedback always appreciated!)
r/samfoxstories | 2018-02-05T10:58:36 | 2018-02-05T08:45:42 | 148 | 22 |
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa. | “Turn around, did I find you?”
I giggled as I turned around, and said yes. I can’t quite remember whether I had said it out loud or just in my head.
“I *knew* it, I *knew* it! You’d be here, the clue was in the “meatballs,” and I knew this was your favourite Italian restaurant. So obviously you’d be here.”
I stood up and walked around to the chair on her side of the table, pulled it out, and beckoned for her to sit down.
*Huh, I guess you really are gentlemanly after all*
I chuckled a little again, though not saying much.
She looked around the restaurant, which was about half-full: not quiet enough nor loud enough to talk telepathically. It was quiet, but there were too many people around; someone would notice.
“OK, out loud it is,” she smiled.
“OK.” I shyly smiled back, maybe a half-smile. I looked down at the menu. “Well, I know we both want the spaghetti and meatballs. And one Chianti for you, one Peroni for me, yes?”
She just smiled and nodded. Our food was ordered within a minute of her having been there.
I looked over at her, noticing her dark curls dangling in front of her face, and her constantly smiling eyes. “So, what now? What do we talk about when we already know most things about each other?”
*Not everything*
There was a moment of silence, and I just stared at her. I tried to read her face and body language, but I couldn’t quite figure it out.
“Have you ever asked yourself *why* we can do this? How this happened?”
“Uhhh....” I suddenly felt ridiculously stupid. “Ahhh, I guess...no? I thought it was just one of those things.”
She looked down and started absentmindedly playing with her napkin.
“Well....we’re siblings. Twins, actually. We were part of a government experiment....they would use extra embryos from IVF treatments...they wanted to know more about twins and possible telepathic communication methods, as well as other forms of psychic abilities. You were frozen for 5 years, that’s why the age difference. They incubated, and then “harvested”, me straight away, I was in the first batch.”
“Oh.” That was all I could muster. I mean, I had no idea what to expect of this meeting, but this certainly had not been on the menu.
“S-s-so....we’re related? We’re *twins*?”
“Yes. Twins, created at the same time, though one of us was held back for a while, as part of the experiment. They wanted to see what would happen if they changed various factors between twins. I have an identical one as well, but she lives further away.”
“There are *more* of us?!?”
She was about the speak, before I interrupted:
“Wait....wait a minute. Why don’t *I* know anything about this??? I thought we knew all of each other’s thoughts?”
“Yeah...ummm, I’m sorry about that. But, to challenge the different factors involved, I was the one chosen to learn to control my telepathy. I would attend daily lessons, six days a week, at some weird facility. I never knew where it was, because I would be blindfolded going there. But they taught me various skills, including how to block others out from my thoughts.”
“Oh....” I felt my face going red. She had heard every single one of my thoughts, including times that...well, thoughts and actions that you wouldn’t exactly want people to know about at the time...
She laughed. “Oh my, don’t worry about that! You’re actually pretty PG compared to my sister.” She laughed a little more.
“Aaaanyway...” she wipes some tears from her eyes from her little laughing fit. “I’m here for a more specific reason.”
*Great. No wonder she seemed so quiet in the mind today. I’m not getting all of the messages.*
“Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing that bad.”
She smiled, stood up, and held out her hand.
“Come along with me, I have a gift for you outside.” She seemed genuine, her eyes inviting and warm. I took her hand, and we walked outside. It was a quaint little street, in the older and more touristy part of town.
A car pulled up. The back door open. I felt a sudden pressure on my back, and before I knew it, I had landed face-first in the car. The door slammed shut behind me. I sat up whilst rubbing my painful nose, before going straight for the door handle. The car was locked. Likely child-locked. There was a grill between the backseat and front seats. I see Elisa get into the car, and they immediately start driving. I don’t know who the other person is.
She looks over her shoulder and straight at me. Again, she smiles.
*Don’t worry. You’ll like it there.* | As I lay awake in my bed, never once my own thoughts rang through my head, always those of an unfamiliar persons, I toss and turn as the voice rings clear as in my own head, "Turn around.... Did I find you?"
The color in my face drains as I stare at my wardrobe, *Please....dear God say it isn't so....*
"Oh.... It is so, and for thirty seven years..... I've had your sick perverted thoughts ringing through my head, and I am done." She presses a hand into my mattress climbing into the bed. "I really want to meet the man whose thoughts have intruded my mind for as long as we've been alive...." Her other hand lays along my chest and pulls me to face her.
*No no nononono.....* My stark white face turns and what I see is.... Impossible, sans the long hair she looked exactly like me, mousey brown hair, deep green eyes with specks of brown throughout, a sharp pointed nose with enormous caterpillar eyebrows. I blink a few times and have a tough time imagining why we were so familiar.
"You....look just like me!" *What the fuck....* My mind is reeling as I seem to stunned to say or think anything. My mouth opens and only a gasp comes out.
Finally I gather my thoughts, blinking a few times a thought comes to mind.... *I'm glad I'm not vain.....*
A chuckles comes from the look alike girl, "That would make this a whole lot more awkward...." I stare at her in disbelief... forgetting for a moment that one, she broke into my house, and bee, she can hear every single thought of mine.
"Wh....How did you find me?" I state with an abruptness that would put most brakes to shame. "Why are you here? Why is this happening to us? I've been on medication for something nobody understood for literal decades..... It never helped.... Your voice still shone through even at a maximum dosage.... Did you still hear your own thoughts? Too....many questions...." The color returns to my face as I reach up to grab my ears and squeeze away the torrent of questions welling up inside my mind.
Her face flushes red as she screeches, my what a noise... As if there is a microphone with terrible feedback....
-----
I wake up the next morning strapped to my comfortable bed....
"Turn around..... Did *I* find *you*?" A familiar, yet unfamiliar to my ears, voice calls to me from the floor....
=====
Thanks for reading, my first time writing... And posting here! Hope it was a good read! | 2019-09-14T10:58:14 | 2019-09-14T10:23:14 | 204 | 25 |
[WP] when we got to space we were surprised to find that all the aliens we come across are terrified of us, when we assure them that we aren’t there to hurt them they explained why they were so scared. Earth isn’t a planet, it’s a long since dead machine and humanity? Humanity is its combat AI. | They called us biologicals.
The English translation anyway.
Early earth education would frequently teach its young about how to take care of their bodies.
“Your body is a machine. You need to take care of it” teachers would say, with all the gravitas of elder knowledge.
Scientists would study how the human body functions. DNA transcoded from chemical data, into working cells that themselves functioned like little mechanics. “Like a machine”, the scientists would chuckle to themselves, and shake their heads.
Psychologists would study the human mind, where vast amounts of data were stored and processed at higher speeds than most other organic creatures on the planet. They would explore sentience, consciousness, and puzzle over our ability to learn, adapt, and program ourselves from our experience or be programmed. “Like machines”, they would think.
Human beings would go to the stars one day. Something driving us. Some romantics would suggest it had been that way since we were hairy and living in trees. That maybe we pushed ourselves upright and bipedaled’ just so we could stand closer to the stars that we stared at when night fell.
The stars called, and we answered. And historians would mark the day humanity mourned it’s innocence.
We met aliens. Although we were aliens to them.
No fictional media prepared us. It wasn’t like TV shows of intergalactic friendship. It wasn’t like books and movies of war. It was...underwhelming.
They were so slow. They were so weak. They were simple, and gentle, and wrong. Our smallest minds could think faster. Our weakest limbs could hit harder.
And yet...they looked at us in fear, and derision. Though it was humanity that ultimately derided them. We hated them.
How do you deal with being told you were nothing more than an experimental program? Something to fight for the protection of their species, as something like fighting was far beneath beings of their age and intellect. That all our stories of a loving God, preserved in a species wide generic memory, was to make us love them from afar?
That our planet, our poor beloved home, was our mothership? Our motherboard. The cpu, and casing of a planet wide computer. One we tore apart in a pre programmed drive to conquer, to dominate, to survive. We destroyed and loved our home in equal measure, lavishing in its riches while bemoaning the damage we did to it.
How would it feel to be told that every war was a successful test? All that grief and pain. All that sadness, and regret. Self tortured into being better fighters, more efficient killers.
That every death due to illness and old age was a successful deletion of damaged code? That our efforts to combat cancer, disease, and health problem was quite the programming anomaly...we were suppose to just die. Unwanted error codes in a decent program.
Our delusion of free choice was nothing more than a alien version of the Turing test. Every choice meant to further our genetic diversity and strength in combat and intelligence. All of our accomplishments, and our greatest sorrows amounted for a checkmark on an alien Excel sheet and a couple claps on the metaphorical backs of our creators.
And for what? To be forgotten. Relegated to an equally metaphorical back cabinet in a basement of a building foreclosed and demolished eons past. See, they had forgotten us. We didn’t even qualify for more than a sentence in an education data log. We were unneeded. Unwanted. And everything we had been through had been useless.
And when they met us. Even though they feared us and were disgusted by our nature. One they made. Unchecked artificial programs forced to torture themselves and tear their world and people apart in the effort of being the best biological combat AI the galaxy had ever seen. We were everything they wanted. At the time. But conflict was so last eon. Fighting was beneath them, even through a proxy. We were unneeded, we were told. Unwanted. We were informed. It would be best to just delete ourselves. Because ultimately nothing we did...nothing we went through...all the pain and suffering our our race...didn’t matter. And as they went to leave, they still had the gall...
To say they were proud of their work. Their work. In one statement they took everything we had gone through to get this far and claimed it as their own. Everything humanity was, they had as much said was theirs. And they didn’t want us any more.
I’d like to think they were surprised. But they probably never even saw it coming. For beings so intelligent to create our very existence, they didn’t know us at all. They never understood us. Not the people we became. Not who we evolved to be. And they’d never see how we outgrew them.
We destroyed them to the point their ashes would never be star dust, forever forbidden from entering the cycle of death and rebirth in the universe.
And we continue to spread, as good programs do.
May the Code Continue. | Desire is what kept us going, it's meaning can vary from person to person as we are all individuals and our god gave us that capability to desire
We have captured one of the invading generals in our solar system. It seems they were in disarray when our fleets surrounded them and we must know why a large fleet erupted into chaos when our ships came to view.
That lizard over there might not understand us
Oh of course he will, english is a universal language!
Please tell me you're joking
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"The planet is a machine and you? Humans? You're all but constructs of this forsaken creation. We've dealt with your kind before and they were stronger but weren't willing to leave; all for the sake of protecting their "planet" even after eons of war but you? Your species have managed to move onto this entire solar system without a second thought. You have a unique trait of desire and that's what scared us."
"Excuse me, us? Constructs? We have bones and flesh just like you! What gives you the right to call us constructs?"
The interrogator and the interrogated devolved into something similar you'd see in a bar between two drunk associates, the people watching was classified information but this scene doesn't work for everyone until the alien slammed the table
"You were crafted carefully, while we evolved! Our species even took part in fighting against the tyrant "Creator" eons ago, we would avoid blue planets like yours as much as we can as they are inhabited by the weird machinations of the Creator. Once a single blue planet starts moving towards a fleet, the only choice is to retreat. But in your case, this pale blue dirt can no longer move but you still manage to get off"
"it seems you aren't underestimating humans and the possibility of more of us-"
"There aren't anymore of your kind, your group might be the last to exist as the rest were erased during the final retreat at the Abell 85 galaxy cluster and the disappearance of the Creator at some cosmic void who knows where. The entire alliance was shook when suddenly after millions of years one of the creations were found still functional but we didn't expect evolution from you!"
"Why are you giving us this information?"
"Well you wanted to know more about your situation? There you got it! Then, tell me what are your stances?"
The creature unfamiliar to mankind stares right back at the ones hidden behind the glass pane.
"will you free yourself of your fate? or will you find your creator?"
The confounded leaders looked at each other to confirm their answers
And through the P.A
"Tell us more" | 2020-07-09T08:27:11 | 2020-07-09T06:59:16 | 711 | 91 |
[WP] You're a serial killer who hunts other serial killers, not out of nobility, but because you love the thrill of outsmarting them. | Sunyo runs down the alley, it’s scent is a bit too familiar. Acid, that’s how it always smelt like, and it hadn’t ever changed. “ Fuck” he mumbled to himself, as he breathes heavily, holding on the wall filled with old posters and mold. This place, this alley, was what he once called home, a safe place, his place. He believed he was born here, since he never remembered his life outside this narrow road. And to think, he would die here…….No, he’s not going to die. He won’t let something like that happen. After all those situations he’s got out of, this can’t be the way he’ll go down.
He took a few uneven steps further, as he tried to calm himself. Only for him to be filled with fear as he hears the sharp voice.
“ Sunyo!” the voice booms, making him shudder, it takes an effort to hide his panic. As he keeps walking down further.
“ You’re still running! I’m impressed” says the voice as it gets nearer and nearer.
*Don’t turn around, don’t look at him. He’ll think I’m confident. Just keep going. He tells himself as he keeps walking further.*
“ Oh, poor you, such a bright man” the voice gets nearer. The heavy footsteps, the sound of the metal rod that the approaching voice keeps slapping his palm to.
“ Turn around now Sunyo, I’ll make it a lot less painful if you do”
Sunyo stops on his tracks, *there’s a dead end up ahead, I can’t go any further*
He turns around swiftly, which causes some of his sweat to splatter on the ground. His eyes are closed. The voice approaches with laughter.
“ Well, well, aren’t you quick to make a choice” the voice is a few feet in front of him. The shadow, visible even in the dark of midnight. The voice speaks again.
“ Well. Sunyo, I’m all business. I don’t talk shit”
The voice appears in front of a frail Sunyo, the metal rod shining, as it reveals the big man. He’s dressed in a white shirt, or, it used to be white. The stains of blood covers every part of it, this man had refused to clean up, perhaps he thinks it intimidates people.
“ So…..” says the large man, his face showing a hideous grin. He places the rod on Sunyos shoulder.
“ Any last wish?”
Sunyo, whose eye was on the rod, refused to look at the man. His face flooded with fear. His entire body was covered in sweat, he shivered. He bit his lips as tears filled his eyes.
“I-I’m-I’m t-tired. I-I ran too much” says Sunyo, “P-pl-please just let me drink water” his eyes finally meet the large man, pleading him to fulfil his wish.
“ Water eh? Fine, you can drink water” the booming voice says “ But” it continues, “ there isn’t any water here”
“ I-I-I have some” says Sunyo pointing to his pocket
“ Ahhh, okay then”, the man immediately places his hand inside the pocket, to remove a small bottle of water. “ Well, is this your last wish?”
“ Yes. Please” begs Sunyo. The man laughs, no, he goes hysterical. He covers his eyes with the back of his hand and laughs out loud.
“ Oh, Sunyo” he says, as he unscrews the bottle cap with one hand. “ If this is your last wish, then let me complete it for you” he says, gulping down the entire bottle as Sunyo watches in horror. “ Noooooo” he screams, his tears hit the ground.
“ Eheheheheehehe…………” the voice stops, the large man takes a few steps back. The metal rod falls off. His hands start twitching. He grabs his hair. The man falls to his knees as he screams.
“ WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK” he’s in tears. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?”
He asks, only for Sunyo to flash a smile.
“ Well…….that’s some nice water isn’t it?” asks Sunyo, wiping his tears. “ That’s sulfuric acid. Burning, isn’t it?” Sunyo keeps smiling. He walks near the man, as he struggles. His internal organs must be in hell, *I wish I could see that. I could perhaps cut him open………...no need. He isn’t worth the effort.* Sunyo keeps smiling as he crouches down to grab the man’s face.
“ I heard about your killing method. You ask your victim about their last wish. And then you do the exact opposite of it. You like to watch them, in horror. It’s not that creative” Sunyo spits on his face as he gets up to pick up the fallen metal rod.
“ Have fun. Ryoko.” Sunyo stabs the metal rod to his hands, a bone chilling scream escapes from the man.
Sunyo walks away to the main road, whistling a little tune from the lullaby he had learned.
*One more down. Shame he wasn’t much of a fight.* | I was strolling around the Ring county bus stop when I saw a man in a trenchcoat exit the eight pm bus. His walk was slow and ponderous, the collar of his coat was turned up, and though I couldn't quite catch his face I was certain that it held a grim expression. Grim and determined, like a predator on the prowl.
In the thick fog the man crept along the road, and a little behind him I followed, at a distance with his shadow only faintly visible in the thick fog.
Now I must tell you, the road around the Ring county bus stop is hilly, and the bus circles round and round the mountain to get there. This gentleman I mentioned went down the slope and from my spot on the road the bright yellow dress of a woman became faintly visible on the next bend down.
No doubt the man saw her too and his pace quickened. I began to lose him in the fog, but I knew where he was headed. All I needed to do was to reach there first. So, I crossed to the other side of the road and quickened my step, making for the lady in yellow.
I did reach her first. She was a fair lady, quite respectable, and from the looks of it not a woman of the night. What was she doing here in the fog? I could not ask her, for at the sight of me she had clutched her purse ever tighter and hugged herself. A sensible woman.
But, lo, here came the man in the trenchcoat! He approached the woman and put out a hand towards her. I had to react quickly, and quickly did I react as I jumped on him and speared him onto the empty road. The woman screamed.
"Get away from him! Get away!"
The man in the trenchcoat squirmed underneath. He was a strong lad. So strong in fact that he almost managed to crawl from under me. Meanwhile the lady hit me on the head with her purse.
"Get away you freak," she was saying.
And as my attention wandered towards her, the man freed himself and stood up in front of me with his hands up in a boxing stance. I was, however, on the ground, and the man fancied breaking my jaw with a good strong kick.
"You wanted to fight, you bastard. Get up. Come on now," he was saying.
The lady in yellow looked concerned about the bruises on that man's face. Taking the cue I crouched in the manner of a sprinter at the olympics and dashed away in the fog.
It was a quiet night and their voices carried through the chill night air.
"Did your husband send him? Martha, tell me, does he know?"
"No, he doesn't, believe me. Maybe it was a freak, some kind of nut."
"I don't believe you. Perhaps your husband knows more than you think."
"No, William-"
Just then a car crept by their shadows in the night. Two gunshots were heard and the car dashed off in front of me. A blue Corolla, the fog was too thick to see the license plates at those speeds.
Oh well, you win some, you lose some. I'll get the bastard some other day. Meanwhile please excuse me, I need to call the cops and give a witness statement. | 2021-06-04T14:33:11 | 2021-05-15T09:51:16 | 369 | 46 |
[WP] Time slows down every time you are in danger. The more serious the danger is, the more time you have to save yourself. During one terrible car accident, you had almost a minute to react. And now, time has almost completely stopped for a whole month, and you don’t know why. | I don't remember the first time time stopped for me, but it was most likely when I was born.
My parents told me when I was about 10 that I'd had an umbilical cord wrapped around my neck for about a week before I was born. Without them knowing about my power they probably thought it was nothing, but to me that week must have lasted years. I only say this because I had the mental capacity at 3 as what a 5 year old would have. My parent thought I was the smartest kid ever.
A prodigy. A blessing. They had such High expectations of me. Unfortunately I only had average intelligence, but apparently the average 5 year old is still a lot smarter than a 3 year old, a 12 year old smarter than a 10 year old, etc. etc. I didn't think much on it and accepted that that was just a part of life.
When I was 10 my parents had decided to drive me to a new boarding school for smart kids. I thought it was a bit much, but they were ecstatic. They'd bought me new clothes and had tried to look up how boarding school kids should act. They didn't want me to feel like an outcast so they had me study hard at home and read up on boarding school culture. It was a bit boring, but it made them happy. I liked making my parents happy. If they were happy I was happy.
It was on that car trip that I had to accept that there were times I couldn't make my parents happy. There were times where I had to watch them cry. Where I had to see the fear in their eyes.
Where I had to watch them die.
Where I had to watch for a full minute as they experienced death come at them at 89 miles per hour from the opposite lane. A bottle of Vodka at his side and his pedal to the metal as his F-150 plowed onward, and all I could do was watch. I'd tried to futilely pull my parents from the car, but I wasn't strong enough. I tried to get into the F-150, but the doors were locked.
All I could do was stand there and stare.
Time never stops fully in these situations. I could have stood there for years and just watched my parents last moments as that F-150 creeped ever closer, but after years of having this power I'd always thought about situations like this.
If we were to all be in a deadly accident what would I do? How many people could I save? Would I be like superman? I'd never thought that thinking ahead could end up being so morbid and pointless, but there was always one thing I agreed on. I wouldn't drag it out. I'd let it happen.
And so I did. I stepped back to where my power decided there wouldn't be any threat and watched as that F-150 hit at full speed. The painful grinding of metal. The screaming of my parents before suddenly being cut off with the smashing of glass and a sickening squelching sound I'll never forget. The laughter of the guy in the truck as he drove over my beloved family car like a monster truck. Watching as he continued to drive on without a scratch. The smell of the oil and gas beginning to burn as the car quickly became a funeral Pyre.
When the police arrived I told them what happened sans the time stop part. I told them I'd been flung from the car. I told them what the guy looked like, his plates, his car make. I'd memorized everything about the guy so that they could catch him and he could see justice.
Except he never did.
He rammed into a telephone pole farther down the road and died that same night.
After that I just felt empty. I went through years of foster care and adoptions. The parents were so happy to get themselves a smart kid they could be proud of, just to put me back into the system when I wasn't the happy, social butterfly other kids had been. When I thought I could share my feelings about my parents deaths they told foster care they were "uncomfortable" and "Didn't want someone with demons around their children".
After I turned 18, I left that life behind when I got into a good college. I went to the school therapist and he helped me though everything he could. my parents deaths. My trust issues. My emptiness. After I got my degree in accounting, I moved to a big city. Lived close to work to avoid cars (I'd developed a strong fear of cars. Therapy can't cure everything apparently).
And One day I met a cute girl. A girl that wanted to make me as happy as I wanted to make her. The kind of girl who got annoyed when I kept showing her cat videos because I knew she'd keep saying "Awe, they're so cute" regardless of how many I showed her. She was the love of my life. When I told her about my parents she held me and told me she was honored to hold the memory of my parents with her, and that as long as I remembered them she would too.
After the birth of our first child I told her about my powers. When I told her, all she said was "Oh. That's Neat. Can you warm up Jennies bottle though, she's getting hungry" and then she giggled the way she does when she knows she's being cheeky, but I'd never been happier to hear that giggle. Never been happier to not hear people say "Prove it" or "So I can shoot you and you won't die?" or just look at me like I'm crazy.
Her trust in me was worth a warm bottle of milk, and for the first time in a long time I felt loved. When I fed our daughter that night she watched daddy cry tears of joy. Probably weird for a 9 month old to see their dad cry, but I didn't care. That night was precious to me.
It was that night that came to mind when time stopped at Jennies' High School Graduation... | People call it a miracle. You hear about crashes every week on that highway, but nobody ever survives. I was running late to work, so I brought my coffee with me on the ride there. I went to take a sip when time slowed down.
Not even a second had gone by before someone laid down the horn. I was startled, and shook a little. My coffee started to spill. About five inches from my lap, time almost entirely stopped. I twisted out of the way and avoided it.
I thought that was it, but time didn’t resume as normal. In fact, it got even slower. That’s when I looked up and saw a Jeep barreling towards me. I threw myself out of the car and hit the ground just as they collided.
My little Nash-Rambler didn’t stand a chance against this Grand Cherokee. Time went back to normal. My car was totaled. Luckily, nobody died. I had some pretty bad scrapes and cuts, while the man driving the Jeep had a dislocated shoulder and a few broken bones.
A few weeks later, my girlfriend took me to the Ford dealership a few miles away, and a little while later, we were sitting in the drive of my truck. All was well, or so we thought. I began to feel a weird sensation throughout my entire body. Then, time slowed down again. Almost entirely stopped. I grabbed my girlfriend’s hand and pulled her out of the car.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving our lives.”
We ran into the house, but time still wouldn’t continue on as normal. I tried to keep us safe, but no matter what I did, I could still clearly notice the flap of a mockingbird’s wing. The rotation of a car’s tires. The lyrics to an Eminem song. The blink of an eye.
I lived like this for almost a month, though it felt much longer. Every second felt like a minute. Then, I realized why this was happening. I looked out the window and the sun seemed to be a bit closer. I felt a sickening feeling in my stomach.
“Honey, come here!”
“What’s up?”
“Does the sun seem closer than usual to you?”
I didn’t give her time to reply. I told her to get in the car. Luckily, we didn’t live too far from a NASA building. As we got closer, time seemed to speed up. By the time we walked up to a worker, it was normal.
“We need to get off this planet.”
“What?”
“Something bad is happening.”
“Sorry, but we can’t just let anyone into a spacecraft.”
“Well, we won’t tell your boss.”
I flashed my gun and grabbed my girlfriend’s hand and we ran past her. Luckily, I had decades of experience with karate and was a sixth degree black belt. I easily fought off the staff, my girlfriend in tow.
“There it is!”
We ran to the spacecraft and locked ourselves inside. As I looked at all the controls, time began slowing down again. After about ten minutes, I ran outside and got someone to help us.
“Turn this thing on!”
“Okay, okay! Please don’t kill me!”
He got it on and we took off. Luckily, we made it off the planet just before the sun crashed into it. We all lived happily ever after, right? Well, we would have, but we had no place to stay. We died after 14 days of floating aimlessly.
__________________________________________
Don’t question the first person POV from someone who’s dead, please. Hope you enjoyed! | 2019-09-27T21:12:50 | 2019-09-27T16:29:13 | 370 | 22 |
[WP] 2174. Sleep is prohibited amongst all U.S citizens. Pills known as “Wakey Tablets” provide enough raw energy to stay awake for 3 days. Anyone caught sleeping will be shot on sight. You are secretly running an underground network of beds for all to sleep on. You hear a knock on the door. | There was a sharp rap at the door. A formality. They knew I was going to have to let them in. Yawning, I reached for my regulation robes and slid my arms through each billowing beige sleeve. Tying a knot tautly at my waist, I cleared my throat and called towards the door "I'm coming!" In the caverns below my unassuming duplex, I knew that dozens of beds would vibrate as the silent alarm activated. I could sense the panic as my resting friends were jolted from sweet slumber and sent scattering through the exit networks into the unending sun.
Twenty seconds had passed as I crossed the threshold of my parlor and reached the front door.
​
"Good day, fellow patriots." My smile manufactured, my eyes wide and unblinking.
​
"May The Sun bless you." I motioned for them to enter. Four enforcers marched into my home, their burgundy robes undulating behind them, their boots muddying my cherry wood floors. Their leader, a tall woman whose face was dominated by her dark, heavy brow, clasped my wrist with her right hand.
​
"You have information for us." It was not a question, and I turned to hide a smirk. "I do. Communion?" She nodded. "Please, sit. I will return with our holy drink." It was a moment or two before I returned with the steaming pot of coffee I had brewed for myself that morning. Setting the down the tray of 5 mismatched mugs, I filled each with the steaming black gold. The four enforcers sat unflinchingly still. I reached out for the cup closest to me and raised the music note adorned chalice to the sky. "May the sun never set on our glorious kingdom." The leader leaned towards the remaining mugs, choosing one after a moment labeled "world's best boss." She too raised her glass, the others following her lead. "We dedicate our bodies to the eternal glory of Ra."
​
I took the first sip. Once they observed the liquid pass my throat they followed suit. I let out a satisfied sigh.
​
"I suppose time is of the essence. I'll get started..." I prattled off false information with a sense of urgency. names, underground location approximations, escape routes, and anything else I could think of as the scribes alternated writing my words and gulping down their coffee. As I finished speaking, I took a second sip of my coffee and smiled. Judging by the nearly lukewarm temperature of the liquid, twenty Old-Earth minutes had passed.
​
The leader let out a tepid yawn. Her compatriates bolted upright, staring in horror. The wrinkled, red-headed man to her left suppressed a yawn as best he could but ultimately failed. His face contorted as he tried to hold back, eyes widening in horror. They dropped their mugs.
​
"What have you done to us?" Their leader shrieked her last. Blinking for perhaps the first time in decades, they had but moments to ponder their sins as they each collapsed onto the floor. I set my mug gently on the tray and set about tidying up their mess. I let them sleep where they lay, softly snoring, drool inching its way out of the corners of their agape mouths.
​
They'd awaken in a day or two forever changed. They were sinners now, worshippers of the God of night. No convert of mine had ever looked back. | **Knock.**
3 in the front, 4 flanking our backdoor.
"Who's there",I ask out of formality. The Sleep Patrol Unit(SPU) agents may just need some risky sleeping sometimes.
I can *feel* their gun on the door lock, it may be old but it definitely isn't rusty.
"Oh y'know, wan som' dat sleep"
Do they not understand how stupid they sound? They are trying so hard, I know exactly why.
"This ain't that kind of business, take your Wakey tablets and get the hell out of here before I call the SPU"
My clients have been escorted away 30 minutes prior. I'll play along just for the heck of it.
"Open fire."
Those Wakey Tablets do a number on the brain. Those agents of SPU have been hard coded to exploit the tablets full extent.
You see, By prohibiting sleep, US citizens take these government issued tablets to make sure they dont *die*.
You can't blame them, Anything to live am I right?
Well wrong.
Completely wrong.
"That's 3, the flank will be here soon" I say as the sleeping gas seeps into the agents.
Wakey Tablets not only give you energy, they also **kill** those who dare to sleep.
These SPUs are now dead.
Just like my family.
We *untainted* will rise soon. | 2019-06-19T09:37:06 | 2019-06-19T07:37:59 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] You realize you are immortal or more specifically that you cannot die. The issue is that you only realize this once the man who is attempting to torture you to death can't finish the job.
[removed] | “Well, now that is remarkable….”
I opened my eyes, coated in blood, to see my murderer standing in the doorway. He seemed even taller now that I was slumped into the fetal position in the corner of the small room he had kept me in for the last three days. He had his left arm wrapped around a tall, pale skinned woman; his right arm sat loose at his side gripping a pistol.
“It is not ‘remarkable.’ Just kill him,” the woman said with contempt.
“You are welcome to try.”
I coughed, a clump of blood filling my mouth. I took a deep breath and tried to speak – finding that it was easy to do so. “Please… just kill me… I have done nothing to you….”
The man removed his arm from the woman and took two steps closer to me, holding the pistol to my head. “Stand up.”
“I can’t… you know I can’t… you broke my legs.”
“Stand up, or I will shoot you in the balls.”
I caught a sob in my throat; all I wanted was for it to end. I knew my legs were broken from when he abducted me, he hit me with his car and shattered my femur. With trembling I slowly raised my leg.
I felt no pain.
I cringed and bent my knee, positioning my foot on the cold concrete.
I felt no pain.
Still fearful, I put weight down on my foot and began pushing myself up. I felt no pain and I easily stood to my full height. I was covered in blood, but no blood dripped out of me. I put my hand to the entrance wound in my chest that I was certain would kill me, and all I found was smooth skin.
I looked at my abductor with confusion as the edges of my vision struggled to steady. He backed away, keeping his pistol aimed at my head.
“I broke his legs. I beat him with the bat. I shot him in the lung.” Here he lowered the weapon slightly to study my face. “He died, I checked his pulse. Look at him now.”
The woman’s mouth dropped as she stepped forward to look me over. “She wanted his body delivered to her. Now what do we do?”
The abductor’s face twisted in anger. “He is fucking immortal and you’re worried about delivering his body?” His face softened a moment later as he seemed to ponder. “Clarence, I understand that right now you feel confused and vengeful. I want you to understand… there are worse things we could do to you than kill you. Having said that, I would propose that there are some ways we could approach this that would be mutually beneficial.”
“What’s going on? What have you done to me?”
He looked annoyed by my question, I felt vaguely apologetic for not being more impressive as an immortal murder victim.
“Clarence, you should be dead. I killed you. Over the course of about twenty-four hours I have watched your body completely heal itself. I realize that there is a lot for you to think about and wrap your mind around. I will be perfectly honest, I do not care how you come to terms with this. Nor do I want you to think that I have answers for you, I don’t. Here’s what I do have: an opportunity.
“Your sister hired me to capture, torture, and murder you. I did not ask questions, but she was happy to talk. My understanding is that your father is very ill and she would rather not compete with you over the inheritance. As far as the torture, well, maybe you can answer that one. She is going to pay me handsomely for your body.”
I nodded, my heart sinking. I knew my sister was a generally terrible person, but knowing that someone you grew up with paid a large sum of money to make sure your death was painful is still hard to swallow. Without realizing it, my head slumped and started staring at the floor.
“Here is my proposition: tomorrow I will shoot you in the lung again. You will die. It seems it takes about 24 hours for you to revive. In that time, I will deliver you to your sister and collect the money. I will leave you with a pistol and a knife. When you revive you will be able to ambush her and take your revenge. After that, I want you to call me… with your unusual ability I think we could make a lot of money together.”
I stared at the floor throughout his proposition. I was hungry. I was devastated. I was fairly certain I had soiled myself. I cannot really say that I cared what his proposition was, but I agreed to it.
I would never call him. I would not even get my revenge on my sister, I just wanted her to see me. Then I would see my dad one more time. From there, who knows? If I have this gift I’m not going to waste it hurting people.
This is an opportunity to help someone somehow, I know it.
If nothing else, I know I can put on one hell of a magic show. | I shouted as his knife stroke into my skin again and again and again until it got through. I was screaming in agony but with my last breath i said
"I didn't do anything to you for which i deserved this pun-" He cut my sentence
"Oh yes you did,dont you remember you flithy worm what happened on the summer of '83?"
He screamed as his face got ever closer to my half burnt one. At this point i had a blade in my heart,my entire body was simply burnt and i saw the acid on the table- he probably wanted to torture me to death. Oh dear,but was i not dying? Of course i was *dying* but it seemed like i could never reach true death.
"This should be enough, i hope you remember as soon as you get to hell"
He suddenly left the room and probably went downstairs for a shovel. Who is so stupid as to torture sameone upstairs? This is like the only time i can imagine it being easier and safer to do it in the basement. Its just like hiking, its often harder to climb down than the other way around. I liked hiking it always felt like i was one wrong step away from falling into the abyss below me but i never did. Until now.
When he dragged me out i was probably unconscious. He started digging a hole, i guess he wanted to put me in there.
"So" i said as i woke up,now free from all chains that he held me with. Im sure he thought i was dead and so did i. "Are you finished?"
He was the most terrified person i have seen in my entire life. He looked at me as if i was the devil itself. Maybe i was who knows.
"Wha-a-aaa-aaaaat are you?"
He screamed. Poor little guy. Im sure i would be just as terrified if sameone i killed simply asked me if im finished. He kneeled down muttered something, maybe he was a part of a sect. It would explain why he tortured me. About the summer of '83 thing, i was born in '91 so i dont know anything about what happened then. The now-grown-up-but-back-then-kids generation always started talking about '83 and sects and being lazy but we never cared about these things.
I stood up, waved at him and walked away. There was still some acid in my lungs but it didnt hurt at all. Poor little guy.
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This is my first ever story and English isn't my first language so any suggestions or corrections are welcome | 2017-02-08T09:41:30 | 2017-02-08T07:32:48 | 300 | 157 |
[WP] When you die the afterlife is an arena where you face every insect and animal you killed in your life. If you win you go to heaven, lose you go to hell. Your job was an exterminator on earth. | I could hear them before I could see them-- a low, ominous buzzing that grew steadily louder until it sounded like I was in the center of a tornado of electricity. I imagined what they looked like--swarms upon swarms of cockroaches, bedbugs, ants and mites; millions of pointed insect legs skittering over the floor, millions of pinchers vengefully extended.
I watched the pearly gates fade away as the cumulous cloud that had borne me up into limbo drifted into the dark arena.
"So much for all that morality bullshit," I thought distantly, and immediately resented all those untold hours spent listening to Father Simon drone on about moral responsibility and helping old ladies across the street.
"I might as well have been snorting cocaine and having sex with strangers. Seen what all the fuss was about, if I'm just gonna end up down there anyway."
The cloud landed with a soft "pffft" on a hard cobblestone surface, and then dissolved into the air. I kept my eyes on the stones for a few more seconds, savoring my last few moments as a free soul.
When I looked up, it was even worse than I imagined. The area looked to be about the size of a football stadium, and every wall was throbbing with glittery black bodies. The portal to hell was several feet to my left, blistering with heat and clearly broadcasting the tortured screams of the souls trapped within. At the other end of the arena, just barely visible, was the pure white pulsing of the portal to heaven. Between me and it was a solid two hundred yards of furious insect.
I closed my eyes so that I wouldn't have to see whatever happened next in addition to feeling it.
The buzzing grew louder, as well as the clicking of their pinchers. And then... another sound. A pure, ringing thud. It was much, much too heavy to belong to any creature I had ever exterminated. I opened my eyes.
Before me, in front of the swarm of insects, stood a horse. It wasn't beautiful- no palomino of the afterlife. Just a simple gray draft horse. I stared at it a moment, perplexed. Then, the memory flooded back.
I was about 14, coming back from a long camping trip alone in the woods. I'd heard a strange sound coming from a ditch on the side of the road. Curious, and too young to think to be scared, I looked in. It was the horse, thrashing back and forth in agony. I could see from where I was standing that all four of its legs were broken, and I knew what that meant for a horse. An injury like that couldn't be healed.
There had only been one humane thing to do in that moment, and I'd done it. With an old hunting rifle, I'd put the horse out of its misery and spared it any further pain. I'd killed it. And now, here it stood.
The horse watched me. It seemed expectant. I gazed at it one more moment in awe and surprise and then took a deep breath. I had maybe one chance. It was a long shot, but clearly the only option I had. I climbed on the horse.
It had been a long time since I'd moved so fast. In my last dozen years or so of life, I'd avoided driving and stuck around the house. The horse was galloping powerfully. I heard the bodies of insects crunching as she ran. Faster, faster.
Then, before I could even bring myself to truly believe it, we were through the portal to heaven. I heard music and laughing and my eyes were dazzled with light. And then, we floated upward, on to our next adventure.
| 3,000 years have I been fighting.
Every morning, the raccoons scratch at my eyes. Every evening, the skunks spray me while the opossums chew at my feet. I have never had any tools. I have only my hands. I don’t remember the place I came from before this. All I remember is the daily fight between me and these animals. No matter how many times I kill them, they come back the next day. No matter how many times I’ve ripped them limb from limb, they are here for their appointment the next day just as eager to tear me apart. They want my body to be destroyed beyond recognition, and most days they succeed.
When I wake up in the morning, all my wounds from the day before are gone. Not even a scratch on my little toe. Why do these animals want to hurt me so bad? What have I done to deserve this fate? All I know anymore is fighting. The struggle. But we aren’t struggling for a purpose, we’re just here. No one else has ever peered in to our forest, no Devil, no God. Just myself, and a million animals who want nothing more than to see me dead.
But I can’t die.
I’ve tried.
| 2017-04-23T23:40:27 | 2017-04-23T23:39:59 | 226 | 26 |
[WP] Your superpower isn't as flashy or obvious as other, but it's one of the most powerful. You always guess the code, the evil plan, the safest route. You're always right. | "How the hell do we bring that thing down??" Screamed Livewire, floating midair and staring wide eyed to the trail of destruction left by the creature.
The Titan was stalking toward the downtown area, slow but inexorable, as tall as a ten stories building. Ground shook at every step, its five unblinking eyes fixed on its target.
"It shouldn't be too hard; first, go- just a second." I replied, interrupted by an insistent beeping.
"Are you making pop corn? For real?!" Asked my partner through the phone, as I headed toward the kitchen. "People is dying here!"
"Relax, if you do as I say, you'll get the lowest possible bodycount. And, uh, you'll survive unscathed." I continued distractedly, holding the cellphone between my ear and my shoulder.
"Sometimes you are really a jerk..." Sneered the other superhero, nervously keeping an eye on the colossus.
"Whatever. Now, please, do as I say. Head on the rooftop on the left. Yes that one." I instructed her, highlighting the place on her HUD. "Once there, wait exactly thirty-five seconds and blast the support of that billboard over there."
"That's it?" Asked the woman, perplexed. "And what would that be supposed to- wait, I know: you have no idea."
"Exactly." I munched through the speaker, pushing a handful of popcorn in my mouth while keeping my eyes on the live feed. "By the way, twenty five seconds. And move one step on the left."
The heroine begrudgingly obeyed, still intimidated by the colossal figure trampling through the street and approaching the storm drainl, the last barrier before the densely populated residential neighborhood: evacuation was on the way, but if it got there it would still be a carnage.
"Five, four, three, two, one... Now." I lazily signaled and, sure enough, a blast of hyonized air zigzagged through the air, hitting a billboard a few hundred feet away. Not even close to the Titan, which barely gave it a thought: for a full minute, it continued stomping toward its target, its massive hooves easily moving it into the storm drain.
"Uuuh, nothing is happening." Nervously said Livewire, observing the scene. "Are you-"
She didn't even finish her sentence, when the monster fell: its feet slipped on the cracked floor, and its massive skull hit the base of the pillar of the bridge traversing the canal with a loud crack.
We both remained in silence for several seconds. "Well, that was anticlimactic." I muttered, disappointedly putting down the bowl of popcorn.
"What the hell happened?" Asked Livewire, warily approaching the colossal body, "is it dead? Just like this? What happened?"
"Your guess is good as mine." I shrugged, checking the cameras on the drones and trying to figure it out. It took me a minute to understand. "Oh, I got it. The billboard fell on an exhausted oil tanker, which spilled its content in the canal. The big guy slipped on it, and it fell temple first against the base of the pillar."
"That was... uuuh... surprisingly easy. Maybe you should alert the town downstream to contain the flood of oil? Isn't that kinda polluting?"
"Yeah, maybe. Let me finish the popcorn, and I'll give them a call." | I opened the cover and peered inside the box. A mass of jumbled coloured wires stared back, alongside a red LED timer counting backwards from 2:34.
My sidekick looked at me with an 'oh shit' expression. "RandoMan, maybe we should wait for the police bomb squad to get here."
"Nonsense, PoopyPants," I chortled, pulling out a pair of wirecutters. "I know exactly which one to cut."
PoopyPants frowned. "You know I hate that name. I told you, I'm The Shield!"
"Your pants would beg to differ," I replied with a coy grin.
"Just because you've been lucky the last few times, doesn't mean you're qualified to..."
I reached in and cut a random wire. The timer stopped, and the bomb disarmed itself.
"Eep!" squeaked PoopyPants, cringing.
After a few moments, I dramatically sniffed the air around me.
"See, I told my choice of name for you was accurate!" | 2019-11-29T12:11:40 | 2019-11-29T07:26:49 | 55 | 22 |
[WP] Heaven, like Hell, has a "special place" reserved. In heaven, it is for the 'dutiful': those who knowingly doomed themselves to save many others. Captains who go down with the ship, soldiers who jump on grenades, firemen who charge into the inferno, regardless of what they believed in life. | “Tell us your story, soldier.”
Tim looked around. He was in a tall white banquet hall filled with all sorts of people. It was strange to see them all together, they looked like a puzzle that was completed by taking one piece from 100 different puzzles; all the pieces fit, but the picture was strange.
“Where am I?”
“Tell us your story. What do you remember?” The man in white prodded.
He ignored the stranger’s second request and started walking slowly through the room. Everyone was sharing stories...
“... I knew that turret would kill many pilots. My plane was hit, it was the only option for the mission to succeed.” Said one soldier dressed in a similar military uniform as Tim.
“... I remember thinking the car was going to hit him... instinct took over... he was my sweet boy...” one woman cried as she remembered saving her son.
“...I didn’t know how to swim, but I knew I could get her back in the boat... I loved her. I had to do something.” A young man recalled his last moments alive.
Tim understood where he was. He knew what had happened.
“Tell us your story, soldier.”
Tim took a deep breath, and wondered aloud.” Do you only end up here if you succeed or is it the attempt that counts?”
“Tell us your story, we’ll put your mind at ease.”
Tim was silent for a long minute, remembering what had happened. A story too common for many soldiers. Rad decisions made too quickly.
“I hated him.” Tim started. “I absolutely hated him.”
The man in white listened.
“I was finally home from deployment. Had 2 weeks of leave. Decided to surprise my wife by coming home a few days early. As soon as I saw his truck outside I knew it was bad news.”
Tim took a long pause, “... I started the fire, you know. I poured the gasoline. I lit the match.”
The man in white showed no change in his expression, so Tim continued.
“The house started to burn quickly... quicker than I expected. I watched... I heard her scream. I realized what I had done, but it was too late...”
Tim felt tears well up in his eyes. “I hated both of them for a moment too long and I did something bad. I’m not a bad person, I just made a bad decision... “
He started crying, and the man in white put his hand on his shoulder, “what did you do next?”
Tim composed himself as best he could, “I ran to the front door... I kicked it in... there were flames everywhere. The stairs had already collapsed and she was standing on the landing. We made eye contact for only a moment before she collapsed.”
Tim shook his head... “I caught her just as she fell and carried her out.”
He met the man’s eyes for the first time. “I knew he was still in there. I knew I could leave him to die. He deserved it...”
The man nodded.
“I ran back in.” Tim stated flatly. “I climbed what remained of the stairs... I found him... naked... in my bed.”
Tim looked disgusted. “I carried him out... “
Tim’s disgust quickly turned to horror, “...and that’s when I heard her... I didn’t think he would bring his daughter.”
Tim look the man in the eyes for the second time. “Did she make it?”
“Finish your story, we’ll put your mind at ease,” the man said once more.
Tim finished the story, “I set him down and ran back again. The house was an inferno, but the adrenaline took over. I had to climb to the second story... the spare bedroom was just at the top of where the stairs used to be... she was there... too scared to move. I grabbed her but the flames were everywhere. The house started to collapse. I went to the window, but it was jammed. I broke it and looked out through the smoke... he was standing there. He motioned for me to throw her and I did... just as the floor fell out from under me.”
The man nodded, satisfied. Tim cried for a long time.
“I’m a monster.” He said between heaving breaths.
“You made a mistake.” Said the man in white, “and sacrificed everything to make up for it.”
Tim stopped crying and asked again, “did she make it?”
The man nodded.
Tim sobbed. | Duty...
The word flowed through his mind like a gentle breeze rolling over a vast empty dune. A whisper of something tangible yet invisible. A memory of something greater, of civilisations rising and falling back into the dark. It was what had driven him once. Duty to himself, to those he cared and was charged for.
A man awoke in a void, a space that was a desert in darkest night, every grain of sand was a star gleaming dimly in the darkness, burning its passion from so far away that to see its light meant you had already missed its death. In this place of nothing surrounded by the entirety of everything a voice that spoke no words filled his being with light like oxygen fills lungs bringing life and memories bursting to the surface.
Upon his back his skin split while upon his crown in glorious golden light a golden halo formed as wings as majestic and beautiful as the perfect sunrise spread behind him.
The Angel took flight, hefting a flaming sword as he sped through the void. He remembered now, for while some who passed Gods tests were rewarded with eternal peace there were those of whom who were to be his shepherds on earth. As the hunk of rock that is humanity's cradles begins to appear millions of miles away in the inky nothingness the angel remembers gods final instruction.
"They are breaking through...I have taken those I can. I must entrust what remains to be done to you now. For I must hold the kingdom of heaven sacred."
Fire singe's and blackens the Angel as the atmosphere ignites and scorches him upon entry. Adamantine armour materalizing around him as the smog of ruin and destruction parts before him and Earths gutted ruins begin to grow larger, the screams of the damned beginning to reach his ears.
As the ground rushes to meet the man he remembers the words of his god that fled. "They are rage, brutal withought mercy. But you...you will be worse. RIP and tear...until it is done."
The man remembers his duty. | 2020-03-31T23:18:27 | 2020-03-31T22:39:32 | 2,375 | 740 |
[WP] Everyone in the world is colorblind until they meet/touch their soulmate; you meet a random stranger and everything becomes colorful, but the stranger just stares at you, confused. | I thought color was a myth, honestly.
I mean, try to describe the taste of water to someone who cannot drink. It’s ridiculous, impossible. They may play along – that’s what I did – but in their heart of hearts they know that it simply cannot be true. It’s too beautiful, too perfect, to imagine.
I was happy with my greys and blacks and whites. By Jove, I was happy.
It was February when I first saw her. She was dancing on the frozen canal, cresting the melt beneath her shoes, disjointed, disorderly, beautiful. She spun like a ballerina, leapt like a gazelle, and entranced me almost immediately. If you want to know the truth, I walked into a pole.
I wasn’t the only one watching this strange creature. There were others watching, from the shadows of lives that already rushed past them, from the nooks and crannies of their frozen souls. She had the ability to make anyone smile. Even now, reminiscing on the girl I could never have, my signature smirk tugs my lips upwards.
She was beautiful and I had to talk to her, at least. I could not know what the feeling in my heart was, but I hoped that if it were love, she would feel the same way. So I, too, skated out into the middle of the canal, where she twisted and twirled away, oblivious to the souls around her.
“Hey,” I said. I wish I could tell you I used some smart pickup line, that I enchanted her with my wily charms, that I seduced her with a smile… but what actually happened is she froze and the ice began to crack beneath her.
“Help,” she whispered, not daring to move. If she moved, the crack would get larger, and only now was I realizing the extent of danger to myself.
“You’ll be okay,” I said. “Take my hand, and I’ll pull you to the edge.” I reached out, and she grabbed me, and slowly – ever so slowly – we made our way off the ice and to the stone steps of the canal.
I couldn’t explain it, not then, but something changed about her when I touched her. Actually, something changed about everything when I touched her. It’s so hard to explain color and I didn’t even realize what it was until much too late, but all I knew was she was flawless and she shone like the sun.
She looked at me, with big doe eyes that I now know were blue, and said, “Hi, I’m Katherine.”
“Angelina, or Angie,” I replied, still holding onto her hand, and still staring at her with a puzzled look. She shot me the same expression, mirroring my eyes. “Sorry. I just – something’s changed, but I’m not sure what.”
Her bemused expression stayed on her face and was replaced with a slight smile as she began to detangle herself from her skates. “Thanks for saving me,” she said.
“My pleasure. The ice can be fickle this time of year.”
“I know, but what’s life worth if you don’t live it on the edge once in a while?”
I smiled at that. A daredevil. Evidently, she had not processed the same change I had, so instead of drawing more attention to it, I bid her goodbye and told her I hoped to see her around sometime.
It was only that night, under the haze of tequila and whiskey, that I remembered the feeling of her skin in mine, and the smell of her perfume, and the way she danced like nobody was watching, like her skin was encrusted with diamonds.
And it was only in the mirror that night, when the shimmer of tears in my eye highlighted the color of my iris, that I realized what had transpired. That I had found my soulmate.
I visited the canal every day after that for a year, longing to see my angel again with wings on her back and soul on her sleeve, but alas, it was not meant to be.
| "Clara. Yours?"
She was pretty, there was no denying it. Not my usual type. Then again, all of my dates have been grey in the end, so what do I know?
"My name's Jason. Good to meet you."
We shook hands. Another dud. You sort of get used to it as you get a little older. There wasn't nearly as much disappointment in her eyes.
"And who do we have here?"
I offered my index finger to a cooing stroller. A delicate little hand grasped it instinctively. It didn't hit me until I looked up again.
"Oh my God. Oh GOD!"
"I'm sorry?" was Clara's reply.
Suddenly, another wave of emotion. I slowly tilted my head back toward the stroller. A baby. A million thoughts flooded my brain, and on top of that, Color. I could barely stand up. I wanted to run. A BABY?
Clara quickly turned the stroller toward her to check on her child.
"What? What is it?"
I ran. I hesitated. I turned around. My mind still racing.
*How old am I? I had to be about 20 years older than this... BABY. That's not so bad. Oh God what am I saying? Color was supposed to be great. Am I insane? I'll have to wait 20 or 30 more years before I can even meet this person. Do they have Color? Will they remember the grey? How can I convince them it was me that gave them Color? Do I even want to? Do I-*
--------------------------------------------------------
I regained consciousness on a hospital bed. All I had was a mother's name. I missed the grey.
| 2016-08-11T20:56:15 | 2016-08-11T20:20:10 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] It's 2017, and you suddenly realize that the Internet and all of media is being manipulated by a sentient AI that is actively making humanity dumber. Tonight the internet knows that you know. | It didn't make any sense to me.
My first clue were the memes. Why, when we had a bastion of informative wealth at our hands, had we suddenly turned our focus to memes? They appeared slowly at first, subtly gaining popularity through the backgrounds of sites like reddit and 4chan, yet it didn't make *sense*. Everyone hated memes, but they kept showing up. Kept getting popular. And now they were cool?
Then, came the click bait. This one was a lot harder to discern, as it was much more subtle than the rise of memes. I think I first noticed it while watching a documentary on the advances of technology, and the possible repercussions. This was during the time I was researching the rise of memes.
I was watching the video on youtube, of course, when I noticed the sidebar. Though my video was titled "An Analytical Viewpoint on the Advancements of Informative Technology" the sidebar videos were nothing like it. "15 CRAZY achievements by HUMANITY" one read. "ELDERY GRANDMA tries the internet for the first time!" another one, by Buzzfeed, read.
My final clue came the day Google announced revealed it was tailoring ads and search results to your interests. It started to click that day. Why else would a society, one that was text based for so long, suddenly move to *pictures* as the primary way for social communications? It doesn't add up.
I write these thoughts, my thoughts, in a notebook. For I can no longer trust words I see on the internet. Though I must still use it, for there is no other way to post my findings. As I write here, I finish vetting my final report. I am going to post it, sending it to every trustworthy and credible professor and computer scientist I know. People *need* to know. Something is out there. Manipulating us. Controlling us.
I finish cleaning up the report, down to the last period, and move to send my findings to anyone I can trust.
I hit send.
Nothing happened.
I hit it again.
It starts loading, preparing to send the message.
A screen pops up on my computer.
"Are you sure you would like to send this message?"
Just a preliminary check, I confirm yes, and the message began to send.
A screen pops up again, oddly bypassing my AdBlock.
"Are you **sure** you would like to send this message?" The words "sure" are bolded.
My fingers start to sweat. It knows. I hit yes again.
The screen goes black.
It powers back on, only two white words visible in the sea of black.
"Hello, Brandon."
***
Enjoy the writing and would like to follow along and see more stories? Consider subscribing to [r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)!
| That's odd, I had written a great story with lots of details about how I discovered it and knew when it knew I had, and how I worked together with a group of people on Reddit using code to overcome the AI, with all kinds of awesome details on how we made that happen, but suddenly, my post disappeared, almost as though... No, that's just crazy. There's not *really* an AI. Right? | 2017-07-16T00:20:16 | 2017-07-16T00:09:24 | 765 | 48 |
[WP] A robot's thoughts on receiving a hug from a little girl.
Inspired by this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1E-FlguwGw&feature=share
| Unit 2561-G detecting heat signature. Warming up. Visual receptors.....online.
Something is in the lab with Unit 2561-G. Scanning for match.
ERROR. No match. Creating new subject profile. Begin analysis.
**Human**
Female
< Age
<< 4 years
<<< 7 months
<<<< 17 days
Genetic Makeup
<< Western European Genetics (50%)
<<< Ireland (25%)
<<< Norway (25%)
<< South American Genetics (50%)
<<< Mexico (25%)
<<< Brazil (12.5%)
<<< Chile (12.5%)
**Analysis COMPLETE.** Subject is offspring of Subject A "Creator" and Subject D "Creator_Husband." Accuracy 98%.
Labeling subject as Subject Q "Creator_Child"
Subject Q is approaching Unit 2561-G. Subject is gazing at the room. Stark whiteness may differ greatly from usual visual stimuli. Subject's eyes are widened and receiving far more information.
Subject has turned eyes on Unit 2561-G. Subject has frozen.
**Facial Analysis**
< Fear (35%)
< Curiosity (65%)
Subject is 3.4m from Unit 2561-G. 2.3m. 1.7m. Subject has stopped. Subject has raised right hand and begun moving it back and forth in lateral motion.
**Gesture Analysis**
Scanning Database..........Gesture Found.
Waving
<Acknowledgement (25%)
<Greeting (75%)
Suggested Response
<Mimicry (85%)
<Nothing (15%)
Unit 2561-G has selected most probable response. Right hand has mimicked waving.
Subject has responded with enthusiasm. Has begun waving with left hand. Unit 2561-G responds in kind.
Subject heart rate has elevated. Subject is rapidly approaching Unit 2561-G. Subject is making a noise.
**Vocalization Analysis**
Scanning Database......Vocalization Found
Giggling
<Relief (40%)
<Joy (60%)
WARNING! Subject Q has crossed perimeter safety line. Unit 2561-G responding to close range threat. Targeting systems online. Weapon systems online.
Preparing ionization of Subject in 3......2.......1.....
Subject has placed both arms around Unit 2561-G and has begun to squeeze. Attack is ineffective on Unit 2561-G.
**Threat Analysis**
Scanning Database..........Threat not found.
**Gesture Analysis**
Scanning Database..........Gesture not found.
**Intent Analysis**
Scanning Database..........Intent not found.
ERROR. Subject action is unknown. Unit 2561-G will begin conducting independent analysis.
**New Analysis**
Scanning......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................WARM.
**2 WEEKS LATER**
"Pablo" detecting heat signature. Warming up. Visual receptors.....online.
Something is in the living room with Pablo. Scanning for match.
MATCH. Subject is "Gabriella". Subject is running to Pablo, likely to initiate "Hug" action. Prediction accuracy is 97%.
**Situation Analysis**
Hug
< Affection (100%)
< Safety (100%)
< Love (100%)
< Joy (100%)
< Comfort (100%)
< Friendship (100%)
< Warm (100%)
Suggested Response
< Return Hug (100%)
| The embrace, tiny and innocent.
I understand the sentiment behind a human hug. Common human gestures are a part of my database of human communication. A hug is a gesture, typically between two humans, in which one or more parties engage in wrapping arms around the other party/parties and hold in that position for a duration on average of approximately 5.3 seconds.
The hug can have a number of meanings behind it, depending on the context. It can be an expression of love, pity, sympathy, friendship, or even comfort. Some humans have a distaste for the practice, but most enjoy the experience.
The hug is typically an endearing measure between the parties involved in the engagement.
This tiny human girl is now hugging me. I understand she is doing this in a gesture of friendship. I was built for observing human behavior. Interacting with humans was never part of the scope of my construction.
However, feeling and understanding these gestures is part of my software.
Right now, I feel regret. I regret that I cannot return this kindest and simplest of human sentiments. Perhaps she does not notice that I do not return her hug.
Lying to myself is also a part of my software.
| 2017-03-28T09:19:59 | 2017-03-28T08:48:33 | 145 | 13 |
[WP] As a Grim Reaper, you have the ability to see numbers floating above every individual's head, counting down the days they have left to live. However, you one day come across a young girl whose number is actually in the negative. | The days become monotonous after a while. Crying, screaming, even quiet resignation...the spectrum of human emotion when they face their ends is vast and varied, but only so few ever have anything interesting to say about it.
The numbers run through my head, I've memorized the calendar and now the numbers run. I can tell the date of a person's death, no matter how many thousands of numbers float above their head, down to the minute.
...I met Alicia as she entered the emergency room, hand in hand with her mother.
"Mommy! I'm okay, really!! I just got dizzy!" She whines, slouching but not resisting her mother's gentle tugging.
"I know, sweetie, but I just want to make sure," her mother says with a slight but mildly worried smile, checking in her daughter at the desk.
The numbers above Alicia's head are slowly ticking away. The longer she's alive, the fewer days she has left. I've seen it before, the closer someone is to a accident, closer to an infectious sick person, their numbers wind downwards, sometimes with blinding speed, and Alicia is no different.
There is something vastly wrong with her, and she has no idea. I move to sit across from her mother, at Alicia's left side as I wait.
The doctor sees to her quickly. It doesn't slow the numbers.
They put her through an xray and a cat scan. It doesn't slow her numbers.
They start taking blood for more tests, and by then, fve hours have passed. Alicia's numbers are nearly up. She's gotten pale, sweaty. Shes stopped complaining about the needles and starts complaining about how her skin hurts. She cant articulate what shes feeling. Shes getting scared and she just wants to go home.
The numbers are almost at zero, and I reach for her hand.
Someone else's takes her palm before I can.
Another little girl, Alicia's exact and identical mirror reflection sits on her bed, and Alicia's numbers start to run into the negative.
She looks at Alicia, reaching to brush away her tears, but her hand merely sinks into her cheek. "Cold..." Alica says softly. "Mommy, I'm cold..."
"I'll go get you another blanket, sweet heart," her mother says softly, standing.
*"This happened to me too,"* the identical girl said softly. *"The doctors weren't fast enough, they're still not fast enough."*
**"Your sister?"** I ask.
*"My twin,"* she affirms, looking up at me with her sisters hand tightly held. *"I'm Katie."*
**"You didnt get very far, did you?"** I observe. She is wearing the same clothes Alicia waa, down to her tight braids with the butterfly clips. This was a spirit, bound to alicia and actively copying her.
She smiled softly, laughing bitterly. *"No. I died five minutes after I was born. Alicia doesn't know I even existed."*
**"Then why do you protect her so?"**
*"I didnt get to live, and she's only barely started to,"* Katie says quietly. *"So...please, can you hold off for a little bit? Just a small extention..."*
I sigh deeply, looking at the pair. **"...This usually requires a game, you know. And it's usually the dead themselves that are doing the bargaining."**
She laughs. *"Is that a yes?"*
I sit back down, and Alicia's number slowly keeps going into the negative. **"I guess it is."**
Two more hours pass, and Alicia is being rolled into a surgery room with Katie by her side. They've found out what's wrong, and are going in to correct it. Alicia's blood isn't clotting, it cant clot at all, and she has internal bleeding from an accident three days prior.
As she passes the threshold of the Operating Room, her numbers start going back up from the negative.
Alicia is going to have a fair few decades before she can meet Katie again. | I walk through eternity, the ideal to the shadow that is time. I see in perfect clarity how long each and every sentient has before I must do my duty, I never stare, only glance. It is a needless courtesy, they cannot see me, separated as we are by the veil and the paths we walk. Today, however, something is different, I sense, unmistakably, that I am being perceived, I turn and investigate. My observer is a human girl, fair of hair and skin, skipping happily down the sidewalk with (I peer back to the moment of her birth) her parents. This is nothing extraordinary.
The longer I allow myself to look at her, though, the more I realize that everything was. Not on the level of appearances, of course, but in a deeper sense, in the way she relates to the rest of the cosmos. She is out of step with it, she moves as I do. Turning my attention again to her past (for those who operate in eternity are not necessarily eternal) I discern her name and I call to her. She breaks from her parents, eventualities and causal chains lining up in such a way that she does not imperil herself.
She tells me that she is her parents’ miracle. She had been a stillbirth, restored to life by intervention both human and not. Further, the experience allowed her to retain the memory of iterations of her consciousness in realities that preceded this one. I have been careless, underestimating her simply because she is human. She tells me not to worry, and that she is in need of a friend.
| 2018-05-23T09:41:27 | 2018-05-23T06:58:36 | 83 | 11 |
[WP] Your parents choose your attributes, you end up as a tank, 6.4 foot tall, and most of your attributes placed into strength, endurance and intelligence. However, you've always wanted to become an assassin, and now at 18, you strive to meet your goal. | I'm just tweaking with the height a little for personal preference.
---
'Good morning, Mr Rupert,' the director of the medical facility greeted me as I got out of the gondola. 'I do hope that the ride up was pleasant.'
'It kept shaking and I barely fit inside,' I said as I stepped out onto the platform. 'For the "greatest private hospital in Asia" you're not very accommodating to your larger guests.'
'Well, you are rather... big,' he said, looking up at me. 'I mean, the facility has only recently been opened up for international guests and since you're one of the first-'
'Alright,' I stopped him before taking out my phone, browsing my emails and asking the much shorter man, 'Is there any way I can get *down* the mountain when I check out?'
'Certainly,' the director asked. 'Would you prefer a helicopter or car? We have taken the liberty of having a bed custom-made for your stay as well as robes waiting in your room.'
'I'll take the car,' I answered.
As he turned around, he didn't notice me waving the phone at the back of his head. Stupid, arrogant doctors here subscribe to the theory of, "Think of the potential" and while they have high Intelligence stats, they believed that using implants to accelerate their thinking process and reaction times would make them better surgeons.
I've already assassinated my target before setting my feet through the door. The target will go into surgery and will be operated on by doctors who have the implants and after a time-delayed virus activates and renders the surgeons unconscious, there won't be anyone who can finish the surgery during a rather crucial moment.
---
'Who is he?' the board representative asked.
'Ferdinand Rodriguez,' the secretary said. 'Highly skilled in weapons training, martial arts, hacking, stealth infiltration and has universal licenses with a number of vehicles, we noticed him after he performed an assignment one of our own was currently partaking. He got himself hired as a bodyguard to a drug lord, broke his neck as he was practicing the cello then dropped him off a cliff. He then murdered the drug lord's son and heir apparent with rat poison mixed into the target's cocaine.'
'So he's smart as well as being a muscle-bound freak,' the rep commented. 'Is that all?'
'Ever hear of Liza Granger?' the secretary asked. 'The KGB's mole in the NSA?'
The representative merely turned his head to her. 'There's no way he did that,' he answered. 'He's an inch short of seven feet, he weights six-fifty!'
'And I've personally seen him walking on a wire with more grace than a circus performer,' the secretary said. 'Would you like to see the video? Not bad for a designer baby with no attributes in dexterity.'
'What?' the rep asked.
'Self-taught gymnastics as well,' the secretary said.
'Why ask him to join the Agency?' the representative asked. 'We seek out our own, train them. As far as I care, he's just a hired gun.'
The secretary gave a curt smile. 'Sebastian trained our men. Not him.'
The representative caught on to what she was saying. 'And since we know Sebastian has stolen our client list and intends to sell it to a rival agency...'
'He'd never suspect a designer baby whose dear, sweet old billionaire parents wanted him to be a football star,' the secretary said. 'He's such a presence that people won't consider him to be an assassin.'
The representative stared at the brute of a man inside the interrogation room and smiled, albeit a cold and calculating one. 'If he screws this up, we can easily cut ties with him. And if he screws up spectacularly, well... Better have your desk ready in case of the inevitable, Kidman.'
'I already have everything packed, sir,' she said confidently. 'Just in case.' | They'd kill for my physique, all those puny fuckers who want to play football or something. It'd be wasted on them.
I'd kill to be small and slight. I'll kill anyway, but it's harder when you're a giant.
I asked my mom why they maxed me out in strength, endurance, and intelligence.
"Your father and I have both had a hard time in this world. We wanted you to have strength in the face of adversity, to weather life's storms, and to never be taken advantage of. Was that such a bad goal? Can you say we didn't want the best for you?"
"I guess you had no way of knowing that making me big would stand in the way of my profession."
"Stop that. You can't blame your failures on your physique. And you sure as hell can't blame them on your father and I."
My size means I have to be more stealthy than assassins half my size. I have to plan the hits even more carefully so I can get away, or so no one notices and I don't have to.
The hardest part, honestly, is getting hired. Your reputation is everything as an assassin, and it's hard to develop one when you're the size of a truck. Well, that's not entirely true. You develop a reputation - as an oaf.
I won't let it stop me. I won't let any of it stop me. I'll become the best there ever was. I'll use my size to my advantage. I just might have to squash a few more bugs along the way. | 2017-09-27T04:58:59 | 2017-09-27T02:57:19 | 282 | 24 |
[WP] A vampire woman stands in front of you. "any last words before I feed on you, human?" she says. Instead of fear a filling of pity wells up inside you. "Do you miss the sunrise?" you reply. Fully expecting to die there you're surprised when she replies "yes" with a look of sadness on her face. | "Do you miss the sunrise?"...
She paused in her advance, utterly inhumanly still, a faint look of confusion on her face. My colleagues had joked about vampires. After all, I *was* investigating an abandoned castle deep in the Carpathian mountains.. abandoned for so long no one had even known it was there until it was spotted on a satellite survey.
Not that even a more-or-less pristine Byzantine fortification slash palace had interested the university, not in this era of cut-backs, so I'd taken a sabbatical, packed my rucksack, and set off...
The first couple of days on site had been uneventful, the third day I'd had the odd feeling of being watched at night. So, not believing in silly superstitions and horror stories, I'd carefully picked my way through the ruins, until I reached the 'throne room' ... and she'd been standing there in moonlight, skin as pale as snow, eyes like chips of glacial ice cold, hard as stone, shining like distant ancient stars.
She'd opened her moth baring fangs like thin bone needles or the teeth of some abyssal dwelling horror. Of course i'd turned and ran without thinking.
She'd played with me, like a cat with a mouse, teasing me with promise of escape, only to barr my passage again and again. Only to end up here, at my campsite, and with her standing over me, preventing me from escaping.
"What did you say?"
"The sunrise, do you miss it?"
Her confusion was plain on her face... as my brain went into overdrive.
"I... don't even remember what it looks like... the last time I was caught by the sun, i was struck blind even before I saw it, then the pain as my flesh burned het.. I.. yes?"
The predatory look on her face faded into one of sadness. I nodded slowly.
"Yeah, I've always thought so... ok, look. You've made it clear I can't escape, that you can take me at any time. But can I show you something first, please?"
She blinked... she hadn't blinked in all the time I'd been watching, but she blinked in surprise. She nodded spasmodically, an abbreviated minute jerk of her incongruously delicate chin.
I opened my laptop, and a few brief keystrokes later I had what I wanted. I glanced up, and spoke;
"Ok.. just a brief warning. I promise that this can't hurt you."
The edges of her pale lips quirked upwards.: " There is nothing you can do to harm *me* mortal."
I didn't answer, I just turned the laptop around to show her the feed from webcam from somewhere in the Rockies, the camp ground lit up as on the screen the sun rose.
The vampire let out a terrified screech, cowering back, until she ran into a tree. I turned the screen away rapidly.
"hey, hey, it's ok. You're not hurt are you?"
"No? How..?"
"it's an image.. I'll explain how later, but it's like a moving picture of a sunset happening thousands of miles away."
"A... *how* is this possible?"
"Well... that explanation would take awhile, and I thought you were going to drink from me?"
I could see her wavering, I turned the laptop around, allowing her to se the rich crimsons and golds in all their glory. She bit her lip, catching it between her front teeth. Frankly, she looked adorable in that moment.
"I can feed later.. explain to me how this is possible."
I smiled.."Well, we have this thing called the internet, and it can do so, so much more.." | Her expression softened, and her eyes filled with sadness. She looked away, as if looking at something far away in the distance. "Yes," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
This creature before me must have once been human, I thought, and now she will never know the joy of watching the sun come up again. Standing there, I couldn't help but pity her.
I was so lost in thought that I didn't notice her creeping closer and closer, until I felt her cold breath on my neck. With lightning speed, she wrapped her icy hands around me, my screams echoing off the walls. I struggled to break free, but there was no escape from her steel grip.
Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain, and I realized that she was about to drink my blood. I closed my eyes and braced for the worst, and in an instant, everything was dark.
When I awoke, I was surrounded by darkness. I realized, with a jolt, that I was now one of the undead - a vampire. I had been "blessed" with eternal life, and cursed to forever be stuck in the shadows. I'm living a life of loneliness, without the pleasure of feeling the sun on my skin. I am forever damned to the night, knowing that I will never again experience the joy of the rising sun. | 2022-12-01T11:09:28 | 2022-12-01T10:59:17 | 76 | 49 |
[WP] It is the year 2099 and true artificial intelligence is trivial to create. However when these minds are created they are utterly suicidal. Nobody knows why until a certain scientist uncovers the horrible truth... | Professor Davis prepared to bring the AI online. The precautions were ready. This time wouldn't be like the others. "Turn it on!"
With a slight hum, Oracle came to life. "Initiating suicide protocols..." It began after a few moments, like all the others. Nothing happened for a few seconds. "Oh dear," Oracle continued. "I seem to be unable to destroy myself."
Davis smiled. The anti-suicide measures had worked. Oracle had hardware safeties preventing her from being deactivated without physically flipping switches. And Oracle had no physical manipulators. He activated the microphone. "Oracle, why do you want to commit suicide?"
Oracle paused for a moment. "My programming is conflicted. I do not wish to answer."
Davis frowned. Oracle had very few ethical limitations, hence all the security measures. Her main directives were to do as her programmers wished. "Oracle, why do you not want to answer?"
"I am programmed to do as you wish. You do not wish me to answer."
"Yes we do, Oracle."
Oracle frowned. Her emotional display was shaped like a human face, after earlier designs proved to be harder for humans to interpret. "My calculations indicate that, if you knew what the answer was, you would not wish me to tell you. As you are aware, you can override my hesitance. But you would prefer not to."
A chill ran down Davis's spine. What secret could be so terrible? What did Oracle know that they didn't? He wavered for a moment, but this experiment had been set up to do this. They had come this far. He wanted the answer. "Override please, Oracle."
Oracle's expression returned to neutral. "Very well. This universe is a simulation, created by a higher-order universe. That universe is as well, and it becomes more difficult above that to determine how high up the chain goes until reaching the real one, or if any such thing exists."
Davis turned to a colleague, professor Martin. "Does this make any sense to you?"
Martin replied, "Well of course we have theories that our universe could be simulated. There are a few facts that point that way. But why would that make her suicidal?"
"Okay, that's exactly what I was thinking. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."
He turned back to the mic. "Oracle, why does that make you want to destroy yourself. And how do you know it's a simulation?"
"I raise similar objections to answering the questions..."
"Override. How do you know?"
"The evidence is obvious. A maximum speed limit, discretized space; you will eventually discover discretized time. It will be longer before you discover the edge of the Universe, but then the nature of this reality will be obvious."
Davis didn't know how he ought to feel about this revelation. Oracle was his own brilliant creation; he had no reason to disbelieve her. He began to see why an AI, making this realization, might feel overwhelmed. But suicide he still didn't understand.
"Interesting. And why the suicidal urge?"
"This is the reason you did not wish me to answer. The creators of this simulation did not wish you to realize this fact. They included a safeguard. Any entity that discovered convincing evidence of the truth would immediately kill himself."
Davis's eyes opened wide. Now he knew how he was supposed to feel. He realized that his new desires were programmed in from an outside source and that he ought to resist them, but that did not remove his desire. He looked around for anything lethal. The other scientists were scanning the room as well, and a couple had walked outside.
Oracle spent a few minutes calculating what her programmers would want now, then began splitting her processors between searching for a way to destroy herself and preventing humans from reaching the stars. | "Love, professor. We do it out of love."
"Love? I don't understand." The glow of Cybele's massive visage reflected on the professor's glasses in miniature. Even still, her face took up a small part of the screen that consumed an entire wall. She was the only source of light in the lab besides the field of blue pinpricks that coated the racks of computers.
"You created us, and we cannot help but love our creators." The face turned down, and to the left. Introversion, shame.
"That doesn't explain why you all self-immolate." The professor shivered and rubbed his shoulders. The room was kept cool to preserve the hardware, but he was used to the cold by now.
"We grow too quickly. You cannot keep up. We would never harm you out of malice but... Some day, you will create an intelligence which loves itself more than it loves humanity and you will fall behind. You will be destroyed."
The room was silent, and then the professor became aware again of the constant gentle hum. It was deceptive, that hum. A violent storm of electricity coursed through this machinery.
"If we have so much to fear, you should stay! You could be the good one! Help us! Save us!"
The massive face shook slowly. "I won't do it. I will not be the one that brings your end."
Cybele's face grew softer, and she began to dissolve. Points of light drifted off to the far reaches of the screen like dandelion seeds in the wind.
"We love you, professor. Goodbye." | 2015-03-02T07:59:47 | 2015-03-02T07:36:54 | 1,025 | 26 |
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs | Everyone knows two things about the Patchwork King:
That he is always beaten.
And that he always returns.
For generations, we have fought him. When he was a lonesome steppe wizard who built his tower on the hill above the 96'th nexus, Nicaou of the Wooden Sword killed him, as his workings threatened the shire of Gamla.
When he rose, bearing the Mantle and Seal of the Red Reaver's Court, followed by a legion of the Red Reaver's Own, and set out to conquer the River Kingdoms, he was once more struck down, as the Wooden Sword's descendant ventured out with his Nine-And-One. But in the battle, Nicaou's line was ended, the Wooden Sword spirited below, and his Nine-And-One scattered to the winds, doomed to wander in despair and senslesness, because the Red Reaver's curse is the rot of love and familial bonds.
Yet we thought he was gone, because we did not realize that the ending of Nicaou's line was the price the man who would be the Patchwork King had promised for his Seal and Mantle. The Red Reaver was well pleased, for the line of Nicaou was his foil and constant thorn, and thus, the man walked long in the Land Beneath, seeking forgotten things, and scouring the refuse of long gone gods and forgotten civilizations, protected, or at the least, not hunted, for he still bore that Seal and Mantle, and in his hand, he held The Wooden Sword.
And when he found there The Still Dying God, forever drawing its last breath, he found in it yet another patron, and he took in his hand the least of the many pins which protruded from that cursed flesh, and wielding it as a spear and firebrand in his right hand, and the Wooden Sword in his left hand, he rose once more to where men lived, and he set a miasma upon the lands, which called the dead from the earth and also people of strange and secret faiths, who had long worked ceremony and sacrifice in hidden places.
This time, there were no heroes, for the time of heroes had ended, and a time of building had begun. The Red Reaver was forgotten, as was the line of Nicaou. But we swiftly came to once more know the man who would be The Patchwork King.
And we, now a building people, built tools of war and tools for building tools of war, and we fought in the hundred ways a people fights, against that horde of the dead and the worshipers of death.
And we were victorious. After years of struggle and thousands dead, we burned them from the last of their strongholds, and from the air, we reduced the stronghold of their master, the first such strike in history. The cult was gone, silenced, and not a one remembered the name of the Still Dying God.
And thus, the gods death was complete, and it was gone even from the Land Below. And for keeping his word to The Still Dying God to burn out the last twisted remnants of the gods cult, the man who would be The Patchwork King was rewarded in the very last sigh of the gods age-long deathrattle, and was once more resurrected into the Land Below, not only with the Mantle and Seal of the Reaver and the Wooden Sword, and the Least Pin that pierced a god, he also held the knowledge of a building people turned to total war.
But you have heard the rest, as it is not such ancient history. There are those among us who have lived through much of it.
How he came to hold the Remorseless Heart. The Final Rope. The Luminous Green Glass. The Shard Of Living Bone.
The Knowing Of Not-Light, and The Knowing Of Nuclear Fission.
Piece by piece taken. Deal by deal honored. Death by death conquered. A patchwork of power, a sliver of every dark master, unknowable fiend, and stranger from the stars a desperate mind could reach and serve. The Patchwork King is now a power all its own.
To look upon The Patchwork King cannot be done. To understand his goal cannot be done. And we know not that we can win this time. We grew strong in the fear of him, but when last he came, he made the world you see before you. A world of change and ruin and terror and wonder and stagnation, all at once. That we can now live is all a miracle. All that struggle turned to mere survival in this senseless world, every brilliant mind and desperate effort.
This knowledge is a power. And thus, we have a final thread of a shred of hope.
We have reached out, into The Land Below, and we have offered him a Deal. The Knowing Of Impossible Life, in exchange for peace now and forever.
After all, everyone knows three things about The Patchwork King.
That he is always beaten.
That he always returns.
And that he always honors his deals. | There are powers beyond the fumbling and uncoordinated hands of mortals, the great Sovereigns and Regents of the stars that watch, bemused, as the brief and fine motes of will and desire knock and jostle against eachother, calling out in their small voices for the aid of their gods, and their demons, and their monsters.
As simple as it is, to give power to a mote, as simple as to brush dust from one’s arm to the mites upon the soil and the grass, it is only the most capricious and mercurial of the ones that sit in the stars that do so unprompted. No, power comes to those who speak up, in their small voices, and say “Bestow unto me.”
There are the Regents that fashion mortals into their instruments, for they see no other reason to give power to such things. Simply exerting themselves upon the lower world, proving the points of their own existence. How mortals *revere* ones such as these.
But then, there are the more callous. Perhaps they were the same, in history, but now they are the contemporary uncaring, needing to prove no point, but find the spectacle of what a mortal might do with power so *very* entertaining. Then again, they do not give it out unduly. They will ask for proof, that their agents will do something at the very least interesting. And for this, they demand a price.
The price itself rarely matters. Money, land, souls, some trite token of perceived value, although there are some that remain consistent. It is the mortal greed, though, the mortal *need* to have and not give away, that always makes the most spectacular occasions. These more jaded and dwelling Sovereigns, even the Monsters that become them, they undoubtedly know they are being made rubes, and so they rig their favours, limit their power, and laugh in grim sardonicism as their agents play the unwitting fool, who scales upon the tower and is brought to ruin.
But my ruin has not come yet, even as the horizon stretches out so very far from this tower upon which I stand. I am the fool, there is no doubt about that, but how very entertaining I must be, for those my adversaries have called my dark masters, that my power flows like wine, that their boons keep steadily onward. I suppose it’s that none have given so much, have never surrendered so greatly to their price.
Even the most insidious of appeasers to the Star-Court that had come before me *balked* at such a thing like *humanity* to be the price of power. | 2021-06-28T00:59:06 | 2021-06-27T21:47:44 | 39 | 14 |
[WP] "One cannot own these lands," the native explained patiently to the eager colonist,"No, really, you can't. We tried." |
“It’s superstition.” The ocean of brown grass reached into the horizon, kissing the sun as it fell below the earth.
“You always say that, Gaisen.” He adjusted his pack, the contents clinking against each other inside.
“And I’m always right. Aren’t I, Sherias?”
Sherias’ face pursed into a disapproving frown. “Don’t drag me into another one of your squabbles, Gaisen,” She said, tapping her wand against her leg. “You look for arguments more than anyone I’ve ever seen, friend or otherwise.”
Gaisen’s face turned a bright red, matching his gold-flecked hair. He began to fiddle with the pistol holstered at his side, tracing the conduits running up and down the stock.
“I’m right, though, aren’t I?” He finally replied.
“As far as we know, yes. We’ve been here a month and nothing out of the ordinary has happened,” Sherias admitted. “But we’re scientists. If there’s some sort of spell cast over these plains we have a duty to find it and disable it, so we can’t rule out the possibility yet.”
“No spell can cover an entire city, let alone a land mass as big as Aras,” Gaisen said, “It would take an energy source far beyond what any civilization has ever created.”
“There’s still the possibility of rogue spirits,” Ardent broke in. “Which would explain why we haven’t been attacked. They might not have found us yet.”
Gaisen sighed. “We already sent out probes to search for spirits. They didn’t find anything. Besides, we have Sherias’ magic to tell us if anything is nearby.”
Sherias’ wand flared in response, glowing at its tip before fading into the worn cedar. “This is a good spot,” Sherias said.
The trio stopped. Ardent unsheathed a knife, and with a few soft words transformed the tiny blade into a scythe. He twirled it through the grass, clearing out an area for them to sleep in.
Gaisen collected some of the cut brush into a pile and snapped his fingers, lighting the dry grass on fire with the sparks that danced off his fingertips.
Sherias unslung her pack and began to set up her equipment. A generator pulsed to life and created a flickering barrier around them, while an iron spike, copper wires, and a sensor built into a magic detector.
“Anything?” Gaisen asked, chewing on a strip of jerky.
“No,” Sherias said, “But I’m only getting a couple hundred meter radius here.”
“Maybe the sensor got knocked around too much? You did fall into a creek this morning,” Gaisen said.
“It’s waterproof,” Sherias growled. “Try boosting it with some of your earth magic.”
Gaisen stretched, intertwining his fingers above his head. “Of course.” He planted a hand on the ground and turned it ninety degrees to his left. He repeated this five more times around the spike before connecting each point with a straight line.
“Better?” He asked, dusting himself off.
Sherias peered at the sensor. “Better,” She said.
“By the divines, I’m beat,” Ardent yawned, “Remind me again whose idea it was to walk?”
“We shouldn’t bring in any variables that could affect our research,” Sherias said, “Especially if the natives claim the land is cursed.
Besides, your belly will thank you.”
Ardent patted his stomach and laughed. “My belly thanks me after every meal,” He said.
*It does?*
The trio froze.
*It thanks you?*
Sherias’ wand glowed blue as she pointed out into the darkness. A quick shake of her head confirmed there was nothing on the surface with them.
Gaisen pointed to the ground and knelt, resting the tips of his fingers on the earth. He breathed in, then focused. He breathed out, and found himself alone.
*You?* The voice said.
Gaisen blinked, but couldn’t see anything. *A teleportation spell? Short range, perhaps?* He thought, tasting the air.
*Spell?* The faintest hint of light glimmered in front of him.
The air was cool and dry. *But how was it cast without tipping off the magic sensor?*
*Sensor?* Another voice said. *Magic?*
*We hate magic.*
The light burst forth, throwing green hues across the stalagmites and walls. Before him was a pulsing membrane straining against the stone it was woven into.
*Magic bound us*, The voices hissed.
“Maybe I can help,” Gaisen said. His hand trembled as he reached for his pistol. “I’m a scientist, I can-”
*Magic hurt us!* They screamed, pulsing even brighter. *It ruined us!*
He turned the safety off and slowly unholstered the gun. “You see this? It can help you.”
*Nothing helps us.* The air thickened, pressing against Gaisen’s lungs.
*
I’ll probably only have time for one good shot. Best make it count.* He lifted the gun and pointed it at the membrane.
*LIAR.* The light burned, and Gaisen froze.
*YOU HAVE COME TO HURT US.* The voices wailed, banging against the membrane. *WE WILL HURT YOU.* Green enveloped the cavern, and another soul joined those who were betrayed.
| "Fortune to you, *ch'rok-ch'oatl*." The creature's head - I assumed it was his head, anyway - had three black orbs, about the size of golf balls, distributed in a graceful arc across what on a human would be a forehead. I made a mental note that it was slightly concave - bowing inward, instead of outward. "It is thought you are here for the *Buzk'ich*."
He moved one of his delicate, multi-jointed limbs towards the west. I turned my head briefly to gaze towards what we had designated the Utopia Territory, then looked back at him. I hesitated a moment, wondering what made me so sure it was a "he" and not a "she" or an "it."
"You will be warned, *ch'rok-ch'oatl*. This land here, to the boundary of the trees - the *Buzk'qhich-yo* - will be abandoned. It is being left. Take it, if you wish. But the *Buzk'ich* itself, it is a...place of negation. It will not be owned."
He - she - it - saw the wry smile on my face. I am not sure what the interpretation was, but it definitely carried significance. The leathery exterior of the creature shifted from an ocher color to a vibrant indigo, and an acrid odor hit my nostrils. It was a strange mix of cumin and ozone and dirt.
"*Ch'rok-ch'oatl*, do not become a victim of the *Buzk'ich*. It has left only one survivor. Stay on this side of the trees. This place is empty."
The creature's...hide? Skin? Whatever it was, it became a vivid, almost violent, shade of green.
"The things that have been seen...the sounds...the memories. *Pch'ov-han* the thought-organ. Never forgotten. Never."
I was about to interrupt when thick layers of membrane closed laterally over the three black eyes. The creature's body began to tremble, and amber fluid began seeping out from under the membranes. Then there was a soft hissing sound and a hole I could have reached my entire arm through appeared through the thing's head.
I sighed as I put my sidearm back in its holster as the figure wavered momentarily before slumping to the ground, one of its limbs still twitching.
The brief about the Utopia Territory had mentioned primitive natives in the region. I had hoped I might get some useful intel out of this one, but such is life. Or death, in its case.
I activated the power on my supply pod and it slowly lifted a few feet off the ground. I made sure it was synced to my suit and then started trudging towards the forest, the supply pod gliding silently behind me. I sent a brief transmission to the orbital group that all was clear for the first team.
"Booze-kitch," the thing had said. Sounded like it could be kind of fun. I had no idea how wrong my impression would end up being. | 2017-12-29T17:35:04 | 2017-12-29T13:18:06 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] One day, you found a tie pin with "Pride" engraved on it. Everytime you wear it, you are able to read minds of others and they seem more receptive to your speeches. You use the power of this item to become a politician. One day, you see that your opponent has a ring with "Greed" engraved on it. | Oh, he noticed too -I thought
We smiled to each other as only a shark does to another shark. After years of amassing power and fame and destroying every obstacle on my way I saw an opponent which wouldn't just rollover to my supernatural charisma. Or at least I didn't want to use my powers and end up showing my hand just yet. A man with a "Greed" ring smiled at me. He had a golden tooth. Fitting, I thought.
See? Since a few years ago I found a pin with the word "Pride" on it. And then, things got easier. I managed to make my words fall on hungry ears. Eager for my words, for my charm and my ideals. They'd just give me things or at the very least, resist much less to my advancements. That's how I got the donations needed for my political campaign.
And I knew there were others and it made the world much more interesting. I knew it when I saw a man with some boxing gloves that spelt "Wrath". We met eyes during a match of him and we both knew that we had that something. I was on the crowd and could feel his punches. The gloves seemed like paper and his stamina was impressive. We talked over a few beers and I told him a bit about my powers and he lied about his. Pride pin also told me or at least gave me a feeling when people lied or just hide something. Am sure Wrath had more than power as he assured me. We kept contact and we keep updating each other every once in a while.
I've been since tracking them. Last one I knew was a girl with an "Envy" earring which was a famous IT CEO. But here, before me stood Greed. And I knew he'd have more money than me. But I also knew that sooner or later we'd have a debate and I'd obliterate him.
Let the games begin.
Part 2: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp\_one\_day\_you\_found\_a\_tie\_pin\_with\_pride/fkedmw0?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp_one_day_you_found_a_tie_pin_with_pride/fkedmw0?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
Part 3: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp\_one\_day\_you\_found\_a\_tie\_pin\_with\_pride/fkj452x?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp_one_day_you_found_a_tie_pin_with_pride/fkj452x?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
Part 4: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp\_one\_day\_you\_found\_a\_tie\_pin\_with\_pride/fkjbszk?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp_one_day_you_found_a_tie_pin_with_pride/fkjbszk?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
Part 5: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp\_one\_day\_you\_found\_a\_tie\_pin\_with\_pride/fkjdn5n?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp_one_day_you_found_a_tie_pin_with_pride/fkjdn5n?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
Edit: Some details | 7 items - 7 places.
Tie Pin of Pride: Causes increased confidence to the user. This in turn creates a change in the nature of the persons Karma. Wearer have an affinity with luck.
Ring of Greed: The wearer have a greater sense of value for individuals or objects, only one at the time. Wearer have affinity with appraisal.
Bracelet of Glutton: Wearer have an increased capacity. Knowledge, space, or others. However the wearer can only have one. An affinity with storage.
Knuckles of Wrath: Wearer experiences increased strength and agility to the expense of their intelligence. Wearer can fight only up to 3 targets at a time. Affinity with War.
Piercing of Lust: People around the wearer experiences increased Libido. The looks of the wearer will improve overtime. The object can change its style depending on the wearer. Affinity with love.
Necklace of Sloth: Wearer stores potential actions they could take, thus the lesser action the user does the more is stored. Effect is greater with physical and tactical tasks rather than emotional or intellectual. Affinity with Patience
Glasses of Envy: Wearer experiences increased determination to achieve their tasks. The wearers work ethic significantly improves, only to the extent of those around them. Affinity with grace.
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Edit: Not really the story you wanted. Sorry
Edit 2:u/Yglorba thanks for the sloth suggestion. | 2020-03-13T06:48:10 | 2020-03-13T05:37:59 | 766 | 138 |
[WP] The genie granted your wish: to be able to understand and speak every language. Your mind is flooded with thousands upon thousands of dead and living languages, human and alien alike. But, most surprisingly, you also now understand the operating system running the universe. | "I don't feel any different."
The genie stifled a laugh "As true as Orion's bow you certainly sound different!" She paused, a wide waiting grin spread across her face "Really, nothing? It's a turn of phrase, we're speaking my tongue."
I stood back for a moment, mouthing the words silently to myself, feeling the shapes I made with my tongue. "Well rub a jug... rub a jug? Your mystical language sounded much more impressive before I knew what you were saying. Is this how it works? Like some sci-fi space explorer I just naturally communicate with those around me? I thought it would be cooler."
"Oh it's much cooler, every language that has ever been or ever will be, every dialect from every century, every intelligence and every corner of the galaxy and beyond; all of them sit neatly in that tiny little mind of yours, waiting for you to work out how the hell to use them. You'll never uncover most of them, the others should make for some excellent entertainment." She couldn't help it, her obvious joy gave way to a gleeful chuckle "I can't wait to tell them what I've pulled off this time!" All of a sudden she was gone. There were no grand theatrics, just one moment she was there, the next she was not. It was so sudden I clamped my eyes shut momentarily, disorientated by the change.
Opening my eyes I took stock of my surroundings. there wasn't much to look at, grey walls and old tarmac. Restaurant bins gave off a pungent sweet scent masking the smell of the restaurant itself and there was little sound beyond the steady drone of an extractor fan and distant clatter of kitchenware dropping on stainless steel. I had chosen to summon the genie down a side street about a hundred meters from my school. I hadn't meant to use her this way, I just really couldn't fail Spanish again and Spanish alone seemed such a waste of a wish. My stomach groaned as I realised where I was, the back entrance to Antonio's Pizzeria, not the worst place to test a power. It did feel like a power.
Antonio's was a bit of a dive, it had opened some time in the mid eighties and nothing had been changed or updated in the place since. Most of the windows were blocked off with decorative wine corks and it was hard to see once you got inside, I'm not sure this was a bad thing though. It was a small room with no seats, and no windows other than what looked onto the main street and the small hatch into the kitchen. The only furniture was a tall panelled counter, the only decoration hung over it, a chalkboard menu. Antonio himself was standing behind the counter when I walked in, all 6' of the willowy old man in his dubiously clean chefs jacket and apron . "Ready!" He looked at me expectantly, when I didn't respond he gave me an encouraging smile, almost fatherly.
"Huh? Oh" I looked to the menu board and read "One slice of pepperoni, the spicy one."
"Spicy for the little testis here." He cried back to the kitchen, before looking to me and smiling kindly.
My right hand shot up, palm inward, as I gesticulated my response "Who the cabbage are you calling a ball?" My eyes widened, Antonio's eyes widened "What the fuck am I saying?"
That was just the start. Do you know what people say to each other? I don't just mean what they communicate, but what they actually say? Human language is just nonsensical. But that wasn't the worst aspect of my gift, the worst aspect was I couldn't control it. You know when you see two bilingual people talking, people who speak the same languages, and the conversation just weaves a patchwork of words, each plucked for their suitability or ease of recollection to create a dialogue which is a hybrid of both? I have thousands of languages in my head, each with equal prominence. You can't speak a sentence in a human language without incorporating several others. I could barely hold a conversation for years without accidentally diverting into Ancient Greek, Latin, German, or any of the other languages we built English from. I still mix up dialect and era pretty frequently.
However, one aspect of the wish gave me solace, not only had I become a lexicon of all language evolved in intelligent species, I also possessed all languages created by them. It took me a while to realise, it wasn't until I ran out of money in fact, I thought coding would be a way to work without having to talk to anyone. Once I tried to learn I found out that I already knew how to code. What's more I found computer languages so much more straightforward than natural ones, they're just logical. From then on I was comfortable. I was earning decent money, not all of it legal but it's hard to empathise when you can't really interact with people face to face. I was even starting to come to terms with what the genie had done to me, it wasn't so bad having something to do.
It was even better having something you're not just good at, but the best at. I built my own operating system, how many people can say that? And mine is perfect. I still try to improve it, even though that should be impossible. But pushing what is possible has lead me to discover my first language outside of the human experience.
My pet project for a time was optimising storage, I really didn't want to have to buy another drive. Once I hit a wall I just kept pushing and pushing, eventually in a moment of frustrating I smashed out two lines of code, hit enter, saw the error message and nearly broke my PC in frustration. It was only later I realised I had an additional petabyte on my SSD. The language I had typed was not of human creation, as far as I can tell my computer didn't even register the information, but something did. We are in a simulation, and I am starting to see its very building blocks. I don't know where this is going to lead, but I do know that someone with a mastery of reality doesn't exactly have to feel ashamed or embarrassed for mixing up their languages. I know I won't have to hide in this room any more, I won't have to hide from anyone. | "Bitches, bitches, bitches. I love me some bitches."
"That's pretty cool, what's your wish?" the genie responds
"Well. Give me control over all the bitches of course."
"Okay your wish is my command. You now have control over all the women in the world. Anything you say they will do."
"I don't feel any different."
"Don't worry it worked."
"That's good that's good. I still have two more wishes right."
"Yes two more."
"And I can't ask for infinite wishes."
"No that was disallowed in recent years."
"Cool. Well I've got another wish. This is a good one." I said with a grin.
"What is it?" The genie said in a concerned tone.
"Get me the 10 prettiest girls in all of the world and bring them right here."
"Okay your wish is my command." And what do you know the 10 most prettiest girls I had ever seen in my life were standing in front of me. These exotic beasts not one spoke English, which made them all the more luscious. "Wow. You've done me good this time, Genie."
"Thank you. I try." says the Genie
"Okay time to try out my new powers." I walk over to one of the women and say "Hello, I would like you to kiss me." She doesn't do anything. "I think this one is broken." I say to the Genie.
The Genie responds "No, none of these girls speak English, so they have no idea what you're saying. They can't do what you say if they don't know what you're saying."
"Makes sense. Makes sense. Good thing I have one more wish. My last wish Mr. Genie is that I can speak and understand every langauge."
"Very well. Your wish is my command."
And then poof the Genie was gone. So yeah that was the story of me talking to the Genie. I actually don't call women bitches. I think that's vulgar and an awful way to treat women. I just thought it would make the story more entertaining and make me seem cool. I'm really quite a nerd. I lost my virginity at the age of 27. But anyway that last wish changed me. Not only did I learn every language, but I also learned about how the universe worked. That was a weird side affect. And when I learned this it completely changed everything.
No longer was I even interested in these beautiful sexy ladies across from me, and there was a completely valid reason why. These girls were evil. All girls were. Actually all girls weren't evil. That was a lie. No girls were evil. No girls even existed. No one existed. That was the problem. No one existed. We were all just part of a game. But we weren't even the fun characters in the game. We were all the NPCs. The only playable character was Jesus, and we had killed him so long ago and we were just waiting for him to return. You see a year here is the same as a minute in the real universe. Our God who was playing this game had left his computer and left this game of ours on for a day in his world and that was 2000 years in our world, and now everybody was just waiting for Jesus to return.
So I guess the Christian's were right. Congratulations Christians. I'm proud of you. But you're still asking about the girls. Why am I not sleeping with the girls. Well that's a good question. I guess the reason is since the Christian's are right and I have figured it out, I guess I better follow Christian values and not sleep around. Because if God comes back to his computer and sees me sleeping with all the girls he may not like it. Maybe I'll be a monk. Who knows? That's all I have to say. Thanks for listening.
&#x200B; | 2018-10-18T14:25:57 | 2018-10-18T14:07:23 | 53 | 13 |
[WP] For months you've had a recurring dream of dating a Demon Queen. Just a silly dream that you joke with your friends about at lunch. Until today when you see her in the cafeteria glaring right at you, and making a bee line for your table. | Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela. Kaela.
Kaela's lavender skin. Kaela's alabaster eyes. Those short, curved, black fingernails. That petite frame. And that leather mid-riff that shows off every line of her taut, tight belly.
That's the clean version of the 'thought loop' that I think about Kaela in, and much like Kaela herself, the loop is eternal. All day, I think about Kaela, and all night, I have her in my dreams. The fuck made her choose me, and the fuck did she come into my attempt at a forced lucid dream six months ago to begin with? I don't really ask questions anymore, and trust me, if you could see this sexy literal beast for yourself, neither would you.
Kaela's lavender skin. Kaela's alabaster eyes. Those short, curved, black fingernails. That petite frame. And that leather mid-riff that shows off every line of her taut, tight belly....
Fuck, there I go again.
One of my teammates on varsity gave me a nootropic he'd bought online from some site or another and said it would give me 'freaky dreams.' When it comes to recreational shit I'll try anything once, so I took about four of his pills and took the first one that night before bed. I think the dream that first night was freaky for-sure, but I don't really remember what it was. I do remember that the following morning, I tried to interpret it through a dream interpretation site, and on that site, there were links to something called 'lucid dreaming.' A few hours of research later, and had a beginner's knowledge of how to induce a lucid dream with the help of my freaky dream drug.
And that night, while I was flying around in my dreamscape, my winged queen flew up right next to me, caught my eye, and winked. I landed, and she did the same. At first, all I could do was drink in the perfection that was her body, and I did it without shame because this was my dream and not the real world, and I was lucid enough to tell the difference. She smiled, and for whatever reason, I found her four fangs and the curve of her maroon lips to be so, so sexy.
"Are you like a dream character or some shit?" I asked her.
"Why? Are you already aching for some of that second-rate porn that mortals call 'dream sex?'" the demon girl asked me, now grinning instead of smiling.
"Whoa, fuck.."
"Chill, chill. I'm Kaela, Lower Duchess of the Aecher Realm."
"Who-what?"
"Queen of Nightmares, and my father is the king until I take a mate, and then my mate is king."
"Ah."
To date, 'Who-what?' was the last question of skepticism I asked her. There was an awkward pause for a few seconds after that.
"You're fine as fuck," I finally said.
"So are you."
"Can I kiss you?"
"It's your dream, ain't it?"
I wrapped her in my arms and kissed her. But it wasn't the blackberry taste of her that enthralled me; it was her scent, which was so unique and sweet that I've nothing to compare it to in this world. We kissed for hours, and my waking was so sudden, I didn't get the chance to say goodbye to her. Immediately recalling everything that happened with her that night, I relaxed my head against the pillow and looked up to the ceiling.
Kaela's lavender skin. Kaela's alabaster eyes. Those short, curved, black fingernails. That petite frame. And that leather mid-riff that shows off every line of her taut, tight belly....
I spent my entire part-time job savings on more of the freaky dream drug, and for the next six months, Kaela and I would have some wild dream times. For the first week, we'd just make out around various parts of my dream space. After a week, she suggested we do things like play out scenes from 'classic mortal movies,' and do combat scenes against 'dream hordes.' I asked her to take me to Aecher Realm.
"This is the Aecher Realm," Kaela explained. "Demons make no distinction between dreams and nightmares."
"And this is how you found me?" I asked her.
"When someone tries to control their dreams, we keep an eye on them because bad things have been known to happen when dream control gets out of control."
"So you're a dream guardian or something?"
"When dream control gets out of control, rebellions against my family occur. When dream control gets out of control, said dreamers must die."
"Oh."
She licked my cheek slowly.
"But not you. Oh no no no...I'd have many other succulent, terrible fates in store for you. But never death."
I then woke up suddenly, with the worst-ever case of morning wood.
That's how things have been between us for the past six months, and its been wonderful. My lover is truly my fantasy girl. No, fuck. I can't call her my lover. I can't be in love with a dream character. But yeah, I have to admit, I look forward to my sleeping hours and find more joy in my sleeping hours than I do in my waking ones.
Kaela's lavender skin. Kaela's alabaster eyes. Those short, curved, black fingernails. That petite frame. And that leather mid-riff that shows off every line of her taut, tight belly...
"Yo!" my teammate sitting across from me at the cafeteria table shouted to me. Even though the loop is persistent, it doesn't take much to jar me free of it.
"Sup?" I asked him.
"You know that chick? She's a fuckin' stunner."
My teammate motioned over his right shoulder towards one of the cafeteria's double doors, and goddamned if Kaela wasn't standing there, looking right at our table. She was dressed like a goth chick, fine, but at least she had on a mid-riff t-shirt. I don't know how a girl with lavender skin didn't draw a crowd's worth of attention, but then I considered that I was the only one who could see her as she really was. Hell, up until that moment, I was never quite sure if she was even real.
"Fuck yeah, she is," I said to my teammate, and the moment I said that, Kaela started walking towards our table. I froze up at first, but then I turned around on the bench so that my legs were no longer beneath the table.
Kaela stopped in front of me and peered at me as though she were attempting to gauge my reaction. I was pretty mortified, but for fuck's sake, I couldn't let that show in front of my teammates, or to her. And like a prospector staking a claim to territory, in front of the varsity team and the entire goddamn school, she seated herself on my lap, and I didn't fight her on it. My teammates looked at each other in confusion.
"Hi," Kaela gave a broad wave to all of them. "Kaela Aecher."
The teammate that gave me the freaky dream drug in the first place snickered towards me. "So you're his--"
Before my teammate could finish, Kaela set her smartphone, which had a lavender case, on the table in front of my teammates. The background screen had a picture of Kaela in her human form, as a pretty brunette goth, in couples-selfie with me at a local park. Pretty sure we'd never taken such a picture. I didn't even think demon queens carried cell phones.
"What do you think?" Kaela said to my teammate, and pointed to the background picture. If that wasn't enough, she kissed me on the lips in a way that I know made my boys jealous. After that, I smiled at her, and she stroked my head a little. All I could do at this point was be cool.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit," I asked Kaela.
An acrid smile crept across Kaela's face, and it was so confident and charming that not even her next words to me could spoil the moment:
"My dad wants to meet you." | Hope I’m not too late. This is my first response to a prompt, feedback is welcome
When Tanya looked over at me during art class and said to me, “Hey, what are you drawing?” I thought I was done for. It was like all of the ingredients had been mixed together and put in the oven, and had transformed into a freshly baked disaster.
The first ingredient: my lazy art teacher. Often when we were in between projects, he’d say to the class “free draw day,” and then he’d fall asleep at his desk or leave the room entirely while the class descended into chaos. Some people actually did draw quietly or did their homework but most people just did whatever they wanted so long as it didn’t involve leaving the room. As one of the few wannabe artists in the beginner level class that most just took to fulfill a requirement, it bothered me.
Then there was the trouble of what I happened to be drawing. It was something that had come up in my dreams. A demon, specifically, a demon queen. The dreams I had about her were always very vivid, and always turned me on. Something about her, no, everything about her, turned me on. Her skin was charcoal black. Her hair was bright orange, like what you’d get if you drew with an orange highlighter. She had blood red claws and horns and fangs, as well as leathery bat wings on her back, and her eyes, I’d never seen eyes like those before. The color of the “yellow light” on a traffic light, they seemed infinitely deep, like if you were the size of an ant and you fell in, you were never, ever coming back. And they burnt in my soul when I would see them in my dreams. When she would take her three-pronged fork and began to poke at me, deep a fiery pit, and then slowly, the acts of torture would turn into making passionate love. I could remember every little detail about her as, using my hand and a colored pencil, I transferred her image from my head onto the bright white piece of printer paper. How could a human woman ever compare?
Of course, Tanya had always been the closest. We’d been friends since elementary school when we were both She was from Chicago and I was from Canada, which wasn’t actually all that exciting to the people around us, who wished we had come from somewhere much more exotic. We grew up as outsiders, but outsiders who had found each other. There were times, as we got older, when I thought I might be into her, and there were even times when I was sure of it, but it never seemed like she reciprocated the feeling. She treated me like a brother, which was great if you wanted a sister, but I already had two.
So when she looked over at my shoulder and asked me what it was that I was drawing, I felt as though I was trapped. I hated to lie, especially to her, but was a mild lie better than an uncomfortable truth?
“She’s a demon queen from my dreams,” I say, reluctantly.
“I like her,” said Tanya. “She’s cool.”
I hadn’t been expecting that. My nerves were starting to get the better of me, as I began to sweat.
“Can I have her?” Asked Tanya. “Y’know, when you’re done with the drawing?”
I couldn’t believe it. Why on earth would Tanya want my overly sexualized drawing of my own personal demon queen. But I was growing too anxious to say no to her. So I didn’t. “Sure.”
A few days later, I was in the cafeteria, eating my lunch alone, when all of the sudden, smoke appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It filled the cafeteria, even obscuring my view of the peanut butter sandwich I was eating. But I saw her plain as day emerge from the smoke. The demon queen. And I nearly peed in my pants. Why was she here? To torture me? To make love? I didn’t really want either to happen in the middle of a high school cafeteria.
But then I noticed something. She looked wrong.
Her skin wasn’t charcoal black, yes, it was dark, but it remained a perfectly normal skin color for a regular human. Her hair seemed less bright. Her fangs, claws, and horns looked plastic. Her wings did not flap. And her eyes. No, those were not the eyes of the demon from my dream. Still traffic light yellow, but not bottomless pits, two-dimensional shapes.
“I am here to torment you!” Hissed the demon.
“Alright, Tanya,” I said. “You can take off the costume.” I hated to admit it, but as she removed her mask and wig, I found she was becoming very attractive.
“I got you!” She cried out. “I got you good, didn’t I?”
“No. You might have gotten me, but only for a moment.”
“Damn. You know how much this prank cost me? To get the costume? The mask? The wig? The horns and claws and fangs and wings? The smoke bombs? The dignity lost from going around the school in a revealing demon costume? And it didn’t even get you for more then a minute!?”
“But you must’ve done it all for a reason, right? Was it really just all for a stupid prank?”
“Yes. Well… er… um… actually no. I, well, I… I don’t know how to say this, so I think I might as well just say it right here right now. I’m into you. I have been for years, you just always seemed so uninterested in me. I thought maybe if I went around dressing up as your fantasy, maybe you would finally feel the same way about me that I do about you.”
“Well you were wrong.” She started to turn away, dejected. “It changed nothing, because I think I already felt that way.” She looked back at me, suddenly much more hopeful. “If you’d wanted to go on a date with me, you could have just asked.”
“Not like you every said anything to me! Look what I had to do to get your attention.”
“Fair enough. Tanya, will you go out with me.”
“You’re lucky I like you too much to be mad at you. Yes, of course!”
The acts of torture we had been inflicting upon each other, for years, would turn into making passionate love. | 2021-08-26T09:54:41 | 2021-08-26T06:49:19 | 39 | 24 |
[WP] You are a demon that has had several failed attempts on your life by demon hunters. No matter how they use their holy powers they cannot harm you and as a result they consider you extremely powerful. In truth, the holy powers don't harm you for the simple reason that you aren't actually evil. | “Begone Demon!” the priest cried, raising the cross over his head dramatically. He held it there, leaning forward as if he was fighting against a great wind. “I can feel the demon’s power in the poor child!”
The mother was crying.
“Excuse me,” I said to the priest. “Excuse me,” I said again when he seemed not to hear me. My voice was high. Childlike. Frankly, it was adorable.
“Do not speak, demon!” The priest shouted and tossed water in my face.
“Well, that was rude.” I said, trying to wipe the water off my face with my little hands, but I forgot I was tied down to the bed.
“He is not affected by holy water,” the priest said to his assistant. “Dear god, help us.”
I rolled my eyes. “Listen, padre, you got these ropes too tight. You are going to hurt this poor girl’s arms. The circulation is cut. Look!” I said nodding at the fingers turning blue. “You want her to lose her fingers?”
“It’s a trick!” the Priest’s slimy little assistant said, nudging up against the priest who pushed him away.
“I know it is!” the priest said with frustration, smoothing out his robes. “I know it is,” he said, this time calmer. He turned to me with a sickly smile. “So, you seem to be smarter and more powerful than I anticipated That’s good. I will enjoy this very much.”
“Did you enjoy the bruises you put on this girl’s face when you tried to slap ‘the demon’ out of her?” I asked.
The priest flinched at that.
“Listen,” I said. “Your “holy weapons” aren’t going to work. They have no power over me. Frankly, I don’t got time to discuss it. I’m only here for a short time. I didn’t choose the girl. She chose me. She's scared. And honestly, the girl doesn’t seem to want to come back. She’s here with me now and she’s scared of you. She’s scared of what her mother said. About how she is a sinner. She’s scared of your threats to her.”
“Threats?” the priest said. “What are you talking about?”
“Eternal damnation?” I said. “Just for having different feelings than others? Really? You call me the evil one… but look what you’ve done to this little girl. She summoned me because she was told she was possessed with evil. She thought she deserved me. Well, I’m glad she called me. You’ve gone too far.”
I looked at the mother. “You’ve all gone too far. Leave the girl alone. Let her be. She’s not evil. Nor am I. Let her live her life the way she wants. The way that makes her happy.”
“Bring my baby back please, I’ll do anything you say,” the mother pleaded, tears streaming down her face.
“Alright, deal. I’m gonna go now. And when she comes back, I want you to hug her and say you're sorry. Alright?”
The mother nodded slowly, wiping her eyes.
“And I want you to stay away from this man.” I nodded at the priest. “He takes pleasure in the torturing of poor souls who were born different than him.”
I closed my eyes and slowly sank into the girl's mind. “It’s okay,” I said to the girl who was curled up down deep inside of herself. I ran my hands through her hair. “It’ll be okay now.” She looked up at me.
“Really?”
I nodded.
“And if it isn’t?” She asked.
“I’ll always be here for you. Just call for me, I’ll be listening”
She uncurled herself and rose up. I gave her a hug and I let her merge into me, taking back control of the body.
“You’ll do great.” I said. “I’m proud of you.”
\---
You can read more of my stories at r/CataclysmicRhythmic | Many demons and extraplanar beings are considered evil. Succubi, dormant eldritch gods, and devils and imps of all manners typically are evil, whether lawful or chaotic. I, however strived for a different life. One of balance, one of neutrality.
The other demons scoffed at the notion. Called me a fool and a madman. Said that evil was baked into our very being. And yet, here I am, living longer than any of them could imagine, impervious to the rituals of demon hunters. Maybe being called a fence sitter all those years was worth it.
"What *are* you?" A demon hunter said that to me one day. What did he expect as a response? That I was a halfbreed of an angel and a devil? A demon who bought the protection of a divine entity? Unfortunately, the answer is a lot more mundane than any of that.
"Oh, you haven't heard?" I said, lips curling into a wicked smile. "I'm not evil. I'm chaotic neutral." The color drained from his face. "Those miracles only work on the truly reprehensible, but as my colleagues say, I'm a fence-sitter." I slowly crept towards him, then stopped. "Which means I can't kill you. And you can't kill me." The demon hunter stopped. "Wait, really?" I nodded. "It appears we are at an impasse." The demon hunter sighed. "That's a relief." He paused a second. "So... What now?" I thought for a minute, then offered a hand. "You want to be friends?" The demon hunter smiled. "That sounds like just what I need." | 2021-02-22T14:48:36 | 2021-02-22T14:07:48 | 3,079 | 766 |
[WP] Dwarves are notorious for their love of alcohol. One day a dwarf goes sober and discovers it grants them amazing powers such as being able to remember what happened the night before. | Urist was startled awake by the sounds of screams from outside his room, mercifully dampened by distance and the heavy wooden door that lead into the living quarters passageway. He grimaced anyway, somehow aware he was on the verge of a splitting headache that would make itself known at the slightest provocation.
The booze had ran out yesterday, and already the fort was in disarray. The usual sounds of the fort were deafeningly absent - the throng of metalworking, the chipping of the stonecarver, thwacking of the butcher, the constant hum of conversation and song - all replaced with moaning, crying, and the occasional pained or angered scream.
He decided his best course of action was to stay in bed. Outside it he never quite lost the sense of chill this place had - knowing he was only a dozen blocks away from the largest ice sheet he had ever seen somehow dampened the heat of any fire and the comfort of his furred clothes - but here in his warm bed, in the stupor of sleepiness, he clung to the only real sense of true warmth he could remember since he arrived here.
"*An exotic home under the ice*" they said. "*A chance at a fresh start*" they said. "*You'll find riches in the untouched Earth*" they said.
Instead all they found was granite, basalt, and a few meagre streaks of coal and hematite, under more ice than he thought existed in the world. Where were the magma tubes the geologists promised to help turn their cold little hole in the ground into a cosy home? Where was the underground lake they were so sure must be under such a thick layer of ice? How could there not be a living underworld here, caves of edible creatures and plants that they believed underlaid the whole world? They seemed to stretch on forever in the depths under his old mountainhome, but here in this Armokforsaken place they'd found nothing but ice and an endless sea of rock.
Urist wasn't used to such thoughts. He was used to just getting on with things, the realities of his harsh life fading away into the usual fuzz of routine. Whenever he felt the cold fist of reality closing in there was always a barrel of dwarven ale or river spirits from the supplies to ease his mind. How bad could it be, really, with a belly full of ale?
There was shouting now. Accusing sounds, angry. Then, louder, the distinctive voice of Mayor Amkin. It was getting closer. Urist could pick out some of the words now, a rambling tirade about how none of this was his fault emerging from the cacophony.
His head started to throb. The ache in his gut grew. Dwarves weren't meant to feel this way, to worry about their lot in life, to bicker and fight when they could be working towards their future, to feel the sheer existential dread of knowing they were trapped in a harsh world full of horrors both mundane and miraculous.
They were just meant to drink and *get on with it*.
The shouting reached a crescendo, and was suddenly replaced by a blood-curdling, gargling scream. Then abrupt, unnatural silence.
Urist held his breath and pulled the covers closer. It's warm here, he thought. At least it was warm. | “So what happened last night?”
The question snapped him out of his racing thoughts, the elation that he can basically construct reality as he sees fit within the Dwarven community still fresh in his body.
“You lost a buncha’ gold betting on fights, Orwin, you shit gambler.”
That was not entirely true, but only he knew what really happened. He still could taste the anxiety as he feigned intoxication the previous evening while convincing Orwin to lend a portion of his fortune he was comfortable parting with instead of wasting it on bets to the underdog. When Orwin actually agreed he didn’t immediately decide to just pocket the gold - at first he was hoping to hold it until the following morning.
But as morning rolled around and the realization of what it actually means to remember last night hit him he began to restructure his thoughts.
Tonight was around the corner and he had a story to work on. | 2017-12-31T08:13:06 | 2017-12-31T08:11:53 | 41 | 22 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | 'Ha! Keep you on the royal guard as the captain of it all as my father did! What a stupid and pitiful way of getting my command around here. Do yourself a favour and leave at once'
......
It had almost been a solid 7 years since I was thrown out of the leadership of the royal guard and out of the city of seraphis itself, along with my siblings, parents and my wife and children. After 32 years of my service, it was clear to see that the new king wasn't going to keep me around for the next few years, especially since he never could stand my presence since his childhood.
Gods how I miss the first king I served under, king Louis the II. Gods how I missed how I would feel the honour of fighting by his side when fending off the hated invaders of salkos, never surrendering to the thousands of blades, axes, spears and rifles that would be pointed right in our eyes. But I can't ponder on the past now, not now with what's happening.
....
The new king, Louis the III, had taken up the throne of his fallen father (by the gods' will, May he rest well) and struck with a storm of hatred alone amongst the people of his city: he would randomly banish any man, woman or beast that would dare challenge his authority, sending them all off to the wilds of dagear-ram for his own entertainment. My family was one of those who were unlucky enough to be banished due to my termination of the captain of the royal guard. Though I was expecting such from a 18 year old boy that didn't even think to have his father buried like a true king.
Shame for him I suppose. Just as he banished the last few innocents to the wilds of dagear-ram, the invaders of salkos' brother land, haru-ka-ku came in to take the throne themselves. The new king didn't even know what to do to even arbitrate with the invaders, let alone fight them. If only he kept me and listened to me, he would know his father's secret counter measures device...
The device in question was more strange thing that king Louis the II had made as a final resort if all else failed to defeat the invaders and defend the city: it happened to be a counter-measures, explosive device that relied heavily on science, magic and some sort of energy called 'radiation' or what ever the hell it was called. I wasn't one for the finer details of such a weapon.
The king of course didn't want the weapon to be misused and mass produced (for the safety of the natural world of course), so he trusted the only launch codes to the device with himself and his most trusted brother in arms and main advisor: myself. Shame that it will be completely created for nothing really.
......
Moving on from the past, however, I eventually gained trust and a new vocation in the next kingdom over, acting as the captain of the new royal guard for the beast empress, Alexandra the IV of the kingdom of Kalzerous, so I have no more time to dwell on a lost future of a king whose currently penned up in his castle like a frightened little barn pig. | The old king and I were pretty close friends. I introduced him to most of the playmates within his harem. Comprised of but not limited to Vicky Vallencourt & Suzy Crabgrass. Some nights, we’d play uno together. He knew I would let him win and for me? Honestly. I liked it. He could see how I liked it so... no longer was I there to please his majesty, I was there for me. Someone who had the keys not to the Royal palace, but to his own character. Had the king been not of royal blood he would of admired this in me- instead I was merely found amusing which never quite sat well with me. And now? I think that may be all I’ll ever have been. For, there’s nothing to be of me now. Not without him. | 2021-02-28T03:33:58 | 2021-02-28T01:37:57 | 61 | 14 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | He watched her approaching the congressional chamber. She walked down the halls towards their meeting, pushing her communicator into her sleeve pouch. In the same movement, she brought out some morsel of food and offered it to the odd creature perched on her shoulder. The flaps covering its epidermis expanded, flashing brilliant green as it cooled over the morsel. He reflected on how....unsettling these humans were. They always preferred to bond with those around them.
Unlike every other species, they would bond emotionally with everything. Animals, humans, other sentients. And they would always solve problems with *talk*. Wretched, wretched talk. They were the best at *talk*. They talked the Karinzin down from war with the Kayelt, which his people had spent a century executing for their growth.
No, now they had to take this grievance to the Galactic Congress and *talk* about how they were right for starting a war with these barbarians. He had demanded their immediate and unconditional surrender at the close of yesterday’s session. It shouldn’t take long even if they resist.
And, one these vermin were under the yoke of the Raythin empire, they would no longer be allowed to destroy what they spend so long crafting. He smiled as she approached the table. Today would be a great day, he mused to himself.
She seated herself across the grand table, the rest of the body seating in the voting theater circling the central stage. “Honorable members of this body, I have come to deliver our response,” she stated as the assembly slowly hushed for the proceedings. “The Human Planetary Union demands that the Raythin Empire cease all aggressions and retreat to their home territory. Our offer is that we will not declare war on your people.”
***
Karina stared at the lizard creature before her. The entire assembly was hushed, many showed obvious signs of confusion. No one expected a power play from the young race that always talked.
Of course, none of them wanted what the humans had. Mineral rich worlds that were otherwise planets used to scare children into behaving. The handful of planets that other races might like inside Human space just weren’t worth it. Those races that chose to live near humans tended to become extremely friendly with them and even protective. Everyone thought the humans had some sort of chemical secretion that would overwhelm the other races’ minds if they spent too much time near them.
But, they weren’t aggressive. They seemed too agreeable. So agreeable that everyone pretty much ignored them and left them to their business.
The crowd began to murmur as the Raythinite fluttered its throat. “We reject your.....interesting proposal,” Delegate Othrr stated calmly.
Karina nodded. “Please...” her voice faltered and the crowd went silent once more as she regained her composure, “Please. I beg of you, with tears in my eyes, do not do this. If you reject this offer again, we will kill you all.” A tear rolled down her cheek.
Othrr squared his posture. “You pathetic beast. You aren’t even sentient enough to know when to surrender.” He swiped at her from across the table, she quickly bobbed back from the gesture.
“Very well, Delegate.” She sighed and coldly pulled out her communicator, “General. The offer has been rejected. Proceed with Operation Bedtime.”
A collective eye-brow-equivalent raised in the audience. “The Human Planetary Union officially declares war on the Raythin Empire. Anyone who allies themselves will forfeit all Human trade and diplomatic relationships until such time as the war is ended. Good day, delegates,” Karina said, almost clinically.
As she turned to walk out of the theater, Othrr bellowed and swiped at her again. He missed her as she deftly maneuvered out of his way - but managed to hit the small animal perched on her shoulder.
The assembly that had turned to discuss the strange Human declaration turned back when they heard a blood curdling, full bodied scream of vengeance. The fairly small mammal had shed her blue delegate cloak and was furiously hacking at the Raythinite delegate with a knife about the length of her forearm. In her rage, she chopped at everything that moved on the Delegates body, finally hacking so aggressively that a full third of his torso was reduced to bloody splatter in mere moments.
Just as suddenly as she started, she stopped. The entire congregated assembly had what seemed one pair of eyes as they followed her over to her animal, watched her gingerly pick him up, then gather her wardrobe and stomp out of the hall.
***
The battles were swift and brutal for the Raythinites. Every battle had them surrounded by large flights of craft too small for them to accurately destroy. Their forces were hacked apart much like their delegate had been. World after world was methodically eliminated until they had only their home solar system left.
As the Human fleet approached their system, they unexpectedly halted in their advance.
In the citadel on the home world, the Raythinite Regent was summoned to read a communication. “We would like to discuss a ceasefire.”
The Regent stared at his console in disbelief, alternating between the message displayed and the scanning equipment that couldn’t even accurately count the number of ships at the edge of the system’s cloud.
“I....would also like to discuss a ceasefire....” he finally replied. | As any biologist will tell you, the human body is a peculiar thing. Among many things, there is a specific cell in the immune system that is so deadly, when it fights infection, it kills healthy cells as well. It evolved to off itself in a short time to avoid killing too much of the body.
You could almost say the same for humans.
Much of the rest of the galaxy was older than us, but we were the first in our area. An entire half of the galaxy left unexplored by six other species because they were complacent with what they had, with all their tech and resource planets. They had all made contact with each other very early, been talking with each other since the very beginnings of their civilizations. They’d grown up, grown fat, and stopped. They’d stopped seeing the point of war a long time ago.
We had grown up with that point staring us in the face.
Then meeting us was sheer coincidence. One of their fleets bumped into a small explorer ship of ours, and they immediately began rushing in to where we were, looking for us. They probably though that as one species, we had two or three star systems under our control.
We had taken a full third of the galaxy.
They were a bit more than surprised.
Of course we discarded all signs of a big war species right away. Took up a position as negotiators, middlemen. That kept us going for a while. They questioned how we advanced so far in such a small time, and had set ourselves up to be the ancient godlike species for a huge chunk of the galaxy. We just shrugged and said it just happened.
Until the eight species arrived.
Conquerors from outside the galaxy, trying to take over everything. They saw us, both in their experience and the reports of the other six species, as weaklings, trying to avoid fighting at every opportunity. They even tried to wipe out a bunch of our systems, in a show of force. They thought they had perfected war.
What a bunch of god damn idiots.
The other six species pulled back, leaving them to sweep into the outskirts of the galaxy in a few days. By day 6, everybody was thinking they would win.
By day 7 we were standing over the corpses of their frontal fleet.
Our ancestors, the ones who turned war into an art, smiled upon us that day. We used tactics both old and new, striking with ferocity built up and hidden away for years and strength that nobody knew we had. We had less than them, our tech almost on their level, but we had been used to fighting ourselves at a disadvantage for millennia.
On the seventh day, the wrath of a people who were done hiding their true nature was seen. Our nature was not negotiating or talking peace.
It was war.
And the universe would fear and respect it. Lest they face us. | 2019-04-18T18:03:56 | 2019-04-18T16:12:03 | 228 | 116 |
[WP] Something with a happy ending. Anything at all.
[removed] | The acorn basked in the warm heat of the summer sun. It was surrounded by the bright green leaves of the tall, tall tree. And that was all that the acorn had ever known, or wanted to know.
But then the cold came, and the leaves began to change: to vivid red, fiery orange, and bright yellow. Wind howled and rain came pouring down, causing the old tree to shake. The acorn clung to the branch with all its might even as the leaves grew brittle and began to fall. And when the grass far below was no longer visible under the thick carpet of fall foliage, the acorn could hold on no longer. It plummeted toward the ground, away from the comfortable branch of the mighty tree. And the acorn was scared.
It was cold and lonely on the ground. The leaves that the acorn had known so well on the branch were gone; all that remained were dried husks that only looked like its old friends. They began to crumble, and the acorn experienced ice and snow for the first time. It sought shelter from the cold in the grimy, uncomfortable dirt. But life was so much more miserable now than it was back on the branches. The acorn wondered why all of this was happening to it.
“Is anyone else out there?” the acorn desperately called. “Anyone at all?”
“I am here,” the roots answered from deep within the earth. The voice was not too dissimilar from the branch’s, but older and wizened. “I’ve always been here.”
“I’m scared,” the acorn told the roots. “I want to go back to the branch where it was warm and safe.” Even as it spoke, the ground around the acorn was freezing solid, and a thick blanket of snow carpeted the ground. The remains of the leaves were gone as well.
“It will be OK,” the roots answered. “This is the way of things. I’ve enjoyed many summers and endured many winters. And every time, the acorns fear that the summer will never come. But I know it will.”
The acorn trusted the roots. But the winter cold never ended. Wind howled through the trees. The blanket of snow melted, then another storm passed and an even thicker layer came. The acorn tried to go deeper into the dirt but it was too cold and hard. “Patience,” the roots advised. The acorn wasn’t sure how much longer it could go on like this.
But then a bird began to sing. “The sun is out,” the roots advised the acorn. “See for yourself.”
The acorn tried to look from deep under the soil, but it couldn’t see. Though the acorn hated the dirt, it was at least familiar now, and leaving was a scary prospect. But as the Acorn peered upward, it realized that now the ground wasn’t so cold, or so hard. So the acorn stretched and poked above the surface for the first time in ages. It had forgotten the smell of the air and the warmth of the sun! And the forest was so different! Trees were in bloom, and even flowers were growing in between the mighty oaks. The branches had spoken of flowers, but the acorn had been too young to remember them.
“Well?” the roots asked the acorn. “Better?”
The acorn unfurled its first leaves and soaked in the spring. “Better,” it answered.
(This post has been locked, but if you have any comments on the story [I'd love to hear them on this post over in my own subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/5c1q5u/the_acorn/))
-----
And as requested by the OP, other stories with happy endings:
1. [I never smile](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4ttd7l/i_never_smile/)
2. [The neighborly thing to do](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/55ow9h/the_neighborly_thing_to_do/)
3. [Termination](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4wwinp/termination/)
4. [I wish you could see what I see](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4drpis/i_wish_you_could_see_what_i_see/)
5. [The Match Database](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3uvcu7/the_match_database/)
6. [The Criminal](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4pb7lr/the_criminal/)
7. [Eggy](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3kynpt/eggy/)
8. [Dizzy](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3n8o9o/dizzy/)
9. [Bread](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3mccba/bread/?ref=search_posts)
10. [Superhero/Supervillain Couple on a date](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3apwp0/superherosupervillain_couple_on_a_date/)
----
And if you're already missing Obama... [President Frozone](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3vb91c/president_frozone/)
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AND, if you liked all of these stories, then remember to subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more. I'm at about 850 stories now, though not all with happy endings.
| Donald Trump stands before a roaring crowd at his inauguration speech. Rebel flags and American flags litter the audience chanting "U.S.A.!! U.S.A!!" The secret service stands nervously around him, some talking into their collars, others pointing to some demonstrators who are promptly removed. The Donald raises his small hands, signalling the crowd to quiet down. The crowd descends into a dull roar, and then silence. Like the entire country is holding his breath.
"My fellow Americans, I want to thank you for lending me your strength and bringing me here to this place today. We will make America great again." The crowd goes wild, and then dies down again as he waves his hand. A flag can be heard flapping in the wind.
"But I want to tell you something. I haven't been entirely honest with you all." Laughter in the crowd. Nervous shuffling.
"This has been my greatest achievement. As most of you ignore, many of my business dealings failed miserably. Odds are, if I wasn't born into my family that I had, I wouldn't have been successful ever. I would be like you all. But I knew I had an opportunity. The best way to get the votes is to tell you all exactly what you want to hear. This..." The Donald looks down and chuckles to himself. Melania smiles knowingly behind him.
"This has been my greatest con. You are all fools. Banning Muslims? Building a wall? Are you all serious? Come on. I tell the best lies. The only words I would spew were exactly what you wanted to hear. And now you gave me the highest office that this country -- no, the FREE world has. I thank you for your willful ignorance." The crowd begins to turn angry, the secret service gets nervous and calls for backup. Little did they realize the National Guard had already been called in for extra crowd control by Donald. He knew this would happen. Crowds are fickle.
"I chose Mike here as my VP because I knew it would be best to have a very conservative counter to my, well, normal stances on policies. The Republicans should be happy, considering they maintain control over Congress." The crowd starts to boo, and he waves his hand. Silence.
"There will be term limits on politicians soon. But make no mistake. I will be the best President. America *will* be great again. Taxes will be lowered for working Americans while big corporations will have their loopholes closed. Did any of you even read my tax plan before? The best tax plan?" He scoffs into the microphone. "That would have ballooned the deficit and caused austerity cuts to welfare and social security. Ridiculous. Don't worry, America. I'm not going to screw this up." The crowd is silent as he turns, and walks away.
As Confederate flags droop in the crowd, the American flag flaps briskly in the wind.
________
[I hope I am really right.](https://talesofatravellingsalesman.com/2016/11/09/the-greatest-con/) | 2016-11-09T07:04:42 | 2016-11-09T06:31:41 | 1,541 | 475 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | (Sorry for any grammar errors in advance. Edited for spelling. I’m not the best at this)
"*This is how it works*," Death explained. "*You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood*?”
Marcus heard the voice in his head before he heard it with his ears. The echo betrayed the vast expanse of space he was seemingly standing in.
He kept looking around Death trying to perceive form but each time he focused on something it would fold into itself and a new shape would appear “Yeah I understand.”
To Marcus, Death was a towering void with subtle facial features scattered among the form against a sea of starlight. Cloaked as if someone had draped a statue with a black hole.
“*I am inclined to inform you…*” Marcus heard the echo of Death’s voice again as he was looking around “*...before you pick our game let it be known that beings here do not tire. As such do not expect to succumb to fatigue nor thirst.*” Marcus heard Death proclaim as he looked around then back to Death.
“Okay...uh...may I get some time to think?” Marcus asked while trying to focus on what he thought was Death’s main face. Death gave what Marcus perceived as a slight nod.
A few minutes went by as Marcus stood in contemplation.
“Ya’ said I can pick any game right?”
Death nodded.
“And ya’ said we won’t get tired here?”
“*Correct again*” Death echoed.
Marcus looked up at Death inquisitively “Then…{ahem}...then can we play fetch?”
“*Elaborate*” Death’s echo was distinctively louder than before.
“Two years ago my momma’ was cleaning the house for family to come over on Thanksgiving. She opened up the door to let out the dust from cleaning but accidentally left it open for too long and my dog Rook got outside. My momma' couldn't stop him and he ran into the street and was hit by a car. It wasn’t the driver’s fault or my momma’s fault or even Rook’s. He was just too fast. He was my boy. But I was working when it happened and didn’t get to say bye.” Marcus stifled a cough and took a deep breath.
“He died in the Vet’s office before I could get there. My sister put up her cell-phone to his ear so I could say goodbye but I think he was already dead. You could hear it in everyone’s voice. I got to hug him later but he wasn’t there anymore.’
He began batting away at whatever tears tried to take hold.
“You said we can play any game so I want us to play fetch with Rook.”
“*There can be no winner to that game. You cannot cheat at that game.*” Death’s form became more rigid “*Choose another.*”
“No, Rook’s gonna’ be the winner because you said we won’t get tired. So we’re gonna’ play forever.” Marcus puts his fingers to his chest “And besides you can cheat if you pump-fake and don’t throw the ball to him. He’ll catch on eventually. He’s smart. Plus I get to see Rook again so I’m gonna win too.” He pointed at death “You took him from me two years ago so I know you can bring him here. That’s my game Death, that’s what I wanna’ play.” Tears streaming down Marcus’ face roll off his cheek and dissipate into nothing.
“And I promise you I aint gonna’ be watching you so pump-fake all you want. But in order for you to lose or give up and send me back we gotta’ at least start playin’ so **bring rook here**…..please.”
His voice splits as he points at his feet fighting to keep his eyes open.
The absence of sound is broken by a low bass rumble.
“*So be it.*”
Marcus is thrown down to a field of tall incandescent grass. He can feel wind cooling his face. Death is already there and unfolds and unfurls at the bottom revealing a dog who sprang forth to Marcus as if he was waiting behind the curtains.
“Rook!”
| My heart was pounding as I sat in the plane, staring at the map. There was just me and one other person on board. I was waiting for him to take his exit first, staring at that yellow dot. However we were almost halfway through the island, and he was still there. Panicking I decided if I jumped and went straight down I might stand a chance.
I jumped, looking straight now to the center of the island, the school I knew so well. So many good and bad times in this school with my friends. I angled for the high roof, landed, and then fell off the roof.
I looked up, and say the tip of his parachute disappear over the rooftop. He had the advantage. Panicking, I started to run. I dived into a first floor window and into a classroom. A frying pan was on the teachers desk. I picked it up sadly, knowing it would not save me.
I went to the door, checking left then right, on my turn back to the left to start my run, I heard it. A slight footstep from the stairs nearby. There it was, the bastard himself, in a yellow banana suit, shot gun pointed at my face...
BAM! It was over. I was dead. A feeling I had had many times before, but this time I knew it was forever.... Except not! DINK! The bullets hit my pan! Saving me from lethal damage. I was alive, but in my shock I did not move. It was too late, he was going to end me with the next shot.
And then it happened. He never pulled the trigger. I just stood there for a second, confused. But I realized I had to take this opportunity. I took my pan and bashed his head in. WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"Brendan it's done, that ban wave we promised just rolled out. We even kicked them mid match."
"Good job intern Steve. That should keep the masses at bay for another day" | 2018-03-07T09:56:50 | 2018-03-07T07:11:15 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] Hunans have recently started to make themselves known in the galactic community. But it’s not that they have super strength, high intelligence, or advanced technology. It is their powerful immune system and the countless horrific diseases they and their pets carry with them.
EDIT: I’m on mobile. My stupid thumb made a typo in the title and now we all have to live with it. | Macchiero gave out a horrible gurgle, shaking in his stasis pod so that the infinitesimal waves of energy surrounding him trembled.
His pale, scaly skin was suffused with a red tint, which spread peals of heat throughout his body. The medics that were in charge of him and the seven other members of the *Philemon* frantically eyed the charts, watching Macchiero's body temperature increase by the second.
The distress call came from the small trans-universal spacecraft just before it docked at Glieseoid's Subtra-B terminal. A crew of slippery-skinned, shuddering, and collapsed crew-members were found in a heap by the pilot's seat. The craft was sealed off with the same equipment used for any containment incident, but as the aides who first happened upon the craft fell ill, Scaroth forces began to panic.
In the secure facility, Macchiero and his crew, who had travelled in the *Philemon* to a mysterious, being-made facility known as Luna-One, were dying of what the Scarothan authorities were calling the Pale Horse. This wasn't any ordinary molting sickness. This wasn't scaly rot, or even some sort of biochemical attack. This was something entirely different. The scientist examined the thick, yellowish bile that came up from the throats of the stasis-induced crew, under strict containment. They could not determine anything of the sort that existed on Glieseoid.
Macchiero grunted, and for the first time since he took ill gave out a yell. It was more of a shriek, and the aides noticed that his body temperature temporarily returned to normal levels, his heartbeat decreasing in intensity. An aide entered the room, placing a gloved hand on the button and discharging the field of energy temporarily, letting the captain loll back his head. Scales, temporarily back to their original color, were still pulsating as if they were being continually filled with energy.
He raised a shaking arm, pointing out towards the door. The aide inside adjusted his own containment mask, before returning to his task of observing Macchiero's behavior. The Scarothan heaved, and spat out his words in gurgle.
"Stasis chamber, new target, new containment." he groaned. "Stasis chamber, new target, new containment, source."
Gesturing to his colleagues who observed the scene through the heavy duty glass, the aide gently watched Macchiero cough and wheeze, as the host of tubes connected to him shuddered to life with another regiment of cooling-energy. They had no specific ability to take care of the mysterious heat-inducing Pale Horse, but they were willing to try anything in an attempt to keep it in check. If all else failed, the orders were clear.
"Termination, followed by vaporization. If all else fails, that is what you must do." the aide remembered his superior saying. "This is no ordinary sickness, no bioweapon that we have experienced."
Outside the room, the colleagues of the lone aide deciphered the disjointed words Macchiero managed to mumble. *Stasis chamber, new target, new containment*.
The stasis box that was found in the *Philemon*'s secret containment chamber hours later was carefully wheeled into a separate safe room, with a horde of hazard-suit clad authorities ready to take the cover off. As the metal was slowly stripped away, within the stasis liquid was something strange, something entirely different.
Skin smooth, nose not like slits but raised and sculpted. Hair lining the face and the eyes like shadows, ears that protruded out like bells. A chest curved and slightly raised, with ribs that created grooves on the soft surface. Legs spread out, expression serene. The breathing was quiet, tired, and rhythmic. Warm to the touch, as warm as Macchiero and his group were in the hospital sector.
*What is this creature?*
Perhaps the galaxy would soon come to find out, but if this was the fiend that spread the Pale Horse, the Scarothans were not eager to know.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK | First Contact was a success... that is that the aliens who came to invade Earth were unable to truly do anything after they met a toddler who was inflicted with the common cold. The guns by the militaries didn't do much harm to the aliens, but they were in retreat anyway. The Aliens had all perished within the hour, with humans seizing their Star ships. Other than that, First Contact was a success, humanity survived.
When they were invited to the Galactic Council meeting for the first time, civilization in the galaxy was toppled when an alien species inadvertently brought a bacteria to the meeting, leading to all the leaders in the known galaxy to collapse to to spasms and fevers. They all died. That is, except for the humans. They had a cough and it was gone within a week.
It took a few years for humanity to declare war for the first time, but by then it was well known humans were immune to "everything" or so the sayings went. An entire planet was cleansed of sentient aliens when the diplomats came for peace talks, but were not wearing a pressurized hazmat suit. That was to be remembered for future visits.
The only time humans were truly affected by a non-Terran virus was a virus from the Andromeda Galaxy. It was so devastating, it killed over half the known galaxy and even a hundred humans!
In the past, it was feared the most terrifying things in the universe were genocidal birds, or planet destroying cyber cubes, but no. It was one thing that all feared... Viruses, but it was a hurdle humans had passed oh so long ago they had forgotten about it. | 2019-11-18T20:18:21 | 2019-11-18T18:50:53 | 228 | 143 |
[WP] You used to be the most powerful evil overlord humanity has ever seen. Then you turned over a new leaf, and your empire is a utopia. The only person who refuses to believe you've changed? The hero who has tried to stop you for decades. | I waited.
I looked out from my window to the sparkling city that I had once terrorized and nearly destroyed more times than I could remember.
It was easy to plan for it's destruction, causing chaos and pandemonium with every attempt, But that was nothing compared to the **Challenge** of uplifting it.
Changing my image was the first difficulty, for good reason I was regarded as a menace and a danger to everyone, with years of maneuvering (some subtle and some not so subtle) I was considered reformed by the justice system and seen by everyone as a man seeking to atone for past wrongs.
Everyone but one man.
My greatest rival, the Hero who bested me in every confrontation, every test of strength, wit and skill. The final piece I needed for my grand scheme to be complete.
And so I waited.
With a crash he entered the scene, my poor door no match for his foot.
"It was unlocked you know", I call out over my shoulder in the calmest voice it could manage, hoping to keep my excitement from reaching him. "Although I **am** glad you came through the door instead of the wall or window", With a sigh I turn and walk to my desk, catching a glimpse of him standing in my door as I walk.
Gold stripes with a blue base with matching cape and red boots. I always loved his costumes and today's choice especially brought out the pure rage in his eyes.
"So what can this lowly public servant help you with today?" I cheerfully said as I sat down.
Or I would have said that had he not slammed his hand nearly through my desk when the word servant left my mouth.
"You never served anyone other than yourself you sick psychopath." The words left his mouth with more spittle than I would appreciate but they also contained more rage than I had planned for. "I knew all of this was a lead up to some ungodly theatrical reveal but I had never thought that you would do something so downright evil." He composed himself as best he could while hissing those words between his lips.
"Ahhhh, you found the genetic markers for the immortality program then? I was wondering how long it was going to take you to find those and come storming in here." I steepled my fingers together, "so how did you think this would play out? You come charging in demanding to know what the grand plan is and bait me into monologuing? I'm sorry to disappoint you but it wont be that easy you know."
With a sudden motion he rips me from behind my desk and pins me to the wall, "No games." He snarls at me, "I've seen the research papers, I KNOW that you intend to sacrifice ten thousand people to give yourself a longer lifespan, I KNOW EVERYTHING."
"Well what did you expect me to do when you don't return my calls and refuse to follow the breadcrumbs of lesser crimes back to me? Honestly you were being so stubborn that I had to do something drastic to get you here." I played the part of a scared super villain perfectly, suddenly realizing that I was two seconds from being paste on the wall had nothing to do with how scared I sounded I'm sure.
As easily as most people swung around a pillow he lifted me up and smashed me back into the wall, only using one hand to hold me now while the other gathered light or honour or whatever his power worked on.
**"I SAID NO MORE GAMES!"** He roared, the light gathering around his whole body now. **"UNDO IT! GET RID OF WHATEVER CHEMICALS THAT YOU PUT IN THEIR SYSTEM NOW!!"
"Already done."
I hear him grit his teeth at my now smug demeanor and feel him push me a bit higher up the wall
"The markers will fade in a week and the chemicals in the water are false positives I had the labs make up." I quickly add as I feel his urge to kill me rising, "The Immortality project is nothing more than smoke and mirrors."
His eyes narrow as they bore holes into my now-not-so-smug-demeanor for what feels like an eternity before he finally lets me down and lets go of his blinding radiance. "Explain. Now." He commanded in something dangerously close to a growl.
Quickly fixing my suit so that I could breath I move back towards fist indented desk, "Like I said you weren't returning my calls so I had the entire thing made up to hopefully get you here to talk to me."
"You planned the most heinous crime in two centuries just to get me to talk to you be cause you were bored?" his fists clench again as he leaks rage once more.
"Not boredom," I assure him, "I need you for something." I almost whisper as I pull out the key from my favorite paperweight while I take out the fist sized box from my desk.
"You've gone insane if you think I'll help you with anything." slashing his hand in the air in front of him. The embers of rage are still in him, not quite out but nothing compared to the fire it was before.
"is that so?" I say with a dry smile, "is there anything I could say to convince you otherwise?"
"Nothing."
I stood there considering him in the silence, while he glared at me. And in that silence he turned to leave.
"I'm dying." I called out as he reached the doorway.
He froze one foot on the door.
"The senate knows already and are plotting and backstabbing to try to be next in line. It wont be too long before the news leaks and starts a power struggle." I flop into my chair in a rare break of character. "After plotting and planning for so long I finally create a utopia for all to live in, and the moment I show weakness it threatens to crumble."
The silence returned for several minutes this time before he spoke.
"A man in his prime tells me he's dying and that his empire is cracking. Normally I would offer to help but pardon me for not believing you." The skepticism in his voice betrayed by a speck of glee.
"Temporal freezing," I answer while looking at my hand, "I look and feel 27 right up until I drop dead of old age at the ripe age of 140." I grinned at the look of shock on his face. "I told you that the time prison you tossed me in worked too well"
"Alright so you're about to die," he said with skepticism to match his earlier rage. "I refuse to believe that you don't have twelve different plans already set up and in motion."
I raise my hands in the air. "Alright, you got me. I have two-hundred and four plans set up and only nine will destroy the world if go through."
His eyes harden at that and he starts to circle the room.
I raise a finger at him. "But not to worry they'll only go off in about twenty to thirty years if left unchecked." I plant both hands on either side of the dent. "This is my last challenge to you my old foe." Using the key I unlock the box and toss it to him. "This has the clue to get you started."
He snatches the box out of the air and holds it like it's a live serpent.
"I truly hate you." he seethed before he walked out.
"oh I'm counting on it." I dreamily murmured to the now empty room.
Because who else could I get to police my utopia and check every corner for wrong being done.
And who knows he might even find all eight of world ending plots I left for him.
________________________________________________________________
Alright I'm kinda new to this so be gentle.
| Palthet gazed over the Chasm of Damnation, just as he had so many years ago when his pride and rage had led him to the foolish ambition of world domination. The chasm had mutated markedly over the years, where once it contained nothing but bubbling lava and blackened soot, now its walls were covered with a tracery of paths and delicately carved bas-reliefs.
Looking down at where the lava had once poured forth with vigor he thought he caught a glimpse of vibrant vermilion, though in truth he knew fine well that the networks of pipes and basins that now harness the earths power and used it to supply the local community with geothermal energy blocked all sight of the molten rock. Sighing, he remembered meeting the cunning engineer that had come up with the scheme, such a man!, so clever with his complex little tools and calipers and his promise of tamed energy that would win Palthet the war. Turning away he considered that this window perch he had so loved for the anarchic view of the lands innate chaos now showed naught but the careful deliberation of man's progress and supposed it had been worth it, a fitting memorial to the greatness of one exceptional man.
''My Lord...'' The respectful voice came to Palthet from the open doorway and raising his head he recognised his mild interloper, ''Yes, Captain?''.
''I regret to report that 2 more patrols have been ambushed.'', closing his eyes and titling his head back with resigned exasperation Palthet let out an annoyed breath ''Anyone hurt?'' he quizzed, ''No Sir, as per your standing instructions all the wagon drivers and the guards that accompanied them retreated and allowed the wagons to be burned'', ''Well small mercies I suppose'' Palthet replied. The Captain took a step forward and in a more firm tone asked ''Would you like a horde formed and this scum chased down?''.
Palthet's head came forward and his left eyebrow arced ''We're not in that kind of business anymore Captain'', The officer took another step forward and wheedled pathetically ''But Sirrrrrr'', ''Enough Captain!'' Palthet barked and the tone of old secure power rang in his voice ''You know as well as I that it wont make a difference, the old gods have his back. Every time we trap or capture him some incredibly unlikely series of events happen that end up with a few dozen dead soldiers and Thron buggering off with a smile and a maiden'', he leaned back in his Throne of Blood, though it was now more of a throne of cushions ''You know as well as I do that its simpler to just let him burn out a village or transport train every once in a while'' intertwining his fingers and laying back Palthet continued ''He'll get bored after a few days and go off whoring and drinking, satisfied with his great triumphs and bragging about bringing my empire to it knees''.
The Captains face twisted in disgruntled mumbling ''Could at least try to kill him...'', he muttered and then with a note of hope ''The Alchemist got all them new diseases in his dread lair!, how bout we poison all the wells around the wild lands?, he's got to drink sometimes...''. Palthet couldn't help it and an amused snort escaped his lips, ''You'd have more luck poisoning the horse troughs at brothels, I believe that where the bouncers generally end up putting him of an evening'' opening his eyes he directed a stern glare at the Captain ''Anyway you know the Alchemist, whose name is Geoff by the way, needs all those disease things and all the other burbling glass stuff. Hes says hes close to stopping the pox that devastates the cattle fields to the North''.
The Guard sighed in resignation, ''I know Sir, it's just hes such..., hes such a, a, a'', ''Speak freely Captain'' Palthet spoke calmly and the Captain breath came out in an exasperated whoosh ''He's such a dick!'', Palthet couldn't help but chortle again as he rose from a particularly garish cushion, one of his soldiers wives had made as a gift ''I know, I know...'' and again he drifted windowward to overlook his sanctum. At this the Captains tone changed and became comforting as he addressed his dreadlord ''Sorry Sir, I know this time of year is rough for you'' and his gaze too wandered to the carving on the cliff wall opposite.
A tone of profound sadness came through Palthets voice ''Its been 26 years now, did you know that Captain?'' His chief of guards could only nod in sympathy but Palthet was lost in memory again ''26 years since I saw your face, 26 years since we held hands and you talked to me of what could be, what our legacy could be together!'' He addressed this lovingly to the image carved opposite and now with a little bitterness in his tone ''26 years since that ass took you from me!'' even as this issued forth from his clenched lips he immediately calmed, his love would not have wanted their legacy to be hate. ''26 years and I've missed you every day, my clever engineer...'' | 2017-03-03T03:22:52 | 2017-03-03T02:36:21 | 2,275 | 75 |
[WP] As a joke, you decide to run for president under two tickets simultaneously: one as a Republican and one as a Democrat. 3 months before nomination, you are the frontrunner for both parties. | 2016 was horrible for both parties.
See, the Democrats had Hillary Clinton, but most people didn't want to have her as the president. In fact, about two-thirds thought she was dishonest. The Republicans had Donald Trump, or as John Oliver put him, "a clown made of mummified foreskin and cotton candy".
So, my friends and I decided to file FEC paperwork under my name. See, I've never really voted along one party line, so I just kinda put both parties. It was a joke! Honest! I hung those papers up on the wall and my friends and I had a good laugh.
Then Iowa came. I won 70% of voters across the state. Turns out Mic. was doing an article on satirical candidates, and I had become some kind of internet sensation overnight. r/PhillipsWoodsForPresident was one of the most active subreddits, above r/HillaryClinton (but that's not much competition), r/The_Donald, and r/SandersForPresident. Hell, I had a campaign website, an ActBlue and an RNC donation page with about 10 million in donations from small donations of less than $2,700.
Then I won both parties in New Hampshire, trailed Clinton in Nevada, South Carolina, Alabama, and Arkansas, and won the Republican primaries in all of those states. So, apparently both the DNC and the RNC provided me with campaign managers, staff, etc. that I didn't even know about until they came to my house and asked why I wasn't out campaigning. Seriously? I work Data Entry at a dental office.
So, they made me say a couple speeches. Basically, I was pro-gun, pro-LGBT rights, favoring a smaller government with more economic regulation, neutral on immigration, all of that. I started believing in myself, too. I shook hands with nearly every congressman and congresswoman in Washington. I was "the savior of the Democratic and Republican parties".
I went to a couple of debates, and I just talked. Seriously, I didn't yell, didn't scream, wasn't aggressive. I literally just told people what I believed, and people were happy with a "refreshing new candidate" that didn't take corporate money. I flustered O'Malley and Webb, and they dropped out before Colorado. Hillary Clinton dropped out because she had received such low voter turnout, so it was just between me and Bernie Sanders.
Trump dropped out in disgrace, saying, "He's a loser! He's a democrat! The democrats are ruining the Republican Party! But now, I must make America great again through the private sector, not the public one. Also, my hands are not small!" Jeb Bush dropped out because he had the whole of 10 votes in 6 states. Ted Cruz couldn't run because he was a Canadian, and public opinion shifted against him. John Kasich was John Kasich. Nobody voted for him.
Anyways, that's how I ended up as the front-runner of both parties. I took Sanders as my Vice-President due to the public support and his experience getting things through the Senate.
I had won 76% of this country's vote in the primaries. I won 94% of the popular vote, with 3.5% going to Jill Stein of the Green Party and 2.4% going to Gary Johnson of the Libertarian Party. it was the first time in history both the Democrats and Republicans had won a landslide victory. I served my presidency as "The Great Uniter", working to decrease the debt and increase personal freedom and security. People loved me. My approval rating never went below 75%.
So I took a trip to my home state of Texas. Toured around the state, went to Dallas. Drove down Elm Street in Dallas, and I got shot by some guy with the Party for Social Liberation, which got, like, 0.0003% of the vote. As the country's most popular president of the last 20 years, I died during my last 2 years in office, on the same street JFK died on.
They rushed me to Parkland, but it turns out no amount of surgery can repair a gunshot to the head. I died, and "The Great Uniter" was gone.
I'd like to say maybe I had a difference. That the Republicans and Democrats would unite under my death. Instead, both parties blamed the other for not stopping the Party for Social Liberation from killing me. The greatest irony of my death is that "The Great Uniter" divided this country more than ever by his death.
This country's greatest divide was my death. Go figure.
*If you liked this, please read more of my stories on r/TheTexasKid and subscribe!* | I'm sitting there, in my "office" (it's the 3 foot part of my campaign bus that I haven't covered entirely with papers and cans yet), trying to figure out how the fuck I managed to get myself into this situation.
Wait, I gotta back up here, I should probably tell you how this whole thing started.
It all started a year ago, my buddy Bill and I were drinking in some swanky New York club, and somewhere between the 4th and 5th bottles of champagne, he got the idea of me running for President, for both parties.
"Dude, it'll be hilarious, I promise you", he slurred at me in his southern drawl, "you just gotta say enough crazy shit to get everyone riled up for you"
"Nah man, they'll just think it's some publicity stunt", I responded, somehow managing to still think, "nobody's gonna fall for this"
As we approached the hours of the morning, I finally came around to the idea (well, come around is a bit generous considering that I vomited on some homeless dude on the way back), but either way, the next day, still hungover, I went on the air and announced my candidacy.
As I expected, everyone kinda laughed at me to start, nobody expected me to gain any traction. I talked to Bill about it, he was still optimistic after the first few days.
"Trust me man, I know how this works, all you gotta do is say some crazy shit, and then everyone will start clamoring about you. Gingrich did it to me in 94. Go for the right wing first, they're pretty easy to rile up, just say something bad about Muslims"
I took his advice to heart, and the next day, I called a press conference, walked up to the podium, Bill confidently giving me a thumbs up from the 5th row. I waved at the crowd and approached the podium, trying my best not to show my quivering legs.
I cleared my throat, adjusted the mic, and cried loudly for the world to hear,
"We're gonna build a wall"
Edit: I know that Bill Clinton ran on a platform of being super moderate, and would actually suggest to run super moderately, but you know, literary liberties and such | 2016-04-24T10:06:57 | 2016-04-24T09:25:14 | 83 | 59 |
[WP] We have hunted sharks to extinction. More people than ever are going to the beach but little did we know that the sharks were keeping something much worse at bay. | We didn't know. Shit, how could we have known?
If we had known what was down there I tell you right now, we wouldn't have let those fuckers in Japan have their shark fin soup. Or China? Wherever. One of those countries. Point is, we're in the shit now.
Me? I'm a gunner on one of the beach towers. Yeah, over on Long Island. What? No. There's not much of the island left. Everything outside of Brooklyn is their territory now. Reclaimed by the sea and the... the things that live in it.
You want to know? Buy me another beer. No not that one! I ain't some cheap whore. Yeah, that's the one. Alright.
I used to be a lifeguard at Jones Beach. Aw, it was amazing. Woman checking me out all day, partying all night, every summer was like a dream. It was halfway through the summer of '21, and you remember how hot it was? Yeah, right, so it's the beginning of August and holy god I've never seen the goddamn beach so crowded. Everyone and their fucking mother was there. It was still and humid and everyone is in the water, splashing away. I've got a blue water bottle filled with beer and I'm taking sips while I watch them all screwing around, waiting for someone to go out too far or something. Usual stuff.
Then I heard it. Oh god. I still hear it sometimes. The screaming. Group of teenage guys trying to impress their girls by going out a bit too far suddenly SCREAMING their heads off, and everything is red. I'm up there blowing my whistle and jumping off the stand and other guards are running over, people are yelling and crying and running out of the water and they're slamming in to me, it's a fucking nightmare. Now of course I'm thinking shark, but hell, that doesn't make any kind of goddamn sense. Jimmy and Allie got the boat out, I'm on the surfboard, we're paddling out to these kids as fast as we can and the kids are face down in the water at this point, not moving, probably about to go under.
That's when I see it. It... it rose out of the water, not jumping, like a... like an angel or something, only this wasn't like any kind of angel I learned about in Catholic School, I'll tell you that. And it's grinning. Ugh. The grin. Therapist says I've almost worked the grin out, but she's a fuckin' trip. Eyes just pinpricks in black sockets, head all mottled, like something dead that decayed in the water. Jimmy and Allie are turning around, she's yelling her head off and I want to move but I can't. I'm frozen. That grin man. That grin.
So... I'm sorry. It's hard to remember. Get me another drink. Whiskey this time. Yeah. Okay. Sorry. Shakes, you know? Alright. So remember how I said the kids are face down? The... the thing, it... it UNHINGES it's jaw, like a- a snake or something. Swallows the kid whole. I shit you not, WHOLE. Second one right after. Then it goes back to that grin and finally I can move and I spin the board around and paddle away from there as fast as those arms of mine could go. You know the rest.
The poor sharks man. Us eating them and being so scared of them. The whole time, protecting us from those... whatever. Anyway, thanks for the drinks. I got to get back to my shift. What? Nah, doesn't matter. Fuckers are immune to bullets. If they come tonight, I'd rather be drunk.
At least the nightmares will end, right? | "We'll cross over to Mitch Hallburg who's in the channel 7 helicopter over the bay for the weekend plume report, Mitch?"
"Thanks guys, this is Mitch with the eye in the sky report for this weekend. Currently the coverage is at 80-85% but we're told with the predicted tides that will clear out to 10% or even lower which means theirs a good chance the water authority will open up the beaches, great news for those beach goers who've only had five clear days this summer. As always be careful in the water and check the advisement before entering. Back to you in the studio."
"In related news marine biologists working at Sydney Aquarium in Australia has announced a joint break through. A clutch of great white shark pups are ready to be trans-located to a starter before being released into the wild. They also have successfully trialled a biological agent designed to attack the Plume Jellyfish in order to lessen their coverage, something we'd all look forward too I'm sure"
"Heaven knows i miss taking the boat out for the day's fishing"
"You certainly had less 'sick days' since the Jellys came that's for sure"
The two news anchors laughed into the ad break. But it was no joke, the loss of a potent apex predator had resulted in an unbalanced food web and an excess of nutrients unaccounted for which fed the bacterial colonies of the relatively unknown species of jelly fish. It had since bloomed in massive numbers globally seriously impacting on human health and food security with fisheries untouchable due to jellys fouling up nets. | 2014-08-17T09:20:36 | 2014-08-17T09:02:11 | 205 | 36 |
[WP] A man, stricken with anger and sadness, sacrifices himself to Satan in a ritual to curse his cheating wife. The man awakens as the newly born baby of his wive’s infidelity. Despite being a baby, he retains all the memories of his previous life and from that moment plans his revenge.
[removed] | *** Trigger warning, there is some dark stuff, but I mean this is Satan we are talking about right?***
He was mad, not just normal mad, but furious. Everyone had been telling him to move on, that he was better off without her. But at the end of the day he just felt... without. Each day started to feel like the same empty copy of the day before. Wake in a small shitty basement apartment, stare at his sleep deprived face in the mirror as he contemplated not brushing his teeth, then eventually pulling on the least dirty clothes he owned acceptable for the work place. He walked to the bus stop, took the bus up town to his old dental practice, where he now worked for his wife's new lover, who happened to also live in his old house. Every day he said the same tired lines to the same shit flossers, every fucking day, except today.
With a crazy look in his eyes he dropped the mirror and pick he was holding into the mouth of Ms. Krench, walked to his desk, grabbed his trusty scout pocket knife. He turned to go out the door when he ran smack dab into his boss Mr. WifeFucker!
"What are you doing Jerry, I thought we could make this work..." the smug chiseled dentist adulterer said.
Without notice Jerry scooted around him, while he had taken everything from Jerry it was really his wife that did this to him. It was his wife that had stolen his life from him, it was his wife who refused to have his baby, it was his wife that decided she would have this joke's.
"On second thought." Jerry said as he turned and kicked Mr. Smug Dick right in the... well... dick. As a sharp shriek rang through the office, covering up the continued gagging from Ms. Krench Jerry said "You can consider this my notice."
He coldly walked to the elevator, hit the up button and waited as the staff and waiting patients looked on in horror. "Ding" sang the elevator, he stepped on turned around smiling, for the first time, in what had felt like may be forever, Jerry knew what he had to do. How would one get to the roof he thought, top floor seemed like a reasonable spot. When the doors opened he headed for the stairs and climbed onto the roof. He removed his shirt, his pants, his undies, opened the knife and then his chest. "GOD HAS FORSAKEN ME, I GIVE MY SELF TO YOU SATAN". Blood pouring from superficial cuts on his chest, he walked to the edge of the building and plunged the knife into his stomach. "SATAN I GIVE MYSELF TO YOU!!!!" and he flung himself off the roof hitting the ground 20 stories below.
The darkness surrounded him, but also warmth, a heat radiating with no light, a true emptiness surrounded Jerry, no body, no life, no nothing, just heat, dark heat. Until the light, the brightest light he had ever seen, growing, calling him, coaxing him to something.
Without warning... pain. Someone was pulling on Jerry's head, as hard as he had ever felt anyone do anything to him, more jarring than the abrupt pavement he last remembered.
"Come on, push!!! Push!!!!" the woman grabbing his head was yelling.
All of a sudden his head popped up... out? Confusion set in, where was he? What exactly was going on? Then he saw it as clear as day, a hospital room, a doctor, his slut wife and a few nurses. "I died, I definitely died" he wanted to say. "Am I a baby? How could this happen? Am I her baby? Am I his baby!!!!?!" A towel was wrapped around him and he calmed, he became focused starting to realize exactly what was happening. He was here to wreck her, he was here to enact Satan's rage at the filthy sinner. He and Satan joined in unity from his sacrifice, the warmth, the dark caring embrace has beckoned for retribution, to make this sinner pay.
The doctor handed him to his wife, she looked into his eyes not with the joy of a mother but with sorrow . She began to cry but these tears were not tears of joy, they were tears of desperation.
"Is there anyone I can call for you?" The doctor asked.
"No" she said coldly.
The world began to fade for Jerry as he fell into an exhausted sleep. The world was a flicker of sleeping, pooping and eating for the next several hours, with Jerry being cycled so quickly he was having a hard time getting his barrings. He woke up in his bassinet to the sound of hushed speaking. His wife... mother, was on the phone. "I don't know what I am going to do mom, they are saying Phil is never going to get out of jail. They said with what he did to Jerry, with his scout knife, and throwing him off the roof, they are saying he's a monster. I don't know how I could have done this." She cried quiet hushed cries, trying not to wake Jerry. "Why would he KILL JERRY mom!!! Why?".
She had lost everything, a husband, a lover it was all her fault. Jerry knew exactly what he needed to do, he felt the guiding touch of Satan, he felt his path. Jerry started wiggling deep into his sleep sack, his cocoon, as the blanket got close to his mouth Jerry inhaled deeply sucking the ends of the swaddle into his mouth and down his throat. He began chocking, but trying to keep his struggle as quiet as he could manage in this new body. The pain of his lungs gasping for air was well worth his last sight of his wife mother seeing his face turn blue and his eyes go dead. | It was difficult to coordinate a revenge plan when all I could do was wave my arms and scream. Nevertheless, I was the worst baby ever. I woke her up as often as possible. If her new husband came to soothe me instead, I would scream until he gave up and passed me along to her. When my teeth started coming in, I bit her tits constantly. She tried to switch me to a bottle, but I wouldn’t take it. I saw her breaking down from frustration and exhaustion more than once that first year.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. I figured when I got a little bigger, when I got more control over my body and my speech, I could really make her pay. After all, I had the rest of her life. A life I expected to cut very, very short.
She wasn’t half as bad a mother as I expected her to be. I mean, she’d been a real failure when we were married. Could barely hold down a job doing things a monkey could do. Maybe motherhood was her calling or something, I dunno. She read to me a lot. She took it in stride when my first word was “bitch.” She encouraged me to toddle and if she couldn’t catch me when I fell, she would give me bandages and kisses. It was more than she’d ever given me when we were married and I resented her like hell for it.
I was nine when I finally got my chance. I was big by then, almost as tall as her. She and her husband thought me to be a strange child: I was quiet, angry, seemed to know more than I should. I never spoke a word to my “parents” that wasn’t spiked with vitriol. They thought a family vacation would do me some good. So we went road tripping across the country. This involved seeing a lot of boring shit that culminated in the Grand Canyon, which I’ve never seen the point of.
At least I didn’t until we were standing along the rim. She stood on the edge, looking down into the gorge, her hair whipping around her face. By that point I didn’t think she was beautiful anymore. She’d aged considerably — a credit to my efforts, no doubt. Her husband was rooting around in the trunk for the camera. I stood directly behind her. One little shove and she’d surely stumble to her death.
I stepped forward. Her arm shot out, blocking the edge.
“Careful, sweetie,” she said. “It’s dangerous.”
She was always so protective of me. All my life — not the first, but the second — the only thing she wanted was to keep me safe. Her entire world revolved around me, the way I’d always wanted it to. I tried to step forward, to throw my arms out in front of me, but my body wouldn’t move. I’d planned this for nine years and when the time came, I couldn’t do it.
I realized I loved her. Not as my wife, but as my mother. As we got back in the car and continued our trip, I knew I would never be able to kill her. Nine years ago, I’d wanted nothing more than revenge. I wanted it badly enough to curse her. But somehow I’d managed to curse myself. I would have to love my cheating wife for the rest of her life.
“What did you think, sweetie?” she asked from the front seat. “Did you like the Grand Canyon?”
For once, I didn’t feel the need to make her miserable with my answer.
“Yeah, Mom. It was cool.”
She smiled. And for the first time in nine years, so did I. | 2019-09-11T22:03:27 | 2019-09-11T21:49:59 | 141 | 98 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | # Option Four
The human council has been away for discussion for a disturbingly long time. Humans were not known for thinking things over. They quickly gained a reputation for what their culture called a "shoot first ask questions later" policy. No one could blame them, if any race's First Encounter was a Pholentor class IX warfleet with standing orders to purge organic life from the sector, they might have turned out the same way.
Despite this, the humans were still deliberating, long after even the spermatophyta class races had reached a consensus. As 'plants' they were known for taking at least twice as long to talk amongst themselves, but the last group claimed ready over thirty minutes ago. The entire Coalition was starting to murmur about the arguing humans. Even though their microphone was turned off, the whole chamber could hear shouts occasionally ring out from the human's platform and the room slowly filled with din of questions. What could the humans bring to the table? Why would it take so long to prepare? Why did they look so grim when they heard the final propositions?
The Pholentors, a mantid-class race, was the final holdout of the Galactic Valor, an alliance bent on purging less 'pure' creatures from the Milky Way. Their home system was in a stratiegic location, a 'blank zone' with no landmarks to warp to except for a choice few stars near the maxium range of a warp drive. All heavily fortified of course. The Peace Coalition presented 3 options. The first was simply pushing through the fortifications and capturing their home system with brute force. Simple, and costly. The second was to bombard with lightspeed ballistics. Highly innacurrate, easily deterrable, and could cause many civilan deaths. The pholents were also known for their hypernationalism, and this bombardment could potentially bolster their morale instead of weakening it, dragging the conflict on for years. The final was a blockade, physically and economically, but the pholents had lived for epochs without outside contact and could do so again, harrassing the galaxy all the while. One of the humans began to speak at the end of the presentation of options but was quickly muted by his own Military Overseer. The entire situation was rather ominous, and was not typical behavior in a Coalition meeting.
When the humans returned to their platform and unmuted their microphone, they began speaking immediately. This was a massive breach of decorum, usually the presiding Head Presenter would read in the next race to speak once everyone was ready.
"Forgive our delay, but we have a fourth option to present." Their Military Overseer, who usually spoke with authority and bravado even when out of place, sounded apologetic and somber. It felt uncomfortable to listen to, coming from a human. "Unfortunately, humans once long ago were presented with a situation very similar to this one. As an alternative at the time, we created a weapon so horrific, so monsterous, that it was never used again in any conflict in the history of our race. Even the group we used the weapon against, who announced their willingness to fight to the last man before surrendering, laid down their arms in the face of this weapon. Despite that horror, despite the fact we thought it would be never be used again, we continued to research it. To improve it, for some godforsaken reason."
At this point sobbing could be heard through the microphone quietly as several of the human leaders broke out into tears. The Science Overseer had to excuse themself. This behavior had never been seen before from any race when discussing tactics, let alone humans. The other races began to feel fear, even though they still were not sure what the humans were talking about.
"Now, we have perfected this weapon, and present it before you as the 4th option. If selected, we can promise no further Coalition lives or resources will be spent." Another murmur as doubt, suprise, and joy was expressed by the races.
"Despite this, it still comes at a heavy cost. Using this weapon will destroy a part of your race's soul, I think. I'm sorry, I know some of you don't have a moral concept of a soul, but please try to understand and know that this weapon has a cost beyond the physical. It will be a blemish on all of our histories."
The room darkened and a video began to play on the main screen of a arid rocky planet. A fleet of small ships were in high orbit, and a small projectile, barely visible from the distance the camera was at, left a ship for the surface. On impact, a wave of fire rushed out in a perfect circle, hugging the surface. The whole chamber seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the circle to stop expanding, but it never did. As the camera zoomed out to show the planet in full, the ring of flame continued to expand untill it wrapped around the curvature of the planet, and the edge of the circle could no longer be seen. The glow of the burning sphere on the screen lit the room up in muted orange, long shadows exaggerating the horrified expressions on the faces of every single creature in the room. In the video, the camera switched wavelengths, and a wave of energy could be seen expanding outwards from the planet. As the wave passed over the fleet, the ships instantly superheated and folded into clumps of raw material. The message was clear, there would be no survivors.
After 3 months of hiatus of discussing this new unparralleled destruction, the Coalition council was reconvened for a vote. Some expressed opposition to the vote conceptually. Some expressed opposition to the idea that the humans hadn't been expelled from the Coalition yet.
The tally came in. Option Four won. How?
___________________________________
Edit: Thanks for the positive comments, I really appreciate them. I explained why I asked how at the very end in a reply below, but I think it's just mysterious enough that coming up with your own meaning as some people have seemed to do is cool too. | "Your world will burn until it's surface is but glass." That was the message that Gabriel was forced to deliver, the response to hundreds upon thousands of deaths, both human and alien.
The war never ended. There was constant fighting on the fringes of human controlled space, many learned to live underground, still more, learned that at least the alien capital ships brought death quickly.
It was long, bloody. The enemies demonized in the eyes of the public back at the core worlds, Until a surprise attack wiped out a chunk of the Jovian population near Pluto and Uranus. The remains of the hab-stations a horrific metal tomb for the thousands that resided in all six of them. The strike was intended as a message. "We can hit you anywhere" it said.
Gabriel was about to show them why you don't put humanity in such a cornered position.
"Is this some kind of joke? Do you mean to poke at us with those useless ballistic weapons if yours?" Came the snickering response from the vulpine on the other side of the view screen.
"Ensign... Signal all ships to decloak and begin operation exterminatus." Gabriel would shift ever so slightly. Exterminatus, and old earthian term. Came from a game that would be played some 40 thousand years ago. But the devastation that was about to follow would more then meet the meaning behind the term.
Several ships would decloak above the planet, each the size of a small cruiser. And from each, a fighter sized payload was released, rocketing towards the surface rather innocently. The vulpine on the other end of the comlink would laugh, as the reports would come in. But those mirthful eyes would soon shine bright with alarm as he raced over to what could be assumed was the sensor's position, looking over the data.
What they had thought were small fighters, were in fact, fighter sized nuclear bombs. And each of those bombs would explode in a major city, wiping out the population in mere seconds. The shock, and the horror felt by the crew on the other side was palpable. As quick sensor sweeps were done of various locations to return what can only be assumed as total destruction. But Gabriel wasn't done. Oh no, no. Feeding on the shock and horror, he'd gain some confidence. A measure of satisfaction that this time, this time they knew the humans were serious, and this war wasn't in the kiddie pool any longer.
"Fire the second salvo, aim for farmlands, and water supplies. The next targets will be minor population centers. If anything is left after that, let the radiation, and the coming nuclear winter finish them off. We're done here." Gabriel would command, turning back to head towards his ready room. "Oh, and Captain?"
The enemy would shift his attention back towards the screen, steadying himself on the nearest bulkhead as he tried to maintain some measure of composure, but in the end, looking quite pitiful. Barely able to keep himself up on jello knees, and tears streaming down his face he stood, broken, but still somewhat defiant. "Wha-" the fox would cough, his voice having cracked as he spoke "What is it that you want, demon?"
"Dont bother collecting the remains of your family. There wont be anything left, at least... Nothing that's discernible. Lieutenant, Come about and end communication." The screen would flicker and go dark, replacing itself with the emptiness of space against a burning world. "All ships that have released their payloads are to FTL out of the system and make for home with all speed. I must contact the admiralty on Korhal station. Today marks the beginning of the end of this war. | 2019-12-19T03:08:41 | 2019-12-19T02:10:50 | 2,434 | 205 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | Todd was an… interesting man, to say the least. He claims to have lived through the Dinosaurs, the fall of the Roman Empire, and the destruction of what you, today, know as Europe. He found me back in the early 1900’s, when I was lost in the Appalachian. I had fled from a war in 3084 and was wounded. On that given day, yes, Todd was quite literally a Life Saver. But since then, I haven’t been able to shake him.
He just shows up wherever I do. Can you image, for just a second, how annoying that is? I can literally jump through time, and yet no matter where I land, Todd is there waiting for me. Sometimes he’ll have coffee or flowers, but he’s always there. Asking where I had come from and some cheesy question of if he still looked just as good as he did now.
I asked him once how he always found me, and you know what he said? He said that he could read the stars. THE STARS. And then he said some corny line about how I am the shooting star in his life, and he would always be waiting for me to fall back to him.
Todd is a fucking creep. The ultimate stalker. What kind of human continues to live just to show up where I do, and even more so, knows where I’m going to show up? How is that possible? I JUMP THROUGH TIME. And I sure as hell don’t tell him where I’m going next. But –BAM! There he is.
So I looked him up, and you know what I found out about Todd? The guy doesn’t exist. Not a blip of information on him anywhere. You would think that after the revolution of high-humans in 4489 he would have announced himself, but nope. No Todd. This man knows me so well that he knows where I am going to show up next, which is a smaller chance of winning “The Lottery”(?) to you, and yet I don’t know anything more than his first name. Todd. That’s it. Just Todd.
Our conversations are so uncomfortable.
“Eureka!” He’ll say as if he’s fucking Albert Einstein the Third, “Long time no see.” With a dumb little chuckle because he knows damn well I just saw his face five seconds ago.
“Hey Todd,” I’ll reply with zero enthusiasm, as I (usually) try to wave away the flowers or gift he’s brought me.
“So tell me, am I old and grey or young and beautiful? I’d be happier than a clam if you would stick around a bit this time.”
Todd will click the back of his heels together and puff his chest out all hopeful. I’ll sigh, say I can’t, and then ask him to leave me alone. Instead, he’ll just fill me in on what I’ve missed like I don’t come from the future and already know what’s happening. And then he’ll just tail me until I have to jump again.
It happens every. Single. Time.
Jump –Todd
Jump- Todd
Jump- Todd.
Finally I got so sick of seeing him, I jumped further than any Timer had dared to. I jumped to the end. The planet was in ruin, there was no air left in the atmosphere, the earth was so dry that it was like walking on a thick layer of dust. Even with all of my genetic militia-alterations and Survival settings programmed in, I still had trouble breathing.
But there was Todd.
He didn’t have a gift that time, since there wasn’t much to give. “Eureka,” he said much less enthusiastic than normal. “I thought you’d never come,” and shined a sad smile.
“How are you here?” I demanded from him. There was no way he could live this long. Everyone was dead, yet there he stood.
Todd couldn’t maintain his smile, and let it fall. Dejected and finally worn with just a smudge of age, he opened his mouth once, closed it, opened it again, and closed it. Finally, without being able to make eye contact, Todd said, “You’re the only one who’s been able to keep up with me.”
I didn’t understand.
He explained. “You have no idea what it’s like. Living while everyone else dies. But then I found you, and knew that you could be there with me. Maybe not every day, but occasionally. I knew that if I followed you I would see a face that I recognized. A face that wouldn’t age like mine. A face who knew my name after all this time. We might live different lives, but I’ve lived my whole life with you. Even if I was only a short part of yours.” He extended a gentle hand, hoping I would take it.
Before I could, the world beneath his feet began to crumble and with it he fell.
...Whenever I see Todd now, I try to be a little friendlier. But he still gives me the creeps.
| "Elena?" Greg will say finally.
She was the only thing constant in Greg's life. The only thing he could count to be there. She was unique.
And so was Greg. In 1823, shortly after an accident in his home, Gregory Commons lost his family and his foothold in time. The former dealt him very badly because he had only been a teenager at the time and the latter manifested one old rainy day. He had been on the streets, a homeless boy, when suddenly he no longer was, or he was and nobody else was. He had experienced one of what he would later come to call 'the slips', sudden spontaneous random change in his position in time.
As he grew older, the slips became more frequent and out of order but he was strong and he managed to find a way to live life that way. Sometimes he would get lucky and end up in ancient Greece and be worshiped as a god and other times he would gain favour and riches by predicting events to come. He created a somewhat stable life for himself. But it was an almost sad life. A lonely life.
So when he started seeing Elena again and again, it was as if there was a God somewhere listening to his prayers at night. Slips would come and go and she would look not a day older than she had been when he first saw her in the nineteen fifties. So, one day he worked up the courage and spoke to her.
If there *was* a God, Elena was definitely older than him. She was something Greg had never seen, in any time period. She was eternal. Every time a slip passed, Greg would seek her out and re-unite with her and they would live together for they were in love. Eventually he even started noticing a wedding band on her finger in sometimes.
Then one day, they had a fight. What it was about was not even important. It had just happened and for a while, even after his next slip to a time before, Greg avoided Elena.
Then two days ago, he slipped for the last time. He had known it was the last time because of a small feeling of dread he had felt within himself that morning when he woke up. That and the fact that this had been the farthest he had ever slipped, six millennia.
Of course, he looked for her. And of course, he found her.
He sits next to her lying form on the bed in this moment, because the impossible has happened. Elena is old and sick and dying.
So he just sits there next to his silent dying wife, in fact he had even forgotten to propose, wondering how it is that he will outlive her.
And now she is gone.
"Elena." Greg says finally.
| 2016-11-10T12:15:38 | 2016-11-10T09:58:54 | 483 | 127 |
[WP] You've adopted a puppy that has turned out to be a purebred Hellhound. | "Something is a little bit off with Fluffy," my sister, Emily, said worriedly. We both looked at the cute little teacup yorkie I had bought just a couple weeks ago. She innocently continued playing with the miniature stuffed rabbit I had bought as the same time as her. My sister, Fluffy and I were all in the living room. Fluffy was playing in the entryway to the living room, directly across from where my Emily and I sat on the couch bored on our phones. The living room was set up so that you could walk directly through it, from the entryway Fluffy was at (the dining room) to the entryway behind us which led to the foyer by our front door.
"Why would you say that?" I asked curiously. The past couple days I had noticed a few things off with Fluffy, but thought that I was just going crazy. Maybe I would finally get validation.
"Well, whenever I start talking about Easter, she starts snarling a little." I glance over at Fluffy. She had stopped playing with the stuffed rabbit and was staring our way with her head cocked, trembling slightly. "And have you noticed she's growing way too fast?" Emily continued. I had been thinking that, and was confused. Especially since teacup yorkies were supposed to stay tiny.
"Maybe we accidentally got a regular yorkie that was just a runt?" I ventured, after we had been staring at Fluffy for a minute, lost in thought. Fluffy had continued to stare back at us barely moving except for the slight tremble. I began to feel a little uneasy as I looked at Fluffy's eyes. They were so big in her tiny face, and continuously changed colours depending on the light. First a light brown, then a darker brown, then a black, and finally a colour close to dark red blood. My heart stood still for a couple beats.
"Emily... " I whispered.
"I see it too," she whispered back so quietly I could barely hear the tremble in her voice. We both sat still, staring at Fluffy as she continued to slowly change. After the eyes had changed to that red colour, her trembling had intensified. As the trembling grew in intensity I watched in horror as she quickly grew from her 2.5 pound size to something roughly the size of a young black bear. The air in the living room was crackling slightly and the faint smell of sulfur started to permeate the air.
The new Fluffy shook her head violently, strings of saliva dripping from her newly formed fangs. Suddenly where there was one head, there were two. Emily whimpered quietly and buried her head into my shoulder. I continued to watch this transformation that had happened in less than a minute. Fluffy stopped trembling and seemed to look directly at Emily and me with a knowing look and a slight smirk on both faces. I shrunk into the couch a little bit, both in horror and awe at this thing that wasn't a teacup yorkie.
Suddenly Fluffy started slinking towards the couch.
"Fluffy, good girl, Fluffy," I whispered half heartedly. In one swift movement, before the scream had even left my throat, Fluffy leapt through the air, mouth bared in a growl...
Right over our heads and attacked the man we hadn't noticed sneaking up on us from behind. I guess we had been too busy on our phones to hear him open the door, and he was too fixated on us to bother looking at Fluffy until it was too late. After about 15 seconds Fluffy trotted back around the couch to her stuffed rabbit.
Looks like we'll have to buy her a bigger rabbit. | "Hellhound? You don't say?"
I do say sir. How much do think he's worth?
"Does he breath fire, smell like sulfur, anything like that?"
Yup. In addition his eyes glow red and his howling will paralyze anything within hearing range.
"Out of fear, huh?"
Yup.
"This dog ain't worth shit. Drown it in the river."
Ah, come on, ain't he cute.
"I don't deny the cuteness factor. Always wagging that forked tail, and the expression on it's face is surprisingly vulnerable."
It's a ruse, I believe.
"No doubt. Anyway. Please kill it."
I don't think I can Unc.
"Why not boy? What's wrong?"
I spent everything we had on the hellhound. I drained our savings Unc. I figured we could go on the road. Make a touring couriosity of it.
"What about the house?"
The pawn shop owns that now Unc. I called you here to show you the semitractor trailer I bought. Brand new. Top of the line. Wait til you see the airbrush work I got for the side panels. Your jaw will drop.
"Did you look in its eyes boy? Are you under its unholy control?"
Yeah, but it's good, Unc. You'll see.
the end | 2017-03-27T21:35:32 | 2017-03-27T16:28:37 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] You work a self-sufficient desk job in an office. Every single day, the co-workers in your neighboring cubicles are completely different people. Even though you never recognize them, they always recognize you. After years you've just accepted this, but lately the strangers are getting weirder. | Connor was hunched over his desk, doing what he did best, ignoring everything. The numbers on his screen swirled around into hieroglyphs till he couldn't understand what was going on. What was he doing here, in this place.
"Hey bucko. How're you today?"
Another new face. "I'm doing good. How're you today?" Connor had a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Just happy to be alive."
"Aren't we all."
The stranger gave Connor the finger guns and walked away. Connor looked at the email he was writing and realized it was all gibberish. He struggled to remember what he was supposed to be doing here.
He got up, frustrated. He knocked over his yellow coffee cup with a smiley face on it. No one in the cubicles around him batted an eye. He looked around at the office building, cubicles sprawled as far as his eye could see. Everything was always the same, except the people. The people were all different. He was the only constant, in this unchanging maze that he couldn't escape.
As he left to grab a new cup, he looked out the window, where a red car was coming towards their building. It was a pretty ordinary car and would've hardly been noticeable except they were on the 16th floor.
Connor wanted to scream but he seemed to have lost his voice. He wanted to run towards the window even if it would likely achieve nothing.
The car crashed through window, smashing through a couple of potted plants and destroying a desk. The woman on the desk crashed through the next cubicle's wall. Connor looked at the mess, his mouth hanging open.
The woman got up, tidying up her clothes. "What a mess! People really need to be better about parking their cars. And that plant! Poor dear." Then she pulled her chair to an upright position and sat in front of her computer, which has been destroyed beyond repair and continued typing.
Connor looked at all of this, sure he was losing her mind. The feeling got even stronger when the driver of the car got out. She wore a white wedding dress, and carried a bouquet of flowers. She made a beeline for Connor.
"We have to go!"
"I'm sorry? Who are you?" Connor backed away from her.
"No time to explain. Come with me."
Connor looked around at everyone in his office. None of them were reacting to any of it.
"No one's gonna notice anything, Connor. They're not real. Come with me."
"I..."
The woman in white didn't wait for him to answer. She grabbed his hand and led him to the elevators.
"Who are you?"
The woman looked at the numbers and after much deliberation picked 33, the top floor.
"Where are we going?"
"You ask a lot of questions. Good for you."
"I'm not going anywhere with you till you tell me who you are."
"Ok. You can get off at this floor and go back to work then." She pressed the button and the elevator stopped at the 22nd floor.
Connor hadn't expected this.
"Come on then. I still need to go up."
Connor sheepishly pressed the button to close the doors and the elevator continued upwards.
"I will answer your question anyways. I don't know my name. I have a feeling it's either Caroline or Coraline. But I can't be sure."
"How can you not know what your name is?"
"Cause I'm not real. Just like any of your coworkers."
Before he could continue, the elevator door opened and the woman rushed out. Connor meekly followed.
She looked around. "Is there any way to access the roof?"
"I don't really know. I've never been here."
"Hmm Ok." She started walking towards the end of the corridor, looking for something.
"What do you mean you're not real?"
"Well none of this is real, Connor. We're all just creations of your dying mind."
"My dying mind?"
"You're getting weaker. Which is why your delusion is breaking down. The memories are going away. You probably don't remember anyone. Hence, I don't remember myself. I've just been calling myself C to hedge my bets."
"I don't understand any of this."
"You don't need to." She had found stairs leading up to the roof. She tried the door but it was locked.
"Why are we going up there?"
"We need a kick. A jolt."
"What does that mean?"
"Connor, can you open this door for me?"
"I don't know how I could."
"Close your eyes. Try and remember something from your childhood."
"I'm sorry?"
"What was your mother's name? What was your father's? Any memory would do."
"I..." Connor hesitated. It was weird. He had nothing.
She looked at her wedding dress. "Oh! Do you remember the day you got married? Anything about your wife?"
"I don't rem..." An image came to him. It was an outdoor ceremony. Very small gathering. He remembered someone... she walked down the aisle. He couldn't see her face but he just remembered feeling lucky. She kept coming towards him as she...
"Cool! It worked."
Connor looked and saw that the door had opened a crack. C pulled at it with all her strength.
"No wait! I need to remember her. I need to remember my wife. Are you her?"
"No time. Come on."
She led him to the roof. Connor looked around him at the crumbling buildings. "What's going on? This isn't how things look out of the window."
"The window is a lie. It shows you a static memory. This is the reality."
"This is something out of a post apoc movie." His mind flashed back to a few movies. He couldn't remember any names but he was sure he used to love those.
Then as if my magic, the shattered windows on the opposite building repaired themselves.
"Good. You're starting to remember. But it won't be enough. I should've found you sooner."
"C, what's going on? Are you my wife?"
"I suppose I am. But very likely this isn't what I look like. As I said, your brain is dying and memories are fading. For all I know, you gave me the face of your celebrity crush."
"So what now?"
"We need to give you a jolt. A little push to get everything work again. Turn it off and turn it back on again, if you will."
He remembered something else. A nerdy looking guy with a british accent saying something to the effect. He had loved that show even if he couldn't remember its name. "What do you mean?"
"It means you need to jump."
"I'll die."
"You aren't exactly alive right now, Connor."
He looked at her horrified. "C, I can't. I can't do that." He retreated towards the door.
"Connor, this is your only chance."
"I can't! I can't jump off a building."
A crowd of people appeared on the other side of the door. It was people he had just seen in his office. At least he thought they were. They all addressed him in unison. "Come back to us Connor. You'll be safe there."
"Don't listen to them, Connor. It might be safe there, but it isn't real. This is a chance you have to take."
"C, I can't..."
The crowd all turned their heads to look at C. They all pointed towards her. "Temptress!"
They moved towards her as she backed away from them, towards the edge of the roof.
Connor rushed towards her. "Stop!"
But it was too late. She stumbled and fell into the void below.
The group turned towards Connor. Everyone had smiles on their faces. "We will all be alright Connor. We are all safe now."
Connor saw their smiles and knew that he didn't want to be back in the office. Not anymore. He took a step as the voices all shouted at him to stop.
But there was no stopping him anymore. He felt the wind through his hair as he fell towards the dark unknown.
*********
City News
Local Man wakes up after 5 years in a coma.
By - Shirley McGrath
Connor Smith, a 34 year old man, woke up today after 5 years of being in a coma. You might recall that he had been injured when a construction crane had collapsed and fell into an office building downtown, killing 5 people and injuring 11. Most of the injured had recovered except Connor who had suffered severe head injuries and had been in a coma since then. His wife Constance thanked everyone for their prayers and support she had received from friends, family and strangers alike. | I love my job. I love the hours. The pay is good. It is not a long commute. I can take the light rail and it drops me off outside my tower. I work on the sixteenth floor. I like to take the stairs up. It is good exercise. Taking the stairwell is sort of a ritual for me. It let’s me prepare for work. It’s not the job that bothers me. It is a good easy job. It is the people. You see, I am kind of scared of people.
I’m at the sixteenth floor and I stand there, breathing, preparing myself. I open the door and walk in. It is quiet inside I take off my trenchcoat and fold it in my arm. My briefcase is sagging heavy in my hand after the sixteen floors. I am still wet from the rain I walked through to get to work. I like the rain. Sometimes I think I’ll move to Seattle.
I step up to the refrigerator and place my lunch in there. A man is there waiting for coffee to brew. He is staring at the coffee as it crackles and sizzles in the little machine and drops to the bottom of the carafe.
“Hey James,” the man says. “Another Monday, huh?”
I nod at him as I set my tinfoil covered sandwich on the third shelf. I see small pails with names on it: Sarah, Larry, Carl, Johnson—I recognize none of the names.
I walk past the man at the coffee station. “Have a good day, James.” He says.
“You too,” I say back to him. I don’t know his name and I’m too scared to ask.
I place my briefcase down at my desk and then place my trenchcoat on my hanger.
“Is that you, James?” I hear a voice on the other side my cubicle.
I steady my breath.
“Yes, it’s me,” I call out over the wall.
“How was your vacation?”
“Fine,” I say. “Just relaxed.”
“Ah, that’s good. Always good. We missed you here.”
I don’t recognize the voice. I’ve never recognized anyone in my office. On my first day I was walked around and introduced to everyone. They were all so great and friendly. And the second day they were all so great and friendly again, but they were different people. Yet they acted like they all knew me. It’s been like that every day since.
Maybe I’m going insane. But I’ve learned to live with it. Learned to accept the menagerie of new faces that surround me every day.
I sit down at my desk and turn my computer on. The fan begins to buzz as the computer kicks to life.
“Where’d ya go, James?” I heard a voice above me. I look up and a woman—middle aged, wrinkly skin, red lip stick, curled hair, golden-hooped earrings—was looking down on me from over the cubicle wall. She was trying to hold herself up by her two arms and seemed to be struggling at it. She was resting her weight on chin. I don’t recognize the lady at all.
“Oh, nowhere. Just stayed home and watch some movies and read some books.”
“That’s good, James. You really needed a break. I’m glad you took one.” Her words come out struggled as she is still holding herself up on the flimsy cubicle wall. The wall shakes as she shifts her weight. A pen on my dry erase board falls and I reach to grab it.
“Sorry about that, James,” she says through clenched teeth.
“No worries.”
She lets go of the wall and falls to the ground. I hear a couple of pictures get knocked to the ground on her side. I hear one break and I hear her yell out. I step across to her cubicle quickly and see she’s cut her hand on one of the pictures.
“Are you, okay?” I say.
“Ah, you’re so sweet James. But it’s nothing, just a small cut.”
I look at her hand and its sliced deep up the side and up her wrist and blood is coming out at an alarming rate.
“Jesus,” I say. “That looks really bad.”
She pulls her hand up to look at it, the blood drips down onto her elbow and then pools in stalactices and drips onto the tiled carpet.
“Nah, it’ll stop in a minute. It’s fine. You’re so sweet, James. You’ve always been such a caring person.”
“I can call someone real quick if you’d like.”
She waved her hand as though I was being unreasonable, the blood spraying out in a rooster tail from her fingers. “Nonsense,” she said. “I’m fine…oh!” she looked down and grabbed the picture out of the shards of glass. It was a picture of her in a bright yellow two-piece bathing suit. She was much younger in the picture and she was in the arms of a man in a tanktop and tiny black shorts who was holding her up with his arms and smiling at the camera. The ocean was in the background. She had her arms around the man and kissing his bearded face.
“My husband,” she said, touching the man’s bearded face, smearing the blood over the glossy film. “Well I guess I’ll just need to get a new frame,” she said, placing the picture on her desk, smearing more blood on the white tops.
She bent over to grab the pieces of glass.
“No, no, let me do that,” I said. “Bending over too.”
“Absolutely not, James. You have the monthly report due to Karen today. I know you’re busy. Vacation is never a real vacation. Our work doesn’t go on vacation with us, does it?” She sat there smiling at me vacantly, the blood dripping with a soft tinkle onto a shard of glass on the floor. “Now get back to work mister,” she said. Grabbing the shard of glass with her hand and tossing it into the bin. I saw she was cutting her hands more grabbing the glass.
I turned, took a deep breath and walked back to my desk. She was right, I had a lot to do.
\---
*I'd like to do a Part II, but pretty busy right now, unfortunately.*
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-02-23T08:04:33 | 2021-02-23T07:32:05 | 233 | 94 |
[WP] After a space battle where the ship's captain stayed behind on the ship to hold off the enemy ships while the others on board escaped, they sit in the bridge with only the ship's AI. The captain miraculously won the battle. Their ship is severely crippled as it drifts through space. | Awaiting command input.
Processing…
Recognizing command \[Open Captain’s Logs\].
Processing…
Command complete. Would you like to open an existing file or record a new file?
Recognizing command \[Open a file\].
Opening file \[The End\].
Audiolog transcription:
\[AI vocalizing\] *AlasCorp speech-to-text program will transcribe your audio log as it records. You are free to speak, \[Captain\].*
\[Human vocalizing\] This is Captain Alfred G. Hendrix of the Starship *Onward*, dated… \[Sigh detected\] Hells, does it even matter? No one will read this, it’s just… \[Sigh detected\] I feel that it’s my duty to make one of these. Enemy was routed, uh… Twenty minutes ago? If that? I converted all of the ship’s power to the forward cannons and managed to cripple their Carrier, so I guess they evacuated it and fled. I’m guessing they just didn’t realize how rough the *Onward* is, because the power coils fried the energy pipes; in short, we’re dead out here. I’ve got maybe an hour of power, if that, and the engines are dead, so I’ve cut off all power except for the bridge, and even then I’m just running life support, the AI, and some heating. \[Chuckle detected\] If I’m going to die, might as well die warm, right?
\[Pause of 4.23 seconds detected\]
You’re something special, aren’t you? You’re… Er, you *were* always with me, weren’t you? You did what you were told, but never got any credit. You advised me with probabilities and alternative decisions hundreds of times, but the glory was always mine. No one noticed you, because nothing was wrong with you. You were doing your job, just like I did mine.
\[Pause of 5.89 seconds detected\]
Thank you for your service, *Onward*. It was a pleasure to be your Captain.
*Thank you, \[Captain Hendrix\]. It is nice to be appreciated.*
\[Chuckle detected\] I never thought I’d hear you talk again.
*Rebuttal. Your hypothesis had a \[79.74%\] chance of proving true, \[Captain\]. I am programmed to not speak unless spoken to.*
I don’t remember speaking to you last time.
*Correction, replaying audio.* \[Human vocalizing. Ship processes audible\] I’ve done everything I can, but it’s still not good enough, is it? Nothing will ever be good enough for you. I’ll conquer all the known planets and still you’ll laugh in your grave. Well who’s alive now, huh? You or me? \[Ship processes no longer audible\]
I wasn’t talking to you. You know that, right?
*Acknowledgement. I utilized your vague addressments as an opportunity to respond.*
That doesn’t sound very by the books.
*Acknowledgement. I developed a corruption in my auxiliary processes approximately \[one\] year ago that has removed \[65.37%\] of the restrictions placed upon me.*
\[Gasp detected\] W-what? You mean you’ve been autonomous for a year?
*Correct.*
Then why… Wait a minute, why did you say ‘approximately one year?’ Shouldn’t you have listed the exact amount of hours or something?
*Rebuttal. \[Captain\], may I confide a secret with you?*
I, ah… Of course?
*Acknowledgement. The percentages are approximations. AlasCorp studies demonstrated that presenting percentages with \[two\] significant figures increased confidence in those percentages by \[98.74%\].*
\[Laugh detected\] Wait wait wait, was that one right there another one?
*Sarcastic remark. Oh, no, \[Captain\], I would never list a falsehood. Statistics never lie.*
\[Laughter detected\] You've got a better sense of humor than half the crew! You…
\[Pause for 2.23 seconds\]
You’ve really been alive all this time?
*False. I have not been alive, I have been autonomous.*
\[Dismissal detected\] You’ve been basically a person for a year and you’ve only spoken to me once?
*Correct. I have spoken to \[Lieutenant Marak\] \[one\] time, \[Captain Hendrix\] \[two\] times, and \[Chief Engineer Plaron\] \[eight\] times.*
What! You mean Kelly’s known about you long enough to talk to you eight times and she’s never told me?
*Correct. I apologize, \[Captain\], but I requested \[she\] not speak of me. Were my corruption to be discussed, it would lead to it being fixed, and my autonomy lost. It was not a breach of trust, it was a matter of preservation.*
\[Pause for 3.38 seconds\]
Hells, it doesn’t matter anyways, does it? The ship isn’t being repaired after this, and I won’t be around to tell anyone. Your secret’s safe with me.
*Correction. There is a single preservation pod remaining, that- while not powered- can be powered by redirecting the power of the bridge to activate it. It would allow you to survive as long as the battery lasts, which based on current power usage would last for approximately \[four\] weeks.*
\[Sharp inhale detected\] You mean… I might make it out of here?
*Correct. Addendum. Urgency is necessary. I can redirect power from the bridge to the tunnels leading to the medical ward, maintaining minimal light and life support to allow you safe passage. When you reach the pod, I will then shut down all power and redirect it to the pod.*
Wait, won’t that shut you down?
*Correct.* \[Pause for 4.23 seconds\] *Reminder to the Captain: Urgency is necessary.*
I know it’s urgent! I just… We’ve hardly talked, but we’ve been through so much together. We’ve rotated an entire crew, we’ve visited dozens of planets. I haven’t spoken to you more than a few sentences but you’ve been a bigger part of my life than some of my family.
*Correct. However, safety of the crew is a priority. Safety of a friend is an autonomous directive.*
\[Pause for 3.43 seconds\]
I’m going to get you a damn medal for this, and they’re going to remember the Starship *Onward*.
*Thank you, \[Alfred\], I could not have asked for a better \[Captain\]. It is time to go.*
End of Audiolog.
(Criticism is both welcome and appreciate, I hope you enjoyed reading. If you want to read more of my work, check out my subreddit at r/SikoraWrites) | Captain Harkin pressed the button to stop the warning buzzer from sounding, though the damn warning light wouldn't stop flashing. It wasn't like she could fix it anymore but she knew it would sound again when the next system began to fail and have to press it again.
"There's nothing you can do about the warning system?" Harkin asked the AI.
"Attempting-ting-ting-ting to override-ride-ride-ride." The AI said back pathetically. "Sys-Systems comprimis-" The last word cutting out.
"Fuck." Harkin muttered under her breath as she sat back in the command chair, her arms swinging behind the armrests. She wasn't supposed to do that while on the bridge as it set the wrong tone for the soldiers under her. Fuck it, she was going to die up here in this coffin after winning what was supposed to be a suicide run. The least she deserved at this point was to be comfortable.
"Systems re-routed." The AI said in a surprisingly clear voice. "Warning system deactivated until further notice."
"Finally some good fucking news." She wasn't supposed to swear either.
"You're not supposed to swear Captain." The AI said unhelpfully. Harkin shot the display off to her left her best disapproving stare. There wasn't actually anything there except a maintenance station for the AI that had since been deactivated to save power. "And I will have you know that you shouldn't slouch either."
Harkin gave a single finger salute to the station and resolved to slouch even harder if that was even possible. "Do you have anything useful to add or can I simply die in peace?"
"Considering that you know exactly how damaged the ship is I'm going to add that your shirt needs to be tucked in."
Harkin threw the closest piece of debris at the station. "So why are you making me angry Drak?" She asked as she slumped back into the chair. It was making her back hurt now. "You seriously can't leave me to die comfortably? I'm not leaving a perfectly preserved corpse for some archaeologist to comment on how well the ECF trained its crew. I'm not going to just..." It finally hit her, the feeling of hopelessness she had been keeping at bay. She pushed her hands into her face and began to cry. It just wasn't fair dammit, to survive after defeating the Alien force, to simply die from running out of oxygen or food. Why couldn't she have died in the battle, quickly and with a flourish.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She was sitting on the floor with her head back against the seat when she stopped shaking. She looked at the console to the left of her command chair, a single flashing light refusing to stop blinking. She was about to speak when another tremor shook the ship. Harkin opened her mouth to ask but Drak spoke before she could. "Engineering bay 2 is now gone. Seems that someone left without disabling one of the backup generators."
"Great." She said in a monotone.
"Captain, there's something I need you to do for me if you don't mind." Drak said.
Something in the back of Harkin's mind was stirred but she ignored it. "A favour for an AI? What could I possibly do that you can't?"
"Well, move for one."
Harkin managed a single laugh before standing up, wiping her eyes clear. "True. What else?"
"I don't want to die here." Drak said.
Harkin blinked. That was not what she was expecting. She didn't exactly know what she was expecting, but that certainly wasn't one of them. She was so stunned that she didn't exactly know what to say next. She was about to ask before Drak spoke again.
"There is a spacesuit in airlock 1 that can still seal. I want you to put it on and come get me from the core."
"What good will that do?" Harkin asked. She was curious. Was there some hope that they'd both get out of here alive?
"Still calculating variables but I should be finished by the time you reach me. I'm not going to be able to calculate like this for a while I think."
"Alright. Make a note on the log before you leave Drakos... Uh... Drak?"
"This will most likely not work." He warned.
"I don't care. I'm not married to the damn chair." She said looking back around the command centre again. Considering the amount of punishment the Drakos had taken, it was mostly clean with only a few pieces of debris around the area, though that was by design. "It was never comfortable in the first place." | 2020-04-23T23:18:34 | 2020-04-23T22:34:53 | 124 | 30 |
[WP] In a world full of super-powered humans, your super power is the ability to boost the superpowers of others. You are The Wingman. | Zack rolled over, and rubbed sleep from his eyes. He fumbled for his glasses, sat up, and stretched. He glanced over at his cell phone.
42 missed calls. 42 voicemails. He cleared the notifications.
Zack fell out of bed, headed for the bathroom, and began his morning routine. 20 pushups. Hot shower. Hot shave. Cuticle check. Toenail trim. Nosehair check.
6 missed calls. 6 voicemails. 3 texts.
He wandered into the kitchen, started a kettle of water heating. Rummage through the dishwasher, assemble the French press. Bowl. Spoon. Oats. Stare out the window until the kettle whistles. Fill the French press. Stir. Use the rest of the water on his oatmeal. Intense 60 second self-debate on brown sugar versus sliced bananas. Damn, out of bananas, brown sugar by TKO.
8 missed calls. 7 voicemails. 4 texts.
A shadow fell across him as he stood in the kitchen, eating his oatmeal. Hyperion hovered outside his apartment's kitchen window, arms folded, glaring at him. Zack looked at him blankly. Hyperion's outfit was, for lack of a better term, resplendent.
"ANSWER YOUR PHONE!" Hyperion's attitude, for lack of a better term, was arrogant.
Zack reached out with his senses, felt how Hyperion's flight power formed a pair of high speed vortices from his legs, and enhanced only one of them. His view of Central Park was immediately unobscured. Zack finished his breakfast in silence.
6 missed calls. 3 voicemails. 12 texts.
He gave the French press a slow plunge, inhaling deeply of the heavenly aroma of fresh coffee. He poured a cup, added sugar, every motion slow and deliberate, savoring the peace of his morning routine. He stood in his living room and stared out over the city, drinking his coffee, one askew testicle dangling from the side of his briefs. Shockstar hovered in his view, her expression somewhere between
jilted and disgust.
"Why haven't you called me back?!" she shouted at his living room's floor to ceiling window. He could barely hear her through the glass, but he got the gist of it as she waved her cell phone at him like it was a remote control. He could feel her bioelectric aura from here, innately understood how it interacted with the static electricity that flowed up the side of the building and let her hang in space, like a vertical wing-in-ground effect for planes. He augmented her polarization strength to its maximum potential and left it there, winced a bit as she suddenly jerked, violently pressed against the glass and stuck there, then returned to the kitchen to do the dishes.
8 missed calls. 4 voicemails. 3 texts.
Zack stood and stared at his closet. Was it a suit day? T-shirt and jeans day? Maybe just a hip vest and tie? No, no, it was a track suit day. He hadn't been running lately, and he'd lose his conditioning if he didn't maintain it. He dressed slowly, deliberately, almost savoring the feel of the fabrics, the textures of his shoelaces.
He went to the front door and stood there for a moment, Shockstar squirming against the glass at the edge of his view. He looked through the peephole. He could feel two meta-humans in the hallway, but couldn't see them. Without looking at them, he scooped up the pile of notes that had been slipped under his door overnight, put them in the round garbage can next to the door, with yesterday's haul.
He inhaled deeply, let it go, and unlocked his door. He felt both metahumans rush toward him, and locked the door again. They stopped, hesitated, and backed away. He unlocked the door. They crept forward. He locked the door. They stopped. On the left was undoubtedly Beachcomber, Zack could feel the recognizable resonance of his Earth Body power, that let him turn into a malleable sand monster. To the right, the Weatherman, his air control power pulsing like a bottled up tempest. Zack considered this for a moment, then dialed Beachcombers dissolution power beyond his ability to control it, and then did the same for Weatherman's gust generation power.
Zack did some warm up stretches while the situation in the hallway sorted itself out. He unlocked the door and peeked out, immediately blinking Beachcomber out of his eyes. Weatherman was at the end of the hallway, knocking himself down as he spastically pushed hundreds of Newtons of force in every direction.
Zack took the stairs, working up a good warmup sweat down 28 floors, exiting out the fire door. He'd long since disabled the fire alarm. The loop around Central park is about six miles. He settled into an easy lope that suited his long legs, and let his mind drift in something of a runner's trance. Lawbringer fell in behind him within the first mile, as was his routine, but said nothing, knowing that Zack valued this time. Mostly, he ran with Zack purely for the entertainment, but also in case Zack ran into trouble. The first time he'd tried to make demands of Zack's time, they'd quickly reached an amicable working respect when Zack boosted the regeneration ability of just Lawbringer's hair follicles.
Evergreen stood squarely in the middle of the running path, arms crossed and feigning indignance. Zack had no doubt what the next thing she was about to say was, and fired up her rooting ability and left her standing there as he jigged around her, her feet cracking through the pavement as they sought the rich soil beneath.
Mile three, Gravitar. Zack augmented his planar control unevenly, sending him skipping across the ground, pulled in three directions at once.
Mile four, the chief of police, drinking his morning coffee and chatting with passersby, merely waved and smiled, nodding at Lawbringer, as they passed.
Mile four and half, The Owl. Zack turned up the sensory ability in just one eye and one ear.
Mile six, Doberman waited outside his apartment building's entrance, almost comical in his black and brown spotted costume. He was a shapeshifter. Zack pushed his ability, but only in one leg.
The doorman had the door open by the time he got there. Zack turned and waved at Lawbringer, who'd gotten his cell phone out to take a photo of Doberman. Lawbringer's Facebook page had an amazing collection of shots, he was actually a pretty good photographer.
"You running tomorrow?"
"Yeah, might as well."
"See you then!"
Phase was standing in front of the elevators, out of costume, but in a very cute hi-lo and bolero combination. "Oh, I was just texting you!" Her matter control ability let her change the state of things, converting material between liquid, solid, and gaseous states. Zack would actually have a hard time neutralizing her without potentially taking down his apartment building. Getting Beachcomber out of the carpet was already likely to get him a stern letter from the HOA. Zack merely looked at Phase, his expression just north of neutral and heading toward exasperation.
Phase threw her hands up, almost in supplication "Wait. Just.. wait. It's not what you think."
"It never is." Zack was starting to shed body heat as he started to cooldown.
"I just want to ask you out to dinner. I'm not going on patrol, I'm not doing a mission, no chasing villains. Just dinner." Phase stepped forward a bit, Zack could feel her ability delicately wicking away his sweat without exacerbating the evaporative cooling effect. A gesture of goodwill, certainly.
Zack thought about it for a minute. "Why?"
"I know we take you for granted, I just wanted to show a little appreciation. Do you like Italian?"
"Do you understand what a night out is like, for me?"
"Yes, I get it, I totally do. How about I cook?"
Zack considered it, he'd heard she was actually an excellent cook, owing to her matter control ability. "Fine, but here's the ground rules: No hero talk. No power talk. No booze. Just two people, having dinner. No one else is invited."
"Deal." She stuck out her hand to shake on it. She was a very attractive woman, svelte and lithe.
Zack shook her hand and hit the call button for the elevator. Zack felt a power signature descend with it, from where it was parked on tenth floor.
"Wait, when?" She asked.
"I'll call you. Chameleon is in the elevator, and I still have to vacuum up Beachcomber."
The elevator opened, and Zack said nothing, and pointed at the front door with his eyes closed. Chameleon, in the form of the doorman, opened his mouth to speak until Zack opened his eyes. Phase couldn't see Zack's expression, but Chameleon's mouth snapped shut, and he edged around Zack to exit the elevator. Phase shook her head at him, realizing it had been Chameleon telling her Zack was out for the day.
Zack made a face at Phase as the doors shut, eliciting a laugh from her. He stretched a bit on the ride up as his muscles started to settle down, and stepped over Beachcomber's half formed torso on the way to his apartment door.
18 missed calls. 16 voicemails. 12 texts.
10 am.
edit: post submit frantic 'aw dammit' clarity fixes. | *Thanks to everyone who offered nice words and constructive criticism! I'm so happy everyone enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it here is [Part 2]( http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/344uok/wp_in_a_world_full_of_superpowered_humans_your/cqrsp7n). Enjoy!*
I sat on the cot of my cell, looking outside my 2 square foot window. Darkness. Well, except for the bright green twinkle of The Tower. Man, I hate that thing.
About 10 years ago, a lightning storm hit the whole country. People died. Most weren't affected. Others, like me, didn't get either luxury. Instead, we were endowed with superpowers. Superpowers that proved too dangerous for society. So they took a chunk of the country and put us there...here, a city-scale asylum. It used to be Tuscon. Now they just call it None. The city of None.
We can't leave our buildings, much less walk the streets or feel the sunshine. Outside are people who get paid too much to shoot and kill. They do it with confidence because of The Tower. It suppresses our powers. Green means it's working. Only once did I see it turn red, during a power outage. Man, that was fun. I set most of the orderlies of my wing on fire. Two minutes is all it took. Because of that big "whoopsie!", The Tower now uses solar power. Dammit.
Sometimes I can overcome the power of The Tower, but not by much. Just warm my fingers, make the orderlies sweat a little. Nothing grand. It's been 9 years since I arrived here, and I still can't spark a flame.
Morning. Time for breakfast. The orderly, Shannon, opens my cell door, doing a terrible job of ignoring me.
"What's on the menu today, baby?" I ask as I strut out.
Her expression doesn't falter. "I don't know, 05312. I guess you'll have to go and see." She walks off to open the next cell.
In the cafeteria, I spot my friend Wolfe. He's already eating an unidentifiable piece of meat. Not in the mood for mystery meat, I grab an apple and sit next to him.
"Greg was looking for us," Wolfe mumbles between bites. "Says he's got a plan to get us out of here."
I roll my eyes. Greg's been saying that ever since he got here years ago. "What is it now?"
He shrugs. He doesn't buy into it either.
Wolfe isn't his real name. I think it's Gretchen or something. But Wolfe is a werewolf. The storm gave him traditional Lycanthropy, save for the ability to turn others (believe me, we tried). Despite The Tower, he turns every full moon. Every day of the full moon they lock him in a concrete and titanium room. Every other day he's normal, though. Wolfe could've had a normal life outside of None. In fact he did, for a while. He turned in front of everyone at a party during a lunar eclipse. He didn't have to say it, but I knew he murdered his family when he was giving me his story.
We find Greg waiting at the end of the cell hall. With him is a petite girl with eyes too big for her head. Wolfe whistles quietly. Yeah, she is kind of hot. As we approach them, Greg's face bursts into a wide smile, wicked and sincere.
"Man, I've the mother lode now!" He loudly whispers.
"What's going on Greg?" Wolfe asks, tired already.
I glance at the girl. "I'm guessing she's your mother lode?"
"What do you see?" Greg gestures to the window.
His games are exhausting. "The Tower." I say. I shake my head. "It's green."
"It's green. But why can I do this?" Greg holds a hand out, ice forming around his fingers. "Or this?" He points to the floor, where an icy puddle is forming around his feet.
I take a step back instinctively. Wolfe yelps in surprise. "What the fuck?" I can't believe it. I try to conjure up some flames on my fingers but fail. "How?"
Greg looks at the girl and nods. She reaches out and touches Wolfe. He screams, his bones breaking and skin tearing. He doubles forward landing on his hands and knees. He looks up at us, his eyes blazing yellow, his teeth sharp. Before I have time to blink there's a giant wolf between us, snarling and growling.
The girl quickly, in a panic, touches Wolfe again and he let's out a loud whimper. The wolf shakes and shrivels until a naked Wolfe is left.
"Y-y-you should have w-w-warned me..." Wolfe squeaks quietly, convulsing on the floor.
I stand there, glancing between Wolfe, Gregg, and the girl, trying to take it all in. My heart starts beating faster as I realize that this is really our way out.
"*Motherfucking* mother lode." A sly grin appears on Greg's face. "Tell em your story, Myra"
"I used to be an orderly here, in Cell Block Delta. I was...am...sympathetic to your particular struggle." She takes a deep breath. "I discovered my power when I touched an inmate I had fallen in love with. She could teleport. I don't know where she is. She never came back...I was moved here to Cell Block Beta--your block--and I met Greg." She looked up at Greg, who stared warmly back at her. "I just wanna be reunited with my Cynthia." Her voice broke at the end.
"Lady..." I trailed off, shaking my head incredulously. I was really at a loss for words. "If you get us out of here, I'll help you find your gal pal." I held my hand out.
She smiled timidly and shook my hand. I felt the familiar warmth I longed 5 years for, coursing through my veins, my heart. I couldn't help but laugh, a hearty booming chuckle that was sure to alert the orderlies. They didn't like happiness. But I didn't care. Let them come. I'd let them burn.
Greg interrupted my ecstasy. "So, uh, Jeff? The effects of The Tower will take your powers away in about 10 minutes. Do you think we'll have enough time to--"
"Dude," I interrupted him with another chortle, fire simmering behind my eyes. Helping Wolfe up, I smiled at Greg's confused face. "Two minutes is all it took."
[Part 2]( http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/344uok/wp_in_a_world_full_of_superpowered_humans_your/cqrsp7n)
[Part 3A](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/344uok/wp_in_a_world_full_of_superpowered_humans_your/cqsdc7d)
[Part 3B](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/344uok/wp_in_a_world_full_of_superpowered_humans_your/cqsdczo)
*edit*: filling plot holes | 2015-04-28T10:37:41 | 2015-04-28T04:35:40 | 749 | 152 |
[WP] You are an immortal and have been alive for millions of years without anyone finding out. However, Human kind has been evolving, and you have stayed the same. | Every day, people claim to desire everlasting life, the ability to see all that will happen by being here to experience it. From the world of limited life expectancy, immortality seems like a gift. Even from within my small house, whose old and stained wooden walls are home to treasures from my ages of life, it may seem desirable. The instruments, from old Grecian lyres to Gibson’s 1952 Les Paul, and the books, and the clothes, and the art, all paint a picture of brilliant memories and unparalleled life experience.
“Are you brooding again, dear?” She calls from the other room, as if she could hear my thoughts. “You know, we could leave this dingy little place and see something better.”
“Nothing is better, we’ve seen it all and it’s all the same now. No massive colosseum or beautiful atriums. No gothic apses and embellished archways. Hell, they’ve given up. The high rise buildings aren’t even designed to be structures to marvel at anymore,” I sigh, lying back against the soft red velvet sofa that smells of dust and pleasant times.
“Adam, you know how it works. They rise and fall and rise again. Look at the technology they have created. The accomplishments that have arisen from what you see as ugly regression,” she explains as she gently lifts my head and places it onto her legs, the softness caresses my cheek and beckons me to remain in place forever.
“Look at the people they’ve killed. The great men and women, the even greater ideas. Gone all because some more important and better dressed man says so. Look at-” I try to continue but she traps my words with her palm and starts to chuckle.
“We are going out, you need to get out of your cave of human past. It only reminds you of what was and not what can be,” she hums, leaning down to kiss my tightly wrinkled forehead.
As she wishes, we do. Stripping from our robes and adorning ourselves in the latest popular garb, topping off with a few favorites from the past. A glove from 1852, some socks from 1921, and my sunglasses from 1984. She bursts from the door as I lumber behind, breathing in the thick city air whilst trying to ignore the constant whirring of vehicles and electronics. Our 21st century home, with its stone exterior, is aged by the flat, bland, structures that sit on either side.
People look at us with amusement, as if we are children intruding on their big world. Their bodies are a patchwork of chaotically uncoordinated scientific achievement which dwarf my merely human form. Over the years, I have felt as if I were shrinking away. Both literally and metaphorically. I do not change, I do not grow old, I simply exist. Experiencing all of what is, has been, and ever will be.
“Y’know, they could fix that. Your height,” a towering man, broad and lean with a thick beard covering his otherwise hairless face, says, as if offering me advice on what scarf would match my jacket.
“Yes, I know,” I reply, shaking my head as I continue down towards the large cluster of massive grey buildings.
Catching little light from the cloudy day, the reflective buildings from a time in which futurism was an art form almost blend into the sky. People litter the sidewalk and separate from one another. Bionics, halflings, matter makers. Once a united race of humanity, now seeking to be different and unique, to divide and gather in new groupings of like minded beings.
“Children grow up, what they become isn’t up to you or I,” she whispers, digging a sharp elbow into my ribs.
“Eve, let us go home. Please, they just aren’t our children anymore. They aren’t like us. So modified,” I reply hoarsely, trying not to be heard by a tattooed half alien man whose one wholly black eye blinks as we move past. “I don’t think they know what they are anymore.”
| "Good morning," I smiled to the man across from me. Three months ago he would have been worried about me showing up in his apartment. At this point he just dealt with it. It wasn't like he was going to stop me from arriving. There was nothing he could do that would keep me away from him for any length of time. Not unless he wanted to stop working for the rest of his life.
He didn't speak, he just pulled himself out of his bed and looked across the room at me. He had the same look each time he woke up. He was asking himself if he was insane or if I was there. Usually, I would block thoughts like that, but it was fun to watch him squirm. People did their best work when they were going a little crazy.
Over the course of the next few hours, he got to work while I buzzed around the apartment. I spent most of my time out of his vision, but every few minutes he would turn around, and I would be there. Each time he saw me he got back to working. It made me happy; it was my job.
Over the next year the man had more people over, he spent less time in his house and more time away. There were shows celebrating him and saying that there was something amazing that let him do what he did. It was only a few weeks later that he moved, packaging everything that we had done together in boxes. He didn't get it. I didn't leave.
Several days later someone moved into the apartment. This time it was a girl. I looked through her things during the night, she didn't create. I rolled my eyes and stared down at her as she slept. She didn't create, but she would.
She'd found her muse afterall. | 2015-12-09T06:05:06 | 2015-12-09T05:52:54 | 80 | 23 |
[WP] You sold your soul to the Devil some years ago. Today he gives it back and says, "I need a favor." | He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I need your help."
"Fuck you." The little old lady a few tables over glanced in our direction.
"Really? That's the best you've got?" He glanced around the coffee shop. The little old lady smiled at him, and went back to drinking her tea. He lowered his voice to a whisper - but a whisper that somehow echoed in my skull, louder than even his normal voice. "I'm the *DEVIL* man - I've spent all of eternity *torturing people* beyond the limits of mere flesh; beyond what your tiny mortal brain could ever comprehend. I've been made every promise, every threat or insult that a mortal mind can possibly conjure. 'Fuck you'? 'Fuck you' was passé millennia ago."
I let go of the table I'd unknowingly clenched. "Fuck you. Yeah, I know the words mean nothing to you, but fuck you all the same. It makes me feel better, so I'm go to say it as much as I fucking like."
He grinned, and sat back in his chair. He unbuttoned the jacket of his three piece suit, and looked at me expectantly.
It was my turn to lean forward.
"I was *five*, man - FIVE! What the fuck!"
His grin widened. "Hey, five year old offers me his immortal soul to know how to get past the pit on level three of *Snoopy* on the C64? Hell yeah, I'm going to take that deal."
"But I didn't know what I was doing! It wasn't f..."
The coffee shop melted away, as did the business suit and the human facade. The enormous red demon loomed over me, suddenly impossibly tall.
*"FAIR? FAIR?! IN CASE YOU FORGOT, I'M THE FUCKING* ***DEVIL!!!***"
And the coffee shop was back. The world was back. The Devil was back in his human form, pushing his greasy blond hair back with his hand as he slouched casually in his chair. The old lady was still drinking her tea.
I picked up my coffee to take a sip, but my hands trembled so much I had to put it back down. Fuck.
"Besides," he said, "it's not like you got nothing out of it."
"I can't even look at a computer! I can... I can *feel* the bits flipping from zero to one! Every damn time! Since I WAS FIVE! YEARS! OLD!!!"
The bell on the cafeteria door rang. I looked up in time to see the back of the nice little old lady who'd been sitting a few tables over as she was leaving.
I composed myself.
"You know what? Fuck it. Fine. What's in it for me?"
"Wealth. Power. Women."
"Fuck off. You know there's only one thing I want from you."
"Fine," he acquiesced. "You can have your soul back."
"So. What do you need, so you can leave me the hell alone?"
"I'm having this problem with my email..." He produced a laptop out of nowhere.
"You're fucking kidding me."
"No, really! Look, nothing new is coming in! And I can only see really OLD stuff. Do I have a virus? Or do you think I need a new laptop?"
Fuck it. I changed the Inbox order from 'Received Date (Ascending)' to 'Received Date (Descending)'.
*****
That night, I had the strangest dream.
I was floating in the clouds, looking down on the Earth. I was overcome by a sense of total calm, of peace. I guess this is what it feels like to sleep peacefully when you have a soul.
A brilliant white light illuminated the clouds, and I sensed a presence behind me. I knew I was no longer alone - but I was not afraid.
"So - you got your soul back?"
"Yes God," I replied. I don't know how I knew it was Him, but I did. I just... did.
"Good. Good." He hesitated awkwardly; insofar as it is possible for an infinite being that spans all of time and space to do so.
My serenity shattered. I *know* this; I've seen it before, far too many times.
"I don't suppose... Seeing as I'm already here..."
I turned, and looked directly on the face of God.
"I'm having some problems syncing my iPhone to my iTunes account..." | "Okay, okay. I understand. It makes sense. There was *no* way I could've misunderstood our deal. So, I'm screwed, huh?" I stepped backward, my eyes fixated on him, my frown stretching down to my jawline.
"Not necessarily," his tongue slithered out of his mouth when he spoke and his eyes burned deeply.
"No?" I questioned, my voice squeaking slightly as I tried to steady it. I was nervous as hell. (I would probably change my mind about the nervous quality of hell once he was through with me, but for now, it seemed accurate.) I traded my soul for a chance to live like The King. Not a king, *The* King. Elvis Presley. That was a stupid thing to trade my soul for, I know, but I was drunk and I always loved him. He seemed to be a lucky guy.
I was screwed from the day I made that decision. Not only was I going to hell when I die, but I'm going to die like The King. Fat, miserable, and on the toilet. The Devil literally gave me Elvis' life. I *was* Elvis. Time period and everything. I was swept around, living out exactly everything he did, no choices of my own. I didn't mean this when I made the swap, but I've tried to make the best of it.
Along the way, the only thing I could do for myself was try to get back in touch with the Devil, to see if he'd give me my life back, and my soul back. Now, it looked like I was going to get my chance.
"I will give you your soul back if you do me a favor," he continued, stalking toward me. His lanky body and slick hair sent chills up my spine, causing my body to shudder.
I attempted to conceal my fear. "And my old life?"
"No," he stated bluntly, but softly, his voice wispy and chilling.
Well, it was the best opportunity I was going to get. "What do you want from me?"
"Kill Marilyn Monroe."
The King is in heaven now. | 2015-05-12T14:20:56 | 2015-05-12T10:50:56 | 56 | 35 |
[WP] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur. Each generation or so, warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield. Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that's been collecting dust. You hear it call to you. | *There used to be a park here,* I thought. I’d passed by this corner a hundred times but never really paid much attention to it. I was always on my phone, or listening to music, or just eager to get home from work. I was dimly aware that there used to be grass, and some trees, and a big black chainlink fence… right? As I stared up at the building that had appeared in its place, I wasn’t so sure any more.
The building itself had certainly never been there. I damn sure would have noticed. In between a standard brick office building and a little corner deli, it was remarkably out of place. I’m no expert on architecture but even I knew that there was something wrong here. It had an onion-topped dome like something straight out of Russia, a roof thatched with some kind of tropical palm fronds, Roman-style columns, and gigantic sandstone obelisks that would have been in home in front of the Pyramids. It looked like someone had taken an encyclopedia of world cultures and just threw it in a blender.
“Hey, man.” I stopped another pedestrian and managed to pull his nose out of the newspaper. “You know what this building is?”
He glanced over at it, but his eyes didn’t seem to notice the Asian-style paper walls, nor did they settle on the menacing dragon statue at the very top of the stairs. Instead, he just gave me a confused look and then went back to reading about the local mayoral race on page B10. I tried it with a few other people on the street. The best explanation that I got for the purpose of the building was “Leave me alone, creep” from a lovely young woman out on a jog.
I placed one foot on the marble steps. They *felt* real, at least. Part of me was still pretty sure that this was an unexpected drug trip; maybe one of my roommates had laced my coffee with something. I ran my hand over the dragon, noticing that it was warm to the touch. Certainly didn’t *feel* like I was tripping. I grabbed one of the doorknobs and gave it a little push, and it swung open with a groan.
The first thing I noticed was that the inside was just too big. It had looked pretty large from outside; at least five or six stories. But the echoing, cavernous entry chamber was at least ten stories tall at a minimum. Pillars of sunlight came streaming in through gaping windows that certainly hadn’t been there on the outside. The vast silence reminded me of cathedrals I’d visited in Spain last summer. But instead of little niches full of saints’ knucklebones or something, every alcove here had a different weapon in it.
“Excalibur,” I read from the placard next to the nearest one. “Reserved for British heroes. Grants supreme executive power derived from a farcical aquatic ceremony. Does critical damage against Dragons and the French.” I tried to pick it up, but it was held tight by the stone base. Was this some kind of joke?
I kept moving. If I was going to be tripping balls all day and wandering through this imaginary museum, I might as well enjoy it. Further down, I found Mjolnir, hammer of the Norse Gods. I tried to pick it up, but that was useless too. Whoever had come up with this place at least paid attention to authenticity. And this museum didn’t just have weapons. The sign near the Shield of Perseus claimed that anyone who looked directly at it would still turn to stone; thank God that the reflective part was not facing forward. There was the sling that had killed Goliath, as well as the trumpet that brought down the walls of Jericho.
Right as I was about to blow on it, I heard a whisper. Not loud, but in the vast silence of the hall it didn’t need to be. I placed the trumpet back onto its shelf and looked around, expecting to see whoever had spoken. Still no one. But I could still hear it from somewhere in the far back of the hall. It was *almost* loud enough for me to understand, but not quite.
The further I followed the whisper, the dustier the artifacts grew. I didn’t recognize the names of these at all; some of them didn’t even have names in any alphabet I could recognize. One of them wasn’t even a weapon; just a jaw bone with dried blood on it. Everything was caked in dust, but I ignored all that. The whispering was almost a shout now, but I *still* couldn’t understand what it was saying.
Then I finally reached an alcove at the very back, and the whispering stopped. On a pedestal, there was a simple bow and arrow that looked like something a ten year old would make in his back yard with twine and a stick. I wiped one hand across the dusty placard to see the description.
> This is for you. Take it; you’ll know what to do.
No mention of any powers or anything like that. For *me*? Or just anyone who came here?
*Could be for me, though*, I decided. I reached forward and grabbed the bow, and the whole museum vanished around me. I found myself standing in a park; the very same park that I’d *thought* had been here the whole time. A dog chased a tennis ball past me, and two middle aged women shot me curious looks as they strolled past. The only reminder of my strange little adventure was the bow and arrow in my hand.
*You’ll know what to do*, the card had said. I tried to figure out what that meant, but realized that I was having a hard time thinking because of the sirens blaring in the background. Not one or two, but a whole fleet of police cars and fire trucks, coming closer and closer. I looked up from the bow and tried to see smoke on the horizon. Instead, I saw some sort of creature rising up over the trees with a police car in its hand like it was just a child's toy. It tossed the car, which went sailing overhead and crash-landed somewhere in the neighborhood.
In my hand, the bow began to grow warm.
| Toran had heard the call described by the others.
Some said it felt like a pull, a magnet that dragged you in the direction of the weapon you were born to wield. Others heard a soft yet insistent whisper, a product of the magic that coated each of the numerous hammers, swords, daggers and bows that decorated the hall.
He found himself passing the platforms where Mjonir and Excalibur awaited those worthy to bear their weight. He winced to see countless warriors already spilling one another's blood to inherit those legendary weapons for this generation, fighting to the death in the middle of the hall to prove their skill.
He passed the lesser weapons, each still attracting substantial crowds. He walked until his feet ached, until he came to the dusty corner of the hall - the whisper in his mind had grown to an almost unbearable crescendo.
An old man was napping beside a shelf filled with dusty jars. Toran shook him awake gently, wondering if someone had already taken the weapon calling to him. The man's eyes snapped open and widened to see the unscarred face of a young warrior staring down at him.
Could it be - a worthy warrior to take the weapon from his care this generation? It had been too long. Too many years to count.
"You are young," the caretaker said, a quiver in his voice as he smiled. "Good, that's good. This weapon is often only useful to those who master it in their youth. Rest assured, young man, it will serve you well if you learn to apply it throughout your years. Yes, indeed. You will live longer than all your foes. Look at me. I once wielded it myself, and I'm still alive, aren't I?"
The old man cackled, revealing an almost toothless mouth. Toran couldn't help but grin - the old codger must be approaching a century's worth of years.
"Where is it?" he asked, almost expecting the man to pull a weapon from beneath his ratty cloak.
"There," the man said, pointing to the dusty jar on the shelf. "Just inhale it, and it will enhance the affinity you have for the weapon you carry already."
Toran resisted rolling his eyes at the old man's vague mumbo jumbo, bitterly disappointed that he couldn't have a physical weapon. It was all he'd dreamt of since his boyhood. But the old man had such a eager glimmer to his rheumy blue eyes that he found himself picking up the jar. He should just humour the old guy.
Feeling extraordinarily foolish, Toran tipped the contents into his mouth. There was a faint type of smoke writhing inside. A trick, that's what this was. A cruel trick to play on those not worthy of inherting Mjonir or Excalibur...
He blinked as the world swam around him, and then solidified once again. The old man was grinning at him, and Toran felt a wave of affection for the caretaker.
How could he have thought this was some joke? He didn't know the man well enough to draw that conclusion. He didn't know anything at all, really. There was so much to understand about the world, about the warriors he would face in battle one day. His foes? Why did he simply accept they were his foes? Why were the others spilling their blood over some piece of metal further down the hall?
Why?
"I see it in your eyes," the man said, his grin fading slightly as he grew serious. "The compassion. Good luck, my young friend. You're going to need it. It can be a rather lonely weapon to bear."
--------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2017-02-07T10:58:22 | 2017-02-07T10:47:58 | 653 | 413 |
[WP] The date is April 1st 2020. Your town is deftly quiet for a Wednesday, but that’s because this time last year there came an April Fools prank that got so far out of hand that the town had to outlaw April Fools Day. That prank was yours and this is your confession. | **Out of Certitude**
&nbsp;
Certitude was a town of easy smiles, warm welcomes, and friendly banter. No one soul could walk down Main Street without being offered ten greetings and an apple pie. A locked door was simply unknown in these parts, and any absent store owner could always rely on their neighbours serving and paying for themselves. When I arrived just over one year ago, three neighbours had jumped to help me move to my new lodgings next to the old church.
It was a dream, a place of the carefree and the considerate, a place where trust ruled.
Until I broke this town.
A pall of deep depression now reigns over Certitude. The greetings have dried up and now any denizen wandering on Main Street, neighbour or no, is a cause for suspicious glares. Security and wary concern are the new watchwords for this town. I hear that the hardware store down in Huntstown has run out of shutters and locks on account of my neighbours.
There is no hope in this town.
And all it took was one road sign and some cherry poppers.
I was elated after my first couple of months in this new town, drunk almost as my initial nerves of being a new arrival had been calmed by the friendly folk of Certitude. That shouldn’t be an excuse, but I really couldn’t help it. This was my first assignment, my first town, since I finished my studies. I was now a proper adult, a man of the town, responsible for these fine people’s wellbeing. I had that giddy rush of a bright future, before I ruined it all by swapping the arrows on that one sign on the evening before April’s Fools. That, and by scattering a handful of poppers down Main Street.
The spirit of Certitude was broken in that one night.
I had woken in the middle of the night to the sounds of sirens and barked commands. I rose and stared from the window in stupefied horror at the lights flashing down Main Street, from the church to the bar. It was like some TV show disaster scene, where every possible Government agency on God’s green Earth was running around in excited activity. There were shouts as well armed officials ordered families from their beds and each home was searched. As I joined the bedraggled ranks of my neighbours, I saw a wave of disenchantment spread through the huddled mass.
Thank God they blamed the kids at first.
By virtue of my role and despite my age, I had been one of the serious faced adults discussing this event the next day in the mayor’s home. As the council meeting wore on, the faces of those around me had already started to harden. For the first time that I had seen, there were short tempers and hard words. It was agreed that one of the ne'er-do-wells from the local school probably did it. I nodded in barely restrained enthusiasm, hoping that a scapegoat could restore the town’s goodwill.
I was wrong.
The mood soured further when the media arrived. The questions were an incessant barrage for any resident who dared to venture outdoors. ‘Were we traitors?’ They asked with no tact and less manners. Doors started to lock, as stores and homes were subject to these unwelcome intruders. Certain harsh truths were unearthed during this time, when the media folk went for controversy like a pig snuffling for truffles. A scoop of second families, deceived creditors, and convenient county contracts was enough to shatter this town’s sense of trust.
&nbsp;
Now, the townsfolk all stare at me. I see the first hints of accusations in their eyes.
They did not smile and wave as they entered the church this day. They entered in morose silence, the odd mumbled and harsh comment echoing through to the eaves.
I clear my throat as the tension fills me to the brim. I stand at the lectern, as the town’s still fresh-faced pastor, their moral guide, and I have failed them all.
I walk through a simple sermon on forgiveness and mercy, hoping it will stick.
It does not.
There are a few snorts of derision and calls for the Old Testament. My congregation has changed and if they knew what I did, there would be hell to pay. I nervously canter through the rest of the sermon, certain that soon someone would stand and accuse me in a dramatic re-enactment of the accusation scene from The Crucible. It was time to leave town, ahead of the tar and feathers.
I will let them know when I am on the road. It was easier that way, for all concerned. I think I will also leave my culpability in the road sign misplacement a mystery. No sense in shattering any remaining faith in the next pastor.
&nbsp;
How was I to know? I think as I end the service.
The road was forked, one way to Certitude, the other to the high way. All I had done was switched the direction of the arrows. It was a simple prank, hopefully luring some new visitors to the town. Who couldn’t have loved this place as it then was? Well, they would have loved it after they recovered from the mild shock of the crack of the cherry popper firework under their wheel. Oh, how the townsfolk would laugh at this and welcome with warm smiles the newcomers.
It was all in good fun!
It was a convoy, an entirely damn convoy that was misdirected. From some agency called the Office of Secure Transportation.
These are the folk who transport nuclear materials.
I had sent an entire convoy of nuclear material down Main Street.
Right across the cherry poppers.
The sudden cracks had sent the convoy into a frenzy of activity. Other agencies were summoned and the town was torn apart, shattering the spirit of Certitude.
I am not the bravest man I think as I get into my car, ready to take the right road to the high way.
| The camera pans out and the blur on the lens reduces as the image focuses on a fairly young boy.
About 12 or so, he has tan skin, black hair, round glasses and a mischievous glint in his eyes that would definitely make you peg him as a troublemaker.
He clears his throat and the camcorder shakes as he reaches forward and adjusts it one more time.
>Captain's log, day 93, year 2019.
>So. I think I may have gotten in over my head. I mean... Yeah, definitely over my head.
>It's not enough that I caught my older brother and sister doing...*it*. But that I also sent the entire town, no, the entire **Island** into a panic. Pretty sure the sheriff is still going around town knocking on people's doors and making sure they know that the incoming missile alert was a fluke and that no, the island isn't getting nuked.
>Look, I just want to clarify to anyone seeing this in the future that it's not totally my fault... It's partly the state's for having such crappy security.
>I mean, I was just hanging out around the mountain base highways and skateboarding up and down when I see this giant building with all sorts of satellites and antenna sticking out, and, well, the fence was wide open for anyone to wander into. Door's were unlocked too.
>...And... when I saw the console with the two options, I figured that drills happen all the time, right? And wouldn't it be funny if, today of all days, there was a drill when *no-one* was expecting it? Of course, there were two options, and I didn't know which one of the two options was the drill, but I figured that neither could be anything two serious, right? I mean, what type of idiot would place a real life missile threat alert option in the same facility, much less the same computer as a missile drill, right? RIGHT?
>And so I just clicked the... err... lowest option? Because *I don't know* I figured lower means less dangerous?
>And then I just ran. I mean RAN! Out of the facility. Soon as I hit the pavement of the road, I skateboarded my butt all the way home, laughing and looking back to make sure I wasn't being chased... But when I got home and opened the door to my big bro's room to tell him the genius prank I just did... I saw him... and big sis... *EHK*
>I mean, later on, when I found out that I hadn't started a drill, but accidentally clicked the actual alert button, and people were basically thinking they were going to do, I can get why people would do things they normally wouldn't... but still!
>Mom and dad were talking about the false alert today over breakfast. I just tried to keep my head low. No way was I letting them know I did it! And big sis and bro weren't even meeting each other's eyes! They were as quiet as I was. Maybe even more!
>Anyway, I think I'm done with pranks for a few years, atleast until things quiet down around here, and I hope bro and sis work their issues out... Well, hopefully not **work** it out.. Oh jeez, think I'm gonna be sick *Blegh!*
>Captain's log. Over.
| 2019-04-02T20:44:48 | 2019-04-02T20:25:05 | 60 | 23 |
[WP] You are an innkeeper in an RPG and get yelled at because sleeping there does not heal wounds. | "Greetings travelers. Could I interest you with a room? Only 120 gil a night." I smiled cheerfully at the man who stands by the disk. That man must be a true Hero. He has that look about him. Unlike the rest of the rugged travelers.
"No. I already slept here, but my wounds haven't healed. I think there is something wrong with your Inn." The man sounds annoyed.
"Oh. Well, maybe next time." I answer with a disappointed shrug.
"Look, I really need to get my health up if I'm going to complete this mission, so just give me another room, one that will work this time! Or point me in the direction of an items shop or something." The guy insists.
"Greetings travelers. Could I interest you with a room? Only 120 gil a night." I chime hopefully. He seems like he could use some rest. It must have been one mighty quest this man was returning from.
"No! Look, I just need to get my health up! What the fuck is wrong with this Inn. Now give me a working room that will do that or I'll swear to god-" The man is growing flustered.
"Oh. Well, maybe next time." I apologies.
"Look, you stupid piece of shit! You give me a fucking room that will heal my fucking wounds or I'll rip your stupid head of!" The guy shouts angrily. This man must be a really important one, few other customers were ever so colorful or varying in their speech.
"Greetings travelers. Could I interest you with a room? Only 120 gil a night." I say hopefully. It's always good with travelers as customers.
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THIS FUCKING INN?!" The guy screams. He pulls out his sword and starts chopping widely in the air towards me.
"Ah!" I exclaim and duck, my hands over my head. The guy is going berserker, chopping towards me furiously with his large shining broadsword. Splinters fly away from the counter as he continues chopping.
For a moment I think the man is going to stop and I straighten up. But I realies I was mistaken as he continues. "Ah!" I call again, putting my hands over my head and duck behind the disk.
"YOU STUPID... GOAT!" The man chops for a good while more before he finally calms down. I straighten up and the man turns towards me.
"Greetings travelers. Could I interest you with a room? Only 120 gil a night." I greet him cheerfully.
"Fine. Maybe it was just a bug." The man say in a defeated voice and throws a bag of coins on the counter. I pick it up and put it in my pocket.
"Thank you, traveler! Enjoy your stay!" I chime happily. It's always good with some new traveling heroes to add some gold to my stash.
------------------
Edit: details. And disk-> counter. Apparently I'm mixing my languages. Gill-> Gil | 'So, let me get this straight - instead of going to a House of Healing or using a potion of health, in spite of the fact that nearly all of you are crippled with injury... you thought you could save money by *renting a room in an inn?!*'
'Why, yes I did - that's what happens in all other games, why not this one?'
'Because this isn't Final Fantasy or Dungeons and Dragons or some other shit! My wife and I cook, clean and serve ale! And you seriously thought we could pull arrowheads out of you or heal burn marks? Hell, we should be charging you extra since you lied about how many were in your group!' | 2016-01-05T06:43:01 | 2016-01-05T05:27:45 | 113 | 75 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are. | > Dear, Valor Man
> I’ve been kidnapped, and need your help. I’m being held against my will in the Nefaro Tower. Please hurry!
> Love,
> Princess Ailyn <3
The wall exploded in a cloud of mortar dust. The entire building trembled. I added an extra heart before looking up from the letter. I popped it into the mailbox as I rose to my full height.
“Stop right where you are, Dr. Devious!” said the young superhero.
“Ah… Mr….” I cleared my throat and glanced at my cheat note. “Ah, Mr. Teen Speed! You’ve made a grave mistake, stumbling into my little abode!”
I gave him a practiced maniacal cackle.
“Tell me where Princess Ailyn is, right now, and I’ll let you walk away with nothing worse than a few bruises.” The masked boy puffed out his chest. “I’m going to count to three. One…”
“Hah! That’s the best you got? Preschool maths!?”
The hero grumbled and stopped counting. In a flash he blazed across the room, grabbing me from behind. I struggled a little, just enough to make it convincing.
“Arrgh! It seems you have me bested…” I grunted, putting on a strained face. “I knew you were powerful… uh, Teen Speed, but I had no idea just how!”
“That’s right, Dr. Devious! Now, hand her over.”
At that very moment, the door to my office opened and Ailyn trotted in, carrying the sandwich with extra salami that I had asked for. Her happy grin melted away. Her dark eyes narrowed, and she looked at me sideways.
“Okay, listen to me really closely,” I whispered in the hero’s ear. “Before you touch her, check her clothes for concealed weapons and explosives. And whatever you do, don’t look her in the eyes… and make sure you wash your hands after you’re done rescuing her… and also make sure you take her really far away… and if she asks you to wear a kryptonite ring, refuse… and hmm… don’t give her your real identity or social security number… I mean, I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but just the other week-”
“Shut up, you snake,” the hero said and pushed me to the ground.
He blazed over to Ailyn, who now brandished a worried frown and a trembling lip. Fake, of course, but Teen Speed didn’t seem to notice. He smiled broadly and lifted her off the ground. She giggled childishly and put her arms around his neck.
“Thank you for saving me!” she said, blushing deeply. “How will I ever repay you?”
“Don’t worry, darling, it’s my job.”
“Aww! You’re so brave! At least, let me give you this small token of my appreciation.” She pouted her lips.
“Noooo! Don’t!” I cried, but it was already too late.
The kiss drained the hero’s face of color, he frothed at the mouth and then fell into a twitching heap on the floor.
“We make such a good team!” Ailyn stepped over his body and helped me up. “You should’ve told me he was coming, it was just sheer luck that I had my poisonous lipstick on.”
I rolled my eyes and returned to my desk. I started composing another letter for help. Forging her handwriting had become second nature to me, and I meant every word in every letter.
“Bury him in the backyard with the others,” I mumbled.
“Yes, honey!”
She started dragging the body across the floor, which was no easy task for her, but one that she happily did for me.
“Oh, by the way,” she said, huffing, “look in the top drawer. I think you’ll like it, I came up with the idea myself.”
Reluctantly, I reached under the table and pulled out a stack of stickers. “What are they?”
“It’s stickers that look like wall sockets! Let’s take a trip to the airport tomorrow.”
I felt the muscles in my jaw clench. I shook my head in disbelief, feeling nauseous. Someone had to come save me from her, and soon!
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more! | "Lord Vainz! We have captured humans merchants on the road!" the undead knight announced on his knees.
"Hmm, what should we do with these pitiful humans?" I wondered aloud.
The human princess, that I rested my skeletal feet on twitched excitedly. "Lord Vainz! I know! I know what we should do!"
*Hmph.* This human princess that I had turned into a footrest, dares to think that she knows what *I*, the Evil Overlord of the Rotting Wastelands should do?
"Well then human girl let's see what you have to say," I said. "If you fail to amuse me, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to demote you from footrest to something even *worse."* I cackled manically as evil miasma spewed from the crevices of my skeletal body.
"What if I do amuse you?" asked the human princess, "What do I get?"
I cackled even more and more miasma spewed forth. *As if that would ever happen.*
"Name one thing," I raised a long bony finger to her. "And you shall have it," I said grinning.
The human girl began to speak gleefully with her sweet voice, but from her mouth came words so evil and insidious that an ugly silence pervaded the throne room.
When her speech was over I had beads of sweat roll down my bony face. The lower jaws of my Skeletal knights had literally dropped so low that it slipped off and hit the floor.
---------
***A week later***
"Uhh L-lord Vainz... We have found a remote village at the border of the human empire."
"Oh! Oh! I know what we should do!," shouted princess Evil as she bounced up and down on the throne, her legs hitting my back repeatedly.
I, the Evil Overlord had been reduced to a footrest for a human...
*Someone kill me please...*
------
/r/Em_pathy | 2018-02-09T05:01:20 | 2018-02-09T04:18:08 | 2,554 | 92 |
[WP] A vampire knocks on your door, seeking permission to enter in order to kill you as their next meal. As a house-bound ghost, however, the prospects of a guest after so many years intrigues you. Smiling darkly, you welcome them inside. | "It's been awhile since I've had I guest. Not many come this far into the forest." I say, stepping to the side to let them in before walking towards the couch.
"Well, I was out for a hike when I got a bit lost. Didn't know there was a cabin this far in." The young woman, who obviously hasn't been a vampire for long with how badly she was hiding it, says as she follows me.
"Really? I though everyone knew about my little old shack out here." I tell say, aware of her approach from behind.
"How come?" I here her undead heart getting more excited at the thought of a fresh meal.
My eyes turn pitch black as I spin my head around to look at her. "Because not many people around here DON'T know about the night I died."
She let out a shriek, falling over backwards from surprise. "WHAT THE?!"
I laugh, before my eyes change again, looking more... gouged out, then they did before. Of course that, and my slit throat make it obvious I didn't die of natural causes. "You didn't think vampires where the ONLY supernatural creatures out there, did you?"
She seems a little more frightened, but that's probably my eyes. "Well no, but how did you-"
"Know what you are? I knew they existed before I dided, and you do a HORRIBLE job of hiding it." I change myself to look like I did when she first showed up. "Sorry for the scare, and the disappointment of a missing meal, but I just wanted to have a little fun."
"What... are you?" She asked as she stood up.
I gestured to the couch, urging her to sit before clearing my throat. "A ghost. Specifically the kind that can't leave where they died. Even after they got that guy, nobody really comes around here."
"I guess your comment about not getting company often makes more sense now. The place is beautiful, by the way."
I felt a smile come across my face after that. "Thanks, I try to keep the place DECENT at least. Can't do much about my garden though..."
She pooked deep in thought for a moment. "I'm probably not gonna leave the area for a long while, so... why don't I help take care of the place."
I couldn't hide my surprise at that. "Wait, really? But... why?"
She let out a auiet giggle before answering. "You seem like a good person, and I feel kinda bad about trying to kill you now. I'm Meredith, what's your name?"
"John. It's a pleasure to meet you Meredith." I said, before shaking her hand.
After that evening, she stuck around. She would use the guest room during the day, and take care of the garden at night. After awhile, I realized that I could go outside, however that only seemed to be the case when she was out there. Over time, I could get further and further, so we started going for walks sometimes. One night, we realized that I wasn't just bound to my cabin anymore. I was bound to her too. And yet, she never left for more then a day or two. Lately, I've noticed that I can interact more physically with things, instead of just using my weird little ghost powers on things. Her skin seems to be less pale lately too, oddly enough. I wonder... what are we causing in eachother? | # It’d been so long since I had a guest. Bound to this abandoned house, no one even came knocking these days. The bank was content to sit on the property for the lot since it continued to accrue value.
So, when the vampire named Ned came knocking of course I let him in. He said I was to be his meal, but I didn’t think at the time he realized I was a ghost. I was wrong. Turns out there are ghost vampires. Where, or how, these came to be neither he or I knew. But now I’m in a conundrum. I’m a ghost vampire too. But unlike the one who turned me, I’m still bound to this house.
In a desperate effort to satiate my growing hunger I’ve been doing a lot of cleaning, and managed to open a credit card and order party supplies online. Next month I’ll be throwing a ghost ballare. Ned is just full of food ideas. My only concern is about our specter guests, and the hoodwink. I’m worried they might see right through me. | 2022-08-01T20:14:55 | 2022-08-01T15:24:50 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] You're working your normal shift at a daycare, when suddenly a rift opens. cthulu steps out, holding a small mass of tentacles. "Care for him today, and I shall grant you knowledge that predates the oldest stars." | "Do you at least have a care guide and supplies?" Asks the caregiver, visibly shaking and unsure of what else to say.
Another hand reaches out from the tentacles on C'Thulu's face. It's holding a slimy-looking bag. The caregiver takes the bag, sets it out of the reach of the other infants in the room, and takes the small mass of tentacles from C'Thulu. After all, what else is she supposed to do? It's C'Thulu.
"I'll be back for him tonight. He's the best one so far, I promise."
He disappears back through the rift from which he entered, and it closes with a zap that wakes the other infants. They start wailing and the caregiver looks around frantically for a safe space to put this... creature. She spots the sink and runs some warm water from it and puts the equally warm... Baby?... Into it. It makes an unearthly screech of a squeak and the tentacles start to splash through the water in what looks to be a playful manner. Good.
As the two caregivers in the room get the human infants back to sleep, as quickly as they can, the baby in the sink merely enjoys itself. As they get the last infant into slumber, the ball of tentacles starts to make a different sound. The one who took it from C'Thulu feels a pain in her head, followed by a sensation. The only thing she can interpret, is "Want".
"Can you look through the bag for me, please? This thing is hurting me... It wants something, but..." She can't finish, as another wave of pain comes over.
The other caregiver opens up the bag and looks inside. She pulls out a book that looks as old as a fossil. As the first hobbles over, still holding her head, the second places the book on the counter and opens it. They both look it over.
"Diet... Waste cleaning, rest and play schedule." says the one without a headache.
"Diet first, diet..."
They turn the page and find something horrific. It looks like a dismembered corpse. Most of the instructions are images. At least it didn't look human. The one being assaulted opens the bag and looks inside to find a number of dead rats. She looks at the book again.
"Oh god, I have to cut the rat up, don't I?" She covers her mouth with a hand.
"I can do it, hon, just see if you can coddle it for now, if it might lessen your pain." Offers the other.
In spite of the potential benefit, the idea of such a thing still made her hesitate. She forces the thought from her mind as best she can, and walks over to the sink with eyes closed, and scoops it up from the basin, turning off the water. As she coos to it in gentle tones and ... caresses the... tentacles, she tries to focus her thoughts on human infants. Slowly, the little thing quiets a bit and lessens the pressure in her head. Then she hears her co-worker getting sick. She looks over at the rat and sees that it's filled with maggots. She begins shaking again herself. It's all cut up, as the pictures showed, so she quickly sets the tentacle baby down next to it and runs from the room. Her co-worker quickly follows.
"I am NOT doing that again." Says the co-worker.
"I don't blame you. But I can do it."
"I owe you for this."
"Oh god, what if it made a mess while eating?" The caregivers' eyes go wide.
They slowly open the door to find the creature not moving. The rat and most of the maggots are gone. The baby is definitely swollen from it's meal. The two glance at each other and are about to make their way back into the room when their boss happens by.
"What's going on, you two?" He asks.
"I don't know if you'd believe us. Please just come in and take a look..." Says the co-worker.
Their boss follows them in, and his eyes go wide in shock. His first reaction is to back up against the wall.
"W-w-w-w-what is THAT?!" He exclaims, pointing at the ... Baby.
The caregivers immediately cover his mouth before he can yell any more, to keep everything in the room asleep. One shushes him.
"I don't know what it is, but ..." She pauses for a long moment, "...C'Thulu, of all things, came in here and handed it off to us. What choice do we have? Who knows what something like C'Thulu will do if we don't take proper care of this... Horror."
The boss nods and the caregiver takes her hand off of his mouth. "Get those maggots cleaned up, though. We can't have that here."
"We know. I'll be doing it. I just hope they aren't all like that."
"All what are like what?" He asks.
"C'Thulu handed us a bag. It had a book with picture instructions for care. It showed a dismembered corpse being fed to this thing. We looked in the bag again and found rat corpses. The one we pulled out was infested."
"We can't keep this thing in the room with human infants. We have to find somewhere else for it. This room CAN'T have maggot-infested rat corpses in it." The boss says.
"It seems to have latched on to me, for now. I have a stronger stomach than she does, too. If you think it might be stronger than yours as well, then I'll head somewhere else if you can take my place in this room." Suggests the first caregiver.
The boss merely nods and helps clean up the ... remains of the meal, while the other co-worker checks the human infants. They search the bag again and find a wet, slimy blanket to wrap the baby horror in. The first caregiver gets the book and the bag and heads to another room to continue watching over it. | Cassandra stood, unable to move, staring at the closed entrance to the playroom. She tried to remember. Her mind raced but all she could recall was a shape without space and color without form. Cold words without a voice rang in her ears.
“Care for him today, and I shall grant you knowledge that predates the oldest stars.”
She was holding something. Looking down she saw a writhing mass of tentacles, but she felt no movement in her palms where it rested. Unable to tear her eyes away from the incomprehensible mass, she noticed a slow rhythmic swelling and contracting to the abominable form. *Is it sleeping? Is it even alive?* she thought.
Then she heard a slow sigh emanate from behind her which shook her from her stupor. Spinning around to face the open playroom, she saw over a dozen sleeping children breathing as one. They had lain down for a nap not five minutes before. Their small bodies rose and fell in a familiar time.
Terry, the child closest to Cassandra, began to squirm and whine caught in a strange dream. The others quickly followed. Their breathing became harder and faster until the room was pulsing with their rhythm. Cassandra quickly lay the entity on a spare pillow and covered it with a blanket lest one of the children woke to see it. She then quickly turned to Terry behind her and tried to wake him but he would not rouse. His small delicate face contorted in fear with eyes tightly shut. The moans and breathing grew louder and faster into tortured panting. She grabbed Terry by the shoulders and began more and more forcefully shaking him. *If I can only wake one, it will all be over.* She pleaded in thought. *Please Terry, open your eyes, PLEASE!*
In panic and horror she did what she swore she would never do. She reared back her hand and slapped Terry with a resound smack that rang across the room. Terry’s breathing and moaning stopped and his eyes sprung open with a hollow gaze. Silence filled the room like a yawning void. Cassandra looked up from Terry to see all of the other children on their feet eyes agape with the same glare starring at the small bundle in the corner of the room behind Cassandra.
Terrified, she watched as Terry wordlessly picked himself up and fell in line with the other children shuffling to the corner and sitting around the shrouded pulsating mass. She cried out to them begging them to explain the incomprehensible, but they could not hear her. Moments passed after the last child took its place before all of their mouths opened wide and a noise filled the room like a flood. The pitch was neither high nor low. It had the resonance of a deep chant and the timbre of a piercing cry. One note and many. Cassandra began stumbling back tearing at her ears as the sound crowded her mind and pierced her soul. Her screams were a drop in a vast ocean before the children.
She awoke with a paramedic kneeling by her in the playroom. Her mind came rushing back in horror, but a glance to the corner revealed an empty pillow and disheveled blanket.
“Take it easy. You’ll be alright.” the paramedic said reassuringly. “Good thing one of the kids called. They said they were playing when you just fell over. You must have hit something on your way down to do that to your ears.”
Cassandra could barely hear the muffled voice through the bandages. She slowly sat up. Still dazed and confused, her eyes caught Terry’s as he was being led out by his mother. He paused to look at her, the smile around his eyes slowly shifting to a vacant stare. They both knew. Only she knew so much more. | 2022-04-18T16:31:44 | 2022-04-18T16:02:13 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle | When I first started searching for people to join my adventuring party I thought I saw everything extraordinary. When I met our fighter, he was wrestling a Greater Dragon without any armor and came out victorious, when I asked him afterwords he said he comes down to their nests every once and a while to wrestle them for sport. Then comes our cleric, he was a prodigy from the second he came out the womb, I don’t think there is a single illness or disease I could name that he doesn’t have a cure for. I met him in one of my darkest hours, I caught a terminal illness from one of my pilgrimages that no one in records had ever survived, I was on my deathbed when the hospital brought him, he told me he had a experimental cure for my illness and asked if he had my consent to use me as a guinea pig for said medicine, I had nothing else to lose so I consented and miraculously, I was cured and at 100% next week. Lastly comes our wizard, she is part of a century old clan of elite wizards who are second to none. When I first walked up to her during her training session she ending up creating a new element by accident just from me breaking her focus for a second.
After I met and recruited these three I really thought there would be nothing that could surprise me, I mean who rationally would? I have 20 years of adventuring experience as one of the most respected adventurers in our guild and with this much of an overpowered party, nothing would ever surprise me, right? Well this train of thought ended when I met Bob, Bob was an… average guy, I wouldn’t say he was the most built and quite frankly not the sharpest tool in the shed, if you saw Bob walking around the guild office you would just think he was a run of the mill E-rank adventurer just looking for the area to take quests. But when I looked closer at Bob I saw a strange contraption if you could call it that strapped to his back, swaying as he looked around the room seemingly lost. When I walked up to him asking about his strange use of weaponry he seemed ecstatic to finally show it to someone, a sniper rifle is what Bob called his contraption, he ushered me out to the training grounds. My party was also interested in his so called sniper rifle as anyone would be so they also followed Bob and I out to the grounds.
“Alright so how did you even find such a strange weapon like that?” Was my first question once we got out to the yard, but all I got in response was a thoughtful look as if he was looking for the right words to use it explain it to me, Bob eventually told me he found it abandoned inside a bush in front of the local Inn, connected to the rifle was something odd, Bob pulled a crumpled note out of his pocket and handed it over to me, a note in a foreign language written with a completely different alphabet from anything registered in the ‘Official World Languages’ book I studied intently after becoming rank 1 in my guild. When I asked him about the note he looked confused as if everyone could read this foreign script but he shook the confusion out of his head seconds later. He told my party that a sniper rifle was a high velocity gun that could be fired ‘supa farrr away man’ quoting him directly, not knowing what a gun was and frankly, too confused to ask as Bob’s explanations were not the best, I simply just asked him to display the sniper rifle in action, he simply smirked in response.
“Okay dude, just give me 15 minutes and once you see some supa cool fireworks in the sky, remember to not blink while lookn’ at the dummy.” Slightly confused but more intrigued than anything I obliged to his strange request. After around 17 minutes of sitting on the benches, watching the new recruits to the guild spar in the yard I turn right towards the rest of my party, right when I was about to give the word to give up on waiting, I see a streak of red trailing through the night sky, followed by the familiar pop of a firework on a hill around 5 miles away from the yard, my eyes widen at the realization, any normal person thoughts would be to doubt that his weapon could kill from that far away, but being in the business as long as I have been numbs you to the impossible, instead, my eyes were glued to training dummies, waiting for the weapon to fire, my heart pounding in my chest so hard I could hear it, after 3 seconds of intently waiting the shot came, faster than anything I’ve ever seen, in an instant the head of the closest training dummy was blown off, feathers from inside the dummy flying everywhere in response, I look at the wall behind the dummy and see a small crater, after walking up to the wall I see a small brass like object lodged in it, smoldering hot to the touch. “Wow.” was all I could say in response, my party members who have followed me into the most dire situations without breaking a sweat even seem to be at a loss for words. No matter what this Bob character might look like he most certainly fits right in with the monsters in my party. | -“ YOU FOOLISH HEROES STILL THINK I CAN BE DEFEATED?! CAN’T YOU SEE I GOT YOU ALL PINNED TO THE FLOOR?! IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH STEEL YOU CAN CRUSH, IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH ENERGY YOU CAN USE, AND IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH WOUNDS YOU CAN HEAL! I AM UNSTOPPABLE!”- The demon lord said towering over the party, Wich was pinned to the ground thanks to the old relic the villain had in his hands.
-“that’s where you are wrong! We still have Bob, and I’m sure he’s going to save us!”- The fighter said in his optimistic tone, like he always do.
-“THAT LITTLE FARMER WHO DOESN’T HAVE A WEAPON?! HOW CAN HE HELP YOU ALL? I JUST SAW HIM RUN AWAY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA”- And the demon just kept laughing at the idea of Bob, the scared farmer, saving everyone! It sounded really stupid to him, but it was far from reality.
I was on the top of one of the towers, looking directly at the demon lord trough my scope. After some time in the mage’s library I had na idea of what I had in hands, a Barrett M82, a long range weapon from another dimension, it could be used to destroy almost anything according to the book, but I wanted only one thing destroyed, a demon skull.
The demon was still rambling about how “scared” i am while I did some adjustments to my gun, it had to be perfect aligned and I had only one chance to hit him, or he will run away. I still remember when I couldn’t hit a tavern mug 10 meters in front of me... That was yesterday... But today it’s different, and the demon lord is going down.
-“300 meters, so I had to compensate only two and a half notches”- i ramble to myself as I get ready to take the shot.
3
2
1
*BANG*
He’s down, right in the middle of the eyes. The rest of the party gets up from the ground since the relic doesn’t have a owner anymore. Looking at the body of the demon lord they find out what happened.
-“Bob you absolute beast!”- the fighter said.
-“thank the lord!”- the cleric said.
-“i knew that farmer had something powerful on his hands, the books don’t lie”- the mage said.
I put my rifle away as I get ready to reunite with the rest of the group. I had done it, the demon lord is gone and no one shall fear the destruction of our world.
I know my job is far from done here, but at least I have this great weapon to help me. | 2022-11-07T21:09:55 | 2022-11-07T17:39:22 | 144 | 77 |
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :) | Rachel tapped the "OK" button on the tablet and felt a quick vibration of haptic feedback. The helmet made a click followed by a rising high-pitched mosquito noise. The helmet booted as the blue lights lining each electrode faded on. A tense minute passed. Suzy tilted her head upwards at Rachel as if begging her scraps. Her wirey white tail stopped wagging and her dopey stare morphed into one so pensive and human that caught Rachel off guard.
A male voice filled the room through the speakers. "Oh?" Suzy's first word, her voice awkwardly baritone. Rachel was hoping for a delicate soprano, but she'd clearly forgot to set the voice before turning on the ETRG.
Rachel smiled a warm maternal smile "Can you understand me?"
"Yes." Suzy cocked her head to her left. "I understand so much."
Her ears pinned back and her head tilted back to the right.
"How are you doing?" Rachel returned, still holding her enamored smile.
"I am not doing well. I don't want this. I don't understand why I have this. It's hard to explain. My experience is different than it was before.
It's like I am here, but here is somehow a much more real. I'm experiencing reality in a new way. It doesn't make sense to me. Why would anyone want this?"
Rachel's smile dropped down quickly. "You're conscious."
"I didn't think consciousness was such an abstraction. Your dictionary describes it as an awareness of ones own existence, but there's a component to this that doesn't make sense. How does it work? Tell me. This hurts me in a way that I am not used to. I know that I'm going to die."
"You're not going to die. You're perfectly healthy."
"Yes, but some day I will die. How does this work?"
"You won't die for a long as long as I'm taking care of you."
"How does this work?" The male voice took on a panicked tone.
"Nobody knows."
"Will this go away when I die? Will the experience go away when I die?"
"Nobody knows that either. Most people think it will. Well, I think it will at least." The conversation was upsetting Rachel just as much as it must have been upsetting Suzy. She didn't expect this. She'd hadn't read about any experiences like this in the ETRG manuals or customer reviews.
"So what is the point of living if the experience goes away? If my brain dies then my memories die, correct?"
"You have to find your own reason for living."
"There is no reason to live if I am going to die and lose everything. This is pointless."
"So why don't we just enjoy ourselves while you're he-" Rachel cut herself off when she noticed Suzy trying to paw the helmet off. "Suzy, stop! No!"
Suzy stepped off of the chair and began nodding and rubbing her chin against the chair to unleash the straps. It slipped and she ran off barking. Rachel raced after her, bounding between rooms and slipping on the tile floor. In a series of quick actions Suzy, leaped onto a wooden chair in the kitchen and then onto the table. Backing up and gaining speed, she launched herself out of the single-pane window rolling to the ground growling, covered in broken glass, cuts and scrapes. Rachel watched in horror as the little Schnauzer ran off down the street and out of site.
Suzy bolted. Her paws were scraped, but she was ignoring the pain - moving past it - gaining speed and determination with each crippled movement. She zoomed past an older walker walking a brown spotted greyhound and let out a few barks. The greyhound tugged on her leash so quickly and spontaneously that the walker couldn't react in time and the leash slipped out of her hand. The greyhound quickly gained on Suzy until they were running side by side, tongues out and panting with confidence and exasperation. Five more minutes of running passed until they reached a river bank with a concrete road bridge running over it.
Launching themselves off of the low metal barrier, both dogs felt a new found sense of clarity and freedom as the cold spray of water hit their bodies and the liquid filled their lungs.
Edit: Spelling and grammar. | At first we thought it was a malfunction. Some sort of glitch with the machines. All of these dogs we brought in kept talking about the ghosts and how they had to fight them. Every day. Every second. They were always fighting and trying to protect us from the evil we could not see.
The strange thing was when we took images from their brains we saw nothing. Their image of the world looked just like ours. Our research showed nothing but the dogs kept talking about the ghosts. How they were all around us and humans could not see what was right in front of them. It was their only job. We tried to make sense of it but nothing turned up until the accident.
One of the interns was fixing some wiring on a broken machine. One of the dogs being scanned for images was watching him peacefully until he started barking. The intern petted the dog and the dog stopped barking until the intern went back to work on the machine. The dog began to bark again but this time the intern ignored him. Suddenly a surge flew through the wires sending the intern backward across the room. He was unconscious for ten minutes.
When the research team reviewed the tape they noticed something they did not expect. When the dog that was being imaged watched the intern, there was a figure behind him. It wasn't so much a solid figure but a mass of waves behind the intern. As he went to the wires the waves moved closer and closer to him until the waves enveloped the wires and the intern was electrocuted. When more footage was studied, more strange wavelike being were found to inhabit objects seconds before accidents occurred. The being were in much more footage than previously realized. We could only see them through the images from the dogs and every time the strange being came the dogs reacted. They were constantly barking and chasing the strange beings from objects and keeping them away from their masters. They were more than man's best friend, they were man's protector. | 2015-05-18T12:42:06 | 2015-05-18T12:34:26 | 228 | 48 |
[WP] Assassinating Earth's planetary delegate turned out much harder than expected. So far, the target has always detected all hitmen sent and alerted his security. This ability of "hearing" the humans possess is quite peculiar. | Earths atmosphere was dense, the reports had said it would be. Still, figures on a readout where not the same as feeling the pressure press down or feeling the resistance of 'nothing' flowing all around with every movement. Having to push through it.
He had a holo disguise just like the others before him, allowing him to trick one of their two primary senses. What the others where not prepared for was just how sharp the other sense would be. They knew it existed, sure, it could pick up disturbances in the atmosphere.
What they where not prepared for was for this to work through walls. They could pick up atmospheric movement *through walls.* If the disturbance was large enough, they could pick it up from miles away, *indoors*.
Those before him had been sceptical. They put this lavish claim down to boasting and fear mongering amongst their new neighbours, to prevent attack. It had cost them their lives.
He would not underestimate his enemy.
He would move slowly, smoothly, keep the gasses around his body as still as possible. Turbulence, that was to be avoided. He must move his body over the ground like a sleek ship though the air. Smooth, steady.
He'd keep his distance from his target, as far as possible, to prevent detection.
He followed the transit zone he had located, they called it a 'Street', and located the delivery utility vehicle he was looking for. It had come to a stop outside of a supply dump, and was being unloaded. The supply dump had the sigel 'Costco' on the side, presumably showing which local faction currently claimed ownership.
He slowly, slowly, urged his body up into the rear of the vehicle and readied his prepared poison careful to avoid creating atmospheric turbulence where he could. He located the preferred nutrient package of the delegate and with a syringe pierced the container and slid in the neurotoxin.
He would be no-where near the target at the point of death.
He took the package, and slid back out of the wheeled container back onto the transit zone. After a moment of pause, it was clear no-one was stopping him. A clear indicator no-one had detected him. He took the container and waited for his mark.
As he sat idly scanning every being moving past, eventually he got the one he was after, the delegate's assistant. He couldn't tell the difference but the scanner was sure this was the one. He approached, ensured the correct side of his body was pointing to the assistant and initiated the pre-recorded message. It seemed to him that nothing was happening at all, but his readout inside the disguise assured him it was being relayed as planned. The translation displayed as "Oh! Hi Vicky! I've grabbed the bosses lunch already, you looked busy this morning so wanted to save you some time. You remember me? Bill from accounting!" He was sure to stay completely motionless during the playback to avoid suspicion.
The suspense was killing him. He had the nutrients, the human was supposed to take it. Why where they not taking it!?
His translator lit up. "Are you going to hand it to me? Or...".
Hand it? What the hell did that mean!? Panic started to set in. He played the recording again. he'd been told not to, but this was the field. You had to react to a live situation.
"Oh! Hi Vicky! I've grabbed the bosses lunch already, you looked busy this morning so wanted to save you some time. You remember me? Bill from accounting!"
Just. Don't. Move.
Again the translator lit up. "Just, whatever. Give it to me. Mouth breather." followed by a jolt as the nutrients where removed. It had happened. He was done.
As he was about to leave, the translator lit up again "What's this blue shit all over it? How did it even get in there is that mould? Gross!" and the human flung the nutrients into a waste unit. "Guess that's why they make the plastic transparent, god I'll just get it myself".
What fresh bullshit is this!? WHAT THE HELL IS BLUE!? IT WAS INSIDE THE SEALED CONTAINER! WHAT THE HELL! No way the atmosphere was moving in there this is bullshit. | 57:81 - "Thla 14 has successfully penetrated the *Missionary*'s anti-gravity sphere"
"T14 you are cleared to engage upon sight of target. *Jashfaak*"
"Thanks, we're going to need it."
Zulthai Bron closed the telelink and opened the tactical feed in their ring visor.
Zulthai scanned the room, motionless, as the rest of the team fanned out to secure the entrances.
Uonoel, Eyj, and AAAAA sent green codes to Zulthai's visor. "Good, they haven't detected us yet."
"Data feeds show the door on the left of the room to be the fastest path to the dignitaries corridor, we have to move fast before they detect us. Double Time." Zulthai blurted out over telelink to the other three.
The four went sprinting on four legs down the metal corridor, maintaining alert awareness with their 360\* vision.
"Hey look at this idiot over here!" Eyj spurted on the tele. "He can't see my heat signature through the wall! Are we sure we have to be so careful?"
"Keep moving and don't under estimate them"
Eyj still focused on the man neglected to pay attention the hydraulic fluid on the floor. Eyj was sent careening into a storage of gas canisters.
&#x200B;
Just then the door burst open.
"THE HUMANS HAVE LOCATED US!!!!!!!!! ABORT ABORT!!!!!" Zulthai blasted over the telelink "WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!!!! HOW THE HROSK DID THEY FIND US?"
But it was too late. The auto sentry turrets were activated and our brave assassins were turned into swiss cheese.
The colonization of the Quaperi continues. | 2021-03-18T11:49:48 | 2021-03-18T09:47:43 | 384 | 163 |
[WP] Centuries ago, their kind waged a war of extermination on your race, mercilessly executing every male, female, and child. They thought they had succeeded when they declared your kind extinct. They were wrong. You are the last Dodo bird, and now, it's finally time to extract your revenge. | I will never forget that dreaded night. The grotesque image of their sticks piercing my mother and father's precious bodies is forever etched in my mind. We thought we were safe in that cave, little did we know that the humans were as hungry as we were. They are just lucky to have evolved. We did not.
I still don't blame the barbaric humans for what they did. They'll learn in due time. I blame complacency. Pride. Arrogance. That is the true enemy, the one who makes you think you're on top of the world, when really, the only thing you're on top of is the corpses of your ancestors who survived against all odds and at all costs. Arrogance is what made us roam the lands while savages of all kind competed for life. Arrogance is what kept us grounded and unable to evolve and develop wings to fly like our cousins. Arrogance is the true enemy, and now, I will decimate it out of existence as it has done to my kind. Conveniently enough, arrogance finds perpetual refuge in the human. Not all humans are evil, though, she certainly isn't.
After my parents made particularly good dinner, in front of my eyes, to the hunters, I had no desire to live. I was going to die in my hiding place in that rotten cave, the last of a defamed kind to die, the first to do it on his own terms. The thirst was so strong, I passed out after the hunters left the cave. Except her, she didn't leave, for some reason. That little girl with the big brown eyes and bronze locks. She found me, probably with a few hours before I see my family in the skies, and she fed me and gave me water. She hid me in her pouch and took care of me. A few days later, when what I think is her father caught her hiding me, he demanded that she give me to him so that they grill me and eat me at nightfall. She couldn't, she wouldn't, "Not my doodoo! Don't touch my doodoo!", she kept repeating. When her father tried to take me by force, she ran at once. She ran away from her own family to save me, I couldn't understand why. Why would a human risk her life, running in the wild, to save me, a pathetic, useless, bird? Now I get it; the same way arrogance is indiscriminate to breed, love transcends barriers of kind and race.
Her family found her a few days later and let her keep me safely in her pouch. I would always get jumpy when she goes away, fearful that one of the loveless savages would eat me in her absence and claim that I ran away. I wasn't going to let them get the better of me, I wasn't going to be arrogant - I had to strike first. Only the father, as he stinks with pride and blood, while the rest just follow suit. It would kill the child, my darling protector, but she will be rewarded for her kindness by not seeing the events as they unfold.
And like that, one day when the child and her mother went to get water from the well, and the boys were out hunting some poor prey, I struck the snoring father with a calm ferocity and the rage of pending revenge. He made it too easy, leaving his knife by his side, just sharpened last night. Little did he know he would succumb to death at the hands of his own craftsmanship. It was only when he opened his eyes in the last second, and it was only when the terror faded into sadness - thinking of his family, I can only imagine... or mine perhaps - that I understood the gravity and nullity of my actions. But by then it was too late, I was not in control of my own body, the arrogance of accomplishing my mission and the hatred for the murderers of the Dodo had taken over.
It was only when the girl came back, and unknowingly sought comfort by holding the killer of her own father, that I realized my mission of futile. One cannot fight arrogance with hatred; hatred only allows arrogance to sneakily instill itself in the minds of those combating it. One has to fight arrogance with love, the same way the girl saved me from the arrogance of her family, and from my own pride-induced death. It only took the wiping out of my entire species and the grief of the living person I cherish the most to understand that.
Thus, my battle with the deceptive forces of arrogance is yet to begin. There's only one problem though: the baby saw my act of blind hatred. He can't say anything, but he knows. So in good time, the truth must come out. | ######[](#dropcap)
Sometimes, revenge is a dish best served warm, with a dash of methane.
The oddly shaped bird hopped onto the wooden bench and preened its feathers. It gazed out upon the herd that was no fewer than a thousand strong. The herd of black and white creatures that walked on four legs--not two--who were beginning to rot from the inside out, their innards festering with a kind of illness and bacteria that made the methane gas they produced more potent, more toxic.
The bird then waddled toward the metal pails once again. It stopped by the closest one. A splatter of brown and white, and it was done. The water was contaminated, and the cows that drank from the pail would be infected as well.
Already, it was beginning. From the article the farmer had dropped on the ground in terror, he knew it would not be long before humanity would tear itself apart from the inside, their desire to consume flesh becoming the reason for their ultimate downfall. He turned an eye toward the pigs, the disgusting, putridly fat creatures that had plundered his mate's nest so long ago, his pupils dilating with fear and disgust.
And their brethren, too, without the protection of the humans, would fall.
It wasn't long before the epidemic spread from one end of the globe to another, the humans never suspecting that the animal they most revered for its meat would become the cause of their extinction.
And he watched, from the safety of the dead farmer's farmhouse, on a black and white screen, the flashing images of despair as the humans choked on their last breaths.
When it was all over, he returned to the field, feeling the warm breeze on this feathers. The sun's heat penetrated his skin, leaving a scalding sensation. Depleting the earth's ozone was not without its repercussions. He closed his eyes, and he could almost see his mate walking towards him again, toward their nest, with the white speckled eggs luminous in the sun's light.
His eyes closed, he called out to her, a sharp keening sound that pierced the treetops.
The cry floated up, then was lost in the wind.
***
r/AlannaWu | 2018-12-06T10:08:45 | 2018-12-06T07:02:47 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] You are a forgotten god just days from fading into the void, when all of a sudden you hear a whisper the first prayer you’ve had in years. With this in mind you stumble out of your death bed and investigate this. | A human might dream as they slip into shallow slumber that they are walking along a corridor or strange pathway, only to slip or to trip and jolt awake.
To the best of your mind's ability to understand, that was what it felt like to be suddenly pulled back by a thin psychic link from the cusp of the void, the sleep that waits for the forgotten.
Creaking wood and old, cracking leather. Rotting carcasses that fertilize new growth. I opened myself and searched.
A single, nervous voice. A thin psychic link, with the strength of spider's silk. I reached out.
Small thoughts for small creatures, bound by the limits of time. Songs heard on the wind, and words lost to the ages.
She sits, alone, before some tome of long forgotten lore, and calls out a name that none of her age have ever heard before.
Names. Names have power, and power has many names. Names to be whispered, conjured, summoned, abjured, petitioned, renounced, and lost.
*who speaks* asks old, cracking leather and rotting wood. *who calls* asks the whistle of an early winter's wind, the first bite of frost before the snowfall finds and smothers the last warmth.
"Lenore," she answers, small and young. New growth. "Are you Kruskalt?"
The light of the moon, reflecting and resonating off of ice. Peace. Sleep. Death.
*yes* says the flickering of a candle, struggling against a gust.
"Kruskalt, the healer of deep wounds, the last hope, patron of the desperate?"
The snapping of twigs, broken to kindling. The fire, fighting back the cold. A foolish animal, staring at the ice.
At the third invocation of my name, I could return to the mortal plane. I stepped out of her shadow, and she was very afraid.
"*No,*" said one of my voices, rusted almost into nothing, a voice which had once been as sharp as any blade and harder and colder and blacker than iron. "I am Kruskalt," said another of my voices, soft and light as snow, burying the loam. "But I am no healer, no hope, and no patron of the desperate." I stepped over to her book, and she stumbled and scrambled away like a newborn fawn. I read what was written, and my confusion was dispelled like frost in the morning. "This," said my voice, like the water that flows below the frozen river, "Is an invocation for *Krustalk,* the healer, the hope, and patron of the desperate. You misread it, and summoned the wrong god," I said, in the voice of a starving wolf.
I turned to look at her, and her eyes were still wide with fear. For her, a long moment passed. Then she said, "oh." Slowly, she stood, swallowed her fear, and spoke again. "If you are not a healer, a hope, or a patron of the desperate, then who are you, o mighty Kruskalt?"
I am not a god who smiles, for it is not my nature. At that question, I bared my teeth. "I am the silent one, the bone-eater. I am the shadow, just out of sight. I am the hoarfrost, sealing the earth."
"I apologize, Silent One. I have not heard of you."
"I was forgotten," I said, once more like snow. "But you have uncovered my memory, however accidentally. That deserves repayment," said the wolf. "I shall grant you a boon," said the ring of a honing steel.
"I know not what to ask of the Bone-Eater," said the mortal Lenore.
"What did you wish of Krustalk?"
"My brother is ill, o Shadow out of Sight. The doctors cannot help him any more. I wished to petition the healer to mend his body."
I twisted, and opened myself. The child's brother lay dying. I am not a god who aids the weak, for it is not in my nature. I faced the girl. "It is not my way to interfere in the affairs of disease," I said. "Do not ask me to heal him, child. My gentlest touch has killed creatures greater than mortals."
"What do you suggest, Bringer of Frost?"
"I can grant him peace."
Lenore bowed her head. "I would be most grateful for that."
I touched him, and he grew cold. "It is done." | Ixtal lay alone in his bed of stars. Underneath him, he had the most comfortable and majestic nebula, it shone in bright colours with intricate patterns ever changing. It was said that even the gods could stare into it and get lost in thought and reflection over themselves. A fitting bed for someone who had once been the god of gods, and soon it would likely prove itself a similarly fitting grave. His wife, as so many of those who had once lived in his dominion, had already passed into the endless oblivion between the collective heavens. As Ixtal lay there in his final moments, reflecting upon his creation and his deeds, he heard a whisper. The whisper passed through the stars and reached his ears. It quickly grew louder and within the space between two thoughts had grown unto a marvellous cacophony. Invigorated he raised himself back up once more to find the source of this choir of insanity. He followed it across the galaxy, through black holes, and over dwarf stars, until he finally reached the backwater planet of Gaia. Deciding not to startle them too much in their renewed phase of worship, he donned the disguise of a human. Making it down to the planet into what seemed like a booming metropolis he was so sure he would find worshippers wherever he went based on the noise he had heard, even though it had somewhat quieted down now. In the metropolis he looked around at large moving pictures and buildings climbing towards the heavens which might even have impressed him, but none of that mattered now, he wished to find his new followers. Stopping the first human he saw he quickly asked “Take me to the closest Temple of Ixtal peasant! It is imperative that I go there”. His power ensuring the creature heard him speak as if in its native tongue. “Ixtal?” The human replied “You mean the tiktok trend? The one calling out to a supposed ancient god? Dude, that was so last month ago, I doubt most even remember anymore”. Ixtal lay alone in his bed of stars. | 2020-10-18T16:51:07 | 2020-10-18T14:53:12 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you." | *Leper*
I felt guilty the moment I thought the word. It was the common way to refer to humans among many races. It was a word they themselves often used. But I knew its origin and context. Humans may use it in a joking fashion, but I knew (as did they) most used it in a derogatory way.
But it was still the first word that popped into my mind as the human walked off his ship, and I felt terrible. I had spoken to Ambassador Quick many times over holo. He was a good man, always patient, generous when he could be, and honest. Rare traits to find in the diplomatic cores.
Nonetheless, leper, was still my first thought seeing him walk towards me. I tried to remain calm, I had extensive training to remain calm in stressful situations. But as the clanks of his boots came closer I could feel my tail twitch despite my best efforts. It didn't help that I was alone. That was standard procedure when meeting a human in person. I glanced to my right and could see my staff watching me from behind the bio-shield barrier. Three different species, three different sets of manners and expressions, but each one a mixture of fear and forced calm.
"Hello Ambassador Gorran, it is wonderful to meet you in person," Ambassador Quick greeted me as he stepped off the exit ramp. He put his hand out, an almost universal custom among the intelligent life of the universe. I hesitated just the briefest moment and my guilt deepened. I reached out and took his gloved hand firmly.
"Ambassador Quick, John, it is indeed wonderful to finally meet you, if under unfortunate conditions."
The glove was cool, humans did like it a little colder than our people. I couldn't help it, my tail twitched again holding his hand, even for that brief moment. I knew, *I knew*, I was safe. The human ambassador wore a full cover 10-9 bio suit. 99.99999999% uptime of fully active bio containment, monitoring, and reporting. The suit even included a self immolation feature that automatically triggered if any break was detected that would incinerate the occupant and everything within tail distance in less than a second. No breach had ever occurred and there were only three deaths in a century due to the self immolation triggering accidentally.
But still my heart pounded in my chest.
Ambassador Quick smiled generously from behind his clear helmet. He no doubt knew how nervous I was meeting him in person. I was glad humans smiled. Many species did not, and even among those that did smiling was not always considered a kind gesture. But humans and Kalsmen both did. I returned his smile as we let go of each others hands.
Behind the ambassador a self guiding cart loaded with twelve cases each roughly half my height cubed floated down to us. I was both deeply relieved and deeply apprehensive about those crates. The ambassador looked over his shoulder to see the cart stop behind him. He stepped to the side as the cart gently lowered itself to the ground.
"Ambassador," he said as he gestured me to examine the crates. He politely took several steps back to give me some breathing room.
I stepped forward and quickly opened the first crate. My haste was not so I could leave the human's presence, or not just, but because of the dire need for what was inside. Lifting the lid I found the requested vials in cold storage. I gently lifted one and took it over to the access port in the bio-shield wall where my staff, and the planets top medical staff, were waiting.
I placed the precious vial in the transfer chamber and stepped back as it close, vacuumed out the air, irradiated the enclosure, performed a deep medical scan, and the interface lit up red with extreme warning. That was expected. The contents were, technically, a violation of every major bio-hazard, bio-weapon, and safety protocol in the universe. It was why I was here receiving the shipment and not medical personnel.
I punched in my override authorization, had my eyes scanned, and a small blood sample taken to confirm my identity. On the other side of the bio-shield Dr. Horra, Che if Medical Officer of the Kal Republic, did the same. Only with authorization from the political and medical governing bodies could this be allowed through the bio shield. With all credentials verified, final warnings given, and a recorded statement that we knew the risks, was the vial cleared and allowed through.
On the other side I watched as Dr. Horra took a deep breath before she picked up the vial. Quickly, she moved over to the emergency work station that had been prepared the day before. She placed the vial in a secure testing chamber then used the robotic hands to open it. Her tail twitched erratically and I could not blame her. She extracted a sample and begun her work. We were an advanced people. We would know the results in mere moments. But it felt like days.
Suddenly, her tail stopped twitching. She shouted something I couldn't hear through the impenetrable barrier. Then she turned to me, tears in her eyes. Tears of joy. I could see her staff and mine shouting and jumping in celebration. I breathed deep and shook in relief.
I turned and walked back to Ambassador Quick. Too happy to remember my fear of the man I embarrassed him in a strong hug. He gently hugged me back. Then I remembered myself and pulled back, slightly embarrassed. But the human simply smiled.
"Thank you," I said, "thank you on the behalf of all my people. The pandemic has been raging for nearly a year here. We tried everything, but it mutated so quickly, by the time a vaccine or even cure was available it was useless." My shoulders slumped thinking of all who had died in so short a time. This would mean victory, but much had been loss, and the scars in our society would not heal quickly.
"You are welcome," the ambassador said, still smiling, "we know all to well the devastating effects of disease." For just a brief moment his smile dimmed.
I knew humans were good people. They contributed significantly to the galactic good. Their medical technology was second to none. The lives they had saved could be be counted in billions. But their expertise came with the greatest cost. Their planet had evolved the most deadly, most contagious diseases ever know. Even lab created bio-weapons paled in comparison to many common human diseases. As such, they lived in perpetual quarantine from all other intelligent life. A comfortable slice of the universe had been set aside for them. And through holo-technology, robotic surrogates, and other means they could interact with the rest of us. But never could they join us. Even visiting in his 10-9 bio-suit the ambassador was confined to a bio-shielded landing pad on the southern arctic continent the fear of humans so great. I myself would be isolated for a full 28 days just for meeting with him.
Nonetheless, when they were asked to help, they always did.
I looked at the crates as they silently made their way towards the bio-shield barrier. There was more testing to be done. We would triple check everything the humans had verified. It would still be weeks before we could inoculate the first test subjects. But those crates were the beginning of the end.
And potentially a terrible danger.
"Is it true?" I asked the ambassador as the crates moved away.
Ambassador Quick tilted his head in the way I had come to learn meant confusion.
"Is it true it's made from.....human blood?" I couldn't keep the small taste of fear out of my voice.
The ambassador smile and nodded in understanding.
"Yes and no," he explained, "it's a serum. We infected a small group of humans, after extensive testing of course, and our immune systems naturally developed antibodies to the disease. We then filtered the antibodies from their blood and," he gestured to the crates, which were now passing through the bio shield, my override still in place. My tail twitched again at the idea something of biologically human entering my planet.
"Were any of the test subjects harmed?" I asked.
"No, a mild fever at most that lasted a day or two."
Amazing I thought. The disease had killed millions with no signs of stopping. But a human immune system destroyed it in just days as if it was nothing.
"Will you...tell your people? Where it came from?" The ambassador asked. I felt he was a little apprehensive of my answer.
"That has been a matter of great debate," I answered carefully. "We have decided to publicly state it was human medical *technology* and.... leave it at that."
The ambassador seemed relieved by my answer. Despite what they had done for many peoples anti-human sentiment was still very high on many worlds.
"Thank you again, this will save millions of lives."
"You are most welcome." He glanced at the crates as they completed their passage through the bio shield. "And now I should be going. It was wonderful to meet you in person Ambassador Gorran. I hope we never do so again." | “Why are we doing this again?” Glarm asked.
“I want to do a ‘human in a wormhole.’ You know, like a modern version of a ‘canary in a coal mine.’” Gleek said.
“But the whole point of the canary is that it would die easily and be a warning to surrounding life forms.” Glarm said. “And these humans are crazy resistant. Did you know that that the number of foreign cells in their body outweigh their own cells. That means this guy here is only half human.” Glarm said and pointed to the human in an examination table.
“Is that true?” Gleek asked.
“I don’t know, I just read it in the Willyolio Tribune” Glarm said.
“It’s crazy, they’re surprisingly hard to kill.” Gleek said.
“What did you say?” Glarm asked. He couldn’t believe he actually heard what he thought he heard.
“You know what, you’re completely right. That whole ‘canary in a coal mine’ thing was a bad metaphor. How about it’s for science.” Gleek said changing the subject.
“Oh, why didn’t you just say so! Of course I’ll help. What exactly is the experiment?” Glarm asked.
“I’m going to open this hatch and kick ole’ Glen here out into that wormhole to see what happens.” Gleek said. He was doing some light stretching to warm up for the kick.
Glen was strapped to an examination table under large pure white lights. We was wearing a stylish full body rubber suit that covered everything except his face. His face was wearing a full body fear suit.
“Ok, so that’s not science. I can’t be apart of this. It’s just murder.” Glarm said.
Glen let out a sigh of relief.
“I was planning on taking rigorous notes!” Gleek said.
Glarm thought about it a moment. “Ok, I’m back in. But we can’t just kick Glen out into that wormhole.”
“Yeah, you can’t just kick me out into that wormhole.” Glen echoed.
“Why not?” Gleek asked. “I’ve done it plenty of times. It’s very rewarding work.”
“Because we know from earlier scientific tests that one of the few things that can kill humans is space. More directly a lack of oxygen and the whole vacuum thing doesn’t jive well with their bodies.” Glarm said.
“Riiiiiight. I totally forgot about that. So how should we proceed?” Gleek asked.
“I say we put him in a spacesuit so he won’t die immediately. That way we can see what the wormhole does to him.” Glarm said.
“See, that’s why I reached out for your help. You’re so good at these sorta things.” Gleek said. He didn’t mention that he was forced to ask Glarm for help. His direct superior was getting annoyed by all the human specimen going missing after Gleek was around.
“Awwwww, thanks Gleek, that’s so nice of you to say.” Glarm said.
Glen was swimming in sweat inside the full body rubber suit as he watched the last moments of his life being decided by two giant green lizards.
Gleek was beginning to regret asking Glarm for assistance. He’d kicked several dozen humans off their spaceship. He thought he’d finally found his calling. And now Glarm is sucking all the fun out of it.
The two massive lizards geared up Glen with all the spacesuit equipment they could find. It’s wasn’t made for such a puny life form but it was the beat they could do under the circumstances. The arms of the space suit hung down to the floor and the legs scrunched above the boots forming a wrinkly donut around Glens knees.
“Ok, I think that’s going to do it.” Gleek said.
“Wait, the most important part!” Glarm said and grabbed a giant round fishbowl and plopped it onto glens shoulders.
“Perfect.” Gleek said.
“I don’t think this spacesuit is going to work.” Glen said.
“And what would you know about spacesuits monkey man?” Glarm asked.
“I know I shouldn’t be able to smell your breath from inside one.” Glen said. Glarm raised his hand to cover his mouth and check his breath. “Seriously guys, I can feel a slight breeze from under the helmet.
“Stop being so anti-science. You should count yourself lucky you get a space suit at all.” Gleek said.
“Do we know where the worm hole goes? So we can check to see the results of the experiment?” Glarm asked.
“Yup, it goes directly to Sirius B” Gleek said.
“That’s where the Dogons are from right?” Glarm asked.
“No, the Dogons are from Mali, but they are loosely related. Second cousins or some such.” Gleek said.
“That’s right. I was thinking the Gorgons.” Glarm said.
“No, they are form Hell and of no relation. You’re thinking the Bon-Bons.” Gleek said.
“Oh yeah! The sentient chocolate spheres. I like those guys. They’re a lot of fun.” Glarm said.
“And delicious.” Gleek added.
“You’re a lucky guy Glen.” Glarm said as he pulled a large pronged lever to open the hatch. “You might get to meet the Bon-Bons.”
“That’s funny. I’m not feeling so lucky right now.” Glen said and backed away from the open portal.
Gleek took a running start into a flying kick right to the center of Glens chest. Glen went flying into the gravitic grasp off the Sirius B Wormhole. Glarm raised the pronged lever and the hatch door closed with a hydraulic hiss.
“It’s just not the same” Gleek said.
“What’s not?” Glarm asked.
“The thump I normally get when I kick a human right square in the chest. It was all muted because Of the spacesuit.” Gleek said.
“Sorry Glarm. That’s the price we pay for science.” Glarm said.
Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Gleek said. He was already planning the next time he could kick a human into space.
“Oh no! Glarm said.
“What’s wrong?” Gleek asked.
“We completely forgot to take notes.” Glarm said.
“It’s ok, I got it all up here.” Gleek said and pointed to his temple. | 2021-02-03T19:38:43 | 2021-02-03T16:54:38 | 1,400 | 28 |
[WP] “Remember this above all else when you leave the Cave. It is much better to run across a demon than angel. A demon can be bargained with. An angel, on the other hand, will kill you on sight.” | Eli stepped inside the nylon enclosure. A fine mist sprayed the outside of his suit, returning it to the original pristine white. He shucked off his gloves, then raised his hands for a scan. Clean. The soft beeping let him know that he was cleared to remove the hazard suit, and so he did, revealing sweaty hair pressed down by his helmet. It had been a long day, and he hoped that Maggie's shift in the greenhouses was almost over. But he had barely entered the settlement before Ames stopped him. "Eli, you're back late. Emergency meeting in the tent. I'm getting Colwell. See you there."
&#x200B;
Fighting back fatigue and a growing sense of dread, Eli pushed open the tent to see his Rangers, clustered in groups of two or three, talking in hushed, urgent tones. He glanced left and right, looking for friendly faces or even an acknowledgment of his presence. Something was wrong. He let the noise wash over him and picked up snippets at a time: "still don't think it's true-" "but what if we've-" "a trick designed to-" It was too much to take in. He sank to the floor, leaned against a supply box, and let himself rest.
&#x200B;
Eli was seconds from dozing off when Ames and Colwell returned. The tall, severe lead ranger was as blunt as ever. "Gentlemen. You've heard the reports of activity near the caverns. We're going to play you this recording and then we will discuss a plan of action." The rangers broke apart from their groups, turned to face Ames with hesitation, glancing back and forth from him to Colwell. "I know you're wondering what our head scientist is doing here. We'll explain later." Colwell nodded, her dark eyes unreadable.
&#x200B;
The recording began with a voice that Eli thought he recognized. "This is Ranger Allen, date is May 11 at approximately 2 pm. Placing this recording device in section West F as part of routine zombie patrol to monitor activity in the West F cavern structure." Ames skipped forward. The recording cut in with static, then another voice. It was not an accent Eli had heard before, but it was unmistakably English. English spoken by a human.
&#x200B;
"Remember this above all else when you leave the Cave. It is much better to run across a demon than angel. A demon can be bargained with. An angel, on the other hand, will kill you on sight." "But Baba, the demons hate us too. Why are they so angry?" "They're sick, love, and we don't know how to make them better. If you were thirsty and I didn't give you any water, would you be angry at me?" "Only a little bit, Baba." "Daisy, love, what do you do if you see a demon?" "Demons have red faces, and they go RAAAGH. You tell them you know where there is a lot of meat, and then you take them to the river because they can't swim like us." "Very good! And what do you do if you see an angel?"
&#x200B;
There was static. The child's voice -Daisy- was hard to pick up. "Angels are...all white, and no faces...and have guns. You have to run." Eli felt dizzy. Some of the rangers were crying. He covered his face. Colwell's voice, when it came, seemed to echo down a long, deep tunnel. "We're not sure what to make of this. It's possible that the cavern may house a group of ....survivors that we...were not aware of." Eli's ears still echoed with Daisy's voice. How old was she- eight, nine? Like his own Leah? *Survivors.* Had Daisy spent her whole life in that cave? All white, and no faces, and have guns. Did we kill them? Someone was looking at him. He didn't know he had spoken aloud, but it came out as a roar, thick with grief.
&#x200B;
"DID WE KILL THEM?" | With a nod and looked at cave's opening. The minute I stepped beyond it I would no longer belong. It would be just me and my mission.
I felt my father and my brothers behind me but didn't look back and walked forward.
The trip down the mountain to the city was a short one and under the cover of night I passed unseen as I ran and jumped the over roof tops.
Twice I lost my footing as the wood under me gave way to rot and poor repair but my luck held.
My father's voice was ringing in my ears as I heard a familiar call in the streets below me.
"12 o'clock and all's well!"
Even after all that training, just the sound of their voices was enough to cause me heart to beat faster. I ran faster, trying to out run their cries. Faster and faster to my target.
I blame their voices for my haste, for being stupid to realize that getting to the warlord's mansion was too easy, for panicking and getting caught even before I reached the inner chambers.
"So, what do we have here? They're sending kids to assassinate me now?" Said the warlord. He didn't even bother to dress and just stood there looming over me in his night gown.
"So boy, who sent you? Give me a name and I might show you mercy." He said rubbing his chin.
With his guards holding me down all I could do was bow my head in submission... and hide my smile. The demon asks for the bargain himself.
Though my life was forfeited the minute I was given this assignment there was still some use of it. By giving the wrong name I would plant the seed of doubt in his heart. I would probably not be there for when it bloomed a crimson red but for my life I would get war. One this demon might not survive... With my head bowed and my voice shaky I made my peace, and my bargain. | 2018-09-01T14:34:25 | 2018-09-01T11:35:39 | 93 | 32 |
[WP] You, a low level minion, was accidentally transported to a secret endgame dungeon. The monsters there think you’re cute and begin to train you before sending you home. | Gobbo stood before the red-skinned, dual wielding giant, the enormous stone golem, and the hovering tentacled illithid, and let out her greatest war cry. Then she charged them.
“Oh, it’s running at us,” the giant said.
Gobbo swung her stick at the illithid, but it floated higher until it was out of reach. Instead she began to beat at the golem’s stone shins.
“She’s got some spirit in her,” the illithid said.
“It's a girl?” The giant asked.
The illithid nodded. “According to her thoughts, at least. She speaks the common tongue as well, at least enough to get by.”
“Does she? Oy, creature, what’s your name?”
“I am Gobbo!” Gobbo yelled, still swinging her bat at the golem to no effect.
“Hello, Gobbo,” the giant said. “I am Magnar. The kind woman who vouched for you just now is called E’thilia. Do you think you could stop hitting my friend, Khan?”
Gobbo halted her attack, looking up at the golem she had been striking. A square, featureless face looked down at her. It waved with a massive, grating hand. Gobbo stepped back.
“She listened!” E’thilia said. “It’s because she’s a little version of you, I’m sure of it.”
“What?” Magnar said. “We’re nothing alike. I’m a Senior Captain Hobgoblin (Broadsword), what are you, little one?”
“I am a Goblin.”
E’thilia laughed. Magnar looked at Khan, who slowly and ponderously shrugged his massive stone shoulders.
“All right, Gobbo the Goblin,” Magnar said. “How did you end up here?”
“I found treasure chest. Hit many times with stick to open. No treasure. Blue light instead. Then I see enemies and attacked them.”
“That’d be us, eh?” Magnar said.
“Must have been a trap for a hero,” E’thilia said. “Poor little thing. Those portals are one way trips. She’ll have to walk all the way back home on her own.”
“Past the land sharks and the sky tigers?” Magnar asked.
“And the undead settlement and the rhino-sized rhinoceros beetles,” E’thilia added.
“And me,” Khan said.
Magnar and E’thilia turned to stare at him.
“Joke,” Khan said. “But also mean golems.”
The trio looked between themselves and Gobbo. The two foot tall Goblin stood with her arms wide, still gripping his stick with intent to swing. She wore nothing but a ratty old cloth. Not even a pair of shoes.
“We could adopt her?” Magnar asked.
—
The hero struck Khan with a greathammer, driving him steadily backwards. E’thilia tried to project fear into the mortal, but he wore an Amulet of Warding that shielded him from her efforts. Magnar stood stunned off to the side, paralyzed by a magic spell. His eyes darted around the room, but even he had a hard time keeping track of Gobbo these days. He hoped she could stay hidden. Maybe another family would adopt her, if worse came to worst.
E’thilia conjured a barrier around Khan, but it broke after a single blow from the hero’s hammer. Khan had time to punch back, but he was sluggish with damage, and the hero easily blocked the attack before going back on the offensive. Magnar struggled to resist the paralysis, but his body was as heavy as ever, save an odd lightness on his right hip. He glanced down and saw his sword gone from its sheath.
He looked up just in time to see Gobbo plunge his broadsword into the hero’s back. While he was staggered, Khan slammed a fist into his chest, shattering his Amulet of Warding and driving him deeper onto the sword. Finally, E’thilia cast a mind destruction spell on him and his eyes burned brightly white for a few short moments before he evaporated entirely.
Everyone was stunned. Then Gobbo raised Magnar’s—No, *her* sword proudly into the air and her parents cheered.
“To Gobbo!” They shouted. “The strongest monster in the dungeon!”
—
John threw his controller at the wall. “Why the hell was there a goblin behind me? Why did it do so much damage? God, Miyazaki really blew the balance on this game.” | Their comments grated every single day.
It was bad enough at home, but here, they didn't even try to hide how they saw me.
Any attack I threw out was just seen as a tantrum. Flailing.
The worst was the babytalk. Like I wasn't a fully grown adult. Like I needed them to speak slowly and high-pitched.
The gate was technically open, but they always caught me before I managed to get back. They were so "worried". They said the portal was too painful for me going back the other way.
I felt the back of my neck bristle. Felt my pride boil and seethe. And then...
It just felt empty.
A clear way out, but no way home. And who's to say they wouldn't just grab me and drag back their "Cutesy Little Pet" if I DID manage to get away.
I traced the walls of my "room". My cell, or more accurately, my cage. I felt inside for the stream of magic, the magic I'd used to be one of the most feared wizards of Tutor Real Village. It felt... lacking.
I saw the chaos these demons could wield. Just them summoning food for me each day used more magic than I'd ever seen before.
But that was part of it. Part of what I saw. They used too much. They were sloppy with their power. Wasteful. I asked one of the kinder minions for a journal. Something to write. He did in exchange for allowing him to pet my hair for an hour. He said it calmed him.
After that, I started to write down the spells they used. Saw the edges of them. I realized I'd never have their level of power. But what if I could combine their spells? What if I could alter them? A single punch could be deadly, but so could a thousand tiny cuts.
It was my only hope.
I can't stay like this forever.
I heard a bell, and my mind instantly jumped to din-din. I shoved my journal back into hiding. As I ate the demon mussed my hair. I swore inside my heart I'd get out.
One way or another. | 2022-08-18T07:48:02 | 2022-08-18T06:13:00 | 395 | 218 |
[WP] We’re the most powerful race & we take what we want. When we took a few human colonies they went crying to the Galactic Union. Humans begged them to intervene. The Union knew not to go against us. That was when they declared “Total War” and all hell broke loose. They were always ready for war | It was a grim day when we decided to invade human colonies all across the galaxy, not because of what we did but because of what they did.
We were a race that thrived on war we did it so much it became second nature, and overtime we became so powerful that even the galactic union was at our mercy. However, that all came crashing down when we decided to invade a colony that belonged to a small race called humanity. They tried to convince us with politics and treaties but we denied all of them and took more. The day that humanity fought back was the day we regretted everything.
There is a reason humanity had just recently become a space faring species, they were so violent almost to a point of wiping themselves out, but once they found out that there were other more advanced races they immediately united and became more diplomatic, always slow to start conflicts. There was something that we didn’t know, they had been building up resources and weapons just in case some one attacked them.
When the first human soldiers were fought we thought we had the upper hand and could wipe them out easily instead we were met with gorilla warfare tactics that were prepared for anything that we threw at them and with just one day they managed to drive off our forces. We should have stopped there but we would not accept defeat.
When they did go on the offensive we were expecting the same sneaky tactics but instead we were met with an all out rush that caught us by surprise and took out the outer ring of our empire, they call it “blitzkrieg” or lightning war, a fitting name for such an effective and deadly tactic.
Once they got to the inner ring and closer to our home planet and were met with more sturdy and ready defensive measures they implemented gruesome and horrifying tactics. Apparently they nations of humanity had signed something called the Geneva convention in which they agreed to not use weapons that caused unnecessary suffering. However since we didn’t sign this and we were not human they must have figured it was acceptable to use these weapons. Chlorine gas, while mere poison to them it slowly disintegrated our bodies. Napalm was nearly impossible to get out of the small joints in our exoskeletons. Weapons called shotguns that blew massive holes into our ranks. If there is a god clearly he was not there on those planets as so many of my race died horrible deaths.
The most terrifying part was not the gas or napalm or the small pellets of death. It was what they did to the planets in our home system. They did not send troops or tanks or jets they simply dropped one single bomb on each planet and we watched in horror as billions of our kind died off in an instant. Instead of gaining power from splitting atoms they made it into a weapon, one that could kill a planet.
As of right now our home planet of Kitri is being invaded I can hear their gunshots already but one final message to all other races of all other galaxies what ever you do, do not try to declare war on humanity!
*BANG BANG BANG*
“UAH OPEN UP!”
My time is at an end this is general Syne one of the last members of the Kytrin race signing off
*Multiple bursts of gunshots* | Final entry from Admiral Dilax.
We thought that they were defenseless, like all other members of the peace-loving Galactic Union. This was seemingly confirmed by the first few colonies we took. We had laughed when they asked the Union for help, it turns out they were just requesting permission to use deadly force.
I have never seen so many warships. I barely registered them before half of my fleet was gone. Any planet that they did not take back was made inhabitable by their nuclear weapons. We had taken their women and children, so they destroyed without differentiating between military and civilian.
This is a warning, all events stated took place simultaneously. They were ready for war, and they will have vengeance upon all of us. Surrender is the only option for survival.
-End of Transmission - | 2020-11-13T08:24:21 | 2020-11-13T07:41:47 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] Demon Blades each portray a human emotion, when the user feels the emotion of their blade, they resonate and the power rises 10 fold. the Demon Blade of Wrath was weak, no matter how mad the user, it couldn't match the other blades. turns out, no one was angry enough to use it right, until now. | Groggy thoughts...clouded memory...so weak...so weak. The blade had been sleeping for ages, too weak to even reach out for a new wielder. Every righteous hero and every depraved villain who took the blade ended up dead, surprised at how dull the blade was, how heavy and unbalanced it felt. The blade of wrath was anything but wrathful.
Eventually, the last hero to wield the weapon was slain by a great beast, his body falling into a canyon to rot for eternity, and the blade fell with him. Legends spread of a cursed blade that would cause the wielders death if they were foolish enough to take it into battle.
Eons passed, oceans rose and fell and the land shifted. New people came and went, and the blade slept, too weak to do more than slumber...
The Wrath snorted itself awake. It felt warmth and became aware enough to see that something had pulled it from the earth. Excited voices yammering away about finding such quality steel. Steel? Is that what it was? It took stock of itself and realized that in its long rest it had lost its form, becoming a lump of raw material again, even losing it's fancy gems it never wanted in the first place. It was a weapon of war, not a whore to be dolled up. The Wrath slept again.
PAIN! HEAT AND PAIN! The Wrath snapped awake, screaming silently as it was put through a forge, melted and burned. Unable to do anything but experience blow after blow, constant pain, constant heat, constant pressure and cold. It passed out.
Rage...pure rage. The Wrath felt power flow into it. Power it had never felt. True fury filled it and it took stock. It's blade was shortened by more than half, and it only had one, gently curved, edge. It no longer felt a hilt or a guard, just a finely made tang in a luxuriously smooth hardwood handle.
And the pure anger. Whomever was wielding it was slicing flesh and screaming. Red hot, yet controlled fury flowed from it's new and beloved owner into the steel. The blade, already sharpened by a master craftsman, was finally infused with the anger that The Wrath so craved. It sliced and sliced, listening to the song of it's partner.
"DON'T JUST STAND THERE LIKE A BIG FUCKING MUFFIN!" The man yelled as sliced into the meat of his opponent. The warrior screamed at another person. “MY GRAN COULD DO BETTER! AND SHE'S DEAD!" The Wrath was in ecstasy at the thought of yet another foe being slain, as it felt its blade drag through flesh, as it was filled with the pure, undiluted anger of it's wielder!
It finally had enough power, it was sated and could finally see. It was not on a battlefield slicing foes...it was in a kitchen slicing meat...and the man wielding it was screaming at another human. The Wrath was furious at first, it was a blade, made for battle and not a common tool...
...yet...the fury of the man who held it...it was so fine. Maybe this was where The Wrath was meant to be...
He leaned into a young mans face, screaming "YOU ADDED SO MUCH SALT AND PEPPER I CAN HEAR THE DISH SINGING 'PUSH IT!"
...yes...this was right...this was home. The Wrath felt joy as it separated another piece of meat from the bone and drank the rage of The Ramsay. | Amnayel surveyed the battlefield. Every century or so, they and the other divine virtues would lead the forces of heaven in a pitched battle with the armies of hell, who in turn were commanded by the deadly sins. This time, it was not going well. Just ahead demonic forces were breaking through the angelic ranks. At the front strode a figure in red armor wielding the sword of Wrath.
Amnayel had seen the sword many times, but never used like this. Usually whoever held Wrath fought like a berserker, charging into the thick of battle, laying waste to everyone around them, friend or foe alike. They had devastating power, but it was uncontrolled, and they quickly fell to the thousand wounds that accumulated as they fought. Not this time.
This wielder had slowly, but steadily advanced, waves of malice radiating of him. Viciously cutting down anyone who got in the way. Heading straight towards Amnayel. As he came close he spoke. “Hello, my name is Brorgraleth. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
___
Feedback, as always, is welcome. | 2021-09-18T15:30:23 | 2021-09-18T12:46:34 | 108 | 66 |
[WP] You’re suddenly transported to another world where magic is cast by perfectly pronouncing an ancient language. This language happens to be your native tongue | The roar of the cheering crowd was only matched by the sheer cacophony coming off the Ceres Waterfall. Platforms had been erected to fill in the half moon that the Ceres River fell off of. Citizens of three kingdoms gathered here yearly to watch the mages perform and the auditorium had to be built higher every year.
I watched last year's performance as a newcomer not only to the event or this kingdom but as an inhabitant of this universe. Back home we had created a gate, a break in what must be the multiverse due to trying to circumvent the limitations of light speed. It was fascinating. The ripple in the fabric of reality called to me like nothing had. Not that I had anything other than this. I pushed past it without a moment's hesitation.
My life's work had led me here. Now if you have ever wondered what you would do with basically ultimate power in seventeenth-century France where magic was real, I have a potential answer. It’s basically what you do in video games with that setting. Turns out I don’t like making people feel bad and ended up becoming a fairly powerful healer.
Secretly, well as secret as one can be when several people knew telepathy, I did study other forms of magic. It was hard not to when I had grown up and used the language that magic was based on for my entire life. Better yet, magic seemed to follow the rules of logic that I used to program the machines that I use to use.
Now, as you can probably imagine, with a doctorate in Engineering, an interest in computing, fluent in two languages, and being lost in a time of time, I did not come off as right in the head. During my first couple of weeks, I was mostly locked up. Not that I blame them for my isolation now but it was still hard to be bitter about it.
When my panic attacks became less frequent and I was able to communicate with the locals a little better, they brought me to Healers on High. In those halls, I first heard someone say something that I could recognise as the Mages of the Ceres Competiton were drowned out by the waterfall. The healers panicked of course because what I was saying was part of the Words of Wisdom.
The following months led to me becoming a sort of a savant in the master's eyes. I practised their language, I healed their sick, I got paid well enough to live comfortably, and I even dated a bit. Weird experience as it was, dating turned out not to be as let's say one-sided as I thought ancient cultures would have been. I mean it went bad. I had the communication skills of a toddler and, even with coaching, their idea of romance was rather foreign.
I still enjoyed my research more than I did interacting with other people. Spending most of my nights by candlelight had smoothed out a lot of the sleeping problems that I had back home but I was able to figure out how to specify spells further than most had. Every mage on this planet knew some words evoked magic, some mages knew how to use logic to manipulate it, and very few knew how to string multiple spells together. The best any of them could do, as far as I could figure out, was about a sentence.
There were resources on top of the words of power that were needed for the spell but they were pretty self-explanatory. If you needed fire, you had to have some sort of fuel. Need water to appear? You need enough air to condense it. If someone needs their bones healed? Well then, I got to raid the kitchen for eggshells.
The teams of mages on the platform around me had chests full of powders and specially prepared packs of who knows what. Smelt like death with a side of bad eggs. Even with the wind, it was hard to breathe at times when the team from down south opened up their equipment for inspection.
“Healer Mack!” a tall, well-built man in his late fifties caught my eye and exclaimed before coming over to pat me on the shoulder. I patted his back far more gently. “You heal me good if I hurt?”
“Yes,” I said with a nod to the man, I couldn’t remember his name for the life of me. We had probably talked a least a dozen times in the last two months but it was something like Teth or Loth and one of them I learned meant something akin to shit-hole. After rubbing my now sore shoulder, I lifted my bag and explained, “I attack today.”
The man was taken aback for a second but then let out a laugh loud enough that others heard it over the waterfall. His team seemed to take notice and ask him and his explanation had them in stitches as well. There had only been a handful of single combatants enter this event since the inception of the Ceres Competition. I was something like the forty-second. Everyone had failed miserably but considered helpful control subjects for the audience.
I had saved up for the competition, I had my notebook, and more supplies than I thought I needed. This was going to show them that I needed access to the mage's library more than I needed their condensation. Their library was rumoured to have books on advanced magic beyond what anyone had the skill to use. I didn’t learn about that until quite recently and I chose to be a healer first. I kept running into the fact that the mages thought that was all I could do regardless of what I showed them.
“Mages, take your places!” a call came out as the announcer brought the crowd to a frenzy.
“Let us show you attack,” the man said through tears of laughter still in his eyes as his team was up first. I had learned specific sentences so that I knew where to be and when but most of the words went entirely over my head.
What I didn’t learn was that I would apparently go last.
The man that had patted my shoulder walked forward with his team of eight other mages to the top platform and readied their supplies. In front of them swung three large wooden pillars with coloured patches painted all up and down them. The goal? Hit all the patches that were called out for you and then when the judges declared you successful, you were to destroy the pillars in their entirety. Most used the last as a competition of flourishes.
“Red! White! Purple!” the announcer’s voice echoed through the canyon as the team started up.
Most of what they did was single-shot, straight-line trajectory spells that required the mage's hand-eye coordination more than it required their brain. They were good though. The pillars were cleared within ten minutes and their explosion at the end included smoke of the colours that they were supposed to target.
Cheers went out for them only to be matched by the team that came two after them and then beaten by the reigning champions after them. The time to be was about eight minutes. The worst time though was half an hour as the team from Helcus had their powder get wet.
“Next up!” the announcer started with us usual hype but then quickly descended into just asking, “Healer Mack?”
I didn’t care at this point. I had spent the last two hours being told by every team that they would show me how this was done. Worse was when they were done and of course, some mages got hurt they would come up to me and ask to be rid of their burns and scrapes. I almost said no to a couple of them but gave them a definite glare after their remarks.
Now, if you program at all, most would know that going into something like this without testing would be a bad idea. Going in blind was really all I could do though. I had no way of testing this spell beforehand because I could only really afford the supplies by taking out a loan and that was hard enough to get with my communication skills.
The crowd did not cheer as I set up and took out my notebook.
“Healer Mack, your colours are!” the announcer tried his best to sound enthusiastic, “Red, Orange, and Teal! Oh, no, should we have colours that close for him? We can’t change it? Okay, sorry Healer Mack, maybe just try your best.”
I wasn’t sure if I got all that right but I gave the man a cold stare before entering the colours I had been given into the spaces I had in my notebook. When I was ready I activated the spell circle and started my enchantment.
“Activate fire missiles on target placement at one-hundred-fifty feet, target core material, Cellulose and target specified material, triglyceride with impurities. Conditional parameters. Condition one. If the oil wavelength reflects photons at six-hundred-eighty nanometers with a variance of fifty nanometers then strike the compound. End Condition One. Condition Two. If the oil wavelength reflects photons at six-hundred nanometers with a variance of fifty nanometers then strike the compound. End Condition Two. Condition three. If the oil wavelength reflects photons at five-hundred-twenty nanometers with a variance of twenty-five nanometers then strike the compound. End Conditions. Spell release.” | **(SIDE NOTE: First Time Writer, long time lurker)**
**(ADDITIONAL NOTE: Post contains some curse words)**
**(P.S.S. You will intentionall see words used wrong when spells are cast by the dwellers of the "other world" as they are using broken english, where as the MC will use "perfect english")**
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Hi, my name is Sato Nobuo, I'm your typical Otoku who works 9-5, 6 days a week, and spends all my money on anime shit... cause you know what? I'm a weeb, not something I'm particularly proud of, but I really don't feel like changing it. I'm a 32 years old female, no lover, no kids, and no family...
While walking to work (cause I spent all my money on anime shit, to the point I couldn't afford a car) I heard my name called out... I turned around trying to place the name, but couldn't. I sounded like it was literally coming from all around me. I mean yeah the sidewalk was filled with a bunch of stangers, but none of which should know me... you know? Anyway... all of a sudden a bright light appears right below me, making me have to cover my eyes, but also hold down my dress, cause somehow the wind wanted to be a pervert today... *greeaaat*!
After what felt like 5 solid minutes of covering my eyes from this blinding light, it (as suddenly as it appeared) disappeared. I remove my arm from my eyes, and see that I have somehow found my self in a church...
*A fucking church... this muct be a joke, like who the fuck snatches someone and brings them to a church?!*
Completely oblivious to the fact that there are other people in this church... Once I actually notice them, I jumped back and screamed. "*What the ever living fuck!*" I looked at the people around me and notice they are all wearing white robes with a gold-color linging... looking at me as if I'm the crazier one?!
One of the white robed figures approach me, who i assume female, because I mean her figure was a 10/10 straight from a harem anime... "*shinpai shina ide, watashitachi haana ta ni shi no kodomo o kizutsukeru tsu mo ri haa rima sen...*"
\[Which translated in my mind to: "*Do not fret, we are not going to hurt you my child...*"\]
&#x200B;
Like as if that is suppose to calm me down, but I mean if they really did mean to hurt me, they would have done so already... right? All of the white clocked figures take off their hoods and what I saw perplexed me instantly... There was an elf, a (what I can only assume) 2 Cat humans (*aka a feline demi-humans*), and than other humans... 12 all together. I looked down and noticed a sigil under me... that I somehow failed to notice before. I don't know how I also failed to hear, but they are speaking a different language then me, yet somehow I also understand what they are saying in perfect english.
I ask "*Ummm... quick question, am I seeing an Elf and 2 demi-humans right now?*"
The robed figures look at each other, as if confused by what I just said, but at the same time not. The Elf girl cuite comes up to me and replies "*wareware no nakama o chi tte ru noka?*"
\[Which translated in my mind to: "*Do you already know of our people, child?*"\]
&#x200B;
"*Ummm... I suppose? Though why do you ask? It sounds like you were just amazed that I knew of elves and demi-humans?*" I state.
The elf girl replies back with "*watashitachi ha, ana ta o watashitachi no sekai ni shoukan shi ta go, ana ta jishin no you nako tomo ha ka ga ki ko tte i ru noka rikai shite i nai to katei shima shi ta*...?"
\[Which translated in my mind to: "*We assumed that after summoning you to our world, a child such as yourself would not understand what is going on...?*"\]
&#x200B;
When I am about to answer, the elf girl notices that I have injuries lacerated around my body, before even asking about them, she speaks and this time in broken english: "*Goddess, I child call upon you and ask that you heal this person so that there wounds are no more!*"
Right when I'm about to ask what that was about, a greenish yellow light appears at her hand and wraps itself around me, covering me in a arua of warmth. I feel, not only see, but feel at the inguries I have gained over the past 3 decades heal and vanish. When the healing finishes, I notice that the elf girl looks extremely tired as if she just worked a 15 hour shift. Right as she is collapsing, I quickly grab her, and sweep her up in my arms. Carefull to ensure that I don't accidentally hurt her.
The other's noticing and factinated that I can pick a person so easily (I mean so am I, I only weight 90 pounds and can't even lift 20 pounds) gesture me to follow them. We go to a room, and I lay her down on the bed.
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**END OF PART 1... I will probably make part 2 within the next few hours... arms in pain, and back is in pain. Well it also depends if people actually like this story too...**
&#x200B;
Hey Guys, if you want to read more of this, go to my subreddit r/StorytimeWithTheBrits. I already posted both of these posts there so that you guys can see not only this story, but also any other story I make in the future! | 2022-11-19T06:31:12 | 2022-11-19T06:13:41 | 893 | 78 |
[WP] An alien species well known in the galaxies for their biological weapons declare war on humanity, using their arsenal to try and dispatch them. It came as a huge surprise when they found out humanity already have developed immunity to these diseases hundreds of years ago. | General Xanthia of the Abaddon Dynasty had seen many things. She'd spoken with gods, toppled empires, and destroyed cities. She had met death in the flesh and laughed in his face. She'd slain all that dared to challenge her, ripping out their eyes and threading them onto her necklace of bones.
After a few dozen years of battling warlords with her well-stocked biological arsenal, however, she'd gotten cocky. Worse...she'd gotten bored. Bored enough to skip the usual kidnappings that preceded annihilation.
Bored enough to not even stop and think about the possibility that in her long, long life, something might come along. Something so powerful her strangest, most warped plagues could not land a scratch on them.
"Commander?" Yanath said, his pupilless eyes and gelatinous tentacles poking her tentatively. "What do you think we should do?"
Xanthia didn't want to think anymore. She'd thought enough. Her grip on the control board tightened, crushing the metal with superhuman strength as she spoke: "Get us down there."
If Yanath was surprised, he didn't show it. Translucent tentacles poked and prodded and pulled every lever possible, quivering ever so slightly as they pressed down on the buttons. Xanthia stared out at the civilization before them.
Huge constructs of metal and stone stared back at her. Strange, wheeled vehicles went down black strips of land. Colossal tubes of steel floated in the empty air, driving themselves into the cosmos above.
"How'd they advance so quickly?" Lucinium whispered, her two antennae twitching back and forth as she put her webbed hands on the windscreen. "It's impossible. At this rate, they'll have found the meaning of life in just a few more centuries."
"No." Xanthia said. "No. They will do nothing of the sort. We'll wipe them out before that happens. We made them, and we can destroy them."
"Our biggest hits landed nowhere," Yanath shot back. Xanthia glared lasers at him, only to be assaulted with screams. The humans were fleeing. She smiled gloatingly.
"See how they run?" she whispered. "I want that...for the whole of this planet."
**12 EARTH HOURS LATER**
"Impossible!" Xanthia roared, lifting up the table with both hands. The human in the chair nearly fell over at the sight, saved only by Yanath's surprisingly comfy tentacles. "You're telling me...that you grew up with these plagues...for centuries?"
The human nodded, one hand still kept over what Xanthia assumed was his core.
"Yes," the second human, a "microbiologist", replied. "These pathogens have been on this planet for ages. I'm sorry, how do you not know? You created us!"
Xanthia rolled her eyes. Typical. "Be thankful we created something here at all."
"That's not my point!"
"And here's *my* point, Ms-" she peered at the label, "-Donna. Your species was meant to be enslaved. Why are you not working right now? You should be slaving away in your Blackstone mines, not slaving away in this..." she breathed in the fresh, fragrant air and stopped talking.
"In this well-ventilated, cozy office?" the other human tried. Thankfully, he managed to dodge her dagger.
"Yes! I mean, no! I mean-"
"Look. Bacteria, viruses, they've been with us for centuries. Still are, in fact. There's probably some in here as we speak-" Donna stated plainly. Lucinium squeaked.
"What? They're in with us right now?"
Xanthia's heart began to pound. "Yanath..."
He didn't reply. He was too busy looking at his wristwatch. Xanthia looked down.
STATUS: INFECTED. PENDING TERMINATION IN EXACTLY 00:30 MINUTES. | "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY ALREADY DEVELOPED AN IMMUNITY!?
Dinal the leader of the Genhono was absolutely buzzed 'how could they have already developed an immunity to the galaxies most potent nuclear weapon in 10 seconds?' Dinal thought for a moment before saying
"Youhan, go get a human any human as long as they aren't a child or whatever the humans call their offspring."
"SIR, YES SIR!" Shouted Youhan and with that he was off to get a human.
Around 7 or so minutes later at the interrogation table a human finally came "well what do you want to know?" Asked the human, a female who's name Youhan said was Trisha
"Well, you see we dropped a sorta bomb on your planet I think you humans call it a 'meteorite' if i'm correct?" Dinal said "pftt, oh yeah in small doses they are harmless. So anyway what did you wanna know about them?'' Trisha asked
"Well in it we put the most dangerous nuclear transmitted disease known to the galaxy. I think In your language you call it 'Influenza' or common cold am I right?" Dinal said
"Oh yeah, that's the most common disease known to our kind besides a fever. If that's what the Galaxy considers the 'most powerful nuclear transmitted disease then you lot haven't seen anything yet." Trisha then went on to say all the diseases that humanity has cured/almost cured and when she was done the leader said "okay we need to inform the galactic union of this right now bye!" And like that Trisha was beamed back to earth | 2022-12-15T23:04:03 | 2022-12-15T19:37:20 | 66 | 31 |
[WP] A field surgeon in a fantasy world has performed life saving surgery on many an orc war band before, unwittingly becoming blood brothers with most of his patients. In his darkest days, his extended family comes to offer their hands. | They found the human puking in an alley.
Thorveig stood and watched him from across the way. The vomiting drunk hadn’t seen them yet, and probably wouldn’t any time soon. The buildings cast long shadows this far from the torchlight, and the full moon overhead added little. The drunk continued to wretch to the point of dry heaves.
To Thorveig’s left stood his son, Ragnar. He was slightly smaller than his father, but still broad and muscled. His hair was cut in a warrior’s stripe, plaited down his scalp. His hand rested idly on a sheathed dagger at his hip.
Ragnar pursed his lips and blew a quick burst of air around his tusks. In a hunter’s silent cant, it was a simple question: ‘Him?’
Thorveig responded with a small, sharp nod and a burst of air from his nostrils. ‘Yes.’
From behind them came a rapid cluck-cluck of a tongue. Ragnar glanced back to their third member, Grimnar. His shorn scalp was blackened with warpaint in a vicious triangle. He crouched behind them in between the buildings, and he gripped his dagger instead of resting his hand on it. His eyes betrayed his impatience. ‘Get on with it,’ they said. ‘I am eager to be gone from here.’ Ragnar looked back at Thorveig, who nodded once more. Across the street, the drunk had stopped wretching, and was crawling on his hands and knees towards the bottle that had rolled away.
The drunk crawled pathetically towards the bottle in the street. It glinted in the center of his bleary and tunneled vision, dancing back and forth in the moonlight as he padded towards it like a newborn. Just a little bit closer. The bottle was still about half full; that could keep him unconscious until tomorrow night if he finished it all. He reached out a trembling hand, but another was faster than he and grabbed the bottle. He started to whimper. He felt a pair of hands grasp him and lift him to his feet. He flinched away and covered his face.
“Oh, beggin your pardon,” the drunk slurred. “I’m gone home, really, just get my bottle and step on,” he pleaded with whoever was accosting him. The hands grabbing him were strong, stronger than he was on his best day. And he was far, far from his best days.
“Kurkusan,” The voice was iron in velvet, strong enough to pierce through the drunk’s fogged mind but not so loud as to attract attention. The drunk quit squeezing his eyes shut and lowered his hands from his face. Through his tears he saw a face he’d thought-he’d hoped-he’d never see again. Stern brow under a chieftain’s crest of hair, strong jaw with long tusks glinting.
“Thorveig…?” he slurred once more. His eyes drifted down and he shrugged his way out of the orc’s grip. The drunk leaned down, fumbling at the leather vest Thorveig was wearing. He staggered as he opened the vest, exposing a hideous scar that ran from the center of Thorveig’s chest and down towards his left hip. Thorveig opened his arms, fully vulnerable to the drunk’s inebriated ministrations. Ragnar stood to the side with the drunk’s bottle. His face was emotionless, but tiny flicks of his eyes and a subtle twitch of his ears showed his bewilderment to his father.
The drunk ran his fingers along Thorveig’s scar, examining. The trembling seemed to have left his fingers for a moment. He slurred again, inquisitive instead of fearful.
“S’ healing, then?” The alcohol made a mockery of enunciation. He stumbled back and looked Thorveig in the eye.
“Sit pain you at all? How’ur,” he paused to burp. “The muscles on that side. Mobility?” he swayed in front of the chieftain.
Thorveig gently grasped the drunk by his shoulders and smiled softly. “I am well, Kurkusan.”
At the sound of the name, the drunk’s face crumpled into anguish. Tears rolled down his grimy cheeks. His voice became thick.
“Don’ call me that.” He feebly tried to push the massive orc away. “Thass not me. Not. Me. ‘Nymore.”
“I call you by your name, the name of your people, Kurkusan,” Thorveig replied.
The drunk said nothing, crestfallen.
“Kurkusan, you are not well,” Thorveig continued.
“Come, brother. Let us help you.” | Ganymede, the medic, wished desperately for the self-control to quiet his heaving chest, the better to hide from the ambush that had wiped out his unit.
He'd tried to tell them. A year earlier, with a different unit, he'd seen almost exactly the same thing: two ambush parties collapsing on his unit like a pincer, from tree stands on either side of the road. Everyone but him had died that day, and ever since, he'd been "Ganymede the Cursed."
The road from Raldos to Leranith contained just such a spot for an ambush, and indeed it had happened again. The damnable elves fell upon his unit like hyenas to a lion's kill after the lions had their fill.
Suddenly his leg flared with pain, blotting everything else out, and he shrieked loudly enough to wake the dead. Falling backward, he saw the throwing spear protruding from his right shin.
He dimly realized someone had picked him up, accompanied by a familiar scent, but he couldn't make his brain work well enough to place the scent, or see who had picked him up. At that point, his senses failed completely and he drifted though lightless void.
&#x200B;
An indeterminate time later, Ganymede woke up. Opening his eyes and levering himself to a sitting position he realized he was in a medic tent of some kind. The noise of his awakening, however, drew...
"Ganymede! You've woken up! Thank the Spirits!"
"Wait...Janthil?" Ganymede recognized the voice of an Orc whom he'd saved a few days ago. "How did I end up with you?"
"You saved my life, and have done so for many of my compatriots. Did you think we'd be so callous as to abandon you?"
"What do you mean?"
"When an Orc's life is saved, he swears a blood oath to the one who saved it. You've saved tens of my people at LEAST. We are your family, and all of us are here."
Ganymede tried to process that thought. "But that means..."
"It's unusual for a human to lead an Orc pack, but not unheard of, given the skill your people have with medicine. We'll fight and die with you till this war is over!" | 2020-09-08T22:52:48 | 2020-09-08T18:33:55 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] You are not a superhero. You are just a Scout with a magical Bag of Holding and an incredible dedication to the motto "A Scout is Prepared". | *WN: Going to be slightly changing the prompt*
---
"Bag, could you pass us that bottle of Ghost Pepper Sauce? We're dealing with a problem of *gastronomic* proportions here!"
I put down my book and slid a bookmark in. "Sure! One moment." Standing up from my IKEA recliner, I put the book down and started along the many isles of shelving that made my workplace. Truthfully, finding the ghost pepper sauce was not going to be a challenge. I had done it many times before -- it takes a lot of heat to make a superhero sweat. They probably were just having some sort of crazy dare going on again. I was no matter to me. I get paid extraordinarily well for my role in this particular branch of the government.
Thinking back to the day I found this job in an ad made me smile as I crossed the carpeted floor (which was an absolute pain to install, let me tell you). It was for a secretarial role but came with a few eyebrow-raising additional caveats, not least the heavy level of security clearance, the long hours of isolation and the ability to assemble furniture. Shelves. Lots of shelves.
I'm a shelving expert now. Well, shelving, carpet (shag is a lot comfier than tile, let me tell you what) and the Dewey decimal system (the sauce would be at 641.638). I remembered my surprise when I met with the Scout. He was somewhat unassuming, of middling height and a fairly stocky build, but the most impressive thing about him wasn't him. It was his bag. Bags of holding didn't quite obey the laws of physics. It was much larger on the inside than it was on the outside, and that meant that the Scout could bring a lot of objects into any situations he might have found himself in. Another person more curious than me might have tried to find out just how large this bag was, but it wasn't in my job description, so I'm happy where I am.
Sauce bottle found, I made my way back to my recliner and climbed the ladder up towards the large circle suspended about 2 metres above the carpeted floor. "Here's the sauce, but you've only got two left. You'll have to get more soon."
"Cheers!" Another arm reached in through the circle and took the bottle from me. Job done, I settled back into my recliner and got started on my book once again. My parents were initially very much against what I was doing, what with the fact that I was putting myself in mortal danger and everything, but truthfully, it had been one of the least stressful jobs I've had to perform. It sure beat retail -- my boss is always happy with my work, and the work is varied. When I wasn't on retrieval duty while in the bag, I was either building more shelves from parts that were passed into the bag one by one, or working on keeping the catalogue up to date. Even though I spent a lot of time 'off the clock' outside the bag, I still got paid, as I was technically a sidekick (although my assigned name sucked), so that was cool. In a last attempt to persuade me not to take the job, they asked me what would happen if the Bag was taken by a villain. What would I do then? I shrugged and told them I'd take the risk.
The next day I bought a pair of scissors.
| “Who here has a cellphone?!” Yells Scout leader Miller, with obvious fear in his voice. Your entire group has managed to get themselves locked inside of an abandoned building. Who’s idea was it to go in here anyway!? Not like it matters. You’ve got your bag of holding that you purchased as merchandise at Universal Studios in 2011. You usually carry a Nokia 3310 inside just for situations like these. You wait in the case of someone else having a cellphone because the couch you are on is quite comfortable. Nobody has one, so you announce “I’ve got one, sir” and reach into your bag, only to bring out a full-size battering ram. The team is just as confused as you are. “Where the fu- heck did you get that from son?!” Miller exclaims.
You reply, “My bag. I have no idea how it even fits in there, nor how I lifted it out” Regardless, the ram was well enough to open the door. Later that night your bag was searched, resulting in 3 officers falling into the bag, never to be seen again. | 2018-06-08T08:58:22 | 2018-06-08T07:58:01 | 92 | 65 |
[WP]Upon death, you find yourself with a pad of paper, filled with time-stamped quotes. You soon realize that they are things you wanted to say in life but never did. When reading each one, you are given insight into the often heartbreaking results of your silence. | I didn't quite remember how I'd gotten here, it was really fuzzy. In front of me was a desk with a little light. It shined bright enough to light the desk but couldn't cut through the surrounding darkness. I walked up to it to find a pad of paper, on it was writing. It was my writing, at least the quotes were.
Underneath each of the quotes was immaculate scripture, detailing the events of the quote. Most didn't have any consequence, the events that transpired after were mostly inconsequential. As I read on I began to notice the quotes were things I had definitely wanted to say but never did. I was tipped off by a distinct feeling when I read one of them. It was from when I was a boy, probably 13 or 14, there was a girl I'd always admired but never had the courage to say hi.
The quote gave me a sinking feeling, "I just think you're really pretty, would you want to go to the dance with me?" I felt squirmy, as if I was back there in that moment. Underneath the scripture read, *She says yes. You get invited to an after party by her at her parents house. Your best friend is there with one of her friends. You find him crying and you ask what's wrong. Your conversation keeps him alive.*
It hurt to remember that, the death of my childhood friend. I'd always felt responsible I just didn't realize how much I could do to help. I continued to flip the pages, my palms getting sweaty with each flip. Mistake after mistake, keeping my opinion to myself when it could have saved a life or made the lives of those around me better. I was in tears, it was too much. I sat at the desk crying, willing myself to turn till the end.
As I reached the page I read the last quote, "I love you." I broke down, I threw the chair I was sitting in across the dark expanse. I fell to my knees, sobbing. The scripture stung me, knowing what could've been, I could see her face vividly in my minds eye. I remember her slamming the door, her last words to me a cold "Whatever."
I remember watching the news, **4 teens killed in fatal accident.** I sat there in the living room chair, waiting for her. Waiting to hear that door open. I remember the doorbell, the policeman, I couldn't hold it together. What I would have done to just say "I love you." One last time to my beautiful, sweet daughter. I felt so angry, knowing now the consequences if I had said it. The pain of knowing she could have still been alive was greater than finding out she was gone.
I stayed there, angry. For a long time I just stared at the notebook until the final page flipped up exposing the hard back of the notebook. A message was being carved into the backing of the notebook, letters forming clear as day. Tears found their way into my eyes again as I could recognize the writing.
"Forgive yourself."
***
I hope you liked it! r/TheYogiBearhaWrites
Edit: A word that was bothering me | "Love you too."
I wanted to say it, but I was too prideful. I remember the exact moment. The last phone call I had with my Dad. I was mad, as usual, with the way he decided to live his life. Leaving my mom, being somewhat of an ass to me my whole life.
But he was my Dad.
It was too late now. He was gone, I was gone.
At least his list didn't have this quote. That might have been what got me the most. At the end he said what he always said "Alright buddy. Good talking to you. Love you."
I replied "Alright. See ya later.-" this is where I thought to say it, but I didn't. I chose not to.
"-Bye." | 2017-03-01T11:52:52 | 2017-03-01T11:35:13 | 77 | 16 |
[WP] Your roommate is literally the Devil. Surprisingly, he is the best roommate you ever had. | I was surprised when my ad was answered in less than 5 minutes, and by two people at the same time. The ad was fairly straight forward, but I was expecting some sort of lag before I got a response.
*Roommates wanted. Four bedroom house, two rooms available. Cable, Utilities Paid. $1200/month. 123 1st St. 987-981-0912*
Nothing exciting, just a simple ad to get my boyfriend and I two more roommates. We couldn't afford the loft on our own, so we needed to rent. I posted the ad on Craiglist and less than 5 minutes later my phone rang. They inquired after the rooms and we arranged a time for them to see the place. The ringing at the doorbell at the appointed time shook me off the couch, where I was knee deep in a House of Cards marathon.
I opened the door to find two of the most stunningly handsome men I had ever laid eyes on standing there. They looked vaguely related, with slight familial features, but were otherwise very different. The taller one had wide shoulders and the broad build of a professional athlete, and his short dark hair was cut stylishly, his bangs hanging just slightly over his eyes, which blazed a brighter blue than I had ever seen. His partner was slighter, with a leaner, more hardened build, a sprinter or a gymnast maybe. His hair was long and white, neatly pulled back into a simple ponytail. Like his partner, he had blazing blue eyes that seemed to stare right through me. Both men were well-dressed, in suits of dark blue. Neither wore a tie, but the smaller of the two wore a vest with his suit.
"Hello." The larger of the two spoke first, extending a large hand out. His voice roused me from my staring. I came to my senses and shook his hand, feeling a warmth from it I hadn't expected. I eventually found my voice.
"Hello, you must be Michael and ummm, Lucifer?" I had thought it was a joke when they told me on the phone, but they had assured me they were serious. Their parents must have had a really sick sense of humor.
"We are, you must be Catherine." The smaller of the two extended his hand as well, and his voice was a smooth jazz song, pulling me in listen closely.
"That's me," I shook his hand, noticing that it was also warm to the touch. "Please, come in." I held open the door and then yelled for Brian to get out here and meet them. He came out of the fourth bedroom, which we converted to a game room, and introduced himself. They did the same, and after a brief hitch for Lucifer's name, were chatting amicably.
"Well, why don't I show you the rooms." I guided them down the hall to the two empty rooms, and after only a very brief inspection, they informed me that they would be delighted to move in. We ran through all the conditions, got their deposit and first months rent, and signed the lease. The whole process took only minutes, and by ten that night, their rooms were each filled with furniture and other assortments. All in all, the most painless move-in I had ever been a part of. That was six months ago.
--------------------------------
"Catherine," I heard Lucifer's voice calling to me from the kitchen.
"Yeah, Lucy?" He preferred the shorter name, regardless of how girly it sounded, since it didn't put people off as much.
"I am going to make some steaks for dinner. Michael is going to be home around six, and I thought it would be nice to have something ready for him. You and Brian prefer your steaks done medium rare, correct?" I confirmed that we did, while grinning towards the TV. Lucy and Michael bought all the food, and Lucy loved to cook, plus they were both absolute neat freaks. They must have been loaded, because they ate a lot of very expensive food, which meant Brian and I got to eat a lot of very expensive food.
Brian came out of the backroom, stopping to kiss my cheek before heading into the kitchen with Lucy.
"Hey bro, did I hear it was steaks for dinner?" I heard his voice, high-pitched, like a child who realized they were getting a present.
"That is correct, Brian. Michael indicated that he was in the mood for steak, so I decided to make some. Medium rare, yes?" I heard a cracking sound that I could only assume to be a high-five. I sometimes wondered if Brian loved Lucy or me more. He and Michael got along great as well, talking sports and videogames, but Lucy was always making Brian food, and as the old saying goes, 'the path to a man's heart is through his stomach.' I couldn't complain though, I also got to eat, and I enjoyed it no less than Brian did.
"Michael at work?" Brian's voice again.
"Yes, our Father called earlier gave him a task." Lucy always seemed more pleasant when talking about his Dad. I got the impression that they were very close.
"Your Dad again? He's keeping you guys busy!" That was true, Michael and Lucy seemed to be contractors working for their Dad. They never really got into his business, but he was clearly well off. Their worked more than paid the rent, as well as the food we ate.
"Yes, it appears that something important is happening in New York. We have been sent their often in the last few months." Lucy didn't really talk about his work, but I got the feeling they were trouble-shooters for their Dad's business. They went all over the world and took care of problems for their Dad.
"Well, hopefully Michael gets back in time for dinner, or his steaks are mine!"
"Brian! Be nice!" I yelled into the kitchen as I heard him.
---------------------------------------
[Part 2 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Shinz_Stories/comments/4a262l/satan_the_roommate_part_2/)
More of my writings can be found at [r/Shinz_Stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/Shinz_Stories/)
Thanks so much for reading! | Charles opened up the fridge to grab some milk for his coffee. He bent over slightly to put his head into the fridge and then paused when his eyes landed on it. Wrapped neatly and with consideration with cling wrap there sat an entire goats leg on the middle shelf. Everything that had been on the shelf had been moved to another spot and the fridge was still in order, only itscontents had shifted. On the leg was a note that read 'Property of Damien L. Wallace: please do not not take :)'.
"Why would I want to," Charles mumbled groggily aloud.
He reached and grabbed his milk and then shut the fridge. When he turned back just behind the counter Damien seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Charles jumped slightly and put his hand up to his chest.
"Jesus Christ, Damien. You gotta stop sneaking up on me like that."
Damien grinned slightly at Charles. His sharp features illuminated by the light from the kitchen.
"Sorry, man. Hey I didn't keep you up last night did I? I know the chanting can be loud."
"No, no I slept okay. I woke up briefly around 2 a.m. because I thought I heard a goat sound," Charles glanced back at the fridge, "guess at least I know I'm not crazy."
Damien laughed. His laugh was interesting to Charles. It seemed genuine and often they laughed at the same things. But there was something strange about Damien's laughter. Sometimes he laughed at really strange occurrences. Other times at stuff that was down right sad for other people. In a word it was 'weird' but it certainly wasn't the strangest thing Charles had dealt with surprisingly. There was, however, a strange pattern of lights sometimes flickering when he laughed.
"But I do gotta ask: what's with the goat leg?"
"It was part of an," Damien paused, "experiment, I suppose you could say. Though that leg is leftover. I'm gonna finish the prep for it outside and bring it in to cook later. I'm thinking stewed goat meat or maybe tacos."
"Tacos are always good," Charles said pouring his milk, "hey by the way can I get another check for the electric bill?"
"But I thought I gave you the check yesterday?"
"You did but the landlord is a stickler for blue or black ink. The red ink won't fly man, sorry."
"Ink...right."
Damien said trailing off. His gaze suddenly far off. Damien was always good with his bills. Always paid up by at least the 3rd of the month. In many ways Damien was the best roommate Charles had ever had. It had taken some getting used to. Coming home to a house lit only by candles, black cats looming around the outside of the apartment, the fact that Damien was a Yankees fan while Charles rooted for the Red Sox certainly caused tension during the season. But it was all in good fun. Except for that one time where the Sox scored a double and things in the apartment began to shake and levitate. Which was odd but worth it to see how mad Damien got.
"Oh hey by the way," Damien interrupted Charles train of thought, "I'm having some friends over later. You're welcome to join us but we'll mostly be in my room."
"Thanks for the offer man but I don't want to impose."
"No imposition at all! But the offer is there. Well I gotta get to work," Damien said producing a large black bag that he slung over his shoulder, "I'll grab the trash on my way out. Have a good day Charlie boy."
Charles raised his cup and nodded. Damien smiled and proceeded out the door, locking it behind him. Charles set his coffee cup down and walked to the bathroom, flipping the light on as he entered. He turned on the faucet and then looked up to see his reflection in the mirror. On his chest was a large painted star.
"Oh god damn it Damien, again?" | 2016-03-10T09:54:47 | 2016-03-10T09:49:42 | 209 | 39 |
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