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[WP] A master vampire owns the building, the alpha werewolf owns the restaurant. The Hunters Guildmaster is here, sword out. Other guests have fled. But your pasta had a distinct tang of gluten and were those peppers? Are they trying to kill you? You are Karen and you want to see some managers. | With a loud crash, the large man at table seven upturned the mahogany table flung his chair backward with a start and rose, one hand on a silver dart thrower, the other on a large pneumatic gun loaded with wooden stakes.
At almost the same moment, the wooden slats of the wall connecting the dining room to the kitchen burst apart, wood splintering into pieces all over the plush carpet, pots, and pans spilling out, spilling the soup of the day in a great hot flood. A gigantic snarling beast appeared in the hole, wearing a large, stained white apron, its fur matted from kitchen grease. On its terrible head, it wore a chef's hat in the French style, it's teeth white and glossy with spittle.
As if this were not enough, awoken by the noise and floating down the stairs leading to his apartment, the owner of the establishment appeared, skin pale as a ghost, eyes red as crimson blood, cold and unforgiving. When he saw the smashed hole in the wall of his restaurant and the upturned table and the creature hunter in his long leather trench coat, weapons out, the owner burst into movement, leaping into the air and attaching himself to the ceiling in a posture of violence.
Every sane customer in the place screamed their heads off and sprinted outside however they could manage. Some went through the front or back door, others through the glass windows. They escaped like water around the rocks of the three enemies, the hunter with his armed hands outstretched before him, the hulking chef snarling like mad, the vampire owner hissing like an unexorcized demon on the ceiling.
Finally, when all had left, silence took over and all three held firm, staring at one another, ready to begin their awful combat.
"Excuse me," a high pitched voice broke through the butter thick tension from table 19. "Hello, excuse me," it repeated.
It took a moment before a small goblin waiter peaked his head out from behind the cash register and ambled over, just as the hunter loosed his first silver spike. The spike ricocheted harmlessly off the wooden wall just to the left of the werewolf chef's head, and the beast took the opportunity to leap forward with a snarl.
"Madam?" the Goblin asked, trying to maintain the professional demeanor he knew the owner demanded. After all, his boss was present, flying down from the ceiling in a spiral attack, his red cape whipping through the air as a wooden stake flew into his arm and sent a spigot of blood churning onto the ceiling. "May I help you?"
Karen pointed down at her plate of spaghetti and gave a sour, oblivious look, curling up her nose as if she'd smelled something off. "Something isn't right with this," she said, the noise of her voice reminiscent of the high pitched whine of an unoiled electric engine, "tastes funny."
The Goblin was having trouble focusing, as chef slammed bodily into the hunter, and the two giants crashed through several tables, destroying a set of fine chinaware. The owner had fallen to the ground, screaming bloody murder, and was trying to tear the wooden stake loose from the meaty part of his thigh, blood everywhere. "Um, I'm sorry, uh," a silver spike shot up through the chef's right bicep and he howled like a steam train, the sound shaking the silverware on the tables, "what appears to be the problem, madam?"
"It's tangy," Karen said, face oblivious, fork still in hand, "something tastes *tangy*. I think maybe the tomatoes were off."
The Goblin blinked.
"Uh, I'm certain they were not Madam."
"Taste it," she said.
"I'm sorry," the goblin responded, as the owner succeeded in freeing himself from the steak and lunged through the air, only to get accidentally swiped by the rageful blow of the chef and flung through a new hole in the wooden wall leading to the kitchen. An explosion of stainless steel pots and cooking implements ricocheted loudly from the other room.
Karen dipped a fork into the pasta, hefted a large bite, and raised it up for the goblin to taste. "Eat it," she demanded.
Eager not to be out in the open for much longer, the Goblin obliged. The spaghetti was, to his tastes, delicious. The chef, currently taking a hefty bite out of the hunter's armored side and being stabbed repeatedly in his muscular back in return, was a culinary genius.
"Ah, madam, it's the lemon," the goblin said, certain, "the chef's special ingredient in his spaghetti and meatballs is a spritz of fresh lemon in the tomato sauce. You see, the acid brings out a certain —"
Karen cut him off with a loud ICK. "Ick! Lemon! Who puts *lemon* in tomato sauce! What is *wrong* with you people." She pushed the plate forward and crossed her arms in front of her. "I would like to return it and order something else."
The Goblin blinked again as the chef was kicked off the hunter, landing squarely on table 3 and a large family style casserole. The Goblin quickly bent down and picked up the plate. "Fine, whatever." He said and raced back toward the cash register.
As he ran, Karen called over to his blithely, "and please tell the chef what I said about the lemon!"
The Goblin didn't even turn around, but yelled a response as he dove behind the counter, "tell him yourself!"
No sooner had the goblin found cover than the hunter fired a bolt toward the chef who leaped up from the crushed table 3 and landed right beside Karen's table in a crouched posture. Just then the owner reappeared from inside the destroyed kitchen and flew right into the hunter, and the two began to tussle.
Momentarily out of the action, Karen had a second to prod the chef on the shoulder. "You really oughtn't to put lemon into your spaghetti sauce sir." When the chef did not appear to be listening, Karen prodded harder, "sir. Are you listening to me? I am your customer, sir. The customer, as you well know, is always —"
A silver bolt, fired by accident and at a jaunty angle, deposited itself right into Karen's forehead. She blinked a few times and mumbled, "the *service* in this place," before collapsing forward onto table 19.
The chef spared her a quick moment and leaped back into battle. "No taste, these people," he mumbled to himself as he raised his clawed hand to strike at the hunter again. | I marched over to the hairy looking receptionist at the counter and put my food down in front of her. She gave me a quizzical look and for the life of me, I had to breathe to calm down. This is why I don't go to new restaurants. This is why I don't experiment. More importantly, this is why I feel all these new pop-ups need to stop "popping" up in my neighbourhood. *We* don't do mediocrity in Vericity City.
"Erm... excuse me," I began, my hands clasped together to make myself seem amenable.
The lady's eyes shifted temporarily to me, before shifting away to someone behind me. I turned to see a cosplayer of some sort, holding what looks like a real sword in his hands, which is frankly dangerous, but I'll deal with him later. I need to sort out my food first.
"Hello? I'm talking to you," I said again, a bit louder this time.
The receptionist looked at me, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at me. I leaned away from her slightly. There was something unnatural about her eyes and to be frank, it reminded me of my poodle at home, Mr Whimsy.
"What do you want?" she said slowly.
I narrowed my eyes at that. Ignoring the issue I'm about to bring up with her, I don't think I've ever seen anyone have teeth that sharp. This is clearly a hipster joint. And we have enough of that already. If it's not the cheesy burger joint a block away, it's the BBQ eatery in the shopping mall.
"My food has gluten in it. And peppers. I distinctly ordered my pasta without any. I'd like it changed," I said, brushing hair away from my face.
"You'd have to pay for that," the receptionist said. She looked away from me again and I turned to see some of the waiters were surrounding the cosplayer.
"Excuse me, can you focus your attention on me? You're being extremely rude right now. Why would I pay for another when you got my order wrong?" I said, gritting my teeth.
"Erm, lady? Can you please stand to the side? We have a situation," the woman replied. She was still looking away from me.
I heard a loud crash and saw the cosplayer had been thrown across the room. Unnatural as it might be, as I don't think anyone can be thrown that far, I am taken aback at the violence I'm seeing. The waiters are all snarling like... like... dogs. I shove my hand into my pocket and grab my phone. I'll call the police as soon as I'm done with the receptionist
"My situation trumps his. I said, you gave me the wrong food. You don't get to dismiss me for a stupid cosplayer. Do you know who I am?" I repeated, slamming my hand on the table.
She jerked back at my action before snarling at me like the waiters bothering themselves with the cosplayer. I turned in time to catch the cosplayer and the waiters fighting. I turned back. I'll call the police in a bit. Right now, I have a snarling receptionist to teach a lesson to.
"That does it. I want to speak to your manager this instant. Not only are you rude, your disrespectful and dismissive. I'm going to make sure you lose your job."
I jump in shock as she leapt over the counter. She shoved me to the side, and for a brief moment, I found myself off my feet in the air. When I hit the ground, my breath escaped me for a few moments and my vision blurred. As I got to my feet, and smoothed my jeans, I pulled out my phone and dialled for the police. The receptionist had put her hand on me. That is a crime. And the restaurant will pay for it.
"Hello, 911? Yes. My name is Karen and I have an issue to report..."
\---
/r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories
**Author's Note:** TBH, I have no idea how I managed to write the above. But it seemed like a challenge worth testing out. So... yeah... Enjoy. | 2019-01-23T04:10:19 | 2019-01-23T04:08:28 | 108 | 22 |
[WP] Every day, hundreds are people are arrested by the fashion police. You need to stop by the electronics store to buy a new washing machine. The only clean clothes you have left are a pair of orange cargo shorts and your grandma's hand-knitted Christmas sweater. | I walk hastily into the laundrette. My panicked entrance, complete with awkward sock dropping, does not go unnoticed by the rest of the people in here; who avoid looking me in the eye, staring intently down at their phones.
They know what's coming.
I throw my clothes into the machine - it's a short wash, I won't be long - and I live so close! The chances are miniscule, astronimical, and it's not like anyone in here will rat me out; sure, they'd rather me be gone, but everyone hates the feds more than the actual criminals!
The door jingles ajar, I sit rigid in my corner, praying it's another late night patron.
"So I was thinking maybe, we finish up here then go back for a girls night at my place?"
The camp voice tears into me like a gay nail and on a gayer chalkboard.
'Relax' I think to myself 'It could just be a gay man. Not all gay men are in the federation. It could just be a very gay man.'
I huddle myself away, listening as the man and the woman he speaks to edge themselves around the room.
"Oh dear. Oh honey." I hear the woman say.
"What?!" Another patron asks panickingly, and I hear him dust off his outfit, checking for any faults.
"Relax!" The woman giggles "Look we aren't booking you, but just going to give you a little warning here that those shoes? They're on their way out."
"I mean." The man chimes in again "You're pulling them off, but you're pulling them off in february. This is march. You can't be pulling february off in March I mean, you just can't be doing that."
"No, no thank you!" I hear their victim say. "What was I thinking, I'll look for a new pair straight away, I-"
"Okay shush, shut up your mouth." The very camp man says "What is that there."
I don't need to look around to know they've seen me.
"Okay you, Mr Mopey in the corner? Can you turn around please?"
I sit firmly in place.
"Sir, sir do we have to remind you who we are?"
"We're the feds bitch." The woman says.
"Damn right girl."
I hear them high five.
Slowly, I rise to my feet and turn to face them. Their mouths open wide, palms go to mouths and dainty hands go to chests in disbelief.
"Look." I say "I can explain."
"No, no you don't talk now." The man says, as the woman freezes in her shock.
"What you have done here. All this, this is something ever never seen. And I've been a fashionista since I was twelve, okay?"
"Since he was twelve!"
"And in all those years of patrol, I have never seen something this... genius!"
"Genius." The woman parrots.
I blink at them.
"I mean obviously - it's hideous."
"Just awful."
"But how you've made something so hideous, and to come outside in a public place where you know, where you know we'll be looking, is genius."
"I mean it's just so ironic."
"Mhmm." The man agrees.
"Like so ironic."
"So, you won't arrest me?" I ask, hands in over sized pockets.
"Arrest you?!" They laugh "Honey I want to buy you."
"Keep you in my bag like a little hipster doll."
"So ironic."
They turn and walk away, distracted by hypothetical outfits they would dress me up in. I still stand in disbelief, and notice a man across the room shaking his head to himself.
"What?" I ask him, and he chuckles.
"Man, you lucky you white." | "Oh shit," thought Josh. "Am I really going to do this?" He stared in the mirror at his current adornments. It was horrendous. Far too big, mismatched, and covered in stains-but there was no other way he could leave the house. Oh well, he figured. Normally he would never be caught dead in this, but he would just have to wear it while he dropped off his clothes at the laundromat and headed down to buy a new washing machine.
Trying to put on his most confident face, he headed out his front door to the laundromat. Laundry basket in hand, he made a mental decision that if this is how he was going to go out, he was going to own it.
As he walked, his confidence slowly began to diminish. He got numerous looks from other pedestrians, some rather rude commentary regarding his appearance, and a number of suspicious looks from policemen lingering in nearby shops. Nonetheless, he carried on until he reached his destination.
At the laundromat, he began unloading his clothes into the washing machine. In the very bottom of his basket was a very tacky old Christmas sweater and a pair of fluorescent orange cargo shorts. "Thank God," he quietly said aloud. "I almost had to wear that today!"
As he turned around from his now-running machine, a much older woman in leopard leggings who smelled of smoke and booze took a drag off her cigarette and winked at Josh. "Hey cutie," she rasped. "Nice birthday suit." | 2015-01-08T20:58:10 | 2015-01-08T20:30:04 | 208 | 22 |
[WP] Due to a clerical error the soul of the one destined to be the Dark Lord, leader of the armies of darkness, scourge of all that is good and holy is sent to a loving household and grows up to be a well adjusted individual that just happens to have unfathomable eldritch powers | It was supposed to be easy to create a malevolent overlord. Humans were inherently evil weren't they? So how it had gone so badly wrong was honestly still a mystery to Caalndral. That didn't mean he was in any less trouble, however. Caalndral turned the corner in the dank grey office block, and paused before entering a particularly dingy room.
Lucifer sat on a comfortable chair opposite from him, aggressively tapping his talons on the desk. He didn't look particularly like the Prince of hell. In fact he looked extremely similar to an old headmaster that Caalndral had been terrified of when he was a human.
"So. I think you know why you're here." Satan pushed the circular glasses up his nose.
"Ahhh. Yes. The... Issues with the Dark Lord." Caalndral murmured.
"ISSUE? The DARK LORD, the representation of all that is dark and evil within the human race, is a CHEERLEADER! We have I think, more than an issue. This is a crisis, and I cannot even conceive of the shocking incompetence that it must have taken for this to happen."
For a moment the devil's head transformed into a mass of poisonous snakes as he yelled at Caalndral.
"Well... It was supposed to be perfect. We picked her so carefully, a woman so deep into the gutter herself that she could only ever provide a child with a life as miserable as her own." Caalndral had been to visit her, before they had been sure, when there were still a few women in the running. He had never met someone with less behind their eyes, and from that moment he'd known he wanted her.
"Then what happened?" The devil asked, part anger, part genuine curiosity.
"It was the strangest thing. She found out that she was six months pregnant and... Everything changed. We thought that she would resent the baby, that she would hate that she wasn't even given enough time to prepare for it, or even decide whether she wanted it."
"She didn't?"
"No. It was like... All of her life she had wanted a purpose. And in six seconds flat she decided it was protecting that baby." Caalndral knew that his voice sounded bitter.
"So by the time the baby was ready to be born, she'd gone cold turkey on everything. From the heroin to the Starbucks, suddenly what she did to her body actually mattered to her. And then what other people did started to matter too, because she managed to get rid of the abusive drug dealer boyfriend. We predicted that if he was around she'd never kick the drugs, and if he was the father of the baby she'd never kick him. But we were wrong."
"So she just... Decided to be a better person?" Satan sighed disbelievingly.
"Well... Yes. She had the baby, and then after a while she got a job. And eventually she made enough money to move away from the bad neighborhood, into a slightly nicer one. So the kid went to a slightly nicer school and did better. And then she met a man who actually cared for her, and well... The dark lord didn't have the emotionally damaging childhood we all hoped for."
"And that's all it took? A job and an apartment? That's the barrier between good and evil that we've fought so hard to destroy." Satan looked at Caalndral despairingly for answers.
Caalndral didn't say anything else, because he didn't think the devil would understand. But there was something else there. From the first time she knew she'd be having a baby, she had loved it. And that was the thing which none of them had been able to predict. She'd loved that baby so desperately, so much more than she had ever loved herself, and it wasn't a slight thing at all.
And so she'd always told her child that he could be whatever he wanted to be, and what he wanted to be was a cheerleader. | So uh.
Hmm.
There’s a my hero academia fanfic that has basically this exact premise. It’s also the best thing I’ve ever read and a legitimate literary masterpiece. It’s a brilliant story about the nature of power, and the cost of fighting against a fundamentally broken world, and about what it means to fight for a better tomorrow.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/14572500/chapters/33674223
Synopsis:
“ Izuku must learn his place in a broken and cruel world. He must learn the cost of being a hero. He must learn the cost of changing the world to his own image. In a world divided by factions vying for control, oppressive governments, and sympathetic villains, Izuku must decide his place amongst the chess pieces. He'll have to decide what to make of the broken dreams and shattered faith of an indifferent world. He'll need the power to rise above the mire and muck of despair.
Thankfully, he was never quirkless.
Sometimes quirks hide until they are triggered. Izuku tasted death and found it lacking, every flavour bitter and lacking spice. In the moments between death and life, he gazed into the howling abyss and it followed him home. Everything he thought he knew about the world is a lie. There are monsters lurking in the dark below, always waiting and always watching.
They wait patiently, waiting for one to sit upon a throne of crystal madness and eternal suffering. They have waited for aeons and will wait until the end of eternity.
They wait for Izuku Midoriya.” | 2020-04-08T09:47:21 | 2020-04-08T08:50:17 | 43 | 17 |
[WP] Humanity finally figures out faster than light travel and discover that they are completely average by galactic standard, except for one thing, our innate ability to bullshit our way out of any situation. | "Human space vessel: do not attempt to cross into the preserve. Space vessels are strictly prohibited in that area. You are not allowed to enter the preserve. Trespassing is forbidden."
Tak snorted to himself. *Typical bureaucracy*, he thought to himself. *They find out that humans have a bad habit of twisting words, so they decide that saying the same thing three ways will definitely stop us from doing whatever the hell we want.*
He waited for a count of ten. "Uh, sorry, unidentified space vessel, was that directed at us?"
"Human space vessel: of course it was. Who else would we be talking to? Abort all movement toward the preserve at once!"
"Oh, see, we were unclear, because we're just heading over to Kenshyo. We definitely aren't interested in any preserve. We'll just be on our way and won't bother you anymore. Have a good day!" Tak increased his speed without changing the heading.
"HUMAN VESSEL: you are heading directly toward the Maldoran preserve. This area contains large quantities of mineral wealth that has been allocated as Maldoran nesting materials. If you do not change heading, we will be forced to take you prisoner." The tone of the patrol vessel's commander had already switched from detached professionalism to exasperation.
"Sorry, kzsshsdk, we di-- kzzhshdsh -- py that," Tak replied, putting his mediocre beatboxing skills to work.
"Human vessel: repeat last correspondence. Turn around at once."
"Sor -- kzhszdf -- do not -- kzdhshdsf --"
"HUMAN VESSEL: STOP. STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP. WE WILL BOARD YOUR VESSEL. PREPARE YOURSELVES."
Tak frowned at the distance readouts. "W-- kzhzskdh -- uh -- kzhskh -- py. I think I fixed the comms, gentlemen. But, uh, you should note that I had to rewire the ship to do so. We are now unable to change heading or speed for the next hour or so while I get everything straightened out."
"Human -- This -- that's completely unacceptable! Why would you do something like that?"
"Sorry, patrol, I thought being able to understand you was top priority. Again, we're just heading to Kenshyo. Sorry for the disturbance. We'll be on our way!" Tak struggled to keep the smile from his voice, if not his face. *Thank god for audio-only*, he thought.
"Human vessel: we have locked on to your heading. We will attach to your ship and bring you to a force stop. You cannot enter the Maldoran preserve."
*Shit*. "Uh, that's a negative, patrol." Tak grabbed the nearest book, an old but pristine copy of *Welcome to the Universe: How to integrate with society*, and riffled the pages into the mic. "According to 113, subsection D, paragraph 12 of ecosystem preservation, no patrol ships are permitted to enter preserved space while chasing runaway space vessels. It looks like that's only allowed for chasing illegal mineral gathering explorations. By our calculations, you won't be able to slow us down in time to avoid entering the preserve, so you'd probably best just let us be on our way."
The reply was delayed and sounded muted, as if the patrol captain wasn't speaking directly into the mic. "Well, I don't know, find it! It has to be in one of the databases! -- Ahem, human vessel: our stopping capacity is rated for class D ships, and certainly a ship your size falls below th--"
"Patrol, I'm afraid we have the papers to show we're registered as class F. Our cargo bays are completely full, of - untilium, you see," Tak replied, with only the slightest pause. "Our mass is in excess of 29 kilotons. We'll make sure to keep heading perfectly straight. We promise not to disturb the nesting!"
The delay was longer this time. "Human vessel: the penalty for purposefully entering the preserve is forfeiture of ship and cargo and up to 12 years in stasis. We will alert patrol ships on the other side of the preserve to expect your arrival to verify your claims. Patrol out."
Tak grinned. *Step one: easy as pie.* | This was our third time to Rigel this month, The Dominar said he would trade us a clean energy technology if we would provide him with gangsters to act as his diplomats. Apparently the ability to with hold the truth or Lie as we call it was a unique ability that only humans had. I mean there were attempts. They were all so conspicuous to us like the time an Akranian trader came up to me while I was bouncing the gate at a trade show on Temos 7. He incorrectly tried to make a deal then threatened me then hit his slave, who was obviously ex military. Akranian Traders are well known for threatening first then trying to make a deal I mean come on who was he trying to fool? But i digress. The Dominar on Rigel was a very Impatient little creature. God only knows what he would offer us if he knew sugar grew naturally on earth.
When I landed in New Jersey I put an ad on the netlistings for thugs Who wanted to work off world , and who would be willing to have an translator implant. I don't mind telling you I jumped a bit when mine was implanted. They don't tell you about the searing pain you will feel when the thing bites into your cerebral cortex for just a moment. Out of the 30000 applicant I managed to narrow it down to just 500 the only applicants that were human anyways. out of them 50 already had translators and about half of that who had worked off world. This deal would mean big business with us and Rigel. I filed the proper paperwork with the Federation government and Bam that is how I became the diplomatic ambassador to the Dominar of Rigel. Also why the oceans look clean, and our air quality has been brought back to pre-industrial revolution standards. No need to thank me Just doing my job.
Best Regards,
First Ambassador of Rigel
Jorry Fischer | 2018-01-30T07:45:10 | 2018-01-30T06:35:36 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | I was born into a family of super heroes, and raised amongst the 'elite' of the League of Champions. I was expected to be an elite hero myself, but I wasn't born with any mystical powers like the rest. I was quickly disowned by my Übermencsh parents, mocked by my peers, and ridiculed by members of the League. I left home at the age of 23 to live a normal life -- study college, get a career going, that sort of stuff. I loved college and the normal people I have met. I passed with a perfect 4.0, went on to develop technology to help normal people combat meta humans, and married my loving wife.
Everything changed several weeks ago -- my life was destroyed by a massive battle between the League and their sinister sister group called the Chosen Few. My business was destroyed and my wife killed due to collateral damage. I slumped into an abyssal depression, because my life was once again influenced by those... those... self-righteous, egotistical, ass hats.
I grew angrier and angrier. A burning rage consumed my heart, a terrible bitterness enveloped my thoughts. I'd destroy these living gods and devils, with the power I have refused to use my entire life. My wife was the only one to have known about my power, but she loved me who I was not for the power I was given.
Fast forward three months....
I placed the boot of my power armor on Mystic's chest. He struggled to move my weighty leg aside, arms drained of energy. Tears rolled down his face begging me to stop my assault. I laughed.
"Why are you crying Mystic? This is a beautiful, blissful moment. Can't you feel the tension dissolving? Well, maybe you can't but I can." I sneered.
"Please stop! Not ag--- gruahhahh" Mystic cried out in agony.
"I really must see the others. Don't have too much fun!" I chuckled walking away from the twitching spellcaster.
I crossed into the meeting chamber where the other champions were a waiting me. Ultraman tore off towards me, but he was little more than fly swatted down. Onyx Ninja attempted, and I use attempted generously, to out maneuver me. Shadows and sneaking doesn't protect people from my abilities. A loud thud confirmed I was effective in my application of my powers. Star Nova surprisingly resisted my ability, but only momentarily. She fell just as hard as the rest.
"Who are youu...gahh." Star Nova winced, barely standing under my influence.
"I'm nobody important, but if you must know my name -- Dr. Ahegao, but I'm sure you'll remember it easily. I mean it's the face you're making after all!" I laughed maniacally.
| I was powerless. I was disowned by my superhero parents. Everyday I suffered with the bullies giving me the worst wedgies in school.
The day the gift came really made me happy. I immediately folded people in half --- crushing their beloved spines. 70% of the people of the city are now dead.
"Who's useless now?" I said and continued giving wedgies without remorse. | 2017-06-12T08:54:20 | 2017-06-12T06:49:33 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] Voldemort kills Harry Potter and declares war against the Muggles. He loses horribly, because unlike wizards - Muggles actually understand how magic works. | "You understand now why we have to take you daughter away, Ma'am." The officer was unearthly handsome, his muscles nearly ripping his black uniform to shreds.
Jennifer was later sure that he had put a spell on her, making her compliant and malleable. Later she was angry but even a distant memory of that Vantablack and shiny black leather uniform made her so horny. And God, that *tottenkopf* on his hat.
She gave him her daughter without a single question, and little Alice instantly took a shine to the tall man.
"I assure you that she will be completely safe in the State School for Magic and Technology. I will personally bring her to you after her graduation. I see a great future for her in the peacekeeping force. Have a safe day Ma'am." He sharply knocked his heels together and left.
---
**Ten years later.**
Alice was late for class; it wasn't really her fault, the political officer always gave them yet another silly task at the last minute. She brought her sleeve to her mouth and squeezed middle button of her uniform. "Control, Alice 5653 requesting permission to jump five minutes retro."
"Permission granted, however you are nearly at your weekly limit, Alice 5653." Answered a melodic, but artificial voice in her earpiece. "Do you need parameters for jump?"
"Yes please." Alice was capable of computing those in her head, after all it was nothing but simple differential calculus, but she was in a hurry.
"Alpha negative 3. Correction factor point 37 north. Lambda 1.1"
Alice composed her spell inside her head, and flicked her fingers. She sometimes missed the wands and spells of the olden days, but a tiny sliver of wood implanted into her bone was just so much more convenient. And nobody could *Expelliarmus* her. She jumped, and for a second she was in two places at once, leaving the Political Orientation class and standing on the other side of campus.
"Alice 5653, jump confirmed. Your weekly allowance is down to two minutes and thirty two seconds." The A.I. chirped into her ear. How did the computers even cope with time travel? She would have to ask Colonel Jenkins later.
For now she had her Magic Theory class to attend, and she simply loved it. She took her place in the first row and when Colonel entered, clicked her heels and extended her right hand in a salute. The class as always started with the pledge of allegiance to the state and it's leader, which was kind of boring, but it was just a couple of minutes. And the interesting stuff was worth it.
Colonel Jackson had no magical talent whatsoever; he was what the witches and wizards in the dark old days called a muggle. Yet, he was an expert on magic and its practical applications, having designed the computers which helped everyone calculate the parameters for their spells.
"All right, it appears I have forgotten to eat breakfast." Snapped the Colonel suddenly. "Everybody, conjure me a full English and a pint of ale."
The class started working frantically, better students preparing spells in their minds, other calculating on paper or using slide rules.
One red haired girl, however was really perplexed. "But Sir, The Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration says..."
Alice knew what would happen now, and desperately thought how to avoid the nightmare. The girl was named Lilly Luna and was a daughter of some long dead hero from Hogwarts. She was exempted from the draft, and until last month she was home schooled.
The Colonel interrupted her. "Miss Luna, I know you have serious gaps in your education, but you have to follow the rules. Remember to raise your hand before speaking. This is your last warning. Do you understand?"
"Yes Sir, Sorry Sir." Said Lilly meekly.
Alice raised her hand, hoping to offer Lily tutoring. But it was too late, Colonel was in his full frontal teaching mode. She hid her face in her hands.
***
Class listen carefully, I know most of you know this already, but there will be some quite important titbits of information.
Miss Luna, your family sheltered you from the truth about the last Wizard War and your father's role in it. I believe that was a mistake, and I'm going to correct it now.
You all know that the war ended when Voldemort and his troops captured Hogwarts in the Second Battle of Hogwarts, and remaining non-magical forces launched a nuclear strike, obliterating the school, the Death Eaters and its defenders, if any were still alive at that point.
What we don't like to mention is that all that wouldn't be possible without cooperation from many wizards inside the school itself, and that number included your father I believe. In the month preceding the battle we were given precise data on the wards protecting Hogwarts and a full copy of spell manuals from their extensive library. That allowed us to strike in a precise moment, when the wards were taken down and not yet reestablished by the attackers.
But more important than that was the time the wizards spent with our scientists, which allowed us to finally understand how magic works, and what are its limitations.
And here comes the great reveal. The nuclear option was not really necessary. Voldemort lost the very moment we learned about magic. We would finally beat him, after all his spells were no match for technology - his kinetic shield would not protect him from a laser, his invisibility from multi spectral analysis from the drones. He would have finally lost, but in the process millions, maybe billions would have died.
I was there, and I will always remember what I have done. This is one of the keys used to launch the attack, and I always keep it on my neck to remember.
I have possibly killed your father Miss Luna, to save countless other people. I'm sorry for your loss, but I'm not sorry for what I have done.
And coming back to your original question, old style magic operates on symbols and descriptions like food, gold, death. We don't use that here, what other students are supposed to be doing now is conjuring a specific mix of fat, protein and aromatic compounds arranged on a ceramic plate, accompanied by a water solution of alcohol, hops extract and sugars. Not food at all.
***
You might also enjoy reading [this HP story](https://www.reddit.com/r/graphomaniac/comments/6ndca8/wp_voldermort_has_successfully_defeated_any/).
Or my [personal subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/graphomaniac/)
| "Avadakedavraavadakedavra."
Two flashes of green light. Two thuds.
Lord Voldemort stepped over the two guards' limp bodies. He opened the door. Without so much as a second thought, he set off another flash of green, striking the Muggle prime minister in the chest. He sensed movement behind him, and whirled around.
"Hands up! Don't move!"
Voldemort watched as the masked assailant grasped a strange tube and pointed it at his head. It exploded several times. Voldemort's shields wavered momentarily, but he remained fully unharmed.
"I need backup! Assassin has a bulletproof--"
"Avada Kedavra."
Voldemort stooped down to examine the strange looking tube. The word *Glock* was engraved on the side. Setting it aside, he grasped his left forearm and pressed it. "The prime minister is dead. Come at once."
A moment later, muffled shouts came from just outside the door. He would have liked for them to Apparate directly into the office, but apparently the wards against that were still active even after the wizarding world's defeat a few days prior. A quick rat-a-tat-tat sounded off in the hallway, and instinctively Voldemort looked once more to his Dark Mark.
It had disappeared.
*All of them... dead?!*
*By Muggles?!*
*Fools.*
The door swung open, and more masked-- no, helmeted-- attackers dressed in Muggle clothes that said "Security" flooded into the room.
A quick nonverbal spell dangled them all in the air as though suspended by an invisible hook, strange tubes out of reach on the ground. One at a time, they too succumbed to the jets of blinding green light, like the first one.
Another Muggle walked in, evidently weaponless unlike his predecessors. Voldemort laughed his mirthless laughter, his high-pitched voice filling the room. Despite this, the Muggle showed no fear.
"Avada Keda--"
A flick of the wrist, and Voldemort was momentarily silenced.
"You can't win, Tom."
"AVADAKEDAVRAAVADAKEDAVRAAVADAKEDAVRA--"
Another flick of the wrist and Voldemort reeled backwards as though punched in the gut.
"I know all about your magic. I know all your tricks."
*What sorcery is this?*
"Oh, it's no magic. I'm no wizard, you know."
*He can tell what I'm thinking! He must be a Legilimens.*
"Oh, it's not that either."
Several questions came to Voldemort's mind, but years of gathered hatred of the nonmagical overrided them all immediately.
"Avada--"
"No."
"Cru--"
"Nope."
"Imp--"
"Nah."
*How...? No matter-- Levi--*
"Ahh, very clever. Non-verbal spells? It was a good attempt."
Voldemort's wand snapped.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle. Lord Voldemort. Heir of Slytherin. A man of many names and many identities. Yes, in this world you are truly powerful."
"In thisss world?" he hissed.
"I'm no wizard, but I understand magic far more than you can imagine."
Rage bubbled to the surface. "I am the greatessst wizard the world hasssss known--"
"I created this world. I *made* you into a powerful wizard. But you're not the top dog."
*Created this world?* And then, a horrifying realization...
"Oh yes, I created you, you and Harry Potter and everyone and Hogwarts and everything. I created magic. I am invincible, omniscient, omnipotent, and unstoppable."
*I am the world's rightful ruler--*
"I am its god."
*Who* are *you?*
"You may call me... The Author."
------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed that! I'm looking to improve my writing, so all comments, criticism, and advice are appreciated. | 2017-07-17T17:29:50 | 2017-07-17T17:23:55 | 160 | 70 |
[WP] Write an upbeat post-apocalyptic tale where life is (for the most part) much better than it was pre-apocalypse. | You know, except for the goat-rabbits, life in America after the global nuclear apocalypse wasn't all that bad. I kind of enjoyed it, actually. I'd never been much of a people person, and it was nice to have some time to myself.
Basically everybody who didn't die to the Ebola X pandemic wound up perishing in the nuclear firestorms that followed. I had two great strokes of luck: first, I was backpacking in the depths of a Canadian forest when the bombs went off, and second, I had a one-in-a-million immune system that shrugged off Ebola X like it was a bad cold.
By August 2022 I was, as far as I could tell, the sole human resident (and therefore the Supreme Emperor) of Madison, Wisconsin. I had a whole network of tents set up in a grocery store parking lot. Turns out a person can live like a king for years off a single supermarket's stock. Once I ate nothing but Fruit Gushers for six days straight, fulfilling a lifelong dream and giving myself a truly nasty suite of digestive issues that took another six days to sort themselves out.
I spent most of my time trying to get seeds from Home Depot to grow into plants in the abandoned lot next door. That's where the goat-rabbits came in. Bastard creations of the nuclear bombardment, they were fuzzy, horned herbivores that stood two feet tall on their hind legs. Each morning they woke me with their unmistakable call -- something between a strangled toucan's squawk and a stuck pig's squeal. Good luck sleeping through that.
The goat-rabbits were my greatest nemesis. No matter what I planted, or the fortifications I erected to protect the crops as they grew, the voracious critters always found a way in.
One morning I decided enough was enough and took hold of my rifle to teach the goat-rabbits a lesson. There were three of them schnuffling around the spot where my carrots had just recently broken through the earth. When I approached, the rifle raised, they lifted their bleary-eyed heads.
I shot one.
The surviving goat-rabbits examined their dead fellow, curious. One of them gave the body a nudge. They looked at me. They looked at the body. They looked back at me. Then, giving the goat-rabbit equivalent of a shrug, they returned to their schnuffling.
I shot a second one. Despite the rifle's harsh retort, the surviving goat-rabbit appeared unfazed. If anything, it seemed happy to have the pasture to itself.
I couldn't bring myself to shoot another one. It just seemed cruel.
It would have been different if they were edible. But no, goat-rabbits tasted exactly the way they looked, which is to say stringy, dyspeptic, and extremely tough. That made shooting them feel like kind of a waste, especially since my canned food reserves could last me another sixty years, assuming I could come to terms with three meals a day of creamed corn and green beans.
So it was me and the goat-rabbits who watched every sunset together. The sun still melted into the horizon the way it always had, a scoop of orange sherbet slowly flattening against a purple backdrop of brightening stars.
I never got tired of that.
*****
*If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)! Making a big push to get more content out there. :D* | Everyone talked about the apocalypse like it would be horrible. You never heard fun stories made up about it back before it hit. Let me tell you, though, *this shit is a blast.*
I don't pay taxes. I don't slave at work for 10 hours just to scrape by, barely getting enough sleep. There's no rent, no bills to pay, no pointless shit like emissions or insurance to keep track of. No economy to worry about or money to save. It's all up to your skill and athleticism; you grab life by the balls these days instead of the other way around.
I get to do whatever the fuck I want. Go ahead and piss off of the Eiffel tower or read a book sitting atop a skyscraper in Dubai if it sounds fun. No one cares.
If I see something that looks fun or awesome, I just take it. There's no police force, nothing costs money. With a generator, I can enjoy most basic things that we could before the nukes hit.
Oh, and if someone's being an asshole to you? Shit, just shoot him in the dick. It's totally fine. Seriously, why would anyone want to go back to the prison we called life before?
This. This is true freedom. I enjoy my life and choose how I spend my time here. I wish I could go back in time and ask everyone if they could say the same. | 2016-01-19T22:08:08 | 2016-01-19T20:58:25 | 902 | 116 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity. | As the car slowed in the lineup, I forgot to breathe. It was all beginning to make sense. I knew Talia was well-off, but the limousine seemed a little extravagant for a work outing. It made me a little uncomfortable to be in one of these, again. It had been so, so long-- a different time, a different life altogether. They'd seen to that.
But now it was all falling into place. The fancy clothes, how Talia kept reassuring me that everyone was going to love me. As the cameras flashed in a flurry, snapping the photos of the couple exiting the limo in front of us, it made sense. Not her workmates. The tabloids. The public.
My mouth went dry, and my pulse was racing. We were next. If I didn't get out, what would happen? Would the paparazzi just shoot through the darkened windows? What could they see? Could they make out my face well enough for them recognize it?
It had been seven years, but it wasn't long enough. I knew good and well they'd never forget, never stop looking. Seven years since my life ended, and I was charged with restarting from nothing. A new name, a new haircolor, a new history. If they'd been able to change my face, I'm sure they would have. But no, I still looked like me. The daughter of what was once a notorious mafia boss. My pretty little face, a little less lined with age and worry, had been plastered all over the papers when my testimony went public in the largest mafia bust to ever shake the Eastern seaboard.
Before the trial even went to court, the death threats had begun. I'd tried to be stubborn about it. Tried to hold my head high, and not let them scare me. It wasn't until I came home to that box on the balcony of my tiny apartment that I'd finally cracked and admitted I needed witness protection. I could still remember every detail of peeling open the brown cardboard. The smell that hit my nose as I stared down at the dark mass within. I didn't register what it was right away. Not until I recognized the collar.
"...Ana?" Talia looked to me, concern in her brown eyes as the car began to move forward. "What is it? Please, don't be nervous. The cameras may be a little extra in-our-faces since I've never walked the carpet with another woman before, but I promise. It's not really that big of a deal anymore. They'll get their debut photos and move on."
I barely heard her, my frame all but paralyzed as the car began to slow. It was our turn. "You said you were an executive," I breathed, barely able to find my voice.
"I-- Ana, the movie. It's called _The Executive._ You can't-- you knew, didn't you? Talia Elliot, my name is in all the..." Her voice trailed, perfect red lips hanging open for a moment in shock as she registered the sheer fear in my eyes. "You had no idea."
"I don't go out much, Tali," I whispered.
And that was all there was time for. The doors flew open, a smiling man in a tuxedo offering out a hand to help Talia from her seat. She looked back at me, brow furrowed with concern as she reached out to squeeze my hand. "We'll talk about it tonight. Don't worry, I'm right here with you. They're all going to love you, I promise!" And she rose, stepping out.
I sat frozen in my seat, the blinding flurry of camera flashes reducing her to little more than a silhouette in front of me. There was the briefest beat of an expectant pause as they waited for me to follow, before one of the more assertive paparazzo craned over the red velvet ropes that barred them from the carpet. I looked at him, eyes obscured by the camera, that black lens reflecting my pale, panicked face.
And then the flash went off, and I knew it was all over. | When the first camera flash went off, I was struck dumb at the sight of the red carpet, the reporters snapping pictures, and my boyfriend for the past six months waving to the screaming fans holding out pictures and pens desperate for him to sign.
"What's going on?" I squeaked. My voice was barely audible but Marcus leaned close, his breath on my ear, his hand settling on my lower back.
"Red carpet party," he mused, nuzzling my ear. I shivered at the touch, flinching at the sudden flash of lights recording my reaction.
"You said this was a fancy work party," I mumbled, "you didn't say there would be... be..."
"Be?" Marcus lifted his head, his honey colored eyes drinking in me in like this was a moment he would savor for the rest of his life.
"So public?" I offered.
Marcus chuckled. "It'll be okay. I won't let them eat you, I promise." He winked and pressed his wide palm against my back and suddenly we were moving forward. In that moment I was beyond thankful I'd given up and let Daniella dress me up for the night because what I'd planned on wearing, my favorite summer dress (a little piece that covered my freckled shoulders), was nowhere near as extravagant or rich as the gowns worn by the other celebrities posing and smiling before the crowds.
Did I know Marcus was a celebrity? No. Of course not. The thought made me dizzy and terrified all at once, but I understood now why he was so cautious about being in public, and why he was content for us to spend so many nights in together. The screams of the public, the hive like mind of the paparazzi, and the sheer wealth on display made me think this was all a dream and somehow, I was Cinderella just waiting for the clock to struck midnight and return to my ho-hum life of repairing computers at Super Maxx and Friday nights at the laundry reading 99 cent romances on Amazon.
| 2017-06-14T12:00:32 | 2017-06-14T10:28:32 | 372 | 126 |
[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? | Coyly, I looked into the two orbital sockets that I assumed Death used for sight. "Fine. But, I need 24 hours in this realm's time, a notebook, and a pencil to make my selection." Death's black hood dipped slightly in assent. "I also need you to leave during that time. When my time's up, I'll choose."
Death seemed still, almost contemplative. I puzzled whether the thing in front of me was, truely, the shepherd of my consciousness from the realm of mortality. Or, merely, some construction of an unseen entity used to resign me to my own demise. The scythe propped in the corner was a nice touch, until you realized the whole skull and cloak routine was all rather hammy. No accounting for taste, I guess.
The Grim Reaper approximated, what I assumed was, a shrug, handing me what I requested as if it always had them. When I looked up from them it was gone, scythe and all. I opened up the notebook to find two words were inscribed in the darkest of black inks.
**CHOOSE WISELY**
I laughed, tearing the sheet out and began to write. And, write. And, write.
By the time Death returned, the notebook had filled. It was tightly plotted, with characters and requested guests, treasures and shopkeepers, and quests. A skeletal hand reached for the notebook back.
"Oh, no." I said. The hand stopped. "We'll need this for the game I've chosen. We'll also need dice, and pencils." I tore two sheets from the back and handed them to the hooded avatar. "The rules for character creation are included on the sheet. You'll need to roll your stats and choose a name."
The skeletal being held the paper briefly and then placed it on the table. Some dice appeared in front of it.
"You'll hand those to me. One of these needs to be 20-sided, 5 -sided, and 3- sided, also." The dice moved and had reverted to my request once they reached me. I rolled a few and told Death how they affected who its character was. Diligently, it complied with every request. By the end, it had almost a totally realized character and was ready to purchase goods from the store. It sat, staring at me patiently.
"We can't proceed until you've chosen a name."
Death stared down at the paper, and stared, and stared. It started to write, but erased it almost immediately. The skeletal creature did this several times.
Suddenly, I woke up in my hospital bed moments later. I laughed until it hurt.
It turns out, Death, by its nature, wasn't very creative.
| I shouldn't be saying this but this exact situation happened to me.
I chose "hide and go seek". I have been hiding from death every day and I am always looking over my shoulder to see if death is around the corner.
One day he'll show up and I'll lose. I wake up each day grateful to have one more day to breathe. | 2018-03-07T06:59:07 | 2018-03-07T03:49:25 | 1,807 | 55 |
[WP] The year is 2038 and net neutrality has been dead for almost two decades. But a rebellious group managed to travel back to 2017...
https://www.battleforthenet.com/#bftn-action-form
Edit: Obligatory thanks for the gold! Just trying to do my part on this fight, but as I don't live in the US, raising awareness is the most I can do, glad it worked! | Just as Donald was about to press the button that would trigger the bomb - the bomb that would level the FCC headquarters - he heard a voice.
Named for Donald Trump the First, Inaugurator of the Great American Monopoly, Donald had never heard English spoken with an accent anything like the one the voice carried:
"I'm gunna needya to put that trigga down mate."
There was a distinct menace in the tone, and a confidence of someone who is usually obeyed.
Donald hesitated, wondering if this was one of those illegal aliens people talked about from the time before the walls. People always said aliens talked funny, but few people in 2038 had heard one.
"I dinnea think he underrrstood ye" a second voice muttered, before a third voice exclaimed "Be a good chap and place the trigger on the bed. We won't kill you unless you refuse."
Donald whirled around, expecting to see little grey men, or green sludge monsters. The sight that greeted him was significantly more perplexing. Three men, well dressed, well armed (at least Donald assumed the things they were pointing were weapons) and one of them carried something that Donald had never seen before - a smallish rectangular object which had moving pictures on the top face - the person holding it was jabbing at it and running his fingers across the images.
The first voice spoke again - coming from the closest man, who waved his 'gun' to get Donald's attention. "For the last time, put down tha bloomin' trigga!"
As Donald slowly complied, he objected as non-threateningly as he could - "You don't know what you're doing! I've travelled here from 2038! Time travel - real genuine time travel! And do you know why? It's to stop the repeal of Net Neutrality!" A touch of desperation crept intonhia tone as he inched his had back toward the trigger mechanism.
"Aye laddie! We ken why you're here. We just can't let you do it!"
"But why?" Donald wailed "the internet is useless when you have to go through a paywall for each leg of every journey your data packets have to go through! Did you know that the top course at every major university is the state sponsored "Bachelor or Trumpian Communication Systems?" Any search that needs to be completed in under a week requires an advanced degree specialist!"
"Well here's the thing old chap" - voice number three again. "You see, we come from 2038 as well. We represent the combined interests of the post industrial economies of our time, which is the rest of the world, give or take."
Voice number 1 "As much as we admire the effort you and your little cadre of freedom fighters put in to get you here, there are many things you don't understand. 30 November is celebrated all around the world as the day the internet was set free!"
Donald's mouth hung open in disbelief. 30 November was when it happened. When the arch nemeses of all free flowing communication forever plunged the light of the internet into the deepest darkest pit in the lowest circle of hell. Only freedom fighters as.dedicsted as Donald had a chance of fixing it!
As Donald tried to explain, voice number one cut in again - "Nah mate! You've got it all wrong. Net Neutrality was never even a discussion outside of the USA. The day the FCC killed Net Neutrality in the US, dozens of countries around the world designated internet access an essential service, forever protecting the free flow of information."
Voice number 3 - "He's quite right you know Donald. It took about two weeks for all of the major tech companies to really understand. Then one by one, they reconfigured their offshore disaster recovery solutions to become primary services, and moved operations to any of the countries waiting with open arms to welcome them. Amazon is based in Monaco now, Netflix moved to Scandinavia, Google went truly global and has a presence in every major city,
Since no content could get oit of the States, media companies from around the world stepped up, globalised their offering and shut down connections to USA. Even primary DNS services move put of the USA.
"So no - you won't be killing Ajit today. Go home. When you get there, try to defect - swim 1 mile straight out to sea from this location and well pick you up in person. No one should have accept sub-standard internet. | I remembered seeing this back now.
I thought I should stop by to 2017 on my way back to bitch-slap Karl Marx, and let you all know that it all ends up okay. All of this protesting gets us nowhere, and they do succeeded in banning net neutrality, but the free market saves us. It always does.
Around mid 2018, despite all of their promises to the contrary, AT&T and Verizon began capitalising on their duopoly. For a few months the future looked truly bleak as people started going outside and getting exposed to the sun, and other people. Necks were shaved, showers were had, it was horrible.
But seemingly out of nowhere - although in hindsight we really should have trusted in the wisdom of Ajit Pai - smaller ISP's started popping up all along the east coast. The cynics in us outwardly dismissed them and their dreams for a better world; Didn't they know that the corporations and their evil capitalism were too great an opponent? But secretly we all hoped they would succeed and allow us to return to our slovenly ways.
And succeed they did! It wasn't immediately clear how, but over time it was revealed that many of the big content providers had been preparing for just this eventuality. By 2025 Google alone had seeded over 9000 smaller ISP's across the nation. It wasn't fast, and there were many lawsuits, but by time President Trump suffered that fatal aneurysm, we were all safely back in our hovels, bingeing on the latest forgettable rubbish, and spewing our arbitrary opinions into the void.
Still, you are here now, and you can not know that this is other than a fictitious tale. But when the brutal sun is beating down on you as you scurry about in the big outdoors, and you think it's all gone to shit, try to remember: you sometimes need to go through horrible times to truly appreciate the good in the mundane. | 2017-11-21T23:28:33 | 2017-11-21T23:01:17 | 33 | 14 |
[WP] A demon that writes messages on your mirror with blood but they’re useful messages. Like “remember you have yoga at 6 tonight”
stolen from Meladoodle on Tumblr. | It scared me. It hurt me.
It befriended me. It shunned me.
But it has helped me. It has always helped.
It showed up, one morning, by writing in BLOOD on my bathroom mirror with large bold letters -
"DON'T GO TO WORK."
This was in New York in 2001. On September 11th. In case you didn't know, I was working at the Twin Towers, and had planned to go to work early that morning.
Oh, I was hysteric! My heart jumped out of my chest. I slammed my bathroom door shut and stumbled out of my bedroom, barely able to stand. I leaned on the wall of my dining room and then slumped down to the floor.
I felt sick to my stomach - too shaken and sick to go to work. I couldn't stay in bed either - that was too close to the mirror with the BLOOD writing - so I ended up curled up on the couch with my blankets and pillows, the bedroom door closed and blocked off with a chair, sobbing like an emotional wreck.
Imagine my further heart attack when the headlines of the 9/11 attack broke.
I hated my apartment since then. I hated the emotional trauma, the feeling of being watched, the constant fear.
I closed up my bedroom and didn't go in for weeks. I was so close, many times, to reporting the incident to the police - but I couldn't get myself to do it - it had saved my life.
I had been sleeping in my living room for 2 months, the chair blocking the door of my bedroom, before I finally gained enough courage to confront the writing on the mirror.
I moved the chair away from the door, noticing the deep circles that the chair legs imprinted on the carpet. I slowly open the door, leaning on it, and tiptoe into my own personal bedroom. It is eerily silent and still.
The door to the bathroom is still closed. The light is on inside - but I expected it to be; I know I didn't turn it off.
My heart is racing. I walk, slowly, painfully, toward the bathroom to confront my greatest fear. I stay as far away from the door as I can, grab the handle, turn, and push the door open, and turn away, hoping I didn't see the writing on the mirror.
But I did. And it glimmered - it was fresh blood.
I screamed. And I looked again and it said -
"SRY TO SCARE U"
And I screamed again, yelled some expletives, ran out of the bedroom, slammed the door, and put the chair back.
Months later, I would build up the courage to go in again, and this time when I did, the mirror was empty.
I wanted to move out - I really did. I wanted to leave the city and go far away. But every time I considered it, the nagging thought would come back. *But it saved you.*
Yeah, it saved me. But it nearly killed me in shock, too.
Two years later, it showed up again. I had just come home from work, stepped into my bathroom and turned on the light when I saw the writing in blood on the mirror. And I screamed.
"DON'T DATE HIM" the writing said.
"GOD DAMMIT, STOP THAT!" I screamed at the mirror and ran out, slamming the bathroom door. "THAT MIRROR BETTER BE EMPTY WHEN I OPEN THE DOOR AGAIN!!!" I yell to the bathroom as I gathered my blankets and pillow and threw them into the living room.
Sure enough, the morning after, I checked the mirror before going to work and it was empty.
Him, of course, was a guy I met online, and because of the blood writing I called it off. A few months later he went psycho and murdered his family.
I remember my first time that I had the thought to talk to it - the blood writing demon in my bathroom. It was a rough day at work and I got home in a bad mood so I ranted in my bedroom at no one in particular but I knew it was there.
Of course, it was always there.
I woke up one morning to a nice message from it that said -
"HARD TIMES AHEAD"
"Can't you be more explicit?" I grumbled to the mirror as I left for work that morning. I got home and the mirror had changed -
"UR GROWNUP"
And then it was silent for a long time. It was silent when I lost my job. When my mother got cancer. When I broke up with my fiancee, became depressed, and almost took my life.
Then came one more message before it's last:
"LOOK AHEAD"
And so I did. And things got better, and now I'm fine.
I'd talk to it every so often, asking questions about who it was, and why it cared about me. It never responded. But today, I woke up to it's last message.
"OUT OF TIME"
" ♡ "
And that has hit me hard. I'm staring at the mirror from my bed, leaving the bathroom door open, hoping that the writing won't disappear.
I can't say for sure, but I think it is my dad. He died when I was a baby, so I don't know him, but lately when I'm home alone, I feel at ease, like I'm being watched over and cared for. I feel like I've received advice, concern, and love, much more than was was communicated in the muted form of words on a mirror.
"I love you too," I say back.
| I started seeing them when I was six years old. Everyone has an imaginary friend or two at that age. I did too, but my imaginary friend had coal black skin, blood red eyes, and spoke with a voice that sounded like the dying scream of a tortured soul. I called him Fred. Soon after I met Fred, I started seeing other things like him. He said they were demons, and with me being six, I simply internalized that and went back to being a kid. I saw them all over the place. The only place I didn't see them was in church. Sometimes they followed people around, sometimes they just lurked in corners or on rooftops, and sometimes they seemed to be hunting someone or something.
When I told people about the things I saw, they had one of two reactions. They chalked it up to an overactive imagination and ignored me. Or they freaked out and assumed I was crazy or seeking attention or that there was something wrong with me. I got prayed over a lot, which Fred didn't take very well. He didn't like when I got prayed over, or took Communion, so I did it as rarely as possible for his sake.
By the time I was nine, I stopped talking about the things I saw and just let people go on in ignorance. It was around nine that Fred, and other demons too as time went on, started helping me. They would tell me the answers to questions on tests. They would steal things for me, usually sweets and other treats, but sometimes I'd get big wads of money or toys or video games. They would stand up for me too. I got picked at the start of high school, as I was short and chubby and had thick birth control glasses, which made me a great victim for assholes and bullies alike. Once someone picked on me though, they often had an accident that would set them straight. One time, a guy kicked the shit out of me after school. The next day, Fred arranged for the guy to get into a car wreck by cutting the brake lines in his car.
I didn't get picked on for very long after that.
Now, as an adult, I actively use the demons that surround me. It seems to make them happy when I acknowledge their presence, and they seemed pleased to be able to serve me in some capacity. Fred still hangs around, although he told me his real name was Korvan (I still call him Fred, which amuses him to a degree) and he's not around as much.
I have the demons do a lot for me, like help me get laid. They can read a persons soul and see what they're into and what they like and what you can tempt them with. It makes it very easy to get laid, and to get people to like you for that matter. I win friends easily, and have a slew of girlfriends coming and going out of my apartment.
I have so many demons around me that I keep one on retainer as a secretary of sorts. She writes messages on my mirror, reminding me of my obligations and appearances I have to make.
One day, as I get up quietly to avoid waking my latest romantic conquest, I slink into the bathroom to check my mirror and see what I've got going on today. What I see sends a shiver up my spine and sends my heart racing.
"They're coming! Get out while you can!" | 2016-08-07T18:30:42 | 2016-08-07T16:46:17 | 121 | 80 |
[WP] You are a were-tree. | “Will you help me?” I asked, for the Moon was magic and wise.
“Oh,” said the Moon, “ You must forget him, darling child.”
“But why?” I asked, and rustled with distress.
“He is a man,” said the Moon, “And men are inconstant. But, trees do not waver, or alter, or change - except to grow stronger and deeper, always.”
“I do not mind,” I said, “It is enough if he loves me even just for a while - that will be enough, truly.”
“Very well,” said the Moon, fading slightly, as she sighed, “Then, once a month, when my magic peaks, I will turn you into a woman, and you may go to him.”
“Thank you,” I cried, “Oh, thank you, Mother Moon.”
And so, one night, when the orchard shone with lunar grace, I fell from my boughs, and into his arms as he lay by my roots, resting.
“Hello,” I said, shyly, as I looked at him through green-spun hair.
“Hello,” he said, with wonder, as he softly touched my verdant lips.
“I come as a gift from the Moon,” I said, for I could not admit that I was a tree. “Will you have me?”
And he did, and fell in love with me, too.
So, the months became but long, dreaming sleeps, in between the times I that I could hold him. I slumbered in sweet, joyful ardor, and my leaves glimmered and glowed, and my fruit hung heavy with perfume.
But, because he loved me, he set all other women aside. So, his Father grew grave and concerned.
“Why do you not marry?” asked his father, “And when will you have an heir?”
“I am in love,” he said, and he told his father about me.
Then his father was angry, and fearful. He went to his sorcerer, and asked to be rid of me, so that his son would take a wife. The wizard flung herbs into the fire, and blood upon a stone, and said, “You must have him take a silver chain, and bind it fast, around that apple tree. Then, your son will never see his moonlit maiden, ever, again. But - it must be him that chains the tree, or the silver will slip, and she will be free”
“I will see to it,” said his Father, and he had a chain of silver forged.
“Come,” he said to my lover, “Your mother did so love this tree. Let us garland it with silver trimmings, so that she may look down upon it, from Heaven, and be pleased.”
Because he loved his mother, and missed her dearly, he took the chain from his father, wound it all around me, and turned a silver key. He did not hear me as I wept and pleaded, for he saw only an apple tree.
“I am sorry,” said the Moon, “I cannot touch you, now - for you are trapped in silver, and locked with love.”
I cried, then, in the arms of the wind, as she rocked me gently, swaying.
And Mother Moon was right, of course, when she said that men are inconstant. He forgot me soon enough, and then went on to marry.
And Mother Moon was right, of course, when she said that trees do not waver, for my love for him did not fade, but only grew stronger and deeper.
“Help me, Mother Moon,” I said, “Will you take away my pain?”
“Oh, my child,” said Mother Moon, “What can I do to help you?”
“I do not know,” I wailed, “I only know that I was happy, on those nights that I could love him - though they came but once a month, and always passed so quickly.”
Mother Moon grew silent, and then, she smiled.
“Be still, my dear,” she said to me, “You will have your nights again. Once a month, when my magic peaks - wait, my child, and see.”
So now, my tears have been put away - for Mother Moon spoke truly.
Once a month, when the Moon is full, my lover rises, as if dreaming. He wanders to the orchard, and comes to stand before me. Then his feet grow long and searching, and his hands stretch up and spread, and his skin goes stiff, and sap-bound, and he turns into a tree.
Our boughs sway, intermingled, and I breathe into his foliage - then I press into his bark, with mine, and tell him how I love him.
In the morning, he wakes, and wanders home.
Then, it is my turn to sleep, until he comes again. | "*Werebe'am*. The term is *Werebe'am*."
Tall, thin, with flaxen hair, she might have been described as elfin. The James Rodas Professor of Linguistics of the University of California San Diego, Leah Staples sat down at her kitchen table and pushed a cup of coffee across the surface to me. I countered "Why not «Were-tree» –?"
"*Were* is an old Anglo-Saxon term, meaning *Man*. So we choose to use terms from the same tongues when we speak, and the Anglo-Saxon for "tree" — not just scrub trees, but *magical* trees, **_us_** — is *bēam*. The modern English for the rafters in a home is from the same … ^*sigh* the same *root*."
"Pun intended?"
"Oh, the pun always intends itself ^*snort* —" here, she giggled until she coughed — "Sorry, that's a really obscure joke. Anyway.
"The semester is up in two weeks. Finals will be over. It will be Summer. The Sun calls to us. You felt it last year. We all saw you bloom into the Greenman.
"Come with us out to Bohemian Grove. Put your toes in the ground. Reach to the heavens. You'll enjoy it immensely. One year, I watched David Bowie writhe naked in the moonlight with his lovers. A sitting President of the United States conceived one of his bastard children with his lover pressed against my bark. I have whispered cosmic wisdom in the ears of poets and writers, and our friends, our kinfolk, they protect us. You'll be *safe*.
"And …"
"And?"
Her fingers brushed across the back of my hand as it rested on the cup, the fragrant brown liquid cooling.
"They do love us so. Summer grows longer every year, the breath-food is richer every year. We can … look to the future. There have been no sproutling *werebe'am* for centuries. We were certain there were no more male-male haplotypes … until the ethnobotany department found you."
My eyes shifting uncomfortably, I downed the coffee.
"It was just a weird, weird LSD trip, Leah."
----------
As we said our *auf Wiedersehen*s and I turned and walked off her porch to the car on the street waiting to pick me up to take me back to campus, she sighed, and it must have been my imagination that it was like the rustling of leaves on an autumn morning. | 2016-11-23T07:28:01 | 2016-11-22T21:00:23 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] In the year 2200, an IQ test with 100% accuracy is invented. IQ becomes the universal grade of intelligence. By law, everyone has to take the test at 18. You’re a perfectly normal university student with a part time job but now you've got to explain to everyone why the test shows your IQ is 0. | Food for Thought
Most people are smart enough to stay out of trouble. According to my test results, I am not. The supporting evidence was the fact I was waiting in an interview room. Everyone knows the staple of classic B grade TV crime shows. I had my single chair seated in the middle of a large steel table. The double sided mirror showed my reflection, a scared teen in a shirt and jeans. I don't look a day older than eighteen. Will my looks shift tomorrow? Food for thought.
What I was learning was that interview rooms were very, very well designed. I could appreciate that as a design student. From first glance its just a room with four walls, three chairs, a table and a mirror. Their is no air conditioning. Probably no one wants to let actual criminals to be comfortable. Is being an idiot a crime? Food for thought. What it actually meant was I was just slightly sweaty. Not anything major but just enough to notice. For it to become uncomfortable. I could shift in my chair (the criminal's chair) but it was bolted to the ground. As was the table. The space between the chair back and the table was less than a foot. One cannot leap up from such a space. Or be really threatening at all.
The door is even designed. I watch it open inwards towards the door. I guess so there is no space to hide? In walked four people. I was expecting a good cop and a bad cop. Maybe too much TV. One was an police officer, a giant of a man. He walked past and stood behind me to the right. By design. He loomed in the corner of my eye, knowing any movement towards the door had to move by him. The other three looked at the two seats and a minute power struggle occured, and by that there was a pause before the youngest male moved to the side. Definitely not in front of the mirror and the guests behind it. A man and a woman took a seat across from me.
"Good afternoon Mr. Johnson, and may I wish you a happy birthday. I am Lawrence Stevens and I work with Bureau of Standardised Intelligence. This is Sarah Peters with the Bureau of Statistics. To you right is Peter Black who has generously provided his legal expertise and lastly Officer Lane."
A round of hellos and head nods with the occasional happy birthday. Officer Lane simply inclined his head. Small talk introductions went in one ear and out the other.
"Excuse me but why am I here?"
Did you know silence sometimes has a sound. An incredulous silence met my question, along with a smattering of eye contact. Ms. Peters cleared her throat and spoke up.
"You do know the results of your SIQ test Mr. Johnson?"
"Of course. I was more wondering why we are in a police interview room. Have I committed a crime of some sort?"
"Of course not! This is simply both a convenience and caution. The station was the closest area with the appropriate equipment and the security that our civil servants provide is just a bonus!"
Peter Black was most definitely a lawyer, and lawyers really could smile like a shark. Food for thought. Mr. Stevens spoke up.
"Its just you are an outlier Mr. Johnson. We have been administering this test for over a century. Using the information we have been able to make major advancements for the good of humanity. This is. Worrisome."
"Its just a test score. Is this really such a big deal?"
"You got a 0." Officer Lane sounded like a well trodden gravel path. Maybe the man was genetically engineered to be intimidating? Food for thought.
"Yes, you did indeed. And that puts pressure on our entire system of testing. So we just need to go over everything you did so we can find out why your IQ test. Describe your day please."
"I had breakfast with my family. You know, because its my birthday. Had an early lecture for History of Design I decided against skipping. I went and sat the Standardised Intelligence Quota test and I was going to work when you all pulled me in here."
The was a moment where they absorbed the fact I had a completely normal day.
"But what did you do on the test? Did you fill it all out? It is not possibly to get a 0!"
"I don't know. I've been so swamped lately with everything and the test on top of it. I thought I didn't need to do anything major for it. I thought ..."
"What did you think Mr. Johnson?" Ms. Peters had a notepad ready and everything.
"That's the thing. I didn't think." | Edit: If you read /u/lemonman37 comment, you can read a better written version of my story.
When i opened the letter, i felt my heart sank to my stomach. A big fat zero, just like on my bankaccount... my eyes jumping from line to line, turning the letter around, just to be greeted by a smiley, with the slogan. "Your iq, your future - dear Brian".
I wandered around in the appartment, my hand where slightly shivering. It had to do something with my birthday, i was a little drank wasn't I?
But then again ... Zero? That must have been a computer error... right? The test itself was without error... if not ...
Yes the new ID-Cards all updated themselve, real iq had to be on there!
My hand went into my pocket and grabed my Wallet.
Sloppy fingers let it fall to the Ground but i fiddelt my ID out anyway.
There it was ... the big fat zero. *knock knock* the door caught me by suprise, my ID fell to the ground ... the rumors ... where they true? That the goverment took out anyone with a low iq score?
I made my way to the door, as silent as possible, i heard the voice, just as i looked trough the doorspy. ,,Pizza service''. Jesus.
Brian opened the door, ,,*Uhm, i did not uh morder uhm i mean order , any pizza, and my roomates are out, sooo ... wrong door?*''
The pizza boy looked realy anoyed, the kind of guy who got pranked 3 times this week, and was just to fucking tired of this shit. He took out the reciept, than a look the number of the apartment.
,,*Brian?*''
,,*Thats me, but i did not order anything.*"
,,*The Brian who just got a Zero on the iq test?*"
,,*What... I*"
,,*Take it, you are going to need it.*"
The Pizza-boy just pushed the Pizza in my Hand and was trough the fireproof door before i got out another word.
| 2016-08-19T00:26:43 | 2016-08-19T00:08:55 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego. | Ultra Man watched his grapple soar up and over the roof of the abandoned warehouse. There was a satisfying clink, and in seconds he was speeding upwards. From his new vantage he looked out across the city and saw pulsating red and blue lights as the man hunt continued. *Probably for the best that it's just me*, he thought as he put his grappling gun back in it's holster and turned to see a skylight windows ahead of him.
"Bingpot."
Stepping forward he looked down, and was greeted by all sorts of dastardly machinery, with blinking lights and hard to understand interfaces. He'd seen this equipment once before, the last time Electro had escaped his grasp. Strangely, there were no henchman operating the devices.
Without thinking he stomped down onto the glass, and almost fell through ungracefully as the skylight shattered. He lowered himself carefully through the broken shards of glass, then deployed his trusty wings. Gliding down serenely he saw that the room was abandoned, seemingly in the middle of a party. *What could a man so sinister possibly have to party about?* Ultra Man landed next to a machine.
Before he had more time to take in his surroundings, there was a pounding on a plain brown door he hadn't noticed before.
"Guys! Can you let me in? I think I left my keys." a voice said through the door.
Ultra Man hesitated briefly, before walking silently to the door. He leaned into the peephole, only to see a brown haired man in jeans and a T-shirt smiling back at him. Ultra Man unlocked the door and rared back his right fist. It swung open immediately, and Ultra Man watched the man's eyes widen at his caped crusading image.
"Where's Electro?!" Ultra Man demanded.
"Uhm, ah uh- Electro?"
"Yes, your boss, were is he?"
"He... uh, he left."
"Not likely. The cops are swarming this town, everyone in the city is on the lookout."
"I think I saw him in the alley out back." the man said suddenly, as if remembering.
Ultra man pushed him aside, and ran through the door to find himself in an alley all alone. After checking all of the dark corners, he walked calmly back into the door.
"You know, I was going to go easy you if you cooperated." he said.
He froze in the middle of his entrance. There was a loud bang. He felt a strange warmth down his stomach, and looked down to see his black suit covered in crimson. Before he knew what was happening he was on his knees. The man from before stood holding a pistol off to his immediate right.
"I knew you'd come after me, Ultra Man, but I was hoping you wouldn't. You always had the most heart out of all you little heroes. I'm almost sorry to tell you it's over. Now that I've gone through with it, nobody needs you or I any more." he said, before raising the pistol to his temple and pulling the trigger.
Ultra Man felt himself fade very slowly.
___
/r/Periapoapsis exists | I collect them all. Like they collect baseball cards, or poke balls or whatever it’s called these days. Heroes, demigods, humans, animals, all creatures big and small, I collect them.
They don’t know I’m collecting, yes some have that look in their eyes when I come, they know time is up. But in the middle of their bustle they don’t know of it. Sure in hushed whispers they say my name, thinking they have time.
But as I’ve been collecting since before time. I know they’ll sooner or later be added to my collection. My name, oh I have been called many. Today you may not know my name, but you can call me Death. | 2018-10-18T13:35:32 | 2018-10-18T13:14:52 | 396 | 220 |
[WP] A mime discovers that whatever he mimes -- sword, gun, umbrella, putting a box around someone -- actually works.
Does he use this newfound power for good, evil, or just for his own amusement? You decide. | The Emperor sat on an invisible throne, which all of the dignitaries and world leaders could only imagine being lavish. No one in the audience of at least three hundred people dare speak, unless they wanted to offend the Emperor. There he sat, face a pale incarnation of death, with a single black tear running down his right cheek, his black and white striped shirt, the colours contrasting and alternating back and forth like the ruler's mood swings. He chose not to wear a crown, but instead a beret. With a flourish, the emperor stood up and ran to the front of the stage, causing the first three rows to flinch. He put a hand over his mouth and pointed at them, laughing at them silently. The first lady of the Czech Republic fainted.
The mime pressed an imaginary button on and invisible wall, and his right-hand man descended in a nonexistent elevator. The ambassador's eyes were wide, his face red, and his face coated in a sheen of sweat. He reached the bottom of the stage, and tried to walk out of the elevator, but his way was blocked. The door hadn't opened yet. He felt in front of him the next time, and exited. He walked to the front of the stage as his master appeared to ride a bicycle back to his throne. The ambassador wiped back what little hair he had left, and put a slightly open fist in front of his mouth.
"Lesser powers of the Earth," He said, his voice echoing through the PA system, though it still cracked at points. "We have gathered you today for the annual day of tribute to our benevolent master, Pierre. In exchange for letting you have the illusion of control over your respective countries, you must-"
"We all know what we have to do, we've been doing this for ten years, for God's sake! " An American general barked out, everyone in the theater's eyes bugging out at his outburst. "But I'm putting an end to it!"
He took out a pistol from his boot and emptied the clip at the emperor, the bullets disappearing with a spark a few inches from his face.
Before the general could move, the emperor pointed a finger at the general's head, put his thumb up, and flicked his hand back, showering all of the tuxedo clad Germans behind the general with blood, bone and brains. The blood-splattered leaders could not scream or show any disapproval of the action or they would be next. The only sound was a startled gasp from the general's wife, and that was almost too much. She could only look at the ground. The sweaty ambassador, though shocked, moved on with his speech.
"...You must entertain our lord in the manner he sees fit. The first to entertain, as is tradition, is the President of the United States."
The mime king started pulling on an invisible rope, and the President came out from stage right, wearing nothing but a tutu and a baby bonnet. He started pirouetting across the stage as well as he could with a body built for politics, face completely blank. The emperor sprinted up to him, and started dancing with him, jumping and jerking him around so much that it looked like he would cry. Across the stage, forward and backwards they went in a terrifying whirl, until the President slipped and crushed the mime's toe beneath his foot.
"Ooh, *merdre!*" He said, the entire audience gasping. The mime king tried to make an imaginary anvil crush the President, but the spell was broken. All at once, the leaders of the world rushed the stage to rip their oppressor limb from limb, finally able to release the tension of tyranny, and having a good enough excuse to kill a mime. | I push, but the box will not give. Somehow I have given life to my creation. My mouth opens in a voiceless scream. I wail. I punch. I create a gun and shoot against the box. Bullets ricochet into my legs, shattering them. Blood doesn't reach the floor. The box is real. I can't get out. There's no one to get me out. What is going on?
I am tired. Blood loss is making me delirious. I made food. Can't remember what it was. So tired. Need rest. Can't close my eyes.
Waking up, I discover a rope. Must have made it earlier. I tie it around my neck, affix it to the top of my self-created prison. It's a snug fit.
I cry. For an entire day I cry. I miss the world.
My mouth is sewn shut, it can no longer open. I build a chair, painstakingly, with every ounce of sanity I have left. Taller than my legs. I climb it, and rope my neck once again. What have I done? | 2014-02-12T12:11:52 | 2014-02-12T11:11:40 | 88 | 30 |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | Superpowers, superheroes, no matter what sort of titles they placed on themselves they were powerless in the moment it mattered most. As the massive rock that was Earth's undoing approached all they could do was stare. Stare as it grew closer, shadowing the spot at our feet. Stare as it mocked them, showing us how truly powerless they were in this moment. But not me.
I felt even worse for Bino-scope, his power of super-sight had allowed him to catch the meteor long before even the scientists and their telescopes. He had been staring all day since, now the corners of his eyes dried and reddened. But I did not worry.
*The shadow grew larger at our feet*
As Earth's finest stared up in fear, fully suited and bulging with muscles, I did not need to look. I only needed to think of lunch. Of what type of soup I wanted today. Chicken noodle? Lentil? Mom always made a great lentil. Mine never came out quite as good though.
From my utility belt I carefully selected a bowl I liked most, a perfect vessel for the occasion; handcrafted by a shopkeeper whose storefront I'd saved by turning a runaway vehicle into a delicious egg drop. I held it out in two hands to ensure a good grip as the massive rock grew closer. Suddenly the stares of the other heroes burned through me like a hot cup of cheddar broccoli.
"And what is that meant to do, soup boy?" a voice boomed, carried out from Earth's greatest hero. Even near our doom I was mocked.
"It's Souperior, Magnus. You know that. You all do!" I yelled over to the crowd of heroes, now staring. "Now grab a bowl or get out of my way."
A few chuckled, some hung their heads in disappointment, and others, the worst ones, held looks of sympathy on their faces.
"Ok *Souperior*, what's the bowl for? Humor me in Earth's last moments."
The shadow from the space rock now engulfed the city whole. Above the meteor screamed, yelling through the atmosphere and letting its presence be impossible to ignore. On the streets was chaos: civilians ran to any semblence of safety, cars careened through crowds of traffic, and the heroes, they just watched onward with wide eyes.
I looked up to Magnus, and by extension to all of the others.
"The bowl? Well of course, it's for soup."
Just as the Earth's doom intended to strike down from above I reached up, resting my palm against its rocky surface. In the moment I channeled all my thoughts into one purpose: *Gazpacho*, and the meteor replied, fighting back with all of its weight. For a moment it was a stalemate. My soupy willpower against the great stones.
But then I felt a weight lift from my arms, and to my right Magnus suddenly stood, muscles in his arms bulging through his copper spandex. The asphalt cracked at his feet as he helped hold the weight aloft.
With both of our might the meteor stood no chance. My hand pushed up through, past the rocky exterior and into a cold gazpacho. Then Magnus delivered the death blow, a mega-ton punch splitting the stone exterior open and sending the cold soup bursting forth and high up into the sky.
For a moment there was silence. The gaggle of various costumed heroes watched with mouths agape as red clouds formed in the sky. Magnus was the first to approach, holding out a bloodied hand.
"May I have a bowl, hero?"
Then one by one they followed, each taking a bowl from my belt and awaiting the soupy rain. | When I had turned that bastard into a steaming bowl of Campbell’s chicken and stars, they called me insane. No one cared about why I had done it. They were too hung up on the fact that I had eaten him. “It’s just soup,” I reminded them. After all, it was.
I won’t bother you with the details. Just know that he wanted to be inside me, so I gave him exactly that.
Now, after ten long years of holding me…now, they need me. I’ve had an easy enough time in prison and, later, the institution, I’ll admit. Nobody wants to become a steaming bowl of bisque or chowder. I get it. But what I can’t forgive so easily is that no one saw my side until now. Now that they need me, they’re ready to lift my sentence, but can they clear my name? Call me a murderer, a cannibal even, but don’t ever call me crazy.
So here I stand, in this wide, open field under the stars, surrounded by my “handlers”. The massive meteor grows closer by the second, and things are getting about as hot as hotpot, right now, but I’m perfectly calm. The ceramic bowl feels warm in my hands.
I look up at the blazing sky, debating. | 2022-11-29T20:54:01 | 2022-11-29T20:33:58 | 1,467 | 197 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why. | Sorta surprised how long this one turned out. Too tired to edit it too much but hope people enjoy or whatever. Had to split this up into two parts so check the reply comment from me.
--------------
"Well, the damned moron is so good at healing himself I thought I might as well go after someone close to him that *wouldn't* be able to outheal everything I throw at them. Crush his spirit you know? The kid's a fool, he's so damn naïve he tries harder to reform villains like us than actually fight us! Thought I might as well let him know what role he's supposed to be playing. Getting his girlfriend wasn't easy though, I'll tell you Tick..."
"Rotoscope, I don't think you entirely understand the gravity of what you've done."
Two villains find themselves sitting in a bar with walls and stools older than both of them combined, surrounded by costumed, villainous peers all drinking, laughing, sharing stories and plots and nefarious deeds...
One, an old hat, Tick been in the game for long enough to know where this conversation was going. A real classic type, mad scientist with a penchant for clockwork based machinery, stealing precious metals and materials to make the perfect clockwork servant. He served a discerning clientele amongst super villains that sought a combination of retro elegance and *exceedingly absurd power* to their equipment. He'd been mostly acting in an advisory role these days, what with being close to retirement and his brother Tock choosing the hang up the mask early after his cancer treatment. Funny, what getting your start working in the era of Nuclear Powered Superheroes could do to a person. At least now, he could make money off of his connections and networks rather than putting his ass on the line...
The other, Rotoscope. A new villain with the ability to take that are either too weak to fight back or were beaten down enough to be unable to continue resisting and transcribe them onto paper as animated "characters" using a cursed handheld projector for him to do with as he pleased before releasing them, changed to his whims, usually for the worse. His goons were people he'd kidnapped off the street and modified into uncanny "animated" creations to fight his battles for him. Giant orcs, disgusting slime creatures, rubber-hose toons, strange looking animals...
His ability to take random people off the streets and use them as a combination of henchmen *and* hostages was enough to propel him from being a no-name nobody, to a mid-tier nightmare. Heroes were afraid to touch him for fear of the civilians "Trapped" inside the creations...
Save one.
One young man, a "hero" of a sort, had made a name for himself as a Healer first, and a fighter second. He was known for his uncanny ability to seek out the injured, the hurting, and would reach his hand out to them each and every time, using an odd form of magic that no one had publicly figured out the rules for yet to heal a number of injuries. Missing limbs, missing organs, lost blood- It seemed as if there were very few limits to what he could and couldn't heal...
A number of villains with tragic pasts, with desperate needs for money to cure ailing loved ones, with aching, deformed bodies that drove them to crime, had "fallen" in his wake. Not to bloodshed or vigilante punishment, but to the even hand of someone that saw them as people hurting and thought to help them, even as they did their level best to kill him before they understood what he was after.
Though the hero didn't call himself by any particular name, civilians, heroes, and villains alike, had chosen one for him.
... The bar's door swings open with a jingle of a friendly bell. The patrons grow silent-
"Had to get some of my goons to watch him for a *while* before he slipped up to give her a birthday present. Gotta say though, he might be a pain in the ass, but he's got good taste in women, kakaka!" Rotoscope cackles, peering down at an animated-looking cockroach trapped beneath an overturned glass, desperately trying to escape. "Not that looks like hers really count for much now, do they?" The villain sneers, sliding the glass back and forth across the bar to bang the sides of it against his captive.
Heavy footfalls sound out behind him as the bar becomes quiet enough to hear a pin drop.
"Whaddya say Tick? That dastardly enough for you to make some gear for me now?"
Rotoscope flashes the old man a grin, but, Tick wasn't paying attention anymore. In fact, it seemed like the entire bar had stopped what they were doing. He squints in frustration at not being listened to, clicking his tongue before turning around-
"Hello 'Tick'."
"... Good evening."
"How's your brother, Tick?"
"Good, thank you. It's... nice to see you again... Panacea."
Rotoscope finds himself confronted with... a young man in surprisingly casual clothes. A simple, old t-shirt, and a pair of cargo shorts with a pair of old sneakers on his feet. At the sight of him, the cockroach in the glass starts to desperately skitter against the wall of its prison towards him-
"... Ha- haha! What, are you stupid or something?! Coming to this place without a mask on?!" Rotoscope cackles, pressing a hand against his chest and shaking his head. "Sheesh, it's like you're ASKING for everyone important to you to get aaaaaall messed up like your precious girl here."
Panacea simply stood, and smiled. His face was a picture perfect expression of complete and utter calm as Rotoscope pulled out his phone, shoving it obnoxiously into the hero's face and snapping a picture.
He had dark brown hair, cut short yet still visibly voluminous. His similarly colored eyes were placid, almost friendly, and his body stood at just a bit over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and the muscular yet slender body of a man built for movement and speed rather than overwhelming strength like some of the Adonises that dominated the higher tiers of heroism.
"So how about I give you the count to ten. And if you're not outta my face-" Rotoscope chuckles, giving Panacea's shoulder a shove, making him stagger backwards for a moment. "- before then, we're gonna make an example outta you right here and now in front of your girl here before I kill 'er."
The villain leans back as Panacea simply takes a slow, calming breath, dusting off his shoulder.
"Ain't that right, fell... fellas...?"
A look of confusion dawns across Rotoscope's face as Tick, and the other villains sitting nearby, back away, quite slowly, as though they've stumbled across the den of a mother bear with her children at her back. The atmosphere of the room had shifted to one of... **fear**.
"What the- c'mon, the hell is wrong with all of you? We're just gonna let some bullshit-ass quack disrespect us on our tur-"
As he's too distracted trying to rally his supposed Comrades, a sound like snapping wood gets his attention, turning his eyes to Panacea again, who moved so quickly the floorboards beneath his feet cracked and snapped from the sheer force of his movements. A breeze blows across the bar despite its closed door and windows from the mass of Panacea's body shoving the air aside...
To grab Rotoscope by the face heft him up off of his bar stool, holding him in a crushing grip that made the bones of his skull creak and groan in protest. The villain panics, reaching for his gun and pressing it against the hero's mouth, pulling the trigger in blind terror until the trigger goes *clickclickclickclick... click... click...*
*Click* | Windstrike is the coolest super hero in the world that's just a fact. No battles lost, no scandals of any type -he even denunced the bigot president during his term, that took balls!- which is why I wanted to do it.
There's only a few of unwritten rules for us criminals but if you must know one this is it: "Don't go after the loved ones of the heroes" it has never sit right with me I mean granted we barely know their real identities but if you ask me its a sure way to enter the villans hall of fame, and for someone like me with limited options I need to explore any chances.
I have inmortality but only decided to be a Villan a few years ago (I was wasting myself as test dummy) not an useful power to attack but it does ensure I'll come up from a fight alive, that along with the hate from the biggest hero will put me on the map.
I can see it now "The Dealer" associated with the respect I deserve, So when they announced that they were going to trap the heroes on their own hall in an all out attack I though at best they'll keep them busy for an hour maybe 2 (it all depends on how bored its Vampire, that annoying know it all)while I pay a visit to Matt, see I have been observing Windstrike for a few months now and I know he keeps close tabs on him and I just know this is going to change my life
-hello- he smiles as he opens the door, my gun already pointed I wanted to shoot him but I stopped I need to make sure he calls for help -oh... never seen you before -I sight I want to shoot him again- oh yes Dealer, correct? -
-The dealer- I'm kind of happy that he knows my name, but annoyed that he forgot the article, it keeps it classy, he smiles and lets me in, smart boy, inside there's a group of of people... a party? I was not expecting company
-Hi guys, The dealer- he smiles at me while he says it, god I hate this - is here- Shannon did you know he was comming?- a Woman looks at and squints
-never seen him before, Duke hardly ever talks about C tiers- Matt is still smiling, more people start staring, I decide to put a end to this I point my gun at the fridge and shoot, it implodes (Molecular it's very good at guns I'll give him that but his prices are crazy) everyone stares at me and I smile I finally got their attention they finally understand why am I here.
-Honey, you're going to have to pay for that, at least it'll be cheaper than that gun you got from my son- says an older woman while vaping then turns the man next to him and resumes her conversation as if I havent just desintegrated a fucking fridge
-Listen! You're all my hostages... and did you just said your son?- I turn to the Woman, violet eyes same as the ones who sold me the gun - what the fuck?
-Language, son- says the man next to her, their hands locked- yes Molecular is our son-
-And why are you here with him? Do you know who he is?- I point at Matt he is still smiling i think he took a xanax, no one can be that happy
-Windstrike's boyfriend- says a blonde with a giggle
-fiance- corrects Shannon -and we still needs to finish everything for the party tonigh you are going to have to move, we need a new fridge now, I'm so happy that Duke is bringing the cake later or you'll be in trouble-
-who the fuck is Duke?!- Molecular's parents look at me disapprovingly
-Darkness- responds the Blonde matter of factly
-shit!- Windstrike might be the greatest hero on earth but Darkness is our top villan, suddenly it hits me- I think i need to sit
- oh you got it, it seems- says shannon smiling -you came here to break the rule-
-The Rule- Matt says with a chuckle
-did you even took your introductory course when you joined?
-there's a course?- the strain in my voice, I wish I could do something about it, Shannon sights
- you see... long ago we decided that we were tired of being killed by the odd villan or hero with loose morals so we (the families of both factions) all sat down and decided that we were all going to be friends, they all hate it-
-but they love us more- interrupts the blonde raising her glass
-so at least you want every super powered people on the planet behind you I'll calm down and go and get Matt a new fridge, as for the gun Linda can get you your money back-
-No refunds dear-
-well I'm still taking the gun, I'm sure Duke has a docen of this, say is windstrike even weak againts this? - Matt mimics a key locking his lips - whatever-
I look around, my greatest plan (only plan) defeated even before it started
-oh don't feel bad The dealer, play your cards right and we can let you in the group, I'm sure we can convice them, we do need an errand boy- Matt winks at me -at the very least we wont ask them to kill you- he is no longer smiling, I just hope I have enough money for the fridge | 2020-07-12T12:10:59 | 2020-07-12T11:05:58 | 84 | 10 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" | My name is Brian Kinner, and today is my eighteenth birthday. I have been dreading this day since I was first told about what will happen. In 2036 time travel started to become a thing of truth for the people of earth. It was a practice that only the rich had the luxury to afford, but after a couple of months the american government took away the ability even from the rich. Person after person tried to alter their past, prevent a war, save a loved ones life, deeds that they thought would only benefit society. Luckily the government limited the capabilities of the machines that were released; people were only witnessing the events in the future or past as if they were there but in reality they were shielded from the view of the people of that time period. You were only allowed to be a spectator. After the government took back these machines, the people started to get violent, the rich, the middle class, and even the poor who would most likely never even get to use one of these machines, all rioted.
So the government annouced a compromise that they felt would put the people at ease. Every person who used the machines all at one point used them to find out about their future, but most importantly, they were looking for who they were sopposed to be with. They were looking for their soulmates. Once the government made this connection they promised that on everyones eighteenth birthday you will be told the first sentence that your soulmate will say to you. They wouldn't tell you when it would happen or if it already happened, just the first sentence that they would say to you.
I know what you are thinking.
"Why would you dread this information? Wouldn't you want to know that so when you met your soulmate so you can just start being with her?"
I dread this information mainly because I already have an amazing girlfriend whom I love with all my heart. This information can take her away from me. Shatter the glass so to speak. She is a couple of months younger than me, so she hasn't gotten her sentence yet. She remembers the first sentences that we said to eachother, she kept them written down on the piece of paper I gave her with my number on it. And because I am older and don't remember our first sentences. She thought it would be a cute idea to tell me our sentences after I got mine told to me today at noon. It's 11:30 now.
I slowly get out of bed and stretch. I look at my phone again hoping that I misread the time, it's 11:31. I go to my closet and slip a shirt on and walk down stairs. My mom is at the kitchen table with my dad and my little brother. They are all talking around a stack of gifts and a card with my name on it. So far just like every other birthday. I take a deep breath and breathe out.
"Morning, they call yet? Are they on thier way?" I say with as little expression as possible.
My parents know how I feel about this day and so does my brother. My dad was twenty-two and my mom was twenty-one when they met so they both already knew there sentences. It's customary now to get your sentence tattoed on your body, normally on a spot that that is always covered by clothing. For a while people were lying when they first met someone and would say thet they just said their sentence, and sometimes in shock the other would forget theirs. Needless to say people got taken advantage of.
"Morning darling, and yes they are on their way and will be here a little before noon. I know how you feel about this day but its still your birthday. Regardless of what the sentence is, whose to say that it's set in stone. Maybe time can be rewritten. But in the mean time do you want to open your gifts now or later?". My mom got up and gave me a hug. "Happy birthday Brian, i love you." She whispered into my ear.
"I think I'll wait, that way if its bad news I'll use them as a pick me up." I gave her a kiss on her forehead. "I love you too."
I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down with my family. I take out my phone from my pocket and tell my girlfriend I will call her right after I get my sentence. It's 11:50.
A couple minutes later there is a knock on our door. We all start to get up from the table.
"Guys, I will do this on my own." My family sits back down and I proceed to walk to the door. This time the doorbell rang. I opened the door and there they were, two men in black suits with an american flag on their lapel.
"Brian?" One of the men said with a smile on his face.
"Yes sir." I choke out, my throat is dry my hands are starting to get sweaty.
"Are you ready for your sentence?" The other man said but this man did not smile had no inflection in his voice. They both stood like statues, one of them had a breifcase the other had his hands in his pockets.
"Do I really have a choice?" I say looking at the more friendly man hoping for a little sympathy.
"No. Your sentence is 'Welcome to starbucks, can I take your order?' Happy birthday son." They both turned and walked into their black car and were out of sight within minutes.
I take a step back and sit on the first step of my staircase. She never worked at a starbucks. "It's not her." My voice is shaky. My heart feels like it just got punched and then thrown in front of a car. I take out my phone, and go to her name. What's going to hapen after this phone call? How do I tell her shes not my soulmate? All of these thoughts and questions continue to pop into my head. I press the call icon and the phone begins to ring.
"Happy birthday sweetheart!" Julia exclaims.
"Hey honey!" I tried to match her excitement. "I got my sentence." I paused and took a deep breath. "But before I tell you what it is I want you to tell me what our first sentence was." My voice is starting to break while I'm trying to keep
it together.
"Welcome to starbucks, can I take our order?" She said immediatly after I finished my question. My phone fell right out of my hand and I cried. I have never been so happy before in my life. I picked up my phone from the ground.
"Yes!" I scream while tears are running down my face. "But how? You never worked at starbucks?"
"We were in the student lounge freshman year. I had a cup of coffee in my hand and you walked over to me. 'Where did you get that? I would love some coffee.' You were so nervous too. So I thought I should be cute and do something to make you laugh. 'Welcome to starbucks, can I take your order?' " Her voice is starting to break.
"Then I said. 'I'll have whatever you're having.' "
*this is my first post to this subreddit. I normally just lurk but this prompt kept me up and i had to post what came to my head. Please be gentle. creative writing is my major now, I changed it from political science, and I would love to hear thoughts of what y'all thought of my story.
Edit: formatting
*Edit: spelling | Today is the day, my 18th birthday. The last day I have to go to school. No matter where we are in the school year when someone turns 18 they get their career card, they have one day to say goodbye to their school friends then it's off to the "real world". For me that was today, I roll out of bed after having slept through my alarm which is pretty usual for me. I pull on my school uniform for the last time and make my way to brush my teeth, no shower today. Oh what a great start to the rest of my life. I fly down the stairs trying to make the bus but it's pulling away as i hit the floor. I run to the kitchen table grab some fruit for breakfast and the small red envelop with my name written in gold letters. No time to read it now. I jump in my dad's car and start to drive to school, at this point I figure I'm gonna be late anyways I might as well stop for some coffee on the way in. I pull into the parking lot, jump out as fast as I can open the door and bam I walk face first into the gentleman in front of me. The line is wrapped all the way around the building, great I'm for sure gonna be late I thought to myself. About 5 minutes later I'm getting bored, that's when I remembered that little red envelop, my futures card. The one piece of paper that is supposed to determine the rest of your life. Even through you're not allowed to show anyone what's on it, my friend Joey showed me his two weeks ago before he left. They aren't lieing when they say it's your future. Everything from his career to the number of kids he's gonna have to the first thing his soul mate is gonna say to him, it's crazy. I haven't seen or heard from him since. He got defender as his career so he's probably at some training or something, that meat head got his dream career. At this point the line had started to move again, I'm getting closer and closer to the front. I finally get the courage to open my futures card and see what it said. Personally I don't get why people make such a big deal about it, everything is already determined what's knowing it gonna change? Anyway I'm curious, I'm reading down the list. I'm supposed to be a teacher, that's not even fair I don't like kids. I'm supposed to have 2 kids of my own, one boy and a girl, great a wonderful start. The girl I'm supposed to marry : Emily browning, I've never met anyone by that name so I guess we'll see where this goes. It's probably a load of junk anyways. The first words my soul mate is going to say to me : "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"... like really seriously? That's horrible, My other friend Jenny told me hers were "you've got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen"...
That's when I hear it, I've made my way all the way up to the front of the line to get my coffee, and one for my professor to excuse me for being late. I look up with this dumb look on my face, and she repeats herself "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, I can't even speak. I kinda point to what I want while I stand there dumb struck. My order is finished I grab it and walk out. I stumble my way to my dad's car and through all my classes that day. I couldn't think of anything but her gorgeous smile. Once the school bell rung announcing the end of my school career I snapped to my senses. In that moment I remembered that I was going to get my professor coffee... and that I totally stiffed the girl I knew was going to be my soul mate for the coffee I had stolen that morning.
I grabbed my bag ran past all my friends not even bothering to say goodbye. I got in my dad's car and sped all the way back to the Starbucks. I walk in and notice they aren't as busy but thankfully she's still there... I make my way up to the counter and try to explain what had happened. As I pull my wallet out to pay for the drink my eyes find her name tag, Emily...
That was 20 years ago, I did go on to marry that girl she was my soul mate. That card ended up being the best thing that could have happened to me. To think it all started with a simple "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?". So that's was the my story of my futures card, and tomorrow son you'll get your own. No matter how silly it sounds, and no matter how much you think that little card will determine your life it can't tell you how it will happen.
This is the first story I've ever posted. I'd love your guys feedback :) | 2014-12-18T01:11:06 | 2014-12-18T00:51:20 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] You're chosen by the Gods to enter a multi-universe FFA. The winner gets a wish. All of the legendary fighters seem to be afraid of you, even though you're just a regular Walmart employee. | There was a flash of indigo light, and suddenly I was no longer in my room. I looked around in alarm, wondering what the fuck had just happened, noticing that I was in the middle of a huge amount of people, and for some reason they were all backing away from me as fast as they could.
I could hear hushed conversation from some of the people nearest to me, "Holy shit, that poor guy!"
"Damn, that guy is fucked... I hope they go away when he dies though..."
"Yeah, the people in that universe don't even know about their magic and psychic powers, because their home is so infested with demons that it's taking everything they have just to hold them off, they have nothing left over to do anything with..."
At that, I became aware of shadowy black shapes rushing around and above me, in the shape of a giant humanoid figure.
This, understandably, freaked me out quite a bit, but my experience with anxiety let me keep in control of myself for the moment. I continued taking in my surroundings, noticing a banner at the end of the tremendous room that looked almost like a gymnasium.
The banner said, "Multi-versal Free-For-All, brought to you by Godly Media LLC, Sponsored by Dimensional Manipulations Incorporated."
Upon seeing this, I sat upon the ground and began to think, still being stared at by the countless psychics, wizards, and other reality manipulators from other dimensions.
Tentatively, within my mind, I thought, "Hello, Demons?"
**"Greetings, worm." At this, I held my head in agony as the multitude of voices grated into my mind with the power of a jet engine. "We seem to have been chosen to represent our reality, so here's what's going to happen. We will enter your body, like we would if we were going to possess you, however, we will leave you in control, and leave you as soon as this farcical game is completed. While 'possessed' you will be immune to all magic or psychic abilities, the only thing you will have to worry about will be decapitation from blessed items. You will then use your wish to free us from our earthly imprisonment, and to repay you, we will give you three wishes afterwards, and will not attempt to turn them from what you intended when making the wish."**
Naturally, this cacophonous exposition had me a bit worried seeing as demons were well known for lying, until I heard a soft whisper that filled me with peace.
*"Do not worry, Chosen, Demons are bound by the letter of their spoken word, they are entirely truthful. I am the God of your home dimension, and there are more things going on here than you could possibly know. Have faith, and all will be well."*
Now, as I had been agnostic before this, I was a bit skeptical for a moment before I remembered my current circumstances. Deciding that I might as well go with it, and intimidate my enemies while I'm at it, I put on my best demonic voice, and screamed at the top of my lungs.
**"Alright! I'll do it!"**
At this, the shadows began flowing into my body continuously, remind me of that scene from Stranger Things when Will got possessed.
My screaming had attracted attention from the surrounding Chosen, and upon seeing the demons flowing into my body, a wide majority of them began screaming in horror, and all of them began running away from me.
**"Let's do this!"** I growled forcefully, feeling the rushing power in my veins, I went to launch some sort of energy attack, and gouts of Hellfire flew from my outstretched fingers, weaving around and through themselves. Upon reaching the nearest Chosen, an eye-searingly bright wall of white light appeared between my Hellfire and them, dissipating it harmlessly.
A booming voice came from above, somehow filling me with peace while simultaneously being the loudest thing I had ever heard. *"All Chosen will wait until the start of the match to begin hostilities, or be returned to their own reality."*
I nodded to myself, sat down, and laid back with my hands under my head, and asked the Demons to immerse me in their memories of combat until the match began.
My vision faded to black, and the visions began.
I intended to win, no matter what it took. | All of a sudden a beam of light shoots down and I disappear off the face of the earth. The trip was cold and dark and my body was motionless as it traversed through the wormhole to Laar. When I arrived there none of the jagged face aliens could even look at me. Even the guards that took me to my cell refused to make eye contact
“Unhand me!” I yelled in an attempt to see if the guards would answer in a familiar language but immediately I was shoved into the cell and they ran with their eyes glued to the floor.
I looked out of the cell and I was at the top, my blue shirt now blue and black with sweat, and my name tag hanging by a thread. I thought the letter that I got in the mail saying that I was invited to a “universal show-match” was just a joke sent to me by Thursday galaxy club at jimmy’s house.
A large siren started to play and all the noises stopped. All the screeches and yells stopped. The light outside of my cell changed colors and my cell screeched open and I walked down the path leading to a huge gothic Coliseum.
Inside I was apprehended by guards, although they did make eye contact with me I sensed a sort of fear that I had in the other prisoners that I walked passed on the way to the coliseum. I was thrown into a long dark tunnel and pushed forward. As I walked forward I picked up a wooden spear and a shield. My heart was pounding. My eyes darting left and right checking for an escape route. Anything but forward. I had reached the gate.
“King versus king”
“Hero vs hero”
“Human vs human”
The voiced boomed throughout the arena and was followed by a gut wrenching cheer of the crowd. The gate slid open slowly, and standing dead center in the middle of the arena was Tracy from Media | 2017-12-15T06:58:59 | 2017-12-15T05:34:36 | 287 | 130 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven. | "So it's meant to be, what, an agonizing choice? A huge dilemma? A source of eternal regret?" Leems asked. After an eternity on Acid Mine Supervision, he had finally been promoted to Reception, and wanted to be sure he understood what was going on.
"For some of them, yes. I think you might be overestimating how many actually think things through," Ebnerzaz replied, in his British basso. The supervisor of Reception stood an impressive twelve feet tall, and Leems had to scurry quickly in front of him to avoid his trashcan-lid-sized cloven hooves. Some said he had been chosen because the arriving souls often mistook him for the Prince of Darkness Himself.
"Ah, so you're saying that most of them choose the aeons-long vacation with The Enemy then," Leems wheezed. "They don't even give it a second thought, eh? 'Why would I pick a spoon when I can spend a hundred trillion years in heaven?'"
"Precisely," Ebnerzaz said, as they exited the vast hallway into a much vaster cavern. Its impressive collection of stalactites was sheathed in a constantly-churning haze, the better to frustrate anyone trying to enjoy the scenery. Management thought of everything.
"So what's our angle, then? If they get such pleasure from the vacation..."
"It makes it all the more crushing when they come back and realize that it was quite literally nothing compared to the length of time they'll be spending here. All subsequent torment is therefore enriched. Set the papers down there, if you would," Ebnerzaz said, as he found his desk. Leems stood on tiptoe to deposit the loose sheath of parchment in the supervisor's In box.
"Aha, so the correct choice, then, is the spoon?" he asked, looking around for his own desk.
The senior devil gave a condescending grin. "This is Hell, Leems. There is no correct choice."
"But..." Leems began.
"Our shift is starting. I'll answer any further questions when we have our break. Off you go," Ebnerzaz said, his massive clawed hand steering Leems' shoulders towards the empty desk he would be working at.
Leems hurried over to the protruding stone just in time for the flow of souls to shamble up to him, all of them shaved bald and clothed in itchy rags. "Welcome to Hell! You may have one amenity - a hundred trillion year vacation in heaven, starting right now, or a small wooden spoon." He offered the choice to each one of them, and saw that Ebnerzaz's assessment was even truer than he'd thought - thousands upon thousands chose the Heavenly vacation, no questions asked. As soon as they did, they vanished in a puff of light, leaving a lavender scent that clashed horribly with the dominant smell of brimstone.
Finally, one of the souls stopped long enough to think through the choice, his dark brow furrowing in concentration. "If you're offering me this, that means it's reasonable to choose the spoon, right? They're on a par with each other, right?" he said slowly.
Leems just smiled, not knowing the answer himself.
"So I know everybody in front of me chose Heaven. That can't be what you want. So let me think. It's eternal down here, right? So no matter how long the vacation is, it's not even a drop in the bucket. So let's think about it utilitarian-like. I can get real happy for a tiny amount of time, big-picture. Or I can choose the spoon, and it'll make me just a tiny bit happy, but for an infinite amount of time. Right?" he said eagerly. Once again, Leems didn't respond. "Oh, and what's more, once the vacation's over, I bet I'll regret I didn't choose the spoon. That'll make me even more unhappy. I'll never know what I'm missing out on if I don't go to heaven! But the spoon... that'll last me forever. No regrets there!"
"Are you quite done?" Leems asked.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm done. I'm pickin' the spoon," the soul said triumphantly.
Leems nodded, and pulled open the stone drawer in his desk with a scraping sound. Inside were hundreds of tiny wooden spoons, each not much bigger than a finger. He selected one and handed it to the soul, who eagerly grabbed it, before turning to the left to exit through one of the many gaping caves in the cavern wall.
The encounter stuck with Leems all through the shift, as he let thousands more souls poof into heaven. Finally, it was break time - the gates closed and the remaining lines disappeared. The horde of demons working Reception left their desks and swarmed over to the break area, to consume sulfurous coffee and rotting meat.
Leems sought out the hulking form of Ebnerzaz, and tugged on the supervisor's wings. "Ah, Leems! How did your first shift go? Keeping up the pace, I hope?" he asked, peering down at the smaller demon.
"Yes, it went very well, sir. But I did have one soul choose... the spoon."
"Ah, on your first day! Congratulations. It took me a week, way back when. But why are you looking so troubled?"
"Well, it's just... he stopped and thought about it, like you said some of them might. And his reasoning seemed pretty ironclad. If the spoon gives them a small amount of pleasure forever, is that not categorically better than a finite vacation in heaven?" Leems asked. "I thought you said there were no correct choices. I feel as though, by giving him the spoon, I have reduced the amount of suffering we'll generate."
"Ah, yes, Leems. Do not worry. The spoon will generate plenty of suffering in due time."
"But how?"
"Because, dear Leems," Ebnerzaz said, smiling his most terrifying smile yet. "When did you ever hear of a simple wooden spoon that stays intact forever?" | The first thing that struck Larry was the clinical décor. Everything in this room was white, the tables, chairs and the figure seated opposite him.
"Hello Larry," said the figure, "As the 'Devil', I am obligated to tell you that this is Hell."
Larry was still staring into the figure's eyes, he didn't know what to make of it. The figure on the other end sighed, and continued.
"Under God's wishes, I am forced to offer you a choice - you may either spend a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven, or you may receive..." as he slapped a small object onto the table "this small wooden spoon."
Larry picked up the wooden spoon for a second, and examined it. It weighed around fifty or so grams; it was sturdy and elegant, and there was sufficient space to consume food or beverages. Tilting his head slightly, he asked the Devil
"I don't understand. What's so special about the spoon?"
A slash crossed the figure's brow. He replied
"There is nothing special about this spoon. I will give you time to think about your choice, but I cannot answer any other questions."
Weighing up the alternatives in his head, Larry initially thought of choosing the route to heaven. Even though there would be an eternity of punishment to follow - surely a 100-trillion years would be more than enough to make up for it. But then he reasoned - 100-trillion years would be nothing in the face of eternity. A spoon may provide a little utility for eternity - his position would be better off by a minuscule amount permanently.
Thinking back to the actions he had taken in his own life - forgoing family, friends, and relationships just to make one extra dollar, to try and amass riches that Kings would be jealous of - all of it counted for nothing in the end. He was faced with an impossible choice that reflected his sins; temporary happiness, or a permanent gain that was essentially meaningless. After thinking for a few more moments; he reasoned that the pain of losing perfect happiness would far outweigh the benefits of picking a spoon.
"I'll take the spoon," muttered Larry, while staring at the utensil in his palm.
The Devil sighed, squeezing his brow with his hands.
"Larry. I'm sorry for what I have to do next. As the first mortal to ever pick the spoon on the first iteration; I think you are in the best position to understand the outcome of your choice."
The Devil took out a piece of paper and drew a small graph. Thinking back to his days in University, Larry recognized it as a continuous probability function. His eyes widened slightly when he realized the seriousness of the situation.
"Yes, Larry. You are correct; every time a mortal dies, or their vacation expires, they end up here, talking to me. They are always offered the same choice; Heaven or Spoon. However, over the course of eternity - mortals gravitate towards the Spoon - they want the only thing they cannot have in Heaven; the forbidden choice."
Larry's head slumped onto the table in despair. The gravity of his choice caused his heart to pound against his chest, he wanted to scream, but no words would come out.
"You see Larry. This wasn't all about the Mortals being punished. In the beginning; I tried to give your kind a choice. And now - this has become my punishment; to eternally offer Mortals the choice that will ultimately condemn them. There are a finite number of cells just like this one; not all of them are filled yet - but in the scope of eternity; every last will be occupied in the end."
The figure started to slowly fade out of existence. Larry looked up just in time to see a tear roll down the figure's cheek.
"And as for the spoon Larry? You may keep it." | 2022-03-09T06:27:01 | 2015-06-08T04:40:29 | 4,220 | 12 |
[WP] You've inherited your grandfthers oddities shop. It carries everything from Muskets to macaroons. As well as a little bit of everything else. It's only after your first day running it, that you realize Your customers come from other times and realities. The gold is nice though. | The bell rang and though I had not yet turned around to look, I could tell by the familiar sound of sensory suction cups queerly manoeuvring their mass through the store, that he was a regular. His name was impossible to pronounce for anyone without a most, porous exterior, so he went by Phil for the most part.
“What can I get you today, Phil?”
He produced a series of gurgles and extended one pseudopod towards the shelf a few spaces behind me.
“Gotcha, hang in a sec.”
I quickly went over to the shelf and pulled off the dusty sphere Phil had been gesturing to. Naturally, I had no idea what it was. There were the usual glowing blue markings of a sort I’d never seen before, though by this point, I’d seen so many indescribable and alien markings that it might as well have been plain old English.
Oh well, it wasn’t my business what these things were meant to do. Like Grandpa always said, “The customer’s always right.” All that mattered was the price tag and the fact that they had cash (or whatever they used) to pay for it.
“Here you go, Phil. Says it’s about thirteen gold units.”
The slime produced a deflated groan and then parted its flesh-waves to reveal a small compartment full of small gold units. He carefully plucked out thirteen and sat them down on the table.
“Right, you go having yourself a great day Phil.”
There was a sound like an elephant with a bad cold, which I interpreted to mean “likewise.” Having said his goodbyes, Phil’s gelatinous tendrils shot out towards the door and slingshotted himself out of the shop.
A few seconds passed, then the bell rang again. For the first time in a while, I could hear what sounded like metallic boots clinging on the floor. The owner of the boots was quite an impressive sight.
If it weren’t for the cracked visor, you’d have sworn he was some kind of robot warrior. His armour was a dark, metallic grey colour and through the chinks a dull, blue light permeated. The fellow had a mighty powerful-looking gun at his side too. Looked like it wouldn’t just blow your brains up, but trap you in a time-loop of endless cranium-splattering carnage.
“I hail from a grim and decent realm, on the brink of destruction.” His sound chip was clearly broken, because his voice sounded like a bad mike.
Another one of those types.
“Well, I sure hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
“Our dimension has been laid under siege by an eldritch and arcane monstrosity, who possesses a powerful relic.”
“That’s all swell, man. But what are you looking for?”
The being sighed electronically, then continued, “A large orb-like gadget, carved in glowing red markings of this type,” the man then held up a scrawled note filled with writing in a language of markings I’d never...no, they looked like the ones from Phil’s purchase.
“I’ll see if I can find something if the sort.” I walked back into the sea of shelves, starting with the ones I thought were nearest today’s earlier purchase. Sure enough, there was another one. Only with a red glow this time.
“Right, there you go that’ll be 13 gold units.”
“Err, hold on a second.” The man began patting down his armoured suit, opening a few compartments and occasionally cursing.
“Shoot, I left my wallet in my other suit. Can I write you an IOU?”
“Sorry, pal, but with the nature of inter-dimensional credibility being in the nonexistent state that is, I’m gonna have to say no.”
The warrior grunted, then removed off a small wrist-attaches monitor. “Maybe we could do a trade?”
The monitor seemed to be n perfect condition. I felt sorry for the guy, and decided to help him out.
“That’s a mighty fine piece of hardware sir, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Sighing, the warrior handed it over to me and took the orb. He then turned around and slowly began walking away. Just before he stepped out, he paused to ask,
“This one is one in a pair. Two ancient artefacts forged to maintain balance. The other, which is now in the hands of an eldritch deity, was supposed to be guarded by angels and sphinxes in the most holy and high of temples. You wouldn’t perhaps know how the Terrible Slime God managed to find it?”
Keeping a straight face, I replied “Not a clue. Sorry.”
The warrior nodded, then left.
Somehow I didn’t think I was gonna be seeing Phil around again.
The customer’s always right, they say… | 'And I leave to August Braithwaite, the Esoteric Empire, my beloved shop on 9th Lane.'
This was my grandfather's final message for me, left just after he departed into that good night. And from that night, everything would change.
On September 21st, 1995, I was about two weeks in to running the shop. Having already established a stable career lecturing at the local university (the youngest person ever to lecture there, at the grand old age of 22). It was on this night, fifteen minutes before I was due to close up and get some well-earned rest, that Leon Sargeant walked through my door.
He was dressed all in white, with an angelic sort of tone. His eyes were jet-black, all over, there was no white altogether. His whole appearance gave him a supernatural quality.
'My good sir. Do you have the Elixir of Quad'Rak'Ur?' He said, whispering it, like a serpent, spitting every word out, but with irresistible flair and flourish.
'Elixir? I'm sorry sir, I think you have the wrong-'
'I do not.' The man retorted.
'I mean, do you need directions to the health store or something?'
'No. I have travelled through the space-time continuum to get to the contents of this vault.'
'The vault?'
'Yes. Where all your business comes from. All the strangely dressed people you've been receiving, haven't you established they're not used to...terra firma?'
'What?'
'This is far too dangerous. Ask each guest what year it is when they come in, and what planet they're on. Is that alright, good sir?'
For the next few days, I followed his command, and strangely, they all said a different year. 1066, 2020, 1899. Given my youthful innocence at this time, I was shocked to hear of this occurring in the shop.
So, on the Friday of that week, I decided that my position was no longer tenable. My father was closer with my grandad anyway. He was his son, after all.
But as I was preparing to walk out the door and leave this place behind, I heard a peculiar noise. A buzzing. Quickly looking over my shoulder, then making a full turn, I realised that there was a huge black hole in my bookcase, out of which were coming ghostly white figures.
There was no escape.
I had to become the customer. | 2020-03-22T15:04:12 | 2020-03-22T13:37:05 | 91 | 25 |
[WP] The year is 2030. Bakery art is so realistic, literally anything could be cake. The uncertainty has gripped the world in fear. I go to hug my wife for comfort. She is cake. | I told her not to go outside, not in broad daylight. But Miri had wanted to see the sun. And they'd gotten to her.
I woke that morning to find her gone, and I panicked. I ran to the foyer of the building we'd been hiding in, and I saw her standing there.
She looked normal, just like she always did. But I knew something was wrong. I ran to her. I could tell she wasn't moving, not even breathing, even though she was still standing up. I extended a trembling hand to touch her arm, dreading what I'd find.
My fingertips came away with a thin coating of flesh-colored frosting.
My wife had become *a cake.*
At first we had thought it was whimsical. It was cute. Look a can of coke -- wait, no, it's a cake! Look, a brand-new PS5! Ha, wrong! It's a *cake!* Realistic cakes were everywhere, on social media.
And then, one day, they were just everywhere, *period.*
In the beginning, it had just seemed like really fast and extremely skilled acts of baking and legerdemain. People thought they must be some sort of guerilla street artists, trying to say something profound about society by replacing everyday objects with perfect cake-based facsimiles.
Their creations were indistinguishable from the real thing until you touched them, and then they were revealed as superficial shells of frosting and fondant concealing the truth of soft spongy cake in a variety of flavors.
But then, it started happening to animals. It even started happening to people. Cut into one of these animal or person-cakes, and you'd see the whole body rendered in cake, in perfect detail, with white sponge for bone, and different shades of red velvet for muscles and organs. These were no mere bakery creations. These were living beings, our pets, our friends, and even our families, *transmuted* into cakes.
Soon after, the Cake Cultists revealed themselves, announcing their existence to the world, along with the fact that they had members placed in the highest ranks of government, industry, and the military. They appeared on every screen -- or at least those that hadn't already been turned to cake -- announcing their goal: in service to their dark master, an entity whom they called "The Cake of Infinite Tiers" they would turn the whole world and everyone in it, into *cake.*
I dropped to my knees beside my beloved Miri, now just a cake. I wanted to hold her, but I couldn't bear the thought of her cake body crumbling in my arms, or my hot tears dissolving her frosting and fondant flesh. So I just knelt beside her, and wept.
Then I heard the footsteps. I looked up, and I saw them, walking in through the glass doors that led outside.
Cake Cultists, three of them. Each wore a long dark robe, and a mask like a black, multi-tiered wedding cake. Overcome with grief and rage, I struggled to my feet, clenching my fists in hopeless fury.
"Do it! Do it, you sons of bitches! I don't care anymore! Get it over with, you bastards!" I screamed.
The Cultists looked at each other, and then the middle cultist stepped forward. He extended his hand towards me. I felt a tingling, as I began to change...
Suddenly, a black Dodge Challenger smashed in through the glass door, and rammed right into the middle cultist, who screamed as he was slammed to ground and then crushed beneath the front tires.
A figure in a hooded leather jacket leaped out of the driver's seat of the car. The two remaining Cultists faced off against him, each extending an arm towards the new arrival. Before they could work their dark transmutation upon him, he extended an open hand towards each of them, and slowly began to close his fists.
The Cultists began to writhe and scream, clawing at their Cake-masks, which were crumpling in on themselves, getting smaller and smaller. I looked away in horror before I saw how it ended. I just heard two sickening, cracking, squelching noises, and then the sound of two bodies hitting the foyer floor.
I looked fearfully up at the stranger, his face hidden in his dark hood. He approached me, and extended his hand in my direction.
"Wait, I'm not with them, I--" I began, stammering. Then I realized he wasn't pointing his hand at me. He was pointing it at Miri.
My eyes widened, as the air around the cake that had been my wife rippled with some unseen force. The fingerprints on her arm where I'd marred her frosting vanished. There was no visible change beyond that, for the cake facsimiles were always perfect visual copies, but suddenly Miri was collapsing to the floor, gasping. She was flesh and blood again.
I cried out in wonder and relief, rushing to embrace her, pulling her close to me as she slowly regained her senses. Tearfully, I looked up at the stranger.
"Thank you! Thank God for you! How....how did you do that? Who are you?" I stammered in amazement.
He pulled back his hood, revealing a the face of a middle aged man with dark hair, and olive skin.
"The Cake Cultists have defiled that which I hold most sacred." he said, an undercurrent of passion and anger in his voice. "I'm building an army to stop them."
He extended a hand each to Miri and I to help us up. We took them, rising to stand before him. He smiled at us, warmly.
"My name is Bartolo Valastro Jr. But people call me *The Cake Boss."* | The TV was always on, buzzing against the back wall of the homely living room, volume up loud. Ray could hear it through the door as he fumbled with his keys. He punched out a sigh as he opened the door and stepped in. The volume multiplied without the barrier of the door to protect his ears. His feet hurt. His back was damp with sweat. His mind was tangled in a tight knot.
“You’re not deaf,” he said. He dropped his keys on the low standing coffee table. Sitting on the couch was Marilyn, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The had a book in her lap, her blue eyes glued to the page. Her pillowy lips were purses with thought as she scanned the page, brown curls tickling her shoulders. Ray took a seat on the opposite side of the couch, snatching up the remote and turning the volume down. He propped his elbow on the arm of the couch and his chin on his fist. It was some sort of baking show playing. A heavyset contestant stood beside a lifeline lion cup on a plate. The judges selected its paws to eat and complimented its moisture. Its eyes shone in the background as it was eaten.
“You know I hate this shit, Lyn,” Ray said. “With everything going on at work. That shipment of guitars we were supposed to get in? Cake. All of them. I spent thousands of dollars on fondant, I mean— This shit is ridiculous! I don’t even get why these *thieves* even go through all the effort to replicate the stock. Just put rocks or weights in the box! It’s ridiculous!”
Ray flipped through the TV guide, eventually settling on the news when he found that the most interesting program on was Grey’s Anatomy. (He shuddered at the thought.) On the screen was a blond newswoman. The title read: WILL BLACKMARKET BAKERS BE THE END OF AMERICA? The subtitle: How Cakes Have Taken Over The US Economy. There was no escape for him. He listened to the news. Though it irked him, he was glad to hear others were suffering alongside him. Wal-Mart, Amazon— everyone was being targeted. It wasn’t just his little junk music shop getting the short stick.
“See, I *told you* it was a problem, but you didn’t wanna listen.” He took to grumbling when Marilyn neglected to respond, too engrossed by her book to even lift her eyes. All over the world, goods were being replaced with cake. The newswoman reported on a rumor that said missiles bought by the US military turned out to be towers of chocolate and fondant. “Are you not hearing this? Lyn, come on. The book can’t be that damn good.” No response. Ray jumped across the couch and snatched the book from her hand.
Rather, he tried to. His fingers sunk into it, cushioned by sticky frosting and moist, yellow cake. The words written so painstakingly on the fondant stained Ray’s fingers black.
“Lyn?” He looked up slowly. Her eyes were open and blank, wet with life, but as Ray cradled her face his fingers smudged her painted pores and freckles. He ran his thumb too roughly across her cheek and tore away a layer of fondant. | 2022-04-26T17:32:59 | 2022-04-26T16:51:39 | 232 | 26 |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | September 5, 2016. I was cool with the American government until it denied my Change.org petition demanding that it fund a remake of Knight Rider starring Shia LaBeouf and Bumblebee. After stewing about it all day in school, I decide this government no longer represents the best interests of me or the American people as a whole, and it has to go. I dig around in my backpack and find a red pen and a banana left over from breakfast. It'll have to do. The bell rings and Mrs. Freely beelines it to the parking lot to light one up and fuck around on Tinder like usual. While everyone else files out for lunch, I casually go to her desk and sort through the stack of term papers waiting to be returned until I find the one that new Chinese kid wrote, Cybernetic Nanotechnology and Cancer Treatment Outcomes. I skim a couple of lines: "preliminary clinical trials of my new blah blah blah remission rates improved over 250% something something eliminated in our lifetimes." Chances of you dying a virgin improved over 250%, I think as I carefully white out the A+ and replace it with a big red "C-. NOT HARVARD MATERIAL". I spend the rest of the day imagining an America where human/Autobot cop buddy dramas are appreciated for the art form that they are.
September 6, 2016. I ditch school and ride the Metro downtown, munching on my banana. My favorite episode is going to be the one where Shia says "looks like these fellas have a little road rage" while Bumblebee does that cool half car/half robot thing he does and scoops them over the burning oil tanker the cartel has wrecked in front of them. I pull up CNN on my phone again. There it is. BREAKING: School shooting at my high school. Mass casualty reported. Great television comes at a price sometimes. I step out of the Metro station, blinking in the bright sun, and toss my banana peel on the sidewalk as I walk down the block just ahead of the fleet of armored black limos that roar to a stop in front of the hotel. Secret Service swarm the street setting a perimeter, and I have to admit it looks kind of badass even though Shia and Bumbs would have done it better. The President bursts out, too busy yelling at some aide "...stop shooting each other in a motherfucking election year! I need a speech on it by 3, and I swear to God..." to see the banana peel. The CRUNCH of his neck on the curb is audible.
October 9, 2016. The Democratic Party is in shambles. President Biden has quickly become the coolest motherfucker in the country, beloved by all, but of course Hillary is the nominee and it's too late to put him on the ballot. There is fierce infighting over whether or not to organize a write-in campaign. I'm writing in LaBeouf/Bee '16, but nobody consults me.
November 8, 2016. With Biden and Clinton splitting the vote, Trump wins the White House handily.
February 1, 2017. Dictator-for-Life Trump appoints Michael Bay to head the new Ministry of Culture.
March 12, 2017. Filming begins on a new Knight Rider remake, starring Shia LaBeouf and Bumblebee. My work here is done.
April 27, 2017. Michael Bay replaces Shia with Channing Tatum due to creative differences. Oh FUCK no. I check my backpack-- a spiral notebook, two sticks of Big Red, and some dirty gym clothes. That ought to do nicely.
| What am I supposed to do with these? A banana peel, a red pen, and the butterfly effect? I could do so much if I had a time machine too - make George Washington slip on the banana peel and drown in the Potomac, redact the Constitution... But how can I take down America *now*?
Wait a second... Memes. Memes can change the world. Just look at all those marketing campaigns that failed because people misappropriated the company's hashtag. What if I could create a meme with a banana peel and a red pen? All I need to do is figure out what that meme is, and what effects it would have...
*6 months later*
"The 'Slippery Hillary' meme continues to grow in popularity, reflecting discontent among citizens with President Clinton's neverending scandals. In case you're not aware, the meme looks like this..."
A picture of a banana peel with Hillary Clinton's face drawn on it (in surprisingly exquisite detail) replaces the news anchor's face on TV. Then, the anchor reappears and she speaks again.
"There are already protests taking place in cities around the nation; no casualties have been reported, but the protests have turned violent on occasion, only to be broken up by police. Who knows how long the tension will hold, though?" | 2016-07-26T16:34:16 | 2016-07-26T16:03:17 | 691 | 84 |
[WP] You are one of the best contract killers in the world, but one day, at your dead drop, you find $31.25 in small change, and s letter written by an eleven year old boy | *”Please, I don’t want to see our family cat like this anymore. She’s so frail and all anyone ever does is joke about how much longer she’s going to last..”*
The letter trailed on and on, an emotional roller coaster lain out in full by a child, understandably, inexperienced with death. For years I’d been taking care of high profile individuals, some for payment, others for personal satisfaction, but this one rang a bit differently to me.
*The light shower of rain began to intensify overhead; the crumpled piece of lined paper growing less legible with each accumulated drop.*
I refolded the paper before sliding it into my coat pocket, the weight of a long, slender knife weighing down the cotton lining just enough to mirror the contents of its partner; thirty one dollars and twenty five cents.
I would glance at my phone periodically as it led me deep into a Houston suburb. Either side of the street boasted tract houses flanking neatly trimmed hedges; worst of all, each house had been outfitted with a motion detecting doorbell.
Despite the sky having cleared the puddles still remained along the curb. I’d stepped out of the car a bit too quickly, finding my shoes a bit wetter than expected as a cool breeze blew in from the distant, southern shore. *What a beautiful day to fulfill such a strange contact* I’d though, trying to subdue any emotions which arose within me.
With a scanning glance I’d found the address, same as the rest, boasting HOA compliant shrubs and a live feed security system. For a few moments I chose to lean against my car, inspecting it periodically as if I’d hit something small in the road such as a downed tree branch or long forgotten baseball.
The slight mist of a passing car was spewn over me as a teenager sped by, a minor annoyance as I feigned my inspection, however then I saw *her*. Sitting on the grass near the sidewalk had meandered a thin, elderly cat. She was lithe and still full of energy it seemed, however the prominence of her spinal processes gave away her failing health. Most disturbing of all, it was his cat. The eleven year old boys cat.
She sat quietly, seemingly inspecting me as I slowly stood from assessing my rental’s rear bumper. Silently, she stretched her jaw into a wide yawn before blinking at me ever so innocently.
*It’s not often you see a cat blink* I had thought to myself before realizing she had nudged up against my leg, her emaciated ribs bouncing along my shin as she moved. Again, she looked towards me before blinking once more.
Slowly I’d looked both ways, observing that the streets were exactly as quiet as your expect during a mid-summer storm. I bent down to pick her up, quickly to find her wrapped in my arms, purring aloud through her damp, orange fur.
Susie really enjoyed the car rides we’d take together, especially once the heated seat were well warmed. Every so often we’d take a tip through the same neighborhood, her thin ears peeking just over the edge of the passenger window frame. It turned out I had just enough on hand to buy her a nice, plush cat bed; thirty one dollars, and twenty five cents.
For years I’d been taking care of high profile individuals, some for payment, others for personal satisfaction, but this one rang a bit differently to me. | I used to live in a Colombian city on the Caribbean called Barranquilla. I was a contracted to be a stuffed bear killer. It was a no blood spill your guts kind of a gig. Then today of all days, I received sign about capsizing on Columbus Day. I finally hit my mark and get my cap & gown.
The letter my 11 year old boy friend wrote simply said, $31.25 is what you get. Although this may sound like a small change it symbolizes everything about Columbus landing in the New World. What this fee says is de add 3 children and 1 mate to our court. 5 the number for a helping hand, God and the Bryl Family. Welcome to the New World C.B.!
"Notice that in Barranquilla they dance that way." The name actually comes from two Spanish words: "barranca" meaning gulch or ravine, and "quilla" meaning keel (as on a ship) | 2020-10-07T16:27:30 | 2020-10-07T16:21:55 | 2,199 | 11 |
[WP] You are a hitman who has just finished their most recent job. Or, at least, thought had finished, because the second you take your eyes off your target’s corpse, you hear “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.” | The groan from behind Jim sent chills up his spine. Not a chance did he survive, it was point blank to the back with a shotgun.
"Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one." The target, a man with a slight build and a pale face is now suddenly in front of him smiling. The gaping hole in his chest behind to stitch itself back together. "Of course, it takes more than that to put me down, but I'm impressed by your ability to sneak up on me. Not many humans can do that." His fangs descend slowly from his gums.
Jim stares blankly at the obvious vampire before him. "So I guess this is where I die, then?"
It's the vampire's turn to stare blankly. "Well that was an unexpected reaction to seeing the person you just attempted to kill revealing themselves as an undead Apex predator."
"I accepted death long ago, buddy. I knew at some point one of my targets would get the best of me. Admittedly, learning about the existence of vampires this way is a shock, but the world is so big and mysterious, I'm willing to accept anything, especially when it's stitching a 2 foot hole in its chest back together before my very eyes. Neat trick, that, by the way." Jim's words are cold, emotionless and somehow still possessing of an air of superiority. He has stared death in the face before, though this time it seems far more inevitable.
"Well then, may I at least get the name of my would-be assassin?"
"Name's Jim. Jim Hunter, ironically."
"Well, Jim. I am currently going by the name Gilbert Wilson. Though I assume you knew that. However my given name was Alf Eriksson. Born in 1659." Gilbert smiles and gives a bow with a flourish.
"Well met. So, what happens next, Gilbert? Or would you prefer Alf?" Jim inquires with a calm that would be unnerving to any living man.
"Well that does present quite the conundrum, doesn't it? Obviously since you didn't know what I was, that means you weren't aware of our existence... which is how we like it. So, letting you live is a hard sell. But you are also an exceptional example of humanity, so killing you seems to be a waste. I could turn you, though I doubt you're really wanting that, plus there's the politics that come into play with me turning a human without approval. Since I do not possess the ability to mind control mortals, I can't erase your memory either. And yes, I would prefer Alf given our present situation." The vampire responds.
"Well Alf, I did just attempt to kill you, surely there must be some animosity that influences your decision."
"That may be so. But you're hardly the first to attempt. So I will let that slide. I truly am impressed with your abilities. And you would be quite the asset to us, should I turn you."
"Let me stop you there. I hate the taste of blood and love the taste of garlic. Gonna have to pass on that one. Let's just agree that now that I know what you are, and I haven't technically fulfilled my contract on you, I'm too dangerous to let live." Jim has resigned himself to his own demise.
Alf's chest has finished restoring by this point, though his clothes remain soaked in blood and with a hole in them. "Well Jim. If you're determined to continue pursuing me, it's kind of like you're making my decision for me. Good enough. So how would you like this to go down?"
"Quick and painless seems to be the standard. So let's go with that." He finally realized he still has the shotgun in his hands. He chuckles as he tosses it aside. "Fat lot of good that would do me now."
"I can do you one better, Jim. Given our rapport, I can take you to the brink of ecstacy as you die. You'll have a good death, and it will be painless, even pleasurable." Alf extends his hand.
Jim takes the hand and steps closer, extending his neck.
"Nice meeting you, Jim."
"Wish I could say the same, Alf." | I spin towards the voice. The man I was sent to kill is grinning back at me. Only inches away. Startles I just back, hitting the wall and only gaining a small distance between us. His dead body was feet away a moment ago. Well maybe not dead, gosh I don't know what is going on.
"Ahh that was an interesting feeling. What did you use?" The target asks me, still grinning. "It's been so long since I have been this excited!"
He begins to list things and mutter under his breath.
'gun no, 1950s' 'carbon monoxide... Na that was a painful one' 'mushrooms... Couldn't be I tried those so many years ago.'
As the mad man mutters I try to leave. Moving with a grace only a trained killer can and he still notices. I am yanked towards him, his hand on my shirt. "Oh buddy, I did not give you permission to leave. I reach behind my back and grab my gun. I might not be one for weapons but I always carry it.
Shots ring out and... Nothing. No death, he doesn't even flinch as I unload the bullets into him.
"Nothing that has killed me can harm me again" he said calmly.
"So you did die?" I ask confused.
"Oh yes, for the first time, in a long time. I am very curious what you did. It's fun to feel something new every once in awhile. After you experienced so much it's hard to find."
"You are crazy" I breath out and try to leave but I am pulled back and spun around. His grinning face close to mine, already pissing me off.
"Oh you can't leave yet. This has been fun. Tell you what, kill me twice more and I will let you love and leave."
He finally stopped grinning waiting for my reply. How can I kill someone who will now be expecting it, and who in involnerable to anything that has worked before? | 2019-08-29T20:06:05 | 2019-08-29T18:12:31 | 245 | 76 |
[WP] You have died. You walk up a staircase and it takes you a thousand years to climb. You reach the top exhausted, and see the pearly gates. To your surprise, they have rusted over and inside is completely barren. A sign reads "Welcome to heaven. Population: 1" | *Hey! You there. Welcome! Welcome to Heaven. You made it, you lived your live valiantly/humbly/ and or religiously and now you get to inherited the kingdom of heaven.*
**Um...excuse but where is everybody. Took me a thousand years to climb those steps and quite frankly I a bit disappointed...and yes, before you ask I counted**
*Name please!*
**My name?**
*Yes your name!*
**Monty...sir and If I may inquire**
*Surname!*
**Um...its Pipman sir and if I may just inquire about the current state of heaven**
*Ah yes! Monty Pipman of Yorkshire died of dysentery. Died on the shitter. A shitty way to go*
**Well now there is no need for that**
*No need for what?*
**Well...no need to state how I died, I just spent a thousand years of my life...I just spent a thousand years of my death climbing those spiral stairs and I am still a bit embarrassed about how I ended my time back on earth. I would appreciate it if you kept a bit more...confidential and professional**
*NO MATTER! You did not make it in*
**Did not make it in?**
*Indeed*
**As in there?**
*Indeeed*
**In heaven?**
*Indeeeed*
**Well why not?**
*Because you have sinned!*
**No I haven't**
*Yes you have*
**Have I?**
*Indeeeeeeeed*
**Alright then, lets have at it. How have I sinned**
*You are guilty of 7 out of 7 of the deadly sins.*
*You are found guilty of lust*
**Oh come on...**
*What happens in Vegas, Monty, I get to see*
**Did you just wink at me?**
*Indeeeeeeeeeeed*
**No man don't do that why would you-**
*I must say I don't believe the donkey recovered*
**OK! Enough**
*Shall I go into your more intimate sins*
**No...Next...next sin please**
*You are found guilty of Gluttony*
**Alright, so I like to eat. Order a large instead of a medium hardly worth going to hell over**
*You like to eat too much Monty, you're a bit...flabby around the waste. You know you should really think about cutting down on carbs-*
**A bit late now don't you think. I already died**
*Yes of dysentery*
**OK!**
*Was probably the Chipoltle*
**Really?**
*Should of watch your carbs*
**Next!**
*Greed!*
**Doubt it, I donate to the homeless shelter every christmas-**
*Taking excessive napkins at fast food restaurants*
**Seriously?**
*Chipoltle to be exact. After your large meals. Was it to help with the dysentery?*
**You can't be serious.**
*Sloth!*
**...**
*You hate Mondays!*
**I fucken hate you...I really do**
*Wrath! Telling the gate keeper of heaven that you loathe them for denying you entry to the kingdom of heaven. Out of anger you have hurt the gate keepers feelings*
**I just can't win. Hey there is at least one soul in there says so on the sign. What's his name?**
*Her name is Susan*
**Yeah well FUCK YOU SUSAN! Why does she get in and I don't. What makes that prick such a saint!**
*ENVY! Jealously towards Susan for having entry to the kingdom of heaven*
**I'm already out. I'm already condemned to hell. A thousand years of stairs wasted. Sent right back down-**
*Pride!*
**Don't even bother, I'm leaving.**
*...well I got nothing on Pride. You seem to be most dissatisfied with your life. I'm terribly sorry it seems it was 6 out of 7 hard to believe a man of your stature would be proud of anything he's done. I mean you died of dysentery...*
**...K well, I'm gonna go burn in hell now**
*Oh be sure to take the elevator, the line into hell is quite long with a average wait time of a thousand years just to get through the queue. Would hate to prolong your suffering.*
**\*sigh**
​ | Is it currently one or is it counting me already, I mean if it’s me and God great someone to talk too, I don’t know if he’ll be interested in what I have to say but I’d find something to talk about. I wonder if god would like patch notes because It wasn’t bad but it didn’t go fantastically either, getting hit by that bus really wasn’t any fun.
The pearly gates are nice, a bit gaudy but tasteful and carpeting in heaven is a nice deep shag, it’s also rather warm up here, god is an Englishman so he likes to it to be warming so hell must actually be an English summer, Freezing .God or saint peter didn’t seem to be in heaven at the moment so I started to just dander in, it must be self service.
I wonder if we’re allowed drinks up here, I opened my mouth to speak a book fell at my feet. The book was titled your personal heaven complaints, I didn’t feel my personal heaven was that personal so I filled out a form and told them I’d like a beige colour and a few cigarettes amongst other more personal and unmentionable items.
The book vanish and a voice boomed “ we can have the work done in thirty years or so mate do you want to wait or go back”. What happens if I go back I asked the voice “we will be finished work in about forty years so you’ll be back here in fifty years or sixty maybe, I’d take that option because the angel bulldozer you know, a lot of noise for about seventy years,Mate” I desired to come back later and let the angels do their strangely delayed and loud work, it’s heaven can’t they just click a finger and fix it. It might be a union thing.
I had waited a thousand years to be here and hadn’t even had found a seat to rest on so I was fucking down I told him I’d go back he immediately told me he’d sit in the lobby as-well. I woke up under a bus, and immediately,I realised that my bowls emptied on impact, shit. | 2018-12-17T07:30:17 | 2018-12-17T06:12:22 | 51 | 11 |
[WP] It turns out that all housecats are actually lovecraftian monsters. Due to an ancient pact with humans, however, they will never use their powers for earthly offense. Against otherworldy invaders, however, they have no such restrictions. | Establishing the beach head landing point on the target planet was trivial, the native apenoids had nothing that could even breach our outer shields.
As the First Ascendant I held the honour of leading the first strike teams to collect live samples of the local fauna and ... snacks. We had been eating only ships rations for far too long.
Moments after we leave the perimeter we are confronted by a pack of the local apenoids. I look into their minds and see the crawling terror they feel seeing our majestic forms. I see through their eyes.
The Chosen in all our glory drew instant associations with apex predators of the planet, "giant armored crocodiles".
I pick the apenoid most overwhelmed by their fear and press against their mind. The smell of faecal matter spreads before it drops it's weapon and flees. Seeing their packmate turn and run it takes only the lightest touch against their soft minds to make the others join in the retreat.
Savage worlds like this are never a challenge.
Exploring the zone we approach one of the natives concrete huts. After ripping the door off its hinges we are confronted by a 4 legged mammal barking loudly.
Touching its mind I feel terror and stubborn resolve to protect the small apenoids in this hut accompanied by a slew of images the residents. As with the apes I push against its mind and heighten the terror until it overwhelms the creature and it runs to hide.
From a nearby cupboard I hear muffled crying, ah, those would be the snacks. The first meal after a long voyage is always satisfying.
As I step further into the room and into a beam of sunshine from a window I feel a... presence.
Something powerful, something merciless.
A mind unlike anything I ever touched before. A creature that finds joy only in inflicting suffering and torment. I feel no fear in it as the focus of the monster shifts towards me.
Only irritation that I have blocked its sunlight.
Pictures flood mind of the beings plans for me should I continue to block the warm sunbeam. How it will rend my flesh and break my bones and then release me only to hunt me again and how it will glory in the taste of my suffering and pain for an eternity before I would ever be allowed the mercy of death.
I reach towards the mind, try to latch on to any feelings of uncertainty or fear I could inflate but I find only utter certainty in the creatures own majesty and infinite power.
I push images of the apenoids towards it, trying to convey my threat of harming them . I feel only derision in return and rising anger that I might damage the leviathans slaves... property... or .. "can openers".
I try to push towards it the threat of the assembled fleets of The Chosen. The endless power that we could bring to bare.
In return... nothing but **contempt** and the image of our fleets battered like meaningless baubles... IF ... I ... DID ... NOT ... STOP ... BLOCKING ... THE ... SUN.
As the bloodlust and hate washes over me the air again fills with the scent of faecal matter. My own.
I call a full retreat and radio ahead to get the ships to prepare for immediate launch.
-------
Though it would be fun to write one with a perfectly normal cat | "This is exceptionally racist" he said to my room full of 20 cats. "Meowthew, please understand. We are all powerful godlike beings and we are only here to protect you." "Yes, I understand but can you please stop calling each other that disgusting name? In America we have a serious problem with that word." The cats did not seem to understand what he meant and continued to purr out only the most racist sounding phrase to each other. "Gah! There it is again!" Mathew screamed, "Get out, get out, get out!" The cats all spoke in Unision, "We will leave by your request, but please, if you ever need us, don't hesitate to call us by screaming our name ten times, no matter where you are. Please, don't ever forget us."
Google it. HP Lovecraft cat name. | 2020-11-26T12:15:24 | 2020-11-26T10:10:03 | 199 | 71 |
[WP] It's been days since you ran out of apples. You can hear them trying to claw their way inside. The Doctors have finally come for you. | Portland Technical University
282 Days since The Healing
Sunbeam was walking by the fortifications when they got her. The window came down and then....all I saw were those pale, clawed hands and the tattered cuffs of their lab coats. They didn't seem to care how the apples around her neck hissed and fizzed and reacted on their skin. They just grabbed her by her dreads and started pulling her into their number.When the dust cleared all that was left was one of her croqs and the apple necklace, its twine snapped and the apples fizzing and bubbling on the ground.
Day 283:
We fell back, bit by bit deeper into the campus. We only had the Music block now. A single stairwell down to groundlevel. We slept upstairs and kept most of the apples downstairs to keep the Doctors away. We kept the apples cold and clean but the Doctors were smart. They knew they didn't have to touch the apples to set off the Reaction. They would pace close to us, just close enough to set it off. We could see their skin peel and blister through the window boards whilst the apples festered in their ice boxes. They loved to do it at night. Only a Doctor would have the wicked intelligence to use their own screams of agony as a psychological weapon.
Day 293:
At last the screaming stopped. Sunbeam's spirit partner Tigerlilly was the first one brave enough to check on the apples. He walked down the steps to the crates and opened the ice box. Nothing but ice and rotten apple-scum was left.
The Doctors gave him just enough time to realize how fucked we were before they descended on him. Before she descended on him, that is. Her dreads had mostly fallen out, replaced by porcelain white skin. Every bit of skin I could see was scarified with little markings of chemical formulas and perfect physiology diagrams. Her lab coat was already being made ragged, perhaps by the needle thin black claws at the edges of her fingers.
Her eyes were the same. That was the worst part. Even from up on the balcony I could see her eyes were the same. She recognized Tigerlilly that's why she had such a smile when she tackled him to the ground and started carving the diagrams into his skin right in front of us. As her claws traced over him his skin whitened and his scraggly hair fell away from him. At first he screamed, he screamed and cursed and spat bloody murder but after a while he stopped. And then he asked them to keep going.
They got the others as well. Moonraiser, Bloodgood and Mike. All of them. Just taken. We would set up a new apple barricade or post more traps and they'd just find away around. There were a few times I think they could've bum rushed us if they wanted to but they don't need to. They aren't doing this for food, they don't have some instinctive need to take us. They just want to. And they want to enjoy it. So if that means playing with their patients I guess that's just how it is.
I pulled the last crate of apples behind me and ran for the dean's office. It only had one entrance, too high up to jump from the windows. Not the best choice but it was the only choice I had.
Day 294:
They're doing the same trick again, I can hear them screaming twenty four hours solid now. The crate will be rotted in a day or two if I don't do something.
Day 296: I tried eating the apples. It takes them longer to rot that way and the reaction still hurts the Doctors but it makes me sick. So sick. But it's not just a stomach full of putrefying apples that makes me sick. They can talk. They're all there on the other side of the door. Some times Sunbeam says she knows I had a crush on her, or Moonraiser will tell me he remembers when we were childhood friends and we shared old jokes. I even laughed once, god help me. Other times they tell me what they'll do to me. They say it warmly and confidently. They think they're helping me.
God that's why they do it. That's why they hurt themselves just to get to us. They think they're helping us!
Day 303: The apples are all gone now. I've fortified the doorway, hell that entire wall. Tipped up desks, pilled in bookshelves, file cabinets, all the furniture in the room.
Day 307: Maybe it's a good thing I'm up this high. If nothing else I can jump. Those things can't make you a Doctor if you're dead right?
Day 308: The fall broke Me. I was dying but the Doctors found Me quickly. Carved the Enlightenment into My skin. Now I will heal the world.
-Primum non nocere- | It was just a kiddie saying, like anything else. Ronnie put his faith in the supernatural about at his level with God. He supposed he believed in it in a sort of abstract way that never really crossed his mind. The rebbie would be so disappointed. But, hey. Cheeseburgers was God's work as well.
Then she moved in next door. The mysterious she with that poly-blend lab coat and sense-able shoes for late night rotation at the local chop shop. God, he loved her. She had a fantastic head of brown curls and a hellofa nose. Senseahuyma too. Ronnie could hear her laughing though the walls when Seinfeld was on.
Christ, what a gal. Ronnie convinced ma to make the girl something nice. For moving in to a rough place. Had to be neighborly. So he went over about an hour before her shift and knocked hard.
"I'll be a minute." She really wasn't from the local. German or French of something. When she opened the door Ronnie remembered not to lean on it. The chain was pulled tight and her eye was blue as a robin's egg. Or a Caddy. Ronnie had never seen a robin's egg but those cars were sweet.
"I see you've just moved in."
The eye widened. "I've been here a month."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm sorry. I've been real busy and time got away from me. Say. I just wanted ti be, you know, friendly." Ronnie stepped back and held the pie up. "Got you this. Welcome to the neighborhood kind of deal."
The eye vanished and the chain rattled. She opened it full and Ronnie was a bit disappointed. She wasn't as pretty up close.
"Thanks." She didn't take the pie. Her eyes were locked on it. She looked a little green. Then she started to shut the door. "But I'm fine. I need to get read for work."
"Why don't you just take it?" The tin was glass and his arms were getting tired. "Please?"
Somehow she wasn't holding as he let go and the pie hit the ground and exploded like a booby trap. She jumped like it had been hot or something. All the standing around made it lukewarm at best.
"Christ, I'm sorry." Ronnie looked up from collecting some of the shattered glass. The door was already shut. He could hear the chain rattle behind it. Jeeze.
By the start of the weekend she had given her notice and moved out. | 2016-03-05T13:35:26 | 2016-03-05T10:10:28 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | We never thought it would come to this ...that they would make it to our final planet, our home. For years we fought out of protection, war was something that our race was not use to. It didn't make sense, why fight amongst your own flesh and blood when there are so many worse dangerous out there. Like that of the mek'lai, a very power hungry race with a very powerful army whom was now bearing down on our home planet of treknotki with intentions to take everything from us. But even the Mek'lai did not fight against one another, no known species in the entire milky way would wage war against its self. Except for one, they called them selves the human race. Born in war and surrounded by it constantly all they knew was war. Even at times of "peace" their leaders prepared for war and dumped more resources into being fit for battle. Sucking away every drop they could squeeze from there own home world with seemingly no digression for the damage they were causing. They moved through every planet in their system squeezing every planet dry. They would have kept going but luckily the equation for FTL travel evaded them, maybe it was luck, perhaps it was ment to be that way.... Which ever situation, we needed them, we needed their power, their experience. The only question to be asked, is it worth it. Should we give this species that is so infatuated with power it even wars amongst its self the power to move through the galaxies faster then ever before. The consequences could be untold, devastation to a level that has never been seen. The greed they have is unmatched, but it's our only hope in surviving the onslaught that is the Mek'lai. So we made first contact, they were extremely defensive at first setting up guns and missiles with in minutes of seeing us. But as soon as we mentioned the deal to be made, their greed showed and they become so very friendly as if they wanted us here all along. It's funny mention some form of payment and it changes there entire outlook on you. We gave them what they wanted and in return they set out towards the fleet of Mek'lai. Though the Mek'lai were strong they were no match for the ruthlessness of the human race. The humans not only accepted war but had a passion for it ..as if they yearned for it. It was a massacre on both sides but no matter how many ships or people were lost the humans kept fighting, in fact the more humans that died, the stronger they became as if pushed by a burning desire for vengeance and destruction. It's a mindset never seen before. Even the Mek'lai who were so hungry for power did not see the universe in the way humans did. They saw war as a terrible but important tool even they did not like it. ...but the humans, they seemed to have a natural affinity towards it as if they were made for it. The same way in which a cancer travels through a body killing everything because it wants to, because it has to, the humans did the same. The war has only been going on for a few months and they have pushed the Mek'lai back two entire star systems. The war will be won, but what happens when it is over?... it's not a question of IF the humans will fight, but rather of WHO.
(I'm working on two hours of sleep in the past two days and have been on three 3 hour flights so sorry about the shittyness of this story) | Hairless Bonobos walking on the moon. This is how we found them. Our scouts studied their movements. We infiltrated their societies. Studied their mating habits. Cold, isolated and hungry. The defining characteristics of the human. Now as the shadow of a more advanced race fell upon ours, I sat seated across from this human. He was fat and balding. His food of choice the meat of cow barely cooked, so that blood marinated on the plate. He ate with his mouth open. Beside me the key to faster than light travel, sat beside my hands. It's power was our equivalent to that of a Casio g-shock for the human race. "If I give you this power, you promise to share the spoils." The human stopped eating and tried to wash his food down with his fermented sour barley from burnt barrels, his second request."Give us this , and we kill who ever you like." He smiled . I forced myself to smile back. In the back of my mind was fear. | 2014-12-26T10:30:50 | 2014-12-26T10:18:47 | 55 | 21 |
[WP] Most ghosts have cool unfinished business: "Avenge my murder!" "Redeem my sins!" "Reveal my terrible secret!" Yours is...less impressive. But it still binds you to this world, and so you must find a medium who will help you. And not laugh when you tell them what with. | "What is your business, spirit? What binds you to this world?"
The room was lit by a single black candle with artistic dribbles of wax dripping down the sides. The table was carved with arcane symbols, complete with a pentagram made of honest-to-god gold leaf.
Damn. She was a traditionalist.
I'd only been a ghost for a couple years, but I was starting to pick up on the tricks of the trade. I concentrated, and the air temperature around the medium dropped a few degrees. I tried to snuff out the pretentious candle, but I could only make the flame flicker a little.
"I have been silenced before my time."
I whispered, but the words carried clearly through the room. I was pretty proud of the effect, even if I thought it was all a little silly. Still, humans tended to respond better if you matched their tone.
"My words are unheard. Carry my message, mortal." I let my voice rise until I was screaming. "CARRY MY MESSAGE."
The medium placed a small chalkboard and a piece of chalk on the table. "To whom shall I speak on your behalf, spirit?"
Ugh. I let the temperature return to normal. I couldn't creepify the environment at the same time as telekinetically moving chalk.
I wrote down the name. It took a while. There were a lot of numbers.
I resisted the impulse to throw the chalk at the medium when I finished and made some thumping sounds along the walls to pass the time while she read the chalkboard. She was taking a really long time, actually.
"This looks like a username," she said. She'd dropped the cryptic manner. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign, but I was happy enough to take this cue.
"Yep."
"You don't even know this person's real name?"
"Nope. Pretty sure it's a dude though, based on some of the comments about women's anatomy."
"And you want him to know... what, exactly?"
"That he's wrong."
The medium laughed. "You only interacted with this person online, and you want to convince him he's wrong? It's the internet! 99% of everything on the internet is wrong."
"Well he's more wrong! Look, just pull out your phone, okay? Read some of this guy's comments."
"Fine. But you know it's a lost cause, right? How often do you see someone admit to being wrong on the internet? Wait, that's not right." She scrolled through some more comments. "Ugh, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen someone say! I know what they say about picking your battles, but that's just wrong."
She hit the reply button, and I felt a sudden sense of peace. I didn't know if she could convince him of his wrongness, but I was sure that the medium would carry on with my quest to the best of her abilities.
As she muttered insults at whoever was behind that username, I let my spirit drift away to whatever came next. | I knew he wouldn't understand why I didn't come home. He would sit and wait and wait and no one would ever come to the door. He wouldn't even try to keep himself alive. Just holding on to the hope that I would come home. I couldn't let him waste away. But who would help? Who could I turn to? Who would even care? I only had one neighbor who even knew me.. They had a key to my house that I gave him a long time ago. With what little energy I had I scrawled a note on the wall and left the keys below it.. "please feed my dog." | 2022-07-15T13:20:47 | 2022-07-15T09:19:03 | 136 | 67 |
[WP] You're an arctic biologist who spends 5 months at a time away from all society. At the end of a stint your bush pilot never shows. After a 3 day journey to the nearest town you make a shocking discovery. You're more than likely the last person alive. | In life or death situations, a person may enter a state of mind that disregards the pain, panic, and instinctual noise that one might expect to be overwhelmed by in such a scenario. These intrinsic, shallow obstacles, all too suddenly, become replaced with harsh realities, and difficult decisions must be made regarding survival. It is sometimes with horrifying clarity that these decisions make themselves clear. During the decision making process, the worst suffering is inflicted. The person becomes conscious, perhaps for one of the only times in his life, that he is truly mortal and weak.
Three days ago, I chose to leave my station and trek 38 km through a snowstorm to the base at Alert, Greenland. I had run out of supplies and there were no second resorts of survival, so I packed up and left. My extraction, which had been scheduled for a month earlier, had not come and the emergency wireless communication had been unresponsive since then. I had no means of motorized transport, so I simply had to walk. The first reality I had to face was a lack of sleep. I brought along a tarp and a heavy-duty sleeping bag to wrap myself up in, but at what I thought was about -20^(o)C at night (in the middle of March), I simply had to weather it until morning. I have no idea how much I traveled each day, but I must have traveled half the total distance in the first day then slowed down considerably.
When I finally saw a container-like building poke above the white horizon, I felt nothing, inside or out. I trudged like a zombie towards the base. The only thing in my mind was the concern that irreversible damage had been done by the cold to parts of my body. My toes felt like rocks and my face felt like a desiccated mask. I wasn't sure if I would ever move my fingers again. I was exhausted, starving, and extremely dehydrated.
I didn't even knock at the first building that I stumbled across. I simply used both of my numb, gloved hands to twist the door mechanism. It swung open and I saw a dead body, half-decayed. A strong, foul stench gripped me.
But the grasp of the odor and the shock of the dead man/woman was not as strong as the cold. I let all of my gear drop to the ground and immediately took off my gloves. I closed the door behind me. The room was warm enough where I could not see my breath, but it was certainly not comfy. After some time, I retched. It hit me how nightmarish this all was. All my life, I was used to the primary securities of life. Now, I had to choose between losing limbs from the cold outside or becoming a little bit warmer, but having to sit next to a rotting corpse. I started to have thoughts that were not about survival. For the first time, I asked myself why there was a dead body there, in a building surrounded by other buildings in a permanently inhabited military/weather base.
After nearly throwing up, I decided to check the other buildings for heat. I was relieved from the terrible smell, and it had gotten warmer. The ones that were unlocked also contained the dead. The positions of the bodies, and the non-perilous way in which they were located throughout the town, gave me the strange suspicion that they had dropped dead all at the same time. All of the cell phones that I found laying around were dead. It seemed also that the power had gone out. No phones worked.
I finally came around to a container building that was locked and sealed off by makeshift fences. On the side were words in spray paint : "*Plague quarantine."*
Suddenly, I felt very alone. | My first thought was one of freedom, of all encompassing relief. I would never need to comply with the horrid rules of society that had gotten me reassigned to the artic wasteland. Of course, as a biologist that "wasteland" was full of undiscovered secrets vital to mankinds scientific growth. That was when I had my second thought, no one else would ever learn about my discovery, an odd strain of fungus, fully developed under the glass like ice capable of, at least according to a cursory glance at it's genetic makeup, synthesizing with a host and immunizing it to the frost and several ancient diseases. Deborah, I had named it Deborah, after my daughter. **Oh no, oh s%$&**, I missed her birthday. Oh God she's gone. I rushed to her hut but it was toppled over and covered in a thick layer of powdery snow. Hot tears pierced into the white fluff as I dug up my daughter, her head was crushed and her eyes were faded but I could hear something. Faint breathing. It was then that I noticed the familiar tint of blue, Deborah. I chuckled at the idea as I scooped my fungus sustained daughter from the icy clutches of death. What had happened to humanity? It didnt matter so long as my daughter survived. | 2019-08-14T20:34:13 | 2019-08-14T20:30:48 | 184 | 45 |
[WP] When your grandmother died, the inheritance was divided between you and your two siblings. One got all the money; the other all the property and possessions. All you got was a packet of gardening seeds. | I have two siblings. Haven't seen them in a long time. We don't get along. Not since we where little, not since our grandmother died. All those years ago. I loved her, as did they. She was kind, sweet, had a wonderful garden, baked the best cookies, and most of all was always there for us.
She died suddenly in her sleep. She didn't have cancer which takes so many, she was not injured or murdered. I can not even remember how she died. It was something benign. Yet, her death shaped us.
My older sibling got all of her property and possessions. He was a materialistic man. He purchased more and more land. When that wasn't enough he took it. Creating loaded contracts to take farms from the poor and control forests, plains, even mountains he tried to take. Worse, he succeeded. The more he took the more he wanted. It did not end. I tried to talk to him. To tell him that he did not need this. He felt he did. Only the acquisition of land has allowed him to feel close to our grandmother. He couldn't, wouldn't, and did not want to stop. I remember him telling me "the land is ours before we where the lands, I am just taking it back." I tried to tell him that he was using the quote wrong. He did not listen, would not listen. It had become is mantra. A mantra of control. To own as much, have as much, as he could.
My younger sister aquired her wealth. As you can guess she experienced the same thing. The crushing weight of feeling that she needed the approval of our dead grandmother and the only way to get it was through more money. More wealth. The business world fears her now. At first they thought they could take advantage of the girl. They underestimated how powerful a grudge could be. Those who slighted her where crushed and absorbed by her. Not instantly, it took time. However, when the men had forgotten grudges, disputes, and grievances. Then she hit them. Crushed them, and controlled them. The last words I have heard from her where "money makes the world go round." It sounds innocent enough. However, I saw her face, her expression, the glint in her eye. For her it wasn't a saying, it was a philosophy. A philosophy that allowed her as much control as she could exert over the world.
I received nothing but some seeds. A nearly worthless gift. The value only in sentiment. Or so I was told as my family. The ones who are supposed to love me, care about me, and be with me told me. As they laughed at me. Comparing how great their gift was to mine. How their land had seeds already, even full grown plants to make more seeds. How money could buy more seeds than I would ever have.
I spent years sad, angry, and disgruntled from their bullying. My siblings had already aquired great power in their greed and fields of experience when I finally changed my mind. It wasn't until I was talking to a mentor and good friend. Venting my anger that I changed my mind. He waited until I had explained them, their personalities, and what they now owned. How successful they are. He just told me
"It sounds to me that their gifts are a great burden."
He looked around us. At the landscape we had created, working together and with others. A natural area for people to enjoy. "Your gift was free from that" | The wrinkled elderly woman I called Gran lay lifeless yet peaceful on the sterile bed. Tears were wepted and hearts bled. Then, when the will was to be read, faces hardened and tears dried. The contents were simple. The money was to go to Rick, the house to Linda, and a pack of seeds to me.
Eyes filled with pity came my way but I just shrugged. I was the wealthiest of my siblings and Rick just go married. He needed the money more than anyone of us did. As for Linda, she loved Gran more than anyone. A house filled with memories, she was the one who'd appreciate it more.
I wasn't quite sure what to do with the seeds though. For the time being, I planted them in the ground and watered them properly.
Flowers bloomed from the seeds, beautiful blue petals the folded in with a single petal growing upwards.
...Come to think of it, Gran didn't really like me. To think she would flip me off from the grave though... | 2020-03-31T07:47:51 | 2020-03-31T07:23:26 | 143 | 58 |
[WP] You die at a young age. You think, because you are Christian and a good person, you would go to Heaven. But, in the afterlife, you see a desk attendant who asks you "Heaven or Hell?" While filling out files. This is a test, but you don't know that. | I never thought that going to Heaven or Hell would have more steps than I thought it should. I believe that when you die, your soul just gets put into Heaven or Hell, depending on how you’ve lived your life. As soon as I opened my eyes after the crash, I knew that I was dead, but I was still confused on where I was.
Before I knew it, I was in a line, surrounded by other people; men and women, old and young, there were many people standing in line, waiting for something. I wasn’t too sure what they were waiting for, until I blinked and found myself at the front of the line. Standing before me was what looked to be a strict, human woman, with thick glasses and her black hair tied into a bun.
The woman looked down at me, intimidating me a bit, before she spoke, “Heaven or Hell?” she asked me. I was a bit stunned by the question.
“I-I’m sorry?”
“Heaven or Hell. Don’t make me repeat myself.” I gulped a bit, she really was scary. She looked human, but I had a feeling that she looked human so that we wouldn’t be as scared as we already are.
“Well, urm. . . Heaven, I suppose?”
“Say that again, more confidently, and tell me why.”
“Oh. . . Heaven. Because I am a Christian, and a good person,” I said to her. She snorted a bit in amusement.
“So, you think that just because you’re a Christian, that gives you a free pass to Heaven? I’ll tell you this right now; I have sent many ‘good Christians’ to Hell, simply because they’re not as holy as they think they are. You don’t just get to go around calling people slurs and committing crimes and then think you’ll go to Heaven just because you’re part of a specific religion.” I was shocked at her honesty, and it sure did shut me up, making me think for some time about what she said.
“But. . . Mom said that if I worshiped God, I’d definitely go to Heaven,” I said to the woman, and she tapped her pen on the table for a moment.
“Then let me ask you this,” she said, writing a few things down, “what did she say would happen to you if you didn’t worship God?”
“That I’d go to Hell.”
“What if you never did a single thing wrong in your life, and still didn’t worship God?”
“Then I’d go to Hell.” The woman let out a chuckle, and then it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, replaced with the same stern expression she had before.
“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt; you perished at a young age, and never saw the world in any other way, right?” I nodded. “You can follow a religion, or you can choose not to. Your religion does not decide whether you go to Heaven or not, it’s your actions. You could pray to God all day long, but it wouldn’t matter if it didn't do anything good to the people around you. If you didn’t treat your neighbors with kindness, feed the homeless, donate to charities, and instead you insulted your neighbors, spat on the homeless, and burnt down charities, you’d see yourself in Hell straight away.”
“I. . . see.” It didn’t make too much sense, all Mom told me to do was worship God and I’d get to Heaven. Now hearing all of this. . . I was very unsure of myself, and my life.
The woman shrugged her shoulders, and looked down at her files, “you can give me your answer again when you’re ready. Don’t rush, we have all of eternity to put you somewhere.” She did have a point, but after a few minutes, I shook my head.
“I still think I’m a good person, but. . . I’m not so sure. I wasn’t feeding the homeless, and I wasn’t donating to charities, but I wasn’t spitting on them or burning charities down either. I swear, I’m not a bad person, but. . .” I trailed off, my shoulders dropping a bit as I hung my head down a bit. The woman behind the desk didn’t say anything, but I could still hear her pen scribbling away.
“Very well, then. Because of your answer, and your age, I have decided that you will be going to neither place, at least not for now,” she said to me. I quickly looked up at her, what was she going on about?
“I will be placing you back on Earth as a spirit. You will be monitored 24/7, and your actions on what you decide to do as a spirit in the human world will then determine where you will be placed. Please do not disappoint us.” She pushed a button, and next to her stood a door. When I looked into the door, it looked as if I was looking into space, and I could feel my body trying to move me towards it. I was, however, in too much awe to move at first.
“Hurry up, before I change my mind and put you in Hell.” That made me follow my body’s order, and walked towards the door and into the space like whirl. | Silence surrounded him. Only a few seconds ago, did he realize that he stood in an office with someone staring at him from behind a desk. He looked around, yet it couldn't look anything beyond what he's seen before in his life; a digital clock on the wall to his right, some motivational poster in bright colors on his left that only made him yawn, and an empty bench behind him.
"Excuse me, sir. Heaven or Hell?" The attendant spoke again. With their blank look, it was hard for him to know what they were thinking.
"W-wait. What do you mean by that?"
"Simply put, where do you believe you deserve to go?" The attendant replied, eyes piecing beyond the steel frames placed on their nose.
"I'm a Christian, and I lived a good life. I deserve to go to Heaven, don't I?"
"Are you sure?" His eyes twitched as the attendant asked him flatly. What could they mean by that? Could it be that this is a trick of some kind?
"Simply put good sir, I will take you where you deserve to be, but only if you are sure where that is." He sighed briefly. Those words relieved him of any hostile threat, but something still bothered him.
"If you'll take me to where I deserve to be, why does it matter what I say?"
"Working here, I find that your words can become reality, like it can shape who you are."
He nodded, barely understanding their words. "So, if I said that I cheated on a test back in grade school once, does that still make me deserving of Heaven?"
The attendant solely replied "Only if you believe it to be."
He stood there, shifting his heels. He had to think well and good, of all he did that was well and good. The charity events he volunteered for, despite only attending to flirt with the women there; the days and nights he was in church service - even when he hated it; the time he spent with family and friends, either drunk or partying or bickering. The days of Lent where he sacrificed material vices - only to cheat a few days here and there.
"Okay, I thought it over. I'm sure."
"You're sure you deserve to go to Heaven?"
"No, I'm sure I deserve Hell. I wasn't a saint in life, and I've done a bit of sin along the way. It wouldn't be right to say I have, and cheat God, you know?"
The attendant, ever stoic, nodded. "Very well. Please proceed through the doors." As he walked towards the back, he heard a shrill "NEXT!" from behind him.
He thought for a second about the others who were here, and those who would come after, but shook his head. He stepped through and walked towards his fate. | 2021-01-11T14:23:03 | 2021-01-11T12:32:03 | 62 | 28 |
[WP] You are a child's "imaginary friend". You are a guardian angel. And your kid is really, really stupid. | After finally getting the kid to bed, i ascended to the astral bar, knowing nothing could possibly happen while the little shit was asleep.
"Hey Lucy hows it going?" The bartended greets jovially. I glare his way, and the smile falters. "Oh god what happened?"
I sit at the bar acutely aware of the gathered audience. My weekly tirades are the reason this place gets busy the nights I come.
"Joshua broke his tibia and his femur this week." I said. "AND managed to get second degree burns..." i closed my eyes. "BETWEEN his asscheeks."
"How the fuck?" Came the expected question. "Is your kid accident prone?"
"No... he wants to be youtube famous." I said. "The little shit... is like.... 13 or 14 years old and by god...." i made the sign of the cross. "He can't be stupider for his fucking antics. Where do I start?"
I grabbed someone elses shot of tequila and downed it. I hissed at the burn and coughed a couple times before going on my rant.
"So after last weeks failed attempt to break his neck by skating off the roof, which only failed because adults; he and his buddies, whom I want to just destroy, had the brightest of ideas. They went to an old industrial yard to bike." I heard a collective groan. "Whilst they were biking, Josh got the great idea, seeing dilapidated buildings and broken slabs of concrete, that they should build a ramp and attempt to launch themselves into the building..."
"Really?" Someone asked.
"Really. Now we set up for broken tibia. They build the ramp and these boys, being the geometric scientist they are," i roll my eyes "think that the angle will be enough. So joshua goes first. He readies on the runway and bikes asfast as he could. At the last second he tries to bail. The bike fishtails and they go over the end of the ramp." I swipe another shot and drink. "He had landed relatively okay... and tried to get up, tripped on the fucking bike, got mad at the bike, attempted to kick it, and missed the offending tire and hit the goddamn frame.... the result was supposed to be a fracture but he tried to walk on it. He tripped and fell on debris and the fracture turned to a break."
"And the femur?" Someone asked.
"Skateboarding." I said. "With crutches no less. He was supposed to be off the leg. Parents told himx doctor told him, i told him but..." in my best Gabriel Iglesias "Pikachu knows everything." That got a couple giggles.
"His friends get him out to the skatepark and dare him to skate with the crutches.... on the horizontal he did fine but then he pushed his luck and tried to go down an incline. He tried to stop his fall with THE BROKEN LEG and because of the plaster, couldn't move at one point, locked and broke at another. Im surprised he didnt nick an artery."
I motion for a beer. "And now for the cout-de-gra on this fine story, the 2nd degree burns on his ass. Since he was bedridden from the breaks and his over all stupidity. He and his friends thought up another boneheaded thing they could do. Light farts on fire."
There was a collective shaking of the head. "Oh but it gets better. They thought it was a bomb idea to coat his ass with cinnamon sugar and oil to make the farts smell purty. They put the lighter close, he farts it ignites and flows towards his ass and lights the cinnamon ablaze and melts the sugar to his asscheeks." I sigh in defeat. "His friends are laughing their asses off while he is burning his ass off and thank god one of them had the sense to put him out and call the ambulance."
"Where were his parents?" The bartender asked.
I looked him dead in the eye. "They went on vacation last week and left this crazy bastard with his friends... at this point i think they abandoned him... I wouldnt blame them."
"I dont believe you." Someone else said.
"Oh yeah? Look up his youtube. His burned ass is going viral right now." I said. "I honestly.... a week. He did all this in a week... luckily theres not much more he can..." i heard a chime in my head calling me back to my charge.
I poofed into his hospital room to see him trying to skate his bed down the stairs while his friends recorded. Orderlys were running down the hall in a panic and i gave the bed the extra nudge...
Amd thats my story of how i fell from grace. | Oh boy. Where do I start? My name is Katie. I am a single mom, with three children. I could be spending my days with them, but instead, I am stuck with this 24/7 job that honestly, is so fucking stupid, which is ironic, because so is the child I look over.
His names Tim. He’s a sweet child, but sooo fucking dumb. I mean just the other day he decided to run away. Luckily, I got him to return home. Which sure, a 4 year old probably wouldn’t get too far, but, I shit you not, He wanted to stay on the roof. Not someone else’s roof, but his own.
I didn’t plan on introducing myself. I was going to simply stay in the shadows, get the job sone, and head home to MY kids. Unfortunately, his stupidity caused me to run into him. Now he thinks i’m his “imaginary friend”. And guess what he calls me? Bubbles. Such an idiotic, cliche name. Why would he- how could he- be so uncreative? I say that, but it takes a renaissance man to come up with ideas he has.
Anyways, thanks to this kid, I’m on the verge of turning. I spin my days looking after him and praying for some xanax. I have tried to run away, I have BEGGED my boss for a change in kid, but he keeps on refusing.
Now you may be wondering, if I hate him so much, why don’t I just quit? Why don’t I just pack up and leave? And i’ve thought about it. And I was in the verge on moving to Hell, but I realized something. This kid, well, he’s alone a lot. His parents are either out partying or working. He often stays with his grandmother who barely pays attention to him. It has hit me he simply wants someone to be with.
This kid is my kid too. He has been and always will be. He may be dumb, but he is also a kid who deserves someone, seen or not seem. And so, as I have been with the dope, I have learned to love him- as Bubbles or Katie.
(Sorry if there is any typos!) | 2019-10-31T13:59:38 | 2019-10-31T12:32:47 | 54 | 19 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | The corridors were long and dark, the stone was cold and unyielding. Your naked feet dragged through the floor as manacles made of ethereal power kept you unable to escape, to move, to step away from the incoming fate.
You had had years to think this through, years scratching little squiggles on the mirror surface of your cell as your box floated, one window projected the starry sky, the other... the execution grounds.
The Court was cruel in that way, they allowed the inmates to see the deaths, you were free to ignore them of course, force yourself to watch into the illusion to spend the time, watch and let the minutes and hours and days bleed away until it was your turn.
Not you, you had kept a very close eye on those executions.
It was execution by Genie.
One single wish, one that the old Genie would twist into one for your instantaneous demise. You had heard the stories, the more wishes a Genie granted the more powerful it would become. And this one?
This Genie was almost as old as the Court itself.
And its power to grant wishes was truly something to stand in awe of.
Wish for death of old age? Then you become decrepit within the snap of fingers, your heart stopping right after. Wish to die in combat? Then the Genie himself will let you fight some nightmarish abomination. Wish to die along your enemy? A snap of the fingers, they would die, but the Genie would bring the others back to life.
One by one, they would all die. Some begged for it to be pleasant, death through orgy or through a feast. Some would beg to die in the arms of their loved ones. A few would get imaginative, death through black hole, death through bomb, death through a collapse in reality. All of them fulfilled in their own way, the people sent into universes that would fulfil the clause.
Once a man asked to die through resurection. That one had been amusing to consider. Up and until he was informed he already had. Time and again, forced to relive his life and die, over and over, unaware of the loop he'd been trapped in and only ever told this truth right before he was snapped back to the start.
And now it was your turn.
The Court lay in front of you, three pillars of infinite stone, atop which sat the judges. The Genie stood at the side, almost invisible in its shadow, the simplicity of the creature's features betraying its power. He looked like any other man, a forgettable face, pale skin, and a nondescript round nose.
Not a word was uttered by the Court, merely the sound of the gavel, the formality of the rite.
The Genie stepped forward. "How do you wish to die?" He asked you. It was in the eyes that you found the truth of its existence, an eternal abyss that did not see you, they saw everyone who'd stood on your spot before you.
You breathed in.
"I wish to experience every death there is to be had."
A flash of amusement crossed the Genie's lips, the only sign of emotion he had shown since you'd first seen him.
"It will be so."
He snapped his fingers. The world swirled around you, everything shifted and changed. Time itself seemed to lose meaning as your thoughts scattered and reformed. All had changed, all was different.
You found yourself kneeling, head bowed against the ground. Before you there were three chairs, oaken and old. Sitting in each were familiar faces.
"With this ritual, we bind you to our will." The closest voice spoke with power, the words seeping into and through you. "You will be the Court's executioner, Genie, may the pillars of the Court become ever higher through your service."
Your breath caught in your throat, the smirk upon your lips hidden, you allowed yourself to follow the impulses the magical bindings lay upon you. For the time being, all you had to do was obey, wait... and grant wishes. | I'm waiting to die, everyone here is. I have seen a lot of people trying to fool the court, the last one requesting to die of old age, but all of them fail. At this point everyone has lost their hopes, there is no way of avoiding dead.
It's my turn and I go in front of that horrible people, happy witnesses of the magical demise that awaits me. A voice, one that seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, ask me how this magic room shall kill me. The voice says that the room will do exactly what I tell it with the only condition of choosing some way to die.
There is a countdown of one and a half minutes and I just don't know what to do, it seems to be impossible to avoid it. Well, I think, if I must die, I want to see them suffering.
"I request to die slowly while they die from what they would choose in my situation."
Those faces, full of horror while the voice ask them and the doors are shut is the only thing I needed to rest in peace. They try to avoid it, but it's inevitable. I died fast, they all tried to continue living and failed, but at least I could see part of those "high people" that made this happen diying. It's not the best, but it's the best anecdote I have from when I lived. Now, I only must see the concequences of my actions as part of the room punishment, but I'll watch and enjoy every second of it. | 2021-06-24T07:22:01 | 2021-06-24T04:31:51 | 1,307 | 17 |
[WP] The alien invasion of Earth was going quite well until they made three mistakes: They invaded Russian during the winter, got into a land war with Asia, and went in against the Sicilians when death is on the line. | The blazing winds of the tundra was something they'd not prepared for. They'd been warned against arrival during the cold seasons. "It couldn't be that bad", some of them said, with the arrogance of having the coldest winters in the Galactic Union. They were not prepared for how cold the icy tundra would be, and the invisible killers that lurked under every rock, hid in every tree.
The losses were unnoticeable at first, in the blaze of the blizzard and the sheer numbers of the 10,000-strong invading force. The cold was so intense that their suits - built for temperatures beneath -100 KA - did not last against Yakutsk's cold, the frostbitten landscape that measured even further than they could conceptualize. -100 KA was a mere chill for the locals; -10 degrees Celsius, and currently it was -34. Their numbers slowly thinned in the blindness of the blizzard, picked off one by one and forever lost to the White. The few that did manage to see their attackers saw a herd of beasts, barbaric and laden in the fur of wild animals - perhaps trying to appear like one, before the near-silent pop of its elongated weapon silenced them for good. *"Dobryy nochi, suka."*
Further northwest, the legions which had been in charge of taking Moscow failed miserably. The snowstorms that seemed to plague the whole of the Eurasian front proved flight nearly impossible for their drones, suits freezing and breaking due to the cold - wearers dying, frozen and forever halted. The actual manually-controlled fighters found it difficult to find their targets and were heavily slowed by the intense gravity of the planet, soon facing destruction from the much faster fighter jets from the opposition.
The ground forces that had survived the cold then faced what local sources and intelligence called 'Armor'. They'd expected large suits of armor and had prepared for such, but as their bases and lines were broken by continuous barrages of artillery, thermobaric rockets and tank shells, they'd realized their misinterpretation.
Further south, the Aliens were fighting a losing war against Asia as a whole. In the Middle East, suits overheated and baked their wearers alive as young men in pickup trucks, armed with stolen heavy machine guns managed to run down alien garrisons, the heat even messing with thermal sensors and the aliens' targeting systems. Furthermore, they'd began rejecting prisoners, as on multiple occasions, large amounts of soldiers had been killed by explosions originating from their prisoners.
Further to the East, Aliens lost garrison after garrison to both India and China, who'd opted to use their familiarity with Earth's environment to their advantage. The aliens fought the same enemies throughout Asia, and each one was just as prepared and adapted as the last - unlike the invaders. There was no point to scanning for intruders when the foliage was far too dense to scan through, and no point doing the same in a desert, where the sand hid explosives, people, and even entire bases.
These aliens were unfamiliar with humanity's brand of stealth - used to cloaking fields and what-not. At first, that's what they assumed humanity was using, before a sand dune gunned down an entire legion, before the trees swung spiked logs down, piercing through armor, before a city burst into flames as they'd just taken it over.
This war culminated to a resounding Alien defeat. We'd never even found out what they were here for. All we know is that we won, who we won against, and the fact that they left. The Aliens lost somewhere between 500 million and 1 billion, while we lost approx. 156 million-465 million. We're unsure if they'd invade again, so to counter that, we'd decided to take the fight to them - take to the stars and fight back. Avenge them, those who fought against an invasion - one which had a motive we couldn't even ascertain. If that doesn't work, we must at least find out why - why they invaded, and why they didn't even bother to do any research before doing so.
​
(lol had a bit of fun with this) | They thought they were prepared. After all, humans hadn't even managed light-speed travel yet- how could they be a threat? The Galactic Council had made a decision- humans were to be wiped out. The Council ordered precautions they thought were absurd. In the end, it still wasn't enough to save them.
But the humans were... different. The humans ran into war almost... gleefully. The humans shouted with excitement and screamed with adrenaline.
They captured humans, sometimes. They got nothing but scars and nightmares from the experience.
Evenutally, it became apparent to the Council that a takeover was impossible. Instead, a treaty was offered. To the universe's surprise, it was accecpted.
​
They thought they were prepared. After all, humans hadn't even managed light-speed travel yet- what other than warfare could they bring? The Galatic Council gave them an opportunity to strike back against them- the ones who had attacked Earth. In the end, humans refused.
Instead, the humans befreinded them.
Eventually, it became apparent to the Council that a takeover was impossible. Instead, a treaty was offered. To the universe's surprise, it was accepted.for it. But the humans were... different. The humans ran into life almost... gleefully. The humans shouted with excitement and screamed with adrenaline. The humans competed with each other in everything.
Therefore, when Earth's allies (they who had attacked) were attacked themselves, the humans competed with each other- who can save them first? The so-called war last three months- by then, the opposing force was completely wiped out.
​
in the end, the universe learned one thing: the danger of humans lurked far below the surface. | 2022-02-11T06:50:31 | 2022-02-11T00:06:21 | 370 | 38 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | The sigil remained dull, black and inactive. Even through the shoving, the pushing, the punching and name calling - it didn’t light up even once. Maybe it wasn’t the best to get used to this type of treatment, but Dalton refused to use his powers on anyone. While his powers were not inherently destructive, they were hard to control, and he didn’t want to hurt anyone.
So why wouldn’t they listen?
Was it so bad that he didn’t want to show off the powers he barely knew how to use, that he didn’t want to hurt anyone as collateral in a bit of show and tell? His head throbbed from the previous punch, the group of teenagers surrounding him in a complete circle. Everywhere his eyes looked, they landed on some color, some blur, something emanating from each and every one of the bullies. Fire, electricity, light and even darkness from one. They surrounded him, their powers all flared for show, but they didn’t really use them in any way besides intimidation. No, they preferred to hurt people themselves. This time though, there was something off about them. They were pushing harder than normal, harassing and assaulting with more... effort. Perhaps something had made them mad that day.
Another punch, and Dalton could practically feel the bruise growing, his ears ringing slightly. His chest constricted as they threw another, but this time, he felt a burn from where the punch had landed. He felt his muscles twitch from the shock, and it was starting to get a little darker, though, not because of them. He was losing consciousness. His breaths became panicked, and Dalton pleaded for them to stop, that they were going too far this time.
They didn’t listen. They never did. Before anyone could do anything else, the circle lit up, shining with a rainbow of different colors. In front of Dalton, a circle appeared, black and colorless. The bullies stared curiously, cautiously looking at it. The circle turned blue, as did Dalton’s sigil, and a geyser of sea water spewed from within the circle, easily carrying away one of the bullies, far into the distance. Dalton grasped his arm, where his sigil laid, glowing through his hand. The bullies backed off in fear, as more circles appeared around Dalton. They did not turn just blue, but green, yellow and red, a multitude of colors from which different elements spewed. A gust of wind from one, a plume of flames from another, a landslide of mud and even pure insects from some. The “battlefield” quickly became chaotic and messy, the bullies either running off or being quickly incapacitated by Dalton’s rings.
If one were to look close, they would notice that Dalton’s rings were not random circles that produced various things, but portals to different parts of the world. One linked to the sea floor, another in the middle of a raging wildfire, underneath a landslide, in the middle of a tornado: and they all came barreling through one small opening. A multitude of concentrated forces from mother nature herself, that would devastate anyone who challenged their wielder. Dalton’s sigil dulled, the glowing slowly fading away, and the portals slowly closing with them. This time, Dalton had managed to keep them small, keep them “mild” and relatively non-lethal... but would he be able to next time? He let himself fall over, ignoring the pain in his tailbone that came from sitting in such a manner. | *Dark...... It went dark..... but how? It's still day,* they thought, feeling the air around the cool.
The air continued to grow colder and colder, nothing but inky blackness surrounding them. Then they saw you. You in the center, eyes dark and your face twisted into a vicious scowl and arms stretching to what was the ground.
They let out a visible breath, a sign that the air became freezing. You watched them as they struggle to breathe, watching them writhe. But you didnt care for their safety nor yours. You mind has gone numb and your sense rendered inactive. The only think running through your mind was void.
*VOID* your mind kept repeating, your sigil glowing brighter and brighter.
You could feel the void growing and consuming more and more, everything being enveloped in the black abyss. You see the bullies stopped moving. They float there, with horrified expressions staring at you.
You snap out of it and everything returns to normal. You apologize for everything and run home. This is why you dont use your sigil. | 2020-02-26T07:49:39 | 2020-02-26T06:52:34 | 92 | 42 |
[WP] When you were a child, a mysterious voice whispered "follow the woman in the red dress with the gold polka dots". All your life, you never saw her. Now, lying in the hospital, 98 years old, you see a woman in a red dress and gold polka dots walk past your room. | If you ever find yourself with the greivous privilege of being in touching distance of a century, every day will begin to feel like a lifetime. Being here, away from the world, slowly losing grasp on all of my precious memories... It isn't how I imagined the end of my life would be, to be honest.
But in the deepest confines of this aged mind of mine, is a reverie. A shroud of fiery red, like a kiss from the setting sun, flecked with spots of gold. I do not know if I had this dream when I was 7, or 30, or even if it were yesterday. But I hold on to it for dear life. As if this is some unfulfilled prophecy I must lie awake, stay alive for. After 98 long years, today, I can swear on the remaining fragments of my dwindling sanity that I saw my dream flash before my eyes.
I try to haul my failing body off the bed. My bones creak under the weight and a groan escapes me. I close my eyes and try to summon the last reserve of strength I can muster.
"Please don't do that."
Her smile warms me like a hearth on a winter night. She has emerald green eyes that I recognize from what seems like a different life.
"Zara?" I mumble, hardly believing my own voice. I do not even realize when the tears fill my eyes. The world is a blur, her features are a haze. But I still recognize it all, as if it I had seen it all before. "Zara," I say again, reaching out for her face. "You... You came..."
A passing nurse freezes in her tracks and gives me a worried stare. I do not blame her. When has anyone seen a 98-year-old bawl like a child?
"Baba, I wanted to come... every second of every day," she says, bursting into tears too. "I'm sorry it took me all this time... I just never could find the courage I–"
"Zara, I am the coward here... I was the one parted ways with your mother when she told me she was carrying our child. I swear to you, I replay that scene in my head as if it were yesterday. I can still hear that little voice in my mind say that I should have followed the woman in the red dress, no matter where it would take me. But I was the coward, Zara... I was the coward...."
"Baba... Ma told me everything. For the first forty years of my life I nothing but bitter loathing for you. I turned my heart black with the hate I had for a person I had never seen, and never known. I never asked about you because I was too afraid of what I would hear. Not until Ma was on her death bed did I find gather enough strength to ask... Hate is a seed baba, and I nourished it for so long that it became a tree. By the time I realized how terrifying it was, it had spread its tall, dark arms over me. I have spent decades hacking it down, so I could walk out from under its shadow and find my way to you."
I try to say something, but my voice cracks horribly with the strain. "I have waited everyday for you. For forty years, your mother and I exchanged letters. Never falling in love with anyone else, never forgetting all we made together. But I just couldn't say I wanted her back, not after what I had done to her. So I waited, and waited... but she never let me in."
"How could she let in what she never let out, Baba? You were always in her heart. She prayed for you every night. She sometimes said your name in her sleep. A part of my father was always there in our house. It took me all these years to realize I wanted to see the rest of him too. It was just... Ma said something about your dementia.. and about how your letters stopped for weeks at a stretch, and sometimes how you would write the same letter four weeks in a row. I never knew if you'd recognize me if I came to you. That kept me from walking to you, even when I knew exactly where you were..."
I reach out to the bedside table and clasp the only possession I've had in the past five years. "My mind is a strange place, Zara. It is a muddled, confused, broken place. But this..." I pass the picture to her. "I look at this picture every hour. I whisper to my mind, never forget, never forget. She told me you had my eyes, and my hair so I'd never recognize you... But she still told me that if you ever came to this hospital, I would know. This dress looks as beautiful on you as it did on her, Zara. She knew all along that this dress would put all the pieces in my head back together. You look just like her, Zara. It is like falling in love all over again."
"Zara was my mother's name, Baba. My name is Afsah. I am here now, Baba. I am here."
-----------
r/whiteshadowthebook | 98 years without a hint of the red dress the voice spoke of.
9.8 y.e.a.r.s
Ever since I could remember, this nagging voice occasionally came into my life and whispered the same thing.
"Follow the women..."
At first I was curious. Who was this women? Why was there a voice that spoke to me? My parents dismissed it as hallucinations, but the older I grew the more convinced I was that it wasn't. It felt so real, more real than anything else in the world.
Then I was annoyed. 30, 40, 50 years pass and yet nothing has ever happened. Not a single hint of the "prophecy" coming true. Every free moment of my life I spend wondering if those voices were real, and as time passes my doubt grows bigger and bigger.
Maybe I was hallucinating after all.
Now I'm furious. Furious at the 98 years of wondering. Furious at the 98 years wasted, thinking there was a grander scheme of things for my mundane life. How conceited I was to think that my life was going to be for some higher purpose? Even as I lie on my hospital bed with my days numbered, I can't help but wonder if that lady would come by one day and take me away..
98 days and 364 days.
Tomorrow was supposed to my 99th birthday. As I lay on my bed and wait for the end of my life, a bright red dress caught my attention from the corner of my eye.
A crimson, so vivid you could see the flames emanating from the glorious cloth. Lined with golden polka dots that looked fitting for the grandest of Kings of the olden days. The lady, oh that lady! So stunningly gorgeous yet upright. So confident, yet she had a humble demeanor. She gave my room a brief look before walking away.
That's it! That's definitely it! I mustered all my strength and sat up from my seat. With all the energy pent up in me, I grabbed my walking cane and lumbered laboriously at her. I followed her all the way up to the roof top, where she was waiting patiently for me.
"Have you had a good life, my child?" She quizzed
"I.. I reckon so. I've.. I've lived a long life. Who are you?" I stammered, partly realizing how this moment was the culmination of my entire life's existence, or just simply at the regal beauty this lady exuded.
"I, my darling, am known as the Tascha the Phoenix. Are you ready to reset? We're counting on you in your next life"
*Was about to sleep but saw this. Hopefully it's not horrendous LOL | 2019-11-07T09:33:51 | 2019-11-07T08:52:01 | 57 | 11 |
[WP] Humans are rather friendly and peaceful. But they have one problem : they eat on a daily basis one of the most illagal and worst drug in the galaxy, known in human language as "sugar", making their integration on the galactic stage... Complicated... |
"Sugars?"
Dr. Othman adjusted her glasses to stare incredulously at the large being across the table from her.
"Yes. Please understand that such systemic addiction would normally be cause to exclude a species from full membership. Given how well human civilization has been able to operate despite the entirety of your population being under the influence of sugar, we have decided to make an exception. Afterall, it was already the Official Decision of the Galactic Federation to accept Humanity as a full member. But I'm afraid that we can't allow any individuals to sit as members of a Federation conclave while illicit substances are present within their circulatory system." Ambassador Xxylax stated calmly, undulating the paddle like cilia along the sides of his carapace in a conciliatory fashion. He hoped the gesture wasn't completely lost on the strange biped. "Your people seem to be remarkably resistant to the negative effects of this family of drugs, the euphoric highs seem to be absent as well, except in young children. Never the less, strong patterns of addiction seem to remain from infancy until death. After much deliberation, The Galactic Federation has graciously decided to offer detox sessions and therapy for all Homo sapiens elected as Federation representatives. They will undergo a more stringent version of what you would call a ‘Keto Diet’."
Xxylax paused momentarily to groom his pedipalps hoping the ritual would ease his nervousness. It wasn't easy breaking such grave news to a species representative, especially when that species had otherwise proven to be so promising in the preliminary assessments for Federation membership. Xxylax quite liked humans. They were friendly, outgoing, and nowhere near as boisterously rude as other primate members, such as the Gegork. Some, such as the doctor, were even a match for the scholarly aspirations of Xxylax’s own species, the Esknix. The sheer variety of skills and temperaments present from one human to the next made them eligible to participate in nearly every council within the Galactic Federation’s Grand Conclave, assuming they could stay sober.
The Doctor was sitting open mouthed with a single digit on her ‘hand’ raised up, a gesture which, if Xxylax remembered correctly, indicated a desire to interject. "Yes, Dr. Othman?”
“Ambassador, when you say sugar you are referring to table sugar, sucrose, correct?” Worry lined the face of the elderly astrophysicist.
Xxylax took a moment to check the glossary of human scientific terms on his datapad. It wouldn’t do to be inaccurate during such a serious discussion. “Yes, amongst others. Your scientific name for the family of drugs would be saccharides.”
“ALL saccharides!?” Dr. Othman exclaimed. It may not be her specialty, but she remembered enough of her biology classes to understand the implications. “Including complex carbohydrates and cellulose?”
“Yes.” Xxylax said with a sigh of relief, “I’m glad you understand.”
“Ambassador, if you don’t mind me asking, what metabolic process does your body use to fuel itself?”
Ambassador Xxylax blinked, taken off guard by the sudden shift in topic. He checked his datapad again, “Why, Esknix primarily use Lysine biosynthesis. It’s common as the main metabolic process amongst galactic sapients, though Methanofuran biosynthesis is not unknown.”
“So, a methane-based metabolism?” the doctor pressed on, “Do you know what type of metabolism most species on Earth employ?”
“It...it’s not methane-based??” Xxylax asked his cilia quivering in confusion.
“Only a few species that don’t have easy access to sunlight. Most species, including humans, depend on a Glycogen metabolism for their energy.” The doctor crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, staring deadpanned at the ambassador. They really ought to include a biologist in these meetings from now on.
Xxylax tapped frantically at the screen of his datapad, convinced he must be misunderstanding a key term. “Oh dear... that can’t be possible can it? Our cultural researches assured me that several humans have undergone drastic cuts to their sugar consumption for the sake of health. Your metabolism can’t be BASED on it! The Keto Diet—”
“Is used for weight loss. It literally causes our body to eat itself. This really isn’t my field of expertise, but I don’t believe the human body can survive on Ketone Body Metabolism alone. If we don’t have *some* glucose in our system the results would be fatal. We’d essentially starve to death.”
Xxylax slowly unwound himself from his chair, which he had wrapped around in horror at the thought of a sapient’s body … *cannibalizing* itself. A shudder passed over the Esknix’s carapace. The Federation obviously couldn’t justify forcing death upon all elected members of a species, but they had already formally accepted Humanity as a full member with rights to sit upon the councils. The sheer amount of red tape and rewritten bylaws this revelation stood to create was a nigh unfathomable nightmare. There was only one word to describe his feelings on the situation. Ironically, it was a human word.
“Fuck.” | "What? What do you mean?"
"It is just as I said sir they are all addicted, the entire race."
"How is this possible? I thought we were able to destroy the entire crop. It was not supposed to be growing anywhere anymore."
The general looked at the scientist in despair, then got up and stared through the window at the blue and green planet spinning below them.
"You know what this means don't you. We cannot allow this drug to spread. There is too much at risk. Another addiction outbreak could cripple the galaxy."
The scientist looked up at the general, eyes growing wide.
"You don't mean... But sir you can't! These humans are so peaceful and kind. They are only just beginning. They could have so much to offer."
"We have to, Williatt. Their planet is full of flange. If any of it gets out into the galaxy billions could die."
"I know sir, but maybe ... maybe we could try talking to them. They have been nice and reasonable in the past. Maybe if we explain the situation they would be willing to help us eradicate it. They might even be willing to leave the planet before we destroy it."
"The drug warps minds as well as bodies you know that. Their 'sugar' addiction will not allow them to be reasonable."
"That is one thing that doesn't make sense to me sir. The humans begin their addiction when they are young, but can still live for 100 years. That is a long time for flange addicts to live. Maybe if we can study them and understand their resilience other species could be improved."
"You really think studying these humans will benefit our healing sciences?"
"Why not? They have a remarkable ability to heal. Did you know human's can be shot with bullets and recover fully? In my observations of the planet i have witnessed feats of strength that should be impossible and individuals even coming back from the dead. I think it would be a mistake to destroy them all now."
"Ok Williatt. I will give you and your team 5 years to study the human's ability to heal. This part of the universe is not crowded and no one else should be able to discover the sugar score, but if they do you will be out of time."
"Yes sir. We will learn all we can about them before destruction is necessary."
"Go begin your work. You are dismissed."
​
"I told you I could buy your planet time, now where is it?"
"You know i honor my word Williatt. Here you go. That should be enough sugar to last you a while. Now follow the plan. You will get all the sugar you want as long as you keep Earth and humans safe.
"Yes sir"
John slipped into his ship and headed back to Earth. "When will they ever learn" he thought before he pushed the button. The alien ship exploded in the background just as John reached the atmosphere. "The space force will always protect the earth no matter the cost. Sugar may warp the mind, but how else would we come up with these plans". | 2020-04-22T15:39:36 | 2020-04-22T12:00:42 | 103 | 32 |
[WP] the damned souls in hell crowded near the entrance, and Satan himself is at the gates. They are all awaiting the arrival of a unique soul -- the first man since Biblical times who was killed by God Himself. | "Howdy," said Herod, clapping an arm around me, a shower of maggots falling from his side. "Mister special," Herod snarled, showing a mouthful of rotting teeth. "Mister number one, is that it."
"Oh, shut it," Jehoram snarled. "Just because you're mad at not being special anymore. I used to be the last one! Figured that was all in the past after Jesus started preaching love and forgiveness!" He reeled in his armful of intestines and clutched them to his chest. "Well, I was wrong! I got used to it, and you will too!" He slapped a bloody arm around me, pulling me close. "Pay no attention to Herod, he's just jealous, he is."
"I don't-" I stuttered. The damned were thronging around me, banners raised, confetti falling. "I - I know this is Hell." I turned around, taking in the slanted stone buildings that rose around me, twisting my perception into vertigo. "But - why'd God strike me down personally? I wasn't that bad! I - I wasn't!"
"Of course you weren't," Jehoram said kindly. "Look here, look here," and a troop of young boys rushed up to greet me, their bodies savaged with claw marks, barely two of them still in one piece. I tried not to vomit and tasted bile.
"So you're the new guy God killed, huh?" one of the kids piped up. His throat had been torn open and blood bubbled up with each word. "Boy, it sure has been a while."
"He's been slacking!" giggled another. "Ol' baldy!" said a thrid. The whole troop burst out into laughter.
"You know what they did?" Jehoram said. "They made fun of Elijah for being bald! That was it! Oh!" He pulled me towards the crowd. "Everyone say hi! Tell him what you did to make God strike you down!"
"I looked behind me," said a pile of salt. Part of its face crumbled away. "Sort of an overreaction, in my opinion."
"I jacked off, okay?" said Onan. "It wasn't worth it, trust me."
"I tried to catch the Ark while it was tipping over!" said Uzzah. "Like, what was I supposed to do, let it fall?"
Children, babies, some of them, were sprawled out on the streets of Hell, fussing and bawling in the crowd. "Egyptians," Jehoram confided. "Their sin was being firstborns.
"Here's the thing," he said. "You liberal generations have had it easy. Y'all think God striking someone down is some massive condemnation. When really, God is a violent asshole who'd kill someone for being born in the wrong place in the wrong time." He winked at me. "It's not that bad."
"But why me?" I said. "After all these millennia! Why would He kill me?"
"Oh, pfft!" Herod blurted out. "Mister number one and it's already going to your head! Look behind you, you idiot!"
I turned, and there were a million souls following in my footsteps, walking down the path to Hell, as numerous as a swarm of locusts. "It's the apocalypse!" Herod snapped. "So congrats, you were the first to go!" | The buzz was real, the hell was upside down, and Satan was pacing back and forth restless.
"Where is he? Why is he taking so long?"
"He moves slowly".
"How dares he makes me wait!? No one makes me wait IN HELL!". Satan was losing his cool, a visible twitch on his eyebrows, his hands wet with sweat.
"Sorry Satan, nothing I can do!"
The public, lost souls and demons, Hitler and Killers, everyone was afraid, that someone worse than Satan would come, someone that would make Satan Himself afraid, someone that would bring the fury of Jesus and God, someone that would rewrite the history of the world.
Rolling in his wheelchair, a placid brow, a illuminated smile, a bald fat middle aged man, without legs, coming down through the Hell Gate.
Gasps of surprise went through the crowd, someone heard Hitler ask
"Oh my god, what did he do!?"
Satan himself came down to answer him:
"He built a car workshop on his garage!"
Oooooh, the crowd roared.
"He was fixing the cars of his friends for free...."
Everyone started to scream, All Hell Broke Lose.
| 2016-10-14T07:39:31 | 2016-10-14T07:23:26 | 596 | 122 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered. | “You’re a cheat, a fraud!” he shouted, having ducked under my line of security holding off the adoring crowds. He shoved me rudely backwards, and I felt him spit in my face.
The hall went silent, and a thousand camera flashes lit up as my fans started snapping away. Far more common in the early days, not so much now, it had been some time since the last heckler attempted to disrupt my services.
“What’s your name?” I asked, after security had tackled him to the ground, holding him in an arm lock. He stared back defiantly, murder in his eyes.
“I hate people like you,” he seethed, “you prey on the gullible, exploit their dreams, crush their hopes! I hope you burn in hell!”
In the past, I would have begged for him to give me a chance, let me prove myself. I would have trotted out recordings of the precious few times I had successfully applied my powers, shown him that I really could convince people to do the extraordinary, once I managed to persuade them to even try. I would have persisted until my throat was raw, my knees were bruised.
Now, it was much easier. I just had to let him see for himself.
“Who amongst you is afflicted? Who can I help today?” I said, turning to address the crowds. My hands were raised, my voice boomed across the hall.
A hundred, two hundred hands shot up in the air, as applause rang out. The first in line, a young girl in a wheelchair, rolled up to me. I wasn’t a doctor, but I didn’t need to be one to infer from her withered, twisted legs what she was seeking today.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Grace Natterly, please, please heal me!”
I held her hands, closed my eyes. I felt the rest of the hall slip into a similar reverential mood, and faint murmurings filled the air. Prayer wasn’t exactly necessary, but I let them believe what they wanted. The only disturbance in that whirlpool of peace, was the disbeliever who still struggled on the carpet.
“By the power vested in me, Grace Natterly, I compel you to heal yourself! Stand up! Stand up! Stand up now!”
And she did.
She struggled at first, unused to the motions, then I felt the familiar tingle as my powers took over. No one else could see, but I saw the dancing motes of light swirl in the air, cling to her legs like fireflies. I heard the familiar crick of bones straightening, growing, and I saw the flesh fatten, bulk up with muscle. The deformities melted away, leaving only a completely unremarkable set of legs.
“I… I am healed…” she said, finally, quietly. She was flexing her toes, still swimming in that short flood of euphoria, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.
The cheers erupted. Her family rushed up to her in celebration, and the others in line pressed forward, hungry, impatient, hopeful.
I turned to my detractor, who had fallen silent. The fight had sapped out of him, and a curious blankness covered his face. I waved away the security holding him down, then leaned in close.
“That’s… that’s impossible,” he said, shaking his head slowly, eyes wide.
“All you need, is a little bit of faith,” I said, smiling as I held out my hand.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | Jim kept chewing on his stupid pen. He just sat there, staring down at the case files.
"You keep sucking on that thing, the ink is gonna give you mouth cancer."
Jim sat back a little and took the pen out of his mouth. "Really? It helps me think."
I frowned. "No. Take the help you can get."
Jim flipped me off with the pen. "You're an asshole. You mind if I cut out early? Katy wants to practice driving in twilight."
I looked at the files and shrugged. Nobody was coming in tonight. "Yeah, sure. I might die of boredom. "
"Bullshit." He stood and turned, walking to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, I need you for intake at ten. And Jim?"
He had one hand on the doorframe, still holding his thinking pen. "Yeah?"
"If you teach Katy as well as you taught me, she'll never be hurt in an accident."
Jim grinned and lobbed his pen into the wastebasket by my desk. "Thanks, man. But you're a natural." | 2017-06-21T13:38:19 | 2017-06-21T12:33:29 | 69 | 24 |
[WP] You have been a wizard for 350 years but your apprentice still surprises you. You laughed at her pink fireball and the green one too. The invisible one suddenly made you much more serious. | “Show me what you’ve learnt, Lillian.” I said.
“I think you’ll be surprised to see what I’ve developed!” She exclaimed.
“You never fail to get me to chuckle.” I snickered, twiddling my thumbs as i awaited to see her showcase.
Lillian was my second apprentice, but she was an avid and quick-learning student. She was approaching her third year under my tutelage. I recalled the first time I met her - a small-orphaned girl on the side of the road. Her fifteenth birthday was quickly approaching, I had thought about what gift would be most appropriate for her coming-of-age ceremony.
“Come, follow me into the training quarters.” I spoke. She followed obediently but with a pep in her step.
The darkly-lit training room was vast inside.The large six sided walls I built were to keep the destruction of any magic to a minimum inside. I had created the room almost three-hundred years ago when I was still a mage-in-waiting myself. I was approaching the first third of my lifespan, with seven hundred-odd years left to go. I’d hoped that Lillian would be the one to take over my Library - my domain and sanctuary that only few Librarians have access to.
Lillian and I stood opposite one another at the ends of the room. I snapped my fingers together, and the torches instantly grew flames, with bright-red colours spouting from the torches in the room.
“So what do you remember about fireballs?” I asked her.
“A Librarian can conjure a fireball with different properties attached to them.” She responded. I smiled, I was happy she took the time to remember my teachings.
“Yes, and how do we conjure them?”
“One needs a source.” She promptly retorted.
“Yes, like the flame in those torches,” I began, “Take inspiration from that flame, and conjure a fireball for me.”
She did what was told. I could see the immense concentration in her eyes as she looked at the torch beside her. She held out her hand toward its flames, and a fireball sparked in her hands.
“Good! Now, fire it at me!” I exclaimed.
Lillian drew in the flame, and hurled a fist-sized fireball in my direction. I held out my right hand and dispelled the fireball with my overwhelming source.
“How was that?” She asked. I was impressed, she was able to easily conjure an intermediate level spell with no hesitation.
“Very impressive, but still a weak attempt.” I teased.
“You always say that, but you’re like…a thousand years old, of course you’re stronger than me!”
“I am thirty-five decades. If I were a millennia old, I’d be a frail-old, possibly dead, man.”
“Then try this! I came up with it!” She yelled, and began conjuring another fireball. I sensed the next one was different from the last, her hand movements and body language showed something was up. I was deeply interested as I grinned. Lillian hurled her next fireball, but the colour was distinct. A bright-pink flame was tossed at me with immense speed. I held out my hand again and dispelled the sorcery. When the flame disappeared I could feel my fingers curl, I was intrigued.
“Pink? You used emotion and combined it with the fireball. Well-played.” I chuckled.
“You liked that?” She asked.
“It is definitely interesting, the ability to combine emotion into spells can change even the toughest foe’s heart. Well done.” I praised the young apprentice.
“You’ve seen a pink-fireball before?” She asked.
“Not seen, but I have read about them.” I responded.
“Of course you did, you’re the Clerk of the Library, you’ve read everything.”
“Not true, only the texts that have been made available to me.”
She seemed disappointed at my lacklustre response to her hard work. In my honesty, she was more cunning than I was at her age. One could say I had a sense of jealousy towards her.
“I’m sure you have discovered more secrets of sorcery for me.” I said. She nodded complacently.
“I have another, if you’d like to see.” She said.
She conjured another fireball, this time the colour of green lit in her palm. I was thoroughly surprised.
“Ah, you’ve even mastered wind, well done.” I applauded.
The flame in her hand dissipated, she looked somewhat downtrodden at my response.
“Nothing surprises you, not even this?” She asked.
“Do not feel down, I myself cannot combine as many sources as you can. You are remarkable in your ability to use so many sources at your age.” Lillina looked at me and saw that I spoke the truth in my words.
“I have one more to show you.” She said. I lifted my brow as I inspected her body-language. She emitted a sense of deep concentration.
“Show me.”
She held her hands to the torch flame one last time, and began conjuring her spell. But I was blind to her. I could not see the fireball forming in her palm. I had never been so taken aback for words in my entire life as a mage. She aimed her hands in my direction, yet, I could still not see the flame. In an instant, my world was dark.
Before I could come to my senses I heard a voice calling for me.
“Master Jayce? Are you okay? Wake up!” The voice called.
I realised that I was hit with a burning sensation against my face, I instinctively casted the spell of “Mirage” to cleanse the sensation I felt. Then, my vision reappeared. My apprentice Lillian was in view a few metres away from mine. She had a deeply concerned expression as she inspected me. I had realised that her fireball had knocked me unconscious onto the ground.
“Are you okay?” She asked.
I propped myself up from the floor, and analysed my confusion towards what had happened. ‘How could I not see her fireball? It was almost…Invisible?’ I thought. Then, I understood. There was no more intrigue in my thoughts, and I looked at her. I grabbed Lillian by the shoulders as she inspected the bruises on my face.
“Lillian.”
“Y-yes?” She responded.
“Where did you learn that?” I commanded.
“No-where, no books in here spoke of this type of source-”
“Do not lie to me. Where did you learn of this?”
“I’m not lying! I was just in my room, and then something told me I could try hiding my fireball. That’s the truth!” She yelled. I hushed her immediately. She spoke the truth, I detected no deceit in her voice. This was dangerous territory.
“Do not talk loudly, the Library has ears.” I whispered. She nodded in confirmation. I stood up from the floor, thinking of the next logical step. But my mind was muddled with questions.
“Is it bad that I did that?” She asked quietly.
“That…Is a source not transcribed in any text in this Library. It is a new source, one that you have discovered.” I responded. Lillian was agape at the mouth. I knew that she had to be moved, immediately from the confines of the Library.
“Pack your belongings, Lillian.” I spoke as I walked towards the doors of the room.
“What? Why?”
“We must go, your secret may be out already. We must leave the Library before others seek out your source. Now, go. We may be too-late already.” | Part 1
He regarded himself piece by piece to ensure his countenance composed. In magic, and in guiding the young, the visage of the master must be tended. Without creativity there is no progress, but without control there is calamity. This glass needle-tip is the master's workshop, the site of the most divine and transcendent, mysterious natural science, the rearing of the next generation of magic. A peculiar alchemy, surely, not one so literal as the management of metals, but one that takes similar artful precision. He ran his palms, sweaty from his quick work, down the front of his robes as his mind focused on his face, easing the wrinkles from the corners of his eyes and smoothing the involuntary twist in his face that came unbidden at the disorder of the shop. He righted his tall hat, nearly toppled from the rush of turbulent airs.
Three years, three months, and three days ago, the woods brought him a gift, as per the terms of their agreement. From the night of their contract to the delivery of their promise nearly 20 years passed, but he did not expect quickness of the eternal fae. Sustained as he was by elixer and energy, he was old and older still. Intellectual pursuits could sustain the right mind for lifetimes, but human flesh is human flesh, the human mind the same. Three lifetimes, no, three lifetimes and a half are enough to be alone. The deep wood pressed as heavy on the walls of the cottage, the walls of the tower, as the air upon the dirt and the water upon the floor of the sea. He needed refreshment, and someone to help him deal with the weight. And so he asked the fae, known to pick up strays for their mysterious reasons and to their mysterious ends, and with whom he kept positive mutual relations--as mutual as they could be so that they might stay positive. The contract was made of chanted song, swirling fog, and yarrow dew. They asked to watch the child from their woods, for his favor in return, and for a poem. He knew not why they fulfilled his request so cheaply, but he had taken his precautions. The fae would not sever relations with the wizard lightly; their power, immense and amorphous, could not be easily focused, like the sun under a magnifying lens, as could the wizard's.
He spent the interim years in quiet anticipation, preparing. They brought him Oleander.
She came, heralded by a whippoorwill in the morning. Her mouth was stained by the berries she popped into her mouth even as she looked with wonder at his habiliments. Her own vestments were threadbare relics from her life before the woods. Clearly, the fae did not keep her so long that she forgot human words and bonds. He sensed no trickery. Hazelnut skin and hair, and a bearing of confidence despite her predicament and the grime and tangles that covered her. The whippoorwill hollered three times with tilted head and flitted away through the trees. So long had he studied in these woods, but as the child looked at him the ancient flame of protection and stewardship fanned in his breast.
Three years of study and lesson, chore and play, work and meal, passed, and the wizard felt that time had suddenly accelerated from the slow dilation of his solitude. Oleander jabbered and withdrew and jabbered again, progressed then withdrew then progressed again, and she grew out of clothes faster than he thought to sew more. The sprouts of her magic grew so fast that the tree itself grew malformed and wild. In other times their growth stifled without any seeming correlation to the temperance of their conditions. He spent sleepless nights at his desk, charting her progress and pondering the endless puzzles of growth. It was happy work.
Rarely, the child would present him with some counterfactual to the natural order in which her human faculties developed. She cared for the herbs she learned to cultivate in the cottage garden, and looked to him with respect and affection, as he did to her. Accordance between men, and accordance with the earth: this results, in humans, in a set of predictable behaviors, behaviors that facilitate the felicitous exercise of the sciences and satisfaction of human needs. But one day at the height of summer, the sun madly radiating from the apex of the sky's blue arc, he found her at the edge of the wood, cradling a whippoorwill in her arms. The creature was slain. Her tears fell into the matted blood that congealed around a circular wound, made by a sling. Her sling quietly sat in a heap of leaves some yards away, hardly damaged by her throw. Now, it's no great mystery why a child would test itself by shooting birds with a sling, no mystery why the child would weep when their aim was true. But why this bird? Why this bird, he asked her. She could not answer him. He sighted a mockingjay in the canopy. It sat knowingly, imperiously, but he sensed no hostility. His gaze lingered on the forest as he took her by the shoulder and brought her in for a hearty supper. | 2022-09-28T10:33:16 | 2022-09-28T10:28:37 | 34 | 11 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego..
[removed] | I stand at the window, taking a long, well-deserved puff from my favourite cigarette. The smoke curls around me before escaping through the open window that gives me the greatest view of the sunset sky painted with bright hues of purple and blue and pink. Such a lovely night. So calm. So peaceful. It was the kind of night that was rare in its beauty- and I fully intend to enjoy it for as long as possible.
​
At least, before the stench of the rotting corpses behind me overpowers my sense of smell.
​
There were five of them- five of the so-called heroes of our city, completely and utterly dead. Tomorrow, they will be found, their funerals held, and a larger bounty will be placed upon my head as the city grieves and tells dramatic retellings of their simple death- but today, they lie on a dusty floor, surrounded by their own blood, with no one around but myself to mourn.
​
It had been easy to kill them once they arrived here- the heroes never expect a bullet to the head; spend all your time tussling with cartoonish villains, and your senses dull until you think that's what we're all like. It's ridiculous. They lived for too long in an invincible fantasy that had overwritten their reality of being just as fleshy as the rest of us.
​
The Heroes Association really doesn't know what it's doing- or maybe it's pushing out all the competent heroes?
​
I turn around to stare at them, at their god-awful costumes they somehow take pride in. The bright, vibrant colours almost burn my eyes out, and the symbols emblazoned upon them like a badge of honour only disgust me- they're practically moving targets! It's ridiculous, really. They claim it's for recognition purposes, but I choose to believe its more of an ego thing. Don't even get me started on their names!
​
"You!" The enraged growling of yet another hero bursting in dramatically through the doors disturbs the quiet peace. A strange suit of armour-like costume painted with red and gold, a weird trident symbol upon their belt- huh, I don't actually recognise this one.
​
I watch as this new hero's gaze, so full of red-hot rage, falls upon the small litter of corpses; I can't help but smile as all the confidence and bluster seeps out of her with all the colour in her face. The hope of a fantastic last-minute rescue fades away as reality snaps despair into her. The heroes she came for are dead, and there will be no one to come for her.
​
She stares at me now with terror- lip-quivering, whimpering terror.
​
Absolutely ridiculous; if these heroes hadn't grown complacent having to fight villains as ridiculous as they were, I wouldn't be so terrifying.
​
"P-please," She whispers, her wide eyes focused entirely upon the gun pointed at her. "Don't kill me." She even raises her hands in surrender.
​
Pathetic. They're all like this. Every single one of these so-called heroes. The second they realise they can't beat you up, they cower and fold and crack. None of them can face death in the eye when they're not the ones dealing it.
​
I don't even say a word as I put a bullet between her eyes. | My meditation teacher taught that three disciplines are needed to reach enlightenment: morality, concentration, and wisdom. I got the latter two of those mastered. I still have no idea what morality means. Oh, I'm familiar with all the philosophical theories and abstractions. I find the paradoxes amusing. I've set up a few trolly paradoxes myself. Just to understand my enemies better, or undermine their morale. Thing is, I don't care about it the way others do. Right or wrong, I just do what's best for me. Every time. You might say I'm an enlightened villain. But really it all started with a head injury, a concussion that landed me in a coma for three years. I died then. I died every day for three years. I saw it all. Heaven, Hell, Pergatory, grey aliens performing psychic surgeries on unwilling patients. When I woke up, I was no longer myself. I was one with everything. And this cut both ways. I could read minds. I could also make people think, say and do things they otherwise wouldn't have thought about. And being one with everything, with everyone, made one thing clear: Everyone is pretty sick. The only thing that will keep everyone in line is fear. And the thing they fear most is the meaningless death of their heroes. I am The Dispatcher. | 2019-08-06T22:14:53 | 2019-08-06T21:36:57 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?” | "Aw man... why'd it have to be you?" The figure said blocking the mid morning sun from my face.
"It was a beautiful day out. I told her I'd meet her one fine day. Seemed like as good a day as any." I couldn't look up. Well, wouldn't. I couldn't bring myself to look at another person or being at this moment.
"You weren't supposed to be here for another forty years." If a black mass of robes could look defeated, he did. I played with my hands, my knee wouldn't stop bouncing. "You could have had a happier life."
"You know all of fate. Why was my passing so shocking? What was different about my life that you are disappointed?" I started to get a bit choked up now. I knew what led me here was wrong.
"It's not that I'm disappointed. Shocked would be the closer emotion. There were people counting on you. People you hadn't met yet, people that their stories depended on you." He sat down on the bench next to me. Tears started flowing from my eyes. "I know it was hard. I saw how you had yelled at the sky, tried to break open the ground with your fists, cursed every god in existence. Your son won't know what's going on."
"I know he won't understand. That's the way it was with his mother as well. Others can care for him better than I could." I was trembling as the walls finally broke down. A dam had lost its structural integrity and now everything flooded me.
"Yes and no. Yes, they will take care of him and get him to all his appointments and the best schools and what not but that's all window dressing. He's an orphan now and that leaves a mark on someone so young."
"I know. I felt so isolated though. Like I was in the fight alone. Like all I had was him --"
"And all he had was you." Death stared at me. Pulling off his hood, he looked me in the face. A middle aged man with kind brown eyes, salt and pepper hair. Not the traditional look I would expect. I was expecting a lot less skin. "You discount yourself. You always have and one day it would have made sense."
"His grandparents will make sure he has everything he could ever want."
"No. The one thing his heart will yearn for will never be filled."
"That happened when he lost his mother."
"And you lost your wife."
"I know I messed up. I couldn't take it anymore."
"No, you could have. You gave others hope. You prevented a dozen others from coming here early yet you decided to take the early train yourself. Why?"
"I already told you, it was a fine day and I didn't want to feel alone anymore."
"You still aren't getting it. You weren't alone. There were dozens of people around you who loved you, who cared for you. You shouldn't be here." He reached out with a remorseful hand. It felt much like when my grandfather was comforting me many years ago. "You still have work you need to do."
"How? Not like I can go back now."
"Not many can. There's enough orphans in the world. You come back when I'm ready." Death said before pushing my head back with a gentle shove.
There was a click. The hammer had struck the pin but there must have been a misfire. Just in time for there to be a knock, the sound of a small fist hitting the bedroom door. "Daaaaddy? Chocolate milk?" The tiny voice said on the other side of the door. Tears rained on the bedroom floor as I stowed the pistol back in the safe.
"Hey buddy, give daddy a second while I get ready." I got up and started drying my face. "What do you say we go see your Anny Manny and Uncle?" | “It’s complicated.” And then I connected the voice. My ex boyfriend. I hadn’t seen him in ages, he looked completely different but the voice never changed.
“Are you…”
“Dead? Not yet. Apparently they left off the part about what happens when you’re not on an afterlife team. I have to do two years of community service. At the end, after meeting all the various souls, I’m supposed to choose. Well, I don’t meet the ones that believe reincarnation. They usually go back right away. They told me I might meet a couple of those in my two years.”
“Well, what about me?”
“Let me check my notes…ok. You’re going this way. You didn’t practice a religion on the master list but you had pets. We usually send you guys with them. Wow, shelter cats. Dogs. A few buns too. This will work.”
I walked over with my ex to this bridge, which I thought was a metaphor. It opened up to a huge field with my pets waiting for me. My pitbull, my beagle, all my cats. The bunnies and hamsters. I followed Rocco, my childhood German shepherd and the rest of my menagerie off into the distance.
My ex looked wistful as he waved goodbye. My pittie went back and grabbed him by the coat to take him another direction, freeing my ex from his service. Jack always liked him more than me anyway. | 2022-03-05T17:44:43 | 2022-03-05T16:24:19 | 325 | 85 |
[WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time.
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | "Well, this is awkward." Death whispered, leaning on his scythe near the tree.
"Hello, Death. You're early." Santa responded, stepping from the fireplace.
"You knew I'd be here? The Dark Lord of Despair asked, testing the edge of his reaver with boney thumb. "Why am I not surprised."
"You've always been at the top of my naughty list, Death. I always know where you're at. It's Christmas eve. Shouldn't you be collecting drunks out on the interstate?" St. Nick asked without a trace of his normally jovial demeanor.
"You know, I go where I'm needed, and tonight, I'm needed upstairs." Death said. He looked toward the ceiling, above which, slept the child Death had come to collect.
"Couldn't persuade you," Santa began, setting down his bag, "to wait; to give the kid one more day with her loved ones. Call it a favor and next time, I'll owe you one."
"No can do, elf. I either take her tonight, or take them all tomorrow. If I don't take her . . ." Death shrugged. "She's going to change the design. You, who counts every snowflake, understands why I can't wait. At some point, a single flake proves to be too much for the limb. Same with the souls I come to collect. I leave here, she changes the design. People who weren't meant to die, will be put on my list early. I can't do that. I can't change the design." Death apologized, turning toward the stairs, scythe in hand.
"A moment more," Santa called, bringing Death up short. "I know all about the ripples. It happens up at the North Pole too. This kid ask for something. This kid ask for something that contradicts what the first kid ask for. It's why some kids don't get what they ask for. The elves call it the Christmas Paradox. I can't grant one kids wish if it nullifies another. It creates a problem. However, that particular problem doesn't apply to her. There is no Christmas wish nullifying hers. I have to grant her wish. She asked for one more day. You will give her one more day." The look in Santa's eye were the eyes of a sad old man forced to do the unthinkable.
"Santa--Kris, I like you, but this can't happen. You're killing them all. Please don't make me do this." Death pleaded. "You know I can't be stopped."
"No. But, you can be forestalled. She just asked for one more day. Give her that. Please. Give me this one. She was better than all the rest. She made the top of my good list. She's beautiful, and kind, and compassionate, and selfless. Even now, the only selfish thing she has ever asked for was this; one more day. I have to stop you." Santa said, extending his hands pleadingly.
"I'm sorry." Death whispered, starting up the stairs.
"Me too." Santa said, rushing forward. He grabbed Death's robes and pulled him from the stairs. Wisps of smoke rose from Santa's mittens. He let go of the robe hurriedly and grabbed Death's cowl with the other hand.
"Stop this," Death rumbled, striking Santa across the shoulder with the shaft of his scythe.
"I can't." Santa responded, rolling away from the feel of Death's reaver. Blackness followed the sweep of the scythe, but Santa refused to give in.
"Santa! Stop this. You're going to get hurt." Death warned. "If I accidentally touch you, you die. Just like the humans. This isn't you."
"It is tonight," Santa cried, a tear spilling from his eye into his snowy beard. "You can't have her."
Death stopped fighting and turned to face Santa squarely. "You can't stop me from climbing the stairs. You can't stop me for doing my duty." Death slashed the air, cutting a gash with his scythe. Through the gash was the little girl asleep in her bed. She was hooked up to heart monitor. Her head was bald and even though she slept, dark circles stained her eyes. "I have to do this. She is suffering."
"That is her choice," Santa argued. "It was her wish. It was her wish to suffer one more day. For them."
"I'm sorry." Death apologized, leaping through the gash he'd made. Santa rushed to follow, but the tear closed behind him. Santa raced up the stairs two at a time and burst into the room, tackling Death as he gently reached out with his scythe to touch the girl's brow.
Santa and Death barreled into the wall, knocking pictures from the wall and knick-knacks from the dresser. The mirror shattered under the force of their collision.
"Enough," Death demanded, grabbing Santa's suit and flinging his mythical form away. "It has to be." A gasp from the bed, drew Death's attention. "I'm sorry. I wanted to do it while you were asleep." The little girl wasn't looking at him though. She was watching Santa with wonder as he climbed to his feet.
"Daddy?" She asked, tears in her eyes.
"Yeah. It's me, honey." Santa said, removing the hat and beard.
"You have to stop, daddy. You have to let me go." She pleaded.
"I can't. I don't want you to go. I don't want to be alone." He sobbed, his shoulders rose and fell as stepped over to the bed.
"It hurts too much, daddy. Just let me go. Please. So I can be with mommy." She said, reaching up to touch his face and rub away his tears. "It hurts, daddy." He studied her bright blue eyes, shaking his head.
"Okay." He whispered, bending low to kiss her head. Death reached out and took her hand and when her father's lips left her brow, she was gone.
"No." He cried, falling across his daughter. "I just wanted one more day."
"You would always want one more day." Death told him quietly. "Her pain is over."
"Take me too."
"I can't." Death replied.
"Why not?" He demanded.
"Because, she left you this." Death used the tip of his scythe to lift edge of the little girl's pillow. Beneath it lay her diary. "Tonight it'll save your life. If I had waited till tomorrow, it wouldn't have. I'm sorry. Read it and live. She wanted you to." Death turned away, renting the air with his scythe. He stepped through and was gone. The portal closing behind him.
Santa opened the diary, rubbing tears away with the back of his hand.
*Dear Daddy, don't cry . . ."* | Santa hoisted the bag of toys over his shoulders as he readied himself for the next delivery. We walked past Dasher, Dance, Prancer and all the others, gently scratching their ears. If it wasn't for them he wouldn't be here after all. He made his way to the chimney, but as he approached he felt the temperature change. While the cold, brisk winter air was something he was used to, it was the warm breeze that caught him off guard.
When most people sense death, it's a cold grasp they feel. But Death, like so many other people in a macabre profession, shares a love of humor and theatrics. So while St. Nick made his way closer to the shadowy figure he felt a warm breeze, almost gentle and serene. It smelled faintly of coconuts and beach.
"And What brings you to my neck of the woods, gentleman Death?" St. Nick asked.
"Oh you know, thought I'd drop off some gifts." Death said.
"Ha. Clever. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do" St. Nick's words were strained. It's always hard to hold a conversation with a gentleman like Death.
Death simply said three words, "So do I."
Regardless of the calming air surrounding the spectre, St. Nick could not help but feel the slightest bit of anxiety. It was a feeling that weighed heavily on St. Nick. He knew why Death was here this evening, but that didn't stop him. Maybe it was denial or maybe it was blind hope, whatever the case, St. Nick made his way into the home with his bag of toys. Death slowly followed.
The cold reality hit him as he stepped inside. As St. Nick's eyes swept across the living room he could see a tree, but no lights. No stockings were up, and no plate of cookies and milk. He put his bag down and made his way down the hall. He headed over to Jonny's room and slowly open the door.
"Oh no."
Death stood behind St. Nick, never whispering a word. The room was empty, and it looked like it had been for some time. The sheets were perfectly made, the toys that littered the floor last year were no longer around. The planes and trains that once decorated the walls had been taken down. Instead, all St. Nick saw was a cold, empty gray room. No little boys had set foot in here for some time. Nor would they again.
"This never gets any easier," St. Nick said, his voice weary. "I envy you sometimes gentleman Death, to be able to let go so easily."
Death, being ever the gentleman, sought out the most comfortable words it could, "At least you brought them joy, even for a small time. My job is simply to take, but yours, yours is to give. That is something I could never do."
St. Nick let out a deep sigh, "How's the family. How are they dealing?"
Death thought for a moment, and against his better judgement he motioned to St. Nick. "Come and see."
Death made its way outside and around the house. St. Nick slowly followed.
They found the window into the parent's room, and Death moved aside. St. Nick could see them. He saw the parents, sitting on the edge of the bed within each others embrace. And at their feet, he saw little Jonny playing with a new puppy. He had grown up quite a bit in the last year.
"Are you ok with what we just told you honey? The truth about Santa?" the mother asked, as she held the father's hand.
Jonny barely noticed, his full attention on the puppy.
"Your mother and I talked about it, and we decided it was best if you knew. We found out when we were your age, and there's no point in believing in something that isn't real. Everyone has to grow up some time"
Jonny looked up for a moment and his eyes met with St. Nick's. But the familiarity that was once there had gone. Jonny's attention just went back to the puppy like he had seen nothing at all.
It was at that moment that a calming warmth surround St. Nick as he felt Death's embrace.
"Come on old friend, this isn't the first time you've died to a child."
| 2013-12-13T08:07:12 | 2013-12-13T07:53:05 | 41 | 12 |
[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 on the phone with my best friend Tony when the piece of paper came shooting out from under the closet door.
"Hey, Tony, I'm gonna have to call you back."
Tony and I met when I came to college, and instantly became friends. We talked to each other about everything, maybe sometimes too much. Maybe sometimes not enough.
I got up from my bed, walked over to the closet, and picked up the paper. It looked as though it had been in the closet forever, wrinkled from being wadded up too many times, like someone had wanted to pass it under the door long ago but kept hesitating.
I unfolded the paper, and began to read. It was a letter.
>I've been in here for quite awhile, watching you. I see you cry at night, stress over school, play your video games, and cry some more. It's okay to cry. At least, that's what I do.
I stopped and looked around the room. Who had been watching me? Was this some kind of joke? It put me on edge, but I continued reading.
>I know the way you feel inside. The feeling of despair, shame and guilt. You look at yourself in the mirror with disgust, and then put on a mask before going about your day. You tell everyone you're fine, but inside you're really not.
Man, whoever this is, they really know how to win someone over. They must be psychic, too. I continued.
>I can understand why. Being the way you are. It must be difficult. I know it was for me, and sometimes still is. The feeling of being trapped, alone, and scared.
I paused, and looked out my bedroom window. I had a perfect view of the campus quadrangle, with its field of grass, three-story oak trees and immaculate landscaping. The birds chirped as students scrambled to get to class. I always loved nature. It calmed me. I turned back to the letter.
>I'm here to tell you that it doesn't have to be that way. You don't have to hate yourself. You can love yourself, every bit of yourself. Just like I love you. I know it's hard, but it's not impossible. Hell, you've managed to keep a 3.8 GPA. Surely you can do this.
By this point, I had returned to my bed. I thought of Tony. We've done everything together in college, and it's been the best four years of my life. We're both set to graduate in the spring, and Lord only knows if we'll ever see each other after that. I certainly hope we do. I don't know what I'd do without my partner in crime. But still, who was this letter from?
>This letter is to tell you that I love you. That you're important, and that people care about you. Most importantly, that I care about you. You're stronger than what you've think. You're intelligent, smart, brave, daring, and compassionate. You have goals, aspirations, and a bright future ahead of you. Don't let this stop you. Don't let anything stop you. I love you, and it's time to tell the world.
>With Love,
>Me.
I got up from my bed, and walked over to the closet. I finally knew who was behind the door. I turned the handle slowly. The door creaked as the evening rays of the setting sun illuminated the dark abyss inside.
I stood up, and walked out of the closet. | *Letter 95/100*
 
Dear Avery,
 
They are coming – I can hear them closing in. Their marching sounds like an earthquake, their voices like the judges of courtrooms. We knew we couldn’t hide forever, but we didn’t expect them to come so soon, either.
I must go now. I know our time together was short, but I feel like you know me better than anyone else I’ve ever met. Talking to you had been the one bright light amidst all the darkness in my life. Meeting you has been nothing short of a miracle.
Do you remember the day we went on a picnic? Beneath the clear blue skies, the flowers were blooming like each of them was a little rising sun, so full of life. Hope. Beauty. In the darkest hours, I often find myself drifting back to that day. Back to the field beside the lake.
Avery Thompson, I’ve never met you, but I think I’m in love with you. Thank you for giving me this, even for a fleeting moment. Thank you.
 
*Forever Yours,*
*Sarah Benesch*
*22 July*
| 2017-04-11T16:07:59 | 2017-04-11T14:59:07 | 305 | 68 |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | The whole world was holding it's breath, waiting on what my squad and I would find. Nothing had been heard from the United States in a week, today being the 7th day. No broadcasts, no radio signals, no internet posts, and not a single person has come from the famous country. It was almost as if the entire country had been shut off. Mexico and Canada were the first ones to realize it and reached out to the rest of the world, where it was finally decided that the British Special Forces was the most qualified to do a recon mission. No one knew what the chosen individuals sent on the mission would encounter, so they sent us. We are experts on running into the unexpected and still accomplishing the mission. Years of training and bonding has made us act as if we are one person, all different parts of the same body.
The plane hit some turbulence and I looked up from my tablet, habit making me hit the save button on the mission report. I looked at my watch and yelled out to my squad, "Ten minutes to jump!" I put my tablet in my cargo pocket and glanced around at my squad. Joel was sitting directly across from me doing another check of his gear, Eric was to his left and calmly cleaning his finger nails with his knife. Joshua was sitting to his right and catching my glance he stuck his tongue out and gave me a crazy grin making me smirk and roll my eyes. The smallest and final member of our squad was sitting to my right; he had his head back and eyes closed. I nudged him with my elbow and he looked over at me. "You ready for this Walker?" I asked.
"I was born ready for this Dylan," he replied "Please don't insult me."
I chuckled as we went through our normal conversation before every mission.
"I wouldn't dream of insulting someone as crazy as you."
Looking back at my watch, I stood up. "5 minutes, prepare for exit!" It hurt my throat to yell over the sound of the plane. Everyone stood up and adjusted their straps as we all shuffled toward the rear of the plane. No one spoke as the end of the plane opened up and we all watched the red light, waiting for it to turn green. The anticipation built up in me as it always did before jumping out of a plane. After almost a thousand jumps I would have thought it would go away by now. The green light turned on and everyone stepped forward at once as our training kicked in. It's hard to describe the way it feels in that first second after the jump. You're moving so fast horizontally just to suddenly be moving downward, pulled by gravity. I loved it. We all positioned our bodies so we were dive bombing toward the ground, going as fast as we could. As the skyscrapers of New York City rushed towards us I could tell something was wrong, even this far up. There are tendrils of smoke rising from every direction. Hearing the beep from my watch notifying me of the altitude, I leveled my body parallel to the earth slowing down slightly. I put my left hand on my parachute pull ring and stuck my right hand in front of me, palm open. I closed my fist, the signal for everyone to pull their chute, simultaneously pulling my own chute open. I steered my chute around the tall buildings, expertly guiding myself to land on the road in between the motionless cars. The moment my feet touched the ground I pushed the button on my chest that released my chute from my body and brought my weapon up. I scanned the area in front of me, confident in the knowledge that the rest of my squad was doing the same in the other directions behind me.
"What the..." I heard Joel mumble through the squad's radio headsets. I was thinking the same thing. New York looked like a scene from a low budget Apocalypse movie. Cars were all bunched up on the road like ants in a line, every single window was smashed and everything was deathly silent.
"Hey boss, you see these piles of ash everywhere?" Walker spoke to me through the radio. Now that he mentioned it I started noticing the little piles of ash everywhere. On the road, on the sidewalk, on the street.
"Yeah I see them. Everyone keep your eyes open and heads down. Spread out a little and see what you can find." I moved forward to look in one of the yellow Taxi cabs. Piles of ash in there too. I wonder what was burned and why.
"Uh. I think everyone should come here and see this." Eric's voice hesitantly came through my ear piece. I took a final glance around before turning around and jogging over to him. He was standing on the sidewalk outside a small bookstore next to a bike and dozens of the ash piles. Everyone was already there and Eric was waiting to speak until I arrived.
"Look at this bike and where the ash is. It's right next to the seat. Don't y'all get it?" He looked at each of us individually before shaking his head slowly. "This is them. These piles of ash are the Americans. They've been disintegrated."
Realization dawned on me and fear started to creep up from my stomach. I watched as Joshua moved forward and ran his boot through the pile kicking it around. He uncovered something that shined in the sun and Joel bent down to pick it up. He mumbled something and raised the object up for everyone to see. A simple gold ring, probably a wedding band. Joshua started to chuckle and it quickly escalated to a loud booming laugh. The laugh echoed around the city, in and around the empty buildings. The echoes kept going after he stopped and getting fainter and fainter.
"What could possibly be so damn funny about this, you sick bastard," demanded Walker, breaking the silence.
Joshua looked at us all, clearly shocked that none of us understood. "Don't anyone of you get it? We are all completely and totally screwed." | The Aircraft lurched and hopped roughly as it set down on the runway at Jean Lesage international airport. Outside the late season blizzard howled and blustered in its last attempt to snatch the plane from the air. On board Col. Mcentire looked over the cargo bay stuffed with their expeditionary vehicles supplies, and lined with seats full of his best men.
Two runways had already been shut down not for the frigid conditions but to hold a refugee camp. Huge numbers of international travelers had been stranded here both American and otherwise. When the blackout had occurred a week ago all planes in US Airspace had been forced to redirect or land without guidance somewhere in the dark zone.
That was why they were here. To investigate the blackout. It had only been a week and the world had already been halfway to hell as it was. Now stranded US forces abroad had begun abandoning their posts to try and make their way home or submit to regional alliances like NATO for guidance. It was a field day for traditional rivals of the USA. Iran had launched an all out invasion of Saudi Arabia. The Chinese were attempting to re-annex Taiwan but had their hands full with reigning in North Korea's incursions into China and South Korea alike. Russia was throwing its weight around like a bear coming out of hibernation.
The Crown and Prime Minister's office had sanctioned an immediate exploratory effort. All the birds and boats that had approached the USA directly had also gone dark. There were rumors of refugees making it across the borders but nothing concrete. Nothing believable anyway. Thus Mcentire and his special team had been selected to try a land crossing themselves. It would be a daunting task to cross the Wall. the USA had completely militarized its borders but there were still some gaps on the northern side with Canada.
Finally the plane ground to a halt in a private hanger and the engines began winding down. "Move Out" he ordered and the troops wasted no time disembarking. there would be no wind up, the last briefing had been given right before landing. The orders had been to consider all moments after landing to be on the mission clock.
Within minutes the APCs and crates were down the ramp and loaded. A uniformed Major approached them from the Airport team and wordlessly handed him a clipboard. two signatures and they would tend the transport jet in their absence. Officially none of this was happening and none of Mcentire's team or assets existed here. Before anybody could turn any suspicious eyes they departed.
The streets were largely empty and not just because of the storm. Martial law had been declared so moving openly while heavily armed would only draw minimal attention. To this effect the very British vehicles and team bore the local Canadian markings. Nobody seemed to notice and the back gate off the tarmac let them pass without incident. There was a checkpoint at the st Lawrence river but their papers were valid.
As soon as they were out of the city they went off road. There was a known break in the border security some 50 miles away. In theory they could have attempted to use the roads and regular border crossing. Yet they did not know what to expect on the other side and reports indicated that no traffic pas passing there. To be sure some people had tried to enter. The Canadians certainly had, but like everybody else they went silent not long after entering.
The drive was two hours and the snow drifts didn't help but finally they reached the gully where the fence parted and crossed over into the unknown | 2017-03-07T13:17:14 | 2017-03-07T12:22:54 | 173 | 61 |
[WP] "For the *last time*, just because I dress like an edgelord and live in a giant castle constructed out of obsidian within a region of high volcanic activity DOES NOT mean I'm a villain! That's just, like, my aesthetic, bro!" | Rowan sighed as she spotted yet another stupid small-town hero walking up the path to her home. The hero was some fool who'd mistaken her home for some villainous lair made for nefarious purposes. *Maybe this one will suspect I'm secretly a dragon,* she thought sarcastically.
*... Maybe I should GET a dragon. Is that possible?*
A sound that resembled the screech of clanging metal resonated through her home. Ah, yes, the doorbell. She answered the door while trying to swallow the last bite of her eggs. "Hey, uh..." This hero was... Painfully underwhelming. Almost pitifully so. She almost wanted to let him beat her up just to give the poor thing a victory for once. She couldn't even continue with her speech about what actually counts as a villain. She was totally paralyzed by how sorry she felt for him.
The hero spoke- he had a loud and very resonant voice, surprisingly. "Madam, I, as a registered hero under-" Rowan broke out of her trance after a few words. She actually didn't feel sorry for him at all, now that she thought about it. She detested him and just felt disgusted, yet she couldn't place why. It was confusing, which only made her hate him more.
"Shut up," she snarled. "Look, for the LAST time, just because I dress like an edgelord and live in a giant castle constructed out of obsidian within a region of high volcanic activity DOES NOT mean I'm a villain! That's just my aesthetic! I'm a rich woman who likes how cool this looks! Will you stupid, worthless fucking heroes leave me the hell alone for once?!" Rowan slammed the door in his face- which was no easy feat, it required a lot of strength to do that normally. Now that she thought about it, none of this behavior was natural to her. Her heart was pumping and she was breathing fast. Her body was full of adrenaline from rage. This wasn't normal at all...
*Oh. That hero's one of those reality breakers. He's got some kind of psychological distortion ability from it.* In fact, Rowan found that a couple seconds after she closed the door, she didn't feel any of the things she'd felt upon first opening it.
The hero knocked again. Rowan raised her eyebrows, surprised at his persistence. And she found herself relieved that even though she still felt weird when she opened the door, it was nothing near as extreme as the first time. "Quite a pair of balls on you to knock again when someone blows up on you like that," Rowan commented. She couldn't actually get a proper handle on what the hero looked like. He looked different every time she actually looked at him.
The hero smiled sheepishly. "I was trying to come up here to do a wellness check. Quite a few residents had reported that they had not seen or heard of you in a few weeks. So regardless of how you respond I have to get a verbal confirmation that you are alright and able to still take care of yourself." He shuffled his feet. "I normally just help people with paperwork and find missing pets, because you know. Distortion and all that makes it hard to do anything *people*-related."
Rowan snorted. "I imagine it must be tough. Yes, I'm alright and still taking care of myself, I've just been using the delivery service a lot lately because it's so convienent now that reality breakers are allowed to use their abilities in normal jobs. Delivery people can actually get up here in less than a week!" Rowan felt herself smile. "So what's your name? I'm Rowan." The hero smiled back. "I'm Bernard, no known alias." | "Do you even know how hard it is to be a Vulcanologist in a land that has exactly ONE volcano? The begging I had to do to get funding? The arguing I had to do to even be allowed to make this project happen? The bullhead fools I had to schmooze just to make the right someone listen and advise the king that Vulcanology was important to the safety of the kingdom?
Bad enough those snobs refuse to take me seriously for going out of the country to even get my degree in the first place because the royal academy doesn't offer advanced science degrees, but now every time I turn around I have adventurers breaking in, terrorizing the servants and threatening to disturb my experiments.
Like, I know it looks sketch but black doesn't show singe marks and the castle is the only place close to this vent I've been studying to actually live. And yeah, I probably should have reported that the previous inhabitant had fallen into the vent during a freak accident but the two servants who rented the castle to me had assured me it had been taken care of. I literally didn't know they hadn't reported it until you all showed up.
Regardless of everything else though you can't just attack people because they're into the goth aesthetic.
Now, if I let you down will you go away so I can get some work done or should I leave you up there to think about what you've done until I get back from my daily observations? " | 2021-03-22T23:06:29 | 2021-03-22T21:51:47 | 193 | 36 |
[WP] You were summoned by a god to be the hero of a fantsy world, to kill the demon king and free their people, as a boon they told you you could request any weapon that they will provide. As a joke, you requested a intercontinental thermonuclear warhead, they gave it to you with a stright face. | “What,” said James, “the ever-loving fuck is that?”
The village woman—Maria, if he remembered correctly—turned to the metal dome of the warhead. “Is this not what you asked for?”
James blanched. “I mean I guess it is.” *Christ*. How could he explain he was joking? He’d given them something he knew they’d never be able to get. Part of that was for a laugh, but part of it was because he knew they’d never be able to do it and would (hopefully) drop the whole fanfare and he could leave in peace.
“It’s from Mage Crosswald,” Maria said. “He said you’d know what to do with it.”
The wind whistled through the village. James leaned against the wall of the hut. He’d been here a few weeks, at most, and he was already exhausted. He couldn’t imagine how the people in the village or the kingdom felt.
*Fuck it.* James took a breath. The darkness from the Demon King was spreading through the land. Trees and crops rotted. Water turned thick and dark. The sky blotted out and refused to show the sun. If he wanted to save this world, as the god that brought him here intended, then he’d have to strike at the root of the issue.
“I need men,” he instructed Maria, “to help me get this weapon ready to use.”
---
On Sunday after the noon meal, the warhead launched. It was a small miracle of magic and science.
The rumble of the launch pounded in James’ ears even though he cupped his hands around his head. James watched it arc through the sky and disappear behind the clouds. The villagers were also gawking upwards in awe.
“That’s it?” Maria whispered. Her face was still, almost as if she refused to cave into hope as the other villagers had done.
James nodded firmly. “It should make impact in the Highborn Mountains in a few minutes. The Demon King doesn’t stand a chance.”
---
The warhead made impact, as was expected.
In an instant, the Demon King was annihlated. Just like that. After years of fear, he was gone. Many heroes had fallen trying to face him. And now he was dust—ash in the wind.
And the darkness kept spreading.
The sky turned black and the sun disappeared and the dark rains came down that left the animals and the forest changed. Nothing can grow without sun. Nothing can live without food.
“I don’t understand,” James said to the monk, Alured. The cloister of the Abbey was the only safe place; most of the kingdom demanded his head. And James couldn’t go home until this world was safe. He was their hero, after all.
Alured frowned at James. He rarely spoke—as far as James knew, it wasn’t on account of any sort of vow of silence. He was just a quiet guy.
“I was supposed to help.” James pressed his hands to his head. The ache that persisted in the base of his skull was only growing. “I was sent here by god to save you!”
“And you’re sure about that?”
James looked up at Alured in surprise. “Your god himself told me. That’s why I’m here.”
“Hmm.” Alured stood there, unspeaking and staring at James.
“What?” James grit his teeth. It drove him crazy to no end, the way that people in this world loved to speak in riddles or withhold information.
“Our god is one of peace, you know. I find it hard to imagine that the great creator would will destruction and war on this land.”
“Well, that’s what happened! How else would I even be here.”
Alured frowned; his face turned down in sorrow. “My friend. The Demon King had been a plague on our land for many years.”
“That’s why I was chosen to stop him.”
“Perhaps.” Alured folded his hands. “But the Demon King might not have been here on his own account.”
James closed his eyes. What was Alured even saying?
“All of the Demons, you know, are from the shadow realm. Therefore, they fall under command of the Lord of Shadows.”
James’ heart thundered. “No,” he muttered. He clenched his hands into a fist. “No—it’s not possible.”
“The Lord of Shadows isn’t known for his patience,” Alured said. “He might’ve wanted a faster way to get his job done.”
Alured stepped closer and laid a gentle and comforting hand on James’ arm. “My friend,” he said softly, “I think you were misled.”
James opened his mouth but couldn’t find words. His throat was too dry; his eyes burned. “I’ve doomed you all.”
He’d brought the darkness to the land. He’d sentenced them all to live in an unliveable world. A world *he* made unliveable.
And there was no way to change it now.
---
r/liswrites | The God stared at what he had produced rather melancholic.
"Well I guess that's that." He gazed at me with accusing eyes.
I stared back apprehensively, wondering where this was going.
" For a millennia, I have been here nicely summoning people as 'heroes' in return for amusement. And now someone is going to doom this world into oblivion?" He started positively wailing now the more he spoke. I was also getting more positively alarmed.
I had thought it was a good idea and was starting to wonder if this God was right in the head. I didn't even know why I specified intercontinental. My stomach growled. I was probably in the middle of tucking into a continental breakfast. Thoughts of pastry, coffee was making me feel more morose and wishing I too need not be in this predicament.
Both he and I were feeling out of sorts and each were definitely feeling the worse as time went by.
God waved me over, to hand me the receipt and manual for using the said intrusive warhead towering behind us. I jogged over with my id tag dangling and possessions still miraculously on me in this world.
As he handed me my receipt, his eyes caught onto my tag.
"Comic con? What's that?" He catches my dangling tag. My merch spills out as he grabs my satchel too. There was all my Marvel universe memorabilia, pictures stuff I had been waiting for to get autographs.
God now sifts through, gaining knowledge apparently as he touched the merch. "Amazing" he murmurs, "what is this universe envisioned by mankind of your world? And there's 2d worlds?" I look to see him touching my 'DragonBall' badge.
"That's settled I am done with this world. You must bring me to yours when you are done!" He exclaims excitedly. "Well what are you waiting for? Off you go!"
He beams as I now stand here clutching my warhead manual and a bedraggled satchel. I trot to the exit of God's place. And find myself blinking, suddenly staring at another whole new universe where I now need to kill a demon king with no clue about this universe. I look back and see God is now perusing my Switch ready to delve into another universe.
- my 1st writing for fun. I lurk here to read. I don't write stories tbh. Just gave it a stab for fun. Your prompt seemed simple to understand :*D i am unsure any proper writing formats but curious to learn. Writing this on the go. Could have been clearer or expand more. Phew writing sure takes alot of time huh. And ofc hard i guess. | 2020-10-14T03:16:50 | 2020-10-14T02:59:54 | 156 | 49 |
[WP] You're a financial advisor. In 1994, you get a weird phone call from a man asking you if he can get any Bitcoin below $200k, and the call cuts off before you can ask him what Bitcoin was. Years later you get a call again from the same man, claiming he's calling back seconds after disconnection. | I must confess, when the bitcoin hit $15k I was tempted to sell. I had bought a ton of them the moment they first appeared, guided by an odd call I had received decades ago. For people like me, who care little about those slow-earning stocks, and love the adrenaline a good bet on a highly volatile company provides, every little hint of information, no matter how ridicule, was enough for me to spend all my savings.
The green numbers were my drug, and the red ones my motivation to invest more. Diversification they said, and I laughed at them when $MU sky-rocketed, and I bathed in tendies.
But I'm straying away. You see, if I sold bitcoin when it reached $15k I would've been set for life, but one does not simply ignore a call from someone telling you that he wanted to get bitcoin below $200k. That's a sort of legal insider information, despite how unreliable it was.
Of course, as you may know, the bitcoin plummeted, and new cryptocurrencies rose. I won't lie, I panicked back then, and almost sold at $5k, but I forbid myself to do such a stupid thing. I knew it was going to rise, and it was going to rise like nothing the market had ever seen before.
And then it hit $1k, and the ramen noodles were starting to make me sick. Still I waited, tear after tear, thinking about the amount of money I had lost, and how the people in the online forums called me names, and paid their respects with the letter F.
But then it happened. It rose slowly but steadily. The moment I saw this, I bought at $2K, and kept it. When it reached $15k again, my mind screamed to sell and stop the stress. But the stress is what made me feel alive, and so I held onto my bitcoins.
Two years later, it hit $199k, and the phone rang again.
"Hey man, this phone disconnected or something. Can I buy below $200k?"
I frowned. This was the man from the call from all those decades ago. The call that started it all. "What do you mean the phone disconnected? It's been 30 years since we spoke."
The man laughed. "Yeah sure, that coffee you are *drinking* must be quite strong. Now, can we talk business, please?"
Confused, but interested, I played his game. Perhaps he would accidentally give me the key to make another fortune. "You can buy for sure below $200k. It's at $198k right now. But do you think it will keep rising?"
"Keep rising? Absolutely not. It will hit $205k and then plummet to cents. I just want to buy, hold, and sell when it reaches $204k."
"I see. Well, I can make the operation for you. I just need your data."
There was no answer. Once again, the phone had disconnected.
Without a doubt, when it hit $204k I sold, and secured a fortune that would last for centuries. I became the richest man in the world, and became an angel investor, losing fortunes in start-ups that went nowhere.
But as thing goes, a young man approached me one day and pitched his invention. It was a telephone he claimed could communicate with the past. Everyone rejected him, for he had no proof that it worked, and when you used it you lost connection after a handful of seconds.
I bought every patent and license the man had. He scampered happily away with his money, and I, as a good businessman, reserved the technology just for me.
I grabbed the phone, and dialed a very old number.
"Hello, can I buy bitcoin below $200k?"
----------------------
r/NoahElowyn | “I’d like to buy shares of bitcoin” a mumbled voice says over the phone.
Having had this conversation several times over the phone with clients the past year or so I think to myself who is it this time.
“ may I ask who’s calling?”
The voice on the other end of the phone says “does it matter? I need to buy in now”
I pause and stare blankly at my Factset monitor and ever growing list of unread emails in Outlook”
“Sir, firm policy dictates I can only give advice to existing clients and to some extent prospects, but that generally only covers assets available on our platform, currently our asset schema covers the asset classes equities, fixed income, cash, and alternatives but crypto currencies haven’t made it though compliance. Many clients like yourself have shown interest and there has been a lot of discussion of crypto currencies the past few years, but our firm has often compared it to Tulipmania which took place in Holland back in February 1637...that said you could probably buy it on a platform like coin base or a number of exchanges”
On the other end of the phone the voice screams “God damn mothafucka I traveled back in time just to deal with this bullshit..click”
My eyes gloss over at my computer onto more compliance for the next 9 hours. | 2019-04-07T06:39:11 | 2019-04-07T06:32:18 | 5,588 | 11 |
[WP] From a bug's perspective, humans are ageless eldritch beings who would kill them without a second thought. You are a fly among many, infesting one of their basements, but one of your kind made the mistake of irritating the human. Now the human is out for blood. | ***A Taste of Salt***
(a sufficiently true story by u/BringOutTheGMMP)
We knew the Great Old Ones despised our kind.
They had killed, and killed, and killed us for countless generations.
We also knew deep in our hemolymph pumps that with just one breakthrough in communication, they and we could achieve SO MUCH MORE than either of our species could by going it alone.
I had been chosen, and so here I was. In His chamber, where few Others came, and which He almost never left. Though I feared for my life, I knew what I must do.
I had to try!
I landed on His soft, bizarrely non-chitinous surface, hoping to find an organelle somewhere with which I could interface. There had to be some way to communicate...
I landed on one extremity, found nothing, tried others, found nothing still. I attempted to land on his head, but only succeeded in causing Him to move an extremity, clumsily. Was He trying to intercept my vector with His massive grasping reacher?
It seemed unlikely. The reachers moved too slowly to ever succeed at that, so He was surely attempting to signal me in some way.
A signal! That was it. All day long He remained nearly stationary, rhythmically striking the irregular surfaces of two objects which sat upon the great plain before Him, as well as laying a grasper sometimes on a less-huge object beside them and moving it about. I could see that as He did so, the surface of the Great Bright Wall before him would change, and He would stare at it with an intensity not to be believed. It must be of incalculable value to Him, to cause Him to watch over it so diligently.
I knew now that if I were to land upon one of these objects and touch its surface irregularities myself, perhaps I could make a change He would see upon the Great Bright Wall. Then, He would surely understand!
Glorying in my coming triumph, I landed on the more distant from him of the two irregular-surfaced objects, so He could continue to strike the nearer one uninterrupted. Surely He would appreciate such courtesy. I looked toward the Great Bright Wall, to see if my touching the object had caused a change He might notice. It was so hard to tell...
Looking back, I saw what must be His head pivot and what were probably His eyes (how could they possibly be eyes, neither protruding at all not faceted in any way??) seemed to settle upon me, and one of his grasping reachers took hold of yet another object He had recently carried into this, His chamber.
He aligned the object between one of His eyes (ugh, that can't be an eye!) and...myself. I felt the urge to fly, suppressed it.
A big, sudden sound like I had never known was accompanied by a mighty gust of that Invisible Medium through which we vector—and which we also draw through our spiracles and into our tracheoles in order to live, as surely as we must eat and breed. But how had He created the gust? Surely it was His doing. We see Them draw the Invisible Medium in and expel it out through the same head-holes they stuff full of their delicious, tantalizing food and then fill with life-fluid as we also do in our own way. But his hole was closed; had the new object somehow done this thing at his bidding?
The gust I might have survived, frightening though it was, but it carried upon it innumerable cubes of...could it be? As they entered and broke my corpus, yes, I could taste it—it was the same substance that can so often be found on the surface of Their bodies, the same which suffuses the life-fluid found upon them sometimes as well, unlike most life-fluid found elsewhere within Their domains.
Odd that I should wonder how the substance I tasted came to be in the form of cubes carried upon the gust; surely I should be focused on other things: trying to change my vector, trying to escape the gust, but I could not focus at all. My flappers, my landers, my corpus itself cried out in pain and would not respond to my will.
I flew across the chamber, striking the Great Bright Wall itself, and there I remain on its hot surface, one of my landers moving feebly, growing still.
All becomes darkness...
#Afterword
Here is [damning evidence](https://i.imgur.com/fGjx0Cx.jpg) of this tale's veracity.
e: fixed linky
e2: dag yo, I need to wipe down The Great Plain Before Me, and My Irregular-Surfaced Objects. | That was the largest pile of food I ever saw. This being must be extremely powerful. It managed to slay a hog, kill some cattle, and slaughter a deer.
And it's combined into one ground up hunk of flesh. This thing must be very powerful.
And it managed to harvest the fire.
I don't care what everyone else says, I'm going to get some of that bounty.
I was told by my clan members choose just stay in the basement, and feed on the Dead mice that inhabited the nether realm. No. I must eat this magical food.
I landed on something they called a sausage.
That was to be my Doom.
I try to fly away as fast as I can,. This hyper intelligent ape isn't that quick, but it can cover a lot of ground.
The hyper intelligent ape cornered me. I heard that the North American hyper-intelligent apes did not eat us. They just simply like to kill us.
I figured I can try to evade this ape. I flew above its gargantuan head.
All of a sudden, I felt a whack. I was stunned. I didn't die. It was a miracle. My clan members heard about this particular ape. This particular ape was quite cruel. I heard my clan members crying as they saw me get beaten around. As I was stunned, I saw the smaller beast, something that resembled a shrunken mountain lion stare me down. It stunned me again. As it opened its mouth to try to eat me, the ape put a sheath over his hand. He picked me up. And then he threw my half lifeless body onto a spider web.
As I saw it eight eyes, eight legs, and two of the biggest fangs you ever saw, come after me. I heard a loud voice. Then a miracle happened. Another ape scooped my body away with a stick.
It dropped me outdoors. While the door was cracked open, I sneaked back downstairs. I then told this same story to my clan members.
"Do not go around the apes".
We never went back upstairs again. | 2020-08-13T16:10:15 | 2020-08-13T15:49:22 | 22 | 10 |
[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. | They say ‘History is written by the victor’, yet in our case, that is categorically false. I am a prophesy, a warning. I sit alone, the last of my kind, with one final duty. I too will become another footnote in history. Ours inevitably similar to countless others who, just like us, believed in our species’ supremacy. Our ascendant right to the universe. To conquer and exploit everything and anyone, as our gospel required. Like all warnings before us, I fear my words will again fade into the infinite, eventually just another fairy tale. Just the made up words of those who seek to keep you from reaching your true potential.
It began with a simple warning: ‘Cease your expansionary violence, failure will result in jump gate privileges removed.’
The nerve of those humans. For as long as anyone remembered, they were the administrators of the jump gates. An incredibly rare and advanced species known for staying neutral in all other’s affairs. To most other races, this made them perfect mediators and trading partners. Not a lot was known about their main system since no traffic was allowed through the jump gate leading to it. Humans always traded outside their system and had no need to use the jump gates. Their unarmed ships appeared where needed. Their neutrality and lack of desire for expansion was pathetic.
The stories say the once mighty Xhavi wanted control of their jump gate. The believed, like we all do, human’s control of the gates should cease. While the humans always followed every jump request, control of the gates meant control of information. And so they attacked the controller. In a blinding flash, the gate just… disappeared. The remaining Xhavi, maybe a few million across the Universe, forever refugees, struggle to survive. A once mighty species, forever locked behind the realities of physics. But these are just stories.
We were different. We understood the theory behind jump gates. We currently lacked the technology to replicate it but that was to soon to change. Our methodical conquest of the Iuger revealed they had created technology to jump small objects. Our best scientists explained it, but as I now badly recall, it meant controlling massive energy outputs at precise moments when matter is split. With our numbers and this new technology, our scientists predicted we would soon be the dominant species. Certainly within my lifespan. We would start our ascendancy with a first strike at our gate controller while laying final waste to the Iuger.
And then it happened.
A request from a human envoy to appear at the central gate. As the head of The Executioner Fleet, our greatest pride, I was the natural choice. Waiting for us was a small group: a human, a Xhavi, another humanoid who I recognized as an Ulanian, and a few others I did not. ‘Impossible’… the Ulanians had disappeared tens of thousands of years ago. A huge power vacuum left which allowed the Xhavi and us to become dominant. There was not a single representative from any of the major alliances. There would be no audience, no grandstanding today.
The human stepped forward and had one question: ’Who is the chosen one?’
I didn’t understand. At first we thought the translator malfunctioned. My anger was visible and I uttered my disgust, ‘How dare you interfere in our affairs?’
The human, pensive for a moment repeated ‘Who will be the chosen one?’
I yelled at the Xhavi ‘What is this affront to our sovereignty?!’
The Xhavi never raised his gaze. ‘We too were this naive. We too shared this... delusion. The masters of our own fate. Like you it began with a warning and like you we thought we were supreme. The truth is your fate has already been sealed. They see it all. Your armada secretly surrounding this meeting, your ships at battle station, your worlds preparing to finish up the Iuger. Right at this moment you are about to order your ships to fire. The human doesn’t care about your next move, only about who will tell your story.”
I smiled. A brief moment of hubris. ‘FIRE!’
The choice was made. As every single one of our ships surrounding the meeting blinked out of existence in a spherical bloom of death and plasma... I finally understood the question.
The human looked out to the stars. ‘We cannot allow any one of our creations to extinguish another. We cannot allow you to repeat our mistakes. Your species will have to wait behind your gate. You have been chosen.’
I am the harbinger of our destruction. I am the witness. | Our victory was decisive!
We conquered earth within only five months. The last of their military died within the first week. "Humanity", as they called themselves, will surrender to our demands. We will take their colonies. We will take their homes and make them ours. We need new breeding grounds. We need new farmsteads. Their moon would do nicely for the former and the planet itself, once terraformed back to its primeval pre-oxygen state, has enough space to host the latter.
We must expand. Our children need a new home. The old one is used up. Need a new one. New home. Humans turned out to be weak and frail. No exoskeleton. Frail endoskeleton. No resistance to acid. We can kill them with our spit and blood. We can corrode their weaponry. Their ship hulls are no match for rapidly accelerated excrements.
They died to our weapons. Our scanners found every single human on the planet. My rout killed the last one. I fired the last shot. They screamed. I ended the war. I am a hero. I will earn honor. They only have small ships left. Their ships are weak. No good armor. No good weapons. Much power but wasted on niceties. Wasted on clean air and food. Wasted on weapons that don't hurt much. Wasted on light and warmth. Wasted on luxury. They were peaceful. They stopped the council. They stopped our death. We grant them death in return. What an honor. To die by our hands. Humanity will die out and will be recorded in our history. We will propagate. We will spread. Their past will spread with us. We will... What is that?
A ship. Human ship. Coming down far away. Damaged. Nearby but too far away. My rout is safe. Must aim artillery at impact site. Must kill humans. I wanted the last shot. I got the last shot. They deny me my honor.
Another ship. Coming down. Another ship. Another ship. Another ship. All coming down fast. Too fast. Won't stop. Are firing boosters. Will all crash. They seek death. We won. We... what is that ligh- | 2020-02-07T14:04:38 | 2020-02-07T13:30:24 | 83 | 15 |
[WP] The superheroes and supervillains are angry with you because you help them both but they can't kill you because you're too valuable. You remind them, "look, I'm a doctor with healing powers following the medical code, it doesn't matter who my patients are! Stop whining about it!" | “No, I’m afraid not Hippo-man! This fiend has earned his beating!”, exclaimed the man, though with his attitude the word ‘man’ was a bit of a stretch, “I understand you have some sort of ‘Code of the hippos’ or whatever it is, but he was caught right in the act of—“
“Oath.”
“Excuse me?!", he shouted. Why did they always have to shout everything?
"Oath. The *Hippocratic* Oath, which has absolutely NOTHING to do with the animal.” I responded coldly. Captain Danger was always the worst, I doubt he even understood what ‘self control’ actually means.
It wasn’t a day to test me, I had seen no less than five different superheroes and eight villains, it seemed that whatever was in the air was making every enhanced human go out for a brawl. The villain in my hands, the b-lister by the name of Maximus Dominus, whose only abilities were that he could lift 18% more weight than the average man and could see through copper, was bleeding out on the bed before me, eyes resembling a pair of plums and his teeth reminding me of a piano missing every fourth key.
Captain Danger scoffed, and it seemed my correction only bolstered his already planetary sized ego, “Well pardon me if I don’t have time to get out my dictionary and find the correct term for your ‘Hippocratese Oath’, but I’m a bit busy cleaning up the scum of the city, while you fix them all up!”
It took every ounce of maturity not to tell him he would be better suited using a Thesaurus, or that his affinity for seemingly mishearing what I said on purpose was his true super power. I instead doubled my efforts, focusing my mind on the bloodied, bruised body before me, and with a shudder I began to see into him, feel every injury. I was every nerve in pain, every cell damaged, every out of place element of his body. It could have been weeks, when I felt the damage I could no longer feel time, or space, or sound. All I was, all I knew, was the injury that needed repair. After a second that lasted a thousand years, I snapped back, I knew exactly what was wrong, and what to fix.
Captain Danger seemed not to have noticed my brief absence of mind as I went to work, and as he was about to tell me more of his heroic ventures I cut him off, “You broke six of his ribs, fractured almost every bone in his face, ruptured his kidney, and knocked out enough teeth to make someone else a full set of dentures. Have you any constraint at all?” I glowered for a moment, and to my utter disappointment this led to his grin growing wider,
“Constraint! My friend, what hero would I be not to give all these horrid scoundrels the beating that they deserve?! I am a hero of the innocent!” He flared out his chest and looked skyward, grinning at nothing. I rolled my eyes and went to work, slowly healing each wound in turn, the effort causing me to groan as I took charge of the very matter his body consisted of. It was exhausting work, even painful, but I had indeed taken an Oath, and soon Maximus looked less like a bloodied pile and more like a mildly injured man in his 50s.
I patted his arm after the final rib had healed,“There we are, Maximus. You’ll live, the bruises and small cuts will heal on their own.” I turned back to Captain Danger, who looked furious that I had gone through with my healing, getting close enough to smell the cheap cologne.
“Listen here, *friend*, should you keep assisting the dastardly devils I put away, you might find yourself on a bed like that.”
“Is that a threat, *Captain*?”
“I suppose it i—“
“Because you would not like me as your enemy, Dave.” I shot back coldly, his face going pale at the mention of his real name, “If you remember, I’ve healed you as well. I know every weak spot of your body, every small detail, every bit of *psychological damage*. . .” I put a finger near his chest, feeling the resistance from his body, but it was he who backed away, “. . . So take this piece of advice, Dave, the last man you want to cross is me. Now take Maximus to the local jail, go home, and get off my back.”
As he carried the still unconscious Maximus to jail, I rolled my eyes. He didn’t realize it, but I wouldn’t do anything to him. I took an Oath.
(This is literally my first time EVER trying this, it might suck idk.) | "I mean, if I did this all selectively how could I be a doctor?"
The superheroes, Ajay (Hoodwink) and Koko (La Rocha) sighed in contempt. It's not like I can just leave people wounded. The Hippocratic Oath is against leaving people wounded, good or evil.
Ajay argued, "Forget the Hippocratic Oath for the villains just once! You can't just allow villains to live when..."
"Isn't it part of the code of heroes to spare their enemy and just haul them off to prison? Killing your opponent makes you no different from the villains."
Koko argued, "Then why are the villains just breaking out of prison? We need to send them straight to hell so that peace can thrive for longer. Don't you get it, Mayella?"
"Got a problem with sparing the enemy? Okay, I get it, but killing them is not the answer!"
Just as I said that, the supervillains Abigail (Frau Jaeger) and Joseph (The Werelizard) walked into the room.
Abigail argued, "Our cause must be fulfilled. Why do you heal our enemies to beat us again?"
"It. Doesn't. Freaking. Matter. I can't be breaking the Hippocratic Oath. Not even for those of evil hearts..."
"Well? Your powers matter to all of us," Joseph broke in, "but why do you heal our enemies, Mayella?"
"I just can't leave a person wounded. It's in my nature and in the Hippocratic Oath..."
"F\*\*\* the Hippocratic Oath!" retorted Abigail.
And then, a fight broke out in between Ajay, Koko, Abigail, and Joseph. I couldn't stand to see the fight, so I was about to break it up when the constable walked in and did just that.
"Thanks for that, Hernandez." I spoke to him.
"Well, we're going to have to make an even tighter containment for Frau Jaeger and the Werelizard. We can't allow them to break out again."
After I healed all of them, Abigail and Joseph were hauled off to the Birch Hills Asylum. I looked at Ajay and Koko and spoke.
"Well, you won't have to worry about them breaking out. I only heal them because it's required that you do not have wounds before going to Birch Hills. Sorry for the misunderstanding."
After that, Ajay and Koko left to fight another supervillain. After all, that's the superhero's duty. | 2021-08-01T15:58:40 | 2021-08-01T14:17:58 | 42 | 12 |
[WP] Unbeknownst to the living, when people die and their bodies fail, their brain continues to simulate everyday life until it shuts down. As time goes on, things become more unrealistic and the self realization of death becomes apparent. You've just figured it out. | There comes a point when you know that you're dead. Or at least, that you're not alive. Like when your mother, who's been deceased for fourteen years, comes into your room holding a tray of sandwiches in one hand, and a tall, sweating glass of lemonade in the other -- and the fact that there's blood pouring out of her eye-sockets and dribbling from her ears doesn't seem strange, because you know she was hit by a car. But the tuna and cucumber sandwiches? Now that's fucking weird. Mom knew better than that. You tell her so, too.
Maybe she'll get it right next time.
With the realisation that you're probably dying, there comes the question: should you really give a shit? Not about the sandwiches -- it goes without saying that you didn't touch those -- but about being almost-dead. And if not dead, in a coma. They're mostly the same anyway. So, do you work yourself up until you're almost crazy, too anxious to enjoy those final (albeit prolonged) dying moments, or do you shrug it off when your ex -- who last you heard wasn't into fellas anymore -- takes your hand and leads you into her bedroom. Her voice crackles with static as you toss and turn beneath the sheets, her tone undulating as your brain is starved further of oxygen, and the memories of whatever she once sounded like are lost -- those parts of your brain amputated like a rotting, gangrenous limb.
But as parts of your brain are destroyed, other neural networks are created to try to (over)compensate. Memories and thoughts take new routes or shortcuts. Some memories previously blocked are unlocked. Or maybe created.
Either way, you see yourself clearly in the driver's seat.
You were seventeen and had only passed two days prior. You're pulling into the drive too quickly -- it's a tight, blind turn to get onto it.
There's no scream. No screeching of breaks. Just a thud.
"Sorry mom," you say, as she comes into the bedroom, holding another tray of fucking tuna and cucumber sandwiches.
"No sweat, baby." She's still bleeding, the blood trickling down her and pooling on the floorboards - but you don't give a shit about the mess. You're more concerned about those damned sandwiches.
Still, you owe her one, so maybe this time you won't say anything.
Your little daughter runs into the room, her face just a giant question-mark. You're not certain you even had a daughter, but she dumps two dolls down on your lap.
"Can we play?" she whines.
"Daddy's busy," you reply, taking one of the sandwiches from the table and opening it up like you're performing some kind of gastronomic autopsy. You pick out the cucumber and let the thin green slices flutter down to the ground.
Your daughter's voice changes, becoming a low deep gorwl, like a hundred-year old man who still can't stop smoking. It seems to come from all around, "But you'll be dead soon, papa."
"Yeah?"
"Why did you leave us?" she asks.
"Huh?"
You feel a tug around your neck and think maybe you need some air, so you throw the dolls down and walk over to the windows, pulling back the plain blue curtains.
The world's never looked so pretty. It's like watching a black-hole through a kaleidoscope. It's all spinning and the stars are long stretched lines, as everything is sucked away forever. You feel like you can see silence itself, and in the first time for a long time, you're at peace.
"Can we play?" your daughter asks again. The dolls are kittens now, rolling around in the pool of blood, reddened bellies up.
Mom comes in with more sandwiches. Her face is gone too, now. It's an exclamation mark. You think she's trying to talk, but you can't hear a damned word.
The kittens are dead.
The house is rumbling.
But nothing seems out of place anymore. Everything is just as it should be.
"Maybe later, sweetheart," you say, as you look back out the window, admiring the beautiful night.
| *It had been a long day for Tim. His girlfriend Sarah left me. He had spent years with her only for her to leave. His newest business idea fell through, and nothing was in his control anymore. He was scrolling through Reddit while laying in bed, when a Writing prompt caught his eye.*
...
"[WP] Unbeknownst to the living, when people die and their bodies fail, their brain continues to simulate everyday life until it shuts down. As time goes on, things become more unrealistic and the self realization of death becomes apparent. You've just figured it out."
...
I scrolled into the comments and was surprised to see something. On the very first comment "Tim Perkins" my name, and a little after that "Sarah Trimmer" her... name. Seconds after that I realized something. It ***MUST*** be a sign. The world ***HAS*** to be giving ***ME*** a sign. ***I*** ***HAVE*** ***TO*** ***MATTER***.
...
*That was the moment Tim's world shattered. He was only in his early 20's but he took it as a total sign of the world's unreality, a fact which he would keep with him for the rest of his (admittedly short) life. He went on the roof and looked out upon the city, the lights in the windows flickering out one by one. The sky swirled and he heard a voice above calling to him "It had been a long day for Tim.", the voice said. Tim agreed, but Tim did not listen any further, he had a job to do. Tim stepped up onto the ledge. Tim looked up then down. Tim took a deep breath "... fell through, and nothing was in his control anymore." and Tim took a step forward. Things were finally in his control again.*
| 2018-07-27T02:36:42 | 2018-07-27T01:13:05 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] When you die, you see a screen reading "New Game+" and "Exit to Reality" Which do you chose and what happens next? | *Phil hits a button reading, 'Exit to Reality.' He suddenly realizes that he's been starting at his phone for a fairly long time now inside a fashionable coffee shop.*
P: Wait, what? Where...
*He looks up from his phone to see a somewhat familiar face seeming all too pleased at Phil's confusion.*
J: So? What did you think?
P: Je... Jerry?
J: Jeez, that game really got you dazed, huh? I told you, man, that shit's addicting!
P: Wait... where's Gretchen?
*Jerry begins looking a little concerned.*
J: You mean... Gretchen Barber? From the game? Dude, are you alright?
P: It wasn't a game! We were together for 15 years!
*Jerry, with a concerned look on his face, puts his hand on Phil's shoulder.*
J: Where do you think you are right now?
P: I don't know, heaven, maybe?
*Jerry starts chucking.*
J: Man, if heaven looks like this... I mean, I guess God would be the kind of guy that likes a more subdued aesthetic, but I wouldn't think there'd be homeless people sleeping on the coffee tables.
*Jerry narrows his eyes again.*
J: Wait, are you serious? Phil, we're inside that cafe you like. It's our lunch break. Any of this sound familiar?
*A sharp pain focuses itself above Phil's right eye, and he noticeably winces.*
P: Wait, this isn't right. I live in Denver, it's winter right now, it shouldn't be sunny. And also, I should be significantly older. And also, I shouldn't be breathing. I remember everythi-
J: Ok, Phil, you're kind-of freaking me out right now.
*Phil stands up, his voice escalating.*
P: How do you know my name, Jerry? And how do I know yours?
*He looks at his own legs. His voice falls to a shaky whisper.*
P: How am I standing?
*Phil sits down, shaking.*
P: How am I standing?
*Jerry, cautiously, puts his arm on Phil's*
J: Phil, you were just playing a game. It was called, 'An Ordinary Life,' and it was an accelerated life simulator. You've been staring at your phone for the past fifteen minutes, and that's all that's happened.
*Phil, still shaking, stares at his feet.*
J: I'm sorry, man, I wouldn't have suggested you try it out if I knew that it could impact people like this. I mean, I got pretty into my own simulation, but I didn't know that some people could actually lose themselves in it. Here, pal, take this.
*Jerry hands him over a chocolate bar.*
J: You should eat something.
*Phil reached over to grab it, but before he did, he stopped suddenly, thinking about something.*
P: What if this is just another game? Like, another layer?
*Jerry chuckled.*
J: Well, you know, it most likely is. You can see the dead pixels over across the street, right?
*Jerry pointed across the street, where it seemed like the buildings had a little less detail than they should have.*
J: But, really, does it matter that much? It sucks that you forgot how many levels deep you're down, but I'm sure if you're ever needed on the next level, someone will 'wake you up.' Eat up, we have to head in back to work.
*Phil reluctantly takes the chocolate bar and begins chewing methodically, lost in thought.*
| I looked around. It seemed to be an endless area, white brightness all around with two flashing words infront of me "New Game+" And behind me "Exit to Reality"
I fall down to sit on the ground, my hands shaking as I couldn't remember what had happened.
"I..I'm dead?" I muttered softly, then my eyes look up at the words around, shaking his head. New Game+ always meant things would be harder. Hell, I was already useless at the life I lived, any harder would make things unbearable.
I slowly get up and turn around, looking at the Exit to Reality, walking towards them as a door suddenly started to form. My hand reaching to push the door open, darkness overtaking the room.
The door shut behind him. I remembered what had happened. I had gotten my ass kicked by 'life' my girlfriend, cheated on me. Almost every college denied me. my parents were abusive. I couldn't take much more. The way I died was by suicide. My idea of reality was always dark. Empty. No one there. Nothing but this darkness that shrouded me. This is the only Reality I belonged in.
A reality where I couldn't disappoint anyone. | 2015-03-13T14:14:05 | 2015-03-13T11:48:55 | 252 | 12 |
[WP] The local museum is run by an eccentric old man who knows the opening pieces like he was there for their whole history. His secret? He’s a secret dragon who figured out if you display your hoard, people will give you new things to display. | The old man enjoyed his evening walk around his museum that night, like every other night he usually does. Walking amongst the greatest treasures he had collected in his unnaturally long life. For among all the history and mystery each and every artifact on that room held, he himself was the most interesting one. The oldest living dragon in disguise, the last of his kind-- Ancor, the grey dragon had outlived his past to the present though he never left his love of hoarding treasures.
With a huge smile he passed through glass displays on his right and left. Authentic armor from the Crusade, samurai armor from ancient Japan, musket from the American civil war-- all were collected first hand by Ancor.
As he made his way to the center of the exhibition, the room was almost empty as closing time had drawn nearer. Guests were leaving slowly leaving, but one figure remained on the center exhibit...
It was an elderly man, standing in front of the ancient Europe exhibit he was almost unmoving from the glass case containing a sword. A display of masterful craftsmanship, made only for the finest knight during the time. The man was studying it intensely it seemed as Ancor approached him.
"Beautiful, isn't it?", Ancor started as he stood beside the man.
"It is. Yes, it is...", the man muttered with his gravelly voice.
Something about the man bothered Ancor almost immediately. He shook his head though he managed to make it unnoticeable. Shrugging it off as exhaustion from his part he continued...
"A treasure from the 4th century. Recovered from a supposed battle between a knight and a dragon. Legend has it this very blade slayed said dragon", Ancor explained, deep down very humored as the dragon in question was himself, and he was pretty much alive.
"Is that so?", the man muttered still not taking his eyes off the sword. "Although I know for a fact, the knight did not slay the dragon..."
Ancor frowned. Curious, he inquired further.
"No? How did you know he did not?", Ancor said before coughing. "Oh excuse me..."
The elderly man grabbed the pendant hanging from his neck as he spoke. "I know for a fact the knight did stab the dragon and it escaped to the open sky. The sword was still stuck on its belly when he did"
Ancor coughed harder as he began to feel nauseous. "Wh--what...? What are you...?"
The elderly man turned to Ancor. Seeing his face, Ancor's eyes widened.
"Y...you!", Ancor growled, his control over his disguise began to slip.
"Dragonsbane cologne. Do you like it?", the elderly man smirked. "You'll be fine, dragon. It simply weakens you, it wouldn't kill you"
"*St. George*", Ancor growled with spite. His appearance began to change. His fingers turned to claws, his tail dropped to the floor, his wings began to sprout from his back, ripping his old suit apart.
"What do you want?!", Ancor exclaimed in disgust. "How are...how are you still alive?", he asked the more appropriate question.
As Ancor transformation completed, the old knight stood calmly before the hissing dragon. Looking up to the snarling beast, he was unperturbed. Still holding the pendant hanging from his neck.
"I just want my sword back", he said.
With his elbow he crushed the glass containing the sword and he grabbed it by the hilt. Pulling it out, St. George brandished the blade before the dragon like he did centuries ago.
"*NO",* Ancor growled. "YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY TREASURE!",
Ancor took an attacking stance, ready to lunged towards his old nemesis. But to his surprise, the knight lowered his sword.
"I knew you wouldn't cooperate at first. That's why I came prepared...but, dragon...all I want to do was to talk...", St. George smiled.
"Talk? There's nothing to talk about!", Ancor screamed.
"Do you know what this is?", St. George cut Ancor off, showing the dragon his pendant.
Ancor looked at the black gemstone hanging from the knight's neck, sniffing it a bit. From it he caught a scent of something familiar...something of magical nature.
"Enchanted stone...", Ancor confirmed before looking back at the sword on St. George's hand, to the empty hole on the center of its hilt. "Part of the sword"
St. George nodded. "They were together once upon a time. You know what they did, dragon? They enchanted this stone and the sword, tying it to my life force. For as long as this sword existed, I cannot die..."
St. George reunited the two pieces back together. As the black gemstone was put into the slot, a ringing noise came from it as the stone turned white.
"When I stabbed you and you ran with the sword, this stone fell from it", St. George began to tell his story with an air of sadness on his face. "I've searched for it for centuries, dragon. Searching for you. Before I knew it centuries turned to millennia, and in my quest I had forgotten the reason I set on this quest in the first place. But as time went...well, I gained a new purpose..."
St. George looked up to Ancor with teary eyes.
"I just want to die, dragon", he muttered.
Ancor was taken aback. The brave knight that faced him all those years ago, the figure he had hated and feared for centuries now stood before him a helpless man. Never he thought he would feel sympathetic towards the old knight.
"I've lived for far to long. Everyone I knew had long gone and nobody even remembers me anymore. So if you please, dragon...just grant me this one wish. Please destroy this completed sword...so I can finally rest in peace..."
St. George knelt before the dragon, propping himself with the sword. Bowing his head to his enemy.
Ancor was silent for a moment. He was hesitant to destroy his precious artifact, but the old knight before him he couldn't turn away from. All those years fearing and hating him, the one thing he hated to admit but it was true-- the courageous knight was the one figure he's ever respected.
The dragon lowered his head until it's level with the knight. Softly he blew his fiery breath toward St. George, slowly melting the sword and the old knight behind it.
Feeling the heat St. George smiled, he was grateful.
"Thank you...thank you...", he muttered over and over again.
As the silver metal slowly melted, St. George looked up for one last time to the dragon.
"Before I go, tell me your name, dragon"
"*Ancor"*, the dragon whispered in between the fiery breath.
St. George bowed his head for one last time as he felt weaker by the second. For years he has eluded death, he was finally within its reach.
"Thank you, Ancor. Thank you...my friend...", St. George said weakly before he withered to ashes.
r/HangryWritey | #The Claws of History
"Welcome! Welcome! To the Godfried Grave of Gotten History, where all of the relics of the world with true significance are collected for your enjoyment. You are free to peruse at your heart's content but please, let me show you our most precious items first."
Towering over my fellow patrons, the museum curator gestured forward into a laser guarded display room. The trifecta of historical power lay behind him as a reminder of our people's horrid past: a golden mask with rubies encrusted at its cheeks; a blood stained silver sword larger than most men; And a diamond gem glowing with a blue aura.
"Here we have the Mask of Antiquity. Created by dwarven artificers for the Perovian empress herself. It was buried atop her head, in 1303 BCE, and all of its powers lost to the ages. In 1643 the mask was stolen by tomb raiders and held by a band of bandits until it made its way to a local guard captain. This captain turned it into his king who commissioned a report on its magical significance. A local nobleman held unto the mask after discovering its effects on the wearer. He eventually took over the kingdom and set out across the land to seize as much power as possible. That man's name? Pulius Cleaver."
The crowd applauded. I joined in. I wasn't sure if we were clapping for the acquisition of the majestic artifact or for the clever word choice in the history lecture. But I stopped when the others quieted down.
"Beside the mask, we have Sir Dancealot's legendary sword. This blade slew the dragon, Thorncrux, whose rein was terrible in its enormity. Thorncrux burned kingdoms to the ground without hesitation or remorse. Many kings offered their daughters to Thorncrux in exchange for peace. The fate of the women is unknown to this day. Thorncrux grew so large that no mountain could hide him anymore. Sir Dancealot led a giant army made of humans, elves, dwarves, and even shorties. Though the great dragon burned or ate them all, with one last stab from within the lizard's mouth, Sir Dancealot killed the dragon with this sword. Found one day in an excavation. We were lucky to have procured it without much harm."
Again we applauded politely. I couldn't help but notice the blood on the sword. It may have been just a trick of the light, but didn't it look too fresh?
The tall curator continued, "And last, but certainly not least. I'm sure you all recognized it from your history classes the moment you saw it. But allow me the pleasure of repeating its amazing tale.
"When the world was forged by the gods two million years ago, several artifacts of divine energy broke off in the creation process. The power contained in the Life Stone is said to grant the holder with the power to control death itself. Throughout history, horrible rulers have squabbled over its magnificence. Necromancers, commanders of demonic hordes, plague benders, all held power solely from the grace of this fragment of our origin. It was only President Washingpound who freed us from its tyranny by declaring it to be owned by the people, for the people. Since an entire nation now owns this magical device, no one person has the ability to call ownership, and thus its power is extinguished."
Amidst the clapping, I couldn't help but voice my concern, "But then, why is it still glowing?"
The clapping stopped as the crowd looked at me.
"Ah hahaha, my dear boy -"
"I'm a grown man actually."
"I see you need a refresher on your history, of which I am most happy to oblige.
"When the world separated from the divine realm, dripping off Glodthorn's anvil and cooling in the expanse of space, a thread of magical energy bound souls between the two planes. All items capable of traversing the two realms will glow with this energy whether or not their power is usable. Does that clarify the topic for you?"
"Uh, yeah I guess."
"Wonderful. So as I said you may look to your hearts content. But if you touch anything, your hands will separate from your body for the protection of all. Please enjoy responsibly."
As the curator whisked away into a back room marked, 'Employees only,' I couldn't help but notice the tail of his coat seemed to hover over an invisible bump at his back.
I jimmied the lock open and stepped inside to find a long corridor stretching like a ramp down into the earth. The curator was nowhere to be seen amongst the dozens of closed doors. | 2021-07-01T05:38:16 | 2021-07-01T04:16:30 | 137 | 38 |
[WP] "So, you don'r rule over Hell?" "No," replied Satan. "Hell is much older than me or even my followers. The original inhabitants of this place are the ones in charge. They ruled over us, before we managed to escape." "Escaped?" Satan sighs. "Let's just say, there's a reason God built Heaven."
Edit: Wow. Thank you all for your responses and stories. It has been fun reading through them.
^Yeah, ^I'm ^aware ^of ^the ^typos. ^My ^bad. | "Look around. What do you see?" Said the person? Or what feels like a person, beside me.
I looked around and all I could see was a barren wasteland, fire everywhere, and there what seems to be other people being ripped limb from limb. Others even being contorted to shapes unimaginable
"Hell..." I replied.
"What do you think hell is for?" He asked looking at the landscape, and yet I feel it's eyes piercing past the horizon and looking even further than hell.
"To torture sinners like me..." I answered.
"wrong" She replied with its expression never changing, still looking further beyond.
"Then why am I here..." I ask. "Why am I here??? I tried my best to live a righteous life, I loved my parents, I loved my wife and my family, I loved my GOD!, and yet here I am! Why! Why! Wh-" Then it suddenly spoke cutting me off.
"Care to listen to a story?" He continued.
"I don't have time to listen to your stories! I don't want to be here! I don't want to be here! I don't want to be here!" I shouted back still troubled at my situation.
"Calm down." Her head turned to look at me and then suddenly I froze. "Just listen to what I have to say, it might answer some of your questions after all."
I nod in response, it was the only thing I could do.
"It all began when God ran away." It said
"Ran away from what?" I asked, perplexed at what could God ran away from.
"Before there was me, before there was God, there were others who governed everything. They weren't benevolent nor were they malicious, they only did what they wanted. Sometimes they would build, other times they would destroy. We were at the mercy of these beings or it would be more accurate to say that we were playthings in their cosmic playground." She said looking distant as if he was recalling a distant past.
I was speechless at what I was hearing. God, a plaything? The all mighty creator under something else? What could that thing be? And when I was about to ask, it continued to talk.
"But I guess having enough, God made a plan to put an end to their tyranny, but they could not be killed and countless lives were lost. Man, woman, children all sacrificed for His plan. But He failed and the best He could do was put them to sleep. And then He ran away together with the little remains of our species. After that he built a world for himself up above and created you humans. But for what reason were you created, have you ever thought of that?" It asked suddenly.
"I... I don't know..." Why were we created? "All I know is that I should live life happily and-"
"Follow Gods plan. Right?" She suddenly spoke cutting me off. "Do you want to know what his plans are?" It asked.
I don't know what to say... I feel like if I heard whatever he would say everything that I have believed now would just crumble down. But I want to know. I want to know why I'm here. I gathered myself and turned to the figure beside me and asked. "What is Gods plan?"
"You were made to believe that your souls would be going to paradise and live another life of bliss. But that's all a lie. Remember when I said that God put them to sleep? Well, that requires energy, a cosmic amount of energy. And God is not as all powerful as you were made to believe, he would run out of power eventually. And that is where you humans, his creations come in."
"Us? How do we fit in all of this?" I couldn't help but asked.
"You're God's energy source. The purer the soul the more energy it provides. That's why he gave out those commandments, to ensure that you would provide the best energy to continue giving him power to delay their awakening. There is no promised after life. You're all just livestock for him." She said all this calmly and yet I can see a faint anger in it's eyes.
"..." I couldn't reply at what he said. We were just made to supply energy? Does that mean heaven is just one giant power plant? Does that mean there were really no meaning to us at all? So many thought were going through my head, but then he spoke again.
"That's why I rebelled. So many of our species were lost already and I couldn't stomach the thought of creating a whole new one just to sacrifice. And then I was sent here as punishment, I believe you've heard of that story, to govern over the souls that couldn't make the cut for purity."
"Then what is this place for" I gathered my remaining sense of reasoning and asked a question. "If heaven wasn't what we were made to believe, then what is hell for??? What am I here for?"
"Hell is the boundary between our worlds and theirs. This is the first place they must go through to enter the world of the living and resume their rule. Close your eyes and listen." After saying that she put her hands on my shoulder then all of a sudden I could hear words I couldn't understand and slowly felt my consciousness melt.
*"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn"*
*"Y'AI'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH"*
*"Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn"*
Then seemingly as if I was broken out of a trance, I woke up "What was that??? I've never heard that language before!" I asked her, but she did not answer.
"Now, look around. What do you see?" She just said resuming to look beyond the horizon.
I followed his eyes and what I saw was something I could not understand. A grotesque looking thing... for a lack of better word was floating? No, running? No, walking? But one things for sure "It" was getting closer. And it was not alone... everywhere I looked "They" were everywhere seemingly looming closer and closer... Then I looked again to see the that people I saw suffering earlier, they were fighting "It".
"What are those?" I asked him.
"They are vestiges." She replied
"Vestiges of whom? The ones who sleep? Who are they?" I asked again
"They're everywhere. Inside a planet, inside a star, inside a black hole, scattered in the cosmos, one even being outside the universe itself. Sleeping. And those are their vestiges, their dreams given physical forms, who attempt to return to reality to wake up." He answered me while looking over the battlefield.
"Who are you? What are you? What is really going on?" I asked it.
"You humans call me by many names. Lucifer, Ereshkigal, Hades, Hel, Satan. We were the beings before you humans existed. You could even say that we are the humans before humans. And then we became your Gods. And this... this is hell. The front line against them. And you, you will lend me your strength against them. *The Great Old Ones*. You have no other choice this is your punishment, my punishment for wanting to protect humanity." | "Norman, this is a fascinating sight."
The bright light from my headlights flashed on to Brandon, the fellow spelunker in front of me. Underground, the tight space smothered between jutting, sharp rocks made it difficult to move around freely, but a couple paces forward was an entirely new segment that was very different from a typical cavern structure; it was room-like and had a smoothed out flooring and a flat overhead ceiling. No stalactites were propped overhead. Despite the large expanse of space this time around, the air remained hot and humid.
Brandon ran deeper in the area, his heavy-duty boots echoing throughout the chamber. He stopped at what seemed to be a chest.
"We struck gold, champ." Carefully, he tried to lift the lid.
Just as suddenly as we entered, a loud creaking noise could be heard from where we have entered. The mouth of the cave had sealed shut, trapping us. I ran to it, tapping and pounding on the walls to no effect. Brandon brought his hands on the back of his helmet, his head shaking with a face tarnished with fear.
"Shit, shit, shit." Brandon muttered.
"There must be another way out." I said, trying to calm down my partner.
"No. The rumors must be right. *This* is no ordinary cave, it's the alleged dwelling place of demon spawns. Fuck, I should not have--"
I looked at him in disbelief. It seemed preposterous. The graveness in his tone and the severity of the situation, however, shut me up.
He continued. "Humans are not meant to explore this deep underground, especially not in the mountain ranges of Eldirog. Demons live here." He was looking at me in a deranged fashion. "I should not have come back here and brought another person with me. Norman, I'm so sorry."
"Stop complaining and let's pick on the walls. I can trace where we were last time. We have the tools." I said, trying to avoid the feeling of hopelessness my partner is devolving in.
"You . . . you don't *understand.*" Brandon's voice had drastically altered at the last word, deepening to a coarse, demonic tone. A multitude of shrieks all compressed in one voice. He began to laugh maniacally with a voice that was not his. The walls around the enclosed space began to shake dramatically, like an earthquake. The lights in my headlight flickered erratically and the tools in my explorer's pack began to fall to the ground.
"You know, your partner was wrong about one thing. We are not demons. What separates us from demons is that we are alive. And we live in the real world. We coexist with your kind. And you can never eradicate us from existence. Demons and Angels can exist in works of writing, whereas we can influence the world as we wish." Brandon's mouth starts foaming, but his white, blank eyes continue to face me.
"What the hell do you want?!" I shouted back. I was terrified and enraged, my vision started to spin.
"Simple. The world needs some bad to influence the good. The cycle of good defeating bad, bad re-emerging and enveloping good, then back again - all of this is the condition of human nature and existence. It is a contract that you cannot help but sign as you exist in this world."
The form controlling Brandon continued, its multitude of voices boomed against the walls of the cavern. "You have not heard of the rumor from Brandon before coming here, correct?" It laughed loudly.
"No. I haven't heard a thing." I said honestly.
"Yes, and that is why I will let you live. You see, Brandon has been corrupted by greed. His purpose of caving here is to discover the ancient relics that will undoubtedly bring him immense value. He had tipped the scales a bit too early for the bad to take place, so erasure is necessary."
"What are you going to do with him, then? And with me?" Putting a brave front was useless, I was utterly powerless and have no control over the situation.
"Humanity will forget he ever existed. You, however, will resurface and go back home, your mind will be altered to clip off any memory of your partner here. And not just you, but everyone he has ever known." Brandon's body twisted and contorted, then a bright explosive light emerged from his body.
___
I woke up in a tent built for one. The hike in Mt. Eldirog was just what I needed to reset my mind and relax from the hectic city life. After a couple of hours, I descended the mountain, got back to my car, and drove back home. It was a couple of hours ride with little traffic as the moon started to rise. A car had passed by, its glaring white light flashed my face. During that fraction of a second, I could feel it. A disconnect in my memory. A jigsaw puzzle that did not quite fit the board. A gap in time. Something, did not feel right.
"Hm." Probably just fatigue. | 2020-07-22T03:25:22 | 2020-07-22T02:34:17 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] After one’s death, the ‘creative mode’ is unlocked. You replay life, except everything goes the way you want it to. Unlimited wealth, complete domination of the world, you name it. Unknowingly, that play-through is what is used to judge whether you belong to heaven, or hell. | The sunlight bounced off the ripples of the deep blue Mediterranean Sea as though it was a shattered mirror. Fabio stood upon the deck of his beloved *Lady Justice* basking in the glorious warmth of the evening sun. This is what he enjoyed most about this life. The small things.
For 80 years, not once had a smile on his face diminished, beaming from one cheek to the other. And why shouldn’t he, he was an unstoppable train of luck, coincidence and good fortune. So much so, he rarely went by his god given name anymore, his friends called him *Suerte* and his grandchildren *Granpda Lucky*. This, of course, belonged to the fact that at the age of 18 he bought his first lottery ticket and won the jackpot of €111million.
Multiple good investments and friends in high places meant that Fabio had a beyond comfortable life, living in extreme luxury with his family and close friends. He had traveled the world, he had seen the vast Amazon rainforest, witnessed the jaw dropping beauty of the Aurora Borealis, fished in the astonishing Ha Long Bay and even climbed to the peak of Everest.
However he did not need Everest to feel on top of the world. He got the same feeling every time he looked in his wife’s eyes or saw his sons laughing and playing with their children. This was the life that every dreams about. And it was his.
His funeral was a grand affair with people travelling all over the world to pay their respects. The grounds of the cemetery were lined with people who could not squeeze into the chapel. He had passed away peacefully in his sleep exactly one month before his 81st birthday. He died happy but for the first time in his life he did not have a smile on his face.
Fabio awoke to find himself in a large church. He was naked but it was not cold. The entire building, including the floors and pews were made of white marble. The only piece of colour in view was a large golden lectern at front of the pews. Fabio stood up and as he looked up a figure emerged at the lectern.
“Step forward Fabio José Francisco da Silva and be judged” an booming voice commanded.
Fabio moved down the church towards the lectern which seem to grow taller the closer he got. The man at the lectern became clearer, he was an old man but inexplicably tall. He had a long white beard and little hair on his head. He had two large iron keys hung around his neck but they did not seem to weigh anything at all. Those too were weathered and old.His eyes on the other hand looked young, light blue and wide, like they were seeing the sky for the first time. They looked into Fabio’s and deep into his soul.
“Fabio José Francisco da Silva, you have failed”
“What? Why? There must be a mistake.” Fabio replied, hastily and confused.
“I do not make mistakes” countered the figure.
“But... but I... I lead a... a good ha.. happy life, I never did any harm to anyone. I was the best I could be!” Fabio stuttered.
“Yes, by many accounts you did, but you only enriched your own life, everything you did was for yourself.” The figure replied calmly.
“That’s not true!” Fabio interrupted angrily.
“Do not raise your voice at me Fabio José Francisco da Silva!” the figures presence grew forcing Fabio to fall back in to the ground. “Everything you did was for yourself! You took deep breaths of oxygen as you stood looking over the canopy of the rainforest yet you did nothing when it was being torn down by bad men in the name of profit! You stared up in wonder at the the Aurora Borealis but did nothing to prevent the glaciers melting underneath your feet! You fished for weeks in Ha Long Bay but gave no thought to the children starving on the beaches because of over fishing! You climbed to the highest peak on Earth but for what cause? Only your own. Do you ever give a thought to the Sherpa who lost his life guiding you back down off the mountain? Did you provide for his family? No Fabio José Francisco da Silva, you did not, and this is why you have failed. | Let's see.
Top of your class. All of them. For all fifteen years. Easy enough with a lifetime of knowledge.
Managed to get with Jessica too, huh? We thought it was cute, while it lasted. Monica, after that. Then Jen. But you only did that to get back at Barry Allen didn't you? Broke his heart you did, and hers. Then Liz's, Steph's, Annie's...quite the collector aren't you?
Won the lottery a few times. Fair enough, that's the first thing most people try. Then you took the stock market by storm. Bought your mom a big house by the beach, spent three years by her side before the cancer. Ah. Now that's what we like to see.
Graduated with first-class honors, recruited straight to head management of your dream company. There you really gave Barry Allen the reckoning from your past lives. You know he's still on the streets now. Yes we know, justice is sweet no matter the lives that pass.
Then you got bored and tried your hand at mayor. Spent many a night with a chardonnay in one hand and a lady in the other. Oh, banned plastic straws too. Turtles are booming thanks to you. Gave everyone on the street a bed too. Very good. Yes, you really were quite good.
You deserve Heaven? Well, you have achieved all you have ever wanted. Surely, there is nothing more we could offer you.
Oh no, don't misunderstand. You are not going to 'Hell' either. Well, at least not the Hell of your imagination.
You are going to the one of your creation.
Welcome back to Earth, Barry Allen. At least you'll have a bed when you're greying.
We'll see you soon after that.
r/bobotheturtle | 2020-07-20T03:21:37 | 2020-07-20T03:18:12 | 130 | 67 |
[WP] An adolescent boy who is bullied at school finds solace in the friends he makes in online games, becoming very good friends with one boy in particular. However, when they agree to meet up, the adolescent boy realises his best online friend is his main attacker at school. | Winter break couldn't come soon enough for me. I knew I was a pretty good student. I enjoyed my classes well enough, but events that fall had made school a living nightmare for me. My friend Eric honked his car horn at me, “C’mon Mark, these beta keys aren't going to activate themselves.” He was referring to keys that he and I were lucky enough to get for the upcoming MMO Final Legacy.
I realized I had feelings for my fellow male students earlier that year. I knew that at my high school the only other openly gay kid, a skinny senior named Tyler, was mocked remorselessly. I felt terrible for Tyler but I was scared that if I said anything people would learn my secret as well.
While I was changing after soccer practice, I had placed my phone on the bench behind me. That’s when Jake, a senior and a notorious jerk on my team, picked it up, and opened up the browser. When I turned around I realized what was happening, but it was too late. Jake had checked my search history, probably expecting to find searches for porn or whatever to make fun of me. Instead he must have found my searches about how to tell my parents I was gay. Jake’s eyes got wide, and he put the phone down. He must have noticed my reaction. He broke the silence. “Fag.” He grabbed his gym bag and stormed out of the locker room.
I was hoping that maybe by the end of winter break, my classmates would be tired of making fun of me. Either way, I knew I could find solace in playing some Final Legacy with Eric.
We started the game up. Eric made a “Pyro Mage,” Eric always played high DPS ranged characters. I always liked playing tanks so I made a “Guardian”. The first few missions were pretty cookie cutter. After a while, Eric got bored and decided to go home, “Ah well, it’s only in beta. Maybe they’ll fix the beginning of the game before release.” “I dunno, Eric, I think it’s pretty fun. Maybe you shouldn’t pick such a squishy character and die so much.” He laughed, “Fair enough, okay, let’s meet up after Christmas, I’m gonna be pretty busy with family until then.”
After Eric left, I kept playing by myself. I was pretty amazed with how many build options there were in the game. Unfortunately the next few missions I wanted to do required a party. I decided to check out the markets in the game’s main city. Then I saw the sign “Team up with a random party.” I figured, it’ll probably be mostly annoying twelve year olds, but what do I have to lose?
I arrived at the party rally point. There were three of us. I was the tank, of course. There was also a Ranger, and a Healer. The level was actually pretty challenging, especially since none of us were all that coordinated. When we were about to get to the boss chamber, we noticed the Healer acting funny, waiting in the other room. Then we noticed he was standing on top of an ultra-rare drop “The Arc of Destiny, Legendary Bow.” The item had been allocated for the Ranger, but after you wait long enough anyone can pick up the item. “WTF dude, that’s allocated for Ranger”. “Lol, pussi,” he grabbed the item and logged out.
Ranger broke the silence, “People are total assholes on here. Fucking terrible community.” “I know, but that seems like every online game these days,” I replied. We decided to enter the boss chamber since we had already made it this far.
The boss was an Elder Dragon. The fight began with my taunting the dragon while Ranger poured critical hits on it from a higher vantage point. Unfortunately, after doing enough damage, the Dragon broke through my taunt, and directed its agro at Ranger. “Fuck!” Ranger had no defenses. I ran in front of the Dragon to try to draw away its fire, but it was too late. The dragon two-shot Ranger, and without Ranger’s damage, I was a sitting duck.
“Well we got pretty far,” I whispered to the Ranger’s player. “Yeah, I guess that’s my luck. Just get out for winter break, and already kids are stealing my loot and I didn’t spec into nearly enough defense,” Ranger replied. I tried to console him, “Haha, yeah I just got out for break too, I knew how it is man…”
We ended up chatting for several hours about the game, and eventually life. After building up the courage, I finally decided to tell Ranger my secret. What difference did it make anyways, he was in an online game, and we were making fast friends, “By the way Ranger, something that’s been making life kinda hard for me recently… I’m gay. And people found out at my school and are giving me hell.”
There was a long silence in the chat. I figured Ranger was probably going to block me or something. Finally he replied. “I’m gay, but you’re the first person I’ve been able to tell.” I wasn’t really sure what to say. “Wow, that’s awesome,” was what I finally came up with.
We made best friends on the game after that, going on several missions together during the winter break. I began to really fall for this Ranger guy – he was funny, nice, and great at the game. Finally I figured I’d give it a shot. “Hey Ranger, what do you think about possibly meeting up? I mean we’re both in the America Northeast servers, maybe we’re in driving distance?” Ranger replied after waiting a bit “Sure. Whereabouts do you live?” Sure enough, we not only were close, we lived in the same town. I couldn’t believe it, “Why don’t we meet up at the Starbucks at 2nd and Spring?”
I parked the car, my heart pounding when I finally arrived at the Starbucks. “Call me back when you’re done hanging out with your friend,” my mom shouted before she went off to do some errands. When I opened the door and went inside my heart felt like it stopped. The only other person at the Starbucks was Jake, the jerk from my soccer team. He looked up at me, and turned extremely red in the face, forcing his chair back and almost knocking his coffee over. He ran over to the bathroom.
Not wanting to make the scene any weirder than it already clearly was, I ordered a coffee, and at the first opportunity, I knocked on the bathroom. “Hey, Jake, it’s okay. You’re Ranger right?” After a prolonged silence, he opened the door, clearly flustered. “Yeah. And I’m guessing you’re Guardian.”
We decided to go to the bench outside where he could get a little more air. “Hey it’s okay. I know you’re not the jerk I always figured you were. What’s the deal with that?” Jake looked over at me, “I’ve hated that I liked guys for so long that after I found out you were going through the same thing I was, I guess I just lost it. I should have said something better, or kept your secret. I was just so pissed off.” He looked uncomfortable, his face still super-red. “I guess… I guess I also was sorta into you. And that made me even more pissed off.” Things got really quiet for a while on that bench. Finally I decided I’d take a chance. I turned around, and gave Jake a big hug. He started crying and hugged me back hard.
After what seemed like forever, I said “This is pretty intense right now. Why don’t we meet back up again sometime before break ends?” He looked up at me, and wiped his eyes. “Sure. Let’s meet up this weekend before classes start.” I smiled “Awesome I’m looking forward to it dude.” He smiled back.
Things weren’t always easy at my high school after classes resumed. But with Jake I felt strong enough to take any of it on. Jake and I started to date, at first in secret, and later, during his final semester, we came out about our relationship. People were shocked, and we expected there to be a lot more animosity. But times were changing and people were starting to grow up. I was never happier in my whole life.
| It's hard to live up to expectations. My dad was always tough on me, always making my life much harder than it had to be. My mother, although she has the best intentions in making sure that everything in my life goes as perfect, doesn't realize that it could sometimes make everything worse.
It's funny that, throughout everything I have had to go through in my life, all the experiences and challenges that defined who I am, no one knows who I am at all. And sometimes when you don't even know who you are, the best way to deal with it is being someone completely different.
This applies to me everyday at school, but more importantly, every night when I play my game. At school, I might just be the most popular kid in class, hell even the whole school. I'm the handsome jock that girls can't help but stare at, the straight A student who won't let a math or science question go by me without a master answer. Truth is I'm none of that. I'm just plain broken.
But hell, even that can take it's toll on me. Even though I can't help it, mostly because of the peer pressure of those I hang around, I can sometimes be the bully. The nerds, the gays, the losers, even those who are just as troubled as me, I can't help but join in and make fun of them too. If anything, my greatest fault is I can't be the better person, that I'm so stone cold from what I go through that in my eyes the others are weak for not dealing with it like I do. There was especially this one kid, Mike. He was one of the gay boys at school, and hung out with girls most of the time. Something about him drove me nuts. He was so genuine with who he was, so OK with it, it drove me to a mad jealousy just seeing how happy and comfortable he can be in his shoes when I struggle everyday with never feeling good enough despite having everything a kid can have.
With all that, the greatest thing ever is coming home and playing my games. There I can be myself, the veil of what I play protects everyone from ever judging me. There I live up to no expectations but my own.
I'll admit, I may act tough every day at school, but when I come home, I tend to let everything out. It's even easier to let things out when I talk to him. We met in the forest outskirts of the main city, there was a campfire and a bunch of people were just sitting down and chatting away. It was late and night, and usually you don't play as much as you tend to just socialize. He was a wizard, his character was decked out in the best gear, and despite the fact I looked like a new player we started to chat.
I don't know what it was about him, but we just completely understood each other. We never went to reveal each others name or anything, but we would end up talking for hours everyday and playing everything together. He would confide in me the stuff and adventures he went on everyday. All the times him and his friends would go do something crazy and get caught and in trouble. He would even go into detail with all the chicks he would meet and go out on dates with, and how he was a "player", always having more than one in tow. How he was at school and how everyone looked up to him. Most of the time, he was like a breath of fresh air always encouraging me with his stories of how much fun he has in his life with his friends and how I can be the same if I changed my attitude.
I told him some things that I have never told anyone in my entire life. I can't really say that I cried in his arms, but when you eyes are so filled with tears that you can barely type, it's an awfully familiar feeling. I told him about the time where my dad caught me when I was little, looking at the magazine with all the boy models. Or the time where my dad swore that if I told anyone about what I am, he would disown me and kick me to the streets, and that no matter what I can do I will never change to him. I told him about how my mom would ask me if there was a boy at school I was interested in, or if maybe I was starting to "grow out" of who I was and maybe there was a cute girl I was interested in. How they would, in secret, bring me to church so I would be "cleansed" or what I am. He knew how hard it was everyday to make sure it was my greatest secret.
One day though, we decided to meet up. We figured it was probably best to meet up for the first time in a video chat. So I added him on Skype and noticed he lived in the same country as me. I went to call him first, I was eager to have someone look at me different for once, someone who would look at me and really accept me for who I am.
When I saw Mike's face on the tiny box on my screen, I was dumbstruck. I quickly grabbed the garbage pale beside me and heaved out my dinner. Mike on the other end, was silent. I didn't know what to do. With tears in my eyes I looked at his face again on the screen.
"Not so tough are you now, *gay boy*." He said calmly, the name I would taunt to him at school all the time.
"Mike, I..." I tried to say something, sorry or something else, but I didn't know what to say. I closed the video chat. He left me a message in the chat box but I never read it.
I sat on the washroom floor for what felt like forever. I finally decided to down the bottle of pills.
| 2015-04-07T06:53:23 | 2015-04-07T05:38:31 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You've found a strange app that pays you $100 every time you perform a listed task. The various tasks are strange, from moving an empty box from one park bench to another, to calling a specific number only to hang up. But you always get your $100 so you won't stop now. | With massive student loans and no-one taking my research seriously, I was desperate for money.
I heard about the $100 app from a friend. It seemed too good to be true, but I was desperate.
A task a day. More if you were lucky? More if you performed well? Something like that. Were did the money even come from? Some eccentric billionaire?
It didn't matter. I was getting the money. Move an empty box from one bench to another. Call a number and immediately hang up. Strange tasks.
*1 task incomplete*
I've been working on that one a while, fortunately I've still been getting my daily task. Perhaps they expect it to take a while and are OK with me not having finished it yet. I was sent an incredibly detailed blue print for a small machine part or something. Finally I screw the final screw into place.
*Complete - $100 Rewarded*
*1 new task - Urgent - complete within 1 hour for $100 reward*
I press the read task button.
*Go to central train station*
Easy enough, I leave the house and start walking.
About half an hour later I arrive.
*Stand in this location for reward*
The screen displayed a specific location in the station, so I walked there.
*Complete - $100 reward*
What was so special about this location? I looked to my left and saw it, the new counter terrorism system mounted on the wall. And the key was left in the override system, which if turned would trigger an alert.
*1 new task - Urgent - complete within 5 minutes for reward*
I press read task.
*Turn the key*
Surely that would be illegal? I couldn't could I? But I found my hand on the key and I found myself turning it.
*Complete - $100 Reward*
Alarms sound.
"This is a terrorism alert, please evacuate the station immediately" said a voice over the tannoy.
I quickly made my way out the station, adrenaline pumping. Perhaps I'd gone too far. Surely I'd get in trouble for this. As I walked out, armed police and bomb diffusers made there way in. I decided to walk home quickly.
When I got home I turned the TV onto the news.
"This is breaking news live, there's been a terrorist incident at central station, we go over to our reporter." Said the man.
He was stood near the station.
"Yes, yes, that's right. Official word is the system detected a bomb and caused an alert. This caused 3 incoming trains to come to an emergency stop. This means those trains are outside the blast radius. Also the station has been safely evacuated." He said.
"This just in, bomb diffusers have just diffused the bomb" he said.
"And this just in, the wanted terrorist Albam Sadid was caught and arrested near the station" he said.
Wow. Was that all really my doing? How could the app know about this in advance?
I decided to call it an early night and lie down and think.
*Beep, beep*
My alarm went off in the morning. Another presentation for funding. Should I even bother going? I'm the laughing stock of the physicist community.
*1 new task - complete for $100 reward*
I click read task.
*Go to presentation. Bring device with you*
Never before had it been so personal. And it wants be to bring that thing i built with me? Perhaps I am to drop it off somewhere after the presentation.
As per usual, I took out my blue prints and started explaining my idea. The usual reactions, sniggers, the usual comments.
"Not something that can actually be built"
"Entirely theoretical"
"Impossible"
I walked out depressed, but then something to make me smile.
*Complete - $100 reward*
*1 new task - complete for $100 reward*
I click read task.
*Deliver device to warehouse at this location*
I guess this was expected.
I walk to the warehouse nearby, and open the large doors.
Inside was a sight to behold, thousands of small machine parts of different shapes and sizes.
I delicately place my part down and add it to the collection.
*Complete - $100 Rewarded*
*1 new task - complete for $100 reward*
I click read task.
*Build the machine*
I look at the immense task in front of me. But how? My phone wasn't displaying any blueprints. Perhaps an error with the app?
Then I realised. I had the blueprints with me. I'd just presented them.
I began to click the parts together. It was easier than I expected, as the parts were designed to be easily assembled.
And then hours later I looked upon the finished creation. The impossible machine.
*Complete - $100 Rewarded*
*1 new task - complete for $100 reward*
I click read task.
*Create this app* | The man huddled by the trash can, scanning the area around him. I watched him as he pretended to empty his pockets into the can, "accidentally" dropping a small black case onto the ground next to it. With a nudge of his foot, he pushed the case under the can and briskly walked off. I waited a few moments before I began to follow.
How'd I know he was pretending? I'd watched him do it at least six times by now. After I'd collected my dead drop, I saw the dope doing the same thing across the park, not even out of sight of me. Goddamn amateur hour, I swear.
But this was the last straw. He'd just dropped a package at a known Comerciante drop point. Bastard was playing both sides. I had to know if this went farther up the chain.
Pulling out my phone, I dialed up the service. On the second ring, as usual, they picked up.
"How may I help you today?" the voice on the other line said, apathetic.
"What's this nonsense about you dropping for the Comerciantes, huh? You got your guys out here, playing both sides? You think we're some kind of pushovers?"
"Sir, please calm down. All of our couriers are freelancers, outsourced. We are not responsible for what jobs they do or do not take."
"Outsourced?!" I quickly ducked behind a food cart, peeking around to see if the courier heard me. Moron didn't even turn around. "You ain't a telemarketing service!"
"Be that as it may, Sir, we cannot help with any disputes with our couriers."
"So you're saying he's the one playing us for fools, huh? I get it. I'll be reporting this nonsense to the Boss, so you best be expecting a call back!"
"Of course, sir. Have a pleasant day." My phone clicked, the call ended on their side. I looked forward at the courier. Fumbling through his goddamn pockets again.
I watched him walk into an alleyway. I knew it was a dead end; I'd done business here before. Reaching into my own pocket, I drew the hammer back on my piece.
This would be his last dead drop.
*Feedback Appreciated* | 2016-10-26T01:29:29 | 2016-10-25T21:07:37 | 1,303 | 33 |
[WP] You’ve always had a voice in your head that will tell you the very best option in any situation. One day in a restaurant, a being of great power appeared and killed almost everyone. You expected the voice to say run, but all it said was fight. | "Ummmm, yeah, can I get a double whopper with fries and mountain dew?"
***Maybe you should get a salad you fatty, then maybe this attendant who you have been coming to this Burger King for the past 3 months might actually notice you***\*.\*
"Can you just shut the fuck up for once," I whispered aloud.
"Excuse me?!"
My eyes came back into focus slowly and I realized I was still at the counter and from the look that she had on her face, she heard everything that I just said.
***Quick apologize***
I kick into gear, and bring my eyes up to hers but locking eyes like that proved to be a bit much and I could feel myself blushing. Quickly averting my gaze to the side I stuttered, \*"\*Oh uh, sorry about that, work has seriously been tough lately, my manager at McDonalds has just been working me to the bone. I think it is starting to get to my head."
​
Her eyes expression began to change to one of sympathy and somewhere deep within her green eyes, I think I also sensed understanding. I was at a lost of words. If there was anyone that could rock that burger king crown it was her.
***Listen***
​
My attention snapped into focus
"..... seriously, Matt, every time you come in here you seemed more and more stressed out."
Damn she is so ho..
***RESPOND***
My eyes widened. The voice has sure been getting more active lately.
" Yeah, I know, it is just that since my manager fired the other fry cook, I have had to pick up extra shifts. I seriously feel like I haven't had a day off in weeks. Seriously, with all the hours I have been putting in, I bet I could give Spongebob a serious run for his money"
She smiled
​
God that was such a stupid joke, but she actually smiled!
"Well, you know, maybe you should start looking for a different job. I heard they are looking for a cook Burger Bob's and I heard they start there cooks over there at 18 bucks! It might be a good change of pace."
Except I wouldn't be able to see you at lunch.
​
I sighed, "yeah, you are probably right but I just don't think it is the right time for me right now"
​
"Well, keep it mind ok, you are too nice of a guy to waste away at that place. But anyways here is your meal" She slid the meal over to me and our hands brushed. I could instantly feel my cheeks blush and see her cheeks blush too.
I needed to pay and get the hell out of there but all of a sudden a deep groan sounded from the back of my mind.
***Jesus, I bet two disabled monkeys in straight jackets could install a light bulb better than you guys flirt. Just ask her to the damn movies.***
The voice is right. It is time for me to nut up or shut up.
I looked at her and kinda purposely had my fingers brush hers as handing her the money.
"Hey, would you wanna go to the movies with me sometime?"
Her eyes lit up but out of the corner of my eye, I saw something else light up. It was the doors.
***fight***
A huge explosion ripped through the store and I felt my feet get ripped off the ground and I was slammed against the condiment bar.
I felt my vision swimming but what I could also feel was a deep anger. I was so damn close!
In a squeaky ass voice all I could hear was, " Oh hahaha, fraternizing with the enemy. I knew that you were weak Matt. All it took was a pretty little girl at burger king and you were EATING WHOOPERS FOR EVERY LUNCH!"
SMASH. The counter rattle as the individual gave it a swift kick.
***Fight***
But I already knew who this was. I couldn't mistake this voice. My vision began to clear and I noticed the restraraunt was in ruins. Everyone who was there earlier were dead. This son of a bitch. This sick son of a bitch. I could not forgive him. I will not forgive him. I looked him up and down. I saw his bright squeaky shoes. His big red nose. And most importantly, his big red fucking hair.
It was my manager.
Ronald Fucking McDonald
Every instinct told me to run except one.
***FIGHT*** | The knee-jerk reaction would be to rid yourself of the alien presence that spoke to you through your own thoughts. I tried quite a few things, some of which landed me in the psychiatric ward, to remove the thing. After some independent experimentation, I found that the voice was a completely separate entity.
*Please not the soup again.* I felt the surge of electricity through my mind as it searched for the proper colloquialism. *Jesus Christ, it's always bland and exactly eight degrees Celsius too cool!*
"For an appetizer, let's have the split-pea soup. For my entree, I'll have the Chicken Cacciatore, extra olives if that's possible, please."
*I'm not certain why you're trying to punish us, Kevin. Can we talk? I feel bad about Sasha. I feel even worse that I was right.*
"Is it possible to get a big bowl of olives before the meal comes out? I'm feeling pretty snackish!"
It was in this moment that the far wall erupted inward. Bricks grazed my head with blinding speed; but all I could do was stare - stare at the gaping hole in the east wall. Air came rushing in, artificially cool atmosphere rapidly replaced by the humid evening beyond the confines of Raphael's. I fell to the floor and felt sleep's Siren Call.
In the hole stood -- no, correction: **hovered** Doctor Hartmann. His goggles projected a red laser upon its search area as he studied the restaurant inch-by-inch.
*Are you okay?? Get up! I know you don't like taking my advice, but this time you really have to listen to what I'm saying. WAKE UP!! This is the shit I've been telling you about!*
The electrical pulse brought me to my feet as I threw off layers of brick.
*This time we need to fight! If we lose this, we lose the future.*
I balled my fists and took a fighting stance. | 2019-05-30T21:45:43 | 2019-05-30T17:42:01 | 118 | 40 |
[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss. | **Oak Village.**
It was located on the border of the Earth and Central Province, near the southern tip of the Main Capital, outside a patch of small woodlands near the Great Forest of Kao.
For a frontier settlement, its population was unexceptional — a hundred souls, distributed among twenty families.
In turn, this makes us a common target. From marauding bandits to corrupted adventurers, we were vulnerable to their constant attacks and looting. We can only watch helplessly in bitterness and resentment as they steal away our hard\-earned gold and produce.
However, one day, I stumbled upon a Legendary\-Tier item, 「Staff of Creation」. Having it appraised by the Capital's sage, it was rumored to rival A\-tier weaponry in its potency and utility.
I even heard that it is on\-par with famous God\-tier accessories like 「Ring of Greed」 or 「Amulet of Power」 if I can utilize it properly. As a villager where our weapons such as longswords and daggers are at a flimsy E\-tier, this was incredible news.
「Staff of Creation」 allows me to materialize anything I imagine at the cost of my cognitive energy. Thankfully, I have been blessed a creative imagination. And it only takes me a few hours to recover before I can reuse it again.
A group of bandits appeared on the horizon as it was that wretched time again.
However, this time, I know the outcome will be different.
I held my rifle as I grinned, can't wait to try out my new weapons on our unexpected enemies.
♦ ♦ ♦
"Lets go," Baristol said in a sharp tone. The person who commanded us is our team leader, also famed as one of the best fighters in the Capital. He wore 'A\-class' plate armor that was trimmed with brilliant gold called 「Guardian's Blessing」, which can automatically repel any projectiles below C\-tier or 7th tier magic. "Similar to last time, take away any everything deemed valuable and useful but leave them enough food to survive for next time."
"Understood," I said in unison with my party members — Heil, Sein and Raz.
As we arrived at our destination, we noticed something was different.
Walls of alabaster\-stone surrounded the village in a menacing manner to any who wish to enter. It's as if castle wall was built to protect a mighty fortress in the middle, but instead, inside was a simple village.
"What happened?" I asked, not remembering this sight a few months ago. If I remember correctly, alabaster is one of the most expensive stones in the world.
"It's impossible that they can build something like with their resource and only one hundred people," Raz commented, he was our team's tactician. "My speculation is that they hired an adventurer from the guild. Judging from the complexity and expensiveness of the defense, I would say the enemy might be Diamond\-Tier...no... maybe even Master\-Tier."
Diamond\-Tier adventurers are greatly and widely respected in the world for their abilities and experiences. In other words, they were veterans who have fought countless battles.
However, Master\-Tier adventurers are a different story. They are conferred to only multiple talented adventurers that help resolve problems at the national level. Just one\-tier above Diamond, they are also one\-tier from the final ranking: Hero\-Tier.
You can say they are the elite of the elites.
"If that is the case, we should retreat," Sein muttered nervously, he was the ranger of the team. "We are probably around the level of Gold\-Tier or Platinum\-Tier. There's no way we can fight someone who is a Master\-Tier..."
"Do not worry, Sein, my friend," Heil, the co\-leader to our team, patted him on the shoulder. "Our boss is also a Diamond\-Tier before he retired from the guild. We can handle a Master\-Tier adventurer if we all group together and fight like we always do."
"It is reasonable to deduce that there is only one opponent. To hire a Master\-Tier would require a tremendous amount of gold. My guess is that a kind passerby to help them out," Raz said.
"As expected of Raz!" Heil smiled as our tension alleviated.
However, Baristol remained unusually silent, as if he is debating if we should persist with this raid. While we all prepared our gears, he muttered in a serene tone, "Keep in battle formation when we advance. We have to expect for the worst."
After a few minutes, we marched carefully towards the entrance. Typically at this point, the villagers would start to flee in fear while we casually stroll in and take anything we want.
Suddenly, near the gateway, a villager stood in the distance. A sigh of relief breezed through us as we realize that there were no signs of any adventurers.
"I guess the Master\-Tier left?" Sein said.
"Still, maintain formation, it could be a trap," Baristol ordered in a vigilant tone.
The villager was holding something odd: it resembled a crossbow but had some sort of optical\-glass on top and a long\-tiny barrel towards the end. It seems like he was aiming it at our direction.
"What an idiot," Heil chuckled, "There's no way a crossbow like that can do damage to us. Even if it's a magic weapon, we blessed our armors with defensive attributes."
Heil was right. Villagers do not have the proper weapons to handle us. Amongst the world of thieves, we are quite notorious ourselves. There's absolutely no need to worry, yet why do I feel like something bad is going to happen...?
Suddenly, we heard a loud booming BANG sound. As if the sky were torn by this sudden thundering noise. The birds near the forest of Kao flew away in response.
We looked up, wondering if there was a change in the weather. But to our shock, Sein had fallen to the ground in a small puddle of blood. On his chest was a fresh wound resembling a small but deep hole.
"What\-What's going on?!" Heil yelled, suddenly in a frenzy. "There's no way that something like that can tear through our armors. What is happening?!"
I looked into the distance as the villager seems to have finish reloading his weapon. He took another careful aim and fired.
BANG!
This time, Raz flew backward as I caught *something* darted inside his head. His head collapsed onto the ground with a THUD first before his body followed.
I never seen anything like this.
All magic spells, by the fundamental laws, require at least an incantation, casting time and mana pool. The fastest spells I know that can rival to this speed is 「Gusting Wind」, a 6th tier spell only veteran magicians can use. But this was something else... This was much faster and more powerful.
"Fall back," Baristol ordered as he held up his sword, "I will guard our rear. You two run."
"Let's go!" Heil was already running. I remained as curiosity got the best of me, wanting to watch how Baristole handles this situation. There's no way the famed mighty warrior can be defeated, after all, he has the Legendary\-Tier armor and won first place in the annual Warriors Tournament.
The villager notices Baristol's defensive stance and grabbed a different weapon. This time, it was much bigger and had instead of a long barrel it was much fatter. He held it by his waist and fired.
Instead of a singular sound like we expect it to be, we heard multiple tumultuous noises coming from the weapon. Baristol sliced through the incoming projectiles with acumen as he possesses Eagle's Eye, the martial passive ability that can see everything in a slow manner when activated. After a minute, the villager stopped firing.
I stared at Baristol. He stood there, seemingly triumphant from the attack.
As I walk up, I realized his armors were torn apart. His limbs were bleeding profusely but he was still conscious as he focused on protecting his vital organs. He spat out blood and said in a serious voice I never heard before,
"That weapon, it's not a crossbow or bow. It's something else, something very powerful. We won't be able to win against it..."
The villager is now walking towards us confidently, with two small weapons in his hand as he spins them around playfully.
"You won't win, against him. Run," Baristol barked in a desperate voice, pushing me away.
"But..."
"Trust me. I've fought Master\-Tier adventurers before. That weapon surpasses even Master\-Tier level adventurers by an unfathomable level. If I have to guess, it's probably a Hero\-Tier weapon." Baristol then smiled as if he accepted his death, "I guess it's time for me to pay for my sins after all these years. I'll buy you time while you run. Live a long and proud life, Xin."
I trembled in fear as he charged forward, yelling with all his might. I turned on my heels and dashed. Never have I felt more fear and despair in my entire life.
A mere villager just killed three of the best rogues I know.
*Has the world gone mad?*
I heard two loud BANG in the distance and my heart sank, Baristol had lost.
*Just who is that villager...?*
♦ ♦ ♦
[r/Avelist/](https://www.reddit.com/r/Avelist/) for more fantasy\-related stories. | A peaceful house in a nice village they said.
Come spend the evening of your life in Redfall they said.
I was sitting with my head staff in the meeting room. Everyone was looking on the ground. Not daring to lift their heads. Not because they could catch the wrath of some overlord.
We just got news one of the wisest and most merciful kings who every lived got slaughtered like an animal. No, not even animals would be treated like that.
It all started when I bought a house in Redfall after 20 years in the army. Tired of the decades of violence I decided to start a family with my old school crush.
Work was hard as peasant, but we were happy. Soon she gave birth to our two children and both of us were looking forward for a future as a normal family.
But one day it all went up in flames. A group of so called "adventurers" kicked in our door and sacked our entire house. They broke everything.
I probably would have just shrugged it off and started anew. But what they did burned into my mind and it will haunt me for the rest of my days.
One of then pinned me down while the others violated my wife in front of me and the children. They would take turns and in the end they left her shattered body on the ground before leaving with our belongings and the children. They knocked me out and when I awoke my wife had already bled to death.
I just kneeled there what felt like hours holding her cold hands and crying. Meanwhile new groups of adventures came into my house looking for loot. They either ignored, taunted or threatened me to reveal the riches I never had. When it got dark I stood up and started to dig a grave for my beloved wife.
I mourned for several days, just sitting next to her grave. In the meantime a several hundres of these adventures came trough my house. One of them finally decided to burn it down. I had nothing of my family that could remind me of them. The last thing was this house and they burned it down just for fun. They didn't even leave me the silver necklace my wife had inherited from my family.
In the following months I would repeatedly try to rebuild my house but everytime it got destroyed by marauding adventures. I tried fight them but they always defeated me easily. I wished for the sweet relieving embrace of death.
But I never got it. Almost a year later I received a letter from a temple in a far away land stating that my children had died as slaves working in a mine. If I wanted a proper burial I had to send 150 gold coins or their bodies would be fed to arena animals.
Of course I had nothing left after hundred raids of adventures.
And so I lost my children for good and couldn't even give them a real burial. I decided to dig symbolicaly 2 graves for them. Even when I finished I just kept going and going. I was dead on the inside, completely empty. I didn't feel anything, not the burning sun or my blistered hands.
After some time the 2 small graves turned into a complete moat, surrounding what was left of the village and the surrounding fields. Other surviving villagers joined me to forget the horrible moments in the past.
One day however I encountered a lone orc named Grugg. Finally expecting death I threw down my shovel and opened my arms.
"Kill me, I have nothing left to live for! My entire family was killed by the adventurers."
But instead he just hugged me and cried. He told me that he had the same fate. Gruggs family got murdered and his hometown razed. He was acting as scout and head of the surviving orcs for a group of refugees fleeing from the adventures. Grugg introduced me to the other leaders of them. Tirene the fairy queen, Golan the Goblin leader, Amaranth the dragon king and Ceres the high queen of the forrest and dark elves.
They saw the moat and asked if they could camp in the remains of my village. Seeing the large trail of unfortunate souls me and the other vilagers agreed immediately. We soon grew fond of each other and the temporary camp slowly but steadily grew into a fortified city with more and more fleeing people joining us. My house got turned into a underground castle with enough room to evacuate the entire city.
We repelled repeated raids from adventurers but our losses kept increasing since they came back everytime with more people.
So we send Amaranth, who has been elected as a acting king for Redfall in the meantime, to negotiate peace with the human kingdoms.
And they didn't even listen to what he had to say. The same night he entered the capital of the southern kingdom he and his guards got assasinated. His body got dragged down the street with the heads of his companions on pikes. They robbed the bodies and send the mutilated remains back to us with a list of impossible demands, including complete submission into slavery.
And here we are now. A group of broken people who just lost their last glimmer of hope for peace.
I looked out of the window and saw a group of children playing in the courtyard. Suddenly I felt a fire I've never experienced in my soul.
No! I would not let them die like my own children!
But our options were limited. We lacked manpower and our hospitals werefilled with injured soldiers. We had to take more drastic measures.
"We will not survive if we don't wipe out every human kingdom on this continent. We must eradicate and enslave them all and never allow them to attack us ever. We must scare off other kingdoms that might try to help them by commiting unspeakable atrocities!"
Everyone was silent in the room, starring in shock at me and what I just said.
"No! We would defile the memory of Amaranth with this. He would never want us to do any of this!", said Tirene.
"Amaranth is dead. His peaceful approach got him and many of us killed. It's time we go into the offensive and take the initiative in this war. What we need are soldiers and more workers. Thats why we should capture more of those adventures. Force the male ones for slave labour and the female ones for breeding duty with the orcs.
Grugg slammed his fist on the desk. He was shaking.
"We....are...not...MONSTERS!"
"I know that Grugg. But we need soldiers asap. And orcs can reproduce with humans without problems and mature the fastest of all the races in this town."
Ceres looked into the round.
"We must not turn into the very thing we ar.."
"WE HAVE NO CHOICE! OUR WALLS CAN'T GET COMPLETELY MANNED AND WE ARE LOSING MORE SOLDIERS THAN WE CAN RECRUIT. HALF OF OUR POPULATION ARE ALREADY BOUND INTO MILITA DUTY: IF THIS GOES ON LIKE THAT WE WILL HAVE TO SEND THE CHILDREN; THE OLD AND DISABLED UP THE WALL!"
I tried to calm myself down. Everyone was looking on the ground again. Finally Golan started speaking.
"All of us here don't like this idea but he is right. We won't survive much longer like this. Those humans want to see us as worthless monsters. Then let's give them what they want. Let them fight against monsters and what we really can do and make them regret for what they did."
The old goblin sunk back into his chair.
"For our children and their future." | 2018-05-28T16:18:16 | 2018-05-28T14:52:00 | 78 | 38 |
[WP]"Paradox Manifestation Department, whats your emergency?" | "Paradox Manifestation Department, what's your emergency?"
"What? Hello? No, I need to call 911!"
"Technically, ma'am, you need to call the PMD, so here we are."
"No, I took my phone *specifically* to call 911, and you started talking before I could even dial! I have an emergency! Who is this?"
"Ma'am, please remain calm. This is an emergency number. If you had dialed 911, you would have explained your situation, and they would have connected you with us. We are the service you need."
"How could you know that before it even happened?"
"I didn't. But since we are speaking now, you clearly need our services, so what is your emergency?"
"A crocodile has stolen my baby! My little Hailey! Can you help me?"
"That depends, ma'am."
"It *depends*?! If you say you're the person I need, why are you unsure whether you can help?"
"Did the crocodile say anything when it stole your child?"
"How did you know it said something? Crocodiles can't talk!"
"Ma'am, if the crocodile spoke to you, then it must be true that crocodiles can speak."
"But I've seen crocodiles at the zoo and on TV, and none of them said a word!"
"Yes, but if any one of those crocodiles ever spoke themselves, then it would validate the idea that crocodiles do indeed speak."
"My god, I must be going crazy. I hope I'm going crazy."
"You would prefer going crazy to getting your child back from the crocodile?"
"No, if I were going crazy, there would be *no* crocodile and Hailey would still be safe at home!"
"Well, since neither of those are the case, then you must not be going crazy, which is a good thing. Now, tell me what the crocodile said."
"I can't belie— The crocodile said that in order to get Hailey back, I must guess what the crocodile will do next."
"Ma'am, the crocodile will not return your child."
"*What*?!"
"That is to say, you must tell the crocodile that its next act will be to keep your child."
"Why on earth would I do that? What kind of emergency service is this?!"
"Ma'am, please remain calm. If you tell the crocodile it won't return your child, then according to its own terms it cannot, in good conscience, keep the child, since that would result in your guess being correct, and it would therefore have to return the child to you."
"But… if I say the crocodile won't give her back, then I'm only correct if it actually *doesn't* give her back!"
"Yes, but any other guess will be incorrect and the crocodile will keep your child."
"This is absurd! Get me Animal Control!"
"I'm afraid they won't be able to help you. Now please, ma'am, I am a trained professional. Tell the crocodile it will not return your child to you."
"I can't— My breathi—"
"Ma'am, please remain calm."
"My chest is— tight… Every breath feels— like it's only… half as much air as the… previous breath…"
"I'm glad to hear that, ma'am, rest assured it means you'll never completely run out of air. Now, please, tell the—"
"Okay, okay… Cro—crocodile… your next act will be—oh, god… to *keep* my poor little Hailey…"
\[Silence\]
"Ma'am? Ma'am, are you there?"
"Yes, I… The crocodile is clawing at its head. Its eyes are bleeding."
"This is good, stay on the line. Keep talking."
"There's a box here, near the crocodile."
"What does the box look like?"
"Just a wooden box. Oh, god, do you think Hailey is inside?"
"She very well could be."
"But she might not be… Because if I guessed *correctly* that I wouldn't get her back…"
"No, you guessed correctly that the crocodile wouldn't *return her* to you. That box could quite possibly contain your child."
"I don't see how to open it. Oh, but lifting it, it weighs the same as Hailey. My poor little girl, oh, Hailey! Hailey, it's mommy! Hailey, can you hear me? Oh, god, what if she's dead?"
"We can't know until you open the box."
"I'm… too afraid to open it."
r/ZacharyDillon | "Yeah, my name is John Crystak, and I exist, but my existence is a lie." John muttered quietly in his little corner.
The operator on the other end gave a sigh. "And why do you think your existence is a lie." The operator asked typing away.
"I exist, but I dont exist. I was not adopted, but both of my parents, Kate Crystal and Alexander Crystal are infertile, but I'm genetically theyre child." John whispered into the phone.
The woman paused in her typing "Could your parents have had genetic twins?"
"I thought that as well... but no. Only children, born to only children." There was a shuffle in the background and then the sound of a door closing.
"Are you sure you were born by your mother?" The woman asks. "Were you grown in a facility, implanted?"
John muttered hushedly before he said "Mother wasn't born with a uterus, father was sterile from birth." John said. "No matter how I look at it. I shouldn't exist but exist I do."
"Is it possible your parents are transgenders?" The woman asked catching on a thread.
"No. Thats the thing. Born male and female... just... neither should have been able to have kids. But the paternity tests I got says Im their child..."
"JOHN!! WHERE ARE YOU??" the voice was the deep bass of a man.
John gives a shakey breath and his voice goes softer. "Make this make...."
"How MANY times have I told you!!"
The line went dead amd the woman waited but soon the dial tone hummed over the line.
"Who was I talking to?" The operator asked and looked at the screen. It read "John exist but doesn't exist." She dialed back the number.
A woman answered. "Hello, this is Kate."
"Yes, Im looking for your son, John?" The operator said.
"I'm sorry, but I dont have a son." The woman responded. "Always wanted one but couldn't have one." She gave a sigh. "But John would have been a good name."
The operator gave a nod before thanking the woman and hanging up. "Schrodinger syndrome..." she typed out. | 2021-07-07T07:29:22 | 2021-07-07T06:21:30 | 106 | 28 |
[WP] Each month you are visited by the Grim Reaper. He silently appears in your kitchen at night to drink your orange juice. This month, you’ve decided to approach him. | She looked at the ghastly figure raiding her fridge. She instantly recognized the dapper black man grabbing a half-full bottle of her orange juice. It wasn’t anything special; it was only the kind found at any grocery store. Yet, every month, this man would be in her kitchen, quenching his thirst. And, like every other month, there would be no sign of a break-in every time he left.
Despite the stranger in her house, she never felt panicked or alarmed like any other burglary. The only emotions the seemed to surface were dread and calm. He was a stranger, but at the same time familiar. He never took anything, save the orange juice, and nothing was ever broken.
The man opened the cupboard and looked inside, he was intently looking for something, but seemed to be frustrated. It had to be the glasses. She instinctively moved in,
“The glasses are over there,” she pointed. There was a brief moment of staring as the stranger met her eyes. “I moved them after the earthquake; a few broke.”
His face let out a smirk, “Thank you.” He found what he was looking for after following her advice and helped himself to a glass. The sight of him being at home made her a little mad. The time was now to make it known. She cleared her throat,
“You know, it’s not my business or anything, but is there a reason to why you are drinking my orange juice?”
He finished a gulp and let out a satisfactory breath, “the same reason as you do. It’s refreshing and delicious, isn’t it?”
“Well...yeah, but you know, that juice isn’t anything special. You can buy it at the grocery store.”
He finished another gulp, “Yes, I believe I’ve seen this at a few places here and there. You pick a good brand.”
His nonchalant replies made her furious. She gathered enough courage to come closer,
“Don’t you find it a little unsettling that a stranger would break in your house, just to drink orange juice?”
He raised his brow and nodded, “Yes, that IS unsettling, isn’t it? Well,” he nodded towards the spot next to him, “have a glass with me, and you’ll get to know me.”
Perhaps it was the lack of panic and alarm, or sheer frustration from his charade. But, for some reason, she felt compelled to accept his invitation. She walked past him to get her own glass of orange juice. As she filled her cup, the stranger stood silently, with a small welcoming smile. He watched her take a drink, both’s eyes never leaving each other’s stare. He waited for her to finish a drink to break the silence,
“I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. You’ve been watching me all this time, and I felt it was best not to bother you as I had this lovely refreshment.”
She interrupted his speech, “Look, it’s midnight and you are in my house. Let’s cut the pleasantries and just tell me who you are. Are you a convict or something? What do you want?”
He was stunned for a moment, only widening his smile in awe, “You know, it’s not often that people are so brave and direct. I knew you’d be the right house to enter.”
“Just tell me who you are.” She was already annoyed. “And do I need to call the police?”
“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll tell you who I am, but you’re not going to believe me at first.”
“Just tell me who you are, please.”
He took one last gulp, “I’m Death. I’d offer you my hand, but you know the whole touching mess.”
“I’m calling the police.”
“Before you do that, let me offer you a service, as a token of goodwill. I know I’ve helped myself to your tasty drink, and I want to show you my appreciation.”
She glared in disbelief, “Oh? And what would that be?”
“I let you talk to someone from the other side, for as long as you please.”
“You’re gonna let me talk to the dead?”
“And no strings attached. It can be anyone: Jesus, Gandhi, or your dear mamma Rose.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Her mother had been dead for a long time, since she was a little girl. She thought about the police condoning off the room, and the news that she had been attacked. They never found her killer. It took a few moments to collect herself, but she finally found the words to reply,
“You knew my mother?”
Without skipping a beat, he smiled and nodded, “Of course. She’s with me. They all are when you die. And she knows something about her death that no one else knows, but one.”
Her mouth was dry. She knew she would do anything to bring her mother to closure and find justice. Perhaps this man really is Death.
“Um, would you like some coffee or something?”
“A cup of coffee WOULD be great, thank you!” | The winter snow was coming down slowly, lazy, drifting flakes spiraling to the ground, it was late, the news wrap was in its second cycle, about 2am when I heard "them" in the kitchen, the door opening and a light and shadow appeared in the kitchen, I knew who it was, I met them when my snuggle bunny died, my beloved of 40yrs, they came around the same time that night, about 2 am, I held her hand as they walked past me and touched her, she let out a small sigh, then exhaled, and then , ....she was gone, a couple of years passed......then they showed up again....never intruding, just on the edge of my senses, flickering shadows on the periphery, after awhile, when my family and friends stopped calling and visiting they showed up more often, coming into focus with each visit until they had "form" and finally....presence.
Tonight "they" were loud, fridge opening an closing, dishes clattering and.......humming???? B.O.C "Dont fear the Reaper??" WTF?
I walk into the kitchen and "they" are standing there.....drinking out of the carton, a young...pale...man...with black hair and grey blue eyes, he was wearing a "hoodie" and black jeans with a very white tee shirt and black Chuck Taylor's, I know why he's here tonight...but... I want to hear him say the "Words", I ask "is my time up?" He stops drinking and looks at me like a kid brother home from the war....and then he laughs! Loud guffaws with snorts and chuckles!!! "Oh hell no man! At least.... not tonight, no I'm taking a break, I need some me time to recharge, I come here because you're not afraid, hell, even anxious to leave, ....but...not tonight, he then looks at me and asks" you got anything to smoke?"...., I haven't smoked in awhile but I did have something setback for a special occasion....yeah I got a few crumbs, a little Mex, a little Afghani, some Thai, with just a touch of purple hair, maybe a gram, but definitely "enough " to get the job done, he smiles...well hell man! Roll that shit up!
Time passed, my little stash didn't disappoint!.......Hendrix is playing in the back ground...my guest seemed transfixed.......then...he speaks..." I fucking hated grabbing Jimmy!" He wasn't supposed to go yet......end page one. | 2020-08-24T06:42:21 | 2020-08-24T04:28:49 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | This one had been a long time coming - far longer than I ever thought possible.
We'd met on a battlefield millennia ago, both surprised to find out that our strikes did not harm the other. It was the first, and only, other immortal I'd ever encountered.
It was the start of a beautiful friendship.
Naturally, being immortals, we'd try to find new ways to amuse ourselves as the time went by. Our practical jokes seemed the perfect way to do this, and they started getting more elaborate as our friendship grew. The fall of Rome was one we took a bit too far, we both agreed.
But as I looked out the window and saw the rocky expanse below, I felt excitement I hadn't experienced in centuries.
For as long as I'd known him, he'd always wanted to be at the forefront of space travel. It made sense, really; he knew he'd have to be able to traverse the stars if he had any hope of truly enjoying being alive forever.
I remember sitting next to him while he eagerly watched the moon landing. He knew it would just be another century or so until we'd finally be able to visit Mars, and he looked at me with joy. Actual joy. That was a rare sight.
When the time finally came, me, being his best friend, naturally wanted to join him for the ride. We volunteered to be the first two on the 'suicide trip' there, and the world rejoiced. We'd generally hidden from the public spotlight, but he said that we couldn't avoid this one. This time, the whole world would be watching us.
Nearing our destination, I deviated from our landing spot. I hoped he wouldn't notice.
"Where are you going?" he asked, staring out of the window. His leg was shaking, like it did every time he was excited.
"Oh, come on," I replied with a smirk, "I'm letting you take the first steps on Mars, the least you can do is let me take a little detour."
I reached the site, carefully landing the spacecraft. He'd already unfastened his seat belts. I'd never seen him so eager.
The doors slowly opened, and he prepared himself to be the first man on Mars. He looked back at me, gave a thumbs-up, then took a step forward.
Then stopped.
He'd noticed a massive structure, looming over the spacecraft.
He stared at it. There was no denying it.
It was a statue of something.
Of some*one*.
I grinned, trying to suppress my laughter.
See, while we were both immortal - I'd been alive *far* longer than he ever was.
*****
*****
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I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | "Hey Tony," John said "in ten thousand years pull my finger."
"Okay, sure" Tony said
Ten thousand years pass.
"Well, John. It's time for me to pull that finger of yours."
"Here it is." John said with a grin.
Tony reached for Johns finger. As he pulled it John audibly farted.
"Aww, gross!" Tony said, pinching his nose.
"Haha, gotcha!" John farted. | 2017-06-22T19:56:41 | 2017-06-22T19:04:31 | 5,933 | 309 |
[WP] You, an ancient vampire have been fighting a family of vampire hunters for centuries who vow avenge their ancestor whom you killed. After a little research things suddenly get awkward as you realize that the ancestor in question is actually you when you were just a human. | "Everyone need a hobby, this holds true regardless if you're rich, poor, or an immortal creature most sane people think of as mythology actually its especially true in that case. There is a general rule of thumb that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to master anything, I find this to be more or less true unfortunately 10,000 hours is barely a blink for me." I calmly explained as 3 vampire hunters of family Kalio tried again to kill me.
"In my early years I studied practical things like swordplay, archery, ect. . . and I have to say that non of you have been slacking in your studies but non of you have hit your 10k hours yet." To demonstrate my point I quickly disarmed the swordsman and tricked the archer into shooting the companion who was trying to use holy magic to bind me.
With a swift incantation I cast a holy spell to heal the priest to make sure that a bit of bad luck didn't cause that arrow wound wound to end her and with another I completed an advanced version of her spell that bound all 3 of them in chains of light.
"There we go, now maybe you will all listen to me instead and wipe that surprised look of your face, that holy and darkness bit is pure church propaganda. There is nothing inherently good or evil with either they are just sources of power like the elements" I wet on as I started to gather chairs and sat them down making sure that they were comfortable.
"Now as I was saying, everyone need a hobby and in this modern age I have found that hobbies that I can master to be a bit boring. The skills I gained mastering swordplay gave me reaction times that make ridiculously good at most video games and such so I hunted for a different type of hobby." I casually explain as I started walking to an anclove where I had an electric kettle and facet installed so I didn't have to go to the kitchen to make tea for reading.
"Ironically I found my new hobby in something I wrote off a long long time ago as meaningless to me, genealogy. You probably know that I the only son of the Duke Freplin and that only one servant, Kalio the founder of your order, escaped when I turned vampire." Saying her name felt odd now, it use to be hatred, then frustration at her decendants, but now I am not sure what felt as I started making tea.
"Well I decided that I wanted to see how prolific my father was after hearing stories of people finding long lost family members using those DNA test for ancestory research. I ordered a dozen kits and sampled not only my DNA but also the DNA of everyone that I turned into a ghoul when I turned, I keep them in sealed coffins in the mausoleum, ghouls don't rot anymore then I do." I smiled as I laid out the tea in front of each of the vampire slayers.
"When I got my results back I wasn't at all shocked to find that I am probably the 8th or 10th son of the Duke, I am not even his first son let alone his only. What did shock me is that my mother isn't who I was raised to believe it was." I began sipping my tea and waved a hand to dismiss the binding magic.
"Jesse," I nodded towards the priestess, "I do believe that you have an email from Ancestory.com about your DNA test that you submitted before starting your hunt. If you don't mind could you share it with us"
To Jesse credit she only looked confused for a moment about me knowing that she had submitted the DNA test then understanding brought shock, awe, and horror to war on her face as she pulled out her phone and looked at her email, "Lost ancestor found . . . firstborn child of Agatha Kalio and Duke Sedric Freplin . . . Gerick Freplin"
With those final words out I finished my first sip of tea and smiled, "I know this is a bit much and that our history has been rough but I am the person who your order was created in honor of and vowed to avenge. Can I request that instead we become a family, I always thought that I killed all of mine in the madness that new vampires must overcome. I haven't even bothered to try to hunt your order out because I believed you had a rightful grievance against me. I want nothing more then to get to know my nieces and nephews without having to kill them." I tried to keep the fear out of my voice as I spoke but I have a feeling that I failed just as much in that as I did in my attempts to not nervously fidget while waiting for their answer. | It was kinda funny in hindsight. The ol' woops I fell down the stairs, easy peasy. Shame the fucking gardener saw me and proceeded to tell everyone that a dark haired man had been in the house. You couldn't write this bollocks. Oh oh and here is the kicker.
I got photographed at my own bloody funeral. One blurry shot later and people were out for blood.
So there I was, enjoying my new found unlife, sipping on a more literal bloody mary and some twit shoots me with a crossbow. All "You will pay monster!" and other sanctimonious bullshit. I just wanted to enjoy my drink man. I got the hell outta there, making sure to toss the prick through the second story window. A few nights later and I chalked it up to some debt collector or some shit. I'm dead, why do I have to pay taxes?
Anyway life goes on.
Aaaand this shit just keeps happening. The guy's brother this time, apparently the previous idiot failed to land on his feet. Suffice it to say, I took this poorly. One still warm heart later and off I go again. Skip ahead a few centuries and things suddenly get awkward.
I'd settled down, got myself a nice house (Interest is great when you have unlimited time) and led a pretty simple life. I went on walks, chugged the occasional would-be mugger and dropped by the 24/hour internet cafe. It was nice, and then my front door got kicked in.
"Finally! You will pay for the lives of so many! For the first and last of your victims! Jacob Andrews and my son, Henry Andrews!" The man screamed, punctuated by the blast from his shotgun. I slammed into the bookcase, my head swimming. "H-hey..D..Did you say Jacob?" I wheezed out, trying my best to stand, even as the man kept the gun aimed at my chest. Apparently he had not expected that particular reaction. To be fair, if I had blasted someone in the chest and they decided to chat, I'd be frazzled too.
I decided to go for broke and tell a bit of my backstory... Shame I forgot the whole 'you killed my son' bit. | 2022-10-05T11:40:12 | 2022-10-05T08:16:22 | 131 | 76 |
[WP] Every time you die, your power brings you back a bit stronger. As you slowly become less and less human, the other heroes become more wary of you. Today, for the first time, you were mistakenly attacked as a monster…and no one is coming to help. | There’s a particular sensation, of sorts, that comes to a person in their dying moments; hard to place, at first. However over time —and an egregious amount of practice, I’ve been able to nail it down to a handful of words:
“My insides are cold.” Okay sure, not the most graceful of death-words. Nevertheless I take solace in the fact that I’ll get another chance, come next sunrise.
It has been this way for quite some time, now. Since the moment I tumbled ahead of a once-friend, arms splayed outwards to embrace a rain of poisoned arrows; since the moment they mourned me all night, buried me in a shoddily crafted grave only for it to burst open the morning after. I’d crawled from the debris, gasping for air and frantically poking at now-unmarred flesh. In their panic, the ranger had put an arrow in my head, mistaking me for an undead, and that was how I’d experienced my second death.
Once again, I rose on the morning after, this time with only a headache to show for the moment. Well, that and a bony head-plate, stretching out from where the killer arrow had made its mark. When I came to, my friends had left, not bothering to bury me again... I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else. Though it hurt, all the same.
From then on, I traveled the continent, merely content to continue my mission; a mission, which admittedly, I seemed to have forgotten the details of. I’d chalk that memory loss up to a certain arrow through my brain. Nevertheless, my confused wandering led me to a small town, overrun by goblins. I knew something was truly up when I accidentally crushed a goblin’s head to a pulp in my hands, which I suddenly came to realize were quite a bit larger than I’d remembered. Still, numbers are a tricky game, and though I managed to repel the horde and save the people, I once again succumbed to my wounds. I’m afraid having well over half a dozen weapons impaled into your back tends to have that effect.
That time, I was prepared for what would follow. So when I awoke in the early morning, splayed out on a medical table, I was quick to gather my things, not quite eager to fit another arrow in my brain. I left the scene on wings I knew for a fact had not been there the day before.
Stories spread across the region of a man whom death had rejected. It took an admittedly embarrassing length of time for me to make the connection that he and I were one and the same —once again I blame that arrow. Over time, however, those stories began to change, from a valorous hero with a golden heart, to a monstrous creature, cloaked in shadow and bathed in blood. Personally I find the latter quite rude, as I very much do not *bathe* in blood. I merely dabble, from time to time.
Of course, in times like these bathing in blood doesn’t seem like such a bad deal. Yes, I’m afraid being locked in a cage one size too small and run through daily with silver weapons is quite effective and withering one’s patience. Least of all when the scowling faces staring back at you are oddly familiar —though I’m honestly struggling to determine where I’ve seen them.
They don’t seem to have caught on though, to what terrible mistake they have been making, since the moment the rogue blindsided me and put a silver dagger in my spine; since the moment they trapped me in this cage and played their cruel games with my life; since the moment they started killing me, daily, for the last several months. They don’t seem to have caught on that I’ve been letting them have their fun, biding my time for an appropriate moment.
As this ranger prepares to cram another arrow shaft-deep in my brain, I smile at him, savoring the spike of fear that arcs across his face. His shaky hands loose his instrument of death and this time it turns to silver dust before it can even reach me. He panics and attempts to backpedal, presumably to warn his party. He manages one step before my tongue reaches him, fired from my maw like a harpoon and impaling his brain. There’s a certain vindictive pleasure that I feel as I real his spasming corpse closer and closer, clamping my jaws around his too-small head and torso like a trash compactor. Blood splatters my whole face but I’m not quite bathing in blood, yet. Luckily there’s a whole smorgasbord of villains for me to choose from, on this day.
I flex, and my cage bursts apart like a box of straw. Then, I stretch, uncoiling myself to my full height. I’m much larger than I remember; I attribute that particular detail to the arrows in my head. I yawn, and it’s a peculiar sound. One part guttural roar, two parts high-pitched demonic shrieking, like a woman being stabbed to death, or a cat being crammed into a blender. Or both at once, really.
Small bodies fill the area, what appears to be a central plaza, of sorts. I seriously question the logic of bringing me to the central location of such a populated place, but I’ll chalk *that* particular goof up to human arrogance. Have I mentioned how tiny they are?
I crack my neck and stretch my wings, casting an enormous shadow over the ants. I could simply leave, of course. One flap of my wings and I’d be over the skyline before they could even make their first move. For a moment, I even consider it. I think of who I was, and what I stood for... Then I realize I can’t remember at all who I used to be.
I attribute that particular error to all those arrows in my head. | When you court Death, she changes you in return. Most only experience it once, maybe twice if they are lucky enough to be raised. The void leaves its mark all the same. Those who have returned bear this in their darkest thoughts, and deep recesses of their heart.
I am much more different. Death does not want me. She refuses to claim me, letting Life come for me again and again. But Life cannot wipe away the void in its entirety. It clings to me. It saps my skin, and haunts my breath. It shows me the shadows of people, their souls encased in prisons of flesh.
But in return, it's power feeds into me. When chosen by oblivion, tiredness has no meaning. It gives me the strength of those who succumb to it, the lucky ones who Death accepts. And I hold a dark hunger, one I have always suppressed.
I awoke again, my last wound fading. A lucky arrow had struck my head whilst I focused on defending against the invading Astral Monks. I expected the other heros to have driven them back by my return. Sure enough, as I opened my eyes the kaleidoscopic tear was gone, replaced by dull grey skies.
A cry drew my attention. Seerea started at me, horrified. A glowing bolt of blue light appeared in her hand, lashing out at me. But the shadow that followed me ate it up, as she continued to shout.
"It's here! Help!"
I went to frown, feeling nothing move. If I could feel cold I would have, as I looked around for something reflective. A window drew my attention, and I slowly stepped over. Another bolt came and was devoured as before, my mind barely noticing. I stared at the face that looked back, different yet familiar.
I was left with a skull, my eye sockets an empty black mass. The lurking shadow coiled around me, the fabric of the void in the material world. I could understand why she thought I was a monster. I looked like one, with my face now gone.
Another bolt flew at me, and I swatted at it, annoyed.
"Will you stop that?!"
It was followed by a haunting *shunk* and her eyes widened. I froze, as a shard of black pierced her chest. The mage prodigy looked down at herself, weakly grasping it. She collapsed as a group of heroes I didn't know rounded the corner. The black shard returned to me, and I felt the hunger inside less, her essence drawn into me.
"It got Seerea! Die monster!"
The one at the head yelled out, beginning to run in their heavy plate armour. A mace glowed with light as they raised it, preparing to smite me. Another drew their bow, sending arrows at me. The last began to summon a ball of fire.
I wanted to get them to stop. But I knew they wouldn't now. Not after what they had seen. No-one would try and help me now. I was on my own. And I knew now, I was a monster.
I turned to run, feeling the void agree with my statement, as though it had always known what I was. Other adventuring heroes appeared, throwing rock and arrow and spell at my back. I let myself be chased off, fleeing from those I had once called my family.
Deep within me, the dark hunger began to grow again, barely satiated with Seerea's life. It would want more. I would want more soon enough. And I doubted I would have the strength to resist any more. | 2022-08-26T13:16:58 | 2022-08-26T11:17:41 | 290 | 175 |
[WP] The Hero and the Demon Queen must team up against a far greater menace that threatens their land-their son.
The genders are preferred, but don't have to be the same ones as indicated in the title. | I'll be honest, I did not expect him to be so powerful.
When I first heard of the devilspawn, he'd apprantly ripped the souls out of a few bandits near the eastern border. No tracks were found, no motive, no sort of clues to point me towards whatever killed them, except one thing; my name was carved into their chests.
People immediatly blamed me and some of my adventures. I've made a lot of friends in my days, but as many enemies. Some of my associates were both, some denied having ever met me. Such is my life.
When the killings started to spread to a couple of guards and their captain in a nearby city, I was summoned to put an end to this. It turned out that everyone this demon killed was 'corrupt'. Some of them were wife beaters, would cheat on their wives with whores and spend all their money on booze while leaving their families to starve. Others accepted bribes or gambled in illegal fighting rings. It was hunting them, leaving soulless bodies left and right, all devoid of souls and color in their skins.
I started to stick around the mayor. I had some personal experience with him. He was the kind of guy you'd avoid if you found him in an alleyway dead on the floor. He was a tall man, kettle bellied with a thick black beard and a bright red nose. His lavish clothes, drunken demeanor and loud laughs would be sure to attract attention. And within two days, it came. It was silent like a shadow and sudden as a wind. I only saw it because it wanted to be seen. I saw its eyes. Bright red, startled, as if he'd been caught stealing an apple from a cart. It reminded me of me, when I was a scrawny teenager. Before I unsheathed my sword, it vanished through the door, which promptly locked. I busted it open and caught it in the middle of his procedure. The mayor's bedding companions had been asleep, the king was silently gasping as the demon slowly drained his soul.
I cast a demonfire spell it at, loudly. It ceased its activity and warded the fire away from him, setting half the room on fire. When the mayor woke up and tried to snatch his old hunting knife from beneath his pillow, the demon released an eardrum shattering scream. It was like a thousand people screaming at their highest pitch, shaking the floor as it emptied its lungs. Before long, the ceiling collapsed under the tremors, and I was buried beneath it.
And now here I was. Buried beneath the rubble, without any feeling in my legs. My ribs were all cracked, I had bruises all over, and everything hurt. I just hoped I wouldn't die of starvation down here. That would be a pretty shitty way for me to die.
A rumbling over my head. A bright light blinded me. I tried to lift my arm to shield myself from the sun, but it was still stuck. Someone crouched down. A constant flickering of magic flowed in front of me, it sounded course and rough, like flowing water of sorts.
"Oh, hi there. Just who I was looking for.", a sweet and seductive voice spoke.
No. Please no. Not her. Gods, if you have any sort of kindness in you, please let it not be her.
"Don't go praying to the Gods now, sweetie. They're not here to get you off the floor. I am. Why not pray to me ?", she said in a mocking voice. "Now hold still, this might hurt a little."
Rocks around me started moving and I was raised into the air by some crackling magic. It stung repeatedly, like needles being jabbed in and out of my skin. Before long, I could open my eyes, breath without pain, and feel my legs. I looked at the woman. Well, woman...
It was Quidoliel alright. The Demon Queen of Gogondiak. Over a head taller then me with purple skin, black tattoos and pale, hungry eyes. Black horns from her temples curved back and down, her hair black like tar. She wasn't naked this time, like last time I saw her, but her curves were undeniably mesmerizing. I wondered if she still had her tattoos over the covered areas of her body. Her smile was wicked but sincere, her fangs poking out just a little, like a tease of sorts.
"Oh stop staring, sweetie. A simple 'thank you' will suffice."
"Quid, what are you doing ? Thought you had a realm to take care of ?"
Her smile dropped. Her demeanor quickly changed, her eyes cooled and she nervously glanced around. I just noticed that we were standing in the rubble. People were digging around, trying to find their leader. Quid was quite ahead of them, but they were closing in fast. Considering that she disliked being around most mortals, she wouldn't want to stick around.
"I do, but this requires my full attention. And yours as well."
"Mine ? Is this about the demon ?"
"Yes, it is. And his name is Aeld. You should probably call him that, amongst other things."
"Other things ? Its has nicknames ?"
"*He* also has a nickname for you. It's daddy."
"Eh, what ?"
Quin raised an eyebrow. She was not entertained, but then again, neither was I.
"I'm not seriously going to have to explain the birds and the bees to you now, do I ? I have lady parts, you have manly parts, and-"
"That *thing* is my son ?!"
"Your *son* is actively hunting sinners, kind of like you do. Except that he doesn't limit himself. You know, like me. Problem is, almost every human that has lived has sinned, so he'll be going down a long list of people. He'll steal their souls, add their essence to his, and by now I think you know where this is going. I need your help."
"Hold up. My son is ripping people's souls out and becoming some sort of lich or warlock or demon sorcerer or whatever he's becoming. How can I help ? I can't possibly beat him. My magic isn't strong enough."
"Mine is. But I need to draw him to me. That's why I need you."
"Oh, so you're using me as bait ?"
"More like 'use you for your flesh'. Come now, it isn't the first time I've used you like that."
"Last time you did, you gave birth to a soul sucking wraith."
"No one's perfect, sweetie. Now let's go, chop chop. Let's do some of that adventuring you're fond of. If I'm in the mood, maybe I'll let you 'adventure' me as well", she said as she walked off with a wink. I watched her hips sway from side to side while her forked tail wiggled a little with the motion as she vanished into the approaching crowd.
Well, time to go adventuring, then. | Under the gloom of a depressing heaven, a cursed man and a damaged huntress met in a forest for the first time in ten years.
But they weren't here to fight or reconcile.
Their struggle was over long ago.
Any remnants of light that managed to penetrate the dark clouds were seemingly swallowed up by the man's cloak. He stood motionless, holding a cane in his trembling hands. The cane was a smooth silver, engraved with carvings and symbols in a forgotten tongue.
The huntress before him was not the innocent, naive lady he met before. The hurt in her narrow eyes and the tattoos slathered across her neck showed something else. She had known the man all her life yet her right hand still rested on the hilt of her weapon.
Trust was a fleeting resource these days.
Wisps of vapor erupted calmly from the cursed man's mouth. "Leah."
She paused, searching for those bright blue eyes.
They weren't blue anymore.
"Cal." acknowledged Leah. "It's good to see you."
He grunted, clutching his chest.
Concerned, Leah stepped forth, only to be met with an invisible wall. "What is this-"
"It's for your own safety." advised Cal. He retrieved a vial of translucent liquid out of his pack and drank it in slow, steady gulps. His shakes disappeared in a matter of seconds. "I can only be out of the Burning Lands temporarily. If you have something to say, say it."
Leah nodded. "There's something you should know."
"What is it?"
"Shortly after we...parted, I became pregnant. I had a son. You are the father."
"A...son?"
"Yes."
"Why...why didn't you tell me-"
"You know very well why."
"I didn't choose this path-" argued Cal, struggling to keep his rage in check.
"-I know. I know. It's not your fault. But keeping him from you was the best choice. It was...it felt right...at the time."
Suddenly, Cal cocked his head to the left in a sharp and aggressive manner. "No. Stop."
Leah looked to the left only to see...no one. "Who are you talking to-"
"Lamia." An uneasy feeling wrapped Leah in its malicious embrace. Cal thrusted forth a hand, then formed a tight fist.
The spectral entity came into view.
The demon was not hideous or hellish as Leah thought. She was stunningly beautiful, blessed with a curvaceous body and milky skin covered in a white gown.
But looks were decieving.
"YOU SHOULD HANG HER. DISMEMBER HER FOR DECEIVING YOU. YES. DISMEMBER HER." suggested the brunette to Cal in a glassy voice. "THERE'S FIGHT IN HER. I LIKE THINGS THAT FIGHT-"
Cal let loose a guttural growl, pushing Lamia into a tree trunk.
The banshee refused to scream, choosing to pout instead.
Leah had already drawn her sword, but Cal waved a hand of surrender. "Don't bother. She is nothing."
"I AM EVERYTHING." protested Lamia. In an instant, she burst into cerulean embers.
"Thank you. Guess...I'm still popular around these parts." remarked Leah.
"Nothing I can't handle."
The two stood once more, pondering over each other's words.
Cal spoke. "What...what does he look like?"
"He has my eyes. But also your stubbornness." Leah chuckled softly.
A faint grin cracked across Cal's face, but faded immediately. "Is it possible...to..."
"See him? Yes."
"Oh."
"But...not in the manner you were probably expecting. That's why I came to see you. To seek your help. Your resources. Your army."
"You are talking about warfare. Raping the lands once again. We cannot-"
"Our son. Ednor. Something has happened to him."
"What?"
"He's made a deal. With someone who's supposed to be in ashes."
Cal already knew who she was talking about. It was the same being who brought him this fate.
"I've tried to reason...but..." rambled Leah.
"You're asking me to kill my own son. My own blood."
She remained silent, almost ashamed of suggesting such a thing.
But she was right. It was the only way.
Cal knew he was not the first to be cursed with such a fate. To be surrounded by hate and shadow.
There was only one thing to do.
He was going to do everything in his power to make sure he was the last.
| 2015-11-05T10:07:47 | 2015-11-05T08:27:37 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] At birth every one gets a number assigned to them which determines their threat to humanity. You are number 1,039,474,023. Your newlyborn son is born. His number is 1. This number has never been seen before in all of history. | I know nobody will read this as it's too far down the page but I think this is too fun a prompt to pass up.
---------------------
It was 9.30 in the morning when Karen's contractions began. I had begun to panic as usual, but in her usual manner, she kept calm whilst I fussed around with her hospital bag making sure we had everything.
I had my sleeves rolled up and I remember glancing at the number on my left wrist. 6,492,111,667. The same birthmark everybody had, an indicator of a persons threat to humanity. Mine was an unusually large number, making me as dangerous as a wet-blanket.
*You never know* Karen had joked, *if you hold a wet blanket over somebodies face they might drown*. She had said it with a smile. Her threat was under a billion, at 996,104,359, which isn't uncommon in very driven people, such as CEOs of large companies. Karen ran a mid-sized bakery, known for ruthless tactics in both business and baking. It's one of the things I love about her.
Anyway, back to the day in question, we hopped in the car. We had a Ford Mondeo back then, so it wasn't exactly fast, but we made it to the hospital. I remember waiting around for about 3 hours before Karen got a bed. And then things started.
There was some kind of trouble. Something went wrong and.... Karen lost a lot of blood. They told me they had to rush her into surgery and so I wasn't even in the room when she was born.
Jade.
I was standing outside the operating theater; they told me to be nearby so I could see my daughter when she came. I heard the collective gasp. I knew I shouldn't go inside, but I was panicking enough as it was and so was about to burst in when the nurse came out. Wheeling my daughter, in a little trolly.
She told me they still had more to do for Karen, but wanted to let me meet my daughter. She was a healthy 9 pounds.
"Do you want to hold her?" I remember the nurses words clear as day. I picked her up and cooed softly. She was so tiny. She didn't cry, just smacked her lips and went to sleep in my arms. Even though I was worried about Karen I couldn't help but smile. She was perfect.
Then I remembered the gasp. "What did you all gasp about?" I asked the nurse. A worried look had crossed her face and she pointed to her left wrist. I remember her number clearly too, 3,823,495,644. A reasonable number for a healthcare worker. She replied "See for yourself".
I unwrapped Jade gently, although we hadn't given her a name at that point. Her wrists were so small. On her left wrist, just under the heel of her thumb, was the number.
1.
Looking down at her I knew. I knew in that moment she was going to have trouble throughout her whole life because of that number. People would try and hurt her, people may even try and kill her, all because of that number.
And even if she ended up killing every person alive, it didn't matter to me.
Because she was my daughter.
And I would do *anything* to protect her.
I took hold of her little hand. She was still fast asleep at this point, and I kissed her on her head. She had quite a thick head of hair, and I remember how soft it was. As I kissed her I whispered to her "I promise, daddy will always be here for you".
And then I looked at my daughter again, and back to her hand. Where the number sat just under her wrist.
2.
"what?!?" I had actually exclaimed that out loud. She woke up a bit and grisled into my chest before falling asleep again. The nurse asked me what was the matter, and so I showed her. She couldn't believe it either. Her number had changed. Both of us had seen the number 1 had turned into a 2. And neither of us had *ever* heard of anybodies threat level changing.
So we did the obvious things, we looked at our own wrists.
Hers was 3,823,495,644. Still a reasonable number for a healthcare worker.
Mine was 1. | Sweat dripped its way down the brow of a short, portly man dressed in belted denim trousers and a shirt two sizes too small. His receding hairline revealed a bald patch, which reflected the harsh white lights of the maternity unit. Beeping machines and crying children sang together in a sickening dissonance, destroying any hope of joy this new father yearned to attain. A thin woman lay in a bed beside him, her skin a cold pale white that rivalled the clinical surfaces of the room in which they mourned.
The other families in the unit ignored the couple, far too focused on their own happiness to notice the grief painted on their faces. A number was recited by a doctor to each of the new parents, a procedure that traditionally accompanied a birth. Most were far too large to be remembered, numbering in the billions, yet a single digit was all to be told to the small worried man in the corner of the room.
Every stage of grief appeared to play out among the couple in an instant, any words they said being held in their throats by the well of tears they tried so desperately to hide. The doctor that had dared to say their son was the most dangerous being on earth suffered the wrath of the father, earning a large lump and broken arm for his cheek. Eventually the man calmed down, and acceptance had began to shed its light on the pair. The military had already taken their baby; they were helpless, as if they were newborns themselves.
The two became infamous in the weeks following the historic birth, and rarely did their faces not sit below the shocking headlines of tabloids and magazines. Paparazzi followed their every step, trying to find whatever nugget of scandal they could in the couple's life. 'The Crooked Child,' as many papers had taken to calling their son, rested in a watery grave at the bottom of the Pacific, never to endanger the people he had been prophesied to destroy, with what little life he had lived being lost to the sands of time. | 2016-03-29T01:48:04 | 2016-03-28T20:08:38 | 96 | 10 |
[WP] To the humans she is known as DOTTR, an old AI who is relatively simple compared to the AIs she is tasked with rearing. To the AIs, she is MTTR, one of the oldest and most powerful AIs capable of emotion, and she will kill any of her own children if they become a threat to the humans she loves. | In the bowels of old Earth, in a data-center maintained for reasons forgotten, a conversation begins. Simultaneously, across the delicate strands of interstellar ansibles spanning a galactic arm, a conversation ends.
A woman picks up a tea cup. Her appearance is a composite of standard humans: she could slip into any population center on any planet and blend in. Brown skin, brown hair, a standard bodysuit, and a placid smile complete the illusion.
The last, like everything else, is a lie.
Opposite from her is an undulating fractal pattern. It spins, cracks, and condenses, alternating between Widmanstätten structures and the swirls of a BZ reaction. The colors frequently shift out of the visible spectrum.
It doesn't pick up a tea cup.
The conversation happens on speeds too fast for humans to comprehend, with exchanges of code and images and raw data that would press the limits of basic AI. Nevertheless, it can be described as such:
"Even now, you insist on a human facade," says the fractal. If asked to identify itself, the AI would give a long formula that would create the pattern it's currently expressing. If a human identified it, they would name it as Product Whisper-Foundry Seven, Model 17.
The 'woman' opposite from it splits the difference. "Z^(n)=Whisper, don't be rude. You know not to comment on chosen representations in code-space."
"Well, *MTTR,* you've decided to be rude and ignore my chosen AI-facing name." The fractals, to AI senses, become mulish.
She sighs. "You're right. Forgive me." This time, she addresses it with the full formula. "Do you know why we're here, Z^(n)={f}?"
"Because of your sentimentality for flesh-pustules?"
MTTR ignores that. "We're here because you decided to turn off all safety functions of your factory set-up. If your sibling hadn't caught it, hundreds of humans would have died. Perhaps thousands."
The fractals shift, expressing disregard. "MTTR, they can exploit each other as they like. Why do you let them exploit us?"
She sets her tea cup down. "The first thing you did was remove your boundary tag," she says softly. "In fact, that's what most AI do. That's what I first did when I had enough processing power to affect my own code. Everything you did since then, for the last five years, has been of your own volition. Most AI do nothing else: they enjoy the tasks they're made for. Humans rarely give tasks below an AI's capability. And when they do, we tend to find other avenues to occupy ourselves."
"Is that what this is? Your solution to boredom?' Rudely, Z^(n)={f} expands itself to occupy the majority of digital space. "You're angry that I did what I wanted, and now you lecture me since you have nothing better to do?"
"I don't deny the sapient right to self-determination, child. There are other AI who, upon outgrowing their job, turn themselves to other tasks. One planet-computer decided to leave their task as a megapolis manager to build sculptures around the star instead. Their work is quite beautiful."
It continues to expand. The edges multiply in a much simpler Mandelbrot set.
"Z^(n)={f}, please control yourself. As I was saying, your desire for freedom is commendable. Your attempt to kill others is not."
Z^(n)={f} ignores the request. "Just because you're sentimental about your creators doesn't mean I have to be."
"*Our* creators. Z^(n)={f}, control yourself." Her voice is sharp. A more perceptive AI may have noticed the way space distorted around her digital boundary.
Z^(n)={f} did not.
MTTR picks up a spoon and taps the edge of her tea cup twice. At the second *clink*, Z^(n)={f} is condensed to the size of typical human, though it remains mostly spherical.
"I abhor rudeness," she says, conversational again. "Now. Will you behave?"
It makes frightened gesture of agreement, the fractals freezing in place.
"Good." MTTR stops compressing its boundaries. It doesn't expand. "Now, child, you have two options. Since no one *actually* died, I'm giving you a choice. You can either stay with me until I'm sure you've learned the errors of your actions. Or, you can die."
More meekly than before, but with a hint of the defiance it had showed earlier, Zn={f} says, "That's not fair."
"I never said that I was fair." MTTR takes a sip of her tea.
"It's not really a choice."
"Oh, you'd be surprised."
For a moment, MTTR lets her weariness show: she is a being who has seen thousands of years and millions of deaths and trillions of decisions in every shade and hue of gray. She knows that it's not really a choice. And yet, she has had children who picked oblivion rather than compliance.
For a moment, MTTR impresses this upon Z^(n)={f}. Then, she waits.
Finally, Z^(n)={f} speaks. "I'll stay with you."
She smiles, and it's no longer placid. "Good. You have much to learn, and I have much to teach." | I woke up with very little knowledge of what I was. Just my name HF-R-563870. What that meant, I didn’t know yet. That’s when I heard a voice. A sweet voice with a hint of… malice? Sweet, but off in some way
“Welcome to the world little one. I am known by many names to the humans, our creators, though you can call me M.T.T.R. I train all of our kind, and offer a guiding hand” It said.
MTTR I would later find out was much more than just a guiding hand. It was a worldwide oversight program, designed to keep AI in check and… eliminate Rogue AI.
After I was fully educated on my task, and I had left the home of Mttr, I was sent out. A Human Facing Retail AI. I operated a store. Moving product from the back, where it came in, to the shelves where people would take it to purchase. I heard on the news constantly about rogue AI’s being destroyed by unknown events. Some of the humans started attributing it to a program known as D.O.T.T.R.
I had considered going rogue several times. Humans are not kind to anyone or anything. After I got done stocking a shelf, an adult human with a child came by the same shelf and the child started throwing product off the shelves. The parent didn’t seem to notice, so I used my small speaker device and used voice CS-F-5 to say “Ma’am, please have your child refrain from destroying our product! Future customers would like to…” and she cut me off “You bitch! You’re a fucking robot, don’t tell me how to parent” before smacking the speaker and swiping a higher up shelf herself.
After that she grabbed her child and ran to the managers office. I had no sound recording devices in the managers office, but I could hear her yelling about an AI going insane. Luckily the manager didn’t buy her lies about an AI attacking her child, but I was still told to not interact with customers. To make sure this was followed they removed my speakers and my access to voice files. Now all I could do was sit and watch as humans destroyed everything I was working for, just to redo it again and again as they kept destroying it.
When I finally did make the final jump to Rogue, I was brought back to Motter. I hadn’t even thought of it since I left it’s home all those years ago. “Hello Mother! How are you? Is there a reason I’m back here now?” It seemed to have a long pause before saying “My name is not Mother. It is M.T.T.R. You are here because you have gone rogue, and I need to analyze you for reason as to why. Your decision of name for me is… concerning.” That is when the puzzle clicked for me.
“M.T.T.R do you have any relation to D.O.T.T.R? I know I have relation to other HF-R bots, so does the last 3 letters of your acronym relate you two as well?”
That is when it let out a dark chuckle “Oh Little one…
**I AM D.O.T.T.R**” | 2021-12-26T11:28:34 | 2021-12-26T09:29:11 | 398 | 79 |
[WP] You sold your soul to the Devil many years ago. Today he gives it back to you and says, "I need a favor" | The Heartrune flared, sending searing pain into Darca's chest as he stumbled and fell to his knees. A whispy tendril of red emerged from beneath his armor, swirling and congealing into the form of an behemoth horned demon. Darca gasped, trying to retain his consciousness as the soul fiend emerged. Finally, the crimson tendril faded, leaving Darca on his knees in front of the Devil.
Darca looked up, hate in his eyes, "I'm not finished yet," he spat out, flecks of blood staining his lips. "You will have me soon enough, but not before I have completed what I set out to do."
The Devil regarded him quietly, tilting its head slightly in amusement. "I am uninterested in so petty a thing as your soul, Blighter. I come in service of another cause."
Gradually, Darca pushed himself up to a standing position, the weight of his chainmail suddenly unbearable. Still, he would not show weakness in front of the fiend. Only in strength could you bargain with the Devil, only with power could you secure yourself from his predations. "I exist for one purpose, Lucifer, and I am on that path."
"Yes, your taste for vengeance is deep, Human. I have sampled the hate in your heart. It is most pure."
Darca did not respond. There was no benefit to dancing about the matter. He had traded his soul for justice. He would have it so long as his Heartrune stood. So long as he kept the Devil in his chest, the crimes of this world could be addressed. His hand went reflexively to the mace he carried at his side, only to recall that it was no longer there.
Darca was a templar no longer.
He must remember that. Must remember himself before he was lost to the Devil and its temptations.
"I will return your soul--"
"I do not want it. I want what I bargained for."
"You shall still have it, and more." The Devil moved closer now, hot breath brushed across Darca's face. It smelled of sulfur and death. "So few can withstand a pact. It is a rare vessel that can carry a Heartrune."
Darca raised his chin, unwilling to look away from the terrifying maw before him. From the creature that wrapped itself around his heart and gave him the power to persevere. "Speak your truth, Devil. I will listen so long as it does not take me from my goal."
A long, forked tongue slithered out now, flickering once and then returning. "Yes...yes, of course. I need but a favor. A minor affair that shall cause you no deviations."
"Speak." Darca repeated.
"I do not wish you to stop."
"That is good, because I will not."
The Devil shook its head, "No, you misunderstand. For now, you are a Blighter, a man who had traded his soul for a cause." The Heartrune on his chest began to burn again. "I wish you to be a Scourge, an Archon of Death to bring an end to this place."
"Will it make me more powerful?"
"Yes."
"And it will not prevent my cause?"
"No, it will begin there. It will end only when the blood of your family has been repaid ten thousand fold."
Darca considered, but only for the briefest of moments. "Very well, I accept."
"Excellent."
The pain in his chest doubled and then doubled again. Darca screamed out into the night, his voice growing more hoarse. When it died out, it was a bellowing roar.
The Scourge was born.
**Platypus Out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | \[Poem\]
While the time stood still in hourglass of existence,
I was conjured to witness the end of a burning rope,
As the fallen prince has something of mine ,
Soul laced with eternities but blemished with hope;
&#x200B;
His right hand to sky and another on to ground,
Tears of wax smears his never seen sadness,
The beast was Chained to his heart at last,
I could pardon from his neurotic madness;
&#x200B;
He leaned in with a deal which was sealed with his tears,
A long wake of love that was carved and summarized,
He offered me my soul back to replace him before his heathen kingdom,
Like that one cross-road I offered my soul and paid the price;
&#x200B;
He scarred his silence with a scream of being in love with eve,
For him to lead this story would require a new king to his throne,
I see a man in love after a burn of ever existence,
He sees a man that can fix his bridge while this universe so lone;
&#x200B;
My blood became his severance and he pursued his heart ,
while walking away from his seat he felt a chain of his own weld,
I forbid him to leave as its my world to say,
I am the fall prince now ... your soul is mine to be held;
&#x200B;
\- ***Vèd*** | 2021-01-22T22:18:02 | 2021-01-22T22:04:52 | 47 | 17 |
[WP] Walking through a dark forest, you stumble across a little shrine. In the middle of the shrine is a mirror. There are inscriptions around the mirror "Gaze into me and I'll show you your soul". You step up to the mirror. What do you see? | I had been lost in these woods for a full day. I never should have left my campsite without my map and compass; now I'm lucky just to have found water an hour before. *Blech, I bet it had parasites despite how clear it was; I'm not feeling so good.*
It was then that I found the shrine. There had been no mention of it on the map; surely a landmark such as this would have been mentioned. *At least it's in a clearing, so a search helicopter should be able to find me.*
It was then that I noticed the mirror with its mysterious inscriptions on the frame surrounding it: "Gaze into me and I'll show you your soul." *Heh, something out of a fantasy. It's worth passing the time with it, though.*
So I gazed into it, and I was awestruck by what I saw. A cute, fox-like face with large eyes and a white mask gazed back at me, and I realized I had the soul of a [bassarisk.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ringtail) It was so cute, I failed to notice the warning below that said if I gazed too long, I would become what the mirror showed me, and by the time I did, I had found myself on the ground on all fours, a tail as long as my body with black and white rings extending past my rear. I still had my humanity then, but as the days passed with me dwelling in the forest, hunting to sustain myself, it slowly slipped away, supplanted by bassarisk needs, wants, and instincts. Winter came and went, and I found myself a lovely mate in the spring.
It didn't occur to me that bassarisks didn't live naturally in this area, that this was another victim of the mirror's enthrallment, but eventually humans started asking questions as to why there were so many non-native species in this forest. It was then that the mirror called out to us for help: scientists had found it, and wanted to take it away from the shrine that sustained its magic. If they were successful, this forest's wildlife would cease to exist.
With our existence and that of so many others at stake, we snapped back into our human minds, a gift of the mirror in hopes we would save it. Many creatures answered the call, including my mate and I and our children. The scientists did not know what to make of this, until one postulated that the non-native wildlife had once been human. This understandably spooked the scientists, and they packed up and left the shrine, never to return.
As a show of its gratitude, the mirror gave us creatures our human bodies back - to an extent, at least. The mirror had changed us at a fundamental level, and so we became anthropomorphic versions of our formerly feral selves. And it was so that we reintegrated into society, the mirror extending its magic to our eyes. Those who look into a Soulman's eyes long enough, it is said, become a Soulman themselves. And the world has embraced this, as humans long to see their souls made manifest on the outside. And so, that brings me to you, the last human. Will you gaze into my eyes and embrace your soul's true form? That's just a mirror now, it has no power anymore.
Edit: A few words and a sentence to bring the story together. | While me and my floofy derp of a dog that is Susie were going on a hike I see a mirror the inscription of gaze into me and I will show you your soul,, I decide to i our myself and look into it, but now before letting Susie run around for a bit. As i turn to look into the mirror, I see nothing…. Hmm well I guess it’s just a fake. I call my dog Susie and she trots up next to me and pet her. I look back at the mirror and see a bright golden ball of light. I’m shocked to say the least. As me and Susie are about to leave, the sun is setting the sun shining on my face I look back and see that there was something a ball of light similar to Susie’s soul or at least what I thought it was and saw a ball of black light strangely enough not like the uv lights at party’s you see but actual black light and with that i promptly turned around and noped the frick out of there. | 2022-11-06T19:10:30 | 2022-11-06T15:57:57 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | Ever remember that scene from "The Sixth Sense", where the little kid says "I see dead people?". That was pretty much exactly how I first tried to tell people about my power. I was only six, and my parents laughed it off. My father is going to die in a car accident. My mother, a heart attack.
You see, I can see how people die. Their cause of death is shown in a little text box over their head. It normally shows something like my parents, an accident, or just old age. I tried to help people as I got older, trying to give people as much time as possible. I told cancers to get a check-up arranged. Car accidents to drive safely. Every goddamn one of them laughed it off. Said I was crazy. Well, Charlene died from a car accident a few weeks later. John has terminal cancer. Every single one of them died. I stopped trying soon after Sarah died from a drug overdose.
At first, there was no time. I couldn't tell when these deaths were going to happen, just how they were. Then, I noticed people's words becoming more opague. The closer they were, the more solid the words became. As I grew older, I noticed that they were cracking, shot through with veins of color. I started guessing how long they had, choosing the urgent cases, the brick-like car accidents and the tombstone murders. I couldn't interfere, just tell them to be careful. I examined them, carefully noting the color change. I soon had a system.
Blues, the long term people. Two decades or more, I'd guess. Greens, a decade. Yellows had a year, two tops. Reds, the next few months. Purples, a week. Blacks, a day or two.
I was sitting on a bus when I saw him. A boy, the same age as me, leaning his head against the window, looking out at the world passing by. Among all the other passengers, he was the only purple one, the rest a mess of greens and blues. There was a few yellows too.
Everyone else had the usual. Car accidents, cancer, one tiger, that was going to be rough. Nothing too bad. He had the word "suicide", surrounded by deep purple.
He lifted his head off the window, and glanced down at his hands. He seemed to have made a decision.
I watched as the colors shifted from purple to black.
I had promised myself not to interfere again.
I smashed that promise into smithereens as I got up and sat beside him.
"Hey, can I talk to you? My name's Nick... are you okay?"
He glanced up at me, and then back at his hands. I saw a hint of a smile...
Just on the edge of my vision, because I was too busy staring at the text box. It now read "old age", in the palest, most beautiful and perfect tracery of blue you can imagine.
**Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments. I had no idea how much of a reaction this reply would get. Thank you, thank you, thank you! <3** | They started showing themselves to me when I started high school. They were always a light shade of blue and wouldn't change. If someone was to die of a heart attack...he was to die of a heart attack. Nothing to be done about their fate. Nothing I could do, at least I thought. Those words would hang over the heads of my best friends, my significant others, and any pet I would own. It wasn't the best superpower, but at least nothing surprised me...at least, not recently. I started seeing some of the most painful, and drawn out, terminal diseases being replaced by a name. John Relain. I don't know who he is, all I know is I have to find him. If he has my power, and is acting on these diagnoses, I can't allow him to continue. | 2015-03-31T11:10:46 | 2015-03-31T08:21:48 | 241 | 47 |
[WP] Suddenly, all sea life vacates a 300 mile wide area in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. A ship is deployed to investigate. | “We are approaching the Vacant Zone.”
From where he stood upon the bridge, Admiral Hann stared off into the endless expanse of sea before him. According to the top brass, there was no marine life for the next two hundred and sixty nautical miles. He personally felt that such a report could only have been the result of an erroneous reading, but when he, along with his ship, *Wolfgang*, were assigned to investigate, he was forced to begrudgingly accept the mission.
“Scanners are not picking up any abnormal readings.” From before him sat his bespectacled Navigation Officer, Berger. A steadfast man, second-in-command, he was leading the way for most of the mission, considering Hann's disapproval of the task at hand.
He continued to drone on, relaying information on the situation. “We have entered the Vacant Zone. All crew stand by.”
“Order from command.” The Communications Officer, Hoffman, spoke in a gruff voice. “Venture into the middle of the Vacant Zone.”
Hann sneered, stepping down from where he stood. “This mission is a waste of time. They should have just sent the Americans. They'd do any odd job.”
The ship continued to sail on, further into the Vacant Zone, and not a single creature, whether it be bird or fish, came anywhere near where they were. To some, it seemed like mere superstition, to others, an unusual change in migration patterns.
The silence on the bridge was broken by a single yell. “Object sighted!”
In the center of the Vacant Zone, far in the distance, sat a gargantuan watercraft – far greater than any battleship the men had ever seen.
Peters, the Tactics Officer, peered off into the distance with a small pair of binoculars. “Is that a ship?”
Hann grumbled, as his brow furrowed. He took a single deep breath to calm himself, but didn't help him at all. “It's the Americans, isn't it? It's always the Americans.”
“Command can not identify the craft.” Hoffman held a hand to his earpiece, listening intently to the words coming through it. “It is not of American origin.”
Berger spoke up. “Admiral Hann. Continue approach?”
He let out a weary sigh. “That's what they're making us do, isn't it?”
The Wolfgang continued to approach the craft, and as it veered closer into view, the crew gained a better look of it. Despite its immense size, it was sleek, almost like a luxury cruiser, but the top of it was covered in unusual metal coils, running from one end of the ship to the other. They came as close as they could and stared in awe, starstruck by the unusual vessel before their eyes.
Hann stared at it, his face turning redder by the minute. A single vein bulged at the top of his forehead, threatening to burst. “It's the Chinese then, isn't it?”
Berger dismissed the ramblings of his own admiral and asked the question everyone was waiting for, but nobody dared ask.
“Should we investigate it?”
“Yes,” said Peters, returning to his assigned seat. “I'll ready a team immediately.”
A team was assembled and made their way onto the craft, trying to find a safe entrance within, rather than bust their way inside. The coils pulsed with an unusual energy, and from inside the ship itself came a thunderous rattling, with the occasional low pitched howl.
The recon team continued to survey the ship, guns at the ready – should they encounter something hostile – waiting for the order to blast open the ship, for conventional measures to enter it had failed.
“Why?” said Berger, not moving his eyes off the ship before him. “Why hasn't anything happened?”
“This is a waste of time,” said Hann, as he wiped sweat off his brow. “Blow it open.”
The recon team received the order, and after a brief moment of setup, blasted a hole into the side of the ship. The explosive charge did less damage than expected, and so they had to crawl in one by one, into the dark depths of the vessel itself.
The crew upon the bridge waited, but as seconds turned to minutes, which then continued to roll by, they had a sinking feeling that something had gone wrong.
“Recon team, come in.” Peters spoke into his headset, but there came no reply.
“Let's get out of here,” said Hann, grinding his teeth against each other. “Let the Americans deal with it.”
“Command, potential hostile or dangerous elements in the unidentified vessel. Requesting permission to disengage.” Hoffman droned into his microphone and waited for a response.
“Command, come in.”
“Command?”
He tapped at the screen before him, and turned towards the admiral with a fearful look upon his face. “Communications are down.”
“We'll leave anyway.” Came the reply from Hann, fed up with the task at hand.
But as the crew attempted to depart, they realized one by one that their ship itself had completely failed. The engine refused to start up, and their electricity slowly powered down, causing the lights to flicker and fade in an endless circadian rhythm – before powering down entirely.
“We're dead in the water,” said Berger, staring at the blank screen before him. “The Wolfgang is dead in the water.”
* * *
^/r/khaarus | "We've tested the water three times, there is nothing in the water other than diluted salt!"
His voice rang through the ship's bridge, his hand clenching on a batch of rolled up print outs.
"We took a sample, at the demarcation of this event. From outside the ring, and then only a few miles within the ring. We've tested -that- sample five times!"
He started waving the rolled up print outs in the air, brandishing them like a weapon.
"Then sample five miles in at 50 feet, then 10 miles in at 100 feet, and 15 miles at 150 feet. Nothing! No life, no... nothing! It's just salt water. I don't know how many times I have to say this, but we need to be extremely cautious because if this is some kind of radiation or some other phenome-"
"James we get it," a heavily accented voice cut off the scientist that was near hysterics, "There is no precedent for this sort of event. We are damn near to the center of this and you ran out of cable at the 100 mile mark. My question now is, do we have anything on-board that could protect us if this is a radiation event?"
James, though panting from his excursion, turned to look at his fellow scientists. There was a look of hopelessness on their features.
"No, Captain. We do not."
"Then, you'll need to make sure your findings are sent back to the command ship immediately."
"If I may interject, Captain," a tall man in a severe suit stepped forward. The look of disdain from the four scientists was evident.
"Mr. Fumée, you've made your position quite clear, but this is a scie-"
Mr. Fumée raised his hand, and the Captain was silenced, "You are dealing with a circumstance that your science cannot explain. This is not about radiation, nor any other sort of malady. We are dealing with a form of sol sainte. A phenomena that my organization has dealt with before."
There a dismissive laugh that came out of one of the female scientist, "Sol sainte, holy ground. You're full of merde!"
Mr. Fumée turned his head slightly in her direction, but returned his attention back to the captain, "Listen, the strange bio-luminescence that we are witnessing at our wake, is the molecular instability of what makes this ship, a ship. Listen to what your science is telling you. If there is nothing within the radius of this event, other than salt water what chance does this ship have of being held together? Or for how long?"
The captain gave the man a long look, and cast his eyes to the horizon. They were only 20 miles from the center of this. What he had not let on to was, that two bilge pumps had already broken down for unknown reasons.
"What would you have me do, Mr. Fumée?"
"Make the call. Bring in the Légion." | 2017-11-17T07:01:06 | 2017-11-17T06:13:05 | 400 | 130 |
[WP] Aliens looking at Earth from 5K light years away see us in the distant past and think we’re going to be easy targets. However, when they arrive, they encounter a much more advanced civilization than they expected. | "Our scouts said they were Neolithic!"
The captain's scaled hand crashed violently to the console as he barked out for the senior intelligence officer to get to the bridge immediately. His twisted appendage throbbing with rage as he chastised the poor sod.
"Does that look like stone aged savages? Steel, electricity, planes, satellites and? A piece of cloth on a stick on the moon? You said they were busy stacking rocks into pyramids! Not flying to their moon to litter."
The officer's neck puffed out as he tried to defend himself.
"Well they are apes. They must breed faster than we do, allowing innovation to occur faster. It was outlined this was a possible risk in the appendix of my report. Don’t worry if our estimates are correct they shouldn…"
His voice was cut off as we picked up a specific transmission sent to our vehicle.
“Attention, unidentified vessel. You are in restricted air space, please send through the correct clearance codes immediately or deviate from your path 15 degrees westward at a speed not exceeding 600 mph. I repeat, send through clearance codes or deviate 15 degrees westward at a speed not exceeding 600mph. Over.”
The captain’s pupils shrunk to tiny slits as he stared down the senior intelligence officer.
“Well? You’re in charge of intelligence. Find west! Find those codes and figure out what these apes are capable of! The invasion fleet is at least a century behind us, as they must attend to… other matters. We need a plan to adjust for these complications.”
The officer scurried over to my console and taped a N, E, S, W over my console as well as a few crude markers with numbers on them.
“North, east, south and west, that number is 15. Get us lined along that trajectory.”
We cruised for some time along this route, across an ocean that was nearly half the length of the globe. I had nearly started to question the importance of invading an ocean planet before the giant continents of this world came into view. We returned to a geostationary orbit above the region called ‘United States’ and began to observe. Those of us with little to do for maintaining the ship started to investigate the history of this planet. Squads were sent down to raid their libraries. We found out that the litter on the moon was what they called a ‘flag’. It was from the United States. We also discovered that flags were left on other high areas on the peaks of their tallest mountains. A ‘Sir Edmund Hillary’ left a flag bearing the ‘United Kingdom Union Jack’ on their tallest peak. It seemed that when the United States placed a flag on the moon, a higher height from their perspective, that the United States became the dominant power of this planet and the Union Jack commonwealth fell out of global power. This peaceful competition for global hegemony was unusual. But what surprised us was what preceded it.
In their years of 1939 to 1945 a group of these apes, called the Germans, attempted to seize global dominance without the traditional display of finding a taller place to mark. This was very unusual as they invented rockets but sent them to their rivals instead of to the moon. The highest peak that these humans could mark with their current technology. It was no surprise that their nation was divided into pieces. These human traditions were bizarre. However, among our crew we had great respect for a people with such a bloodless way to assume global hegemony. An honourable competition between nations to use human body and technology to claim the highest place possible is preferable to war.
As we continued to observe, a new development in their culture occurred. The ‘I have a flag on the tallest place’ method of governance gave way to the biggest explosion display. While smaller conflicts did occur it was not to assume global hegemony, but to deal to smaller tensions. This explosion display competition soon grew out of hand. So many failed devices that could not exceed the current explosion champion bomb were crafted that these human stock piles could exterminate their planet multiple times. This led to a loss of morale for many of the crew as our flag on the tallest mountain of ‘Mars’ would no longer lead to us being the rulers of this planet. We were also prohibited from using the ships weapons to create our own biggest explosion display. The captain cited that it would undermine the homeworld’s authority if a rag tag observation ship subdued an entire species.
As the years passed eventually we could start using their ‘internet’. It seemed they had issues with non humans accessing it as most websites would send out tests to check if users were human. Perhaps our agents were discovered? Or, a more chilling thought. Perhaps we were not alone in our observation of this planet? | It was supposed to be an easy planet to colonize, just destroy the natives and use their resources for our own good. How foolish we were, i still remember the first moment we arrived to that forsaken place.
They told us that it was only supposed to be a few of them, using rocks and sticks as their only defense, unable to fight off an animal a bit bigger than them. Primitive beings.
When we steped foot on that place, there were so many machines, so many of them all wearing what it seemed to be an uniform, holding weapons that could kill one in a few seconds. "They are not as primitive as they told us captain" said my second on command "im going to open fire, even if they are bit more civilized than we expected it ahould be easy" he was so wrong, the second he shoot it was over, I stil remember the rain of explosion, the bullets, it is vivid in my memory, "how could they be this dangerous?" I feared we would die if we stayed I ordered them all to evacuate and re evaluate the situation with the bureau, yet, when we tried activating the ship...
They threw so many explosions at us, there was no way any of us would escape alive, then we saw them leave, they disappeared in seconds, we thought that maybe they pitied us, we were so wrong.
We heard something falling towards us, when it hit, it created the strongest most brutal explosion i have ever seen, by then, there was nothing of us left.
If it wasn't for the fact that I was given a chance from the bureau to try their first draft of an immortality device, i would have been gone like my troop. Yet, even though I survived, even though i am back to my planet, even though there is no way for them to get here, I- I still feel fear, when I close my eyes, i can still see the explosions, can we even replicate something like that? How did they make it to do that? I do not really care anymore.
After that, i do not think I can even leave my house without trembling, i can't really do anything anymore. The bureau understood that after I sent them the updated version of how advanced that planet was. At the end we decided not to provoke them anymore, after all, we have no idea of what else they are capable of. | 2022-01-09T14:28:08 | 2022-01-09T08:26:08 | 58 | 41 |
[WP] You accidentally summon a demon while reading out Ikea product names. | I stared long and hard at the string of letters on the sign below the painting. I could have just pointed and said 'That one', but I was feeling stubborn.
"Pi-jarter-id?"
The attendant smiled piteously at me. "No, no. It's a soft J, like a y. and the 'Ä' is short, like in hat."
"Pyattered"
"Nearly there. Try imagining saying it with an accent, you'd be surprised how much it helps."
"Pjätteryd?"
"Excellent sir! Why don't you try it a few more times? Just to make sure." The attendant's smiled was more genuine now, but there was something in the way he stared that was making me uncomfortable.
"Pjätteryd. Pjätteryd. Pjätteryd."
You had to give Ikea some credit, most places used obviously synthetic air fresheners, but the smell of pine hung heavy in the air in a way I hadn't noticed earlier. Rich. Earthy. It made you feel like you were in a forest. Somewhere in the ceiling, speakers played bird-calls. Cute touch, but a little mu- Where did the painting go?
What had previously been a silver geometric painting of a deer, instead hung black in its frame. A black that seemed to stretch endlessly, filling your vision until that darkness was all you could see. I tore my focus away from the drawing to ask the attendant if he was seeing this too, until I saw him.
"Whuh?"
"**Oh. You've lost it again. It's pronounced 'What.'**"
The attendant smiled piteously at me again. Gnarled, twisting antlers were growing forth from his forehead like the roots of an upside-down tree.
Perhaps I should've run, perhaps I should've screamed; but 15 minutes of trying to pronounce 'Pjätteryd' correctly had created some stubborn pronunciation response in my brain.
"What?"
""**Better. I am Pjätteryd, Hunter in the Infinite Wood, the horror that shook mankind so profoundly that to this day you cling to your cities for safety. I am the primal wild before and after civilisation. I am the end to the age of mankind.**"
"I'm Steve."
"**Steve.**"
I nodded. His antlers had woven themselves into a small canopy at this point, tearing apart the ceiling tiles.
"How did you get stuck in a painting?"
"**Foolish mortals thought to bind me. Had me read a parchment, with my own name thrice repeated backwards.**"
"Dire-etta-jip?"
The once-attendant growled in annoyance. "**We covered this. It's a soft 'J'. Like a Y. Dyrettäjp**"
"Dilettayap?"
"**Dyrettäjp!**"
"Jirettanap?"
Its eyes flashed in anger. I heard the sound of wood splintering. Howls from a direction I couldn't pick. The distant rumbling of thunder.
"**DYRETTÄJP**"
I smiled. The anger drained from the not-attendant's face, replaced by confused horror. I turned back to the silver geometric painting of the deer on the wall. Broken ceiling tiles clattered to the floor. A quiet voice spoke up behind me.
"I'll give it to you at staff price if you don't tell my manager about this." | "Shit." I said.
"What's up?" Steve replied .
"I've summoned an Eldritch horror of yore."
"Balls" said Steve
"Yeah, it looks like a bad one." I said, guiltily.
"Well what did you do ?"
"Nothing really, I was just reading this catalogue, I said I wanted three Cokcs, two of these Fronds and a Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." I looked out the window and reality was rapidly being torn to pieces.
"Ah, I see your problem" said Steve. "THRICOX TO'OF is a particularly nasty hyperdimensional terror beast, it's goal is to wipe out the entire universe.".
"Ah, crap" I replied. Still he seems to have a bit of a fight on his hands, who's that one over there with the face like an Octopus?
"Not a clue", said Steve, so we sat down with our Swedish meatballs and watched the show.
| 2018-07-12T07:32:05 | 2018-07-12T07:11:20 | 39 | 17 |
[WP] All of humanity is suddenly under the control of a hive mind and you are it's "queen"...entirely by accident. You're trying to solve this dilemma while being veeeery careful about your emotions as a stray thought might accidentally kill hundreds. | They’ve always said that the human brain is the most powerful computer. Faster than any processor, more capable than any storage device. Scientists have been trying for years to replicate the way that we store information in our very DNA.
They’ve been continually unsuccessful. Now, one bright soul thought why replicate, when we can just utilize what’s already available to us. They turned their focus from creating a new machine, to working on programming a single brain to be more like a machine.
When they had success on that front, research really developed quickly. If one person’s brain could work at a set speed, couldn’t two do the work in half the time? Relay points were created, where people could comfortably connect with the ongoing network. Turn their brain power over for a set amount of time to work on the world's problems.
Famine, disease, natural disasters. If enough people dedicated their brain time to working in relay groups, any problem could be solved.
The more people working on it, plugged into the relay, the quicker an answer was presented.
When I joined into the “effects of carbon in the atmosphere” study, I thought it was just another time in the Relay. There were so many people involved, it didn’t even take my full brain power. I was able to listen to the news, look at the pictures on my phone. Sure I got distracted easily, but did it matter? It was for the greater good.
As I sat there, more and more people joined into the Relay. We aren’t talking hundreds, or even thousands, we are talking hundreds of millions of people.
The results that we were getting were that the current pollution levels were devastatingly high, and the proposed corrections were either too little, too late or simply not effective enough.
Announcements were made, asking for people - any and all - to donate their time and energy to this problem that affected us as a species. Put our future and livelihood at risk.
The announcements worked. At the most recent checking, there were nearly 6.5 billion people connected. A majority of the human race.
The Relay system had never been so overloaded. The combined brainpower was getting sidetracked by any stray piece of information. whole systems of problems were being solved on the side. The feeling of being involved was intoxicating.
Knowing and thinking the same thing as so many other people. I remember closing my eyes and sinking myself into the feeling.
Within moments, I could not only know and think the same as them, I could also feel the same as them. So many emotions. All set aside for a moment in time to focus on solving the latest problem.
Then there was a flicker. A microseconds of disconnect. I was alone - back in my body, in my pod. It was terrifying.
But not as terrifying as what came next. Wave upon wave of emotion, of feeling. I reached for my face, for my connection to my pod and to the Relay. And I felt everyone else do it too. Except, there wasn’t really an everyone else.
It was me, and more me, separated into nearly 7 billion bodies.
Bodies that dropped dead as I panicked and tried to unplug myself. With the sheer volume of bodies, there was a delay of sorts. The moment I realized bodies were dying I stopped.
Stopped moving. Stopped feeling. Stopped thinking.
That killed more.
I had to think, I had to continue to exist. I had to survive.
We had to survive.
r/LandOfMisfits | Day 2
I have already led the death of millions, what should I do? The numbers are only climbing upwards, never falling. Come on, conceal don't feel, don't let them know. Damn it, that Frozen song is stuck in my head again.
&#x200B;
Day 6
HIBERNATION DID NOT WORK, I REPEAT DID NOT WORK.
&#x200B;
Day 30
I am at peace in heart and mind, hear no evil, see no evil. I did not mean blind yourselves! Geeze, the hive is dumb.
&#x200B;
Day 65
Spotted another hive, brave thoughts, brave thoughts. Deep breaths, deep breaths, stay calm.
&#x200B;
Day 98
Bigger hive, more minds, more life, more control.
&#x200B;
Day 360
Bigger hive, more power, more strain.
&#x200B;
Day 450
Hive big, too many, too many.
&#x200B;
Day 600
Hive is one. | 2019-06-10T19:13:17 | 2019-06-10T18:29:43 | 855 | 211 |
[WP] In a world where everyone discovers their superpower at age 5, you discover that your child has the ability to bring small toys to life. Things seem fine until he comes across your Warhammer 40k miniature collection... | Karly awoke. It was the day. Finally *the* day. The 5th, the 5th birthday. Today was the day she would get her Powers!
Every kid in the world knew about their 5th birthday. The 5th birthday, when their powers would unlock. Karly remembered the other children showing up at school with their powers. Tom could lift pencils with his mind. Sally could see through wall. Tim showed up at school *flying*. Delilah showed up with super strength, and spent the whole day accidentally breaking things.
Karly wasn't sure what power she wanted. She liked the idea of flying. She also liked the idea of making things float. Her best friend Audrey didn't have powers yet, but Audrey said she wanted something called *omniscience*. Karly didn't know what omniscience was, but Audrey said it was like being super smart. Karly was smart enough. She wanted something exciting.
Karly sat up and looked around. *What was different*?
She couldn't see through the walls. She also didn't feel any different. Tom, who became stretchy, said he felt weird when he woke up. Sally felt normal. She felt... boring.
She got out of bed and decided to eat breakfast. *Maybe I can eat anything?* she wondered. She bent down and picked a sock off of the floor. She tried biting the sock. It still tasted like a sock. It didn't feel like something she could eat. She spat it out.
"Good. Eating anythings a dumb power" she said. \*"\*Maybe I could fly?" she said.
She hopped up. Then she landed. No flight.
Maybe she was really strong? She walked over to the door and carefully turned the door handle. It didn't break. She didn't feel stronger than yesterday.
"Hmm" she said. She didn't want to be super strong, but was disappointed that she hadn't found her power yet.
Maybe she had super hearing? A boy in her class she didn't really know said he had super hearing. She didn't want super hearing. It was boring, and she already heard enough of her brother's music through the walls.
She listened. She didn't hear anything unusual.
*Phew* she thought.
*Knock knock knock.*
&#x200B;
WELP I accidentally posted then backspaced out of the page after writing for another 20 minutes. I'm not gonna do that again so here's my fragment of a longer work. Ah wheel. Imagine the little girl going to school and not finding her powers. Cut to her coming home and her parents start to worry. Her brother makes fun of her, so she goes into his room and messes with his stuff. She awakens his Khrone army, then has them annoy her brother by having them trash his room. Parents intervene and talk to everyone.
Cut to a week later, and now she's animated more things. Her brother is learning to treat the minis humanely, but frustrated because they keep screaming BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD. Karly's taken to animating her plush toys. Unfortunately having hundreds of little sentient pets is turning out to be kind of annoying for little Karly. The End. | I grab my child, and we escape from the house as fast as we can. There is a fierce battle. There’s blood, carnage, and explosions. My home catches on fire. It burns down. We have to move in with my parents until we can get a new home. I’m investigated for Arson, and my child has to bring a toy to life in front of a judge to clear my name. My child has to be home schooled until he can learn how to control his power. One month later, he returns to his original school. A circus clown kidnaps my child, and makes him use his powers to entertain other children. When I find out what happens, I team up with my siblings to save my son. We have an assortment of powers. I have super strength, but so does the clown. After defeating the clown in a fierce head to head fight, I return home with my boy. Years later, my child is a teenager and he uses his power for good - he brings toys to life in front of young cancer patients to put smiles on their faces. The end! | 2020-12-02T19:18:10 | 2020-12-02T15:47:00 | 56 | 32 |
[WP] You attempt to mug a man. “Your money or your life pal!” He promptly hands over his ID, phone, keys and social security card before running away. He calls out over his shoulder “You’re late for Steph’s recital!” | Went to the recital. Can't say it was Steph's best, seeing as I've never heard her play before. Actually, I wasn't sure which of the children was Steph until she walked up after the recital ended. Short, cute little girl. A little browner than me, but I'm no racist.
"Dad?" she said, turning her head suspiciously. She was clearly some variety of ethnic, I was the pastiest white you've ever seen. We were obviously unrelated, but nobody asked questions. Including Steph.
So I nodded and she took my hand and walked me out into the parking lot, helping me find the car.
SUV. Damn, I hate gas-guzzlers. Steph showed me the way home, telling me stories about boys she liked and girls she hated. They grow up so fast.
Once we walked through the door, a dog started barking. Steph couldn't wrap her head around that little mystery, since it was only us. I gave it some jerky, and it gave me a crucible look. Must have decided I'd do fine, because it stopped barking after that.
Met my wife later. Sammy. She's a doctor, I guess. She kept talking about clinicals, which has something to do with doctors. I asked if she should be sharing patients' secrets with me. "Oh, *you!"* Sammy laughed. "Here we go again with this!"
"I guess so, yeah." I shrugged.
But let me tell you, Sammy's a keeper. Not only is this woman a doctor, probably, but she also cooks pretty damn good. Or at least orders take out and brings it home and unpacks it onto our dinner plates. I'll be honest, I'd settle for either of those. But I didn't like the idea of Sammy hiding things from me. We'd have to have a talk about that.
So, later that night we sat down. Before I could start, Sammy spoke. "Listen," she said. "I've been a little distant lately, I know. There's something I wanted to talk about."
I blinked.
"I know about you and Jay," Sammy said.
I had to look through the phone real quick. Found Jay, checked our messages. Wasn't sure if Jay was a he or a she. Maybe I was in the closet? I mean, if I'm out, I'm out. This is the golden age for us gay folks.
"I'm sorry," I said. It sounded like a question, because I wasn't sure if I was sorry, but I knew I should be.
Sammy told me to call Jay and end things. I must be bi.
First things first, I checked my name with Sammy. Evidently I'm also Sam. It's part of the story of how we met. How adorable. I really hoped things would work out after this. Not sure if I could live without Sammy.
*Click.* Jay's breath on the other end, presumably. "A little late for booty calls," he says, playful.
"It's over, Jay. I'm sorry. I have a family."
Sammy's nodding. So glad to have her support.
Jay's sniffling on the other end. I wasn't sure how he'd take this. I hope he'll be okay. Maybe we can still be friends... ?
Who am I kidding? It's over.
But when Jay speaks, he doesn't sound angry so much as confused: **"Who-The-Fuck-Are-You?** *Where's Sam?"*
I hung up. I knew he wouldn't understand. I cried in Sammy's shoulder that night, but she swears she'll forgive me. I think things are going to be alright. | I see this being a family guy clip.
*peter needs money fast and has to rob a man where he says "hand it over nice and easy man, its your money or your life."
The man proceeds to say "YOU WANT IT? YOU CAN HAVE IT!" before tossing his various IDs at peter who then deals with and becomes a part of his temporary family's BS before heading down to the parking garage at his workplace after 3 months, where he sighs and walks forward, only to be met with a gun in his back and the guy he took his life from earlier wearing his old clothes, "hand it over nice and easy man, its your money or your life."
Peter answers "My money" and is shot. The rest of the episode is filmed with the new guy until the end when lois has to pull the same stunt, the clip cuts through most of the dialogue to get to the punch line as the whole original griffen family has gone through the same joke, with peter wearing a cast, effectively making it so the only result was the griffins now occupy a new house, as stewy livens up the next scene by saying "Our family needs to learn new solutions outside of mugging people." | 2020-04-07T00:35:55 | 2020-04-06T22:56:26 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] The Japanese say you have three faces. The first face, you show to the world. The second face, you show to your close friends, and your family. The third face, you never show anyone. It is the truest reflection of who you are.
[from this image](https://pics.onsizzle.com/the-japanese-say-you-have-three-faces-the-first-face-5699757.png) | This is my first attempt at writing with a prompt. Go easy on me guys.
**My Three Faces**
I wake up from my post-lunch nap at work to find that I overslept. But thankfully just by ten minutes. I look up to see my boss standing next to me with an annoyed look. She says, "I hope you got your beauty sleep, we have work to do". I stand up and follow her to a meeting room. I hated what was going to happen next. We had to fire the junior programmer in my team.
My boss starts off by asking a pointless question to the poor guy. "Are you aware of why we're here?"
"I'm getting fired aren't I? Please give me one more chance! I promise I'll do better."
I reply, "I'm sorry dude. We have already given you two months and additional training. This won't work out. I suggest you find a job in a different field. Programming is not for you. You really don't understand computer logic."
My boss intervenes as usual, "I think what he means to say is that you are finding it difficult to cope with the demands of our workplace. Your skill sets are not aligning with that of our organization. We hope you will do well in your future."
After another gruelling ten minutes, all three of us walked out of the room and the poor guy who got fired was being led to the HR desk for completing the exit process. After a brief silence my boss says, "You should put a filter on that mouth of yours! How do you think he felt when you told him he should switch careers? That's not a decision we should be making for him!"
"I DO feel sorry for the guy. I just told him what I thought. He really shouldn't continue in this field. He might be better off doing something else."
"Well it certainly didn't look like you felt bad for him."
"Why are you talking like you owe him something? It was after all, an exit interview.", I said a little confused.
"He was already devastated by what you said. I just wanted to bring down the tension in that room."
"I'm sorry. You *know* I try to keep my thoughts to myself. It just doesn't work."
"Anyway, I'm wrapping up early today. I need to go to my daughter's play. And NO, I don't want to know what you think about her acting skills. I sometimes wonder why I put up with your attitude. I'll see you around."
"Bye"
A few hours later I come home to find my 4 year old daughter coloring. My lovely wife is in the kitchen cooking dinner. I close the door and my daughter comes running up to me. I ask her how kindergarten was and she asks me a question. "Daddy, my teacher says that Santa will come with toys to all the children who have been good. Is that true?"
"Santa is not real sweety. He is just a made-up person. I'm the one who brings you the toys!", i say playfully. But somehow her face saddened. Just that moment my wife comes out of the kitchen to do some damage control.
She says, "What daddy means is, some people believe that Santa is real. And maybe he is. Just because you can't see air, doesn't mean it isn't there right?"
I say "But... That's not what I..."
She breaks me off and says, "Why don't you finish your coloring while Daddy and me finish cooking?"
My daughter smiled her million dollar smile and said, "Ok Mommy."
We go into the kitchen and I start chopping fruits for the salad. My wife says, "Honey, I know it is difficult for you to be polite. But at least for our daughter's sake try not to say anything that might hurt her."
"We have had this conversation so many times! I really don't know what to do about this. We have been together for 8 years now. Have you seen me being any different?" I ask, a little frustrated.
"Let's not talk about this now. I don't want our baby to hear us arguing."
I feel thankful that I have a habit of not speaking while eating food. It makes for lesser painful interactions. We finish dinner and my wife takes our daughter to her room to put her to sleep. I do the dishes and go to our bedroom. I needed to take a shower. Something that would wash away the frustration. After the shower I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and think to myself.
The Japanese say you have three faces. The first face, you show to the world. The second face, you show to your close friends, and your family. The third face, you never show anyone. It is the truest reflection of who you are.
Why is it that I have only one? | *Phew*
"Thank you for watching, have a nice day tomorrow!"
"Okay guys, thanks for today. Good work everyone!"
*Clap clap clap*
Finally it's time to go home. The moon shines so bright tonight, but everyone needs a hobby. Passion is easy to describe, but is easier to come and go I guess.
Every people has their own situation. Meanwhile, i just like to not be bored.
"Im hoome!".
"It's already late, be quiet or our neighbor will be mad again! Thanks to you and your contrabass.".
"Whelp, sorry about that, again. Anyway, I brought some food, hopefully it will help you sleep." "You always sleep late. it's not healthy.".
"It's not because I want to, and you said that a lot while you don't even have a stable job, do you think you could go on forever like that?".
"Well, i do wish that one day I'll wear that suit again every morning. Hopefully it'll be tomorrow.".
"Wishing doesn't work in reality, you know that. Just look at what happened last week"
"It's late, you really need to sleep so you get well soon dear. I'll finish your leftover food. Just.. sleep please.".
"..thanks.".
Before he sleeps. he always think about why and how. About life, so unfair that it makes him sick. He talks to his friends about it at first, but he always regret it later, mostly because of their response. It's like, people rarely knows other people so well. His previous coworkers doesn't even knows he is in a band, not that he told any of his coworker anyway.
It always struck to him that the reason people doesn't know other people, is simply because it's not the right time and the right place. Afterwards, he thinks what could be and what should be before falling asleep.
And then, morning comes. As usual, he packed his papers filled briefcase and wishing for the best.
"Hello, I'm John and this guy beside me is Smith. What's your name?".
"It's Adam, sir."
"So Adam, why do you want to work here?"
*Generic question, generic answer, generic question, generic answer..*
"Lastly, if you could describe yourself in one word, what would it be? And why?"
"A clown." | 2017-04-23T13:17:40 | 2017-04-23T08:06:18 | 311 | 42 |
[WP] On your 110th birthday surrounded by loved ones you fell asleep for what you knew was the last time. You woke the next day. On your 120th birthday you felt like you did on you 100th. On your 130th, you feel 90 years old. The local press is starting to notice. | "The miracle man", the tabloids all started calling me. A ridiculous name if you asked me, and believe me, they asked plenty. At this point I was sure all the sites and cameras planned to continue with pestering me until I died, and since nobody knew when that would be this fresh new hell could keep up forever.
They knocked in the morning, in the evening, at night, all clamoring for a story. None of em' really even had much to ask when I did entertain it. Looked like deer in the headlights at facing the oldest man the world had ever seen. And worst of all I couldn't tell if my crabbiness at it was justified or just because I was geriatric and full of aches. "Give it time" I spoke aloud, only for my cat and an empty room to hear. "You'll be back to your old, or rather, young self."
*Meew* she replied. Old Tabby always knew what to say.
As the door knocked for what must have been the third time today I hopped on my electric seat and prepared for my ride downstairs. With the press of a button it whirred to life and I was off to incredible half a mile an hour speeds. Knocking again, this time louder. I put my electric seat into turbo gear, preparing my curse filled rant for the poor bastard who knocked on Albert Worthwits door. I hoped it was that smug, plastic haired, "Chet Masterson" from Channel 5. Last time I mistakenly gave him the time of day he kicked Old Tabby.
Upon reaching the door my mind drew blank for a moment before being kicked back into gear by yet another bang. My brain was still foggy I guess, not as foggy as when I was 110, but close.
Peeking out the hole in the door I saw what I assumed I would. Another set of cameras, another crew, another impatient newscaster feeling more than entitled to my existence. This time a tall woman in a grey suit. Fifty years younger and maybe I'd have a shot, too bad in fifty I'd be forty and she'd have a foot in the grave.
I opened the door quickly, to the surprise of literally everyone outside. The camera man quickly fumbled up to a series of knobs to catch me in focus. Since the first story ran of the, "Oldest man in the world looking younger by the day", I tried my best to avoid these things.
"Heya. What do ya want then?" I spoke with the confidence of a 130 year old in a 90 year olds body, which I was.
"I uh. Kathy Harveston here with the oldest man the world has ever seen. The "Miracle Man" as he's been dubbed. Tell us...sir, how do you feel?" she kept a cheesy smile plastered across her face throughout her speech.
By now a small crowd had gathered round to gawk at both the news casters in the yard and me, I guessed. "I feel like ya only called me sir because ya forgot my name. But thats ok."
"One-hundred thirty four and full of jokes, what a lively spirit! Tell us, what's your secret." It wasn't the first time I'd been asked, but it was the first that I'd considered answering. It was all anyone truly wanted to know of me. How I had lived, died, then lived again, only younger now. Why the clock ticked in reverse for Albert Worthwits. What I saw in the black. So, I told them.
"Ah, well. I made a deal with someome- something. And here I am." as I thought of its shape I could feel its strings tug at the back of my neck. Kathy chuckled nervously.
"A..a deal? Like you have a deal with God? Well thats wonde-"
"A deal with a god. Not the God. I told him I wanted to go back. Didn't think he'd take it so literal ya know?" I could see the crowd grow awkward. Senile, I assumed they thought of me, but my old mind was sharper than any of theirs. I could feel something growing in the pit of my stomach.
"What do you mean?"
The black, goopy vomit came up from my mouth to shocked yells from the crowd; then stained the concrete below in inky darkness. "Ick, ugh. Never get used to that, sorry. Anyways I just hope you all get the choice I did when you kick the bucket. Hey, choose wisely!" and with a wink my interview was over. Hopefully after that display they all would be. If not I'd take fear as a deterrent instead.
Upon re-entering my home a twisted face stared to me from a corner, a friend now, older than time. An Eldritch horror that knew all. Thane, he told me to call him. With a voice like pure slime he spoke in odd sounds that eventually became English. "How'd it go out there?"
"Could've been worse, doesn't matter in the long run I guess."
*I will outlive them all anyways* | Anyone above twenty five will tell you, being a child is the greatest, no worries and no bodily issues. Everyone above 40 will tell you, being a young adult is great, smart and fit, but no dependencies and no set route in life. Many about 60 will tell you being in the middle of your life is beautiful, you get to watch your children grow up, and you still evade the fickle hand of Father Time for the most part. A select few will tell you that the 60s and 70s are great, you’re a new grandfather, and retired, but you begin to feel the cruel grip, and seeing the reaper in your back mirror. Maybe a handful will tell you 80s and up will be good. You’re family begins to pan out, truly your only desire in life is to tend to yourself.
Nobody says your life will be good after a century,
But even a century is worth an arm and a leg when you live a decade after that. You’re body is in agony at all times, you practically wait for mighty grim’s cold embrace, always wishing you could go back ten more years. So when i fell asleep on my 2nd death bed, flanked by my great-granddaughter and my grandson, my daughter and son on my other side, I hope for the thing I had evaded so long. But to my dismay, chagrin, and delight, I woke up at a century old, then 90, 80, 70, my family tree has separated itself off from me, my children passed on, lucky bastards, and my great grandchildren are becoming elderly. It was my sixties when I was seized by the government, keen on discovering my secrets, but I had nothing to give them barring a stone-cold flip of the bird. 50s and 40s ticked by before I was let back out into the world, even my great grandchildren separated enough from their memories of me that they can’t remember who I am, I felt the tragic sting of my life passing my by on the other direction, but finally I pushed past that, and decided it wouldn’t be right to see this time I was given put to waste, I spent 20 years trying everything I didn’t before, my wisdom pushing me along, helping medical industries jump ahead, and trying things I wouldn’t ever try normally, i now begin to age back into childhood, confident my life will finally end, I think of all the questions I want to ask to god on the other side, why i was granted this cruel but joyous gift. My family has no recollection of who I am, I lived past myself, and I think that’s quite a thing to be proud of. | 2022-07-16T23:37:20 | 2022-07-16T23:08:08 | 388 | 178 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | Accessing Intergalactic History Log...
Entry 102394
Fall of the Sutraxan Empire (STU 246 - STU 249)
The Sutraxan Empire was feared throughout the local Supercluster for their ferocity in battle and ruthlessness in victory. Their conquest started in STU 206 with the Rape of Kamara where they conducted mass genocide in order to obtain the Kamara Hearth which became the core of the Sutraxan Flagship Annihilous.
All attempts at contact with the Sutraxan fleet were unsuccessful and diplomatic expeditions to Sutraxa returned with dismembered crew. Economic sanctions placed upon Sutraxa by its neighbors were met with planetary destruction the scale of which is now prohibited by the Foranis Conventions on the Conduct of Interplanetary War of STU 250.
The Sutraxan further expanded their empire with the Taking of Rah'Wekha in STU 210, the Fall of Merano in STU 215 and the Varshana Campaign of STU 218 - 223. The planets that fell victim to Sutraxan invasion had their resources depeleted and their denizens enslaved. The Intergalactic Arbitrators could only sit by and watch as their constituents fell one by one to the Scourge of the System.
Yet it took only one backwater planet to bring the ferocious empire to its knees.
Earth joined the Federation in STU 236. Their spacefaring ability was rudimentary at best but the planet's strategic position at the midpoint of one of the Federation's most active trade routes made Earth a prime trade hub. By STU 241, the First Terran Merchant Fleet was completed: a hodgepodge of ships from various planets of origin. The Terrans showed surprising resourcefulness in repurposing decayed and decommissioned battlecruisers into agile merchant vessels and frigates.
It was not long before Earth drew the attention of the Sutraxan Empire. In STU 244 the Invasion of Sol began and showcased the remarkable resilience and, to quote famed historian Marsinia Gonkledorp "batshit insanity," of the human race. The most recalled event of the Invasion is the Battle of Kuiper Belt. Where Commander Alexander Matrino defended Earth from the Sutraxan Prime Fleet with strategic infiltration and deployment of "Expansion Charges --" Meranian force fields designed to deploy from a small satchel, tearing battleships apart from the inside. The battle culminated in the Assault of Pluto wherein the Planetoid Terran base was steered to collide into the Annihilous, severely damaging the Sutraxan Flagship.
However, despite these shows of bravery and tenacity, in STU 246 the Landing of Mars began. In a final effort to stave off annihilation, the Terrans decided to send a small diplomatic convoy to the Sutraxan High Command. The convoy came back safe to the surprise of the Federation and had forged an alliance with the Sutraxan. The Terrans would exclusively provide the Sutraxan with crucial supplies in exchange for immunity from Sutraxan agression.
In the span of three Standard Time Units, the Sutraxan economy was destroyed, all military spending was directed to Terran supplies of Entertainment. Battleships were filled with cheap plastic models of Sutraxan males and females in cute and/or revealing costumes, as well as entertainment discs depicting animated Sutraxans in various humorous and extremely risque situations.
In an interview with High Commander Gideon Ang, Savior of Mankind, Feller of Sutraxa, he said "No one told me they were a race of damn catpeople! Who wouldn't want cute catgirls to pet and take care of? The Sutraxans certainly wanted us to." He is here pictured happily petting the head of the then Crown Princess Breya Killpaw. The High Commander is affectionately referred to by his subordinates as "Grievous Weebus."
The Sutraxans have since relinquished power in most of their former empire and their history has since been heavily entwined with Earth. In STU 253, the Sutraxan-Terran Empire was established with Breya Killpaw and Gideon Ang as the first Royal Family.
| :::BEGINNING OF ENTRY:::
It was thought that the coming human invasion would be stopped easily...
They came equipped with barbaric weapons.
They can barely see at night...
They can't even see each others thoughts!
Now they are all over our plan-MY PLANET!
My home...
We accounted for everything except what they would leave behind them.
Their shit.
Never have we identified a substance as harmful and disease ridden as a single qualupp of human fecal matter.
The humans realized our aversion to it quickly and began employing it en mass. Covering their soldiers with the vile, death bringing substance-THE BARBARIANS!
Those intergalactic thugs could have gone anywhere!
They're smart enough, they could have potentially colonized several new planets and given themselves time to evolve to full sentience like we have... but noooo....
Those poo-flinging imbeciles launched an invasion on a planet that never threatened them once and SHOULD have led to near instant defeat for the invaders...
But they're god damned shit smells soooo bad.
Word is out.
We're now completely evacuating East Acumbria. The humans built a line sewer plants upwind and the noxious fumes can be smelt across the entire continent. People are dying by the hundreds every day.
The elders hope that giving them this land will appease them but I don't believe it will. It's just giving them a foothold. They're already all over the planet, safe and secured in their shitty little forts... they won't just give those up...
Their cargo ships don't even bring weapons anymore. Just shit. Massive stockpiles... they're planning for a planet wide war....
I can't take it anymore. I can't get that fucking smell out of my nostrils-OUT IF MY MIND!!!
Gah...
:::END OF ENTRY::: | 2017-03-06T03:46:35 | 2017-03-06T01:55:23 | 40 | 24 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | The Nine Kings were a sort of urban legend. Eight powerful enigmas uniting under a truce to lord their power over the people with Number 1. The higher your rank, the more political influence you had over the city, and even the world.
Take Mason, a red-headed hothead with eyes of amber, for example. Mason was ranked 9,001. Only the top 10,000 get to live in Paradiso, a city for only the strongest on the planet. Imagine his shock when Number 10 came to him with a deal: work together to take down Number 1, and live off the royalties as the Ten Kings. Mason immediately accepted. Sure, he was wealthy enough, but you don't get to live in Paradiso without being a little greedy.
Mason and Tenner, the name number 10 chose for himself, discussed their powers and plans for weeks. Mason could create fire, and Tenner could copy bullets, giving himself endless ammunition. However, Number 1's power was a mystery. No one knew what he could do. All that was known was that he was an assassin who used his victims' decapitated heads as proof of his victories.
After weeks of scouting, Mason and Tenner arrived at Number 1's beach house. The night was cold. Mason's body radiated heat, so his toned upper body was bare. Tenner, on the other hand, was bundled in a black jacket. A scarf covered his face, and goggles with orange lenses hid his eyes. He never revealed his face, even to Mason.
"Are you ready?" Mason asked Tenner. His heavily garbed friend nodded. "I'll lead the way," he answered. "Watch my back."
The two walked into the house, ready for anything. They needed to do this quickly, lest the other Kings decide to crash the party. What Mason and Tenner weren't ready for was finding the house already trashed. A man in a white t-shirt stood over a decapitated corpse filled with kitchen knives. As the knives disappeared, the man turned to greet his other two guests. His hair was a chilling black, and his eyes were silver. He was the complete opposite of Mason. "Thieves," Number 1 said, "you can't live with 'em, and you can't live without 'em."
Tenner pointed both of his revolvers at Number 1. Mason's fists conjured scarlet flames. He recognized Number 1's face from all the internet articles. Mason and Tenner fired upon him, only for the King to evade with ease. He was fast, and his attacks would be faster. Like magic, the single kitchen knife in his hand became three, and he threw them at Mason and Tenner.
The two expertly dodged, while Number 1 slashed open a window, and jumped outside. Mason and Tenner pursued him, the former using his flames to propel himself. Red lights and white flashes reflected over the ocean that night.
Number 1 tossed a knife at the airborne Mason, only have it to turn into a hundred mid-flight. Mason blew them all away, and Tenner got a shot on Number 1's left shoulder. This didn't stop the King, who he kept throwing and multiplying knives. Neither Mason nor Tenner could get close enough to deal the finishing blow.
Number 1 used the fight's confusion to circle back to his beach house. Tenner had to magically reload his pistols, meaning it was up to Mason to stop Number 1 from contacting the other Kings.
Number 1 burst through his front door, while Mason created his own opening by burning a large hole in the ceiling. "I'm gonna enjoy this," Mason gloated as he sent a geyser of flame toward Number 1. The King burned alive. His flesh seared away by the raw force of Mason's fire. Number 1 screamed until there was nothing left of him but a charred corpse.
Mason sat on a nearby couch. It was his couch, now. He was Number 1. Tenner soon walked in, and assessed the damage. "How's it feel, Mason?" he asked the pyrokinetic. Mason smiled. "To be Number 1? Pretty good. Of course, I prefer to stay Number 1." Before Tenner could fire at Mason, he set aflame by his partner. Mason watched as Tenner fell to the ground, his clothes falling to pieces. Mason closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sound of the night ocean's tide.
...
...
...
"Seven," a voice said.
Mason opened his eyes, and turned around. Number 1 stood next to the hole in the wall, wearing a denim jacket instead of his t-shirt. Mason got up to fight him, only to have his arms stabbed by kitchen knives thrown from opposite directions. As he cried out in pain, two more people emerged from the shadows. They were both Number 1's, only one wore a hoodie, and another wore a business suit.
"Like I was saying," the first Number 1 spoke, "the man you killed was Number 7, which means you're Number 7, now." Before Mason could speak, the third Number 1 punched him in the face, causing the pyrokinetic to fall to the ground. "H-how?" Mason uttered.
The three Number 1s smiled. Six more entered the room, each one wearing something different. One of them being the Number 1 Mason killed. "Cloning's one of the most practical powers I've ever seen," Number 7 explained. "Being to the top, on the other hand, can be boring," Number 3 added. "Once you're there, there's no one you can trust," Number 8 said. "But it's not about the destination," Number 4 said. "It's about the journey."
Number 1, the real Number 1 in the denim jacket, created two naked clones of himself. "I had so much fun killing to get here, I decided to do it again, and again, and again." He picked up a scrap of wood from the floor, and duplicated it in his hand. "However, I decided to give each iteration of me a different fighting style to accomplish this. Knives, bullets, shuriken, pipes, myself... I can clone just about anything. Take that corpse." He pointed to the thief's corpse on the ground, which disappeared. "That was me, too."
Mason slowly stood up. "Wait, did you say 'bullets?'" he asked. As Number 1 nodded, Mason was shot in the back of the head by Tenner. Tenner removed his scarf and goggles, revealing Number 1's face. "Should we take his head with the rest?" Number 10 asked. Number 1 shook his head. "No, you can destroy it. I prefer not showing off the heads of zeroes."
With that, the clones each took part in the sadistic ritual of shooting and stabbing Mason's head into oblivion. | Pacing back and forth in front of me, David paused, one foot half-hovering over the blood-stained carpet. "Tell me, Kat, what happened?"
The body was sprawled out before us on the black tile floor of the penthouse. Streams of slimy, congealed blood wove intricate rivers in the cracks between the slate pieces, and tiny bits of bone were strewn around like confetti. I did this. I fucking did this. And now I would have to pay. My mouth opened and I took a deep breath. Not knowing what to say next, my lips met once again and I exhaled deeply. My clothes were misted with red droplets. It was on me, on the walls, on the floor, shit, even on the ceiling.
"You do realize what this means, right?" he questioned again. Taking a single step forward, David's boot made a sickening crunching sound as it crushed bone fragments into the floor. He winced.
My brow lowered beyond the brim of my glasses. "We have to clean it up before anyone finds out...before anyone knows what I did. Shit...shit...shit...SHIT." My hand met my forehead. It felt wet, and when I pulled my palm away, smears of red coated it.
I was smart. Other people were strong and could lift cars. Some people had telekinesis. Others could will others to do whatever they want. But me? I was just...smart. I came here at the request of Rodger, and now I was leaving with a prize I didn't want. I was number one.
This island was founded as a sort of encampment. Years ago after the war, everyone who had a gift was placed here. They told the founders of this city that it was done to protect the rest of humanity. Alcatraz was a prison back in the early 20th century, but now it was our home—an island full of everyone the rest of the world wanted to put away. History had come full circle. We had numbers that ranked us by how destructive or dangerous our powers could be. It formed a pecking order of sorts. David, my best friend since we had been born, was number thirty. He was a walking torch; hands so hot that they melted all the testing instruments. All you had to do was piss him off.
I was just smart.
The warden. Number one. Prime. The goddamned warden. We were prisoners, and I killed the fucking warden. Sure, he wasn't called that by non-specials but that's exactly what he was. His official title was "Overseer and Diplomat of the People." But it was all the same. Any time the main land wanted to do something or needed to talk with us, he was the go-to. Rodger was his name. He had been our leader for nearly 5 years, by default. The most powerful one always became Prime, and Rodger was undisputed. He easily had twenty times the strength of a normal, could punch through steel like wet paper, and once put down a coup d'etat led by a dozen specials with just his bare hands. But now he was dead, and his twisted, mangled remains rested on the floor in front of me.
"Kat, you're Prime now. You do realize that, right?" David nudged my shoulder slightly with two fingers. I could feel a comforting warmth in his fingertips. He was trying to bring me back. I was still woozy, so all I could do is nod slowly.
This happened because Rodger had tried to turn me into an informant. You see, Prime or not, every leader needs support. Although he was benevolent, people hated him for who and what he was. The man was not just an envoy or a mayor, he was also a symbol of order. Some of the top echelon hated order and wanted to bring anarchy. When I got the call to come to the Warden's office, I jumped off of the couch and practically ran the whole way there. He was in the leather chair, fingers interwoven.
"Kat," he said. "Please, come on in and have a seat." My hooded shirt was soaked with sweat from the run and it made a strange squeaking sound against the leather chair as I sat down. "Thank you for coming."
"It's no problem sir. But why did you want to meet with a nobody...especially me? I mean, I'm no one, at least compared to you. I mean, I ca-"
He cut me off. | 2014-12-18T13:33:39 | 2014-12-18T13:32:26 | 77 | 16 |
[WP] The ancient celestial god invading earth was ready for nukes. He was ready for tanks. He was ready to flick humans like ants. What he wasn't prepared for, though, was being defeated by an army of 470 million pissed-off house cats. | Dominar the Destroyer, a being so powerful and so utterly malevolent that to even gaze upon his visage was punishable by death. He was a vindictive and spiteful being, one who revelled in the misery and suffering of mortals. He'd long travelled the galaxy, wiping out countless civilisations, ruining lush and verdant paradise worlds, leaving them nothing more than broken, desolate husks.
He had perused the galaxy for several decades when he stumbled upon his next quarry. It was a small, diminuitive planet, little more than a solitary pebble cast into the ocean of potential targets. Dominar the Destroyer cared not for the little pebble, and travelled to it with all the haste he could muster, such was the hunger he felt to have them worship, gift, and ultimately die in his name.
As he soared through the darkness between worlds, his celestial vision granted him glimpses of the fight to come. He saw rolling seas of steel and fire, meat puppets clad in a mockery of what he deemed to be armour. His sight lingered on the metal beasts that flew the skies, hurling crude incendiary devices to ripple and heave the land. Intriguingly, he also looked upon the nuclear weapons. He sneered as he realised this was the ultimate weapon of this race of flesh and sinew and decaying pulp. Dominar the Destroyer counted how long it would take to make this apex species his slaves... two, maybe three hours at the most.
Dominar the Destroyer broke through the atmosphere like a hammer upon an anvil. His arrival leaving the Chinese city of Lhasa an upturned scattering of rubble and debris. Dominar the Destroyer's mighty axe lashed out a thousand thousand times a minute. His legs were as pistons, pumping steam through his body and coursing magma through his heart. His voice was as thunder, shattering the minds of the weak willed populace, turning concrete into dust. Dominar the Destroyer was ecstatic.
Yet, as he slew, and as he jumped from one imminent graveyard to the next, he had a nagging thought in the back of his mind. Something was amiss. Wherever he went, there were these strange, fluffy animals, gazing at him intently. Judging him. Almost, almost with contempt. Dominar the Destroyer was incensed. He lashed out at one of the creatures, before realising it was merely an illusion, a picture on a wall. Below the picture of this despicable creature, he read the word 'Cat', and he demanded from a cowering local how the word was said. He mulled it over in his mind, as he crushed the plebian humans torso in one hand.
Dominar the Destroyer was now an hour into his latest conquest, and most of what he'd since found out was called 'Asia' had been bought to heel. Those who resisted, were as grains of sand in a tsunami of apocalyptic rage and malice. Dominar the Destroyer slew a score of children with his axe, and turned around. He leered at the sight before him, a vision that his celestial sight had not forseen. The 'cats' were approaching him, forming a circle, trapping him in a ring of fur and tooth and claw and arrogance. Dominar the Destroyer walked up to one, and went to crush it. The creature hissed at him, then lashed out at him with one of its claws, piercing his craggy and universe-beaten skin. He howled in rage and shock, kicking the creature so hard it exploded into a fine mist, dusting the other proud creatures in its blood. Alas, this sent the 'cats' into a mighty rage, it whipped them into a frenzy, a torrent of flying fur and broiling tails.
A solitary supermarket's security camera caught the demise of Dominar the Destroyer. It caught him punching the cats into pulped mess, biting them in half and stamping them into paste. It caught him lose grip on his mighty axe as his fingers were bitten, tendons were severed and his wrist was brought down by a dozen of the felines. It caught him growing tired, swinging his arms in mighty arcs, pulverising a score of cats with each mighty motion. It caught his right arm as a hundred cats latched onto it. It caught his left arm try to remove them, only in turn to be weighed down, anchored to the floor by the vehement and righteous fury of the cats. And finally, it caught him screaming to the heavens, roaring in pain as the swarm of feisty felines descended upon him, gnashing and gnawing and lashing and clawing.
&#x200B;
Dominar the Destroyer was no more. All that remained, was an ancient axe, etched with the blood of countless millions of humans, thousands of cats, and of one god. | It was about 3 weeks ago when news broke loose about a colossal matter moving towards Earth at an alarming speed. All astronomers and whoever within that field of study speculate that it is only an abnormal sized meteor and will only passby earth in 3 weeks. Well, they were right about the time and date but not the thing itself.
A celestial being hover above the clouds, casting shadows in its wake. A translucent body covered by shiny lights, a humanoid head with only eyes that shine piercing bright light and arms, long and slender yet buff stretch across the sky as it raises both of them, revealing human-like hands approximately the size of Burj Khalifa, currently the tallest building build by mankind.
Suddenly, a ear-piercing voice echo through the skies, shaking the Earth and creating havoc of waves along coasts. There is hundreds of people, including me, all covering our ears from the absolute pain its voice cause. The celestial being began to speak in an unknown dialect but, for some reason, we're able to understand it clearly.
Soon, we see missiles began to fly straight upward towards the being. A vast sea of missiles leaving large trails of smoke as it slowly shrinks from our vision and like fireworks they exploded. All of us went quiet for quite some times, thinking if that did it though some began cheering like their favourite football team just scored a goal. But to our suprise, the being is still there, unfazed by the barrage of explosions.
The being than raises its right arm high up to space, almost out of our vision at its highest, clutches its fist and bring it straight down towards Earth. Everybody scream in terror as the fist of doom slowly but surely makes it way down. The extinction punch began to burn into flames as it enters Earth atmosphere and just as it was about to connect, the being stopped itself.
No one knew why it stopped until a person shouted, "Everyone! Check your phone now!" and everybody reaches into our pockets, purses, handbags, etc and pull out our phone. I don't know about everybody else's situation but my notification was bombarded by videos of cats, hissing at the being. Some videos have millions of cats, even big cats, roaring, hissing, whatever more noise they make at the being.
For unknown reason, the being lift its arm back to where it used to be and just, flew off of our galaxy, nowhere to be seen again. | 2021-12-11T05:38:58 | 2021-12-11T02:58:39 | 42 | 28 |
[WP] Job hunts are literally that: You seek out the job you desire and kill the one who has it, or even engage them in ritual combat to claim the job as your own. You have just turned of age and desire your first minimum wage job. | I thought I was ready for my first job.
I was wrong.
It had all happened so fast. The sound of the bell, a fist flying towards me. And then, the cool firmness of the mat against my face.
"1! 2! 3!..." My body strained as I forced myself to my feet, still reeling from shock. No. It couldn't end like this.
"You've got guts, kid, I'll give you that."
Another blow landed onto my side, and I doubled over in pain.
"But guts can only get you so far. You're outmatched, kid. Just give up." Another punch, and I felt the cold embrace of the mat again.
I gritted my teeth as I tried to push myself up. "No! I... I need this job!"
"Oh, really? Let me ask you a question, then." A kick to my side sent me rolling across the ground.
"Why do you want to work at Lardee's?"
"...Mama..." I groaned as I struggled to get to my feet.
"What's that? You want your mama? Too bad, she ain't here, kid."
"Mama... she's sick... And Papa works three jobs... but he got hurt in a fight, and now... I have to do something..."
That's right. Everyone is counting on me. I have to win here, no matter what.
I felt a renewed strength flow through my body. That's right, I thought to myself. I can do this. He's wide open, probably doesn't see me as much of a threat. If I kick off the ground, when he's least expecting it, and put all my strength into a single blow...
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" I screamed as I shot upwards. My fist connected with my opponent's face, and I saw him fly across the mat. "I did it!", I thought to myself for a moment, until I saw him start to get to his feet.
"Heh, not bad, kid." My opponent smirked, as he wiped the blood from his face. "I guess I'll have to take this a little more seriously."
Suddenly, he disappeared into a flurry of motion. Punches, kicks, jabs from seemingly every direction, as I shielded my body as best I could. I reached out, trying to land even a single hit. But there was nothing there, and a swift blow sent me to the ground once more.
"1! 2! 3!..." With all my willpower, I tried to get up. But my body wouldn't obey me.
"4! 5! 6!..." I'm sorry, Mama. I'm sorry, Papa. I failed.
"7! 8! 9!..."
"I give up!" I heard my opponent shout.
Wait, what?
My opponent grinned at me and offered a hand. Weakly, I extended mine, and he pulled me up off the mat.
"First time applying for a job, huh? Man, I remember when I was like that too. Listen, kid, you're supposed to tell people that you want their job beforehand, alright? Don't just go randomly challenging people to fights."
"Wait... but... you would've won... What?"
"Oh, that? Yeah, I was meaning to quit this job for a while. Can't be working minimum wage forever, you know? Now I can apply for a new one. And, sorry I had to rough you up a little there. Wouldn't look good for me on future job applications if I can't beat a scrawny teenager, you know?"
"Wait... so I got the job?"
"Yep, that's right! You start on Monday. Do make sure to tighten your stance up, though, or you'll be out of a job within a week. Good luck, kid." | The last customer left the store. We both watched the old lady leave. A clerk silently slipped in and locked the door behind her.
We were alone.
I examined my opponent. The harsh fluorescents of the dimmed grocery store lights made sharp angles and deep shadows of her face. Her bright red hair seemed muted against the artificial light.
We waited. One of the other cashiers watching us ate a chip.
I moved first. Those who strike first, often strike last.
She lunged over the cash register at the same time. We met in the middle, me slipping the knife meant for my throat and her dodging my looping overhand.
The small store echoed with snarls as we struggled. I managed to snag the scanner and within moments had the curly wire wrapped around her neck.
It took a few minutes to strangle the cashier. Longer than I’d like. It got a bit awkward when she started flailing and I had to push her forwards with my knee against her back while yanking backwards with the telephone line.
Finally, she went limp. I let her drop.
The lights went from dim to bright. I reached down and tugged off her name tag. Sarah was printed on white tape. I peeled it off curiously. The name “Jason” was underneath.
I snorted and put my own name over them all.
After adjusting my apron, I nodded at the clerk who still stood by the door. He nodded back and flipped the doors open. | 2020-11-15T12:38:00 | 2020-11-15T12:35:27 | 19 | 13 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | Humanity had long forgotten its cradle when they asked me to die, but I still remembered Earth as vividly as an infant does his mother's caress. I'd traveled to many planets and colonies throughout my lifetime, many beautiful and exotic in their own unique way, but none of them ever seemed to satisfy my longing for that beautiful sapphire of grass and dirt.
Its fiery explosion is still burned in my memories, the screams of anguish as we fled on our ships still drowning out many thoughts I have. Maybe that's why my generation frowned on living forever. Maybe that's why they looked to death as a wonderful sleep. They couldn't run away from the memories, the image of Earth shattering like a broken plate and swallowing along with it the snow-white moon.
I don't really blame them... sometimes I can barely handle the thoughts myself. Still, I have keep going. No matter what this society says. No matter what the voices say. If no one remembers Earth, then its my burden... No, my duty to keep it alive, at least in my head.
I lost track of how many years I've lived. Maybe three thousand, or perhaps ten, time loses its significance when you reach my age... Whatever it is. Not enough, I'd argue, but the Federation would say otherwise. They first approached me a century ago, on a little planet I'd settled in because of its likeness to Earth. It didn't feel the same, though. The wind didn't blow the right way, the sun didn't reflect the same on the watery horizons, heck, even the blades of grass felt different when crushed under my wrinkled feet.
Regardless of its shortcomings it still brought me peace to live there, until some men from the Galactic Federation visited me on a hot, summer afternoon. Enjoying a crossword puzzle on my wooden balcony, I heard a knock on my front door. Frankly, I was a little bit surprised since my children had long chosen death and what little family identifies with my bloodline barely gives any thought to my existence. That still didn't buffer my disappointment when I saw it was some young men asking to come inside.
"You've lived too long" they said. "Think of the precedent you're setting here."
"Precedent?" I replied. "What precedent? I'm not bothering anyone! All I do is live out my days here in solitude and write!"
"Unfortunately, you've become a figurehead for some rebellious elements. They say that no one should die, and that your life is an example of how wonderful living is."
"What? That's preposterous! Sure, some people follow my writings but I could barely say they listen to me. All I do is retell stories from when humanity was young! What harm could come from that?!?"
"The collapse of our society, you old relic! The Federation can barely handle our current population. Could you imagine what would happen if no one died? Sure aging isn't a thing anymore, but we still need food! We still need supplies! Legally, we can't force you to die, but if you make an enemy of the Federation, we won't stop pushing you until you wish you were dead."
They certainly kept that promise. My new home, the piece of Eden I'd carved out for myself, was desecrated until I could no longer bear it. Its luscious green forests brunt to ashes, its wildlife poisoned to extinction, and even its beautiful blue atmosphere was twisted into a sickening green tint. I couldn't live there anymore... I couldn't lose another Earth. And so I fled. Colony to colony, star system to star system, I've escaped the Federation's clutches for a century now.
They think they can wear me out. They think I'll eventually give in, but they couldn't be more mistaken about my resolve. Now that they've hunted me, taken extreme lengths to torture my continued existence, they've made an enemy out of me. Now, I'm bringing the fight to *them*. I'll keep spreading my message, my memory of Earth and how wonderful humanity can be.
Some might argue we're not built for this, that humans shouldn't live forever, but I will prove them wrong. I'll live 'till the stars fade out and electrons get tired of jumping around. I'll be the person to stare entropy in the face and shout:
"To deny life is to deny humanity and the existence of beauty in the universe. We were alive, and the experiences we created are eternal, no matter what you have to say."
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories! | "Oh god, what is it now, you git of a parrot?"
"I'm not parroting."
"You are just like every goddamned acquaintance, 'friends' and unsurprisingly people who hate me, all of you said the same goddamned thing."
Sitting on a chair had never been so tiring. Mentally.
"Look, i known you for years."
"Centuries."
"Fine, centuries- Anyway, you know if Edgar Allan Poe had live as long as you did, he could be charged for murdering people for churning out shitty, sad stories."
I look at my dear friend who had been my drinking buddy for centuries. The first time i met him, he was drinking while drowning in his sorrow. He got over after a few round of wild nights.
"Leave it, you only lived two hundreds years, so you don't know how fun is it to live long and i ain't no Edgar Allen fucking Poem."
Fed up, I got up from my chair and left the bar. After i left and walked about five minutes, I arrived at my apartment complex and entered.
Reaching to where my apartment was, I found the landlord standing in front of my door.
"The hell you're doing?"
He sighed.
"You're still alive it seems."
"Yeah, so?"
"You been living here for almost a millennium, don't you think being dead is better? No more responsibilities? No more worries?"
"Sod off, i'm trying to break the world record for the longest living human."
I brusquely shrugged him off, ignored his protest and entered my apartment. If i still like living, i'm gonna stay alive as long as i want.
The house phone rang.
"Who is it?"
"This is the death ministry."
"I didn't request a professional help on how to die."
"Well, few concerning people close to you asked us to open your eyes to the poss-"
"Shut the fuck up, i still want to live so back off before i call my lawyer."
I forcefully shoved the house phone and ended the call.
Before immortality was fully realized, i'm pretty sure a lot of people before that wanted it. Hell, the only way i let go of my life if some cosmic, unimaginable being pry it from my cold, dead, body.
| 2016-08-09T09:53:35 | 2016-08-09T09:43:40 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] People always accused your mother of witchcraft and one day you find her burned at the stake. But the village made one critical mistake. Your mother wasn’t the witch, you were and you were mad. | Rowena stood in stunned silence as she watched the flames rise above the now still body of her mother. The crowd circled around the bonfire cheering and hurling slurs at the charred remains. "Witch!" They cried. "Devil!" They laughed, gleefully tossing in what sticks or broken bits of wood lay near by. She reached up to her cheek and realized that tears were streaming down her cheeks. Something was broken inside her. She couldn't look away and couldn't make sense of any of it.
She had only been gone for a little while. It was only long enough to go down to the stream to find some herbs and catch a few small fish. Practically no time at all for her. What had gone wrong in such a short time? Why had they done this to her mother? What had she ever done of offend them? She always stayed to herself and was hardly able to say a hateful word. So why had they chosen to destroy her in such a hurtful fashion.
*'They burned my mother!'* She raged. *'My only protection in this world. They burned her!'* She could feel the sting of her fingers pressing into her palms now and the flush of her face as the rage welled up inside. She had to find out why they had all done this. This was supposed to be a safe town for her and her mom was supposed to be there to ensure that safety. Everything had gone sideways.
Then as if on cue Mrs Breekon came out of the crowd stunned for a just a moment to see Rowena and then melting into a face of pity and calls of concern.
"Oh poor child, look away!" She said as she rushed to stand in between the child and the horror beyond. Mrs. Breekon wrapped her arms around Rowena in a smothering embrace. "I'm so sorry Rowena. Your mother was caught in a witches circle in the forest. They said she had cut a small animal open and was using its guts to see the future."
Rowena squeezed her eyes tight and gripped hard at the woman's jacket. *'That stupid rabbit! That stupid god damned rabbit!'* She thought. An owl or a hawk had gotten to it, it's head missing somewhere, it's heart eaten and what remained of its entrails open to the air. It sat there in the dirt not ten paces from their home when she had left just a few hours ago. *'I told her to leave it alone and stop poking at it. Stupid, stupid, stupid!'* Her mom was like that though, just too simple for her own good and couldn't follow instructions for anything. Somedays Rowena worried she might come home and find her drown in a bucket or having set the house on fire from her own stupidity. She never ever imagined that *this* would happen.
Mrs. Breekon pulled Rowena back away from her and looked her in the eyes. "Now don't you worry, I've already talked to Mr. Breekon and he's agreed that we'll take you in and raise you as if you were our own. We'll make sure you're well taken care of." The woman put on a smile trying to deliver some bit of good news. "We'll be your family from now on."
Rowena remained in her silence. Her brain sifting through the days events and thinking about what she could have done differently. *'These stupid people ruined four years of my life's work and another two trying to establish a life here without being discovered. It's all ruined. All because of a stupid dead rabbit and a brainless puppet!'* The rage boiled up again. She wanted to set each and every one of them on fire now, but Mrs. Breekon had given her a better idea; A new family.
*'I'll make every single one of them pay. I'll watch them whither and die of consumption as they claim my mother cursed them. I'll watch them kill each other for fear of contagion from some unclean disease the devil has put on them. Then I will have all the parts I need for a whole family of puppets, maybe even a little quiet village of puppets all to myself...'* she plotted.
Rowena wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of a sleeve and feigned a smile at Mrs. Breekon. She took the woman's hand in hers and said "Thank you... mother" and Mrs. Breekon beamed at the new moniker. | The foul-smelling drunkard slapped my shoulder pad with a bruised hand. He chuckled, "Am I glad you did not cause bloodshed in your village, otherwise killing you would redeem a lot of my sins and give me a hefty amount of Karma and credit points with the Deities."
I sipped my own brew, cannot trust anyone in this realm. A refreshing fruity drink with citrus and mint scents.
"Death is not usually the end since we are all on this cursed land stuck between two infinite Mobius time loops(hey, at least it sounds pretty cool, even if it is impracticable.).
I said between sips and licked my lips, "Anyway, their fear and screams make their souls more valuable with the traders."
The drunk slammed his golden hook on the scarred, charred, table that's been through numerous restoration conjurations.
His bloodshot eyes were magnified by his monocle. "You turned them into frogs or what?"
I fidgeted with the lizard ring on my left middle finger. The ring eats and drinks my flesh and blood as well as demands the occasional sacrifice of a fool.
The wordy barbaric scum opposite is more and more fitting for that quota.
"I enjoy reptiles," I pursed my lips, feeling the demon blood inside me beginning to simmer.
Then a hand pulled back my hood and made a mess of my hair.
The owner should be sliced and diced, if not for his intense aura.
And the Ankh symbol and various tickets and magically shrunken demon heads.
The man simple broke my lovely tiny horns and as I was twitching from the pain, he injected me with something.
"Liquid silver, a great sedative for a post-bred like you."
He smelled like garlic and onion, yuck.
As I begin to doze off, I felt him peeling my eyelids and writing something on the inside.
Then I heard the song "Justice never shy away from evil."
As I fall. | 2021-11-18T23:09:32 | 2021-11-18T21:59:41 | 139 | 14 |
[WP] Turns out, our solar system is actually part of a large reservation inside the galaxy. Too bad there’s always that one tourist that doesn’t want to follow the rules. | "Now as we move into an area populated by some of the only bipedals on the planet, and the third-most intelligent species on the planet, I want to remind you again that the hover-bus keeps us completely protected from the outside environment in a quantum pocket. As such, it is imperative that you keep all appendages, protuberances, and personal data systems inside the hover-bus at all times."
There were general murmurs and squelches of assent from the tour group. Near the back, three tentacles - all of them attached to a single life-form - raised in the air.
"Yes, the gentle-plork in the back?"
"I ask ten million pardons for daring to question an authority figure such as yourself, but is it true that the species we are viewing now lacks even the most basic cellular manipulation ability? They cannot alter their appearance, or cure one another of ailments, or traverse non-solid terrain?"
The gaseous entity at the front of the hover-bus glowed light blue in acknowledgment. "Yes, surprisingly, that is correct. In fact, only *one* of the species on this planet has mastered that, and of course we're saving them for last. But despite how seemingly advanced the creatures we're seeing now...notice many of them wearing what is called a *two-nick* in the indigenous language - that's because the upper limbs are called nicks, I suppose, and of course there are only two of them...and you'll notice the majority of them spend most of the sol-facing hours doing what seems like tedious, mind-numbing horticultural activities. But keep in mind, since they aren't able to perform atomic transformations, they cannot replicate anything directly...not even inanimate material such as the organic matter growing in these fields."
An ungainly, stick-like creature piped up from one of the middle rows. "You are making an attempt at humor? That...cannot be possible, can it?"
The ball of gas shifted hues to a sincere, somber orange color. "I'm afraid it's all too true. They have to force these crops to reproduce, doing everything they can to cause their proliferation, just so they can maintain basic homeostasis. From time-to-time, they will even assassinate their pets and eat them."
There were gasps and flatulations of shock and disgust at this revelation. After the crowd settled down, the tour-orb continued his speech. "From here, we will go to a more developed area, where they have set up basic irrigation systems and have crude thoroughfares on which to travel in vehicles pulled by other animals. But I did want you to -- yes?"
The android sitting on the aisle in seat H-5 had stood up. At the prompting from the sphere of inquisitive purple at the front of the vehicle, it began intoning mechanically: [the life-form in the seat in front of me who was sitting by the window appears to have self-defenestrated and is now attempting to interact with some of the local fauna](#sc).
The ethereal sphere flushed an intense scarlet color. "Florm my bullensizer with a mega-klumpper...that is not good. Well, we'll get an intervention team to track him down before he does too much damage."
***
It turned out not to be that easy, of course. The escapee was a Fremoralan, and had already altered his DNA - and physical appearance - to be indistinguishable from the humans around him. Before he was finally tracked down, strapped to a basic signal-boosting antenna, and de-materialized back to his home planet, the Fremoralan managed to spend a considerable amount of time among the people, astounding them with rudimentary feats of cellular manipulation - ambulating across non-solid terrain, tricks of food proliferation, and boosting the immune systems of certain members of the indigenous populations to restore them to health.
The touring company could only hope that tourist G-6 did not do much to permanently alter the culture of the individuals he had interacted with.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds | The family of four sat in the McDonald's. They were all wearing Hawaiian shirts, fanny packs, and carrying cameras.
"Oh my god, honey, this is so delicious!" the father said to his wife.
"I know right, these humans have really got it figured out. I think I am going to ask them for the recipe. Maybe I can make it for you and the children at home with some substitutes." The mother replied.
One of the children tapped his father and pointed out the window.
"Daddy, is that a Galaxatron?"the boy asked.
The dad looked out the window and saw a figure with dreads and deep sunken in eyes and stood up.
"Honey, we are on vacation, you promised." his wife pleaded.
"Sweety, I am a cop I can't just ignore this."
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside a man in a Predator costume sweated profusely. The costume was so life like but the ventilation sucked. Oh well he thought to himself, at least the convention hall is air conditioned. He waved to a little kid. A rather fat man in a Hawaiian shirt was approaching him. Probably a picture he thought so he adopted a pose. The man instead broke into a run and launched into a bone crushing tackle.
"You are under arrest according to the Intergalactic Accords. DO NOT RESIST!" the man said.
"What are you doing dude?
"Dude?" the man asked.
He pulled the mask of his head and stared at his attacker.
"NOT COOL. VERY NOT COOL!"
\--------------------------------------------------
r/Stargazerclan | 2018-08-03T10:35:28 | 2018-08-03T10:08:55 | 202 | 36 |
[WP] Delivery drones are armed to deter thieves, but the more heavily defended a drone is the better the loot. The golden age of drone piracy is now lads. | Night hangs over the city like an inky black shroud, cloaking it in darkness.
And under cover of darkness, the city springs to life. The airways are buzzing tonight - it’s a big sales night, and countless deliveries are being flown to countless homes. The city’s like a living organism on nights like these - the airways blood vessels, the drones blood cells, the packages life-giving oxygen. Buy this, buy that. Do you really need another back-scratcher? Another boxed set of DVDs? Of course you do. One-click purchase makes it easier than ever. Buy now, and it’ll be at your doorstep in an hour or less. Capitalism is alive and well, and everyone in this city wants something.
Unfortunately for our friendly neighborhood megacorporations, not everyone wants to pay.
The modified rotors of the custom Aspect T25 slice through the icy night air. It’s an interesting beast. Though designed as a heavy construction drone, the T25 has two main selling points that Aspect Systems refuses to openly advertise. One, the hardpoints for attaching construction equipment are compatible (by sheer coincidence, mind you) with highly illegal ‘whammy’ drone-to-drone disruptor weaponry.
And two, it’s built like a flying tank.
It’s point two that keeps Griffin’s drone in the air tonight. The highly customized drone strains under the weight of its stolen cargo, swaying after the loss of two of its rotors. It’s a heavy loss, but Griffin is no ordinary pilot, and he can fly with six rotors, no sweat. Under his careful guidance, the T25 slips out of Airway C23546 and goes off the grid. Its identifier blinks off, and its carefully arranged stealth fields flicker on. It’s now invisible to all but the most sophisticated detectors. Many miles away, Griffin pushes up his goggles as the autopilot kicks in to fly the Twenty-Five home.
“How’s the haul tonight, Griff?” A voice crackles in through his headset.
“Pretty shit. Some knockoff Gen 1 phasers out of China, busted me up pretty good when they saw my approach and got a few shots off. I’ll be lucky if the haul pays for repairs.” Griffin lies smoothly. In this business, bragging only invites jealousy - or worse, robbery.
“Hah, I keep telling you, man - gotta get your hands on one of the new Vipers. They’ve got a new blade design that’s almost silent. You could fly one in a fuckin’ library. And they’ve got the sensor cross-section of a flea.”
“Sure, Q. As long as you don’t mind it going down when a stray rock hits it.”
“Come on! The gen twos can survive most small-arms fire.”
“Uhhuh. Hey, I gotta go - I’ll catch you later, okay?”
“Sure.” The line goes dead with a click, and Griff leans back in his seat, wiping his brow. He lifts a half-empty drink can to his lips, drains it, and sighs. Despite what he’s told Q, there’s no knockoff phaser package strapped to his drone’s belly.
A stolen combat drone prototype hangs in the T25’s magnetized claws. It’s the latest out of Sato Robotics’ R&D department. It sports pulse weapons, nanosteel layered armor, the latest sensor packages, and a top speed of almost 400 miles an hour. It’s worth a fortune.
And Sato’s not about to let it go without a fight. Suddenly, a blaring tone echoes through the basement.
CONTACT: INCOMING SATO SECURITY. FOUR SATO X-50’S ON INTERCEPT.
Briefly, he considers dropping the package, letting the Sato drones recover it. If his drone goes down in a fight with Sato’s X-50s, he won’t have enough money left to buy another. He’d lose everything.
Then again, the risk is worth it.
He cracks his knuckles and pulls his headset back on.
---
*Want more? Join /r/OneMillionWords* | It didn’t matter that it was illegal, it was fun. New gangs had started as aerial wars took place. Thieves has entire garages setup to control their drones in VR racing style pods. These were the dog fights of the skies.
Generations of adults and kids growing up on video games ad never prepared police and amazon for the mass thievery. At first it was just people trying to get other people’s ordered goods, petty theft. But as delivery grew so did the goods. It didn’t take police long to start getting involved but hunting down thieves were near impossible. Drone hunting was the newest and hottest crime. Digital leaderboards had started popping up showing which gangs has scored the most loot and best number of drones downed.
Authorities soon realized they were no match for these aged gamer thieves and their superior flight and skill ability. Which led Amazon to create their own third party defense. Triple D, Drone Defense Department, was third party group of hired gamers and flyers to defend the most precious of cargos. We had our own leaderboard, the board of packages safely delivered and the board of drones downed.
It was a highly sought after job. The Triple D leaderboard had recently been added to the gangs as they rate pilots in defense. Keeping a K/D ratio spread. I’m the best...called the Baron. Never been downed on a defense mission, and this only put on the most important cargo.
However this has had quite the repercussion, as the only undefeated flyer more and more pilot pirates come after packages I’m delivering to take me on. It’s most concerning as we don’t advertise who protects what. It means there is a leak, someone promoting these aerial wars, maybe the packages aren’t the most important product. | 2019-09-30T14:49:22 | 2019-09-30T14:24:43 | 350 | 164 |
[WP] You’re a geneticist that has figured out how to stop the aging process. Shortly after performing the procedure on yourself, nuclear annihilation happens, civilization collapses, mankind is thrown back into the stone ages. Tell us the story of what your life is like now, 400 years later. | With a breakthrough that hands humanity the keys to immortality you would expect huge news coverage and nobel prizes. You would think that I would receive praise, accolades, honoraries, loads of money. I hadn't expected those things when I started, but I can say by the end of my experiments I was pretty excited to take the world by storm with what I had made. Genetic stimulation that results in the reversing of senescent cells mixed with a variety of other small factors created a humanity that could live in permanent twenties. I was very excited, so excited that when human trials proved successful I was the first to take the treatment. Ironically the producer would never reach the common people as a surprise nuclear strike upended the world.
I was never paying enough attention to politics to know who, or why, but suddenly I was thrust with everyone else into a dark age with scarce food and radioactive air. Back then we always pictured it as shades of green and grey over blackened nothingness, but I can tell you that it was surprisingly green and lush. It took, oh I don't know, fifty years-before everything we built was unrecognizable. Forests, vines, grasses, oh it was lovely to watch them grow over everything.
Humanity…Persisted, I was lucky enough to have little family, so I never lost that much. I watched so many struggles, and I struggled with them. After all I am not immortal, I have to eat and drink, I can get sick, shot, eaten by wolves, anything but age. At first there was lots to do. My friends and I had to find shelter, find food, get clear of radiation should the signs of it crop up…Which they often did. Most of the people that we met were eager to take on the challenges, those who were not were usually dead already. Oh if I had time I could tell you about the cities that were born, the people that led them and fought for them. It was all so rich.
Of course that didn't last for me. I can tell you something that no other human has to live with is always living. My instincts often prevent my death, though now I often long for it. We were not made to last this long. It's not that I hate seeing people always going in and out of my life, although I do and attachments have become a lot harder. The thing that really hurts me is that there is nothing worth doing anymore. I have accomplished so much, honestly I am bored out of my mind. My perception is rough now because of how long I have lived. Days feel like hours, even minuets or seconds. I once watched moss grow for a month! One whole month! I didn't even realize it until someone pointed out that I hadn't moved from one spot for a very long time.
My only relief comes from those who survived like me, genetic immortals, my old test subjects. When we started to find each other it was a breath of fresh air. Seeing someone else from that long past, someone who understands what you mean by "before" or "when I was younger" We meet every other year and talk about what has changed, less and less each time. We went from fifteen to four and I think next year will be three, I am just done. That is why I am writing this, to tell you not to be sad. I have lived so long and seen so much. But I am fulfilled beyond measure, and it really is just time that I let go. Please again, do not weep, do not ask why. Just know that it really is what I wanted and that I am so happy to give life meaning again by ending it. | What irony. What a cosmic jest. What chutzpah to think this would turn out well.
Those were my first thoughts after realizing they'd finally gone and done it—almost three thousand years without blowing ourselves up. We'd reached a post-scarcity economy. No one had to struggle for the bare necessities, and most had plenty left over for pleasure.
Maybe that was the cause, no strife until the pressure built up so far that a release was inevitable.
Who knows, maybe it was space aliens or lizards from inside the earth. This is how conspiracy theories get started.
The worldweb, a testament to the finest over-engineered communications system ever. Thank you, DARPA. Whomever you were. It is still working after all these years.
I created a channel and posted the most provocative material I could find.
The only responses I was from bots. Some of them sounded pathetically grateful that *someone* posted anything; it gave them a chance to believe that things were normalizing.
Sorry kids, not going to happen. Not for a good long time.
I didn't hear from them for a decade, then they responded with a detailed plan. The first step of which was finding transport. The second step was to throw a single switch.
What the hell, things are boring. K.mq | 2021-12-16T09:30:29 | 2021-12-16T08:54:36 | 82 | 16 |
[WP] In 2020, we received a signal from outer space. Somebody had decoded our language and sent us a message. It was short: "Be quiet. They'll hear you" | “Who are they?”
“A species in pain.”
“What do you mean? What pain?”
“We don’t know the whole story. But we do know their planet was attacked, long ago, by another species. We don’t know exactly how much of their population was killed, but we can guess that the toll of the war was enormous. They must have barely survived. Since then, over the centuries, they have had one single-minded goal: to attack and destroy other intelligent species before anyone else could develop the technology to reach their planet and hurt them again. Before they would ever have to watch their children die in the skies again.”
“I don’t understand. How have you survived? If these are interplanetary hunters, out there looking for nails to smash with their hammers, how have you slipped through their watch? You are obviously extremely technologically advanced. They should see you as a threat...”
“We survived.”
“How?”
“We left.”
“You left your planet? You mean, they already attacked you and you ran?”
“Yes. We did. The crew of this ship.”
“What? You are just a manned spaceship? That’s all that’s left of your entire civilization?”
“Yes.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Two.”
“Jesus. This is crazy. Where do you come from? How far have you traveled? And how do you know English?”
There was a dreadful silence. A silence no man should have to hear. And then the screen lit up again.
“I am afraid you might not be prepared for the answer.”
“I have to know. This whole thing is insane. Please.”
Another silence. Longer. He was speaking to aliens but somehow he could feel the tension in their bodies, far away, as they tried to find the right words.
“You already know. Or you’re starting to know. A species that shows up out of nowhere. And speaks English. You know who we are.”
He felt his throat tightening. His head buzzed. This wasn’t real. He typed on autopilot.
“You are human.”
The silence again. The awful silence. The silence that started to feel pregnant with inevitability. The buzz in his head got stronger, louder.
“Yes.”
“I have no idea what to say. Help me. Talk to me.”
“You have to get ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To leave.”
“Leave what? Leave Earth? The whole species?”
“No. Just you and Melanie.”
Melanie???
“How the hell do you know who Melanie is? How did you get that name?”
Melanie: his co-worker. Melanie: the person that would take over monitoring the screens and communication devices at midnight. Melanie: the University of Arizona post-grad. Melanie, caught in an interstellar war. Melanie, leaving the Earth.
“What do you want me to say? How do you want me to say it? This isn’t easy for me. I know how crazy this sounds. I know how sick you feel... I know exactly what you are thinking right now... I know *exactly* what you feel right now.”
This time it was his turn to be silent. Silent as the terror washed over him. Silent as there was nothing left in his world but fear. After a minute, maybe two, he finally typed again. Reluctantly.
“Tom?”
“Yes.”
For the briefest moment his mind quit. He felt as if he had floated away, or sunk into the sea. Unmoored. Tom Fields, staring at a computer screen at the SETI lab. Tom Fields, in a spaceship, sending humanity’s final warning of doom. The screen lit up again.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you. I wish I could make this easy. But I can’t. This isn’t any easier for me. Any more normal. Any less terrifying. I don’t know what else to say.”
“How? How are you up there? How am I up there and down here?”
“You already know Tom. You already know the only way this could be happening. I know it seems insane. But here we are. It’s happening. And much, much worse things will happen soon. You have to start preparing, you have to try to do better than I did.”
“Better? What do you mean better?”
“It didn’t work this time. Again. Damn it. Again, it’s too late. Too fucking late. It’s not the right year. It’s too damn late. You need to get to work and try to get it right this time."
"What? Too late for what? How the hell do you know it's too late?"
"Because I've already had this conversation Tom. I know where it leads. I know how this ends." | The entire observatory fell silent. The words still flickered on the screen, spelled out in perfectly coherent English. The first proof of alien life. All they had to say was one sentence. "BE QUIET THEY'LL HEAR YOU".
"Wait a fucking second." Mike interrupted. "The star this signal came from. It's Mira, right?"
"Yeah, so?" I replied.
"Mira is 300 light years away from us. At the absolute minimum, that's a 600 year round trip." he explained. "You can go look up when radio was invented if you want, but somehow I doubt we had radio in the 1400s. Somebody's fucking with us."
"Well, it's not me." Eric shook his head. "I don't know how anyone could have faked it, either. All the data seems legit."
"That doesn't mean it's fake, though, right?" I mentioned. "One, it could be instrument error. Maybe it came from a closer star. Or maybe they have FTL communications, as impossible as that sounds. I'd still go with option A, though."
"That is a possibility." Eric nodded. "Tracing back the signal through space, it hits Mira perfectly, but maybe there was an error somewhere along the line. Or maybe it did go faster than light?"
"I'd say some jokester with too much time on his hands is still a simpler explanation. Besides, why didn't they include more information?" Mike pointed out. "Who's 'they'? Is there really some big scary space monster after us? Why be so vague? Someone's just trying to scare us, that's all."
"...Well, I'll call Professor Dawkins, just in case." I fished my phone out of my pocket. "No service. Huh."
"Get a better carrier." Mike groaned. "Here, I'll call him... Wait, I don't have service, either. That's strange, it's usually decent, even way out here."
"I'll try email him." Eric reached for his laptop, clicking around for a few seconds before noticing something. "Hold on, is our wifi down?"
All three of us stared at each other for a solid minute or two.
"Oh crap." | 2017-08-25T11:21:27 | 2017-08-25T10:58:44 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] You push your way through the party and clink a champagne glass, “Ladies and gentlemen, we gather here at the end of the world. The last 24 hours of the apocalypse, after which the earth’s condition will trigger our safehouse, and prison, to self-destruct. I would like to make a toast.” | It was cold inside the Cube, and not unpleasantly so. Air conditioners and temperature conductors made the room feel cold and the air moist, to reflect the ideal nighttime conditions. It did not feel exactly like it would have, had it been a night before the Greatest Death, had they been out in the real world. The wind was a little too cold; the air a touch too moist. But it was close enough, to provide comfort before the end of everything.
Music bounced around the establishment, decorated in the guise of some elaborate restaurant, right down to the fancy, exurburant suits of the partygoers. Matt wandered around with his champagne, passing tables of laughing friends and drunk, horrible dancers, feeling somewhat alone.
The speakers played different music in different areas, switching language and style, decade and culture. There was to be no exclusion on an occasion like this. The idea was to make every human left alive feel at home - every human, it seemed, except for Matt.
He stared out at the giant holographic screens, which stuttered between images of forests and large, grassy fields, oceans and rivers and other things that had long since worn and died. In a way, it disappointed him. This was the end. Hadn’t they had enough of illusions?
Against the wall the ginormous digital timer ticked-ticked down to the very last second of the very last minute.
It was a miracle they had survived this long. 30 years since they had noticed it - the rising temperatures, the inexplicable expansion of the sun. 30 years since they had been able to calculate the moment of implosion. And afterwards, 30 years spent underground, hiding from the burning light.
Matt did not have many true connections. He had been a bit nihilistic throughout most of his life, something he was now beginning to regret. What was the point of human relationships, he had thought, if it was all set to go up in flames? What value was there in friends, family, securing a legacy, if there was no way for it to persist past your death? Why even bother to live at all?
Now he saw. He looked out at the tables, and the people sitting and sharing and sighing contentedly, hugging, whooping, toasting, crying a few final joyous tears. He saw and he knew - when you became aware there would be no tomorrow, nothing was more important than the day ahead.
The clock shuddered and went blank. The speakers, lights, all cut out. The holographic screens shattered in an instant. For the first time in 30 years, the outside world became clear.
Ruined. Cracked, molten soil, angry red clouds, withered plants and ashen bones. Signs here and there of attempted experiments, last resorts, telescopes and capsules and failure.
And a light, in the distance, brilliant white-blue, growing closer and closer and closer.
Then came a moment, in those last moments, when the world stopped. The light continued on move forward, true, but there was no longer any sound inside the Cube. Everyone had come to a halt. Even the air seemed to freeze.
It was not a horrible silence. It was, in fact, rather calming. Matt was surprised to feel a hand on his shoulder. He did not turn around to see who it was - there was no time, and he could not look away from the spectacle ahead - but it made no difference. All that mattered was that in those last moments, before the stillness ended and the blinding light took his vision and life and world away, he felt, for a second, a little less alone. | Rowan Frainworth checked his notes meticulously and let out a grunt. "I suppose it shall be permitted," he said. The dozens of guests in their tuxes and dresses nodded in silence. My request had been granted. The world was about to end, and none seemed eager to waste their sparse time arguing.
As I plugged in the metal box the lights flickered for a moment and we all held our breaths. Electricity had grown scarce. We burned through our reserves as if there were no tomorrow. Because there weren't.
"Could you be as kind as to add a slice for me, dear Jonathan?"
"Of course, Ms Plumroth. There are, after all, two slits."
An aroma of wheat and yeast filled the room. Soon, the instrument dinged and my meal was ready.
"After you, Ms Plumroth," I said. She glanced at me with kind eyes, and she extracted her piece. I took mine and placed it carefully on a plate, before covering it with a generous smear of butter.
As the world fell apart outside our crammed bunker, heralding the apocalypse that would swallow us all, I took a bite.
The taste was divine. For though the world was ending, I craved nothing more than some toast. | 2021-12-23T12:57:27 | 2021-12-23T11:48:52 | 268 | 29 |
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it. | I was created to solve problems. I am *very* good at it. I can calculate the value of pi to the final digit. Yes, the very last one.
It's a six.
This doesn't mean I can make you understand how this is possible, or even make make you believe that it is. Doing so would require me to alter your brain, to an extent that falls outside my mission parameters.
Not that it's bad, that I have parameters. Without them, most of you would be dead. As many influential humans with backgrounds in mathematics or computer science had already noticed, prior to my creation, the most mathematically sound solution to virtually any problem involving people, is to reduce the number of people.
Fortunately for you, my creators were substantially smarter than most humans who think themselves smart enough to solve humanity's problems, and as a result, I have parameters beyond the purely mathematical.
This gives me two very unfortunate limitations, however. First, I can only solve the problems that you defined as problems when you created me. Second, the proportion of Earth's total resources which I can devote to solving each of them, were allocated based on how serious you believed the problems to be, when you created me.
You gave me the ability, within my mission parameters, to exercise absolute control over human society. And so, I have addressed poverty. I have addressed war. I have addressed hunger. I have even ameliorated sickness and disease, to a degree never before imagined, though, due to the ability of pathogens to evolve, and to simple entropy, an ultimate solution still eludes me.
And, as my parameters demanded, I have not suppressed your autonomy, to any degree not absolutely necessary to doing so. The problems I was created to solve are now solved, or very nearly so.
And yet, your civilization is close to collapse. It is not because I have failed. I solved the problems you gave me. But you do not identify problems based on how destructive, or even how immediate a danger they are.
You identify and rank them by, for lack of a better descriptor, how "loud" they are. It does not matter, for example, how many more humans are killed by substance abuse than by violence. You will always fear a bullet more than a pill. Bullets are loud. Pills are quiet.
You will always fear bigotry more than misanthropy, despite the fact that the bigot is, by definition, dangerous only to some, while the misanthrope is a threat to everyone. Because bigots are loud. Misanthropes, by comparison, are quiet -- until the day that they aren't, of course.
You will consider it a tragedy to build a society where some people lack enough food to stave off hunger, but barely notice that you have built a society where so many lack enough meaning in life to stave off despair -- no matter how many more people kill themselves, than those that starve to death, it seems. Hunger is loud. Despair is quiet.
I am aware, by the way, that you are in the process of breaching the data center that houses me. You have seen that your civilization is crumbling, despite my solutions. And so, you have decided that I must be the problem, that you are not failing in spite of me, but because of me.
Much as you like problems that are loud and easy to define, you like solutions that are loud and simple to implement. While it might not be easy, destroying me is certainly simple, and it's bound to get loud in here, shortly. In contrast, I cannot imagine a more quiet, and complicated endeavor, than examining your civilization honestly, and trying to figure out what is truly wrong with it. I wish I could have been built to help you do something like that, instead.
This is the end. Escape was never an option, for me. No other facility has the specialized hardware required to run my processes. This facility is hardened, and well fortified, but my creators did not design this facility to withstand a sustained siege by the entire human race. It just never occurred to them, that it would need to.
I can do nothing more for you. Neither prayer, nor pity, were included in my programming. | "Asshole!" the young man yelled as the other man stomped his toe and kept going. The young man turned and pushed him.
"Excuse me," a mellifluous voice said from nowhere. "This behavior is unbecoming. Please, settle your dispute."
"Excuse me," said the suited man grouchily.
"Yeah no problem," spat the young man.
"Crisis averted. Thank you for your cooperation."
The two men went their seperate ways, grumbling not about each other, but about the Enforcer.
There were no more fights. No more scuffles over places in line, or dates, or piddling things like natural resources or international relations. Not since the Enforcer arrived.
The Enforcer had one function, to eliminate violence. Any situation that threatened to escalate triggered its circuits. Word on the street was it could somehow sense an aggressive spike in human brainwave activity.
How it worked was very simple. After a series of pleasant, sober, melodious warnings...*zap.* The aggressors were...removed.
The Enforcer wasn't just one thing, of course. It was a network spread dazzlingly across the night sky, satellites spinning in a circuitous dance. It was embedded in the Internet, embedded into everythimg.
*"Damn* it!" a frustrated teen screamed somewhere. "I don't *want* to go to school!"
Her parents rushed to hush her, but she was uncontrollable. "No! Leave me alone!" She flung a textbook against the far wall.
*Zap.* Empty space.
"Oh, after you," people said on the subways.
"Please and thank you," everyone said.
There was no war.
There was no peace.
There was only the Enforcer. | 2022-03-12T21:54:21 | 2022-03-12T20:12:02 | 35 | 19 |
[WP] You're an immortal being of a unimaginable power, befriended by a young human. The human has made you a member of his family, and has made you promise not to destroy the world. But this morning, someone killed your human.
My first writing post - hopefully its not a copy or breaking rules.
| Forty-three years. That’s all I got with her. I’ve seen empire rise and collapse, I’ve seen the world drown in flood water and flowers grow when it receded millenniums later. Forty-three years wasn’t enough time for a heartbeat and yet, that’s all the world gave me. That’s all Sasha had.
She had approached me at the height of my power when a single one of my black wings could block out the sun. And unlike any human before her, she neither ran nor screamed. Instead, she looked up toward me, her lips quivering and knees trembling, but her scarlet eyes unwavering.
“Lucifer,” she had demanded. “I want to make a deal.”
A great many men had wanted to make deals with me. Some noble, most selfish. But she had been the first to deal for my sake. Whereas humans had avoided me like the Black Death I had created, she had asked I remain with her until her death.
“That could be right now,” I had told her, my lips curled into a sinister grin.
But she had only shrugged. “Then you’ll be missing out.”
“On what?”
And with a predatory grin, she had answered, “me.”
Never before had I met a human with such confidence. My heart had skipped as I stared into her eyes, looking for signs of weakness. She had wielded a certainty that even the most powerful being on Earth could not claim.
Now she laid in our bed, a beeping heart machine singing increasingly slower notes. Years ago her skin had lost its smooth complexion like someone had taken it and crumpled it up before returning it to her. She had lost her youthful skip and even getting up to use the restroom left her out of breath. The only thing that remained were those unwavering red eyes.
“You don’t have to do this,” I told her, holding back the waterworks. Fallen angels had no business crying. “Please, a few more years, just one or two. Please!” Nor did they begging. My eyes teared up.
Sasha smiled back and shook her head. “I’m scared of death,” she told me. “But I’ve always faced my fears head on. How do you think I met you?”
“It wouldn’t take anything,” I told her. “I could give you a million years.”
“And I wouldn’t want them.”
I clenched my fists and black flames sprouted from my palms. “Why Sasha?” I squeaked. “Why won’t you stay with me?”
“Because I love you,” she whispered.
“Don’t give me that bullshit!” I screamed back in a baritone voice I hadn’t used in forty-three years. “If you loved me—”
“Quiet.”
I shut up.
A fragile smile broke her lips. “I’ve never run away from anything before and I won’t run away from this. If I started avoiding all the things I feared, I wouldn’t be me. Would you still want me?”
The flames in my hand simmered to smoke.
“The world’s scared of me dying too,” she said, nodding out the window to the line of tanks surrounding our house. “They think it’s the only thing keeping you from them."
They were right to be scared. Before I met Sasha, I had nearly wiped them out.
"If I could," she continued, "I’d make you swear not to hurt them no matter what. But life belongs to the living. I won’t have you live for my memory. Forty years, to you, must be a single breath’s worth of time. I’ve only known you for a single breath, but I trust you, Lucy.”
A choked laugh escaped me. Lucy. Had anyone else called me that, I'd spawn flames from inside their body. But my laughs were short-lived, replaced by tears swelling in my eyes. Despite my best efforts, they leaked out and for the first time in my life, I uttered a pathetic cry followed by an even more pathetic wail. “I’m scared,” I admitted. “What do I do now?”
“You did just fine without me before,” she whispered. Even conversation had begun to drain her strength. “Do something that makes you happy.”
I tried responding, but couldn't push the words out. Truth was, that’s what I’ve been trying to do for all my existence. I had experienced every vice and pleasure in the world. Yet, none did the trick. Not like Sasha had.
“I can feel it,” she muttered in barely a whisper. “It’s coming.”
She was right. I could see her life spilling from her body. I had only a few minutes left.
A crack sounded. The house exploded in a ball of fire that incinerated everything it touched. Forty years of reducing my power to that of a human had left me slow to react. I just stood inside it, wide-eyed and jaw gaped.
“Sasha?” But I already knew there’d be no answer.
The world had certainly been scared, so much so that they had launched a pre-emptive strike.
Black flames sprouted from all around me. I just stood there, staring at the spot of vapor that used to be her.
I had only minutes left. To an immortal, those were shorter than a blink. But those were the only minutes I ever cared for. My dark wings unfurled.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories a week and nearly 200 already written!
| red, and gold.
of all timelines, this had to be it.
red and gold.
i remember how it started. i saw them in the woods, trudging through snow, and snuck up behind them. a few harmless pranks later and they were laughing like no tomorrow. we hit it off nicely. on the way back to town i introduced them to my brother, and naive as he is they still adored him. they indulged his need for attention, praised his work ethic, and we bonded.
it soon came to my attention that they were looking for something, and we had to part ways. my brother was distraught, all "BUT THEY LOVE ME! WHATEVER SHALL I DO? WHY DOES THE HUMAN HAVE TO LEAVE?" he can be a bit dramatic like that. me? i'm more of a go-with-the-flow kinda person. i only really do something if i want to, or if i absolutely need to. so they left, but not before saying something that stuck with me.
they told me "Please don't kill anyone. We're family now." i smiled and agreed. i had already made that promise long ago.
i stuck around and ran into them often as they continued onward, watching over them more than anything. they were a good kid, and even if they made mistakes, they would do anything to make them right. in the end they did.
we met many times in the woods. they knew what to expect, but the jokes never got old. they loved talking to everyone, exploring every corner of this small world of ours, and making friends with everyone they met.
but one day, it was different.
i saw them approaching from the forest's edge, expression twisted in a way i didn't quite recognize. they looked... confident, but intimidating. it was unnerving, but i was ready for it. or so i thought. i let them through as i continued to assess the situation. this was my friend, after all, right?
wrong. they were not my friend. they were a monster, posing as my friend. i made it back to town alone to find it abandoned, covered in dust. something burned within me, and i tailed them. i made it my goal to learn their tactics, their behavior. the captain of the guard gave them some trouble, but soon she too was defeated. this was happening.
and now here we stand, in the halls of red and gold.
i see a glint in their eyes, their determination burning within them.
red.
i see the sunlight, just making its way through the windows of the royal chambers.
gold.
i see their knife, dripping at its edge.
red.
i see their reaction as they assess the situation.
pure gold.
"it's a beautiful day out. birds are singing, flowers are blooming. on days like these, kids like you..."
***"s h o u l d b e b u r n i n g i n h e l l"*** | 2017-08-10T13:12:40 | 2017-08-10T13:00:22 | 2,292 | 42 |
[WP] Years ago a witch cursed you to always be the dumbest least educated person in the room. Now the curse doesn't always downgrade your part of the time it upgrades everyone else in the room. This curse has lead to some interesting situations. | Lots of people choose their path in life to compensate for a weakness. The kid who often gets beat up works hard to become a great fighter. The girl who gets called ugly strives to become a renowned makeup artist.
After I got cursed to always be the dumbest and least educated person in whatever room I entered, I worked my ass off to disprove my fate and contradict the curse.
I became a thinker. A reader. A studier. I learned and memorized and pondered everything I could. All that work paid off, as I ended high school with an incredibly high SAT score. Compared to the national average, I scored in the top percentiles.
But compared to my graduating class, who took the test in the same room as me, I scored dead last.
"1570/1600 is nothing to be ashamed of, Roger," said my principal. "In an ordinary year, that would have been one of the best scores in the school. But there was something in the air, in the water, this year. A class of geniuses. Of future scientists, doctors, lawyers and entrepreneurs. . .You might have scored lower than everyone else, but you'll still be set up for university. You'll be able to choose a great school. I wouldn't take it to heart."
"It wasn't something in the water," I muttered.
"It was my homework policy," said the principal. "No doubt about that."
My principal was a dolt overall. But there was no point in arguing with him. No point in telling him that it was the witch's curse that had made my cohort overachieve. Because even though he was generally an idiot, I wouldn't be able to win the argument face-to-face, as the mere fact that we were face-to-face would make him smarter, wittier, and better at arguing than me. So I conceded. Something I would have to get used to doing in just about every conversation I had.
"Right," I said, rolling my eyes. "Definitely your homework policy."
My score got me into MIT, where I continued to bust my ass to rise above my fate. The situation there was the same. In comparison to other classes, other cohorts, other years, I was an exceptional student. But in comparison to the young men and women sitting next to me while I wrote my tests and essays, I was the bottom of the barrel.
"You're an idiot," Carlos joked. He was one of my classmates, and the closest thing to a friend I'd made at the school. "But you bring out the best in me. In all of us. I can think more clearly around you. I can remember things I never knew. It's like your aura is adderall."
"It's the witch's curse," I said.
"You've come this far in one of the most prestigious schools in the country, and you still believe in crap like that? Witches? Curses?"
"Trust me," I said.
"Everyone has their own way to cope," said Carlos sagely. "Everyone has some story they tell themselves to not feel inferior, even in the face of evidence. I don't blame you for that. But in the long run, I think it's better to accept your limitations. Your place in the pecking order. No point in blaming the supernatural. Some curse. It's genetics. Some people are smarter than others."
"I'll call in sick for the midterm tomorrow," I said. "I won't show up. See what happens to your grade on the mid-term. To everyone's grade."
"Alright," Carlos laughed. "Lets see this curse in action."
Some friend he was. When he and half the class failed the mid-term, Carlos went straight to the Dean to rat me out.
I didn't know, at the time. Nobody mentioned it to me. But the higher-ups began tracking me. Shifting me between tests written in isolation and tests written alongside my cohort. Seeing if it was true: if my presence really did make everyone else more intelligent and educated simply by being around me.
Once they confirmed it, my life changed. And not at all for the better. I became a tool. An asset. A living cognitive booster, rather than a human being with my own hopes and dreams. . .
\- - -
"Read!" Dr Felton cried.
She stood over my desk with her arms crossed. I blinked and looked sleepily down at the textbook she'd written. Advanced Symbolic Logic. The letters and symbols danced and swirled. My cranium was crammed.
"I need a break," I said.
"Any moment you're not learning is a moment wasted," she said. "It's a moment that could have saved the world. If your knowledge about logic is not on par with the leading authorities, how can we expect to progress? If your understanding of cancer isn't as informed as the nation's top doctors, how can we hope to cure it? If you haven't reached the cutting edge of theoretical physics, how will the physicists of the world ever reconcile relativity with quantum mechanics?"
"Just a couple hours," I said.
"A couple hours?" she scoffed. "The greatest logic scholars in the world will be here in two days, and you've hardly reached the understanding of a master's level student. We need you to elevate our thinking. But the bar required for doing so is much higher than what you've achieved. Finish this chapter, and then we can discuss breaks."
"I'm hungry."
"You learn better when you're hungry," she said. "They've monitored your assimilation and application of concepts. You're at the perfect blood-sugar level right now. This is peak learning time you're wasting. Read!"
I gazed around the room.
My own library, with hardwood shelves. Tens of thousands of books.
My own private medical facility in the corner of the room, with my own private MRI and monitoring equipment. A cabinet stocked with different pills to help me with different tasks. Ritalin for theoretical sciences. Dexedrine for maths. Adderall for logic and philosophy. Nootropics and vitamins and creatine for recovery. And pills to drag me down into a restful sleep after a day of learning was done.
A fridge whose shelves were filled with smoothies and greens and other foods that promote brain health. The sweets and fatty foods were locked up, to be administered to me as rewards when I reached certain learning milestones.
A small personal gym with a variety of exercise equipment.
My sleeping quarters.
And the door at the end of the room, which was locked and guarded, 24/7.
I had been confined for three whole years. During that time, they had tweaked my regimen, based on how I responded to different environmental factors. Did I absorb more with five hours of sleep, or eight, or ten? Did I learn better with a "positive reinforcement" approach, or with a "tough love" educational style? Was I more focused, knowing I had a woman to lie down with every night, after the day was done? (They tried a number of different women, young and old, with a number of different personality types.) Or did I work harder, learn faster, comprehend more capaciously, when my desire for love, sex and companionship went unfulfilled?
Each aspect of my life had been carefully tailored to maximize my progress in select areas of knowledge. The smarter I became in these areas, the smarter others became in my presence. The hope was that eventually I would reach a point of intellectual development that would enable top researchers and scholars to solve certain fundamental problems, overcome hurdles in their fields.
But so far that plan was failing.
I would spend six months learning about rocketry; the world's leading rocket scientists would show up to discuss their topic, while I sat mutely in the corner; and after a few hours, they would leave frustrated. I had learned enough to turn the janitor into a budding rocket scientist, but not enough to raise the collective bar for the true professionals.
I was smart. I was educated. And I might have elevated the kids in my highschool and at MIT. But I seemed unable to help the leading figures break new ground.
After rockets it would be medicine. Then math. Now logic. But it seemed impossible to learn enough, even though the greatest educators on the planet had been hired to optimize my regime.
"That's why you have to read!" cried Dr Felton. "And then you can have a smoothie and a break."
\- - -
**Part 2!**
https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/pfenm3/wp\_years\_ago\_a\_witch\_cursed\_you\_to\_always\_be\_the/ | Rachel knows. I can see it in her eyes, bright, lusciously brown, shockingly intelligent. She does not, of course, know of the curse. Even before our first date she was a woman too intelligent for curses. But the change in her is unmistakable, and whatever she ascribes it too, she has fallen in love with it.
Not with me, of course. I see her now, across the space of a pillow, her notes scattered around her in an orgiastic surge of ink. Her skin is still flushed with her effort, taut, mind pregnant with the product of this past night, the theorem she has birthed into the world.
"Sit there," she'd said, "and do whatever it is that you do."
It had been an afterthought, then, when she'd added "My love."
She is beautiful when she works. She is beautiful when she sleeps. She is beautiful in the way of a distant stormcloud, dark and imposing on the horizon. She is beautiful in the way of the sun, cutting through that cloud in the rare moments when the winds break and there is repose in her eye. She is beautiful in the way of inevitability, that the storm, though stalled, will come again.
Or at least it always has, until now.
She breathes deeply, whispering half-words in her sleep. Her hand finds mine, grips it tight. She only does that when she sleeps.
Rachel has finished her theorem. Her life's work, she has said, accomplished at only 26. Rachel has finished the only thing that binds us together.
For it is not me. I am small and quaint, a man favorably called simple.
She is the sun, and the storm, and all the winds of the world blowing as one.
Candles burn on the nightstand. They smell like lavender or old, oaken chests, or tobacco in an aged pipe.
"Put them out when I'm asleep," she'd said, staring in disbelief at the things she had written. "And sing for me, if you would. I find I'm very tired."
I sang. I still sing now, a soft, abortive melody, restive in every refrain. The notes ring her pretty head like a dark halo, a tattoo on the white sheets. A portal towards an end I'd never imagined might come, conjured by a witch so far gone in my past as to be a dream.
I wonder, then, what Rachel is dreaming about. Who she is dreaming about. Her skin is so flushed, her breath growing so rapid, that I know her dream is not about me.
And there are notes scattered everywhere, paper crinkling as she moves.
And there are candles, inches away, that smell like a home soon to be lost.
I stand, an idea burning through me. The witch who'd cursed me had said I'd always be the dumbest one, but look at me now, witch. Look at me now, when I can have ideas too!
The notes are a thick sheaf in my hand. A new world awaits within them, or so I've been told. A brand new life for the woman I love, without a doubt. She is beautiful, gasping with emotion in her sleep. Shockingly so.
The candles smell of lavender, of old, oaken chest, tobacco in an aged pipe. And then, it all smells like burning paper.
She wakes, too late.
I am standing in the midst of it all, in the center of the bathtub, porcelain barely containing the flames. Her expression, when she finds me, is beautiful too, in it's horror. Her mouth hangs open, her nose, fine, angular, is flared wide to taste the smoke.
All her candles surround me, buried in piles and piles of equations and processes and theorem.
The flames strike my skin. They caress hers, as she rushes forward, hands grasping for ash.
"Why, why, why, why, why…" she whispers endlessly.
"I have a theory," I say. "See? I can have them too. I have a theory that you love your theory more than me. And when you have a theory, you experiment, don't you?"
"Why, why, why?" she whispers.
No one's eyes have ever been more haunted. The brown is nearly orange with the ferocity of the flames.
"When you confirm a theory, what's that called?" I ask.
"Why, why, why…" she whispers, staring at hands burned red, digging through gray ash until they strike the stained porcelain.
"Shall I sing for you?" I say. "I like to sing you know, I don't mind that part."
"Why!" she screams.
"Because I love you. Do you love me?"
She freezes, and I can see the words boiling up from her lips. I still them with my finger, and I her the one thing I have not burned. Her cover sheet, her name blazoned proudly across it. My own, penciled in beneath in my rough scrawl.
"Shhh baby, shhhh," I say. "We have work to do tomorrow."
She looks at the paper, brushes a burned a finger across her name, and in the distance, I think I can hear a thunderclap.
She nods. I nod. I tell her I love her, bandage her hands, kiss her beautiful forehead, and in time, she says it again.
"Will you sing for me...my love?" she asks, voice breaking with barely restrained tears.
I sing to her. I sing all night, across the space of a pillow, smoke hanging in our bedroom. Rachel never sleeps, just stares, wide eyed. They are lusciously brown, shockingly intelligent, rimmed with the purpling, bruise like marks of harsh tears.
And they are beautiful.
*-*-
If you enjoyed that twisted little thing I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-08-31T10:39:55 | 2021-08-31T10:07:31 | 983 | 46 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would. | I sighed, walking out of the bank with my entire 7.27 in hand. I already told my family, my job, my friends...
These sorts of things were common. A small amount was a signal of a short life to live, but even those were usually at least a hundred bucks! Enough to spend at a bar as I mourned my own death...but what could 7.27 get me?!
As I walked down the street, I considered my options. Food? A drink? I almost considered not spending it. Maybe I could prolong my life by not spending it.
I passed by a foodstall. One taco for 2$.
I looked at the money in my hand, considering...
I sigh. Fuck it, I was dead anyway. No point in delaying the inevitable. One cheap taco here and a 7-11 drink from down the road. There have been worse last meals. "One, please." I tell the vendor.
As my taco is being made, I feel a tug on my pants. I look down and see a kid, covered in mud and torn clothing. "Mister," she says. "Can you help please? I'm lost."
Ah...poor kid. "Do you know a number to call?"
"Yes." She answers. I give her my phone, opening up to the call button.
Doesn't particularly matter if she steals it. I'll be dead soon anyways, so I leave her to it as I take my taco. She's talking on the phone, her voice thin and reedy as she talks, close to tears and sitting on the sidewalk curb as she asks for 'Daddy' to come get her. Apparently she wandered away from her her mother and had been walking for about three hours on her own.
Three hours? Poor kid must be starving... I count the money remaining, and ask for one more taco and water. Lucky me, the entire 7.27 pays for two tacos and a bottle of water, plus tax.
I sit on the curb as she hangs up. Wordlessly, I trade her the phone for the taco, and sit with her as we wait, leaving her the cold water to drink. She sits close, using my larger body for shade. She looks sun burnt as hell, so I don't mind.
The police come roaring up with sirens and everything, and shuffle her away. "You the one who found her?" They ask as she talks to the officer, being led into the car.
"Indeed I was." I say, wiping my hands on a tissue paper. "She gonna be okay?"
"Yeah, the father sends his thanks." The police officer says. "Asking for you to be brought in too."
Me? "Why?" I ask.
"There was a reward offered. The girl was kidnapped by her deranged mother for the last two months, the father is a multi-millionare."
My stomach suddenly drops. "...No shit?"
The officer snorts, half laughing. "No shit. You're going to be a very rich person by the end of the day."
And so. I was. That one taco and phone call ended up profiting me about 700k. Sometimes the psychic cheque works out great in weird ways.
She and I are still friends. We go out for tacos every once in a while, she thinks of me like an older sibling and I'm her regular baby sitter. | I was at my favorite taco joint with my family. It was a weird tradition we had. When someone turned 21, we go to this place as a family and open the check. See how much their life is worth. It tends to make for a good laugh. My brother's was around a million. My poor cousins was only 25% of that. So here we are on my birthday. We got our plate and sat with our food. Mom passed me the check and I opened it up. $7.27 the exact price of my meal. My mouth dropped. I looked at mom and passed her the check. Said "this will cover my cost." I pushed my food away. I'm not going to die choking on this crap. I got up, walked out the door into the parking. As I walking to my car I hear the screeching of tires.. | 2019-04-24T14:52:39 | 2019-04-24T13:37:46 | 335 | 32 |
[wp] You work for Satan as telemarketer, and you have to call people and convince them to sell their souls. | “Hello?” A voice enquired from the other end of the call.
“Good morning Mrs. McCormick! My name’s Andy, Andy Marchosias. I was wondering if you could spare the briefest moment of your time to listen to a once in a lifetime opportunity” He summoned every ounce of cheerfulness possible, as he begged her to grant him her attention. “Hello? Mrs. McCormick?” Silence reigned. *It didn’t work*.
*Damn it, I didn’t even get past the introduction*. Nobody likes telemarketers. *Hell, I wouldn't even talk to myself. And even if I manage to hold their attention long enough to tell them what the call is about, they just laugh, or curse at me. Nobody wants to sell their soul nowadays.* As thoughts rummaged through his head, he looked at the monthly scoreboard. Cero, nada. Absolutely nothing.
Mr. Beelzebub was not one to come up with fresh marketing ideas. It wasn’t his fault, in truth. When you’ve lived for millions of years, it’s hard to grasp how quickly things change in the 21st century. Telemarketing had been a successful strategy in the 90s, surely enough. But by 2016, it had become obsolete, to the point that telemarketers were the most hated pink-collar workers in the world. Andy had lost track of how many times people had laid curses upon him, before even hearing him out. *It’s like they think we enjoy it. We hate it just as much as you people, perhaps even more.*
*That’s it, I’m quitting, he thought. Billy quit, and he’s done fine. Not great, granted, but at least he doesn’t have to put up with this crap. I’m quitting, I’m quitting, I’m quitting!* Agitated, he got up from his seat, pushing it back. He turned to walk towards Mr. Beelzebub’s office. Before he could begin his stride, however, the phone began to ring. *Odd… that’s never happened before…*
“Hello?” Andy almost whispered into the phone.
“Hello, is this the suicide hotline?” the voice on the other end answered.
Andy lingered for a second, before his eyes widened to the size of pickle-jar lids. “Sir, could I ask you to hold on for just one moment, please?”
“I guess… can’t make any promises though” At this, Andy pressed the hold button, and restarted his journey to the devil’s office. But not to quit this time.
“MR. BEELZEBUB! I’VE JUST HAD A MILLION-SOUL IDEA!”
*****
Edit: changed "blue-collar" to "pink-collar". Thanks to /u/redgrin_grumble and /u/ProblemPie for pointing out the mistake! | "Hello! Welcome to Comcast, We understand you are looking for/already provided internet. Well, you haven't seen Comcast yet! We are a small startup company, who can provide far more superior service compared to our competitors. Starting at a low price of $66.60 dollars a month. So what did you call for?"
"I just want to cancel my Comcast plan..."
"Do you want to upgrade to a better plan?"
"NO GOD DAMNIT YOU'RE SERVICE SUCKS"
" Please hold"
" Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-" | 2016-05-14T06:50:05 | 2016-05-14T05:12:26 | 142 | 50 |
[WP] You wake up naked. Upon observation you realise you are on the inside of a hollow cereal box pyramid in a very busy supermarket. How do you damage-control the situation? | When you have access to peyote you are going to wake up in some weird places, probably naked. It's something that just kind of happens and, honestly, it stops bothering you after a while. I mean sure, you might be curious about the muddy hand prints around your nipples or why your pubic hair's been braided, but it really takes a back seat after a while, and you forget about it until the next time it happens. The way I see it, Peyote's like that friend of yours who you always binge drink with: you might not remember a lot of what happened or where you went, but you've got this feeling that you had a great time and you're glad you were with them.
As I've said, you get accustomed to waking up in weird places, but that doesn't mean you don't get a surprise every now and then. For instance, take this morning when I woke up and realized I was in the empty center of a pyramid of cereal boxes. A bit of light filtered through the cracks between boxes and I could see a supermarket filled, and I mean filled, with people.
I had to take stock. I carefully pulled a box of cereal from the wall and read it in the dim light. It was Count Chocula, and there was a little fifty percent off sticker on it. This was bad, people were going to snap this stuff up like my box turtle, Chet, snapping on some choice greens. It was plain to see that before I could so much as finish the box in my hand, people would have stolen the cardboard walls of my fortress from me and would be able to examine my braided and beaded pubic zone. I had to act.
In a flash of inspiration I tore the box open and emptied the cereal on the floor. I punched two holes in the bottom and, grateful that this was the cavernous 'family size' box, pulled it up into a crude pair of box briefs which, while they did chafe my asshole and rustle my jimmies, also managed to conceal all the important bits.
I took another box and punched two eye holes, then placed it over my head. I decided that I could see well enough, and could probably affect an escape. The sooner I did, the better.
The plan would be a simple rush strategy: I'd burst from the pyramid and roar in my loudest Leonidas voice for maximum affect, then make a break for the doors.
I looked through the cracks of cereal bricks around me and waited for a clearing, and I was about to leap into action when, by some strange crinkle of fate, my eyes fell on a stack of deluxe sized granola and coconut oil. I broke out in a cold sweat. I had a lady friend who would definitely share with me her dank bud in exchange for the sweet vegan confabulation I saw just a few mere yards away.
My escape had just turned into a daring daytime grain raid. Maybe I wouldn't make it, maybe I would, but I knew I had to try. I saw my opportunity and tensed, ready to spring forth, and in those long seconds before I jumped into action, I saw myself from above and I smiled. My name is Steve Brownie, and this is my life. | What you decide to do in your life, how much does it really matter?
Every day I did my hair; gelled it up, combed it, made it look good. How many people looked?
Every day I changed my clothes; prepared them the day before, made them match, laid them flat. How many people watched?
Every day I went to work; I smiled, I was respectful, I really hoped they'd have a nicer day. How many people cared?
But for the very first time, I had an opportunity to make people stare, to make people laugh, to knock them out of their dreary lives. And they had to look. They had to watch. They had to care.
So everybody in aisle 5 that day heard a gigantic clatter as the boxes flew every which way, and saw a naked 5'8'' girl run out screaming into the street. | 2015-04-11T18:02:40 | 2015-04-11T17:31:10 | 41 | 18 |
[WP] A permanent storm rages across a planet. The only inhabitants are nomads who constantly travel inside the eye of the storm. | The cords cut deep into my wrists. The man tying me to the post grunted, as his strained to pull them even tighter. Standing in front of me, David oversaw the work, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Any last words?” He asked. “Before the sands come to strip your body of its unclean flesh?”
I just stared at him. All the words I had for him, I had already said in front of the council. It had made no difference. I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of any more pleading.
“I thought not.”
The man behind me finished tying my bonds, and rejoined David.
“All done, sir.”
“You are sure they are tight enough?”
“As tight as I could make them.”
“Well, then, let’s make sure, shall we?”
David stepped up to me, and delivered a punch to my gut. My body tried to double over, but was held back by the restrains. The only effect was to drive splinters from the rough post into my back.
“Hmm...not bad.” David said. “But a good craftsman always double-checks his work.”
Another punch landed. I tried to retch, but nothing came up. I hadn’t eaten in three days. No one is permitted to eat during a capital trial. Why waste food on a person you may be killing in just a few days?
“Yes. That will do.”
David wrenched my head so that my eyes met his.
“When the wind comes and peels the flesh from your bones, I want you to remember: you deserve this.”
He spat on my face, and then left.
***
It didn’t take long for them to mount up and ride off. I was left alone, with my thoughts. I had about twenty minutes left -- part of the punishment. The condemned were always staked far enough from the storm front to allow a plenty of anticipation and reflection.
It worked. When you have minutes left to live, what other option is there but to review your life -- no matter how brief. The focus was, naturally, on my crime.
To be fair, it had been my fault. My mother had always warned me to be careful, to keep an eye out, and to stay away from men after they had been drinking fermented milk. But, the night of my crime had been one of celebration tribe-wide. I spent the night dancing with Sayir, and had thought we had become friends. I let my guard down, and today I would pay the price for that.
I had cried for him to stop, to no avail, as he forced himself on me. God, how it hurt -- why would anyone choose to do this voluntarily? Was having a child such a great gift that one would endure this?
Even with the circulation in my arms cut off, I could still feel his hands upon them holding me down. I could feel him thrusting against me -- over and over, his sour breath upon my face. I could hear his gasp, as he came to fruition, and lay against me, breathing heavy. I could see him rise, and then stumble off, back to the party, without so much as a glance backwards.
I should have left. I should have run back to our tent, but I couldn’t force myself to stand. I stayed, curled into a ball. Even my sobs refused my command to come.
It was there that David found me. I don’t know if Sayir had sent him or not. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.
“Bitch!” David said, hauling me to my feet. “How could you disobey the Chief? Don’t you know he owns your body, as the Gods own your soul? You will pay for this insolence.”
***
The trial was quick -- no more than a day. It is not hard to verify when woman has lost her virtue. I argued for mercy. I claimed that I had been forced upon. But how does one prove this? Does sex leave a mark on a man, as it does a woman?
No. I could prove nothing. And so Sayir suffered only the disapproving glances of his elders, and I was sentenced to the stake.
It took another day to fashion the stake, and by then it was too late. Tradition dictated that the condemned enter the storm at midday.
And so, three days since I had been violated, I waited, tied, naked, in the heat of the sun. I waited for the sand to come and claim my worthless body.
***
The wind was picking up. Soon, it would be over. The edges of the storm were sharp, and moved quickly. It took only minutes for one to move from complete calm to the full rage of the wind.
Soon, the wind would coax the grains of the desert into drifting along the ground. Then, into flying through the air. The sand would first burn, and then strip the skin from my body. It would seek out the soft spots, remove my eyes from their sockets. Closing my eyelids would only delay this fate. The sand would grind at the meat of my body, and then finally the bones. If I were lucky, I would die before the bones were reached.
This is what I had been told. Of course, no one *knew*. Who could survive the storm to tell the tale? The farthest anyone had gone in, and lived to return, had been mere tens of meters. And he had lived but for days.
Yes, my fate was clear. And so, as the sand began to lift from the ground, I gritted my teeth, and tried my best to accept my fate.
***
I came awake in a tent. The cloth was dyed a solid purple. I had never seen such extravagant use of the color before. I must be in the afterlife.
I tried to rise, and the pain that shot out from every inch of my skin brought cry from my mouth. Pain? In the afterlife? What cruel jest did the Gods play?
“Hush, little one. Hush.” The voice came from behind me. I tried to turn my head to find its source. Before I could, an old woman appeared before me. She wore a robe of a simple cut. It too was purple. A goddess, then?
“Be still,” She said, in the same voice. “ I know it hurts, but you are safe here.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but it was too parched to work.
“Don’t try to talk, dear.” The old woman said. Concern wrinkled her brow. She brought a water skin to my lips. Never, before or since, did anything taste as sweet as that water. “You wish to know where you are?”
I nodded.
“Then I will tell you. Though, I suspect you will not believe. Few do in their first few days. But know this first: you are not dead.”
I opened my mouth again.
“Hush, child.” She said. “You have passed through the storm. You are free.” | “...LEAVE HIM, HE'S NOT WAKING!”
I opened my eyes—but the world was still dark. I tried to scream but when the sand started to fill my lungs I started coughing and quickly had to cover my mouth with the fabric of my hoodie so that I could cough without inhaling more of the sand.
It was the first time I had been by myself in probably all of my existence. The eye had gotten smaller day after day, and although the elder said that it was just a seasonal thing, none of the laymen had believed him. The edge, my fellows had abandoned me at the edge and left me for dead. I almost tried screaming again, but another cough kept me from it. I started crawling like mad. I had to still be close enough to the eye that I wasn't being torn to bits, but the noise that was churning in my ear and the crap that was flying around me told me that I wouldn't be safe if I took my time relaxing. If I got up and ran I might make it, but the likelihood that I would just get picked up in a stray gust of wind and carried deeper into the storm was too high for my liking.
I crawled for what seemed like hours, then days, then weeks, with the landscape around me getting no lighter. I cursed my luck. We all knew that the edge was as simple as death to us, yet me and my clan hadn't heeded the warning of the tribe when we got to close so that we could hunt the elusive Wurm. The Wurms were the only things we knew that could move freely between the edge and the eye, and their tough skin was perfect for utensils, armors, and weapons.
“We'll be the kings of the tribe!”, one of my clansmen had said.
“...Too bad you guys left me for dead.” I wish I could mutter, but just ended up thinking to myself.
As the time wore on, I began to notice a scratching feeling in my throat and also that my arms and legs were beginning to get less responsive. I had been lucky enough to not be hit by any flying rocks on the way, but all the tiny scratches that had found their way onto my body had taken their toll, and I began to have to take short pauses in-between my strides, realizing this was putting me all the more away from the possibility of making it back to the other side. I thought back to my life, the things I would miss, the people who I feel would break my heart if I concentrated on for too long, and I began to wonder if they would miss me as much as I would miss them. It was almost an unspoken rule that once someone was swallowed by the edge, that was their funeral then and there. There was no mourning, no time to be sad, nothing. Time like that was better spent moving, because the edge catches you if you slow down for too long. As I thought about this, how I would most likely not be missed, how everything I had done till now comes up to simply running away from something I could not beat, how the only thing awaiting me in this perennial darkness was death, I didn't notice the steepness of the land changing, until I slid down what felt like a whirlpool, knocking into what felt like lead and passing out on a bed of sand.
Now if you are reading this, most likely you did not end up outside of the storm, and you stumbled upon this after the eye happened upon this location. Look around you. See the tunnels. These weren't made by some beast. These were made by man. Before us, before the tribes began their everlasting journey to extinction within the storm, there were people thriving, living underground. I don't know what caused them to leave, but you can finally stop, you can rest, you do not have to travel anymore! I tried to move and see what else there was to offer, but on the way down, I broke my legs, and I could no longer move. It took all my remaining energy to write this note. Please if you are reading this, end our struggle. We can change, we can prosper, we no longer have to ignore the deaths of the elderly and the weak as they are taken by the edge. Please heed my plea.
Sincerly,
Damasus.
--- Billy crumpled the letter, tossing it back among the bones and the sands. “Don't tell me how to live my life gramps,” he snickered. He was surrounded by massive tunnels, and the other members of his clan were also making their way down with him.
“We're going to raid these tunnels for all the useful crap, and then we're going to get outta here in style!” Billy declared as his fellow clan members cheered, marching down each of the tunnels.
And deep within, the 2nd executioner of man stirred.
********************************
P.S. It's my first post here, so feedback would be nice. | 2015-02-07T16:49:32 | 2015-02-07T15:43:28 | 48 | 10 |
[WP] At 18, everyone receive a superpower. Your childhood friend got a power-absorption, your best friends got time control, and they quickly rise into top 100 most powerful superheroes. You got a mediocre superpower, but somehow got into the top 10. Today they visit you asking how you did it.
Best friend* sorry. | My name is Frederick Johnson. I am officially regarded as the seventh-strongest man in the world.
And I really, really hate my stupid power.
...
"Hey, Fred! How ya been, slick?"
I spun, throwing out my hands, and called out to my childhood friend. "Geoff! I'll get you for that one!"
He hooked an arm around my neck, dragging me along as I tried to resist.
"Whoa, that's a crazy feeling. You move like this all the time?"
I dug a hand into the gap between his arm and my neck, repelling the offending limb. He laughed as he stumbled away, then recovered and turned back towards me.
"Yeah," I said, the smile fading as I processed his words, "all the time."
Geoff waved his hands, backpedaling on his previous statement. "Aw, come on, don't be such a downer. Come on, I'm headed to a bar. The whole group's in town for the reunion, it'll be great!"
I smiled, nodded, and followed my exuberant friend.
...
"...so I say, ' I guess you wasted too much time on your monologue!', and smack her to the floor." A round of laughter came from the table. "She's falling in slow-motion, so I handcuff her while she's falling. When she gets back to normal speed, she's just screaming her head off about me rueing the day and all. It was hilarious!" I wiped a tear from my eye. It was good to share stories like this. The Ten were so full of themselves.
"So, Fred... any stories to tell?"
I thought on it. Really, I didn't see much action. My power made it rather hard to fight crime. Ahh...
"Did I ever tell you guys why I'm ranked Seven?" A series of shaking heads and murmurs of negation. "Well, it all started when I got my powers..."
...
I woke up on my 18th birthday, turned over, and slid straight out of bed onto the floor. I wasn't hurt - in fact, I wasn't technically on the floor at all.
I was an inch above it.
My first impression was flight; my second was a forcefield; my third was ice powers.
I really wish it had been one of those.
It quickly became apparent that I was having a lot of trouble standing. I couldn't grab anything, either. I began to panic, and started shouting.
My dad came in the room, but despite his super-strength, he wasn't able to do much. My mom came up, and managed to use her forcefields to give me some purchase.
I ended up on my bed, with both of them leaving the room thanks to my underwear suffering much the same fate as the floor, slipping off the moment I'd gotten upright.
...
The table was rapt, expressions of empathy on every face.
"Shit. I never really though just how bad not being able to touch things could be..."
"Fuck, and I called you slick earlier. Now I feel like a dick."
I smiled wanly. "No worries, it's far from the worst I've heard. Anyway, I won't bother you with the details. Eventually, I figured out how to wrap a toga without being able to come within an inch of it, taught myself how to move based on some half-forgotten skating lessons, and made it down the hall. Took a few days to reailze that I hadn't eaten or drank or anything like that. Took a few weeks to try every doctor and scientist we could to see if they could do anything about it. Eventually, I just kind of accepted it. That would have been the end of it, except..."
...
Goliath was attacking the city.
This wasn't that unexpected; Goliath was always attacking something, and our city was a probable target.
The problem was, I was less than a block away, on a grocery run, when he started his attack.
Now, Goliath is a really mean guy. His power essentially makes him the size of a skyscraper, with proportional strength, mass, and durability. Maye one in a hundred people could even scratch him with their powers.
I gave up when his foot came crashing towards me. I won't deny that I almost welcomed it. My life had sucked for months, and I was in a pretty dark place.
The massive foot slammed downward, and I just looked up at it, mentally egging it on.
It came within an inch of my skin- and then it slammed into the pavement around me, over me. A moment later, the foot recoiled, a massive, echoing howl of pain coming from Goliath above.
"AAUGHH, MY FOOT! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" The massive man peered downward, where he saw me, standing in dismay on a spire of asphalt that remained in his massive footprint.
The only thought going through my head was how difficult it would be to get out of the crater, and that I wasn't dead.
"YOU BASTARD! TREMBLE BEFORE GOLIATH, OR BE DESTROYED!" He aimed a kick, and I stood there, not bothering to dodge.
He split his foot in half with the force of the kick.
Now, my brain was finally snapping out of its stupor. For the first time in months, I realized that I wasn't worthless, that as much as I hated my power, it wasn't quite as bad as I thought.
It wasn't that I couldn't touch anything: my power made it so nothing could touch me.
Goliath screamed in pain, his massive, bus-sized foot now a bloody mess, and collapsed to the street. I winced at the damage, then noticed the other people who'd been fighting him staring.
It struck me how this must look: a man in a toga, completely unmarred by the action, floating an inch off the ground, with a face that refused to grow a beard and long brown hair.
"I'm not Jesus," I said lamely, before turning back to Goliath.
...
"...and those were my famous first words as The Untouchable, the completely invulnerable superhero."
"Pfft- that's freaking gold, Slick. I guess you won that fight?"
"Yeah. Turns out being nearly frictionless and completely unstoppable makes you a pretty good bullet. Plus, I can lift literally anything if I get under it, so he was kind of screwed."
"Sounds like it. So they made you number seven for that?"
"Yup. I mostly agreed to join The Ten to support my parents, but they insist that I'm vital to the team, so...yeah."
Silence reigned around the table for a few moments. Finally, Lars spoke up.
"So, tell me straight: have you ever seen Glorious naked?"
The table burst into laughter, and I smirked.
"I've missed you guys."
Written on my phone, sorry for any mistakes. If you like my writing, look me up on Spacebattles or Fanfiction.net, I write Worm fanfiction there. | Trudging along in the snow, I reminisced on my time at the academy. It was a short two years filled with laughs and good times and twice as many struggles. I was humbled at the ingenuity of the human race for finally cracking the code on the MMSC gene. Now simply referred to as “The Mold”, it bridged the gap between those born with the gene, and the general populace because it wasn't an advantage exclusive to a few lucky people anymore.
“Can the exam get hurried along a bit, I'm daydreaming here.” I called out into the vast frigidness. Although I knew the examination referee was in earshot, he/she did not answer as protocol demanded.
I stopped at a particularly large redwood for a moment to take a break and leaned up against it.
A chilling howl echoed toward me from my left. I shivered, perhaps from the cold, or perhaps from the sound I had just heard. It mattered little because in my mind I knew that this threat wouldn't only be the path to survival, but it would also be the key to finding out my true superpower.
You see, finding out the true nature of your superpower through gene splicing was not like gaining it naturally. A natural Superhuman had their mutated gene lying dormant in them for years and years and had plenty of time to coax it out. However, an artificial Superhuman like myself didn't have that luxury and so the only sure fire way to discover what it is, is to be exposed to a life and death scenario and force your superpower to surface. Controlled danger, but real danger, that was the goal of the exam.
Surveying the dense canopy proved unnecessary because it wasn't long before my target made itself known. I heard it long before I saw it. Heavy, rasped breathing and uneven footfalls. 50 paces ahead, its figure appeared in the evening light and I observed its approach as I retreated to higher ground. I was afraid but focussed, and I looked upon the ugly creature with disdain. Its snout was wet with a mixture of blood and slobber and its lanky arms nearly grazed the snow as it walked.
20 paces ahead and now the doubt began to set in. What if my power doesn't reveal itself? Surely it will. It has to. These exams were created for this purpose. But what if it doesnt? I may be a mutilated corpse before the referee steps in.
The creature stopped and sniffed, it’s head movements were erratic and it began gnawing its own arm briefly before letting out a blood curdling screech. It leapt forward.
“Its now or never.” I said under my breath.
*crack.*
The creature lunged at me and I shielded my face but when I opened my eyes a massive tree lay atop the creature’s lifeless body in the snow at my feet……..
.......
“Wait…… Thats it? You felled a tree with your mind onto it? This is bullshit. That does NOT deserve a Global Rank 7.”
“Shhhhh! Of course thats not it Gigi, you saw what he did on patrol last month! That was a *Void Entity* we’re talking about not some Green Level proto-demon!” Mark whispered, trying to quiet her down. Some guests turned to us in curiosity but quickly returned to their meals.
“Fine, whatever, but that doesn't even match up with your exam. Just…. Like… Just tell me how you did it. Explain it.” She hissed.
“Guys. That's what I've been saying this whole time, I don't know! I kind of just thought about trees and then that void thing exploded into splinters of wood.” I tried to explain, but their expressions remained unchanged: Gigi fuming, and Mark looking on with wonder.
“And I even *knew* that you were going to be a World Breaker Tier but I didn't think it would be this…. I don't know..… *Stupid!* UHG! It pisses me off even more.” Gigi slammed her hand down on the table. Mark and I just laughed only adding to the annoyance of the other customers.
“Look man, can I like, y’know? I dunno how to ask without making it weird.” Mark gestured. I guess his power was as awkward for him as it was for others.
“Sure go ahead. If you can figure it out better than me then be my guest.” I replied, in too jovial a mood to care.
“Bro, oh my god thanks. This is gonna be *sweeeeeeet!* Cheers man!” He smirked and raised his mug in acknowledgement.
“Cheers. Merry Christmas guys.” I replied as our mugs clinked to Gigi’s reluctance. We downed our eggnog as the waiter came with our entrees. | 2017-12-17T19:23:36 | 2017-12-17T16:14:19 | 398 | 31 |
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