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[WP] It seemed like a perfect magical deal. When any child descended from you is born you grow younger by a single year. So you agree, planning on a big family and living to a ripe old age. Years later however you find yourself rapidly growing younger and regret not understanding exponential growth. | "It seemed like a good idea at the time." Jim lamented. "Gain a year of life for each descendant, what could go wrong?"
"And it went wrong." The bound man muttered.
"What gave it away? The fact that your great-great-great-granddaddy is a goddamn twelve year old." Jim sighed. "You know getting old was a bitch, your joints ache, your lose your hair and you have to piss 20 times a goddamn night. Doesn't sound pleasant does it?"
"I suppose not."
"It's awful. But you know what, getting younger is somehow worse. You wouldn't believe it but it is."
The bound man stared in a sullen silence at his great grandsire.
"I mean puberty is bad but try it in reverse. You still get the mood swings, the acne, the growth pains. But just try dating when you look like a kid, sure you have options, but they are definitely the wrong sort of options. And you know what, everyday you look down and your dick is a little bit smaller."
"What does any of that have to do with me."
"It's simple, I need you to help me prune the family tree."
"You must have hundreds of blood relatives, probably spread all over the globe, how the hell would I even find them." The bound man asked.
"I've not been idle all these years. Founded my own company dont you know. Just a small little internet thing, but I think it might just help." Jim smiled wickedly. "Have you ever heard of something called 23andme?" | When I met little Richard he seemed not to recognize me. They had torn down the attic and was in the process of scraping the rest of the house. It was very hot and there was sawdust in the air. I did not manage to recover our common history from Richard, so I handed him a business card and played an insurance salesman. The lines I delivered perfectly. In the backyard there was this big tree surrounded by patches of highlighted grass. Under cover from the sun I recalled quite a while ago there was this tattoo I made on the tree. I did not find it, however.
​
I wished to inquire of Stephanie's grave, which proved unfruitful since the man was busy with work and busy chasing me away. Very subtle, of course, with a little frown on his face detectable only by Stephanie and by me, who she taught the art. When I used to hold him in my arms he must have also made this kind of face often. I had no idea then until years later when Stephanie finally revealed her secret. What fragile illusion I had had of being the better grandfather soon dispelled. I suppose he had never liked me very much.
​
I walked the whole way back the station. It always calm me when I have a goal in mind. Better more if the goal stays unmovable, unchangeable. Maybe that's why I enjoyed train rides greatly. Whatever I do, I can live assured that there is this station I will get off at. Such is fate.
​
My shadow grew shallow, I had lost a few wrinkles on my face. To the side of the road there was a field with grass higher than my head. The warm humid summer wind tickled them slightly. I remembered this sensation of humidity upon my skin. On a grass field, too, away from the main road, I had lain with a woman. A damned dog I was, going around spreading my seeds. With every regained youths I sought again to expand my roots. But this woman I lain with, let the humid wind sing, mind you, this Oriental woman, she once made me tired of going around. She had a big family, too. I had thought if I stayed with her I too would have a big family. But I didn't understand them, and they didn't understand me. I remembered, through the fading light of the station, her little figure waving as I departed. The rhythm of the train awakes me some nights, and when it does I could always imagine the same figure waiting for my return.
​
The Oriental woman might have cursed me. In her head, she would never say it out loud. I knew a few who would, though. She would curse me in her head, yes, and then she would be sad, and she would feel bad because she had cursed me. It would sadden her more. Now that I thought about it, she always had this willowy, sad look on her face. Enough for a man to settle down. Not me, though. Of all the women I had mated with, some might understand me, although no one I could recall. Every year I grow older and lose a bit of memory, then I grow younger and lose another bit of history. I could always love as if it was my first love, and because of that I could love no one. The women grow old. They lose their options. I never lose my options. Every time I become young I have wanted to try out a new life. Most of the time it ends on several broken hearts.
​
When I reached the station I could see my train over the horizon. I scratched Stephanie out of the notebook. It would be best if in my sleep I disintegrate. If not, I figured I could scrape out of my mind some names. I don't want to die alone. | 2021-04-15T11:22:56 | 2021-04-15T11:09:08 | 400 | 20 |
[WP] It seemed like a perfect magical deal. When any child descended from you is born you grow younger by a single year. So you agree, planning on a big family and living to a ripe old age. Years later however you find yourself rapidly growing younger and regret not understanding exponential growth. | It wasn't until I woke up twenty five one morning that I realized my mistake.
It had seemed like a great deal. In exchange for my name (the fairy didn't say what it wanted the to know for, and I didn't ask) I would become one year younger with every descendent born to me.
The only thing was, I didn't dig kids; they were always hungry and usually in the way. Heck, I wasn't even seeing anyone, let alone planning a family. But I had what I *thought* was a simply brilliant idea.
I went to the sperm bank jauntily, minus a name and plus a magical destiny. The experience itself was clinical and minimally traumatic. I was in and out. And then, I waited.
At first, I couldn't tell if anything was happening. Sure, I didn't look any older, but I didn't seem any younger either. After a year or two of uncertainty, I discovered to my delight that the few grays in my beard had disappeared completely. Somewhere out there I had a descendant.
The next time I got younger though, something seemed a little off. The lines on my face completely disappeared. Great, of course, but what the heck? I'd been thirty five to start with. Then thirty three or so. But as I peered into the mirror that day, the face looking back at me was as daisy fresh as a college kid's.
I ran to do the research I should have done in the beginning. Oh god. Many women who used donated sperm were given fertility enhancing drugs to increase the likelihood of success. Most went to have multiple births--twins, triplets, even quadruplets. I began to sweat. At least ten babies had been born already, in less than five years. At this rate I'd disappear entirely in no time.
I ran back to the green hills where I'd met the fairy in the first place. I followed my old hiking trails and haunted the hollows of mushroom circles. Finally--after a week--the cocky thing showed up, grinning.
"I wasn't expecting you yet," it said. "This usually takes generations."
"What?"
"For the curse to come to fruition," said the fairy matter of factly. "I thought you wouldn't be back for st least a couple hundred years."
I gaped at him. "What do you mean?"
"Say you have two children, and they each have two children, and *they* each have two children. That's eight. Not too impressive. Eight years younger in fifty years' procreating. But then the eight each have two. Sixteen. And the sixteen have two. Thirty two. And the thirty two have two. Sixty four. And they go on. One twenty eight. Two fifty six, and then you're in trouble, aren't you? Five twelve and poof! Off you go."
"You're an asshole," I told the fairy.
"You're gullible," the fairy returned loftily. "And anyway you've done something wrong. You shouldn't be back so soon."
"I went to the sperm bank," I said despairingly and the fairy laughed itself sick.
"Now you know better. Come. You're mine now." The fairy turned to go.
*"Yours?"*
"You gave away your name," the fairy explained. "Come along. The castle is filthy."
But before he could whisk me away out popped another round of descendents...a lot of them this time...and I poofed into nothingness instead.
"Damn," said the fairy, and made a notch in a stick. There were many notches on the stick. It put the stick back in its pocket and spirited away. | A long time ago, I made a deal with an entity. That may seem unnecessarily vague, but to my knowledge there is no word in any surviving language for it.
One thing that modern fiction gets sort of right, is that the language of my birth was shared between all worlds. You can't summon demons with incantations. There is no such place as Hell...at least so far as I know. But there are other realities, and what we now call Latin was the bridge between them. Some of those, I guess the best English word is "spells" had the power to open portals between these realities, but those who knew them were careful to ensure that they have been all but lost to time.
This entity came from one of those realities where a form of magic does exist. I'm not going to attempt to explain it. I didn't understand it then, and I certainly cannot begin to recall all the details of it all these years later, but it worked.
At the time, I lived in Pompeii, and was running a very respectable brothel near the seashore. It had been a good life, at least for that era. Status, power and money were all in my hands, along with many of the loveliest young bodies of the age, but my knees were starting to count my years more than I did, and my back was learning how to do that math as well.
It wasn't the pain that bothered me, but the impending...end. It terrified me then. Of course, now that I've avoided it so long, I'm not as concer-
*Deodamnatus*.
Sorry. I'm just trying to put the finishing touches on this little contraption before everyone shows up for the family reunion.
Things used to be so much simpler, you know? You carved something, or hammered out some metal, or sculpted it. Now everything is these tiny little wires, and chips, and these damned cellular phones.
Though, I suppose that is one good thing about my current age, at least I have tiny fingers again. Of course, it looks rather strange for a child to be living in a big mansion like this alone, which is why I haven't gone outside for almost a decade now. But I digress, where were we?
Oh yes, my advancing age.
So when this entity turned up to experience some of my wares while in our reality, it seemed the perfect opportunity to ensure that I could live a long life, and I offered to let him have free reign over the merchandise as long as he liked, if he would grant me immortality.
The *irrumator* refused.
Then he came back and I tried again. And a third time. And a fourth. He was stubborn, but I had what he wanted, and he had the ability to give me what I wanted.
Almost a year passed before he had to go back to his own reality, and when that time came he wanted to take one of our products with him, and this was my chance. Because you see, there are only two ways to cross into another reality: by your own choice, or as part of an exchange between worlds.
The item he wanted to take with him had a family of its own here that it didn't want to leave behind, so it was an exchange. Of course, the entity offered me all sorts of riches if I would allow him to take it with him, but I was having none of it.
By the way, do you think three hours is right for the timer on this? People will be getting here in about 30 minutes, but you know how our family is always late to everything. I want to make sure everyone is here for the surprise. Okay good.
Anyway, we were then, as now, a rental service, not a dealership. If you wanted to buy the product for life, you did that elsewhere. But this one was nearing the end of its serviceable life anyway. The entity didn't know that. For whatever reason, they don't seem to age the same way we do.
So finally, we struck a bargain. He could take it with him, and in exchange he would cast upon me a gift. Whenever a child descended from me is born, I would grow younger by a single year.
He did, and then he departed with his purchase. I never saw either of them again.
As you might expect, I started sampling my own wares on a much more frequent basis now. Of all people, I was perfectly placed to make the most of that gift. A decade later and I was almost thirty years younger than when I had begun. Of course, there was some hit to the income since so many of my products would be out of service for extended periods of time, and that presented another problem, getting them back into the rotation.
So many of them were concerned about what they had produced, and I couldn't have them fussing over these squealing little things. Thankfully back then it was simpler to disposer of the little creatures without anyone asking any questions. Lost some of my products as a result, but they're always easy to replace with newer models.
Truth be told, in time I become bored with it all, so I closed up my shop, and made a tidy profit selling my stock to the new owner, which set me up for a while.
Over the next couple centuries I set up shop across Europe and what we now call the middle east, sampling the local merchandise for myself. But that was an era of turmoil.
First there was this big to-do in Golgotha and I had to shut things down and move across the continent. Almost got caught up in Teutoburg Forest and let me tell you, THAT was a mess. Lost a couple of years there when they attacked my caravan. Three months later and it wouldn't have mattered. Then there was the Batavi which forced me to move back south.
​
CONTINUED BELOW (Character Limit) | 2021-04-15T11:40:34 | 2021-04-15T11:39:36 | 36 | 24 |
[WP] "Sire, the hero's party is outside. It's large, too." "Fools. Not even six or seven can stand against me!" "No, sire, you misunderstand. The hero's party consists of his entire village." "Wait, what?" "They weren't happy that you razed their village. And they've all been leveling up." | Those fools, he thought. "If they have been leveling up everyone at once, there is no way they can reach a high enough level! Those high level raids have a cap and a long respawn time, so there's no way they are all maxed out, let alone class levels and items."
"Sire, it appears that they are divided into divisions, and so are their items. The Healers are all Arch-priests, with the holiest of artifacts directly received from the pope, and the same goes for the Mages, Warriors, Tankers, Debuffers, and all other groups." The demon king's right hand man replied. " In other words, we are fucked sire."
"But!" His other assistant happily said. "Our top demons are also here with us, surely the hero's party can't get through them all without suffering some casualties. By the time they reach you, sir, only the hero's original party would remain!"
The current demon king, one who rules all evil, sighs. "This is better. Just let them all fight me at once."
"My lord, surely you jest! Even you cannot handle an army of max stat players!"
"You fool! Remember the setting of this world. I can't believe you'd slack in your world studies, from how good you've fought for me all this time." Evil himself replied. "It's not time for the game to end yet, there's at least 3 year's worth of content planned! They haven't even explored Asgard or the Abyss yet, and you think I will be defeated now? Me, the final boss?"
It will be fine. In the scriptures of old, the world's timeline has already been written. Nothing can go wrong, and the gods will keep the world as is.
Surely those players have heard of dynamic game balancing. "Just tell our horde leaders to keep fighting the royal kingdom's army. I alone will be enough." | “His entire village? I find that awfully hard to believe. I set the place on fire, you’re telling me not one person died in the fire?” The villainous Dark lord found himself bemused by the worried antics of his advisor, watching as the advisor continued to peek through the squared stone castle window, only to duck as a stray arrow brushed through his hair, nearly embedding itself in his skull.
The Advisor hugged the wall next to him, taking deep breaths. “It’s the entire village. We are going to die, my liege. I suggest we send the minions out and escape.” His voice shaky, using his hands to pull himself back up the wall, pinning his back to it.
“An entire village? Fine, let me look. If you are overreacting, I’m going to send you out grave robbing as punishment.” The Dark lord approached the window, poking his head through the wide gap, staring down at the group of at least fifty adventurers.
Usually, a large group like this wouldn’t be an issue. The Dark lord had a history of carving his way through armies. Yet, this group was different. Each villager had levelled themselves up, far beyond the rank of any normal soldier. In their own rights, each angry villager was a hero, or at least comparable in strength to a hero.
“Impossible. Doesn’t an adventuring party usually only have about four losers? There has to be some rule against this.” The Dark lord uttered, not as confident as he scanned the faces of the mob below.
Each villager had bulked up, looking as though they spent the last year eating only raw eggs and training. Even the elderly grandma that operated the bakery had arms comparable to a half giant. His gaze eventually landed on the hero, who matched the definition of the word. Proudly standing at the front of the pack, his hair glistened with sweat and his sword shining, as though it had never seen the heat of battle. “We are here to avenge our village.” He said, a cheer following his words as the villagers stirred, ready for their revenge.
“All of you? Surely someone amongst you is happy I destroyed that pitiful excuse of a village. It was an eyesore; you should thank me. The funny thing is, I could have left the village standing, I merely destroyed it because it blocked my view of the river as I passed through.” The Dark lord prepared his confident act, trying to unnerve the crowd below. Still, no matter what insults he threw at them, none lashed out. Some members only gritting their teeth and holding their swords a little tighter, reminding themselves that revenge would come soon.
“Don’t anger them. We are already in trouble. We can’t defeat them. I’m sorry, my lord. I swore I would never doubt your plans or strength, but we really should retreat. You need to train or find stronger minions.” The advisor left the safety of the wall, moving behind his lord, body shaking as he tried to nudge them towards a portal beside the throne.
“He’s right. Your words only fuel us further. We have waited for this moment. You destroyed our village and left us all stranded without food or shelter. We had nowhere to go and refused to take refuge on some kingdom’s streets. My village dedicated their lives to stopping you and will win this day.” Again, the crowd cheered, weapons slamming into the castle gates.
“The gates won’t hold much longer. Lets leave the minions behind and get out of here.” The advisor was already making his way to the portal, only to get stopped by a hand hitting his shoulder.
“You’re my minion too. Stay and fight.” The advisor tried to protest the order, only to get tossed onto the ground, hearing the lower gates burst open. The Dark lord left the advisor on the floor, forcing them to watch as he stepped through the glowing red portal, shutting it behind himself. Leaving the advisor to die with the other minions.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-07-19T08:34:49 | 2021-07-19T07:52:10 | 698 | 124 |
[WP] "Sire, the hero's party is outside. It's large, too." "Fools. Not even six or seven can stand against me!" "No, sire, you misunderstand. The hero's party consists of his entire village." "Wait, what?" "They weren't happy that you razed their village. And they've all been leveling up." | “I’m not worried. My three dragons should dispatch those pesky villagers with ease.”
“Sire? They’ve already killed the dragons.” My squire, Remus, seemed reluctant to provide me with all the details.
“I beg your pardon?”
“They slaughtered them all.”
I had raised those dragons from birth. They were like my children. And they had eaten many children. *What had changed?* “How could that be?”
“We must have stumbled upon a village full of mages. The sheer output of firebolts and ice blasts... I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”
I grumbled. “No matter. The dragons may have been my primary fighting force, but I have plenty more where that came from. Release the demon hounds!”
Remus bit his lip. “Dead too.”
“Dead? They are *already dead.* That is *the point*. Explain yourself!”
“Some of their mages appear to specialize in necromancy and banished our pups back to the Underworld.”
I placed my fists on the strategy table, looking away from Remus to hide my tears. “Those dogs were rescues. I’ll never forgive these sorcerers.”
“I’m afraid your poor luck doesn’t end there. There was one more type of magical specialist.”
I sighed. My heart could not take any more bad news. “Well, get on with it. What now?”
Remus gripped his neck skin and pulled off his face to reveal a young girl, no older than fourteen. “We have disguisers as well.” The girl said, with a now age-appropriate voice. She smirked and shivved me. As my consciousness began to fade, I heard the beginning of her monologue: “Your wicked deeds are done, father. You failed to erase your past, no matter how hard you tried—”
---
(More stories at /r/James_Steele) | “His entire village? I find that awfully hard to believe. I set the place on fire, you’re telling me not one person died in the fire?” The villainous Dark lord found himself bemused by the worried antics of his advisor, watching as the advisor continued to peek through the squared stone castle window, only to duck as a stray arrow brushed through his hair, nearly embedding itself in his skull.
The Advisor hugged the wall next to him, taking deep breaths. “It’s the entire village. We are going to die, my liege. I suggest we send the minions out and escape.” His voice shaky, using his hands to pull himself back up the wall, pinning his back to it.
“An entire village? Fine, let me look. If you are overreacting, I’m going to send you out grave robbing as punishment.” The Dark lord approached the window, poking his head through the wide gap, staring down at the group of at least fifty adventurers.
Usually, a large group like this wouldn’t be an issue. The Dark lord had a history of carving his way through armies. Yet, this group was different. Each villager had levelled themselves up, far beyond the rank of any normal soldier. In their own rights, each angry villager was a hero, or at least comparable in strength to a hero.
“Impossible. Doesn’t an adventuring party usually only have about four losers? There has to be some rule against this.” The Dark lord uttered, not as confident as he scanned the faces of the mob below.
Each villager had bulked up, looking as though they spent the last year eating only raw eggs and training. Even the elderly grandma that operated the bakery had arms comparable to a half giant. His gaze eventually landed on the hero, who matched the definition of the word. Proudly standing at the front of the pack, his hair glistened with sweat and his sword shining, as though it had never seen the heat of battle. “We are here to avenge our village.” He said, a cheer following his words as the villagers stirred, ready for their revenge.
“All of you? Surely someone amongst you is happy I destroyed that pitiful excuse of a village. It was an eyesore; you should thank me. The funny thing is, I could have left the village standing, I merely destroyed it because it blocked my view of the river as I passed through.” The Dark lord prepared his confident act, trying to unnerve the crowd below. Still, no matter what insults he threw at them, none lashed out. Some members only gritting their teeth and holding their swords a little tighter, reminding themselves that revenge would come soon.
“Don’t anger them. We are already in trouble. We can’t defeat them. I’m sorry, my lord. I swore I would never doubt your plans or strength, but we really should retreat. You need to train or find stronger minions.” The advisor left the safety of the wall, moving behind his lord, body shaking as he tried to nudge them towards a portal beside the throne.
“He’s right. Your words only fuel us further. We have waited for this moment. You destroyed our village and left us all stranded without food or shelter. We had nowhere to go and refused to take refuge on some kingdom’s streets. My village dedicated their lives to stopping you and will win this day.” Again, the crowd cheered, weapons slamming into the castle gates.
“The gates won’t hold much longer. Lets leave the minions behind and get out of here.” The advisor was already making his way to the portal, only to get stopped by a hand hitting his shoulder.
“You’re my minion too. Stay and fight.” The advisor tried to protest the order, only to get tossed onto the ground, hearing the lower gates burst open. The Dark lord left the advisor on the floor, forcing them to watch as he stepped through the glowing red portal, shutting it behind himself. Leaving the advisor to die with the other minions.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-07-19T09:20:21 | 2021-07-19T07:52:10 | 168 | 124 |
[WP] "Sire, the hero's party is outside. It's large, too." "Fools. Not even six or seven can stand against me!" "No, sire, you misunderstand. The hero's party consists of his entire village." "Wait, what?" "They weren't happy that you razed their village. And they've all been leveling up." | Sire: Oh, for Devil's sake.. It was just one damn village! I have razed **thousands** of villages and not ONCE in ALL of my 100000 levels did the people dare to come forward to my domain! The worst I've had happen was a milk maiden writing me an angry letter on cow skin!
Servant: Yes, Sire. I remember reading that to you some years back. She was the one who was angry that.. you didn't abduct her?
Sire: Exactly!! My worst complaint: I wasn't bad enough. I mean, sure, I am filthy rich and super strong with dashing good looks.. but come on. A milk maiden? What would she want from me? She knows that her kind and mine are never meant to work, right?
Servant: Yes, Sire. You're lactose intolerant. It could never work.
Sire: I have seen her around my garden once, you know. She escaped with a cow before I could say something. Now, who knows where she could be? I have to deal with that.. and now.. this? I'm never safe in my castle!
***A cooked chicken leg splats the window inches off from their heads. Frustrated, Sire finally steps to the colourful window pane and opens it wide.***
Sire: Hey!! That was original Italian glass! Who threw that?!
Hero: You there! DEMON! Come out this instant and fight me like a man!
Sire: Them, you mean..
Hero: Oh. Wow, I- I am so sorry. That was very unknightly, I apologize. I didn't know that was your pron-
Sire: No, it's.. ugh. Do you not see how many people you have going on with you? I am not coming out. And JUST to prove my point..
Hero: YOUR WICKED WORDS SHANT ENCHANT MINE MIND, DEMON. YOU SHALL PAY FOR THE MISERY YOU HAVE CAUSED UPON THE LAND AND I-
Sire: Att-tatat. Wait first, Daddy's monologuing. Anyway, my point is that you don't really understand me. You're all hero this and that with your big sword and stuff like "oooo lookit mee im going on a fun quest and levels". And what do I do..? I read, and I raze; otherwise I get very goddamn BORRREEEDD. Notice how every evil dude has a massive library in their castle. It's because we're bored. Very, very bored. I have read EVERY.. SINGLE.. BOOK.. IN THERE....... TWICE!!!
Hero: ...
Sire: Oh, and you might say: "but hes saying hes bored so why doesnt he fight us, fighting's fun ehehlbblefpffrt". Yeah, wow, such a philosopher, you got me.. except NOT. Look, I listen to rap ever since I've been told it's the devil's music but now I really enjoy it and think the people who said it are wack. Well, I've heard one important advice there, from Biggie Smalls: "Never sell no crack where you rest at".. you know? I do a lot of damage and destruction. And if I fight YOU, then that also applies to the environment. So, I don't wanna raze my own castle grounds! Even if I win, do you know how long it's gonna take me to clean that stuff up?!
Hero: ...
Sire: Oh, and the reason I mentioned that I'm kind of a bookworm is because I've read The Art of War, and all I can tell you is that I am nooooot coming anywhere near that pitchfork emporium. Hellll nooo. I am currently in my retreat mode inside my comfortable castle and I plan to have me a nice cup of cocoa when this is over.
Hero: ...
Sire: ...
Hero: ...
Sire: ...okay yeah I'm done.
Hero: AS I WAS SAYING, YOU DEMON WILL NOT SEE TOMORROW. PREPARE TO FACE THE MIGHT OF THE VILLAGERS. EVERYONE; CHARGE.
Sire: Ah, dammit! Raise the bridge!
***The bridge slowly rises up from the surrounding river. The few villagers that couldn't go back quickly enough fall into the deadly water and drop all of their items on impact.***
Hero: COWARD! YOU WILL PAY FOR THAT!
Sire: Did you not hear me? I don't want to fight. Go away! Shoo!
Hero: BARD! COME HERE!
Sire: Pft- a.. ppft-- a bard? Yeah, aaaaa nooo.. he is level 100. Whatever shall I dooo? Do you really think a mere BARD can do anything..?
Metro Barding: ayy ayy ee oo wahh gangan skrrt plapla no cap ugh no cap ahhh ahh cows cows cows cows cows cows owouwuw sksksksk oh no no no no no no ekeke spprps village gang village gang village gang village gang village gang village gang village gang village gang village gang wantsomemoreeea skdajfsdjjsdfksdfsdkfsdjf
Sire: OH MY GOD, IS THAT MUMBLERAP, YOU ARE CRUEL. Please stop this! Please!! Okay, fine.. FINE. You know what, I'll cut you a deal. You have leveled up a lot, so... why don't I.. talk to the man upstairs for you and you can get a New Game+, eh? Do you know what that is?
Hero: Yeah, we could do something like that.. Do we-
Sire: Get new gear? Yes, new gear, XP, you get the sword of the dragon's tooth whatever. Anyway, yeah, I think that's good. So, here you go and have a.. nice trip, please.
***A new game + stone appears in the middle of the angry mob. After touching it, they all disappear in golden ethereal light.***
Sire: Sigh.. finally, that's over with. Now I can finally come back t-
***A woman, dressed in fine silk is seen standing next to the throne, her gaze fixed upon Sire. In her one hand, she holds a full cooked chicken, with a single leg missing, and in the other... a giant jug of milk. However, what seems to be the most menacing is by far above her head, written next to the word "Level". Three infinity symbols, forming a flower shape.***
***The Servant spits out rags from his mouth and looks towards Sire, tears in his eyes..***
Servant: Sire.. I'm.. I'm so sorry. I tried to warn you. I wasn't strong enough.
Sire: It's.. you. | Daesirith, seventh lord of the void grumbled "Can you tell me what the party consists of?"
​
"We have our knight in shining armor Pyadzu, last Priest and Knight of Azgoroth, A Human Blood Dancer acting as the leaders second in command, two Xorvlogoth that were previously blacksmiths that have now taken on the Bulwark class, roughly six or seven elves all in different disciplines of the Ranger class, three Xorvlogoth War Screamers, Two Orkish beserkers, at least three dwarven artificers, and a Baliskinn gunslinger."
​
Daesirith hung his head.
"Should I begin evacuating?"
*"No, no."* Daesirith waved his hand *"We meet them here."*
"Understood sir, defenses?"
*"We need pyronic mages to deal with the bulwarks, if we can get enough of those the War Screamers defensive magics won't be able to deflect everything, we need ranged fighters equipped with poison weapons to deal with the blood dancer, Spelltheives to counter the... you know what. Forget it. I'm tired of all this endless scheming and running and dodging back and forth, its time I end this. Keep the rest of his party occupied once they get in here, kill them yourself if you will. But leave the Knight to me."*
"It will be done."
¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°›
As the party breached the gates, the Blood dancer cut his own flesh, empowered tenfold by the injury inflicted upon himself he roared and led the charge into the veritable army standing in the courtyard of Daeseriths castle, Daesirith himself stood at the back.
​
*"The Knight. Is mine."*
¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°›
​
Pyadzu stood in the open courtyard, his hammer clutched tightly in his right hand, his shield braced in his right.
*"Ahhh, Last Knight of Azgoroth. Finally we meet, I have done many terrible things to you have I not? Burned the last city of the Xorvlogoth to the ground, razed countless towns, and this is what you bring to me. Fitting, but now. I shall kill you. And you and your unknown god will die pitifully, by my hand."*
“Azgoroth… holder of the strings of time…”
*“Do you really think your prayers are heard? Last knight of Azgoroth? DO YOU TRULY BELIVE THIS UNKOWN GOD CARES?”*
“Though mine enemies encamp against me, in thousand upon thousand fold.”
*“DO YOU TRULY KNOW IF HE EVEN EXISTS?”*
Pyadzu, now half sobbing continued his prayers. Behind him, the broken and bloodied, the barely breathing bodies of his companions laid. amongst the slain and decimated corspes of their enemies, the Blood Dancer, Ichir, son of Nos. Still barely stood, his breathing labored, arrows protruding from his unarmored chest and shoulders. Standing amongst a pile of bodies, many chopped clean in half.
“Though I walk the path of sorrow, though those around me crumble to ash and to dust.”
Daesirith before him began a howling laugh
*“FOOLISH ACOLYTE, YOUR GOD WILL NOT SAVE YOU NOW.”*
“Though I myself be cut and wounded by the words and blades of mine enemies, thy shall protect me.”
Pyadzu looked up
“By the might of Azgoroth, Elder god of time, Lorekeeper of the universe, Everlasting planner, and Father of sorrows, I reverse all ailments laid upon me.”
*“This should be interesting.”*
Pyadzu’s once weak stance strengthened as his cuts mended, the cracks in his carapace healed, and blood stopped dripping from beneath his eyes.
“Dethnaar Ke’sha.”
His hammer began glowing with a fiery fury.
“Ahl in Azgorothium nadaar uicibus percuties eam.”
*“This should be very interesting.”*
Pyadzu raised his hammer and began chanting.
“Xorvlogothum, Azgoroth.”
Daesirith narrowed its eyes and began casting a counter spell.
*“Of tract until thy bane.”*
“Heed me though I bar my heart”
*“Of useless sorrow, the path of the foolish thy walk.”*
“Keep us near as we depart, into war and from afar.”
*“Of endless pain, the fate I weave and bequeath unto you, oh foolish follower of old gods…”*
“Master of the flow of time…”
*“Till death haunts you, and unto eternity shall your wretched soul wander…”*
“Keep us dear, as I kept mine…”
*“Until thy soul shall perish in the endless hunger of the void…”*
“Through all trial, through all pain.”
*“I damn thee, oh insufferable follower of Azgoroth.”*
“HEED ME AS I CALL THY NAME.”
Dark clouds roiled in the sky, Pyadzu held his weapon high, around it, golden strings seemed to flicker in and out of existence,
“Empower me to be the bane of thy enemies. And make my thy spear, as I am the shield of your faithful.”
*“I damn thee…”* The Daemon muttered. Pyadzu, now fully recovered, his weapons and armor blessed by the god of time himself, stepped forwards.
*“Foolish.”* Grunted Daesirith, his counter spell now flickering in his hands,
*“Kaenon.*” Daesirith muttered as he pointed at Pyadzu, the spell jolted forwards.
“Aekria de Termina!” Yelled Pyadzu as he slammed his shield onto the ground, the spell exploded and washed over the invisible magic shield Pyadzu had activated. Pyadzu lifted his shield and charged forwards again, “Die foul Daemon!”
He charged forward, his entire weight thrown into the blitz in hopes of catching Daesirith off guard, Daesirith, in all his cunning, did not react fast enough and took the full brunt of the heavy tower shield. Pyadzu swept his shield outwards to make room for his next attack, his hammer, empowered by the strength of a god, came careening down towards Daesirith's chest, there was a sickening crunch as the hammer broke the otherworldly creatures ribs and collapsed them into its lungs and heart. Daesirith, too shocked to attack, simply staggered back and snarled. Pyadzu yelled once more and continued his ferocious attacks.
››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹
Pyadzu, covered in the Daemons blood, stood over the disfigured body of his foe, he looked into the sky and breathed a long sigh.
“At long last… I have avenged you.”
"You have. And we've avenged who we've lost as well."
Pyadzu limped as he turned to see his companions standing once again, "Thanks for the booster with that magic Paladin shit mate." Grinned Ichir "Was able to get some of my health back."
"This is good."
"It is."
"We still have work to do." Spoke one of the Rangers.
"Yes." Agreed Pyadzu, turning to look at the open doors of the Castle. "We do. | 2021-07-19T11:45:07 | 2021-07-19T10:31:59 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do? | "I can kill."
The witch froze for a moment, the look of disgust barely being held back as she nodded.
"This... power. Might I ask of your first experience with magic?"
The sickly child nodded his head. His gaze never leaving the ground.
"It was- it was with my friend. N-not really a friend, but we talk a lot when I visit the hospital. They said that he didn't have long and... I thought I was helping."
The witch's face couldn't help but distort. To cast such a spell on someone's deathbed. Still, something didn't add up to her. To cast spells relating to death one must hold a great deal of experience with death. Yet this child was just that, a child. How could one so few of years experience death? Perhaps the spell he cast was something else and he mistook it for a death spell.
"Tell me, what we're you thinking when you first cast that spell? What did you feel as you felt Gia's gift?"
​
The boy was silent for a moment. The gentle creaking of wood echoing out though the empty house.
"I just wanted to help him."
"I know."
"It- No that was what I thought. Holding his hand I just.... I didn't-"
The witch could see his hands clench up around his seat, his eyes starting to water.
"Tell me."
"I didn't want to loose someone else. I felt Gia's warm embrace and I- I though she gave me something to help! I just wanted him to feel loved, to have a moment of peace! How was I suppose to know what was going to happen?! HOW WAS I SUPPOSE TO KNOW!?"
​
This was the first time the witch saw his eyes. Full of anger, guilt, regret. She slapped him across the face.
"We all know our first spell."
She said in a calm, but fierce tone. The boy coward in his seat, she continued.
"From the moment we are gifted our magic our first spell is etched into our very soul. Magic born from the injustice in our life, a blessing to those who have nothing left to live for."
Rising out of her seat the witch stared down the trembling child.
"So tell me boy, how did you not know what your spell would do?"
The boy, failing to hold back his tears, answered in a trembling voice.
"It was Relief. I only cast Relief."
The witch gave pause. Looking at the sobbing child she sat back down.
"I'm- I'm sorry. We'll get you ready for your entry to the school."
Reaching out a hand the boy flinched. Hesitating, the witch withdrew her hand and waved for the boy to leave.
Once alone the witch looked at her hand. The sound of the boy's weeping still echoing in her ear.
"I really am no better then you, am I mom?"
Packing up her things she couldn't help but think. Why give such a gift to the broken? Closing her suitcase she left the building and walked out of the slums. The sounds of weeping and the cracking of whips echoing out behind her as she walked faster and faster. More low born parents wishing to make their child into a mage. A mage, much like her. | [P1]
It’s been a rough day. Once again, I was not heard when I spoke up months ago. Just as it always goes. I try my best to tell people what I see. But they never listen to me. Now I am packing up my desk because of layoffs. Layoffs that would have been prevented if people had more faith in what I predicted. I should know by now I can’t control these things. My eyes start to water as I begin to think about Lucy. The last day, I admit I was too protective and I should have given her space yet the panic that set in when she said she was leaving me… I begged her to stay. It was not a selfish request. I had the worst fear about her on that day however I knew not what caused me this angst. All I could communicate was a measly “please don’t go” as she closed the front door. That night, I got a call from the police. She had been in a wreck. I was her emergency contact; she died on impact.
Now, looking at my empty boxes and full drawers after getting laid off… It’s crippling. I don’t know what to do. Go home? Apply again? Repeat? There’s no way I can do this till I die. I need Lucy. I need something.
After packing it all up and getting it all into my car, I go home. It’s a 45 minute commute of tears. When I finally reach my house, it’s as if every ounce of energy is gone from my body. The black is creeping in from my peripheral vision. Something isn’t right. I hear a loud ringing just as my vision completely blacks out.
I wake up atop a cobble path. I see two white high heels in front of me. My heart sinks as I must have thought she was Lucy. Immediately after standing up, I am corrected. In a raspy high pitched voice that does not match her frail body she says, “Hmm… would you like some coffee? We have a nice place just around the lot.”
I reluctantly agreed as I had no clue where I even was. After walking for what honestly felt like seconds, we were there. I looked back to see where I came from and nothing was familiar to me.
“Are you okay dear” she asks, puzzled by my frantic behavior. “Yes, I’m fine. Just lost?” I reply.
“Oh sweety, you are not lost. You have just been found. Tell me…” She pauses for only what I can imagine is suspense. “What do you want to drink?” She lets out holding back a cackle.
That’s when it hits me. I can’t even read the menu. Not in a “Oh I’m too far from home” type of way but in a “Oh shit, this isn’t earth.” Type of way. I immediately begin to panic, tears begin to fill my eyes. As, I’m about to break, wind hits me. Not just any wind though, it passes through what felt like every atom in my being. And just as it started, it had stopped. And I was calm. More so than I’ve ever been. Just as I regain my composure I see her slip something into her pocket.
She communicates with the person making the drinks and I follow her to the table once she had them in hand.
“So what is this” I ask.
“This is Montigora. You wake up here when you have been chosen.” She says as she looks up and into my soul.
“Chosen? Chosen for what? There’s got to be a mistake. I don’t get chosen. That’s not me.”
“Chosen to protect. We here at Montigora are what you would classify as wizards or magicians. They are not born; they're made or rather selected. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. However, it is their heart that allows them to be chosen. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma and their power is linked to their emotions. So tell me child, what can YOU do?”
I looked at this old woman asking me questions. With confusion flooding my brain I manage to spill out “I don’t know. Who are you and why am I chosen?”
I can feel my broad shoulders turning inward as anxiety fills my soul while I wait for a response. The old woman’s face begins to wrinkle at the concept of not knowing my power.
“What is your worst fear?” She asks after thinking for a while.
“My worst fear has came to be. The love of my life died because I couldn’t express what I was feeling right. I knew she was in danger that day. I knew not the extent. And now her blood feels imbedded into my hands.”
The old woman smiles at me and says two words; “Older pain.”
As the words escape her lips I am hit with my early life, the scene of me crying in the backseat of a car. My mother was trying to console me. When she turned around I cried harder as this feeling inside me was raging like a wildfire. Then there was a lot of glass. Blood…
“The car wreck.” I murmur.
“Yes!” She says with excitement grinning ear to ear. “The car wreck!” she laughs. “Now that you are older, do you see?”
“See what?” I ask almost insulted.
“You have a good heart. The emotions you feel in these moments are not real emotions. They an entire novel you can read with training. They are telling you exactly what is going to happen next. When you don’t listen and it’s imperative, they scream” | 2022-04-26T14:45:26 | 2022-04-26T10:55:23 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] A master thief sends a letter to the castle. "I am coming to take your most valued treasure. Stop me if you can." On the promised date the castle guards it's most valuable pieces in a vault and the thief never shows. A short time later it is discovered that what was stolen was not in the vault. | "At last! I have the king at my feet. He will do anything to retrieve what I've taken" the thief crowed and watched the town scramble.
"Boring" a voice behind him said in a calm, even tone. "I mean what are you even going to ask for?"
"Anything I want. And the king will give it to me, all so I return his precious daughter." The thief growled as the freshly kidnapped princess made a wide yawning expression. "Will you stop that? You're my prisoner"
"Blah blah blah. Whatever you say" the princess pulled a small cushion from a dust old couch and placed it on an end table. She gathered her dress and sat daintily on it. "It's not going to work anyway."
"What?"
"Your master plan. It's going to fail." The princess grinned and examined a nearby case of books. "It already has. I'm just waiting to be rescued.''
"Rescued?" The thief laughed. "This fortress is on an island, surrounded by shark infested waters and I control the only drawbridge. The only way in or out is on my say-so"
The princess laughed again. "On top of that, I've seen the inside. I can tell the guards everything here and all the traps and tricks. I'm kind of the scout. And I'll lead entire armies back to destroy this place."
"For the last time, you're not getting Rescued!" The thief shouted. "The army can't get through."
The army can't, but Earl can." The princess opened the book she had been looking at and began to read.
"Earl? Who is Earl?" The thief looked out the window to see a large, terrifying creature flying directly toward the hideout.
"My dragon. He always knows where I am, and he always picks me back up." The princess looked at the thief in amusement. "You didn't really think you were the first to try kidnapping me, did you?" | The Queen was imposing, even in her chamber robes and with the gem-studded little crown resting on her head. They had been embroidered by a near-blind seamstress with relentless, tiny-fingered hands who had served Her Majesty exclusively for the last 15 years. Even the dark wrinkles of fatigue around the eyes were majestic, opulent, unattainable. To get to that level of exhaustion she had had to fight herself and her court: it had been almost a month since she had rested more than a couple of fragmented hours a night.
It had all started with that nefarious missive; "I am coming to take your most valued treasure." At first the Queen had laughed, scornfully, and had thrown the letter in the fireplace. To no avail, the words were now permanently seared into her memory, and they continued to torment her day and night.
She had begun by requesting daily meetings with the tesoeriere, who dejectedly indulged her as she scrolled through the list of her possessions on the ledgers with one finger. For there were so many, many more than her father had left her. She was the queen who had shaped the history of that miserable, pathetic kingdom of peasants and grabbers.
No one would take away her success, her pride. Her system of redistributing tax revenues and low-interest loans had made fields left to rot (literally) flourish again. Grapes now grew lushly where before the peasants could barely afford to plant grains.
The corrupt in the administration had been struck down with a firm and relentless hand, without distinction. Yes, she recalled as she tormented a ring topped with an exceptional ruby on her finger. No exceptions. By now she hardly felt the painful void left by the departure of her brother, first, and her nephew, later.
She missed, of course, the sweet sound of her nephew's laughter when he hid behind the curtains of the tea room, when he came out holding out his plump little hands to her.
Her nephew had been the closest thing to a child she had ever had. She could never have married, for that matter, and relinquished leadership to a man with half her talents. Her nephew had filled the halls with excited shrieking and running, and the Queen allowed herself to stare at the door to her room with wistful transport for a single moment of regret.
Perhaps she should not have been so harsh.
But that's not the point, she tells herself, clenching her fists and finally ringing the doorbell to call her maids.
No thief will be able to take away what I have built, she tells herself for the thousandth time. She rings the bell again, impatiently. She would like to get up and go personally to groom those lazy braggarts, but even today she knows she will not be able to get up from the big chair without help.
The silence of the huge empty room is excruciating.
The Queen rests on the backrest, closes her eyes. *I am old*, she whispers to herself. *Old and lonely*.
Finally one of her maids appears in the doorway, with a polite bow.
"Your majesty?"
"Did the thief strike?"
"What thief, Your Grace?"
"The one from the letter, silly girl!" the woman's gaze is blank and expressionless.
The Queen turns her away with a furious gesture. *Yet she read me the very letter*! And yet ... and yet ...
Weariness clouds her mind. Then, resolute as she has not been in months, she rings the bell again.
"Your majesty?"
"Call the chamberlain. I have an important announcement." the woman bows and makes her way out. "Ah! And send for my nephew. Wherever he is."
"Your... nephew? May I ask why?"
"To whom else should I give my most precious treasure, you silly girl?"
And with a gesture full of affection she slipped the crown off her head, and smiled. | 2022-09-08T07:19:08 | 2022-09-08T04:45:57 | 30 | 11 |
[WP] Write a story where the first and last line are the same, but carry two very different meanings. | "Sometimes I really feel humanity is a curse" bleeped Atvor, shining radiant in the midnight void.
"I fear you're right. They keep evolving. Every few millennia they appear. Unrelated planets, Unrelated stars. There's no explanation for it. Each time we give them the benefit of the doubt and every time their chaotic ways lead to sorrow, war and death." replied Barvot. Like his companion he too shone in the night, his gaseous body looking angelic against the blackness behind him.
"There are too few of us left to give them the benefit this time. We're still recovering from the last humanity infestation. If we let this "Earth" go galactic we may not survive."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Only that we fix this problem before it becomes a problem. Rather than letting millions of us die out of some naive morality."
That conversation led to the deaths of Atvor, Barvot and their entire sublime race. Though neither knew the dark horror they had set it motion when they authorised a preemptive strike against this nascent earth civilisation.
The weight of what they ordered rocked sublime civilisation. Many could not accept the moral decay of allowing a preemptive genocide; and yet many, jaded by the circle of war and death would not accept anything less.
The resulting civil war tore the society that had endured for eons asunder, and in that chaos humanity forged a life line. It spread out amongst the stars and put those sublime that remained to the sword. Whether they had been for the genocide or not mattered little in the end, progressive or reactionary died the same way: their gaseous corpses littering the voids between worlds and diffusing until naught was left.
In time the sublime were just a memory in humanities history. An ancient evil that had to be overthrown so man could live.
That was until Commander Jackson and his crew found a new race of sublime. Primitive and naive and only just looking to look out of their homestar's corona to the void beyond.
"We have to wipe them out now." demanded Jackson "Lord knows we all remember what they tried to do to us"
The shock that disrupted around the bridge paused his hand, and finally his first officer reproached him "We cannot do that, surely we are better than those monsters of the past. What are we without our humanity?"
Commander Jackson felt conflicted, but in the end he knew his officer was right. Halting his order he could not help but feel the dread of his decision, was he dooming future generations to the horror of war unimaginable? Had he damned the galaxy once again? He couldn't help but sigh as he finally replied:
"Sometimes I really feel humanity is a curse" | What does it mean to be a hero or a villain?
I ponder this thought as I reach Dredge's home. I'm investigating some strange symbols Poppy, Dredge's younger sister, saw in her room. Dredge is *not* himself, willing to let his family die, with no thought or emotion whatsoever. I'm the one trying to control the realm, yet I wonder if I really am evil. After all, I spared the life of Dredge's family after he tossed them aside, didn't I? I enter the house. There's quite a bit of dust gathered, but it's also clear it was recently occupied. I look around the house, but there's an eerie feeling in the air... something is out of place...
I see a red glow coming from a room. Hesitantly, I open the door slightly. I see Dredge sitting there, in the centre, red symbols moving and glowing. It seems, when the symbols come together, they can form words. There's something on the wall right now: 'I'm one step closer to being freed... my minion. I was right to choose a beloved hero and fierce warrior such as yourself for the task.' Dredge nods. "Of course, master. All I need to do is pretend to *be* Dredge. This is a fine vessel. To think he so easily accepted me... why would such a noble man let evil take control?"
The symbols move around again. 'Everyone has evil in them. Everyone has good in them. Of course, I gave up my good side long ago. Whatever reason Dredge allowed himself to be taken over, he must not have been as kind and brave as he thought.' I think about that statement for a moment... I know Dredge wanted to do *anything* to kill me. My underlings killed with no remorse, no regret, because 'they're bad guys'. Does that then make him not quite as pure as I thought? Do I have *more* humanity for not killing his family after he told me to?
My thoughts are quickly interrupted. 'It looks like we have a visitor...' a strange force pulls me into the room, and Dredge - or whatever's inside him - turns to look at me. He grins. "So... you found out... currently, I am not Dredge, your nemesis; I am a demon, inside his body. I'm trying to bring my master back from his imprisonment made millennia ago. You can help, can you not?" I look at his hand, and notice the symbols whirling around on the walls.
Everyone has heard the stories; the Demon Lord, upon almost destroying the world, was banished by the Queen of Angels. He was sent into the deepest, darkest corner of the universe, contained inside an asteroid. Chained with holy light and locked with a divine bolt, he was to never return again.
Thinking about those stories makes my stomach queasy; I want to *rule* the planet, not *destroy* it! Surely the warrior knew what he was getting himself into... "I'd like to ask, what did you promise Dredge in return for his body?" The demon has a wicked grin. "That I wouldn't destroy his hometown..." *WHAT?* The whole world... for his *HOMETOWN?* Maybe the Demon Lord is right... Maybe Dredge is *not* the warrior I thought him to be... I proceed to stick my hand out, but just as our hands make contact, I cast a spell to it... soon, a black wisp begins to surround the demon, beginning to bind the body.
"I'LL NEVER HELP YOU TO RETURN! I'M A BAD GUY, BUT I'D NEVER LET DEVASTATION AND DESTRUCTION RULE! I'LL SAVE DREDGE AND STOP YOU! AND YOU BETTER BELIEVE DREDGE WILL BE IN BIG TROUBLE FOR DOING THIS!" I run as fast as I can, until I can gallop at full speed, back to my castle. As I do, the question I asked myself on the way to the house presents itself again.
What does it mean to be a hero or a villain?
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [Cursed Warrior.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x3fd15/cursed_warrior/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | 2022-09-16T15:04:15 | 2022-09-16T14:41:50 | 84 | 19 |
[WP] Adolf Hilter fakes his own death, survives the war, and gets a job verifying the authenticity of Nazi memorabilia at a pawn shop. | "No, no, no," the old man was saying. "This is not what I am telling you. What *I* am telling you, is that this," he waved around my grandfather's knife, "is a replica."
Sales shit. Fuckin' assholes. "Dude," I said. "I found this in my grandfather's crawlspace."
He looked at me like I was an idiot. "And because your grandfather - at some point - put this shitty replica in a crawlspace, that means it's authentic? Is this what you are telling me?" Dude got angry really quickly. "Look at this metal. Look at it. How many Jews do you think this could run through before it broke?"
"I don't - wait, what?"
He blinked. "I mean, that's what they did, right? The National Socialists."
"The who? Like, the Nazis?"
"Yes," he said, rolling his eyes. "The *Nazis*. Oooh, look. The big bad Nazis are coming for all my gold and artwork."
I didn't know what to say. "So... the knife?"
He slammed it down on the counter. "Fake. I'll give you five marks - hah!" He waved a hand around somewhat effeminately. "Five marks out of ten, of course, is what I meant when I said that thing that I said. Five marks out of ten for your story. Five *dollars*, of course. For the blasphemy before me."
I put it back in my bag. "No deal, dude. It's worth more than that. I'll take it somewhere else."
"You do that. Was there any other *treasures of historical significance* in your grandfather's attic?"
I pointed at him. "Don't give me that Doofenshmirtz bullshit, dude. No, there was nothing else in there. Just a bunch of weird arcane shit."
"What?" He said. "What? Like, the dark magic?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Just skull candelabras, and a book that -"
"Was made out of human skin? Held the secrets of the universe? Will restore the true rulers of Earth?"
"I can't tell," I said slowly, "if you're taking this seriously or not. I think it's the gestures. Has anyone ever told you that you gesture a lot when you talk?"
The old man lowered his arms self-consciously. "An old habit," he said. "I'd be happy to have a look at these arcane wonders, if you bring them by."
"Thanks, dude," I said. "I appreciate that. I took a bit of a dislike to you at first, but you know what? You're OK."
He seemed pleased. "Thank you. Let me write you an appointment card. What did you say your name was?"
"Levi," I said. "Levi Rabinowitz"
"Fucking hell," the old man muttered as he scribbled my details. "You try and do *one thing* and where does it get you?" | "3... 2... 1... and, we're rolling!"
"I came to the pawn shop today looking to sell off some of this WWII memorabilia. I found it in my grandfather's old storage unit, when I was emptying it out. He was pretty much Hitler's second-in-command, so I'm sure this stuff must be worth something. I'm probably looking to get about $40,000 for the whole box, but I just want to get rid of this stuff, honestly." I explained, both to the camera, and Rick. It was actually pretty exciting, being on Pawn Stars.
"So, what do you know about this stuff?" Rick asked me.
"I actually did a bit of research before I got here, and I know that this right here," I told Rick, "is an SS Officer's dagger, most likely owned by grandfather. I read that those can go upwards to about $15,000. alone."
"Yeah, those are definitely pretty sought after. It's interesting, too, because daggers like these are one of the rare cases where some amount of use actually adds to the value. Let's hear what else is in there before talking about pricing."
"There's his uniform in there as well, I'm not sure how much that's worth, and both volumes of Mein Kampf. I also found his journal, and I'm really not sure how much that's worth." I listed, and I was actually fairly puzzled about the journal. I couldn't find anything about how much money personal accounts were worth, but it would be interesting to see.
He picked up the dagger, examining it, and after a moment, spoke. "This is definitely in good condition, although it's slightly bent out of shape right here, and in a couple other places. Still, for seventy, eighty years time, this hasn't seen too much damage."
"Alright, that's good."
"The uniform's fairly common, you're not looking at too much there. About the books, Mein Kampf isn't uncommon at all, you're not going to get more than a hundred dollars for those. As for the journal... I don't really have a metric to run those by. I'm not sure how much it would fetch, and I'm not even sure how to verify it."
"I'm not too surprised about Mein Kampf, but that journal is one of a kind, that's got to fetch a pretty good price. A serious collector would pay good money for that."
"Tell you what, let me call up my guy for this kind of thing. He's got a real talent for identifying Nazi stuff in particular."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"How's it going, Rick?" the old man politely inquired.
"Pretty good, pretty good. I had a guy come in, asking about some of this old Nazi memorabilia. There was one item that really got me curious, an old journal, possibly from one of the highest ranking SS officers. It's right here, Rolf."
"Hm. Vell, let's see here, the age of the journal is definitely correct. Here's an excerpt, translated '*Another impassioned speech from our Fuhrer, today. My wife is wondering vhen I vill come home from Berlin, to give her a perfect Aryan son. However, I'm vorried that the Allies will never give up. I'm just glad that I'm not on the front lines anymore.*'"
"So what do you think, real or not?"
"I'm not sure, it's very vague, let's see another entry. '*29 April. Hitler took his best aside today, vhich included me. He vanted to discuss a contingency plan, in the event that a plot to kill him unfolded, like Mussolini, who he received vord died just the other day. He asked us for possible aliases, and the most popular suggestions were Johann Carpenter, Charles Chaplin, and'...*" Suddenly, the old man stopped reading. The color drained from his face. "No, this is fake! Completely fake!"
Rick, puzzled, asked "What makes you so sure, Abe? Mind if I-"
"**GET YOUR GRUBBY HANDS OFF OF THIS, YOU FILTHY TRAITOR!**" he screamed, tearing the book away as Rick grabbed it. The book tore in half, and its pages fluttered about.
"What the hell is your problem? Hey, stop filming, cut this all out!" he told the cameraman. He caught the fluttering page, and although the page was in German, he was still able to read the last name. "'*Abraham Schmidt.*' Abe, that's your name." Rick stated, matter-of-factly. The old man, taking advantage of Rick's surprise and confusion, grabbed the SS dagger and sliced his face. He ran out the door, but collapsed on the sidewalk, probably due to being 126 years old.
Rick caught up to him, although he was bleeding profusely. "How the hell are you even alive?"
"Nazi science is a bitch, isn't it?" he asked. Rick took the dagger from Hitler's hand, and plunged it into his throat.
"You need to take a shower, old man. Just like you made all of those innocent Jewish people take, in your little camps."
| 2022-03-20T02:03:42 | 2015-12-26T17:08:13 | 1,230 | 68 |
[WP] You are an assassin. A little girl has just come up to you, handed you all her pocket money and asked you to kill her abusive relative. | I sagged against the apartment door. I looked around, eyes taking in every detail, searching if anything was out of place. The blinds were all closed, as usual, leaving the room in almost total darkness. Seeing that nothing had been touched, I let out a sigh, and winced at the pain in my side.
I walked towards the barren kitchen and stripped off my coat and shirt and shoulder holster, gritting my teeth. The bleeding had stopped, and my wound was just a sticky red mess, but the damned thing still hurt like a bastard.
I flicked on the light switch.
I set a kettle to boil and fetched a sewing kit from the bathroom. I poured the hot water into a bowl and sterilised the needle, before I started stitching myself up.
*Sloppy. Bathroom, should've checked the bathroom. Clear room by room before confirming the kill.*
I heard something tap at my window, and I froze. Someone had climbed the fire escape. Silently, I set the needle down and pulled the gun from my shoulder holster. A gunshot would be noticed, but if it was choosing between finding a new apartment and dying.... the choice was easy.
I approached the curtained window, and cautiously peaked out.
It was Emily, the young girl from downstairs. I let out a sigh of relief. She peered at me with those normally-wide eyes of hers. Eyes dark and swollen. Bruises marred her pretty face. She looked pretty beat up, on the verge of collapsing right there on the fire escape.
She came up here sometimes, but only just to get away while her parents fought. I let her stay, but never really talked to her. Sometimes I would let her in, when it was raining or cold out. Sometimes she even ate breakfast with me. I liked her, she was a quiet but fun girl, but I never let her get close. The reasons were obvious.
I felt a moment of hesitation, but I crushed that quickly. I could explain the wound away quickly. Mugging or some such. I tucked the gun into the waistband and then pulled open the window.
"Hey, come in." I said.
She smiled.
I had set sit down before me as I went into the kitchen to pull my shirt on. I cleaned her up and then asked, "What happened, Emily?"
"My father..." She paused, "Can you kill him?"
I froze, "What are you talking about?"
"I know what you do for a living. I saw the gun you're hiding. You kill people for a money."
"Now, just because I have a gun doesn't mean I kill people for money."
"I pieced it together, don't lie to me. You forgot your phone out once while I was here." I froze up.
*Stupid. I could get the gun out before she reacts.*
I felt horrified at the thought. Killing a child. That was too far, even for me.
"Well, perhaps I do kill people for a living. What's that matter to you?"
*I'll have to move, again. Damn it.*
"I want you to kill my father."
"You can't afford me." I said wryly, but I could see she was being serious, "Because he beat you?"
"Because he beats everyone in my family. I couldn't give a shit about whether or not he dies. And I can afford you. How much do you charge?"
"Ten grand a head." I looked at her, at the pleading in her eyes, at the bruises on her face, and sighed, "But, for you, I'll do it for free." | Part I
It was freezing cold, sitting in the blind as he was, nearly freezing his balls off, but the moment was at hand. He had adjusted his sights long ago, planning the spot where it would take place. And now, this was the time, and this was the place. His training wasn’t even a thought; he took a quick breath, and let it out slowly, before he pulled the trigger.
*** *** ***
It hadn’t started out like this, this action, this scenario, this plan.
To be completely honest, it had started out so much worse.
He’d graduated high school, and felt the calling to serve his country. And he’d found that he was good at a particular set of skills, that the government had helped to hone. He’d put those skills to use many times in the supposed service of his country, reaching out from two hundred, four hundred, sometimes eighteen hundred meters away, and snuffing out the life of a lieutenant or general of some tyrannical group or faction. But he’d come to discover that he’d come to like it just a little bit too much, that killing, that sense of taking a life in righteous justice, and he knew that while he wasn’t a killer in the sense that he enjoyed killing for the sake of killing, it wouldn’t take too much to cross the line, to start being able to justify killing for the sake of killing by telling himself how righteous his actions were. Nearly twenty years, most of it in the doing, the last half dozen or so in the instructing, and he decided that it was time to retire.
And he’d thought he’d manage to leave that part of him behind, as he rejoined civilization, and met someone; they married, and lived for quite some number of years happily together before a drunk driver and a very slick road of ice had taken her from him, leaving him approaching the end of his middle ages with little left of the world for him beyond the day-to-day.
A little ray of sunshine had seemingly come into his world not too long after that, when a little girl toddled across the neighbor’s yard one day, and came up onto his porch. He’d inquired about mommy, and discovered that mommy was asleep. He’d entertained the young girl for about thirty minutes before mommy had come rushing out of the house, frantic for her child. He’d returned the little girl, but that was only the first time that she’d come to visit him.
The months passed, and the little girl had become something like a good friend, always coming by at least once a week to chatter with him, and he came to dote on her like the grandchild he’d never had. More time passed, and she reported that mommy had a new boyfriend, and then later, that she had a new daddy. Her daddy seemed like a distant sort, but the little girl didn’t seem too terribly affected by the addition to her family, and besides, it wasn’t his business, not really.
But he paid attention. Instincts—for lack of a better word—that he’d developed—or perhaps the justifications he’d come to take to heart—regarding who wasn’t quite right, and who ‘needed killin’ seem to stand up the hairs on the back of his neck. But there was no real reason for it, not that he could prove, and so he simply paid attention.
As the little girl grew, her family dynamic changed yet again, as another young man—well, younger than himself, and perhaps only a couple of years younger than her “new” daddy—came into the picture. He seemed to be the doting sort, and was often found in the company of the little girl, absent the times she came to visit with him. That one set off a slightly higher alert within him, but still he had nothing concrete to go upon, and so he still watched.
Through it all, he told the little girl stories, fanciful stories at first, and then as she grew a bit older, he told her stories about what he used to do for the government, for the military. He kept his stories appropriate for her age, but he didn’t otherwise sugar-coat his memories all that much, and she seemed amazed at his service for making the world save from the monsters who would prey upon those not strong enough to fight them themselves.
And then came the day that forever changed the both of them.
She had come to him that day, talking obliquely—or as obliquely as a seven year old could—about her “Unca Rick”. She’d mentioned a few times here and there that she didn’t really like Unca Rick, and she’d told of his insistence that she be always clean and bathed, and that she eat her vegetables and listen to all adults, and how he liked to take pictures of her and so she couldn’t mess up her clothes playing around outside like she wanted to. On this occasion, she simply expressed that she didn’t like him anymore, and wished that he would leave. Then she’d asked him to tell her a story—which he obliged her on. And at the end of the story was when the world had grown so cold.
She’d asked him—perhaps in clarification—if the government had paid him to take care of monsters, and he’d agreed with her query. And then she’d asked him, if she were to give him all of her money, all of the money in her piggy bank, if he would take care of her monster for her. Her ‘Unca Rick’.
She confided in him what ‘Unca Rick’ was doing, when her mommy was asleep from her medicine and her daddy was sitting in front of the TV drinking a few beers. She mentioned that she’d told her daddy, but he didn’t believe her, and when she told her mommy, her daddy had told her that the little girl was telling tales, and to stop pestering them about the matter. | 2017-04-04T04:42:54 | 2017-04-03T23:30:46 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | "Let me get this straight. You brought me here, a 'demon' in order to mate with me because you want some form of demon hybrid as your child?"
What a day. First, I get off work and drive home with nothing in mind other than to watch some Stargate SG-1 and go to bed. Alone. Now, I am standing in the bedroom of what looks like a female dwarf of the Narnian variety. She isn't bad looking if you discount the large nose, uggo face, and weird hair. Ok. She's kinda hideous.
But hey, I haven't had sex in a few weeks and my prospects weren't looking great for anything in my world. Who cares if she thinks I am a demon?
"Ok, I'm in," I say quite jovially. "Just out of curiosity; why do you want a demon-hybrid child?"
"Well," she began. "Being a dwarf tends to come with issues. It's really difficult to reach items on upper shelves without a ladder and it's annoying," she said with a huff.
I stared at her for a minute and then shrugging, I took off my pants.
"Just like my last girlfriend," I muttered. | It felt like I had tripped up some stairs. For a second I thought I had, and immediately froze. The plate in my hand still held the Reuben, but the surface beneath.....
My head snapped up, and I noticed the darkness first. Second were the candles, placed carefully around me in hexagons expanding away from me. Low-level bands of light etched out the writing between the tiers, though none of it looked like a language I could place. The floor, instead of the carpeted stairs I had been climbing, was an old wood, stained with neglect, and riddled with gaps and protruding nails. One was digging into my hand, and as I lifted it I realized the nail was rough, as if hand-forged.
My analysis of the floor was disrupted by a heavy thud, just beyond the candles.
"Stay where you are, demon!"
"What?" I rose, still holding the plate.
A figure was just visible in the room, which I now saw was small, and claustrophobic. A low work-bench dominated a wall, scattered with shapes that I could only just spot in the candle-light. A window was open, but I couldn't feel a breeze. The figure, which seemed to be rather.... short, was doing its best at a power pose, and failing.
"I said stay where you are!"
"Nah, I got that. What's with the demon? Is that some kind of racist term I'm not aware of?"
"What?"
"What?"
The figure shook its head. "Look, you are a demon, you have to be! I summoned you, with a demon summoning, so you have to be a demon! That's how this works!"
I tried to step forward, collided against something. Something hard. "The fuck!?"
"Ahah, see! That barrier holds in demons! And you're a demon!"
"Oh yeah? Have you tried to pass through this?" Hard as rock, my finger tips told me.
"I don't have to prove it works. It won't, because I'm not a demon!" He even stamped his foot. Adorable.
I had had enough. I shifted my sandwich to my other hand, and hefted the plate. Middle school track, don't fail me now. The plate landed with a soft thud three feet to the left of the figure. Almost as if...
"How old even are you?" I asked, leaning against the barrier and taking a bite of my sandwich.
The figure flinched. "N- not you- hush, you demon!"
"Sooooooo, eight, then?" I glanced over at the figure. Definitely too immature to be an adult. I turned my back on him, and took another bite. "Is this your bedroom? Why do you even want a demon? What are demons supposed to do?"
"I- I said hush!"
"Uh huh. You getting bullied in school?"
"I SAID HUSH!"
My feet skidded across the floor as if I had been shoved. Before I could regain my slouch the walls slammed into me, pinning my sandwich to my thigh, my other arm across my chest. "Wha-"
"I have summoned you, demon, from your Earthly dimension, to aid me in a task!"
The walls were crushing me, and I gave a tiny whimper in response.
"You are to use your dark powers to kill the President, Tonald Drump!" | 2017-05-12T10:39:48 | 2017-05-12T08:05:41 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] As the universe is dying, an immortal man is on a journey to find an immortal snail. | (So, this isn't exactly the prompt, but I had written this when I first found the snail question and introduced it to a group of my friends and we argued about it for a long time. I felt compelled to author this, and have kept it all these years. Instead of you seeking the snail, the snail has continued to seek you, and has succeeded, and you greet each other like old friends...)
You're sitting in your chair, all alone. The last man in the world. Society has burned and crumbled under its own influence. Trees cut down, resources depleted, everything destroyed in the end.
All those meaningless lives. Why did they try so hard? This was all it was going to be this whole time. It started with you, a million dollars, and a snail... and this is what it's come to. You, sitting in a tattered old cottage in the middle of the country side, where the world has been seemingly untouched.
What do you do now? What happens next? You can't die. You've tried before. Ropes, knives, you even ate a bullet once. Nothing worked.
That's when it happened. There was a gentle, metallic knock at the door. You glanced over to the front wall, careful not to make any sudden noises as to frighten or disturb your visitor. Slowly you stood and walked over to the door. You opened it and stared.
It was him, the snail. He wore a exo-suit, fashioned by some other worldly technology. He looked young and unscathed, but in his eyes, you could see years of wisdom, frustration, and a sense of desire. You sort of smiled. Was this what you were waiting for? Was this the answer to your long, drawn out prayers?
"Hello, Phillip" you said to the snail.
"John..." he said this as he invited himself in, studying the aged apartment. "So this is what you've done with your time, John? Sit in a hut?"
You nod "Yeah, I'm not as complicated as I once was"
He sort of chuckled, and then he looked at your face. He could sense the deep desire for conversation. For relief. You had seen too much and too little at the same time. Wasted years and all of it led up to this moment.
"So, John-"
You cut him off.
"Yes, I will!" You said with a twinge of desperation in your voice.
He seemed confused. "You will? After all this time?"
You nodded eagerly, and the snail opened the glass to his cockpit. He crawled out, looked at you, and if he could grin, I suppose he would.
"It's been fun, old friend"
You smile, a tear welling up in your eye, and you gently reached out, and touched his flesh... | The ancient Varlans, one of the last human empires, mastered the technology of moving planets as interstellar crafts. There were only 30,000 Varlans left on the planet Bikor, orbiting a slowly expanding and dying star, the last human enclave in the universe, perched on the thin wisp of the arm of the galaxy called Himmmmto by the Gaheer, the final dominant species and ruler of what was left of existence. I had learned, through my travels, to not live apart from humanity for too long. They were in a real and literal sense my cousins and descendants. I took solace in their company.
Most of the Varlan Empire had been descended from the crew of the Transmit Mary, a ship that was meant to go deep into the Andromeda galaxy and in so doing avoided the nova that wiped out the NovaLacta Conglomerate. I was on that ship, the former president of the conglomerate and the future emperor of the Varlans. The journey took 20 millennia and I fathered many generations of humans. When we detected the nova, we knew we were not returning to the conglomerate, and so we forged forward to found a new human empire. That was countless millennia ago and I set my descendants on the task to master travel between stars and galaxies. The technology led to planet movement as the only practical method of moving large populations between stars. Currently, the planet Bikor was keeping pace with the expansion of the dying star to remain a good home for as long as possible for the last of humanity.
Here we were, on Bikor, watching the universe expand apart, hopelessly thinning and soon enough to be dark. There were other stars, sure, in this galaxy, but our time was drawing to a close. I had long ago moved beyond notions of ruling or organizing my fellow humans, but they still look to me for guidance. My experiences being immortal had gifted me with perspectives they wished to share and I could hardly refuse them. They tried many times to put upon me one title after another, and I refused all save one, that of counselor.
"Counselor! I had to run to find you. You did not heed my calls." Veerak was young and my head of staff. He would never dream of turning off his device. I only had one for the benefit of my children, but I turned it off during my walks.
"Veerak, you are out of breath. What troubles you?"
"Counselor, you told me once that there was another immortal."
"Ah yes, he and I have avoided each other for eons. When we were young, he chased me, bent on killing me, but that was an impossible time ago."
"He's here. In orbit. He has called down looking for you." I looked down at my device. Indeed, it said I had a transmission pending in wait mode.
I pressed Answer. A voice came across my device. I recognized it as the voice of a popular entertainer from a previous empire. The snail must've kept it for his own voice.
"Richard. I am Snipson. Please tell me you remember me."
"Yes, of course. It's been over ten thousand years since we've communicated. How have you fared?"
"Well, Richard. I am with my family colony. I told them about our circumstances. They are reluctant but acquiescent to my wishes. I wish to die. I wondered if you want to die, too. We both know this is a gift that only we can give each other. I am happy to wait as long as you want."
I told him to meet with me in a week. I spent the intervening time tidying up my affairs and saying goodbye to the last of humanity, my children, my fellows. I wish them all well and told him they were wise enough and did not require me as a counselor anymore. Many cried, having known me their entire lives. I hugged many people goodbye. I gave away all of my possessions, from my books to my robes and everything in between. For those who were away off planet, I wrote letters to give to them upon their return, personally explaining my situation, my extraordinary circumstances, and my regrets but not waiting to see them one more time, but wishing to fulfill a long overdue obligation. I told everyone that there was no retribution or animosity due or allowed towards Snipson's family or colony. They were to be treated as members of my own family. I bade everyone goodbye one last time and walked to the field where his ship had just landed. The door opened, and he started to make his way down the ramp. An hour later, I bent down and touched my finger to his eyestalk. A warmth suffused my body and I grew tired suddenly. I lay down on the ground. | 2017-07-07T08:00:33 | 2017-07-07T07:47:41 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Years ago, Aliens invaded earth to take its resources. But, there are two problems. The entire Earth has become a resistance group and the Aliens have no concept of Guerrilla Warfare. | I was only with control for about 2 years before the Earth expedition was announced. Our planet cluster was running low on supplies and resources, and with the last expedition turning out fruitless, it seemed inevitable that Earth was our next stop. I was enraptured with the idea that I could have a direct hand in helping our colony.
How could I have known....
How could any of us have known....
The plan was to show up, subjugate the race, collect the valuable resources, and leave. But these humans... these damned humans put up a better fight than any of our previous expeditions in history. Our first party, some of the most famous beings in our cluster for their combat abilities, wiped out in mere weeks. Our party didn't manage to even detect them before communication was picked off due to an ambush. The leader of our expedition berated our team for being the reason for the loss of the party, but I just don't understand it. The Earthlings have nowhere near the technology we brought here, yet it almost seemed like they knew what to do when we arrived. Not one person in our fleet has ever seen combat like this, and for the first time in all of our expeditions, there was a chance that we may not make it back with the resources we promised the home cluster.
It seemed that our leaders were becoming desperate to return, and this is what led to that tremendous flop of a final mission. We were told to send the bugs out to track a path to any large cluster of valuable resources within 500 miles of our location. Only one set of bugs made it back. One. From firing in every direction only one single direction did not mean imminent death. As a silver lining though, the bug picked up a vast land of resources with organized patterns that seemed completely uninhabited from the data we received. The search party went out, with the remaining military supplies we could muster, as this was our last shot to make the expedition successful. To our relief, and equal parts surprise and suspicion, not a single human was seen along the way. We began to pack up to leave as soon as the party arrived.
We were blinded by our measly success.
The humans didn't approach us not because we were successful in evading them, but because they gave us this silver lining so that we would lead them back to the ship. And that's exactly what we did.
Three days is all it took, and I'm writing this from the inside of the last room that hasn't been cleared by the humans. I can hear their cheers from outside the ship.
How could I have known...
How could any of us have known...
| Wind carried metallic scents of blood and industry, and smoke rose from a pile of rubble in the distance, a skyscraper torn down to create more room for their strange structures. The city looked abandoned, each building worn from years of neglect, abandoned as people had fled for their lives when the invasion began. But she knew where they were hiding. Waiting. Waiting for her signal.
Below, in the streets, there was movement. It wasn't often that the Blues gathered in such numbers, or even showed themselves at all. Generally, they were the ones behind the scenes, puppeteering their drones and machines to destroy and conquer. In fact, it had been six months since they took over the entirety of Earth before Jill even saw one. Expecting to see some foreign monstrosity she did not understand, she'd been surprised when they appeared to look unnervingly human. Two legs, two arms, slightly taller than the average Human, and covered in a strange, nearly translucent blue skin, glowing veins flowing just under the surface.
Since the invasion began, no one had killed a Blue. Sure, the United World Force, with the might of the entire world's military and weapons, had dealt blows to the machines and drones, but no bomb or bullet had ever succeeded in killing a Blue. They were too smart, too intelligent, always analyzing, always one step ahead. And now, they were beginning to get arrogant, parading in the streets as if they owned them. Jill took a moment to collect her thoughts, and closed her eyes in the calm before the storm. She recalled the last time she saw her older sister, who had first introduced her to the Resistance. It had been the day before she headed out with Strike Team, the unit dedicated to drone-assassination and disruption of operations. They had just received intel that Blues had shown themselves for the first time, walking around in the rubble of the Washington memorial monument, studying.
And Jill also recalled herself begging her sister not to go. Her words had been 'Don't go, they can't be killed!' and her sister had said 'That does not mean we should not fight.' She never returned.
Jill finger whistled, the sharp sound echoing loudly, bouncing against desolate skyscrapers. Immediately, people appeared from their hiding places, executing the tactic they had spent every day of the past month practising. First, the Sky Team emptied barrels of oil over the edge of skyscrapers and windows, a blanket of wet, black, oil cascading towards the streets. Immediately, projectiles of pure energy began crashing into buildings, aimed at movement. Rubble was thrown into the air, deadly rocks raining towards the ground. Secondly, Flank Team appeared from the alleys in the confusion, throwing molotovs and other makeshift firebombs at the oil-bathed robots and Blues. Two scavenged flamethrowers came to life, roaring an angry breath of orange towards the oil. Suddenly, the City came alive with light, a warm, almost cozy glow. The Blues seemed confused, paralyzed even, standing there attempting to comprehend the situation. The flames spread to them, enveloping their suits designed to survive Earth's climate.
The drones awaited advanced commands, and for the moment it seemed their only instruction was to shoot at movement. Jill, spearheading Fang Team, stormed out with automatic weapons, surrounding the blues and unleashing crossfire on them. Bullets seemed to bounce off them, as they stood there eerily quiet and still, analyzing.
The Blues came to one by one, and began moving, efficiently and quickly dispatching and destroying the Resistance forces. Scattered, someone yelled for retreat, and the forces began to withdraw. All but Jill and Fangteam.
"That one!" she called, unleashing a magazine of bullets upon a lone Blue who stood in the middle of the confusion, still not snapping out of his confused state. Slowly, the fire burned through his thin suit, exposing his flesh to the world. And that was when one, three, seven bullets pierced him. His body recoiled with each impact, and a transclucent green-like fluid began to pour out of the wounds. Shocked, he fell to the ground, and five or six of the buzzing drones suddenly died with him. The response was quick and brutal. Jill's team was blasted to smithereens, and she felt something pass through her body, burning with intensity. She fell to the ground, gasping for air, and in her final moments she watched a Blue stare into her eyes, with... *fear*. It was dying.
While the price had been high, she knew that it had been one worth paying. For so long, the Resistance had simply been fighting back out of human stubbornness. Now, the Resistance would be fighting with Hope, the most powerful human force there is. They could be killed, and more importantly, they did not yet understand unorthodox tactics.
| 2017-09-29T08:57:32 | 2017-09-29T07:46:09 | 262 | 88 |
[WP] After grazing your child's cut knee one afternoon, you discover you have the power to heal others simply by touching them. You use your new gift to rid a plethora of illnesses and wounds in your community. One day, you exhaust your powers and see a familiar cut form on your knee....
| "We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty on all counts," said the portly man I knew we had all along. Beads of sweat had formed along his neckline, his whole body sighing as he read. I'm sure he was a good enough man--hell if he was hurting, I'd likely have helped him--but McDaniels had his ways of making money find pockets. And he had plenty of money for a jury of twelve.
The judge frowned as he brought down the gavel.
"I don't know if you know this," McDaniels said beside me, his pointy little face screwed up in a sneer. "But we won. C'mon, no reason to look like dogshit. You've made yourself a powerful friend."
"I'm fine," I lied. "I'm happy for you." What was I to say, after all? That I was a waterlogged sponge ready to be wrung out? That, just now, I had a malignant mix of five different cancers, a dash of HIV, Crohn's Disease, untold cases of stomach flu, and who knows what else swirling deep in my gut? No, I suppose saying that out loud might raise a few eyebrows.
He slapped me on the back, hard, and swiveled to admire all the shocked faces in the crowd. Across the room, Rebecca the prosecutor shot me a look that could probably kill faster than anything I'd contracted. *Say goodbye to our tradition of post-verdict drinks*.
She'd taken this McDaniels case too personally. Hard not to with a child-killer and you're a mother of five, I suppose. We'd been close friends ever since I healed her eldest after his tires spun on I64 and he veered into oncoming highway traffic. The boy'd been plugged to so many machines the hospital staff nearly ran out of room. She'd been red-eyed and splotchy by his bedside, but when I arrived her eyes shone with hope.
"I didn't know who else to call," she'd croaked. "I didn't know what else to do."
She was embarrassed.
Back then, the word hadn't quite gotten around as to my legitimacy. I was still a wacky lawyer, part-time *witch doctor*. She'd made sure all the nurses were out of the room, that no one was the wiser. "It's fine," I said, laying a hand on her dying boy. "Everything's fine now."
I thought back to my own son's scraped knee, where it all began. All it took as a little willpower--the true and bonifide *want* to make things better. Rebecca's boy was already regaining his color under all those fluorescents.
I'd pay for that one soon enough.
When the symptoms of my first "patients" began to resurface, I'm ashamed to say I panicked. My knee blossomed into a red rasberry, and soonafter three of my toes broke. I fell to the bathroom tile in sudden pain. *What the hell?* I'd thought, and then I remembered my son and his scooter and that goddamned oak tree with roots that poked through the sidewalk. The memory rang clear as a damned bell. My heart practically melted.
The first thing to run through my mind had been--if *this*...then, what next?
Then, I thought: *Freddie!*
I'd stumbled towards my boy's room, swallowing down the pain. But, no, his injury had not resurfaced on his own body. It was my own to bear now.
Among all the others.
Rebecca turned in a huff, ignoring the hand I'd lifted as if to say *I can explain*. McDaniels nudged me with his elbow as he admired the view of Rebecca's backside. "Cost you your piece, huh? Don't worry, I'll make it worth your while."
I sighed and gave him a half-hearted smile. "C'mon," I said. "Time to go."
We shuffled our way towards the double doors of the courthouse. Towards McDaniels's freedom. We were greeted by the flashing of a thousand bulbs. Questions hurled our way--a cacophony of inquisition. In that moment, I felt they were questioning my humanity. *Could you really fight to let such a man go?* *How could you let this be?*
But really, you see, McDaniels wasn't free at all.
Back that night, standing above my little boy with my heart beating in my ears and my knee throbbing in pain, I'd discovered something more. My mind full of panic, I'd pulled up his Cars bedspread and did something awful. I put a hand on his knee and thought, *Give it back.*
For several moments, nothing happened.
Then his eyes jolted wide and he shrieked.
"Oh god!" I said, wiping away his tears. His sheets smeared here and there with a swipe of crimson. "Oh shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
It wasn't until we'd both calmed down that I realized what I had done.
I was a waterlogged sponge, full of pain, full of suffering, and I had the power to dole it all back out.
McDaniels waved to the crowd of cameramen as a black transport pulled up to tote him to freedom. "It's been a pleasure," he said, smug as all get out. I gripped his hand and squeezed it hard.
Every ounce of suffering poured out of my body.
For a moment, his smile faltered. I let go of his hand and it dropped to his side.
"No," I said. "Believe me, the pleasure's been all mine."
He turned, a look of confusion writ plainly on his face. The cameras continued to flash, and he blinked at their light. I watched with a deep sense of satisfaction as his shaky hands went to his stomach. *Yep, that'd be the stomach ulcers you asswipe...or wait, maybe the cancer*.
An attendant rushed to grab him as he stumbled towards the vehicle. "I've got it," McDaniels snapped
And that's when it dawned on me: I was a sort of Robin Hood, taking pain and sickness from the meek and giving it to those who most deserved it.
I was Karma incarnated.
And luckily for me, the world was full of ammunition.
-------------
r/M0Zark
| I was nothing if not fastidious. That's what my mother used to say. Persnickety was her word, actually. Persnickety Pandora, she should have called me. Again, her words not mine. Because, she said, I placed far too much emphasis on unimportant details.
On the trivial little issues that most people would simply ignore.
But the thing with all that is, how do you ever know if a detail is unimportant? I mean, sure it might seem so at the time. But what about if, twenty years later, you need a list of all the people you've healed, on the day that you healed them, and ideally with the precise time you healed them. Suddenly those unimportant details make up the most important black notebook that you've ever carried.
So, if my mother were still alive, I think I'd tell her that *every* detail is important, until we know for certain that it is *not*.
The house before me was slumped on either side, like a sandcastle left out in the rain. Its crumbling brick only waiting for the breeze or the tide to sweep it away completely.
It looked how I felt.
"Mister Berkovich?" I said, peering up at the wrinkled face, while waiting for a spark of recognition that didn't come.
The old man who had answered the door was in a long black dressing-gown. It had been twenty years since I'd last seen him -- if it was indeed him at all -- and back then, phones with decent cameras were as rare as Hollywood directors without scandal are today. All I had to go on were my memories.
"Yes?" He squinted at me for a moment, then took a pair of round, metal framed spectacles from out of his dressing-gown pocket and popped them onto his nose.
"Mister Berkovich, my name is--"
"No, don't tell me," he said, hand raised. He chewed his lip for a moment and closed his eyes. "Ah-ha!" He snapped his fingers and opened his eyes wide. "Got it! Pandora! Pandora, isn't it?"
I was taken aback. "How on earth did you recognize me? I must have been only about this high"--I placed a hand by my hip--"when I last saw you."
"I would never forget the blue eyes that looked into mine, that day when... Why don't you come in, Pandora?" He moved out of the doorway and ushered me inside.
The interior of the house was not so different to the exterior. Sun faded bricks were replaced by dim flower patterned wallpaper; weeds on the front drive were now plates scattered on every available surface; the ivy, damp creeping up the walls in dark tendrils.
"Please, take a seat," he said, already moving a mound of sepia-faded newspapers from off a large green armchair.
"Thank you," I said, afraid to seem rude by refusing. I was still my mother's child after all, and with that came Catholic guilt and a host of mental afflictions one doesn't tend to talk about. I sat down.
"I'll be right back," Mister Berkovich said, as he popped out of the room.
His lounge was like a museum of memories. No, more of a *mausoleum*. These items: the pictures, the papers, the litter, the old tv magazines -- this was not a curated lot. It was the uncared leftovers of a life hardly lived.
I heard the hissing of a kettle as Mister Berkovich stepped back into the room brandishing what looked like a piece of paper. He handed it to me.
"Tea won't be a minute. In fact, it'll be about three." He laughed at his joke.
I looked down at the object he'd given me. A Polaroid of a middle-aged man, his arms around a blue eyed girl. One of his thumbs was raised, and he had strange smile across his lips. Next to them was the smouldering remnants of beat up old car that had crashed into a wall.
My heart slumped. I didn't remember the photo being taken, but the fact that it had been... that he'd saved it. I wasn't a hero. Did he see me that way? I had an ability outside of my understanding. A blessing thrust upon me that had recently taken a twist for the worst, warping itself into a burden. A curse. Perhaps it had been a curse all along, just waiting to show its true colors. Mom had always thought so.
"Mister Berkovich," I said, looking up at the old man. "You only have one day left to live. Tomorrow at eleven thirty-three... that's when... *I'm sorry*."
The background hissing rose to a high pitched shriek. "That'll be the kettle," he said, not skipping a beat. "I'll back back in a moment, don't you worry. You just relax."
I ran a hand over my face. Had he even heard me?
"Here you are!" he said happily as he came back into the room. "A chocolate biscuit too. Least I can do."
There was no milk in my tea, and I thought it best not to ask. The biscuit was soggy without even being dunked.
"Mister Berkovich--"
"Peter."
"*Peter,*" I repeated. "Did you hear what I said? You have a day left to live. I'm sorry."
He nodded.
"It's... how I saved you, you see," I continued. "My healing. It's all coming undone now. Every bit of good I ever did... it's all unravelling." I could feel the warmth of my tears as the snaked down my cheeks. "You were the first person I saved. Not the first I healed, but the first who would have died. You will also be the first to come undone. I'm so, so sorry."
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he spoke. Slowly and considerately.
"You know, when you saved me... when you found me, flung through the car window, my neck as shattered as the glass..."
I nodded. It had fuelled my nightmares through school and college. The sight of him there. Broken but breathing.
"My brakes hadn't faltered. Nor had I fallen asleep. And I had *chosen* not to wear my seatbelt."
"I... I don't understand."
"I swerved. On purpose."
"Oh." I didn't know what else to say. He'd meant to kill himself? "I'm sorry," I repeated. The words had a new meaning this time.
"Nonsense," he chuckled. "I wanted to die back then because I had no one -- nothing -- to live for. I felt like the world hadn't shown me any kindness. Ever. My parent's certainly hadn't. My father's belt most definitely hadn't. But *you,* you did. You were a sign that my life had to go on."
I swallowed hard.
"You saved me," he continued. "Not just then, but everyday since. Every moment I felt weak and wondered if to continue."
I ran a sleeve over my face, wiping away the tears. "I can't save you this time," I whispered.
"You've saved me enough. I'm ready to go now. Oh, and I'm sure you feel sorry for me, here all alone in this mess. But you'd be wrong to do so. *This* is how I chose to live. It was how I chiselled my block of happiness out of the big round clay."
"Thank you," I whispered.
"It would mean a lot to me, however, if you would at least stay for that cup of tea."
~~~
As I left Mister Berkovich's -- Peter's -- house, the driveway seemed a little less gloomy. The sweet taste of the stale biscuit still lingered in my mouth.
He had been so different to my mother. She had known that I could save her from the cancer, and yet she didn't believe it was God's will. Up until an hour ago, I had begun to think she'd been right. But now.... now I wasn't so sure.
I took out my notebook, flicked it to the front page, and crossed out Peter's name. Then, I put the Polaroid he'd given me by its side.
*Izabel*. That was the next person on my list.
A girl I had met by pure fortune, during a family holiday to Brazil.
Now I had two left days left to find her again. Unlike Peter, if I got her to a hospital, perhaps she could be saved.
| 2018-04-25T05:48:47 | 2018-04-25T05:33:38 | 888 | 123 |
[WP] Turns out Humans are tiny compared to any other species of aliens, allowing them to live off in the nooks and crannies of alien spaceships. Colonies can live on ships for generations unseen and unknown, or have a mutually beneficial relationship with a crew. | **Humans: The Intelligent Pest**
The human is one of the few intergalactic minor species to adapt to life in urban environments, as such they can now be found nearly everywhere within the populated universe. Some consider them a virulent pest and call the exterminators as soon as they find a human colony, others insist that they are actually very clean and, in fact, can clear out the nastier pests from the home. Regardless of which camp you belong, no-one can disagree that humans are here to stay.
Humans were fist introduced into the intergalactic ecosystem when a small child-rearing collective visited the species’ originating planet while exploring some rural galaxies. The collective illegally bypassed screening checkpoints, possibly knowing that they would be subject to quarantine, and thus introduced the human stowaways to the protected galactic environment. By the time the first colony was found it was already too late.
How and why were humans so successful in infiltrating the central intergalactic ecosystems? These questions are why many find them so fascinating. Some time after the outbreak became apparent and the usual methods of isolation and eradication had failed, an expedition was sent to their planet of origin to study them in their natural habitat. What they found was that the humans on their planet acted very differently to those we had grown accustomed to. While the humans on their home planet considered themselves special due to their superior position in their planets ecosystem, the stowaways had no such illusion. What makes the human different to all other minor species is that they recognised their new position in the galactic environment and adapted to it quickly. While their ignorant cousins still fought each other over fractions of their home world, the galactic human learnt to peacefully cooperate in ever increasing numbers. Whether this is due to survival instincts brought on by the threat of their new environment or a conscious change in thinking due to their new sense of perspective is a subject of heated debate.
In this book we will be discussing the degree to which humans can be attributed intelligence. Are they just a clever pest? Or are they intelligent enough for their extermination to be considered murder? We will also be touching upon some of the wilder theories surrounding humans, such as the idea that human colonies are actually in communication with each other, and that these human networks potentially span over all intergalactic civilization, or the claims that human colonies on abandoned vessels have grown to take complete control of the craft and now wander space looking to expand their influence. | Turns out that humans are tinier than a dust particle floating in an unknown corner of space. That was until they started floating toward other parts of the universe. I have to hand it to them, they had come a long way given their size against other beings in the stars. Especially the young human named, Shawn Willard. He was even hard to see under a microscope.
Dra’aem was another young being, but unlike the humans, he was normal sized. Dra’aem took interest in Shawn after discovering him wandering around the control panel of his father’s ship. Shawn took interest in Dra’aem because of his own curiosity towards another race.
“Shawn? You in here?” Dra’aem spun around in the control panel. “Pssst.” He hissed. “Where are you?!”
Shawn finally crawled up from the hole beneath the side of the panel. It took him a few seconds to get over one of the giant buttons positioned in the flight controls.
“Dra’aem!” Shawn cupped his hands together.
Dra’aem saw Shawn sitting atop the button. Shawn kept looking over his shoulder, the other humans banned any interaction with the aliens.
“Shawn, we don’t have much time!” Dra’aem leaned over worried.
“What is it?” Shawn stood up frightened.
Before Dra’aem was able to answer the iron blast door behind him opened. Snarling and yelling Shawn witnessed another race of aliens abducting Dra’aem. Shawn quickly reacted by ducking behind a red switch.
“Who was that boy talking to?” One of the other aliens growled. “Search the room!”
Shawn tip toed towards the hole leading back into his colony.
If the ship is taken over, it may put all of us in danger. Shawn thought to himself trying to avoid detection at all costs.
“There’s no one in here.” Another alien claimed. The alien barking orders grabbed the other by his throat before threatening,
“There better not be, or I’ll lock you up with them!”
Shawn noticed the alien stumble back. Towards the control panel. While he tried making a final run for the whole, he jumped onto what he thought was part of the control panel but instead it was the top of the alien’s utility belt.
“Oh, no.” Shawn shook his head. “I can make that jump.” He took a squat getting ready to leap back into the hole. “I can’t make that jump.” He leaned back grabbing onto the ledge of a pouch.
“Go and make sure the boy is locked up!” The alien in charge instructed the alien Shawn now found himself hiding on.
The alien went back into the ship they connected with. He went down to the cells holding all of the prisoners from the ship. Shawn bounced up and down with every step the alien made.
“My parents are going to kill me.” He shook his head. “That is if I ever see them again.”
The alien made sure all of the locks were held on each cell. Shawn quickly recognized Dra’aem leaned against the bars of his cell. Dra’aem’s face lifted when he caught a glimpse of Shawn moving around on the alien’s utility belt. Dra’aem quickly straightened his back before commenting,
“Do you always get bossed around like a sissy?” Dra’aem laughed. The alien slid in front of him hitting the bars with his fist.
“Shut up, or you’ll be tossed into space first!”
Dra’aem sat back down and lowered his head. “That was close,” he whispered.
“I told you to shut it!” The alien snarled back before moving onto the next cell.
Dra’aem opened his palm revealing Shawn attempting to regain his balance. “I made that jump.” Shawn gasped.
“Can you get us out of here?” Dra’aem asked.
Shawn shrugged his shoulders. “I can try. I can’t go back now.”
Dra’aem guided Shawn towards a space between the panels along the wall. Shawn pulled himself into the space.
“Wait till he’s asleep and get the key.” Dra’aem told him.
“How am I supposed to carry that thing?” Shawn crossed his arms. “That key is massive!”
“I don’t know, we’ll figure it out. Just get the key as close to me as possible.”
Shawn scooted his way past the space. There was another hole inside the inner wall. He slowly stepped into a round tunnel only to find that he was not the only thing his size.
Shawn discovered he was not alone.
***
To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/) | 2018-05-30T11:12:13 | 2018-05-30T11:11:03 | 2,926 | 95 |
[WP] When you kill someone, you get their best trait. Except it's what *they* think is their best trait. | It was him. It was him from the photo, she could tell, that horrible man that everyone talked about, yet only in a whisper, as if the very mention of him would summon him.
The families left behind. The children left motherless. He only killed women, they said. The things he would do to them! She would shake off every detail, every time someone tried to describe one of The Blue Killer’s monstrosities.
She felt the urge to cry, to panic. It was a relief to be able to breathe loudly.
It wasn’t like he was going to do anything anymore.
The man that murdered and tortured so many women was dead.
She killed him.
She closed her eyes trying to remind herself how lucky she was she had bought a gun just days before this happened.
She was lucky.
She felt proud.
It felt good...
She opened her eyes.
...Freakishly, delightfully good. | I tried to give the concept a different tone, hope you enjoy :).
---------------------------------Start-----------------------------------
Have you ever heard this? Conscience is a thing you can have no matter if you have a brain or if you don't.
The usual thing you would think when you hear 'culture' is that invisible thing surrounding us which involve a lot of things on our daily lives. It's true, but it's lacking something... everything surrounding us, as a total is culture, but each one of that things disturbs a neutral base, only the sumatory of those disturbs is what we call culture.
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What is a genius? Where does a genius start?
I was once known as what you would call universe, everything. But there was a phenomenom in me that changed everything, that is... life. I was on everything and everything was on me, I could know the past and the future, except that when life first appeared I had strange feelings I never had... it results that this little things with life had 'desires' which they were no concient, then I got split in billion of trillions of quadrillions of... well, you get it. I was split in an inconmensurable amount of parts that thought diferent from the other ones, then suddenly, the first concient being appeared, but died a few years after it.
The cycle of life and death was something I didn't care at first because it'd only mean 'change' to me, nevertheless it changed after 'life' appeared, efforts to go against this were first seen and I found it amazing. Time has passed and life was something now spreaded through a lot of places as well as concient beings and it was alright if not because of me. I had gained desires myself, I was infected by that annoying thing and I had to change because of a simple law. If you define something, then it must have an opposite. I was charged with all the hatred in the universe, a concept that didn't exist before. So the story begins, the story of me being mortal over and over and over again.
I placed a little part of myself in a tiny planet called 'Earth' and I was born human. I would block all of my knowlegde and start learning from zero as any other human, being able to forget the suffering of being me if not because I had this skill, the skill of the 'adquired ego'. Apparently death was inherently linked to me granting that whenever I kill someone or 'something', I'd get the skill they think its their best and so I was condemned to restore things I wanted to forget eventually each time I was born.
I just want to stop being concient.
So eventually I created moral, but it wasn't enough. I was born human, with human feelings, so eventually I created religion... but it wasn't enough, so now I want to make a petition to all the persons who read this.
¿Can you make sure no one have the desire to kill?
You just need to love the others as you do with yourself.
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Thanks for reading.
Btw, sorry for my english, my mothertongue is spanish hehe.
| 2018-09-15T10:39:10 | 2018-09-15T10:20:50 | 466 | 22 |
[WP] After the Battle of Hogwarts, Dudley met a woman and they had a daughter,Sophie. Sophie is the light of their lives,she's always been a pleasant child. The morning of Sophie's 11th birthday,there’s a knock at the door. Harry is here to visit his cousin for the first time in almost 20 years.
I just want to say that I'm super excited to read these responses! I'm holding off reading them until my kiddo goes to bed so I can sit and really pay attention to your stories!!
I can't wait to see what you guys come up with | As Harry walked up to the house with ballons on the mailbox he knew he was in the right place.
Looking at the front door he noticed a sign, "Birthday guests around back. Make sure gate is latched." Harry thought to himself. "While not a formal guest. That is the reason I'm here. And its my birthday too."
As he rounded the side of the house the sound of children and a yappy dog filled his ears. Through the gate he went and rounds the back. Harry's eyes went wide as he noticed the banner at the back of the yard. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY SOPHIE AND HARRY."
Standing there speechless he hears from across the yard. "I was kinda expecting you today." A grown Dudley starts to walk towards him.
Part 2
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/diqste/slug/f40sa4w | "I met Georgina when I was 26" said Dudley, as Harry watched Dudley's family photos hung around their living room. "Would you er... like some tea?" Harry was looking at the pictures absentmindedly and almost didn't hear the question, "... yeah, why not." Harry noticed baby photos of Sophie playing in the backyard and marvelled how much she looked like Albus when he was little. "So, what brings you here harry?" asked Dudley, casually, "and how did you get my address?" Dudley was sure he wouldn't have gone so far as to have asked his uncle Vernon just to meet him. " Oh.. it's the ministry's job to know where wizards and witches... and potential witches live." Said Harry. There was a pause. Dudley wasn't as thick as he used to be, a business graduate from University of London, he had recently been promoted to General Manager. "What ministry is that?" he asked, as if to delay the main subject. "Oh, blimey! My bad Dudley, the ministry of magic that is." Harry almost forgot that Dudley didn't know much about his world, however long he lived with him. "Right." Said Dudley, "And you know this because you work at the 'Ministry of Magic'?"
"That's right!" Said Harry.
"And what is your role at the ministry?" Asked Dudley.
"Umm.. catch the bad guys mainly. Keep the good guys safe." Said harry, finding himself to be at a loss of more words.
"Right, of course." Said Dudley, smiling to himself. "And how did you know of a..." Dudley cleared his throat, " I mean the ministry, how did they know of a witch.... or a wizard living here?"
"Well," said Harry, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, "It's not an exact science, but a child's magic is more powerful, and um... radiant than an adult's. It leaves powerful traces, even when a muggle might not even sense something out of place, the ministry has tools and people who can." Said Harry. "Officially, someone from Hogwarts would have come to explain such things to you, but when I heard that Sophie possessed magic, I thought I should come by myself." Said Harry.
Georgina appeared in the living room towelling her hair. She took a moment but recognised Harry from Dudley's childhood photos. "Hullo?" She smiled awkwardly, not knowing what to say, "You're harry aren't you? Dudley's cousin brother. He has told me all kinds of stories about your childhood." She exclaimed, walking in. " I mean. Obviously I didn't believe when he said that you were a wizard or something, and that a strange man grew him a mouse tail once."
Harry started laughing. "That... That did happen actually. I'd forgotten that." He said, shaking her hand. Colour faded from Georgina's face. "But don't worry, Hagrid won't give Sophie a tail." He paused, smiling at Georgina, "Unless of course she's a bully too." | 2019-10-16T12:02:20 | 2019-10-16T11:44:21 | 117 | 48 |
[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 | “Hey! Blankie!” A blast of light came at my face as I quickly dodged, used to him doing this exact thing.
I turned to see an absolute hulk of a man, his eyes dimming back to normal, as he came over to me chuckling to himself as he knew what he would be getting , just like every day. He stuck his hand out. “Hand it over, wimp.” He sneered. “Or do you want to show just how pitiful your empty circle is?”
He had taunted me like this for ages. James called his sigil, a bright sun over an old town on his back, the “light of the world”. He claimed that it was the strongest sitio on campus, and almost everyone decided to stay away from his antics. “No, I’ve told you already. I’m not showing it. That's final.” I had a plain, untouched circle on my wrist. Nothing special. “Actually, I’ve been getting bored of that answer. Let’s change it, shall we?” A whole bunch of the boys with versions of fist sigils came out, about 5. Fist sigils essentially allow people to attack much stronger, to the point of breaking bones. I sighed. This wasn’t going to be fun. “You want to see it that badly? Fine. Get over here.” I told him. “What? No?” He retorted rudely, stepping back in disgust as my own eyes turned black, to counteract his own usually radiant white pupils. black.
“I don’t think you understood." I acted shocked that he would “disobey” me, and when I looked at him, my eyes went from black, to blinking between black and red.
"Get over here.”
I pressed my wrist sigil, and looked at James. He started to shake, uncontrollably, as light started to be sucked into my sigil from his eyes. He started to scream, and after about 5 seconds of others looking on in agony, the light finally left his eyes. I smiled. “Who’s next?” I looked at the rest of the bullies. They all ran.
My sigil on my wrist now showed “1”.
​
\---------------------------------------------
​
Okay, I actually love this premise. The idea of a simple sigil, especially in a world with(what I assume to be) lots of really complex ones would probably be either
A) Taken as a form of weakness, as something that would be laughed at and mocked because of how basic it is.
or
B) Feared immensely because, if its that simple, there has to be something primal to it, and if you've been watching anything about primal power, its definitely a thing not to be messed with.
Still, love the idea, and I may do a part 2? Who knows? | Even before the rapture, that's what we've grown to call the day the sky lit up like a god had laid fire to a rainbow, i had trouble fitting in. I never enjoyed the "normal" things kids were supposed to: sports, video games, comic books. I was always staring out the window. Looking for shapes in the clouds or stars. Wishing to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
​
Then it happened. The rapture was a chaotic day. No one understood was what is occurring in the that moment but people began to feel great pain as sigils were branded on their foreheads by some unseen entity. After people recovered from the shock of it all they found that these sigils allowed them to do very special things. Some could play with fire, others electricity. A few could simply conjure energy (this was anything but simple to purists of general relativity). While others still could modify time as we knew it and their place in it.
​
Those with greater power had endured greater pain. The most common sigils were the size of a half dollar. The "elites" were typically the size of your fist, placed on your forehead. Since we we were still human our baser nature was still prevalent. People outside the standard were shunned as people to be scared of, or rejected. A few people had had their heads branded with their sigil. Each one of them, male and female alike, were named witches and treated as they were in colonial Salem. There's even urban legend of a few "mutants" of such immense power their entire body is wrapped in their sigil. Me though, my sigil is nothing and i've been treated as a reject since. For some reason the nickname "empty glass" stuck and all the kids simply refer to me as "glass" now.
​
Today, walking through the halls, being mocked pretty lightly for a Tuesday (schedules rotate daily and Tuesday's bring the 2nd most bullies outside Ms. Snyders room) I feel a sudden impact on my cheek. I guess Sully felt it was time to check if I still considered myself worthy of being in the presence of "regular people" or if he could break me. As I recover from the blow I look up and see a teacher trying to intervene but other bullies using their sigils to restrain the teacher. The teachers were severely outnumbered and I may be in danger.
​
Sully chirps, "Yo glass, why won't you just go away! You'll never be able to do anything. You have no use. " More threats are hurled as well as punches but I don't hear or feel any of them. They all land; i'm certain I'll feel them tomorrow but not right now. That one insult from Sully is all i have in my mind.
​
During a break in the pummeling I simply lower my head and say "Fine". As I say this I wave my hand over my forehead and out in front of me. As I do this, everything around me stops as I'm encircled by a sphere of dust and specks. I motion with my hands to pull and spin this cloud around me, shapes slowly become visible. After a few more seconds I'm pulling at one shape in particular. It's apparent to anyone who would be with me that it's the milky way. I continue until I've Google Universe'd my way right into this hallway we're all standing in. (since playing with this sigill since the rapture this process only takes a moment) I see grab the Sully from my projection. Zoom out. Give the dust cloud a spin and flick Sully off into somewhere. I motion to condense the dust cloud and it finds it's way back to my sigil. A single circle the size of an atom (i've checked), in the middle of my forehead.
​
Returned to the current situation, everyone is confused and shocked. Many of the bullies are screaming "What did you do to sully?", "Where's sully??", "WTF?", "You wanna die!" and things like that. I calmly say, "Sully is no more. Who's next?". Another bully motions to strike me. I make the same motions (I should really find a way to book mark my town!) but instead of sending this bully away I squeeze the projection until it explodes. On my return I see the remaining bullies, teachers, and other students covered in bits of the last one to attempt to strike. I say, "Next?". Everyone scatters, screaming.
​
This saved me from a further beating that day but I should have taken the beatings. Today, even the witches and mutants are afraid of me and hunt me because I am different.
\------
So many ideas on where to take this. Thanks for the prompt. | 2020-02-26T09:23:25 | 2020-02-26T09:02:03 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract. | "And he signed it?"
"Aha"
"Knowing fully well that he would be selling his soul"
"Yup"
"For a lunch"
"Yes"
"A bag with a tuna salad sandwich, two apples and a juice brick"
"You got it"
"Man, humans are dumber than I thought". The demon said very casually. "Well, not all humans" He gestured towards me. The demon held the piece of paper between his fingernails, barely touching it. "I actually don't know if it counts, but it's not that hard to test". With the fingers in which he held the stump of paper reading "Sell your soul to Devon, Signed Bradley", the demon snapped. The paper turned into a bright ball of fire before the fire took a new form. A 50-centimeter long piece of parchment, an official contract. A long section of text I didn't bother to read filled the page, and on the bottom of it, the signature. "Bradley Stevens".
"I guess it worked" the demon handed the slightly glowing paper to me. "That thing there contains the soul of Bradley Stevens. I looked at it, amazed. "What'll happen to me if I sell it?".
"What do you mean?"
"If I sell it. Doesn't that make me a bad person?"
"In the sense of the word, I guess".
"But does that mean I'll end up in hell when I die?"
"See kid, that's the thing. If you'd sold your soul to me, I'd probably had sold to Lucifer for a WAY higher price. You see, Satan doesn't own any soul that ends up in Hell, the human is still the owner of the soul, God just decided that they were in the minority of people that didn't deserve to go to heaven and were bad enough to deserve eternal punishment. So, he can't really do much more than punish them. But the souls he owns, he can use for so much. I can't really go into details, but trust me, he finds them very, very useful..."
"Wait, a minority of people go to hell?"
"Yeah, a minority, what did you think? That God sends the vast majority of his own creation to live in eternal pain and suffering?"
"That's kinda what the church has been teaching us".
"And you got my boss to thank for that. Anyways, Jesus died for your sins, remember? Getting into heaven nowadays isn't that hard. The worst is probably that you have to actually walk through the gate to heaven which is painful for a second, and the pain is based on how sinful you were in your life".
"But, does that mean I'll end up in heaven?"
"Yeah kiddo. The gate might be slightly more painful than the average Joe, but if someone willingly sold your soul to you, the big man upstairs ain't really gonna do much about it. It's a fair deal, he knew what he was doing when he sold his soul".
"huh."
The devil extended his hand towards me. "So, you gonna sell that to me?"
"Yeah" I replied as I handed him the piece of parchment. The second it was in the demon's" grasp, it lit on fire and became nothing
"Now, name your price..." | While waiting a dark and dingy lounge of the Demon Inc, I was thinking what my lawyer said "This might be valid contract that you own bully's soul, but whether you will be entitled to the benefits (tangible or intangible) coming out of deal with the demon is debatable. The law is not very clear on this. It might happen that Bully is actually true recipient of the benefits. Our legal system has always been scared of demons since they always bring bad luck, hence no concrete law has been made. It is generally left to the discretion of the demon to decide who is the real benefactor in such cases. However, the bully can always challenge you in the court and demons, historically, don't interfere because they feed on the agony and distress such court cases cause."
I was in deep thought on how will this meeting go? More important question was what should I ask for in return? I had some ideas but had to first gauge what CDO (Chief Deal Officer) of Demon Inc had in mind. What value did he see in the soul of a bully?
Suddenly, the announcement happened "token number 621, please proceed to the conference room 5". This was me. A chill went down my spine. I am only 12 years old and going to make my first ever deal that too with Demon Inc, the most notorious organization in the world. I was scared.
The conference room was dimly lit and on one end an old demon was sitting. He was just staring at me with a blank face. I just said hello and he directed me to sit on the chair across him.
He said "so young man, you are too young to forget the word of lord. Why so? Don't you have trust in your god or you are too young to understand his miraculous ways?"
I was not ready for this. I just wanted a simple trade which I was promised. I was not ready for a spiritual discussion. I said "I thought we were going to discuss what I will get in return for the soul. I already emailed the details and was told that this meeting is for negotiating final terms"
He laughed and said "Ofcourse young man. I was just trying to break the ice. I like how you want to get to the point so soon. Ok. So tell me what you want. You do know that I might allocate your wish to the true soul owner too, right? So don't be too greedy and be reasonable in your ask"
I nodded and felt uneasy at his mention of allocation of wish to the true owner. I was hoping that this point won't come during the discussion.
I cleared my thought and said "I want to be never bullied in my life. Nor me or any of my family members till eternity. I have had enough with my lunch money being taken away by these bullies. This needs to stop. So please grant me this wish and in return I offer you the soul of the worst bully I ever met in my life."
The CDO smiled at me and said "Don't you want to become bully too? I mean what's better than bullying the whole world?"
I got puzzled. I didn't think about this. But I also remembered that Demons play tricks. They trick you into bad things that can have adverse effect, so I said "No, after being at the receiving end of it, I have no intention of becoming a bully. I just want to be safe whole my life".
"Fair enough", the CDO got up and started walking in the room. He said "but you see this is not how things work. I am removing an obstacle from your life, in return I will have to add another obstacle in your life. Especially in your case, since I am not even getting your soul to torture or do whatever with it, it has to be a zero sum game. You understand that right?"
I nodded.
He continued, "this is precisely the reason that sometimes the benefits, in such kind of trade, are handed over to the true owner of the soul because that maintains the balance of the universe. So unless you opt for a sin or, to put it out mildly, agree for something bad to happen in your life, I can't agree to your demand."
I started thinking. What is not so important in life? Family, parents, friends, money, education, xbox, iPhone, health?
He figured that I was confused, so he said "You don't have to tell me right away. You can come back later and we can have one more meeting." But I didn't want to wait so I said "I want to be a bully. I don't want to lose anything in life. Fuck it. This is hard".
Before I could finish, I passed out on the floor and when I got up in the hospital few hours later, I had a signed agreement in my hand stating that "I, my family, and any of my offsprings will never be bullied till eternity. In return, I have agreed to become a bully for life. Since all the deals of Demon Inc are constitutionally required to have zero sum impact on the universe, my family and all my future offsprings will also be bullies."
I choked when I read that. I didn't agree to this. It was never disclosed to me. But it was too late. Demon Inc has not customer service and agreement can't be challenged in any court of law.
I was a bully now and we were a family of bullies. "Go fuck youself now!" | 2021-03-27T03:50:30 | 2021-03-27T01:43:59 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] Pacifist aliens, incapable of aggression, are being slaughtered by their rivals. To save themselves from annihilation they turn to the universes most violent species, humans. | There was no escape from them. My ship's hyper drive was completely fried, and with one precise shot, they took out my engine and control panel.
All i could do was prepare for crash landing as my ship spun out of control toward that bright blue planet. The heat, the shaking, the smoke that filled the small cockpit was too much to handle. All i could do was curl up tight into a protective ball. The last thing i saw before i hid my face under my shell was the balls of gas disappearing behind the hemisphere of the planet.
The impact made my ears bleed. The ship flipped once, twice, before it hit something so hard, i was sent flying out through the glass. I only bounced once then went came rolling to a stop. Thankfully i wasn't going at mach 2 speed, so all i got was a sore shell.
A few tense moments passed. I didn't dare move in case something came upon me and wanted me as a snack. but after hearing nothing, i slowly unrolled myself and rubbed the back of my shell before taking in my surroundings.
Even though everything was dark, i could make out all sorts of shapes. I think...yes, this is a forest. but the trees were so small. Yes they dwarfed my easily, but these were nothing like my home planet.
...my planet....the planet that was currently being ravaged by those...those...
A light flickered in the sky, catching my attention. I looked up in time to see one of their small round ships falling from space and towards the wreckage of the ship.
The only thought that i could manage in my panic was to run. So i did. I scrambled to my feet and bolted for the thicker shrubbery when the ships landed with a barely audible hiss. I didn't stop until i found a clearing, and only then did i skid to a stop.
A clearing. that would be suicidal for me to run into. I had to find a hiding place. I looked up at the trees. But no matter how hard i looked, i only found a few hollows, none of them big enough to fit me. My only chance then was...
I crouched down and began digging. Every handful of dirt went spraying through the air as i frantically tried to dig. The dirt here was tough, but not tough enough for my nails.
I got four scoops through, enough to make a decent size ditch, when i heard a noise from behind. A growing, sniffing like noise. My blood went ice cold. I didn't dare turn around. I knew exactly what was behind me.I didn't need to though. I felt its hot breath on the back of my shell that sent chills under my shell. Its rancid breath made my stomach heave. But most of all, i felt its saliva drip on my neck.
Strangely, a sort of calm washed over me then. I knew i should be screaming, begging for my life no matter the cost. But all that crossed my mind was "Ahh. I'm done now. I don't have to suffer anymore."
I heard its jaw crack as it opened its maw wide, no doubt to swallow me whole. I shut my eyes.
A loud noise pierced through the air, followed by a loud squeal from behind me. The noise snapped me out of my calm, allowing a wash of fear and panic to slam into me. I scrambled up and turned in time to see the large furred body hit the ground in a heap, un-moving.
One shot, and it was down, Just like that. But what kind of creature had that kind of power?
"What the fuck was that, Pa?" A voice from the clearing echoed in the distance. On instinct i leaped for the shadow of a tree and peered past the trunk.
Two figures were walking towards me. I had never seen creatures like these before. As they got closer, i grew more and more confused.
no fur on their skin except for the larger figure, who had fur covering his chin. Instead of fur, they had clothing covering their entire body. Perhaps a protection from the weather?
"A boar." the larger figure said. I looked from them to the body that still laid there, un-moving. Was it really...?
"A bloody big one. Can we eat it?" The smaller figure asked, almost excitedly. The larger figure pulled a face."
You wanna get sick, boy? That thing was rabid!" The larger figure berated with a smack on the back of his head. The smaller figure, in reaction...
Laughed.
"Go get the gasoline," The large figure gave the smaller one a shove before walking towards the body. the smaller one didn't say anything in return as he turned and jogged back into the clearing.
All i could do was stay behind the tree and watch as the large figure stopped beside the un-moving creature. Then, to my horror, he gave it one sharp kick in its side.
'What are you doing?!' i wanted so desperately to yell at the figure. But to my surprise, the creature didn't even stir.
"fuckin' strange ass boar you are." the figure grumbled before walking past it, then crouching down and picking up a large fallen branch. All i could do was watch on as this figure picked up branch after branch. some he tossed away, others he shoved under his arm. Every time he had too many, he walked back to the fallen creature and dropped them on top of its body.
Not long after its body had been covered with the wood did the smaller creature return with a red container, only to pour it over the wood. The smell went straight up my nose, so strong that i had to cover it in an attempt to not gag. Once only drops of that foul smelling liquid were coming from the container did the larger one produce a small box from his clothing. From the small box he produced a even smaller stick. He flicked it twice against the side of the box then, to my shock, a flame came to life atop of the small stick.
"Out of the way boy." the larger figure said. He didn't even wait for him to move. Without looking he lazily threw the small flame into the bundle of sticks...Which exploded with flame so big and strong that even i could feel it from where i stood. I had to slam a hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming in shock. the larger figure didn't even seem fazed, but the smaller figure...
He was so excited, he was jumping up and down and screaming in delight.
I had heard stories of creatures so violent, so vicious they attacked anything in their way. even attacked their own kind, even their own young, without any care. Were these those creatures?
An idea struck my mind as i watched them interacted with the fire. An idea so stupid that my own family would of thrown me out of the hollow if i even breathed it to them.
But it might just work...it might keep us alive. | Lance Ravenbow here. Professional armorer and dragon slayer.
This reminds me of the time the people of the town of Ploop hired me to defend them from a clan of dropwights.
I should tell you up front -- and I'm ashamed of this, mind -- that they didn't hire me for any grand and noble reason. At that time of my life I didn't have the reputation I have now, as a defender of the weak, the meek, and the creek out back of my armory. Back then, that was my drinking time, and I was a black-hearted rascal when I had the drink in me. As I understand it, it was a bar fight that convinced the Ploopers to see me about defending their town.
As an aside, I should mention that this barfight was no ordinary fight. It was me against a merman, a unihorn, two shuddering skeletones, and a whyvern -- these are like wyverns, but with the annoying habit of questioning everything. I'll spare you the details of the fight, but let's just say that the merman returned to the sea, the unihorn was later described as a no-horn, the skeletones lay still, and the whyvern got such a lesson that it stopped asking questions. I'm not proud of how the fight started -- my mermish isn't great and I misheard an insult when the merman burped -- but I'm proud of how thoroughly I settled it.
Ploop, when I got there, was the sorriest town I ever did see. No ring wall, no trenches, no guard towers. All it had were flower-lined streets, a bustling farmer's market, and a population of cheerful, agreeable folk who never had a negative thing to say. Miserable. The town was a baby overburdened with candies; it was no wonder the dropwights had come for the taking.
At our first meeting, the mayor wanted to get right down to business, but, being the drinker I was back then, I first made him pay up. "The deal was as much drink as I can stomach."
They came up with a barrel of ale, a tankard of wine, and a carved pewter drum of mead. I knocked a hole in the mead and got to guzzling while the mayor explained their situation. "The dropwights came last month. They robbed our market stalls and emptied our granary. They told us they'd be back for our new summer harvest. They've already bankrupted us. Without the harvest, we'll starve."
Deep as I was in my drunken confidence, I took the mayor around the shoulders, gave him a hearty shake, and told him he had nothing to worry about. "I'm Lance Ravenbow, professional romancer and troublemaker. You've got nothing to fear."
I spent the next week on holiday. This is to say that I spent the next week drunk out of my mind. The mead went first, I remember that much. From there, it's all a haze of wine, ale, and questions from the Ploopers.
"How should we prepare for the dropwights?" they wanted to know.
"Will you be ready to defend us when the time comes?" they asked.
"How can we trust that you'll keep us safe?"
To all these questions I responded with slurred speech and imprecations. How dare they question my competence -- that sort of thing. But eventually the mayor came along and he asked me a different sort of question: "Are you happy?"
I regret the way I responded to him. He was an older man, maybe forty years my senior, and he had the lined face and wiry limbs of a man who'd worked hard for a living his entire life. I can only guess at what he expected to hear from me, and I haven't the faintest clue what wisdom he hoped to give. Unfortunately, the answer I gave him was a torrent of vomit on his sandaled feet.
The dropwights came the next morning, and the scene that followed was a tragedy. If you're unfamiliar with dropwights, allow me to describe them to you. They are the bastard off-spring of a fox, a frog, and a deep well of hatred. They run along the ground on all fours, their nostrils snuffling and their mean eyes scouring, until they find prey, at which point they leap high into the air, propelled by some ungodly force, to drop down, blades first, on their victim. They smell like rotten blood, they sound like broken pottery, and they look like a human-shaped clump of hair and knives. The clan that attacked Ploop came in screeching.
I stumbled out of my quarters, flail in hand, only half-dressed in my armor, and I screamed back at them. "You'll never take this town, you forsaken nothing-beasts! Do you know who I am? I'm Lance Ravenbow, professional ass-whooper, and I eat dropwights for breakfast! And lunch! But not dinner, you're so foul that even a gut as powerful as mine needs a break!"
The dropwights had been focused on corralling the Ploopers into the farmer's market while a handful plundered the granary. At my screaming, three broke away from the farmer's market. They leapt into the air, and when they came down blades-first, they found only air. I rolled away, kicked out the legs of one, and flailed the other two until they couldn't tell what was or was not their skin. The third found its feet just in time for me to elbow it senseless.
"Is that the best you got?" I screamed again. "Come on, you jackanapes!" I was moving toward the granary. The Ploopers, though surrounded, were defending themselves with long spears and planks of wood, and it appeared that they could hold awhile. What mattered more was preventing the dropwights from making off with the harvest.
This was when my body failed me. No, it's more accurate to say that my habits failed me. And that is to say that the way I understood my purpose in life failed me. It did this in the form of vomit. The night before I'd had half a gallon of wine and half a gallon of ale, and the full gallon of rancid liquor came spilling up from my gut when I was halfway to the granary.
The dropwights took this opportunity to do what they do best. They dropped on me. Wightly. (I'm not sure what that means. But it sounded good.)
At that time I wasn't yet the professional armorer that I am now, but I was a journeyman armorer with a flair for the unnecessarily secure. Try as they might, the dropwights, who are not well known for their cool heads or pinpoint accuracy, could not pierce my plate mail. I couldn't get up, but I could laugh at them, and that's what I did. The situation would indeed have been hilarious if, while that was going on, the dropwights hadn't made off with the supply of the granary.
What was worse, when the dropwights finally left, I discovered that not all the Ploopers had survived. The town's population gathered in the farmer's market around the fallen body of their mayor. What confused me was that he hadn't died where the townsfolk had been gathered. His body was at the edge of the market square.
"He was coming to rescue you," the townsfolk told me.
My heart fairly broke, then.
This old man, this kindly old man, who'd seen me drinking myself senseless when I should have been preparing defenses, this old man who'd wanted only to know whether I was happy in life, had died for me. What a waste I was. What a drain. I thought my fighting gave me worth, but when the going got tough, all I'd turned out to be was a liability. I wasn't a professional of any sort. I was Lance Ravenbow, unprofessional mess.
The Ploopers gathered round me, and once again they had questions.
"What will we do?"
"How will we survive?"
"What will we eat?"
This time, I had an answer for them. "You'll do what you've always done. You'll survive easily. You'll eat your harvest." And with that, I donned my armor, limbered my flail, and headed off in the direction of the dropwight's camp.
There's not much more to be said about this story. I visited great violence on the dropwights, and I returned to the Ploopers with their harvest.
They would survive the winter, and for that I was proud. But the mayor would not be with them. He lives on in my heart and my actions. That was the day I gave up drinking.
\*
*Lance Ravenbow here. Professional armorer and dragon slayer. If you'd like to hear more of my stories -- which you should, I'm fascinating -- join me at* r/RavenbowsArmory. | 2021-08-07T19:01:53 | 2021-08-07T18:11:41 | 208 | 96 |
[WP] The three rules have been passed down from generation to generation: One, when it visits, do not refuse it entry. Two, when it offers a gift, do not reject its generosity. Three, when it leaves, do not turn your back until it is no longer in sight. In this way, our family has been kept safe. | It came to the door for first time in the spring of their third year of marriage. He had almost mistaken it for a neighbourhood child and sent it on its way but it wasn’t just a child’s face it wore, it was little Peter’s face.
Little Peter had been his younger brother and had fallen through the ice one winter, they hadn’t found him till spring.
Not Peter had stayed and played, given the family gifts of sweet chestnuts, pulled from his pockets by grubby fingers as though he had just gathered them in the woods; they had roasted them on the fire together.
When not Peter had left they watched him skip down the path and across the fields towards the woods by the lake, even when he was a tiny spec in the distance they had watched.
In the fourteen year of their marriage it had come again, this time it had worn the face of Elaine his wife’s mother who had passed that summer in a carriage accident.
She had brought sweet cakes and the family ate them and drank tea. His wife had smiled and wept simultaneously the whole visit while Not Elaine had talked about the weather and fussed over their son Peter.
On what would have been the fiftieth year of their marriage it came again, he had almost missed it. It took time get to the door now and the house was cluttered and difficult to navigate with just him living there.
She was as lovely as he remembered her, green eyes and red hair shot through with grey. She had fussed over him and tidied the house. He didn’t complain even though she was a guest and most certainly not his wife.
When it was time for her to go she bade him sit by the fire and promised to see herself out. He had watched her walk out the door and gently shut it behind her through blurry eyes.
On what would have been the 63 year of his marriage he invited it in for the last time. It’s face was familiar but his eyes weren’t what they were. He knew it all the same like an old friend.
They sat by the crackling fire and they remembered together, all the things they had seen and all those they had said good bye to along the way. It stayed so long the evening drew in.
He tried his hardest but he could barely keep his eyes open and even his bones ached for sleep. He leaned back in his chair and smiled a weary smile at it.
“I come empty handed today old friend. What would you ask of your guest?” it asked.
He sat forwards in his chair, mustering his strength. “Could I see her again perhaps?” he asked timidly.
His guest smiled and nodded then offered a hand. He took it and felt strength in his grip as he did it. Shaking off his tiredness he stood and the two walked arm in arm towards the door. Behind him his cane clattered to the ground but he did not look back. | The curse had followed my family for centuries. An umpteenth-great grandfather had, in a fit of impatience, razed the wrong town in the old country. The town elders had called down a harsh revenge as they burned in the simple church. Details were hazy by now, twisted and distorted by time and memory. But the conditions of the curse, and the accompanying rules, were crystal clear. The first-born of our family was bound to a lifetime of servitude. To disregard the destiny forced upon us was to watch all our loved ones (first-born excepted) die. And so it had passed from father to daughter, from mother to son, for over a thousand years.
At least the curse wasn’t sexist.
In the beginning, every couple of generations, there was one who tried to find a loophole to break the curse by not having children. Whether living alone, joining a convent or nunnery, or even running off to the woods to live as a hermit, none of my line have been able to escape. Chance, accident, temptation…or force, if the curse deemed it necessary…always intervened to ensure there was a firstborn to carry on. Even fleeing to the New World could not keep the curse or its enforcer at bay.
As curses go, I suppose it was not that bad. The lack of control over your own destiny was the most irksome part, now that we had stopped trying to evade it. That, and the enforcer’s yearly check-ins to make sure we were staying the course. This year was more momentous than usual, as my son was off to college next year and had to declare his intentions to fulfill the obligation of his bloodline.
We went through the motions, as we did every year, in order to keep up appearances in spite of the lack of the accompanying cheer that the songs told us we should have. The preparations were made for the magical night, even if it lacked the mirth that others associated with it. The other main difference was that, contrary to the stories, he…*it*…required us to be awake for the visit.
And so we sat silently in the living room, watching as the clock hands creeped closer to midnight. At the exact same time as the minute hand clicked over, a loud crash struck the roof. Metal and hooves scraped across the shingles before coming to a stop. We stood and faced the door, well-practiced by now in the rules of the curse that must be followed. To do otherwise is to invoke the same terrible consequences as refusing the curse itself.
One: when it visits, do not refuse it entry.
A single bang shuddered the door and I called “enter”. Even though I knew what to expect, it still somehow shocked me every time. Tall, skeletal, wearing a cloak and hat soaked in blood, it strode in a few paces and stopped. Eyes of glowing red coal looked out from hollow sockets above a stark white beard. Its voice was strangely deep and resonant for its gaunt form. “How have you fulfilled the obligation of your blood?”
“I still work at the benefit organization for children’s charities, drumming up support and finding assistance wherever I can,” I said, hoarsely. Its gaze bore through me as it gave a single, slow nod. For the first time, it turned to my eldest son, who flinched beneath the gaze.
“Your coming of age approaches. How do you intend to fulfill the obligation of your blood?” Its thin lips curled cruelly. “Or do you wish to deny your obligation? It has been so long...” and its hands clenched and unclenched, as if aching for blood.
“No!” he almost shouted, starting himself. “I want to study social work, so I can help kids who have escaped abusive families.” Its grin slowly vanished and he gave another slow nod.
“Very well.” It reached into a pocket and pulled out a small object wrapped in red cloth. Reaching out, he extended the package to me.
Rule two: when it offers a gift, do not reject its generosity.
“By accepting this gift and offering it to the flame, you ensure another year of mercy. Mercy which your forefather did not offer the children of the village so many winters ago.” The eyes glowed brighter as it spoke. I took the lump of coal, knowing I would have to put it in the fire as soon as it left. “Until next year.” He turned to leave.
Three: do not turn your back until it is no longer in sight.
As it opened the door and stepped over the threshold, it turned slightly to meet our eyes. It seemed almost disappointed as it gave a single nod and closed the door, at which we all let out the breaths we had been holding. We had survived another visit, and we could have a semblance of celebration the next day before I returned to my life in service of children. As I moved to the fire and deposited the coal, I heard clattering and scraping overhead announcing its departure. For us now, the true holiday could begin. | 2022-01-06T14:51:06 | 2022-01-06T10:45:38 | 159 | 84 |
[WP] Any time you enter a closet or other small space, you have a chance of being transported to a whimsical magical kingdom where you have adventures that last years, but you always return at the exact moment you left. It's a gigantic pain in the neck, and you're completely fed up with it. | "Jared, the internet is gone again."
I sighed and rotated in my task chair to look at the speaker. Lorna was giving me a concerned look from the entrance to my little cubicle, a hair's breadth away from wringing her hands. "I know, Lorna, but I can't help you. I'm having as much trouble with the network as you are."
There's the hand-wringing. "I have a report due in the morning and I need to be able to work! I tried calling the other IT guys but no one is answering, so I thought..."
"You know I can't. You'll just have to wait for one of the other guys to be available."
"My job is riding on this report! Just this once? It doesn't happen *every* time, right? I'll owe you big-time..." Her wheedling voice was almost annoying enough to make it worth being gone for a couple years. Almost.
"It's in my contract," I said in a voice that was edging from weary towards annoyed. "No small single-entrance rooms. I can't afford to have to retrain my skills - and the business can't afford it either - just because I took a risk to swap out an ethernet cable."
"I know, I know - but I really, *really* need to finish this report."
I gave her a flat look. "I'll tell you what. You go in and I'll watch from outside, and I can tell you what to do."
The relief flooding her face tempered the annoyance I was still feeling. "Oh thank you! I owe you big time."
"Darn right, you do." I followed Lorna towards the network closet, ignoring most of her idle chatter, and opened the door for her, being careful not to step over the threshold after her. "Okay, let me look at what's going on... Ah. I think I see the problem. You see that big switch at the bottom of the rack, with the one cable on the far right without the lights blinking?"
She moved over to the offending hardware. "This one?" she asked, pointing.
"That's the one. Go ahead and pull the cable and we'll get a spare from the bins in the back."
She tugged on the cable. "It's not coming out..."
"Oh. Uh, you have to push on the..." She was pulling harder, and the whole rack swayed. It should have been secured, but someone apparently hadn't done their job right. "Wait, stop!" The whole thing very clearly reached its tipping point, and I could tell it was going to land right on Lorna. I moved before I could think, reaching out to prop up the falling hardware.
My foot went *crunch* on snow.
"*Oh!* By the divine, a Son of Adam!"
"GOD DAMMIT!" | "Gary, you spent a thousand dollars on a ... translucent leotard?"
My wife stared at me with thick anger in her eyes, dripping all over the place, and she shifted her eyes from me to the receipt in her hands. "I can explain," I said.
"What the hell is a translucent leotard?"
"It's in the name," I said. "It's a leotard. And it's translucent. In France they wear them all the time. They guy said so."
Rebecca dropped her bathrobe but she didn't even notice. "See," I said. "What if that happened while you were out shopping for apples or cereal or whatever? You'd be the talk of the town. But with a translucent leotard underneath, people wouldn't be able to see a thing. It would all just be a blur, like in Japanese adult movies. You'd be in the clear."
Taking her eyes up from the receipt, crumbling it in her hands, Rebecca said, "What?"
"I can't deal with this right now," I said, and opened our kitchen cabinets. "I need some space to think."
"Don't you dare spirit yourself away from this, Gary. You can't keep crawling into tight spaces for a few seconds then suddenly change your entire mood and pretend as if it's all fine. That's not what healthy, well-adjusted people do."
"Oh," I said. "Like Jonah?"
My wife straightened her posture and curled her lips. "Don't you dare bring up Jonah," she said in a low voice.
"Perfect, six-packed Jonah. If only I were more like him. You reached over and you let your hand glide over his perfect abs, don't think I've forgotten, Becca."
"I was saying goodbye to a dear friend, you monster."
"Goodbye to his abs, maybe. Who does that at a funeral? Just one last touch, huh? Before Jonah gets all bloated. Before he swells up like a balloon."
"Shut up!" she cried. "Shut up!"
Before I could close the cabinets, Rebecca kicked them shut. And so I fell down the kaleidoscopic rabbit hole to Lantra Revera, a land of magic and a neverending struggle between forces of light and darkness. And talking rhinos. I don't like them. They're mean. They'll say, "Come 'ere." And you'll be like, "What for?" and they'll get visibly upset and they'll say it again, louder, and you'll head over there and they'll act like you're some weirdo who came up to them for no reason.
After stealing the sacred scroll of passion from the clutches of the evil warlock Rompstomp McGray, a parchment containing an explicit scene between Princess Brie and her stepmother (also evil), I returned to my world the same way I'd left it, three years before.
"I'm sorry," I said, poking my head out the cabinet. Rebecca kicked my head and the heel dug its way into my cheek and I shrieked. She lost her balance and fell over, knocking her head on the kitchen counter.
I'd forgotten that she hadn't been wearing anything except her heels. "No," I muttered, over and over. Then I realized what I had to do.
Quickly, I gathered my translucent leotard and I dressed her in it. That way, we could have an open coffin funeral and it would be in good taste. They'd see her, but it would be blurred out and respectful. Noble, even.
I thought of the moment when Princess Brie drank a whole chalice of barley wine and told me, "I wrote that scroll." The light in Rompstomp McGray's eyes had faded slowly after I'd plunged my blade in him, and I'd told him Princess Brie wanted the scroll destroyed because it was a terrible, horrible, very bad evil lie. But it was smut, writ from her own bony fingers.
"Oh, Becca," I said. "When I bought that translucent leotard I never imagined I'd have to bury my wife in it."
That was when Rebecca clutched my throat and squeezed it hard. "Bbbbeccksk," I said, wheezing. "Oh gbbddgood. Yourrrr'alivee."
"I did want to get one last chance to touch Jonah's perfect six-pack abs," she said. "Before it got all bloaty. But do you know what I felt when I touched it?"
"Wwhwhtaat," I said.
"Nothing," she said. "I felt nothing."
She let go of my throat and I lunged for air, greedily filling my aching lungs.
"Wait, what the heck?" she said. "Why am I all blurred?"
"It's," I said, between coughs, "it's the translucent leotard."
"It's so ... respectful," she said, in awe. "I feel decent, even though I'm really not."
"That's the appeal," I said.
"I see it now," she said. Then she paused and stared deep into my eyes. "I see it now." | 2022-01-07T16:31:01 | 2022-01-07T13:13:42 | 130 | 54 |
[WP] There is one Ironclad rule in the world: If you have powers, you are probably going to be a Hero or Villain. You have some extremely powerful abilities, but you said you never wanted to be a Hero. Now everybody is convinced you want to be a Villain, and won't stop trying to "save you from evil" | "It's my superpower. I see connections between things other people don't. Sometimes they're actually there. Sometimes they're not. Sometimes the connections are subtle and when people finally catch on they say I'm a genius. It's not perfect; hell, it's not even reliable. But it's often enough and I don't have any other explanation. I win just enough sports bets and day trades to make a living, but not so many the companies shut me down. It's not admissible in court, it's not actionable for intelligence work, and I can't show my work well enough for any investment firm to actually stick by me; believe me, I've washed out of everything I could conceivably use it for. These days, I do what I please. I have some nice dates, I keep up on the news and current events."
"So are you a hero, or a villain?"
"Look, Officer Obvious, this isn't one of your black and white showdowns. I'm just a guy making his way in the world. I'm not hurting anybody. I can't help anybody. Not any more than anybody else. I'm not a hero. I'm not a villain."
"If you're a hero, you're supposed to help people! If you're a villain, I have to stop you!"
"I...I'm starting a non-profit to advocate for the rights of people who don't fit into the superpower binary, to look after people who might otherwise fall through the cracks of the system to prevent them from turning into the kind of guy who blows up my house."
"So you're a hero then?"
"I'm a guy who lives in a house that doesn't want it blown up and doesn't want to get harassed about it. I just finished getting it paid off. If I'm a hero, I've already got my mission to do as I see fit. If I'm a villain, I'm so far down the priorities list I'll be long dead before you ever see my name again. Go home." | As his eyes scanned for an answer, the clock continued to slowly tick and pace along. Shallow breaths with droning murmurs emanated from the towering figure, He was hesitant about his next action. With his shoulders hunched forward a defeated sigh pushes through his teeth with a slight hiss. Then, he began to contemplate his next move.
"It's too much... I don't think-"
His thoughts raced before being interrupted by the chiming of a bell. Time was running short, and soon it would all be over.
"No... this is the best course to take... There is no going back once I've left this place..." He reached out with his hand and grasped at the object he desired. "This is for the best..."
The figure turns, dropping the bag of Lightly Salted: Original Style Crisps from the shelf into his basket amongst his sandwich. He stood, towering in his stained hoodie and wrinkled shorts looking at any last minute additions for his feast. The late night dinner run was coming to an end, and in five minutes the corner store was about to close up shop.
"Dammit. Did they move it again?" He whispered to himself, running his fingers through his brunet locks.
This was not your average man, but what you would call a N.E.H.V. Not in Employment, Heroism, Or Villainy. These were the dropouts, burnouts, and overall outcasts of "Supers". Some people are born with great powers, and go on to do great things. Others, find employment that synergizes with their powers and make a living. Unfortunately, there are those who are cursed for life depending on what power is thrusted upon them. Not all powers are equal, but most people seem to get by just fine. Even the ones who have no power at all. No one chose what they got, and no power chose what human they wound up in.
His hazel eyes scanned the back walls,
"Hmmm...Oh, They have it!" He grinned, trotting back to the fridge area.
A plethora of Beer, Soda, and Sports drinks illuminated by fluorescent bulbs covered the eastern wall. This store was the closest to his flat that stocked his favorite kind of beer: A light, refreshing lager that paired well with any salt-laden sustenance. There, he saw the last silver and golden tote stand alone and made a quick dash for the door. As the sound of flip-flops pattered across the tile, his joy caught the eyes of a stock-woman giving a slightly pitiful smile.
"Late night meal run, Callan? You know we close in a few minutes." She chuckled to herself.
Late nights at the convenience store were a habit for Callan. The only people around usually were the Shop-owner, her, and the occasional Biker or stoner passing through. This night, two night-goers had pulled up as the man and woman began to chat.
"Yeah," He said with a smile, opening up the glass door. "I see you're running out of the good stuff again, Kate."
The red haired girl scoffs and sets down the box of confectionaries. She had a pear build to her and was the same age as Callan.
"You know that stuffs the cheapest beer, and for good reason right?" Another chime from the entry door rings through the store, and two men in motorcycle helmets walk in, greeted by the shopkeeper. She continues: "It's nicknamed piss-water for a reason."
Callan bends forward and reaches in to grab the cardboard handle. "Yeah, who knew something so cheap could be so good? Sometimes you have to appreciate the little things in life, Kate. Besides, you never complained about drinking it back when we were in school." A grin flashes across his face as he turns to her, "Also, how would you know what piss even tastes like?"
She rolls her eyes, "Uhg... you're so gross. At least I'm not some N.E.H.V wasting my powers on-"
The sound of a chambered shogun shell cuts the sentence short. Callan and Kate's head snaps towards the west entrance, and the man punches a hole through the ceiling with 12 gauge buckshot.
\------- | 2022-10-04T20:22:45 | 2022-10-04T19:20:03 | 170 | 94 |
[WP] One of your coworkers is a 2.2m, 100kg tarantula named Phil. Phil is... hard to look at, frankly. But Krystal has been trying to get him fired. Phil doesn't deserve that so you're taking him to HR to help file a discrimination complaint. | There was a soft knock at the door, as if somebody had used a feather duster to knock, and the door inched open.
"Is this a good time?" Two globulous eyes surrounded by fur were peering through the opening.
"Ah, Phil, yes. Come in please," said the prim woman behind the desk. She was the head of HR and I had been briefing her on the issue between Phil and Krystal.
The enormous tarantula, Phil, entered the room and sat his abdomen on the chair besides me.
"First of all, let me assure you that this is a safe place and nobody will judge you."
Phil nodded and started talking immediately. Well, I say talking, what I really mean is that somehow, the spider was communicating with sounds that were not human speech but was nonetheless understood by everybody in the building. It didn't seem to apply to outside contractors or clients and so, we managed to keep Phil working on internal affairs. He had been here since before most of us and never had any troubles until Krystal happened.
"Thank you... Hum... I think something very basic got lost in translation at the welcoming event. Most people address me as 'Phil' but nobody seems to know it stands for 'Philomena' and that I am a woman spider."
Oops. I was part of that problem. "Sorry, I assumed it was short for Phillip!" I was feeling quite embarrassed and Augusta, the woman behind the desk sighed. "Thank you, Philomena, duly noted. I will address this issue. But I don't think that this is why you're here today?"
The tarantula shook her head and part of her body from left to right. "No... ever since Krystal started working here, she has been making it difficult to do my work. She keeps interrupting my filing and paperwork, and I also think that she is spreading rumours around the office that I eat my young."
"That is a serious accusation. Why does she think that?"
I had to interrupt. "Excuse me but, why would that be important? We are talking about an employee harrassing another and you are asking if the harrasser has any reason to act like that? This sounds like victim blaming to me."
Augusta rearranged her papers on her desk, something she did when she needed a second or two to think before answering. "I don't want to blame anybody, but the circumstances surrounding this incident are highly unorthodox."
"Because Phil is a spider? I still think that non discriminatory policies would apply in her case, no? Are you trying to say that these policies only apply for certain species?"
"That's not... That's not what I'm implying. Listen... It's still a rare situation, and all I ask is cooperation from everyone as people adjust to working here."
I got up. "Philomena, I know a good lawyer. I think you should note exactly what has been said here and refer HR and other employees to your lawyer for all future correspondence."
I took one of her feet in my hand, even though her fur tickled, and even though Augusta was trying to get us to stay and talk about it some more and we exited the HR office, claw in hand. | Maybe he was trying to make a point of it, but Phil stayed in his office, bashing away at his ludicrously large computer keyboard until the moment that Krystal Bryant stood up. It was 5:35. The door burst open, and out he sailed, his legs working like the inside of a typewriter, somehow resulting in a motion that was eerily smooth. His eyes were a cluster of dark blobs, simultaneously giving off a matte as well as glossy effect with the reflections from the fluorescent bulbs overhead, but otherwise almost lifeless. The paisley tie hanging loosely around his neck would have been comical if not for the wearer, and a briefcase dangled from a single raised leg.
Gliding forward with frightening speed, he reached the door before her. A moment passed, where she recoiled at little as possible while those eyes drank her in (no words could ever come out from that mouth), and the door was slowly, gently opened. After another moment they had both disappeared.
Allowing my muscles to un-tense, I finally went to Joy's office. She wasn't happy to see me, and made shows of checking the time while I explained everything again.
'So let's be clear about this- the arachnid that you referenced- I take it that's Phil Tarantula, yes? And you're saying that Krystal is spearheading a secret campaign to fabricate pretexts to get him fired from this company. I have to be honest, unless you can provide me with some kind of proof of that, it's his word against hers.'
I took a moment to parse the subtext. Was she on Krystal's side?
'Furthermore, there is an ongoing investigation involving one or both of those under discussion, so I would rather not discuss it with you anymore.'
I lost my composure then.
'You mean the witch-hunt!'
Her shocked expression, mouth slightly agape, did nothing to calm my boiling blood.
'Don't think everyone doesn't know about it. Couple of workers stop coming to work, where does the suspicion immediately go, huh? He's the best worker in this floor, working more hours than anyone probably, but as soon as someone vanishes where do all the eyes turn? To the spider! What do you think it's like for him? All his children are unemployed except maybe three or four. He's got almost a hundred mouths to feed, and he works his abdomen off, but at the end of the day all you see are his eight legs and his fangs. You don't see his spreadsheets, you don't see his output, but I do! You know it's bullshit, you know Krystal wants that office.'
I had gotten the blood out from between my ears and I felt ashamed, but also a grim satisfaction.
Joy stood up, uncertain. She eased her way out from her desk. Her slight frame almost brushed up against mine, until I stepped back, and I found myself aroused. However, she tottered to the door, and, confirming that the coast was clear, she closed the door and looked me in the eye.
'Don't tell anyone. He's a freak. We found a camera in the ladies. _In the toilet._ I set up another camera and saw him pick it up later. I'll spare you the rest of the details. I told the police, but they said they don't want to charge him yet because there's _another ongoing investigation._ So don't feel too much sympathy for your eight-legged office buddy who does all your work for you. Don't think I don't know. Just get ready for him to be-.'
She made a thumb, and jabbed it in the direction of the office front door. My arousal, having abated at the events thusfar relayed, returned for some reason, but my eye contact didn't stick, and I had possibly embarrassed myself enough for one night. So I wished her a good night and left.
Happy thoughts of what might have transpired were washing around my head as I made my way through the parking garage looking for my vehicle. I heard him before I saw him. That _thunk thonk thunk thonk._ We stared at each other from twenty paces. The glint in his eyes was barely apparent in the gloom. His yellow necktie was the only thing I could really make out clearly.
'Is it true?' I demanded, a desperate cry that just kept echoing around the concrete walls and metal doors around us.
He suddenly _thunk thonked_ in a circle. I had no idea what that meant. I had never really spoken to the guy much so his elaborate system of sign language was alien to me. But I guessed it meant a denial. He had moved closer now, and there was something untrustworthy in his gaze.
'Liar!' I called out. He ran at me.
Not many people in the office are aware that concealed carry is a perfectly legal thing in this part of the world. From my jacket holster I drew my silver magnum. Phil _thunk thunk thunked_ to me.
'Fucking liar!' I cried, as I unloaded into his empty eyes, which exploded into a disgusting goo. 'Pervert!'
As he lay on the ground, writhing in his death throes, Phil looked up at me with his last remaining functional eye, and he finally spoke.
'John, I... Didn't do it. Lies. Tell my children I was good. I was... _Good_...' | 2022-10-15T07:17:39 | 2022-10-15T06:08:35 | 369 | 61 |
[WP] "Nobody will hear you scream!" the serial killer said to their would-be victim. Too late did they realise that this also means that no one would hear them scream either. | “Oh goodie,” she purred, eyes narrowing to slits, her grin growing, growing, tugging at the corners of a mouth that lengthened into a muzzle, a muzzle whose skin stretched and split and slide off in wet, dense masses, splattering onto the ground around her. Beneath, gleamed white, hard bone. Eyes turned from earthy brown to a starry night, flicks of sparks whirling and burning between the black.
She leaned down, forward, onto all fours, long fingers digging deep into the ground as she shook her head, her shoulders, loose bits of flesh and skin scattering across the grass and sliding down the bark of forest trees.
“I hate when my meals get interrupted,” she crooned, a voice strung from something deep down inside the earth, older than bones and shells and fossils.
The serial killer *was* right, though. No one did hear him scream. No matter how hard he tried, or for how long it went on for.
He always did pick the perfect spot for a murder. | The rain pattered gently against the pavement, the only sound in the dark night. My footsteps echoed in the silence as I made my way towards my destination.
I could see the light coming from the windows of the old abandoned warehouse, and I knew that's where he would be. He always chose places like this.
In the week or so that I had been following him, I had learned everything I could about him. His name was Robert, and he was a serial killer.
He had killed at least eight people that I knew of, and I was determined to stop him. After tracking him for days, and I finally had him cornered.
I pulled my gun from its holster and slowly approached the warehouse. I could hear movement inside, and I knew he was in there. I crept through the door, gun at the ready.
The first thing I noticed was the smell: death. My eyes scanned the room, and I saw him.
Robert was standing over a body, but he had no weapon in his hand.
I stepped out of the shadows, gun trained on him. He slowly turned to face me, and I saw the look in his eyes. It was a look of pure evil.
"It's too late for that," Robert said, "You should have left me alone."
"I can't let you kill anymore."
He laughed, a cold, heartless laugh.
"You can't stop me," he said. "You think I haven't noticed you following me?"
He took a step towards me, and I stepped back.
"I know everything about you," he said. " I know where you live, I know where you work."
"I don't care," I said. " I'm going to stop you."
He took another step towards me, and I stepped back again.
"You can't stop me," he said. "Nobody can!"
He lunged at me, and I pulled the trigger.
The bullet hit him in the chest, and he stumbled backwards.
I stepped forward and fired again.
This time the bullet hit him in the head, and he fell to the ground, dead.
I breathed a sigh of relief and holstered my gun. Robert lay still.
I turned to Robert's victim's body on the ground, and my blood ran cold. The victim's body was missing its head.
Suddenly, Robert's body stirred.
I stepped back in shock as he slowly rose to his feet.
Roberts eyes were hollow and dead, and his skin was pale.
He opened his mouth, and I saw that his teeth had been replaced with sharp fangs.
I emptied my gun into him, but the bullets had no effect. He kept coming, and I turned and ran.
I could hear his footsteps behind me, and I knew he was coming for me. I ran for my life, but I knew I couldn't outrun him. He was faster, stronger, and more powerful than I could ever hope to be.
Suddenly, I felt his hand, impossibly strong, on my shoulder, and I knew it was over.
He slammed me against the wall and turned me to face him, and I saw the unearthly hunger in his eyes.
"Nobody hears the screams of the dead," he said, before he sunk his teeth into my neck. | 2022-10-25T16:13:30 | 2022-10-25T13:39:59 | 100 | 55 |
[WP] You are a wizard that specializes in summoning magic. Unlike other summoners that forcefully bind otherworldly creatures to do their bidding, you are the eldritch equivalent of "I know a guy". | The embarrassing thing is that I didn't even start out a Summoner; I went to school for the three P's (Prognostication, Potions, and Protection) with a minor in Elemental Manipulation (barely passed that one).
But you save one Non-Human Entity and share food with another and don't discriminate when it comes to the background of your customers and it gets around that you're the guy to go see when an Ice Wraith is having hot flashes.
And the thing is, is that these beings don't work the same way as humans. Like literally on a cosmic or atomic or magical level.
A Vampire with a blood allergy might pay you in cash for the "vegan" alternative you found in the back of some crusty blood-stained tome, but in the grander scheme of things they "owe" you for every day they keep living. Not that I knew it at the time, I just felt sorry for the kid: newly turned and already abandoned by his creator, slowly and painfully starving to death because of his own immune system.
I had to start getting creative with them paying me off because some of them have their own ideas if you take to long and believe me NO ONE wants to wake up to the heads of a Three-Headed Arachno-Wolf dripping venom on their bed-covers (again). Like, yeah, the venom is useful in potions but it also burns through fabric like tissue paper in an inferno. That Vampire guy I mentioned earlier is an excellent shop assistant though,
So I became the guy who "knows a guy".
You got a relative trying to force you to give up your body so they can live on through you? I know a guy who can help with that, he works for the Death department and they're worse than the IRS when they think someone's pulled a fast one.
Abusive ex wont leave you alone? I know a couple of guys who run a, uh, "specialized" butcher shop that caters to the non-human elements of society.
Need to make a deal to save the life of someone you love? I know a guy who can make that happen.
and so on.
So yeah, maybe "summoner" is stretching it a bit but I have a lot of "guys" I can call upon in my hour of need and, buddy, all you walked in here with was a gun | The Commandant says that when you join The Grey Men, your past ceases to be, and from that point on, you're born anew into a brotherhood of the iron price stretching back to before the fall of the Reiyjkitic Empire.
Now, I'm not sure about all that. For all my sins, I still carried my past with me. Not much to it. There was a woman who approved of me, a brother and father who did not, and a late night ambush that didn't go quite the way they planned.
They thought I was alone, but I knew a...guy. Can't say I was the only one in this band of cutthroats that signed his commission with a couple bodies (and the King's Men) behind him.
We had just spent a long, boring Winter in The Reaches, holed up in some no name border fort, across what could only generously be called a river from our enemies. Our current employer was another one of the constantly infighting Clans of the numberless frozen North; at this point, only the Commandant and Odds can keep them straight. The river valley had two defensible entrances from the mountains on either side, leading to a nice, comfy stalemate.
The Grey Men don't mind. We get paid by the day.
Odds had tried to explain over a hand of Clink that knowing the Clan had something to do with the patterns on their armor, but I wasn't really paying too much attention. As the name suggested, he was a degenerate gambler, but also so damned good at it that he was also the company Bookmaker. He also wasn't above cheating a friend at cards, so my attention had been more on his hands than his story.
I was sitting in front of one of the fire places, my sodden boots and stockinged feet steaming from being too close to the fire. I was grumbling to myself, pausing only to sip at a steaming cup of *kafeel*. I don't know where the Northmen get it, but I had gotten too used to it, and was using the hot cup to comfort me even though the weather had already changed. That was part of my problem, on the patrol that had just returned. Apparently, the North only had two seasons: Frozen Tundra, or Mud Pit. And soaked to the thighs, it really wasn't *that* much warmer.
Odds and Tailor tromped into the greatroom, looking around briefly before heading straight for my fireplace. I sighed into my mug, feeling my day slide further into shit as they came my way.
"Alright, asshole, what is it?" I groused at him.
"Sounds like some noise up in officer country, Broker. Seems I heard your name attached, so I'd keep my head down, was I you" Odds warned me.
"Great," I bitched, "even after that horseshit patrol this morning? Humping the fucking boonies before daybreak with naught to find or fight but the thrice-damned mosquitos?!"
Tailor ignored us, going over to a table, where he started laying out his tools. That got my attention. The man can't sew a straight fucking stitch to save your life... and that's his fucking job.
I shuddered as he laid out what could only be described as a hacksaw. If it came down to it, I know a guy, have him on retainer; I'd rather take my chances with him than let the Tailor take my measure.
Just then, Sergeant Black came storming into the room, a good portion of the cohort behind him. Again, they came straight to my fireplace, and I cussed as Cookie nudged my arm and made me spill hot kaf on myself.
"Alright, Broker, time to earn your pay, you hemrroidal pain in my ass. Orders from the Commandant, by way of Lieutenant Songbird. It's time for us to get out from this commission, and we don't resign commissions." His pink eyes looked at me meaningfully.
I nodded, "So that's the plan, Blacky? Attack the fort?". Blacky removed his helm, running a hand through his wispy white hair as he nodded back. He was a craggy, alabaster rock of man, and he smiled.
"About fucking time!" Foul Play chimed in from the corner, a wine skin he had somehow found in hand. Knowing what was to come, I suddenly wished I had something harder than kafeel myself | 2022-11-12T00:21:49 | 2022-11-11T23:07:56 | 225 | 29 |
[WP] You are a wizard that specializes in summoning magic. Unlike other summoners that forcefully bind otherworldly creatures to do their bidding, you are the eldritch equivalent of "I know a guy". | People often misunderstand the way magic works. Do something one way, and everybody, everywhere, assumed that was the only way to do it. But I understood magic had few fundamentele rules. Oh, it had many rules alright, and people were very focused on that. But it had few fundamentele rules. I became known as the person who broke even those. Binding creatures of magic, creatures of the eldritch realm, always came with a cost, and a high on at that. But I learned another method, on the fateful day when I was summoned to the eldritch realm instead of summoned from it. At the time, for some reason, perhaps shock, the first thing I did was point out my captors hadn't made a proper binding circle. Someone came forward, Zushimalain, I later learned his name was, and laughed at me. 'Why would we need to do that? Why would we want to? We are much more powerful than you, and besides, what I plan to ask of you is not so disagreeable that you'll need to be forced.' what would you ask of me then?, I said. And why do you think I will be able to help? And at the time, I was filled with terror, but I did my best not to show it.
You're human, the man said. I need you to persuade someone to stop attacking. We have heard that no one is as persuasive as a human, and besides, you can lie when almost no of us can. This was the first time I was introduced to the idea that the ability to lie makes someone a better diplomat, and I found it intriguing, and my curiosity soon overcame my terror. But I still had one question. 'How can you say that what you're asking is not disagreeable, when I will need to go near someone who attacks?'
You will not need to go near, for we have found a way for you to speak to the Attacker from a distance.
So I tried this, and I was successful, and so all who had previously been bothered by this Attacker felt they owed me, and we celebrated our victory, and I learned many of their names and occupations. From that moment onward, I remembered what I was like to be summoned, and refrained from binding any eldritch creatures, instead asking those I knew, either to return a favor, or to help me out in the name of our friendship. Binding costs everything, yes. Sometimes everything you have. But asking costs nothing. | The Commandant says that when you join The Grey Men, your past ceases to be, and from that point on, you're born anew into a brotherhood of the iron price stretching back to before the fall of the Reiyjkitic Empire.
Now, I'm not sure about all that. For all my sins, I still carried my past with me. Not much to it. There was a woman who approved of me, a brother and father who did not, and a late night ambush that didn't go quite the way they planned.
They thought I was alone, but I knew a...guy. Can't say I was the only one in this band of cutthroats that signed his commission with a couple bodies (and the King's Men) behind him.
We had just spent a long, boring Winter in The Reaches, holed up in some no name border fort, across what could only generously be called a river from our enemies. Our current employer was another one of the constantly infighting Clans of the numberless frozen North; at this point, only the Commandant and Odds can keep them straight. The river valley had two defensible entrances from the mountains on either side, leading to a nice, comfy stalemate.
The Grey Men don't mind. We get paid by the day.
Odds had tried to explain over a hand of Clink that knowing the Clan had something to do with the patterns on their armor, but I wasn't really paying too much attention. As the name suggested, he was a degenerate gambler, but also so damned good at it that he was also the company Bookmaker. He also wasn't above cheating a friend at cards, so my attention had been more on his hands than his story.
I was sitting in front of one of the fire places, my sodden boots and stockinged feet steaming from being too close to the fire. I was grumbling to myself, pausing only to sip at a steaming cup of *kafeel*. I don't know where the Northmen get it, but I had gotten too used to it, and was using the hot cup to comfort me even though the weather had already changed. That was part of my problem, on the patrol that had just returned. Apparently, the North only had two seasons: Frozen Tundra, or Mud Pit. And soaked to the thighs, it really wasn't *that* much warmer.
Odds and Tailor tromped into the greatroom, looking around briefly before heading straight for my fireplace. I sighed into my mug, feeling my day slide further into shit as they came my way.
"Alright, asshole, what is it?" I groused at him.
"Sounds like some noise up in officer country, Broker. Seems I heard your name attached, so I'd keep my head down, was I you" Odds warned me.
"Great," I bitched, "even after that horseshit patrol this morning? Humping the fucking boonies before daybreak with naught to find or fight but the thrice-damned mosquitos?!"
Tailor ignored us, going over to a table, where he started laying out his tools. That got my attention. The man can't sew a straight fucking stitch to save your life... and that's his fucking job.
I shuddered as he laid out what could only be described as a hacksaw. If it came down to it, I know a guy, have him on retainer; I'd rather take my chances with him than let the Tailor take my measure.
Just then, Sergeant Black came storming into the room, a good portion of the cohort behind him. Again, they came straight to my fireplace, and I cussed as Cookie nudged my arm and made me spill hot kaf on myself.
"Alright, Broker, time to earn your pay, you hemrroidal pain in my ass. Orders from the Commandant, by way of Lieutenant Songbird. It's time for us to get out from this commission, and we don't resign commissions." His pink eyes looked at me meaningfully.
I nodded, "So that's the plan, Blacky? Attack the fort?". Blacky removed his helm, running a hand through his wispy white hair as he nodded back. He was a craggy, alabaster rock of man, and he smiled.
"About fucking time!" Foul Play chimed in from the corner, a wine skin he had somehow found in hand. Knowing what was to come, I suddenly wished I had something harder than kafeel myself | 2022-11-12T00:08:05 | 2022-11-11T23:07:56 | 63 | 29 |
[WP] Someone laughs, and someone cries. They are looking at the same thing, at the same time. | He laughed as the awkward young teenager stumbled down the road, each step twisted yet methodical. He laughed at the unfortunate looking boy with his gangly limbs, with acne dappled skin, and with his floppy brown hair. He laughed as the boy smiled from ear to ear, revealing crooked teeth and braces, his eyes alight with an almost childlike joy.
But she? She cried tears of joy as her son finally took his first steps. | Albert Butts sat his keester down in front of the old computer after a stressful day at work. He ducked under his desk to whip out a small glass and some cheap blended scotch. Two drinks later after reading random emails and crappy facebook notifications, he decides to see what Reddit has to offer in the way of entertainment for him. His favorite subreddit is /r/wtf.
Meanwhile across the globe, seemingly unconnected from our friend Albert Butts, is Amanda Poots, also a blue collar worker who just got off her shift from work. She walks into her apartment, plops down on a chair in her dining room, uncorks a fresh bottle of merlot and proceeds to bring the glass to her lips before remembering that she can't drink for the next 9 months. Frustrated she grabs her laptop hoping this new site she learned about called Reddit would distract her for a while.
Albert is one sick fuck, no he isn't, but when he's had a few in him his sensitivity is well, a bit dulled. It's the best state to be in for him while he browses /r/wtf. After a few minutes Albert finds the link. At first sight he isn't sure what he's seeing. Then it all becomes clear to Albert as his lips turn into a grin and his grin becomes a cackle and his cackle becomes a dizzying roar of intoxicated insanity, Albert has erupted, the stress from work is shooting out of him as he howls! He screams "aaaaahahahah it's a butt baby!!! ahahahaa that woman has a baby leg shooting out of her ass!!
At the same time, Amanda is not sure how to navigate this site called Reddit, Her boyfriend Dave calls, She's now doing her usual habit of haphazardly clicking links while focusing on her conversation with Dave. "uhuh yeah well lets try to order those books from amazon, it's cheaper" She clicks the random button and is taken to r/wtf/. Then Dave tells her that he's worried about this pregnancy, he's heard it can be quite a painful process for the mother. As Amanda is listening she clicks on a link whose title she did not bother reading.
Amanda drops the phone, she goes numb, tears start to well up in her ducts, wincing and confusion commence as she stares at a picture of a woman with a new born baby's leg protruding out of her anus, the baby's ass and swollen testicles lodged partially in what was left of the woman's vagina.
The tears come streaming down her face as the laughter pours out of Albert's. Simultaneously tickled on either end of the emotional spectrum, stress lowering and stress building as they both face this medical abomination. | 2013-11-15T11:27:27 | 2013-11-15T09:59:54 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] Humans are an intergalactic species, but also pacifist in their natural state. Earth is created in an attempt to create violent humans to face a new threat. | "What in the bloody hell is this supposed to mean?!" the secgov roared at the assembled analyst. His temper had always been a source of fear and it was not unheard of that a promising analyst was suddenly reassigned from his exploration duties to a bureaucratic position on the capital.
Not that the report in their superior's hands didn't justify the governor's reaction. Nonhuman life in the Virgo supercluster had been exterminated nearly 30,000 years earlier and since then, surprisingly enough, there had been little need for warfare. Of the ancient warships, only a handful remained recognizable in their respective museums.
The damage caused by the scout ships, presumably originating from somewhere within the nearby Shapley supercluster, was devastating. With no planetary defenses, over 250 inhabited worlds had fallen prey to the raiders before they retreated. The Central Council, in its infinite wisdom, had decided to breed new soldiers, a long and difficult task which was finally coming to an end. After nearly 10,000 years a new subspecies of humans had been successfully created. They were short-lived and aggressive, bordering on psychopathic. In summary, they were perfect for the task. Nearly 4 billion fully grown specimen, ready to be sent into battle after Initiation and not a moment too soon. Since the initial attack, like clockwork, larger and larger forces had attacked the fringe galaxies, leaving millions upon millions of planets in ashes.
Nobody could have predicted the subhumans would develop so quickly, though. Perhaps observing them once every 100 earth years wasn't often enough. The previous report given to the secgov had told of world-wide wars, of slavery, of indescribably violent crimes and of devastating weaponry. This new report painted an entirely different picture and the secgov's rhetorical question visibly darkened the room.
"What the fuck do you mean they declared *world peace*? They've just gone and stopped fighting? Everyone? Just put down their fucking weapons and gone back to their primitive, fucking hovels? What am I supposed to tell the fucking council now?!" | “Sargent Komklosky, you have been summoned to the grand council today to give a disposition on the current status of the Earth Project. At the end of the disposition it will be decided how much funding we shall keep channeling into overseeing of Earths affairs. It will also be determined if we can approach them and recruit them to be the fighting force of our Galactic Empire.”
“Yes Sir. So far throughout our entire experiment the humans of the newest generation are starting to become less violent then previous generations. With that being said there is still a lot of violent humans on the planet. The religious variable that we installed very early on is still the driving factor in many of their wars. There is a sect of humans though that is completely forgoing religion which in turn has created their own pseudo religion called “Atheists” who are an interesting group to say the least. Most of them are part of the younger generations and their split from organized religion is at times violent. It also seems that they are deeply patriotic for their home countries, and will rise to combat anyone who even thinks about attacking them. This was most evident during the 1940s in what is termed “World War 2”. The most fascinating thing about this war is their knack for overcoming great odds. When pushed to the brink the humans that have evolved on earth will reach into some unknown reserve to push on and win at all costs.”
“This is all fascinating stuff Komklosky, but what about their technological advances. Some of the higher ranking generals are concerned that they are rapidly closing the gap on us technologically. If it is deemed that they are becoming too dangerous to our survival we might have to permanently just the project down.
Sargent Komklosky took a deep breath trying to formulate his response “If I am to give a blunt statistical overview of the humans of Earth they have already surpassed us as far as weapon technologies go. Their discovery of the destructive capabilities of nuclear power was still years down the road for us. Their space program however is still in its infancy, and we are trying everything we can to slow it down. We currently have a low ranking Corporal in charge of one of the strongest Earth countries known as the United States. He has so far completely shut down the government funded space program, and has struck deals with other nations to disarm some of their nuclear ordinances. Along with figure head at the top of the political food chain, we have inserted some people in certain religious sects to create what the Humans of Earth are calling “Fundamentalist Religion”. This is causing a technological backwater to occur including some people totally opposing new technology. We think that with these stop gaps in place we will be able to slow their technological gains over the long term. Finally my last remark is this. If you were to permanently shut down the Earth Project how would we go about accomplishing this task. I have spent the last 40 years on this project and I can say without a shadow of doubt in my mind that our previous methods of population control will not work. The Humans of Earth are no longer in the Dark Ages and a plague will no longer thin their numbers. Before any of you question the validity of this claim I have to state that we broke Inter-Galactic treaties in attempting to eradicate the Humans of Earth over the last 40 years. Our current attempt is an old virus that we implanted long ago called the Ebola Virus. We have just recently reworked the genetic code a bit and re-released it into the wild. So far it has proven effective in poor areas of the planet, but the humans are quickly adapting and overcoming their current plight. In my expert opinion we are past the point of return. We have created these monsters on the planet and we’ll have to live with the consequences. Any planned invasion will be in vein because of the previously mentioned resolve. Our only hope now is that they don’t set their sights on conquest when they get to space, or the whole galaxy is in for a long struggle.”
| 2014-08-11T08:45:48 | 2014-08-11T06:27:53 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] At your job, you have one task. Every day you go in, sit at your desk, and wait for a red light to turn on. When it does, you push a button. You repeat this process until the end of your shift. One day, you find out what the button does... | Jabez Wilson, Private Detective.
That's what the sign on the door said, and that's who he was.
Doyle sat down in the chair offered to him by the redheaded detective and gratefully accepted the glass of water.
"Is it bad news?" Doyle asked.
"I'm afraid so," the detective said. "A few hacked email accounts, and a few hidden microphones was all it took. I wont charge you anything for this job, but you have to brace yourself for the truth about the red light."
Doyle sipped the glass of water again. He'd had concerns about his new job ever since it was given to him last year. It wasn't the work itself, that was easy, but he felt that his boss was constantly lying to him. After 3 solid weeks of work, the detective finally had answers.
"Cast your mind back to a year ago," said the detective. "You came home unexpectedly from your old job in the sales department, to find your wife in her underwear."
"You mean..." Doyle said.
"Yes, it wasn't the parrot at all. Despite your 1 hour commute, you'd nearly caught your wife and your boss in the middle of some afternoon hanky panky!"
The room swirled. Doyle could hardly believe it. And yet, it all started to make sense now.
The private detective continued his explanation. "Your wife has an app on her phone. Every time she gets a 'visitor' she triggers that red light. She had explained to your boss how to rig it up at your new desk. Every time you push the button, it lets her know you're still in the office."
"But, the light comes on so often!" Doyle exclaimed. "Especially in the last 3 weeks."
"Yes," the detective said, turning his head away in shame. "I wont be charging you anything for this job."
| I'd been pushing the button for so long I don't even think about it anymore. The light comes on, I instinctively push it. It's been a part of my life for so long it's become second nature. I just try and pass the time until the light comes. It's been this way every day for the past 10 years.
Today, it never came on.
I walk to Carol's office, a hefty woman with the shrillest voice I've ever heard. My mind wanders as I do, questioning, "Why? Certainly I can't be the only one?" She sits slumped over her desk, head in both hands. The unsettling feeling of the atmosphere in this space is overwhelming, something isn't right.
I ask her, "what's going on? My light hasn't come on all day?" She looks at me with pure contempt, then to her computer screen once more. She lets out a bloodcurdling scream, I step backward and notice she has something in her hand.
I'm sitting up against the wall now. My ears ringing, debris everywhere. I blink to readjust my vision and the smoke feels like a million daggers on my tender eyeballs. I'm unable to see Carol at all, I pray she's alright. I try to catch my breath and my lungs instantly feel on fire. I choke and sputter, my vision blurring ever more. My head is ringing and I feel a tingling sensation slowly begin to wash over my entire body.
What was on that computer screen? I *have* to know. I try to stand and instantly fall back to the ground. I shield my eyes and look down, barely able to see through the thick smoke enveloping me. Below the knee, my left leg has been reduced to a mound of mangled meat, fragments of bone protrude, the tiny splinters evidence of the sheer force of the blast.
I see a light shining from beneath Carol's desk. I know before I start crawling that it's the monitor. I'm getting weaker, but I must know. What the hell had she been looking at. Why had my light not went off?
I slowly crawl forward, my bloody stump leaving a distinct streak in the soot covered floor as I go.
I try to think of my fondest memories as I trudge along. For some reason, all I can think of is the people on reddit. How much some of them care about upvotes, some would even go to great lengths to get them. How a moderator removing a post can ruin someone's day, cause unparallelled hatred. It's all so trivial, but that's what drives the community. I smile while having this realization.
The computer screen is almost within my grasp now, and I can now make out the scorched remains of Carol's body, her fleshless arm peeking out at me as I drag myself forward. I notice something glinting in the sparse light, dangling from her pointer finger. The nearer I draw, the more it taunts me. "What *is* that?" I ask myself. It looks so familiar, but so foreign. Maybe something I'd seen in a movie but never up close.
I reach out and wipe the layer of black away from the computer screen, I've finally made it. I shudder at what meets my eyes. Unable to believe I've wasted so much of my life pressing that button, all for this. I'd fantasized that maybe it was something important, due to the secretive nature of the job. If only I'd had any idea just how wrong I was. I rest my head on the floor and watch as my tears begin to collect below me, mixing in with the dirt and soot and other particles beneath me. I glance at the computer once more as my vision slowly begins to fade into nothingness.
The message onscreen reads : /u/Hefty_N_Shrill, your post has been removed by a moderator.
Some people *really* need those fucking upvotes.
to avoid confusion: woman running an upvote mill goes kamikaze when her post gets removed by a mod. Heyooo
| 2014-12-02T17:32:24 | 2014-12-02T16:39:16 | 112 | 10 |
[WP] The universe was a program running in a giant computer, and animal sacrifices by early civilizations were simply a misunderstanding of the computer requiring "more RAM" | Ancient man, he understands
The gods' intentions perfectly:
A sacrifice—
Such a small price—
To live in nature's harmony.
 
The ancient priests gathered the beasts
But the Ram's horns pierced their tunics:
They screamed in pain,
Blood 'tween their legs,
And that's how they made UNIX. | Godwin was an egomaniac. He smiles at the thought of many of the subjects revering him, their creator, as a being of supreme power and intelligence. It was basically true anyway. He was the smartest man in the googleverse by leaps and bounds. Of course, there were mistakes, the lamb, ram debacle. Animal sacrifice was required though as their early ancestors had done it. How some cultures had more RAM roughly translate to human and their sacrifice was a bit more puzzling.
Now, though, this was his greatest achievement. They could see where everything went wrong, where these humans had come from and why they were so dangerous. Other Ramanastians hypothesized it was a religious fervor that explained their spread and destruction, like bacteria overwhelming a body.
The humans probably couldn't fathom it, not truly. Who would ever mistake the universe that surrounded them as a living being. The population was not concerned at first. It was only one man, but, then, others were sick. There was no clue as to how or why the humans spread. So, Godwin, in his infinite wisdom, proposed the program. The program would answer all of their questions.
Now, they were on the cusp. He liked watching them. Over the past few weeks as the humans spread at an exponential rate, he had even started to care about some of them. He watches as the humans conquer intergalactic travel. Then, they conquer inter-dimensional travel. Humans have found an inter-dimensional vector to spread.
Godwin is perplexed, actually concerned. If humans can travel as such, there is no stopping them. They will infect every "universe" until they are all destroyed. He searches for more answers, but quarantine cannot stop this kind of biological infection. The humans advance too quickly for them to combat.
Godwin for the first time in his life has to admit defeat, and that he does not have the answers they are looking for. They could introduce a foreign body into their race to defeat humanity, but this did not work before. If they could find a way to communicate with them, they may be able to live in peace with them. But, fluid in Godwin's nodule builds up, and he coughs to expel it. Humans have spread to his body. He realizes, in all of his infinite wisdom, it will be not long before God is dead.
***
If you enjoyed this prompt, I have a page with more: r/nickkuvaas. | 2015-10-11T08:51:13 | 2015-10-11T08:34:23 | 198 | 42 |
[WP] Describe your favorite cheap food as if you were a waiter at a 5-star restaurant.
For example, describe the ingredients and process of making instant Ramen or a grilled cheese. | Today's special is çeréal ala Bos taurus. Made with the highest quality fructose and preservatives, imported all the way from a foreign, exotic country. Served with dairy taken from the best raised Bovinae, the lactose will surely delight the senses, leaving a pleasant taste in the mouth.
That'll be £79.99
EDIT: The £ | "The grilled cheese, you ask?" The child nodded enthusiastically, helpfully pointing out the item in the flimsy children's menu dashed with crayon and spittle. "Ah, the grilled cheese..." I cooed lustfully, my mind disappearing into the realm of Bimbo and slabs of artificial American cheese stuck between plastic films.
"A good choice, I must say," I began, crouching down beside the child as I began to scribble into my notebook. "Four slices of the finest American cheese, factory-made right here in the United States. Tastes just like real cheese, don't even worry about it being fake. After all, everything you believe in is a lie anyways..." I tapered off, recalling the awful deceits about Santa Claus and the Easter bunny and Finland.
"Melted to the point of a smooth goo but before the point of liquid, we set the cheese between two slices of factory-made Bimbo bread. Nothing good comes from Mexico, you say? How about Bimbo bread and kilos of cocaine and nachos and guac?" The child nodded gleefully, entranced by the visions of his meal and the tunnel-vision induced by an overdose of ADHD drugs. "Lightly toasted and drenched in butter... Thank your lucky stars you're still a child 'cause once you're an obese old man, this'll kill you before you even feel your left arm hurting." My ominous tone made his eyes grow a bit wider and I fought the urge to poke his eyeballs, figuring they would stay in their sockets without my help.
I licked my lips as my stomach growled, reminding me to take a bite out of my next customer's order. "As I was saying," I continued, "Toasted so it's slightly golden and drowned in a vat of butter, we then melt the cheese and put it on a silver platter." It was a slightly verbose description of the work the kitchen-folk did, but it would suffice. "And then," I snapped, causing the hypnotized child to jump backwards. "And then," I repeated more quietly, drawing him in again, "we bring it out to you, fattening you up so that you'll seamlessly fit into every stereotype the rest of the world has of us. Sounds delicious, right?" He nodded, drool dripping down his chin and onto his boogery shirt.
"Sounds good, it'll be right out," I said with a pleasant smile, marveling at the parents who allowed their children to pay five dollars for a couple slices of bread and fake cheese.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2016-05-13T06:17:35 | 2016-05-13T06:12:50 | 37 | 23 |
[WP] Listening to one of your grand grand grandpas war stories, you slowly start to realize he is Hitler. | "What the hell," I slammed my mug down on the table. "What the hell do you mean it was an accident?!"
Gramps sighed. "Look- I didn't mean- Ok. Stalin. It was Stalin. Remember what they portrayed in your history books? Yes, it was me. Adolf Hitler. The "Killer of Millions." But what they don't show you in your history books-" He took out a torn, weathered photo, with two men depicted within. They were laughing, one moreso than the other. That one had a look of perverse glee on his face. "Is this. Do you see this?"
I folded my arms. "It's a picture of two guys. What are you getting at?"
He nodded, and pointed to the man at the left of the photo. Upon closer examination, I noticed he had an expression of forced enjoyment. "That's me. On the right, is Stalin. He has the other half, which he took to his grave. But. Do you want to know what was on the other half?"
I nodded.
"A gas chamber. He made me watch every single *shower*. Eventually, I grew numb. I had no choice. He made me and many others his scapegoats. Do you want to know why this silly war went on for so long, why the Allies didn't simply just kill the leader Germany? Because the Hitler you know," He pointed at the photo. "Is Stalin."
"But that... they said you committed suicide in a bunker!" I didn't believe it. I clearly saw Stalin's face in the textbooks. There was no way they'd mistake his for Gramps.
"Well you see, I sold him out. How else did you think the Allies made such quick progress to the bunker? I gave the Allies what they wanted, and they gave me what *I* wanted. Freedom. A quiet life. A place without daily *showers*. I had enough of his madness. So? I sold him. I sold off my power-hungry manipulator of a friend. Everything's much better now without him around."
"I see." I unholstered my Luger, pointing it at Gramps. "Now I know what happened."
"Joseph, W-Wait. What's come onto you?" His eyes widened.
I pulled the trigger. The man's body falls to the floor, with a hole protruding from the back of his skull.
"Father sends his regards."
| I didn't talk about Nana much. She had been a rather racist woman, Southern, with the deep rotting roots of small town values. She had married Grandpa shortly after the war. They didn't talk about the time before the war, but it showed in the way they narrowed their eyes.
Sometimes they would whisper to one another, speaking in some lover's language I wished would be lost in time.
I wasn't sure what made Nana Jane and Grandpa Jon adopt. It was a bit unusual for the time. They said they wished to help out some of the unfortunate. I knew the truth, the only kindness they gave was to people who looked like them.
I was the only biological daughter of Ava Smith. She had married my father shortly after college and moved as far away as the borders of the U.S. allowed. Nana and Grandpa were in New York, a city that could hide them well.
Mom, well she moved me to California. She always said the "shallow aspect of my parents made me want to branch out." I would always be grateful for the ease that California life allowed. I met people of all ages. Mom even adopted my best friend when her mother passed away. It was a good life, my sister, my mother, and I.
That was, until Nana died. Nana Jane was struck by a car crossing the street. She passed away instantly, leaving nothing to her only child. Grandpa Jon wanted us to come to the small funeral. He said there was a lot to talk about.
So we went, putting out shorts away and donning cold winter gear. Of course Nana would die in the dead of winter. Satan needed the cold to slip her shriveled soul from her bitter body.
When we arrived at Grandpa Jon's apartment, we were greeted by three old men. They asked us to sit down. They seemed concerned about Rivka and me. They said we might want to leave the room. Where would we go? The apartment was small. We would hear through the walls.
At 14, Rivka and I were anxious to be treated like part of the pack. We wanted to be adult. Mom said we could listen. She wanted to know where Grandpa was.
"What do you know about your father before the war?" one of the men asked, his voice saturated in hatred.
"Which war?" Mom asked.
"World War 2."
"To be honest, I could care less what my father did. He was a terrible--He wasn't much of a father. I would have been happy never to see him, but I felt I should come and say goodbye to the old hag he married," Mom said.
"Your name?" the second officer asked.
"Ava," Mom said. "Ava Garcia. It was Smith. My ex-husband and I are not together, but I didn't want to change my name back."
They shared a hard look.
"And your children?" the third man said. He adjusted his coat with his large red hands.
"Rivka Goldstein and Ruth Garcia," my mother said. "Rivka is the daughter of my close friend who passed away."
There was a silent pause.
"Is she... Jewish?" One asked.
Two seemed taken aback. "Is she?"
"What does this have to do with anything. Yes, Gloria was Jewish."
"I would never have thought, in all my days, that you would take on such a child," Three said. There was a softness in his voice now. "Perhaps we misjudged you."
"Don't think my racist father has anything to do with my children," Mom said harshly. "He called Rivka horrible things and Ruth... well he didn't think he could tolerate a brown grandchild. We have not spoken to him in years."
I nodded. "He bought me skin bleach."
Rivka nodded. She remained silent. She didn't like talking about Grandpa Jon or Nana.
Why we were here? I didn't know. But we were. The shadows were becoming lighter.
"Do you know your father had ties with the original Nazi party?" One asked.
Mom nodded. "Mother hated blacks and... Jon hated everyone who wasn't snow. I found his Nazi shit in his closet. He would read from that horrible book... Mein... Like he wrote the damn thing. He knew passages by heart. When I realized that my adopted parents were... monsters... I left with Rivka's mother to California."
"He did," One said.
"Did what?" Mom asked.
"Write it."
| 2016-10-02T16:47:54 | 2016-10-02T14:57:10 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Valhalla does not discriminate against the kind of fight you lost. Did you lose the battle with cancer? Maybe you died in a fist fight. Even facing addiction. After taking a deep drink from his flagon, Odin slams his cup down and asks for the glorious tale of your demise! | After listening to grand deeds of everyone at the massive table, Odin slammed his jug down, sending mead in a sputtering fountain. His good eye squinted and his finger pointed at me.
“Your turn, newbie!” he roared. “What’s your glorious battle?”
The room was suddenly quiet and all faces turned towards me. I had the attention of war veterans, freedom fighters, vigilantes, and most of Asgard. I had heard their tales of grandeur, of their strides, and their final battles, and now the time had come for me, a lowly register attendant at Wallmart, to justify my place amongst these heroes.
“Right,” I said, standing up. I was so fucked. “Uhm, okay, so…”
“Go on,” Thor shouted from his place next to Odin. He threw up his jug and smashed it to splinters with his hammer. “Let’s hear it!”
And at that moment I thought, ‘fuck it!’ and cleared my throat.
“It was a night in icy January – the winds were so cold that all the animals had died in the woods. I thundered down the road on my steed of blazing metal, stopping for nobody!”
In reality, it had been a mild winter but the news reported a few birds dying to some virus. My steed was, in fact, an old rusty Buick, and I had accidentally driven through a red light.
“I parked… err, I mean left, my trusted steed in the stables of a tavern notorious for its villainous patrons. See, I needed a drink after the long strenuous ride.”
Nods of approval could be seen around the room.
“After a few rounds, I ventured back outside in the blistering cold. Things were getting heated and I required my weapon.”
I had accidentally spilled my drink on a lady and needed to write her a check for dry cleaning.
“That’s when I saw it, a message written in blood,” I said lowering my voice to a whisper. “It was more than a challenge – a declaration of war – and at that moment I swore on my honor that I was going to see the battle to the end.”
I died the same night from a heart attack while writing a lengthy letter to the local government, attempting to fight the parking ticket.
| I died on a Tuesday.
I laid in bed, loopy from the pain medication, looking at the faces of the people that were closest to me. My swimming eyes darted back and fourth from Hannah, my wife of 26 years, and my daughter, Heidi, a grown little lady now. They were sobbing and Hannah had my hand squeezed tightly in hers. Even at 51, she still looked as gorgeous as the day I'd met her. Suddenly, in a moment of clarity, I knew it was time. With my last bit of strength, I looked at them both and spoke my final words.
"Thank you, I love you all."
It was very much like being awoken from the most glorious, refreshing nap one could ever take. My eyes were open, bright, and I was full of energy. I blinked a few times to focus and saw I was sitting at a table, an impossible table. It was long. VERY long. Yet the faces around it were perfectly visible. It was bizarre and akin to an optical illusion. My gaze was drawn to the man across from me in an instant.
I could only describe him as perfectly imperfect. He was dressed in some sort of ornate costume. Massive ravens were perched on his shoulders and a bright smile beamed under a braided beard. He met my gaze as if to notice my arrival and his grin widened.
"RYAN! Finally, you've arrived! Grab a flagon, my friend, we're telling tales and yours is next!"
His voice boomed throughout the hall, yet also seemed to come from within my own head. It was an odd feeling. I looked at my place at the table and saw a large, decorative mug of some liquid and realized I'd become quite thirsty. I drank deeply and it tasted unlike anything I'd ever had. It tasted like *happiness*. As I pulled it way I caught my reflection and saw I was younger. Maybe mid twenties? This was all becoming very disorienting.
"Well?!" He boomed.
"Forgive me," I said confidently, as I was never the shy or hesitant type. "But I'm afraid I'm not exactly sure what my tale is"
"You're dead, fool!" He said in a good-natured tone "I'd have thought you figured that out by now!"
He roared laughter and others in the hall followed suit. It was then that it clicked for me. Of all the modern religions, I'd ended up in Valhalla. My overwhelming feeling was that I was cool with it.
"I have to confess, I do believe I'm here by mistake. I fought no war, no epic battle. I just, y'know, *lived*."
Surprise and perhaps a bit of awe washed over Odin's face. The jaunty, fun loving atmosphere of the hall immediately shifted. I felt like I'd cursed in church. He stared at me with one piercing eye, leaned on a massive spear and stood. The ravens flew off.
"Son, I don't think you understand. The battle **you** fought was not some quick, bloody bout of glory and gore! You sit here, at my highest of tables because your battle was a *lifetime*. While many in my hall have fought for hours or days or even months, yours was a fight spanning over five human decades. And you fought, not for the glory of yourself, but for the betterment of your fellow man! From the disease that ultimately brought your demise, to the laws and rules of man, your path was wrought with strife and yet you pressed **ON**."
He paused at this and straightened up, perhaps taking a breath. I sat frozen, afraid of the lump forming in my throat and how fast crying could get you kicked out of Vallhalla. I choked out,
"Sir, I just did my best."
"His **BEST**!!" Odin boomed. "Son, the greatest battle is not one fought in a moment, it's the one you fight every day. And winning that battle doesn't mean defeating any enemy, winning THAT battle means that you never gave up, no matter how hard it gets. And son, you are exactly the kind of stalwart warrior I want at my table until Ragnarök"
And with that, he sat and I noticed tears streaming down his cheeks. I looked around and saw others smiling with wet faces as well, and holding up steins and mugs to me. I grabbed mine and raised it back to them, tears streaming and said the first thing that came to my mind.
"Thank you, I love you all." | 2022-10-21T23:29:50 | 2016-10-31T18:18:15 | 327 | 41 |
[WP] Attracted to the large amount of gathered wealth, a dragon has taken up residence in Wall Street. | "And what exactly is that?" I asked Mr. Leadworth, the man with the nice suit, that took me on the office tour. "Oh that's Phillip." That thing, Phillip, breathed rather strong occasionally combustible foul smell, and he did it with the noise of a conglomerate of starting cars. Phillip lived in a huge big golden room just at the center of the building. "Erm, but, Sir, you are aware, that Phillip is-" - "A Dragon, yes. And a good worker, got his own office as you see." Mr. Leadworth said this in an unsettlingly casual voice. "How What..." I may have stuttered more one syllable words. I tend to stutter one syllable words when I am tyring not to shit myself. "Oh yes, he's big and all. But you're gonna be all about him, when you try his enchiladas." I was all out of stuttering by now and got into a mumbling phase. "Home roasted. They were so good it helped most of our guys through the merger last year."
Phillip untangled his Huge head from his incredibly tiny desk. "Oh, the new guy." he boomed waving. "why what are you exactly a dragon?" - "Yes. A Dragon. I like gold and eating adventurers and such. Can i get back on the phone with my client now?" - "What exactly does he do?" i asked turning to Mr. Leadworth. "you know, work. We're a bank we don't exactly know what we do here anyway. But people give us their money and then we do things with the money. And for some reason that makes us more money." I suddenly felt like that a) i haven't been told everything in my interview and b) the public was right about wall street.
Mr. Leadworth told me that they found Phillip skulking around the hot dog stand just before the big buildings telling people what to invest in, he was a just a whelp then. According to him the dragon was just really good with money. And yes he made millions but he isn't big into spending he just likes the glittering. "Aren't you like afraid he's gonna eat you?" Leadworth stopped to think for a minute. "Well, yes.", he paused, "but he's way nicer than the IRS." I could see that.
i then got lectured about the wolf of wall street, which was in fact, based on a werewolf. Apparently they just really like coke. "Oh wait till you meet Stephen." - "Is Stephen, like, a Gryphon?" - "Oh nono, don't be silly the Gryphons haven't worked here since the incident." I was to afraid to ask. "Stephen is a black guy."
I immediately quit after that. And i thought Connecticut was weird about race. | The first time I held my sword, I cried. I had purchased a katana, one of an authentic Japanese make, from a reputable vendor on eBay, a website devoted to the sale of used and new goods. It was a sight more beautiful than any I'd witnessed before, and as I gazed in the mirror at my naked body, with my arm, sword in hand, raised to the ceiling, and my little gut protruding from my abdomen and my little penis dangling out from my pubic hair, I felt absolutely certain that I, Montgomery Hoppenshire, was destined to be the Knight of Wall Street; certainly, this was a magnificent sight.
A few months ago, in the middle of winter, when snow blanketed the ground and the people of New York were bundled up in all manner of coats, jackets, scarves, and boots; a dragon, a member of that illustrious breed of sky-sailing leviathans, came to roost atop the seventy-one story skyscraper known as the Trump Building, or 40 Wall Street. Many a solid man felt a tremor run down his spine and his face grow pale as he looked to the sky on that gloomy, snow-filled day when the mighty dragon descended. Truly, it was harrowing, but I, being the fearless man I am, stood resolute, my large hands thrust deep in the pockets of my trousers, on the sidewalk at the foot of the Trump Building, looking up at the dragon clinging to the tower.
"Hark ye," said I unto the dragon, "I will slay thee. God as my witness, I shall rend the scales from thy abominable hide and pierce thy heart with a passionate flourish."
The dragon, folding those great scaly wings to his side, roared a mighty roar as he looked down upon me. I spun on my heel and strode back to my apartment, a posh abode on the top floor of some thought-provoking peice of architecture that many men and women, who, despite their most valiant capitalist efforts, could not obtain a single tour of due to the strict admission policy. Indeed, gentle reader, not a single woman had ever entered my fortress of solitude, as I had my own admission policy, one more stringent and demanding than any my landlord could conjure up; an admission policy that stated, in quite simple terms, only virgins may enter these premises. The women of New York, slovenly and vocal as they might be (the detestable creatures would perform sexual favors for money -- a crime I wanted no part of), were still worthy of my grace, of the salvation I could offer; although I will admit I much desired their touch, and I wouldn't have given more than two thoughts to consumating a friendship built upon mutual respect and my very prodigious funds.
So, I put on my armor, an armor made of the finest steel plate I could lay my my large manly hands on. I glistened as I stepped out into that glorious spring air in the bustling city streets of New York. I clanked as I strode back to the towering skyscraper. I got in the elevator and went to the top floor. It took but a minute to clamber onto the roof where the dragon rested. He seemed to be expecting me: His eyes, wild and red as the fires of the pits of Hell, glared at me, and his great form shifted as he rose on his legs. He seemed, I imagine, to be an insurmountable force; or, rather, he would have seemed an insurmountable force were I a lesser man. I drew my sword; there would be no need for words between us. But suddenly, he spoke.
"I have travelled many miles to escape my kind only to be persecuted here, by your kind; and, I must admit, truly it does pain me to admit it, regardless of what you might think of a dragon as large as myself, that you might believe I am indeed large in all regards, as many before you have assumed, and though this could appear to be correct -- I certainly hope it does -- it, I can assure you, is most certainly not the case, and I have been, since my painfully sad and diluted and celebate youth, a target of much scorn, a dragon out of place and truly rejected by those around me, particularly those of the female kind, that damnable group of slovenly wenches."
"Lo," said I, "be thou a virgin?"
"Sí," said the dragon in an ironical tone. It was obvious he was mocking the Mexicans, those border jumping fiends!
"Dost thou perceive Milo and Trump as our saviors?" said I.
"Indeed, I do," said the dragon.
Suddenly I realized I was wrong to attempt to slay this magnificent creature, and we bonded over many long hours, several cases of Heineken, and a bag of Doritos, and we discussed the problems this wretched society faced as we mocked women and liberals. | 2017-03-16T12:43:11 | 2017-03-16T12:11:49 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] An immortal is experiencing the heat death of the universe, when he can hear the sounds of confetti, and blasting music. The music stops with a record scratch, and a bewildered voice can be heard saying: "Wait...one's still here?" | "Now hang on a second, this isn't right. How did you get immortality?"
"Genie."
"A genie? No that doesn't make sense. Wait a second. Guys, did anyone put a genie in this one? No? No, I'm sorry friend, we're quite certain there were no genies in this universe."
"I'm telling you, I found a genie on the planet Earth."
"Earth? Hang on. Hmm - gosh, that hasn't been around for trillions of years! Let me dig out the records."
"Has it been trillions?"
"Oh my yes, have you just been floating there ever since?"
"Yeah. I got to watch The Milky Way and Andromeda collide, that was pretty cool."
"What have you been doing ever since?"
"The wish apparently kept my mind as healthy as my body. I've just been day dreaming. It's been dull but I'm not a ruin of a mind or anything."
"Well that's good. Ok, I have Earth here now. Let me see. Floyd, Earth was yours, wasn't it? This looks awfully like a genie to me. What's that? *Flavour*? We agreed no genies in this universe. You've gone and left this fellow floating for trillions of years. No, no, I don't want to hear your excuses. I'm terrible sorry about all this, friend. Well, we can snuff you out now if you like. We've got root control."
"Any other options?"
"I suppose we could pull you from the simulation and instantiate you in the top-level universe, if you like?"
"Yeah let's do that."
"Alrighty. What? I don't care if it's against policy. Get him a body ASAP. If he's lucky he'll be up and about in time for cake." | I just blinked.
I'm pretty sure I haven't blinked for the last trillion years. The view doesn't change, so it just sort of stopped happening.
I miss years. Being able to put a countdown on this waiting game. Once around the galaxy. Tick. Twice around the galaxy. Tick. But all that music has been gone since ... well, shit, I don't know, that's the problem, isn't it? Can't track time without rhythm, and the only oscillation left in the universe is the ebb and flow of my madness and sanity. I'm pretty sure even that has settled down. It was probably more than a trillion anythings ago.
But I definitely blinked. I think. Or maybe that was a trillion somethings ago now.
OW! Fuck that hurts. Yep. Definitely blinking. Goddammit, there's light again all of a sudden. You float around a dying universe for a few quadrillion eons and just when you get used to soaking in your own madness, someone goes and stabs you in the eye with photons. I'd shout at the universe for being a dick if there were any air molecules to carry the sound.
"Hey Universe, you're a dick!" I shout anyway. Sort of. It kinda feels like shouting, but it sounds the same as everything else. It sounds like nothing.
"Whoa, wait, who are you?"
Hang on. That wasn't me. I don't know how I heard that. That's weird.
"It's... complicated. But, how--what are you doing here?"
Wait, did you just answer my thoughts?
"Uhm. Yes? Yes."
Creepy.
"What are you doing here?"
Uhm. Nothing. There's nothing to do. There's nothing to be. There's nothing.
"But you shouldn't be here."
You shouldn't be so rude, listening to my thoughts, not introducing yourself, putting a voice in my head without asking. Rude. I'm the only one who gets to put voices in my head.
"I mean, you shouldn't be able to be here."
Look, I don't give a damn about what should and shouldn't be able to happen. Back when I could remember things, I could probably tell you about why I'm still here, and I might even care what you had to say, but I just want to be left alone until the universe dies, so I can die with it.
"Oh boy. Uhm. So--Well, let me back up, sorry, you're right. Introductions. Uhm. Hi. So, I kinda... y'know, I created all of *this*."
Oh. So, you're God?
"Who's that?"
He's the guy that created the universe.
"Nope, that would be me. I created it. Sorry you don't seem to like it."
Oh, well, the early bits were nice, it's just the vast, mind-numbing expanse of nothingness for eternity could use a little work.
"The early bits? You mean before all the impurities burned off?"
Impurities? No, I mean the expanses of galaxies, the interplay of light from nebulae, planets circling suns, moons circling planets.
"Yeah, the impurities. All that energy had to burn off before the universe was ready."
But that was the good stuff!
"Uhm. No. I should know, I made it. Think about it. If that was the good stuff, why would I have made almost all of the universe empty space?"
...but it was pretty.
"Hah, if you thought that was pretty, you have no idea how gorgeous it's about to be."
Really?
"Really. All this time has just been preparing the canvas. The real beauty is about to start."
I have to admit, I'm kind of excited. I don't remember the last time I felt excited.
"I just have to fix one last thing."
I don't even care if it's pretty or not, it's amazing to finally having something to look forward to! I'm ecstatic that I'll finally get to see something new happ-- | 2017-05-03T06:37:16 | 2017-05-03T05:50:26 | 395 | 285 |
[WP] To your surprise, a SWAT team breaks down your door, rushes inside, and surrounds you. Only, their backs are to you, guns trained on the doors and windows. The closest one whispers, "Here they come." | I recognized them, these were my men. Johnson, McMeyer, Nguyn, Hanson, Reyes, and Kuiper. Why was my squad here, and in full gear? I thought about the nightstand in the bedroom with my pistol, but we were in the living room.
"Hanson, what's going on!?" I asked in an urgent whisper.
"Sir, there was a credible threat. You're in danger here." Hanson replied. He was the serious sort, and was due to be promoted to squad leader after I left. I guess the movies were right about the terrible things that happen to cops a week before retirement. His voice was trembling. What could have unnerved him?
"My wife, where is she?"
"Already handled sir," replied McMeyer. "She's been filled in and is in safe custody. Keep your head down sir."
I crouched behind the armored men, tucking my head down. If I wasn't in my pajamas I wouldn't feel so vulnerable, but I trusted these six men with my life every day for the last eight years, I wasn't about to question them now.
"Tell me what's happening!"
"Possible gas attack sir. Take a deep breath" said Nguyn.
A gas attack? My heart skipped a beat, I didn't have a gasmask. What were we going to do when... Wait, they didn't have masks either. How could they think to come so unprepared?
"Ready men!" commanded Hanson. "Fire!"
Oh no. Realization hit me a moment too late. The six men pushed together, trapping my head between their posteriors as they all ripped the most vile, wretched ass I have ever smelled. I should have seen it coming, the whole team ordering Taco Bell together for lunch. I gagged and tried to hold my breath but I was overcome.
"Happy retirement you old fart" said Kuiper, trying not to giggle like a school girl.
"I love you guys, and I'm gonna miss you." I gasped. "Now get the hell out of my house." | The men stormed into my room unannounced just as I was preparing for bed. Dressed in full tactical gear, rifles pointed at my room's exit. The only SWAT teams that I ever saw were in movies and games, definitely not in real life. After all, what business does a perfectly normal guy have with a team trained for combat?
I tapped the officer nearest to me, wanting to know what was going on. He simply put his finger over my lip and whispered, "Here they come."
The windows broke as soon as he finished his sentence, raining the broken shards down on us. For someone who has never been in any adrenaline inducing situation before, naturally I screamed in shock. But the SWAT team members were ready. One shouted "Fire at will" amidst the sound of glass shattering and my whole room was lighted up.
At first I could not see what the officers were shooting at, there were only bright flashes, mixed with loud curses and gunfire, but after a while, I could spot them coming through the door and window. Black creatures that moved incredibly fast. The officers were firing blindly at them. Most bullets found their marks and the creatures howled in agony when they were shot, disintegrating into thin air shortly after.
Some of the creatures, it was like they moved together with the shadows, managed to drag the SWAT team members who were closest to the exit out. The unlucky officers tried to free themselves, their teammates tried too, but the creatures moved so fast that I could only hear their terrified screams as they were dragged out.
In what felt like hours, the SWAT officers that surrounded me began thinning, as the creatures slowly worked their way to the center, picking off any careless officers one by one. The guy who was reloading his gun for example. Or the officer who was too focused on the door he failed to notice two creatures creeping up to him from his back.
The officer who was beside me kept cursing non-step, yelling expletives at the creatures and instructions to his remaining squad as the fight dragged on. Even though his face was mostly covered, I could see the terror in his eyes as the creatures wore his squad down. He was certain that we were all going to die. Looking at the relentless swarm, I did not doubt him too. My hand gripped his vest.
Just when I wondered how much longer the fight would last, a bright light enveloped the house, which caused the creatures to scream and beat a hasty retreat. They disappeared just like how they appeared, leaving me and what remained of the SWAT team alone in what used to be my room. Bullet holes and scorch marks lined the walls, along with splatters of blood.
"About bloody time," the officer nearest to me said, as he pulled off his mask. Several of his men collapsed unto the floor, exhausted.
I was about to ask the officer what was going on but a voice from my doorway interrupted me. "Good job, Officer Lewin, at holding off the bugs." The man, dressed neatly in a suit, turned to me. "And protecting Mr Luke."
Officer Lewin, however, spat at the man, who seemed the least fazed. "Good job, my man? I've lost good men today, all because of your theory." He pointed to me. "This bugger better be worth it." Without even saying anything else, Lewin stormed out of the room and his officers followed.
The man in suit, balding with a streaks of grey hair around his head, smiled at me. "I must apologize for Officer's Lewin behaviour. He has had a long day, all of us did. But at least for now, we can rest." He extended his hand to me. "Welcome to the resistance, Luke."
I gulped. Just hours ago, I was a minimum wage worker who has hobby of writing stories on Reddit, with a dream of one day making it big. How did I move from that to being part of a Resistance, cliche as it sounds?
The man seemed to read my thoughts, as he answered: "Not everything needs to have an answer, young man. You'll come to see that soon enough."
His hand caught mine, and pulled me out of my room.
-------------------
*Customary self promotion > /r/dori_tales*
*Edit: Part 2 down below* | 2017-06-28T08:51:46 | 2017-06-28T05:47:37 | 908 | 598 |
[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.
| Legend has it, only a god can kill another god. After the battle of Mount Olympus, I fear that I'm the only one left. Life has been a slow drag for the last few millennia. I live my life in the mountains, away from civilization. Seeing those pathetic little ants just infuriates me! They have the one thing that I could never obtain. They all have an expiration date. The human year is 1955, monks from the local village heard a rumor that I was still around. Soon, I had handfuls of humans coming to see me, wanting knowledge. Of course, they just want something from me. All they want is wisdom, of which I have plenty. I indulged their curiosity but after a few years I noticed they started to slow down. From their first visit to now, 20 years later, only one monk remained. He shares with me that he just fathered a daughter. He's standing in front of me, gleaming, it was almost laughable. But he did something unexpected... He asked me to come down from my mountain and bless his daughter. I never could have expected such kindness from a human. We walk down the mountain together, locked in conversation.
"I thought monks were forbidden from a romantic relationship", I broached.
The monk keels over, cackling like a maniac,
"you think I could ever be a monk? Oh hell no, I came here seeking friendship. Several years ago, my doctor discovered a brain tumor, inoperable. I was given a year to live, at most. Slowly my friends vanished, I was left with nobody. Except you, you have taught me so many things."
A friend?! This man has been seeing me for years because he wanted a friend?! Why? Humans used to be terrified of me. I couldn't possibly imagine that he's telling me the tru-
"Can I ask you a favor"
breaks my train of thought
"Of course, my friend, what can I do for you"
"Will you be the godfather of my daughter?"
"I am, uh, i am not sure I understand the concept. I am a god but alas, I am no father"
The rest of the walk he explains to me the role of this so called Godfather. We reach his village and his wife was feeding their newborn. I couldn't help but laugh, I've seen warriors emerge from war looking better than this woman in front of me.
"Oh and one last thing Ares?"
"Yes, my friend?"
I still can't believe I have a friend.
"If you are going to watch over my daughter, you can't be out destroying the world."
"I can do that, Zacharey"
-this is my first attempt at a wp, part 2 will be written if you guys enjoy. | I came into this world, with no recollection of what happened before me. I awoke from my slumber, with no understanding of who I am, where I was, or any idea of what was occurring around me. I walked around with a sense of life surrounding me, with creatures staring at me. I knew I was not one of them, because I could not understand their language. These creatures called themselves “humans”.
Two of them walked towards me wearing clothing in all blue, with their hand on their hip and the other hand held up towards me. I thought they were raising their hand to surrender to me, but it wasn’t until I met Sara, that it meant “stop”.
These humans did not compare to me in size or strength, as I had to look down upon them. Sara always told me I was 3-4 feet taller than the average basketball player. I never met a basketball player to compare. I also never understood how you can combine a basket and a ball, to be worshiped for doing so.
I knew I was not of this planet, but Sara took care of me. She told me she was 4 years old when I met her. Somehow, she was able to communicate with me. She, too, was still learning the language of the humans, so, she taught me as she learned.
Her mother, Janah, suffered from a wretched sickness that claimed her body. She must not have been any thicker than my “pinky”, as Sara once said to me.
Janah knew how much more powerful I was compared to the humans of this planet. Before she passed onto the other side of death, she made me promise that I will never destroy this planet, no matter what. Sara upped the ante and made me “pinky promise” with her and her mother. I made that promise with very little understanding of the kind of commitment I made or what it meant to “destroy the world”, but I promised not to do so, nonetheless.
As I sit here, atop the structured flames from the torch held by this here liberty statue, I remember this promise very vividly.
I also remember those “cops” that raised their hands to me. They followed up by pulling out these metallic weapons and shot merciless at me, but they did not phase me. I did not understand what was occurring, and I believe they did not either, but yet, they continue to “shoot” me. I flew away from them, as the ricocheted bullets was causing destruction around me.
These “cops” were happened to be the ones who took Sara’s life. I barely remember what had occurred. All I remember was the events leading up to it. Morning breakfast with Sara before I drove her to work. The coffee was dark and strong. The toast was a little too burnt for my liking. Sara did not mind. It was food. We couldn’t really go anywhere else since Louie’s was the only place that did not reject their services from us.
I remember Sara lighting her rolled paper full of marijuana in the car. Marijuana did not affect me, but it tend to help Sara with her anxiety attacks and depression. Life was not easy for Sara, and I could do very little to help her.
I couldn’t work. I was willing to work, but nobody would accept me. I appeared as some kind of monster. Sara had to work 2 jobs for us to even have a place to live. Sara did not mind taking care of me. She loved me and grown up understanding my situation. I was her protector.
I remember getting the call from Bobby from the bar which Sara worked. He couldn’t say much. I could feel his emotion over the phone. Something happened. I broke one of my promises with Sara and flew to the bar. As I landed, I can sense Death lingering above the humans. Someone had lost their life.
I remember Death coming in to college the spirit of Janah. Death just so happened to look just like me. It’s why I could never forget the death of Janah. As Death grabbed a hold of Janah’s spirit, it turned to me and said words that I could never understand…
“You are here to learn.”
As I landed, Death turned to me and said, “You will now learn your final lesson of this place. Afterwards, you return to which you came from.” In his grasp, he had Sara’s spirit. I looked down to see Sara’s lifeless body while these filthy, villainous “cops” still held their weapons, smoke seeping from them. I remember that smell. The smell of those weapons aimed at me and trying to take my life, which they were not successful. I landed in front of them, as they dispatched for help. I grew full anger and hatred for the human race. They took the life of Sara. I was on the verge of blacking out. My last memory of this incident was the words I muttered to myself.
“Janah. Sara. I made a pinky promise to not destroy this world, but this world just destroyed mine. I must now break this promise.”
| 2017-08-10T15:33:58 | 2017-08-10T14:33:22 | 141 | 39 |
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on. | There it is again, that pang of guilt as I push the door open to my tiny apartment, the smell of a nice home cooked meal hits my nostrils but my stomach churns as I step inside kicking the door closed behind me. Standing in the entry way I know the apartment is empty as I take off my coat and set my things down from the day.
*It's almost like she's still here...* I find myself thinking with eyes darting back and forth across the recently straightened up home. There's no need to look down the hall to see my bed is made; it's always made.
Swallowing hard and with a shaky exhale I find my seat at the table. I don't want to look at the table though. I don't want to see her note.
*Why is still she still doing this?* Again the guilt rises within me *I don't deserve this...* I can already feel my eyes starting to burn. I force them to look down at the table seeing the plate that has been prepared for me. It's nothing special. Some mashed potatoes, meatloaf, and peas. *She always knows just what to make.*
I look just past the plate and see it; the note. I don't have to read it to know what it says. Every time it's the same message and every time I try to figure out exactly what it means.
Reaching out I pick up the small hand written note but I don't read it yet. I simply hold it in my hand for a few moments. *Maybe tonight it'll be different.* I find myself hoping as I unfold the note and read those same five words.
**This could have been us.**
Immediately I push away from the table causing my glass to topple over and spill all across the table. Liquid splatters against the carpet but it doesn't matter. A chill runs down my spine. I can feel her eyes on me at that moment, watching me, judging me.
Spinning around I already know right where she is, it's always the same spot. Our eyes meet and I find I can't breathe as if the air had been sucked completely out of the room. Tears begin to fill my eyes as I look back at the table and then to her eyes once again.
I stand in silence for over a minute before I find my voice "I don't deserve this." It's all I can muster after 13 years of this, it's the only thing I feel that's true anymore. "Please... I can't keep doing this... You can't keep doing this." I take a step closer towards my desk and pick up the framed picture of her.
It was taken before she got sick, back when she thought she was still pretty enough for me and didn't try to convince me to stop wasting my time with her. Truth is she was always the most amazing person to me and I only grew to love her more every day.
We had met nearly 14 years prior and it just clicked. Everything about us felt perfect and within days I knew I would marry her and we'd spend the rest of our lives together.
But we didn't marry. Soon after I met her she became ill and just never got better, only worse. Cancer. Terminal. Neither of us expected it but that's the hand life had dealt us. Given the progression of the tumor in her brain the doctors didn't think she had long. When I asked her to marry me, to spend whatever time she had left with me she refused.
She didn't want to put me through that. To watch my wife wither away and die from something that couldn't be stopped. She said it wasn't fair to me and wanted me to meet someone else, to move on with my life, and be happy.
All I wanted was her.
Near the end we'd talk about the life we could have had if we had met each other sooner, if cancer wasn't part of the equation, if she hadn't been so stubborn at first. This was something she wanted to do for me, to take care of me and show some love and appreciation at the end of the day. She wanted to be there for me and she knew she couldn't be while she was sick.
And now 13 years after her death this is what she does. Somehow she manages to make sure every day I come home to a cooked meal and a taken care of home. No matter where I move to, no matter what I do, she finds a way.
I don't deserve this.
Edit: Spelling | My job is not the most prestigious, or the most difficult. Like everything else, it is just a job. I hate it, just like I hate myself. A repetition of certain tasks that does not ever end. I keep to myself, as always. I have no interest in making acquaintances or friends. The only guy that talks to me just compliments me on my smile, every-damn-day. I brush like any one else, he's a freak. Besides, I'm not truly alone. I have been on my own, living in solitude for the better part of a decade, probably thirteen years if I was being specific. The reason I say this is because whenever I return home from a long day, my bed is made, a lovely dinner cooked, and a cryptic message talking about how 'this could have been us.' I should also mention, I have moved for my job a few times. At no point has this phantom left me alone. Nor has my mysterious admirer ever left me a dish that I disliked. I don't speak much, and my wife has been dead for thirteen years. I never had interest in beginning anew with another person. I don't care what people think, this is not the case of a haunting. My wife died of pancreatic cancer, there was no murder, there was no secret. We had a healthy, and successful marriage. Perfect? No. However, it was fine enough that she would have better things to do than haunt me. Besides, she was adamant about having me try food out of my comfort zone, which didn't extend far to start with. It's kind of nice, knowing whatever happens that I will have a hot cooked meal for me. I used to purposefully throw my bed around, and make it as annoying as possible to clean up. Yet, whoever wishes a life with me, they have a very strong case of OCD. I sat eating porridge, of all things, not my favorite but I had no one to complain to. I've always wondered if this is one of those situations where a depraved lunatic is living in my walls, watching me. I can assure you, that is not the case. Every time I move, I have taken a sledgehammer to the walls, and there's nothing in there but rat carcasses and cobwebs. I stared at my reflection in the bowl, desperate for the answer. Nothing. I walked past the mirror before my bedroom. A careful glance depicted a man who had begun to lose control of his mental facilities. Another problem I had, the mirrors tended to break. I don't know why. Had to be part of the bad luck that followed me. I tried to sleep in my already made bed. A few hours later I woke up, unexpectedly, and went to vomit into the toilet. I crawled back into my bed, miserable. I opened my eyes, and found myself in the kitchen, preparing a meal. I looked at the table, already written was the message I always saw. I walked back to my bedroom, passing the mirror. I stopped, and saw there was a strange mark. It looked like... the remnants of a kiss. To test my theory, I kissed the mirror, and it was an exact match. It seems a part of me wants to love myself, but I refuse to allow happiness, since Jean died. Now what would happen? I broke the cycle. I went to sleep, in an unmade bed. I went to work. When I came home, there was no food, and my room had not been cleaned. However, I did see a message I wasn't familiar with. It said 'We will be together.' I looked at the mirror, and placed my head against it. I thought I had it all figured out, but now I was once again in the dark.
Day 4751: Experiment can be ruled a possible success. Subject C exhibited a high level of grief. After thirteen years, he finally required an answer. Subject C decided to create, and believe a separate personality to explain the endless repetition. This demonstrates that with proper tuning and manipulation, a psuedo-personality can be constructed to alleviate mental turmoil. It should be noted that final message left on Subject C's kitchen table, is not one of our own. Continue research for further findings. Video play back does not indicate Subject C wrote it. At no point in recordings does the message appear. Possible formula for self-loathing discovered, but unintended and unknown side effects must be observed.
Day 4752: Subject C has not returned from work. Employer said he showed up, but never left. Building will need to be searched and searched again. Thirteen years is too long to lose Subject C. Update. Nate McReids body located, missing every single tooth. No other injuries. Subject C was alive during dental extraction. Subject C is gone. We have no Subjects left. Data is not sufficient for thirteen years. Experiment ruled a failure.
Oh, I've always admired that smile of yours Nate. You'd shine those pearly whites at me, so often. I knew it was love, between us. I waited thirteen years for this. I enjoy reading up on dental hygiene, don't you? Yes, it's a hobby of mine. You're forty-seven aren't you? Unfortunately, I'm going to be moving soon Nate. I would have waited three more years. After fifty, that's when teeth as majestic as yours, they just start to rapidly and horribly depreciate. I couldn't, I just couldn't let them fall from grace like that! It's been a pleasure, thirteen long years, but now I have to leave. Don't you worry, I will be taking those teeth with me. Can you just imagine the amount the tooth fairy would give me? Oh, I'm kidding, I'd never part with these well formed and, if you don't mind me saying, immaculate teeth. Nate, Nate, it's okay to cry those tears of joy. These will be the crown jewels of my collection. Oh yes, yes indeed, I do have many. How else did you think I could come to appreciate, to dream about, and to desire such healthy teeth? You heard the rumors, people losing teeth in our job field! That's me. None of them could do as you do though. I just, feel so clean around you. I could go blind staring at them. I'm going to start taking them out now. I want you to be able to smile at me, until you only have gums left. Just look at this molar! You know, I'm going to take out my own. I just have to have this. I'm so happy right now, Nate. I can finally retire with a perfect set! Open that dental treasure chest for me.
| 2017-12-09T04:16:45 | 2017-12-09T03:12:50 | 5,650 | 35 |
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on. | Each day a note,
A note each day.
With each she wrote,
My mind would fray.
I'd find it there,
Always the same.
My favorite meal prepared,
With fresh guilt and shame.
"This could have been us"
In that haunting script.
And I know that I must
Bear this curse from the crypt.
That day we first met,
I knew I'd found love.
And my deepest regret,
Is giving it up.
"I'll love you forever",
I told her each day.
And I'll always remember
That sweet smile on her face.
But two years passed,
While her love still remained,
Mine did not last,
With my career in the way.
I had dreams to fulfill,
My ambition was strong.
It haunts me still,
My priorities were wrong.
Long nights spent hard at work,
As I climbed the job ladder.
But what was it worth?
And why did it matter?
Each night I'd come back,
To find her up waiting.
With each day that passed,
She'd see my love fading.
We got in a fight,
"You don't love me anymore!"
I said she was right,
And she walked out the door.
The next day I came home,
To my favorite meal made,
And that first fateful note,
Where her cold body laid.
"My heart is broken,
I could not go on.
With these words unspoken,
You'll know that I'm gone."
I put down the note,
My whole body shook.
Oh, what had I done?
The love I forsook.
In the years gone by,
I tried to get away,
To build a new life,
Still I could not escape.
Her laughter still haunts me,
Her sweet smile a curse.
The pain of her memory,
This pain I deserve.
I could not forget her,
And what I had done.
So each day I remember
That night I came home.
I cook that same meal.
I tidy the bed.
I pretend that its real,
That my love isn't dead.
Each day a note,
A note each day.
And with each I wrote,
I'd carry the pain.
But this day is new,
The pain is no more.
I now know what to do,
I tighten the cord.
"This could have been us",
But its not too late!
I'll see you soon love,
Beyond death's dark gate. | I take my work seriously. It’s what I was born to do... and I love it, though I find it increasingly tiring. I work with some of the smartest men who have ever lived. I believe this. And what we do, has never been done before. I can’t tell you about it so don’t ask.
My life works because of the rules. The rules I created and I never break them, my girlfriend knows this and we’re very happy together. Naturally we live apart (it could never be otherwise) but she’s the only person who I can connect with, sexually I mean. If told you some of the the things we do in the bedroom... some of the things she says... but that’s another story. For 13 years I’ve lived alone, successfully pursued my work, my calling, and I’ve been happy. Until 12 months ago.
You see I’ve never been, what you might call, houseproud. The usual home comforts that other people take for granted - are of no interest to me and so for years I have lived in a building that most people might consider unhabitable (one of the reasons that I live alone), Yet it suited my needs perfectly and had no neighbours to disturb me. At least I thought I had no neighbours.
I came one morning, just as I usually do after my work was over, and knew something was wrong. My possessions, few that they are, were not where I left them. The water on the floor was gone and the holes in the roof were fixed. My clothes were folded neatly and I found a new black and white table in what you might call my living room. What’s more, a casserole was on the stove that I had not made and the kitchen table was set for two. There was a note that said “This could have been us.”
As tired as I was my mind was still alive enough to see what I had to do. To leave immediately and never come back. I always considered that one day my work might be compromised, that someone would after me, but never like this. This unsettled me in a whole different way. It didn't feel creepy that someone had been in my house and moved my stuff, just, unusual. The meal and the note, in any other situation I’d have said they were meant to scare me, but this didn't feel that way. Something else was going on. For half a moment it came into my mind that this could have been one of my girlfriend, M’s tricks - a joke, but not really, something to get me to invest more in the relationship, but this wasn’t her style and we had moved past all that years ago. There was something else about the scene in the kitchen, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
I grabbed my bag and left instantly stopping only at a pay phone (I don’t have a mobile) to leave a message for M to call me back.
It wasn’t hard to find another place. My needs were modest as I mentioned. I moved in without the need for references or deposit. But a month later, exhausted I returned home again one morning to exactly the same scene. The apartment was repaired, my clothes folded , dinner made and the same note. This happened twice more in the coming year, until I found my current house, where I have lived without incident for six months. I had been getting my energy back until this month, where I found myself more tired than I’ve been in my life. I’ve been neglecting my work and sleeping more and more, but I still was holding everything together.
I came home this morning and could barely keep my eyes open, but when I saw the black and white coffee table, I knew it had happened again. I walked slowly into the kitchen, again seeing the cleanliness, and noting the repairs my stalker had made. Once again in the kitchen was the casserole and the note: “This could have been us”. I held it in my hands staring at the writing, not able to put it down. There was something about it, something... familiar. I saw a pen on the side and unthinking, I picked it up and started to write underneath it. My hand moved on its own and as I saw the letters form, the shape of the s, the dot above the I, all the same, everything started to become unreal -,like it was all far away. And then, in the periphery of my vision I saw him and instantly I understood. I hadn’t seen him in 13 years but now he was back, just as I knew he would be, when I needed him, the man with no name. And then he spoke, but I only heard two words before I passed out, but that was enough.
“Hello Tyler.”
| 2017-12-09T08:37:35 | 2017-12-09T07:06:04 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] God gave humanity Earth and filled it with marvels and wonders of many kinds. This was not done as a gift, but a distraction. To distract them from exploring the stars, and to protect them from the horrors that lurked out in the dark. | We thought it strange, at first, that with every new light that twinkled in the night, with every step we took towards the stars, another oh-so-interesting novelty appeared upon Earth. For every oh-so-promising exoplanet, twenty new pockets of new life or beauty were found upon Earth.
But humanity's attention was not so easily led astray.
We put three people on Mars in 2039. They died there, and the rusty sands greedily gnawed their bones to nothing.
As if they were alive.
Every mission to Mars ended much the same; the surface seemed cursed. Nothing but machines could live there.
So we turned our curious eye to Venus. We put cities in her skies, and they held. The Red Curse hadn't followed us here. And, with time, we built machines to settle her surface.
From the first explorer, we heard only screaming. An hour after contact was lost with the surface team, something burst from beneath the acid clouds of Venus. The sky cities stopped transmitting soon after that.
Every world in Sol was the same. No human could touch the surface and return. The Red Curse became the Surface Curse. For a moment, humanity nearly lost its will to reach the stars.
Nearly.
Earth remained our only world, but we built great space stations above the worlds we could never touch. Automated drones explored them and different drones consumed them. Venus was left, but no other world went unmarred by our hunger.
Then, as was standard, a prisoner slated for death was sent to the surface of Charon. We expected his suit to suffer sudden and total failure, a creature to manifest and destroy him, contact loss... any of the horrors we had faced before. Pluto had borne the Curse, and we had no reason to suspect different of Charon.
The prisoner was tossed from the airlock by depressurization, and the exploration team waited in abject boredom for the screaming.
It didn't come.
The whole species' attention turned to the desolate moon of Charon. What could be so special about a tiny ball of ice barely worthy of the title "moon?" Nothing seemed to fit. The presence of H2O was the only correlation, and not even a relevant one.
Nobody can recall whose idea it was to drill into Charon's core. They'd be lauded as a hero.
For deep within the ice, we found an ancient starship.
---
Continue?
\>Y
\>N | With a yawn, D̶͉̐ẻ̸̢ȗ̷̻s̴̴̩͇̕͠ finally got up from his cache, hidden inside a fifth dimension bubble. Another restless phase, filled with the screams of his kin, the laughs of his wicked enemies. They were the closest thing he had of a lullaby. For the last seven aeons that had been his routine. Get up, stay hidden, report on the war to his superiors, and participate in sabotage missions every once in a while. He hated it, but someone had to do it; he couldn't let T̵̥̈h̴̢̚é̷͎ò̵̢k̷̩͂r̵̈́͜o̵̯̍s̴͓̾ down.
The only thing that brought him peace, his one and only past time, was observing his little creation. In a strangely peaceful period, D̶͉̐ẻ̸̢ȗ̷̻s̴̴̩͇̕͠ dared to get out if his den into the tridimensional plane and truly the vastness of the cosmos. A couple hundred star systems away from the core of the battlefield, he had found this little planet that reminded him of the legends of how his kind came to be. He called it T̸̜́e̵͙̓r̶̯͘ȓ̸̝à̵̯ , and in it planted the seed. D̶͉̐ẻ̸̢ȗ̷̻s̴̩͠, like all of his kind, had been taught how much of a commitment planting the seed was, but not knowing what cycle would be his last in that horrific and unforgiving war, he had to build his legacy while he had the chance.
Around 1,500 millions of years, in T̸̜́e̵͙̓r̶̯͘ȓ̸̝à̵̯ time, his seed started really showing it’s results, beginning to show complex life forms. D̶͉̐ẻ̸̢ȗ̷̻s̴̴̩͇̕͠ started daring to come out of his bubble more often, to marvel at it’s little rock in space. Proud as he was, he couldn’t share his happiness with others, as it was proof that he wasn’t doing his job diligently.
Another hundreds of millions of T̸̜́e̵͙̓r̶̯͘ȓ̸̝à̵̯ years passed, and life in it couldn’t seem more prosperous, while D̶͉̐ẻ̸̢ȗ̷̻s̴̴̩͇̕͠ war only seemed more merciless and destructive. D̶͉̐ẻ̸̢ȗ̷̻s̴̴̩͇̕͠ ‘s heart almost burst with sadness when debris from a nearby battle was sent flying through space and into the little planet, with devastating effects, killing most of the largest life forms. It was at that time that D̶͉̐ẻ̸̢ȗ̷̻s̴̴̩͇̕͠ realized the dangers that the war presented to his legacy. Even after intelligent beings developed on T̸̜́e̵͙̓r̶̯͘ȓ̸̝à̵̯ , they wouldn’t have a way of knowing the horrors they could find in the cold and dark depths of the cosmos.
D̶͉̐ẻ̸̢ȗ̷̻s̴̴̩͇̕͠ then took every free moment he had into building wonders in his world; filling every nook and cranny with marvellous and enigmatic occurrences, all in an effort to keep his children busy. He couldn’t single handedly end the seemingly infinite war that had been going on since he remembered, but he certainly would do everything he could with his limited time to make sure his descendants would be busy until peace would be found in the cosmos.
| 2018-01-01T20:13:08 | 2018-01-01T20:06:35 | 45 | 13 |
[WP] God gave humanity Earth and filled it with marvels and wonders of many kinds. This was not done as a gift, but a distraction. To distract them from exploring the stars, and to protect them from the horrors that lurked out in the dark. | The darkness had a name. A name that only the first children on Earth were taught and which was lost throughout the years. There were clues about this name, left behind by those who had anticipated that one day we would need to call upon the ancient pact made between humans and the dark again. And that this pact, if used at the right time, would allow us to live on, as if the things in the dark didn't exist. As if they didn't pose a threat to our existence.
But darkness waited. It watched while humans forgot their concern, growing so accustomed to the light that they cast aside that deep instinctive fear burned inside of our ancestors.
When man had reached its peak, a time when things like the fight for world peace and the battle for hunger no longer existed, when our only worry was waking and falling asleep, darkness decided it was time.
On the first night, all light disappeared.
During the second, darkness snuffed out the Sun.
And on the third, it sent forth its horrors -ancient creatures born from nightmares.
Man prepared for extinction. But little did they know, a small group of individuals, hardly big enough to be called a society, with a name as old as the darkness itself, was not ready to give up.
While the world readied for death, these individuals prepared for war.
And during a time that books were closed and writers were forgotten. The most important story in history took place. | "The northern star is a lie! Beware of the stars! Steer clear of Astrology AND Astronomy! They are all traps!" The scruffy homeless looking man handed me a pamphlet that read 'Don't Look Up' the truth of death and stars.
"Get a job!" I said roughly and threw the pamphlet in the nearest garbage bin.
It was snowing outside and my patience was already used up today. Emily had cancelled our date tonight yet again and without any explanation or excuse. The ring I bought her a month ago weighed heavily in my pocket. At this rate, that's where it might stay; that is if I don't end up returning it.
Emily is beautiful. But, they always are right? Women. So beautifully cruel and blissfully unaware of how torturing they can be. Not too dissimilar to the unforgiving winter winds of Chicago, Illinois. We met in college; both of us studying social justice and women's studies. The only non-stereotypically gay thing about us was that neither of us are cat people. We both prefer dogs.
I had always identified as bisexual and I still do, but I knew I wanted to marry Emily after only three weeks of dating. She's so full of life and joy. She never says a bad word against anyone except herself. She makes me laugh harder than anyone else can and she's so driven to make the world a better place. Who wouldn't want to marry someone like that?
But, lately she's been distant. Closing off and shutting me out. She says she's just busy working on her non-profit startup but I'm not so sure it's work related. I try to put it out of my mind as I walk the icy streets of the city. It was already dark and I was getting hungry so I popped into a ramen shop to get something hot to eat and warm up my cold bones.
I ordered the spicy chicken ramen and sat down by the window looking out into the dimly lit street. Waiting for my meal, I checked my phone to see if Emily texted back. Nothing.
The waiter brought my ramen out and I said a quiet thank you when- huh?! What the fuck? Just outside across the road I could barely make out two figures in the dark but one of them stood out to me completely.
Emily. Wearing the bright yellow coat I bought her from ModCloth last year for Christmas. She had her back turned to me but I was sure that it was her. I threw down a twenty dollar bill even though my ramen was only $10 and I dashed out the door.
"Emily! Babe! Hey, it's me!" I shouted to her from across the street. She turned to look at me and as I walked closer avoiding the traffic on the road I could see something wasn't right...
"Emily?" I whispered. The hooded figure she had been talking to ran off as I got closer. Emily had closed her eyes now. "Don't look at me! Don't come any closer! You shouldn't be here." She sounded so scared and desperate.
"Emily, what's wrong? It's okay, it's just me." I said trying to comfort her, getting more worried by the second.
"Anna, you don't understand. I can't be with you." she sobbed. "I can't be with you anymore because I can't be with anyone. I've been to the northern star. I've been marked." Emily opened her eyes and the brightest light I've ever seen poured out of them blinding me and flashing into the night lighting up the sky. That was when I blacked out. | 2018-01-01T19:06:14 | 2018-01-01T18:37:19 | 31 | 10 |
[WP] You run the most challenging combat school in the multi-verse, a place where heroes and villains alike train hone their skills. Many claim to be the most powerful to have ever attended: its a three way tie between yourself, the janitor and the librarian. | Cataclysmic destroyers, world savers, exterminators of entire species - it doesn't matter what they did before they come here. Here they are just candidates and their task is to progress through a series of trials.
The bragging and chest-puffing is strong when they first arrive. And perhaps they have a right to brag. Only the most heroic or diabolical receive an invite. Even now a grotesque being sloshes forward, prostrating its tentacled extremities in a show of strength common among its species. I check my retina displays. This one runs the most powerful banking syndicate in four separate universes. It's also indirectly responsible for over three billion deaths.
"The first trial is straightforward," I say, determining that enough time has passed for them to size each-other up. "Please proceed to your pods."
Each pod holds one candidate and each can create reality. There are thirty three candidates in this cohort. The trials will continue until only one candidate is left. Then, and only then, will they enter the next phase.
I tap a button on my wrist and my voice beams directly into the pods, submerging the candidates in sound. "Your first trial is to bring light back to this fading solar system," I say, then I tap another button and the pods create thirty-three unique universes, each containing a dying star. The candidates can use any means at their disposal to ignite this star. The reality pods simply create one new universe within the multi-verse, all else is fair game.
Even now the Sludge Banker is marshaling his resources across his four separate empires. It looks like he is purchasing thermonuclear neutron bombs. He will blast this star back to life.
One enterprising soul is creating a wormhole through which he will shoot through another sun. Not sure how that one will work out.
I chuckle at the attempts. For all their posturing, this cohort is lackluster.
Our janitor simply looked at the star and snapped his fingers. | “Headmaster, if only you knew how powerful I-“
“I will have none of this Mr. Zanella. YOu can whine to me about how powerful you are after you defeat Mr. Monroe, for now you will sit in detention for disrupting this school and breaking its rules”
“Ummmmm, who is MR. Monroe?”
“The Janitor.”
“Ummmm....”
“Yes you may go battle him now if you choose, though should you lose it will be detention for a year.”
He didn’t;t even bother to grab his coat as he rushed out. I must admit, I like seeing them knocked down a peg.
They always think it will be easy, to defeat the janitor that cleans up their messes. But he cleans the messes of this school, Eldritch preparatory school. The foremost school in inter dimensional combat and education. Here, the most promising students train to hone their skills, becoming the grandest villains and heroes of the multiverse. Mastering magic, technology, sword, or whatever else they have to in their universe. Of course bringing the best of the best and the bloodthirsty all to opine place breeds competition. We do our best to give it healthy outlets and keep our students humble. Remind them that there are always bigger fish in the pond and that those fish should not be disturbed. Yet arrogance stews even then. Thats when i like to send them to Mr. Monroe. Or if the situation demands it to Mrs. Liana, our librarian, or I simply battle them myself.
*BANG!* Sounds of battle down the hall, Mr. Zanella must have finished his battle. He came l;imping back in,. Like a dog with its tail between its leg.
“How did it go mR. Zanella?”
“How is....How is he so...?”
“Mr. Monroe is a Mastwer and you are a student. Do not forget that. And I hope you remember to thank him when you find him cleaning up your messes.”
“Can...Can you?”
“Can I defeat him? Oh heavens no. He is a master at craft, I’m sure you realized that whatever you threw at him he had a trinket or do dad just for it. Now sit down and get to your work. You will have to get use to the detention room after all.”
“Can...can anyone?”
“Perhaps Mrs. Liana and I if we combined our forces, or the gods if they finally see it fit enough to come down from their lofty perches and grace us mortals with their presence. now, to your work.”
“Yes Headmaster.”
...
“Headmaster?”
He broke whatever silence had taken the room
“Mr. Zanella?”
“How did you meet MRs. Liana and Mr. MOnroe”
“That, is a long story. WE each came to this school from our own universes. Liana studied the blade mainly, but also anything she could get her hands on. Should you ever fight her you will learn what it means to fight someone with near perfect knowledge of near everything. Mr. Monroe plunged himself into his trinkets and gte technology of his world and others, as I’m sure you noticed, and I, I mastered as many magical arts as I could, a path I still pursue to this day. The three of us were put on a training team, fought like cats and dogs at first. But after maybe a year of being together, we realized just how balanced we had become, and the rest is histiory.....OH! I am afraid I said more than I should have, but that looks like all the time you are allotted for today, back top your training Mr. Zanella.”
He got up gathered his stuff and then turned to me “I hope I get to see the three of you in action one day”
“That, Mr. Zanella, would only happen if this school was attacked. And even then I doubt we would have to lift a finger before you and the other students handled it. Now, Hugo find your team and explain why you missed practice today, and remember to come here Tomorrow for your next detention, I believe Mrs...Garcia will be heralding this one”
He simply nodded, and left. | 2019-01-14T22:23:57 | 2019-01-14T22:12:36 | 50 | 20 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species. | The massive, angular craft drifted into orbit around a dead world. A world scarred by a war fought so long before what the rest of universe viewed as the dawn of time. A war in which there would be no victory. Against a foe that sought to tear the galaxy asunder and could not be defeated. Themselves.
I shuddered at the thought.
This world, unlike the tens of thousands like it, was the Homeworld of the species that my people had looked up to for so very long. They still existed in some way. Their descendants scattered across much of the galaxy still mourned the loss of their ancestral home. Earth.
Everyone in the galaxy knew of them, and by as many names as there were stars. The Guardians, the Old Ones, the Ancients, the Hominids. Their true name was long gone and forgotten. Abandoned in their haste to distance themselves from what they once were, even as they embraced their heritage as the true inheritors of the galaxy. For what claim could be made by others against the Descendents of those who lived, conquered and ruled so many aeons before our most distant ancestors had even climbed from the primordial soup?
Of course they were challenged, time and time again. But even fractured into a thousand Star Nations they were indomitable. Undeafetable.
This expedition was only even possible with assistance from them, as any attempt to "defile" their ancestral home was met with a fury the likes of which had ripped apart the galaxy the last time it had been unleashed in the single-minded goal of defending that which they could never regain. And punishing those who dared to trespass where even they hesitated to go.
And now that I can see the planet, I think I understand why.
This is a grave. A grave for the billions reduced to ash in a civil war, and the remains forced to flee aboard primitive starships. For this happened not at their height, but long before the creation of even the fist node of the translight network.
And as I look out the window, I can see green forests, blue oceans, land teeming with life. And yet, there is Something there. Something missing, like a small, clean hole in a masterful painting. An inky void that, while noticed, can scarcely even be described.
This was a dead world because even overgrown with new life, you could hear the echoes of what once was. Sprawling cities of glass and metal reaching towards the sky, roads and rails connecting disparate groups across thousands of miles. The scars, not of war but of civilization itself were what haunted this place.
I looked around the bridge, and I think the others saw it too. | Olympia - 2/54/:128 , the date that shall take it's place in history
​
This changes our preconceived notions on the nature of our Universe and our place in it...
Space base no.33 picked up a message on this very day, a message we estimate, based on the speed of the transmission, was sent to us from an... uncanny time, long before the beginning of any life form we have studied thus far including our own. Even more strangely, *so* close to the estimated creation of the very Universe we inhabit, that we may have to reevaluate our previous, seemingly impeccable, calculations entirely.
We have been able to trace the message back to it's place of origin, which fortunately is located within the observable universe. Being the message that got to us first, it must have been *the first ever sent from this species*, however, hopefully and likely, not the last. It will take us a while to reach this planet or what remains of it, I can only hope I will be able to see it in my lifetime.A species so ancient may contain secrets we cannot even fathom, having been here before the universe became what we have come to know and, to a degree, understand. Along our path to find answers, the formation of our society, our values, our habits, we may have unknowingly followed in their footsteps. As such, what we find on this planet may give us information on more than just the nature of the universe, but also the nature of all the species that have inhabited it, do , and *will forever more*.
Through them, we may come to know more about ourselves, *learn* things we never even considered needed to be given any thought, *answer* questions we never even got the chance to ask...
It should be noted, that based on the origin of the message it is unlikely, *nay,* **Impossible**, for them to still exist, which should be for the best, as, if we are to believe what applies to our species applied to them as well, even the smallest bias would dilute the truth, or even misshape it entirely.
Steady progress is being made in decrypting the message. From what we can understand now, it is mostly comprised of units that can take two possible values, either positive or negative, yes or no, nothing or one thing, 0 or 1...
There is also a simplistic design of what we assume to be, based on recorded similarities to our ancestors, their shape.
Something akin to a double helix seems visible, which can be nothing but the structure of the nucleic acid that makes them up, a primitive version of our own quadruple helix structured nucleic acid.
Just below are 9 structures seemingly floating around a larger structure, which , based on knowledge we have from the star systems we have observed, our own included, can be nothing but their own star system at the time of the conception of this message.
And lastly, a depiction of the device which launched the message itself, as it is too similar to a tool our species used eons ago to produce similar signals.
The entire message, seems to be an introduction.
*Something* that is so simplistic, yet manages to convey much more than it lets on. A person (representing, in a way, their entire species) which states their name ( represented by the depiction of the average human and their molecular structure which identifies them), their home (represented by their star system) , and the place whence the message is sent ( represented by the satellite dish).
*Something* which would even seem counterintuitive. Sending a message that you *know* will receive no answer in your lifetime or even your planet's, yet only providing so little information, *as if trying to initiate a simple conversation with a possible friend*, as if trying to reach on to someone in an endearing, childlike manner.
*Something* that I feel we can relate too. Both in it's seeming lack of logic or reason, and in it's endearing, almost desperate, benevolent and innocent nature.
*Something* that makes me want to respond in kind, a response I am currently working on compiling.
In spite of the fact *you* will never reach it, in spite of the fact *I* will never get an answer back, it seems only fair to introduce myself too, it seems only fair... to accept your friendship.
​
The Captain of Olympia - 2/54/:128
\-----------------
​
>!The Arecibo message was a short radio message sent into space to celebrate the remodeling of the Arecibo radio telescope in Puerto Rico in 1974.It was aimed at the globular star cluster M13, about 25,000 light years from Earth. It was the first message we sent to space. !< | 2019-08-13T15:43:33 | 2019-08-13T15:24:42 | 64 | 39 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species. | At a glance, it was a barren planet. Indistinguishable from billions of other planets in the Milky Way.
The first giveaway of something extraordinary was its radiation signature; way beyond the expected range for its class.
Closer inspection revealed ancient structures. Another civilization that burned itself out. Still not that uncommon.
But once a probe was sent down to radiodate the structures, an existential panic rippled across the galaxy. The species on this planet had reached its peak billions of years before any previously known intelligent life forms had evolved.
The electronic devices of this civilization had long since decayed. However, above the floating wreckage of orbiting satellite fragments (and one Tesla) was the final testament to the human race. Shielded from radiation, preserved at near zero degrees Kelvin, its data structure was intact. The information was stored in a format to be read by any civilization.
“We have failed.
“We have failed our own interest, assuring our mutual destruction. We have failed an even greater calling. A calling to spread to the stars. To spread life and vibrance across the night sky.
“We were reckless. In our race to the future, we derailed. Greed, envy, and above all, intolerance, were our undoing. We were not worthy of the stars.
“Our world lays smoldering. In our final gasp, we choose to breath life into the aether. We spread packets of single celled life to the most fertile planets. May this seed a life form better than ourselves. One worthy to inherit the stars...”
One by one, each warring races across the galaxy made a pilgrimage to “Earth”. To the genesis of their race, of all races. A common ancestry bound these disparate races together. A common threat, met by their progenitor race, served as a warning to would be warmongers.
A golden age of prosperity rises from the fertile ashes of the humans empire, may they rest in peace. | Log date: cycle 16 of rotation 16,986
Species: Magnacrania Terrensis
Location: Mining planet of Gayanite
Circumstance of find: chance discovery during a routine expedition from the aeropolis to the planets lowland plains to collect the giant crystals of citrine quartz that grow around the planets innumerable lavaflows, fossil was uncovered when the machinery accidentally caused part of the bank to collapse, revealing the specimen and its associated artifacts to the crew
Specimen description: Bipedal with a stable gate, two limbs attached to the upper thorax tipped with digits capable of manipulating objects, two additional limbs attached to the bottom of the abdomen ending in a group of digits likely held together with muscle in life to provide a source of stability for the creature as it moved, cranium attaches to a spine that runs vertically along the thorax and abdomen, brain shape and size indicates this creature was capable of higher thought.
Associated finds: A data terminal, that appears to function as a record of their species history.
Approximate age of specimen: 1.8 billion years
Classification: Extinct
Reason for extinction: According to the data terminal that was buried with the being the planet it inhabited was much different to that of today, life thrived on a surface dominated by grassland and patches of forest. Their species progressed slowly at first, remaining at relatively the same technology level for over 300,000 years, then suddenly in the space of about 12,000 years their technology level improved exponentially (likely triggered by the discovery of agriculture) but alas all was not perfect for them, they began to poison and destroy their planet all in the name of greed, the individual found hailed from a time at the very end of this process where the species appeared to have a change of tune and wished to save their biosphere, however their efforts were unsuccessful to put it mildly, we know this thanks to the data terminal also containing the following log (translated for the reader):
Are we on? Please be on.... Bingo! Thank god, almost thought this whole thinga woulda been in vain *sigh*.... Anyway, if you're listening to this you already know the bad news, life on Earth has come to an end, I'm hear to say why.
*clears voice* In the year 2438 a series of natural disasters and extinction events crippled Earth's biosphere, it soon became clear that we were going extinct along with all life on the planet, then around the summer of 2340 they discovered element 160.
At first it seemed to be just another unstable radioactive element, that all changed when a chance fluctuation of electrical voltage during testing of its properties caused it to violently rip a hole in the fabric of spacetime, killing all scientists working on the project.
However the drone recording the incident managed to entre and return from the other side of the hole, after analysing the footage, various palaeontologists and other scientists concluded that the drone had been transported back 4 million years ago to the late pliocene period.
Naturally someone realised we could simply take extinct animals back from the past and save our biosphere here in the present, for the entirity of testing everything seemed like it was going to turn out fine, they calculated they'd need about a ton of element 160 to make the various trips to retrieve the animals and save our planet.
But... *tears welling up* *voice trembling* while they were firing a proton b... beam at it to op..p...pen the rift one of the struts holding up the chunk of element came loose..... *full on crying* and it fell and exploded. *wipes away tears* *+ voice trembling again* the ex..p..plosion's so powerful they think there's only about an hour until the entire earth's surface is b...b..burned to ashes.
*heavy breathing* *panicked voice* I see the debris cloud, I don't have much time *frantic pleading* whoever you are don't make our mistakes. Please! *crying again* don't let your world en... *sound of debris cloud arriving* *+ agonised screaming*
LOG COMPLETED | 2019-08-13T16:22:41 | 2019-08-13T16:05:59 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] A hostile alien empire declares war on all humanity. They don't know that we had to make an alliance with the powers of Hell itself to survive a previous alien invasion a long time ago. | The earth felt pretty confident they could handle this new threat. Aliens are a terrifying force but we had made a deal for... "Other worldly" protections.
Journal of Captain Jones US Army April 19th, 2023: The earth shook with the force of so many ships suddenly appearing in our atmosphere. None of us could believe it, second contact with aliens... Just like the first, blah blah blah assimilate or die. Stupid bastards didn't catch the memo when we sent those other grey bastards packing! Any moment now the world leaders will drop the word and we will call in our back up. This shouldn't be a long war."
Report from President Bakis April 21st, 2023: "Operation Hellgate going as planned, the demons have been launching through the portal for a full day and seem to be stabilizing the war. Proceed with impunity, stand together and we shall win!"
Reporter in S. Korea live broadcast May 3rd, 2023: "As you can see the city has been hit hard" camera pans over destroyed buildings and emergency workers " but the tone is positive, the operatives of project Hellgate have been slightly destructive on our end but massively destructive to the enemy. This should be a short war though quite costly."
Post from Reddit user Baltic1357taco May 20th,2023: "The aliens have started playing metal now? SMH watch our boys do their thing and kill them to a soundtrack!" Top comment "isn't that Rip and Tear? We may be screwed..."
Edit: Rip and Tear is Doom, the aliens brought doom guy. | "You think you stand a chance against us?" the chancellor says to the head of the Eldrian Empire. The people in the crowd all started to laugh and I could see that the aliens were caught off guard.
I was watching this live on my TV and I knew this was going to get good. I almost couldn't contain my excitement.
"Why do you laugh at us? We have weapons that far outclass yours, this is no laughing matter," the Eldrian says. "If you continue we will have no choice but to eliminate your entire species."
"How about we eliminate you first?" the chancellor says and the entire crowd breaks into cheers. They had no idea what they were going up against we might have been weak once, but we were long past that now.
"Then we shall go to war," the Eldrian says. "It is unfortunate, you seemed to be the smartest type 2 civilization out here."
"We're far above you," the chancellor says. "Now go my dark knights."
"Knights?" the Alien asked. "I though this land..."
He couldn't finish because the next moment was a rush of movement. A moment later he was on the ground a demonic sword on his back. The chancellor's or Demon King as we liked to call him had summoned some of his most powerful minions for this battle. What did these Eldrians think we were? Mere humans, no we were something a lot more sinister.
The chancellor and the people in the crowd finally decide to reveal their true forms. They sprout their wings and their horns and their claws and they go into battle. It is a little blood bath, the Eldrian soldiers are wiped within only a few seconds.
"A shame," the Demon King says. "I was hoping for a better show to please my subjects."
I except that to be the end of the broadcast, but then the leader of the Eldrian Empire gets up, the sword was still sticking out of his back.
"We have come from you," he says. "And you have defied us, you will pay. We may have underestimated you, but you have underestimated us further. We have extremely powerful regenerative abilities, your petty sword will not do much harm to us." His soldiers rise too and I know this is when it's going to get good.
"A species that will finally give us a show," the Demon King says. "Come on, fight me."
"If that's what you wish," the Eldrian leader says taking out the sword from his back. He presses a button on his arm and he's in a full suit of metal armor. It was like he was a cyborg now ."
"That's it?" the Demon King asks. "You might as well go home now. Charlotte would you like to do the honors in putting these people in their rightful place."
"Sure daddy," Charlotte the Demon Princess says. "Hell's gate," she says waving her hand ina circle once. All the Eldrians are instantly turned into ash. She leaves only one of them alive, but burns part of his arm off. "Your healing abilities aren't much use if there's nothing to regenerate are they?" she says with a devilish grin.
"Tell your people to come back more powerful. I want a better battle next time." she says as the last Eldrian runs off back to their feeble ship.
"Now for getting back to the real battle," she says. "Father would you mind if we started a civil war?"
"Not at all darling," the Demon King says.
I was cheering in my seat now because I was one of the princess'es primary guards. I had been off from work today because she requested she do all the killing herself, but I would finally get to do some work. My claws and wings were already out. This would be plenty of fun.
Edit: Grammar
Join r/NinjaMasterXY for more stories! | 2020-03-24T09:27:30 | 2020-03-24T09:20:48 | 41 | 26 |
[WP] You are seen as a weakling. To prove yourself to your tribe, you enter the dragon's lair that even the hardiest warriors avoid. Amused by your challenge, the dragon takes a human form and duels you with a sword. After disarming you three times it says "come tomorrow and try again." | Second day. I arrive. I lose fast and hard. The dragon left me another on my arm, just above the first. Just deep enough to scar.
Third day. I arrive. I lose. I get cut.
Fifth day. I arrive. I lose. He cuts across the first four to make five.
Tenth day. I arrive. I lose but it takes only a few seconds longer. He smiles before giving me my second set.
One hundredth day. I arrive. I lose but I parried his first thrust. Im getting faster but slowly, my muscles are starting to tone but slowly. My face is hard and starting to sprout hairs.
One hundredth and seventy fourth day. I arrive. I lose but have now successfully parried two thrusts in a single bout. He laughed when he gave me my cut. I find my usual diet isn't enough to sustain this, I hunt bigger game and eat ravenously.
Three hundred and sixty fifth day. I am lean, strong and sharp and have managed to stretch each bout to three minutes in length. My muscles don't want to grow bigger. He raised his brow and uttered his first words in a year "You're slow." I must think on what he means. Has it been a year already.
Five hundredth and twelth day. The clan just came back from the winter migration, I barely noticed they left. I focused on explosive speed and endurance. My weapon proved slow so I changed it. A slim needle looking blade from his hoard. This new style increased the bout length by three minutes. He said "much better." Before giving my first cut on my chest. The arm was full.
Seven hundredth and thirty eighth day. The bouts are long and brutal, I barely notice time passing when we fight and each strike is like a dance. He is starting to smile from ear to ear each time I arrive. His cuts now cover my chest as well. I find myself wondering about other things, life, gods, meaning. I medidated for the first time tonight.
Nine hundredth day. The blade snapped mid bout. He took his dragon form and nearly engulfed me in an inferno in his anger. A sharp reminder he could end me with a breath. Once he was calm he ordered me to return tomorrow. He didn't cut me.
One thousandth one hundred and sixty fourth day. My fourth birthday since being sent here. The blade he gave as a replacement is emaculate, ripples in the metal unlike anything the bronze of my clan was capable of making. Black as sin. I bowed as usual before the bout, he did a strange salute with his own blade and returned the gesture. I repeated it back to him. I lost in 24 mins. My upper body is covered. This generous being was beyond my understanding. I refuse to believe I am merely entertainment.
One thousandth three hundred and fifty second day. Three days ago, I nearly had him, he slipped on some moisture in the cave and I ducked low to try and nick his wrist. He lost his reserve and nearly cut me in half with a swing so fast I couldn't see. As I thought death would claim me, he cursed at himself and with a flick of his wrist my wounds healed. I look at him in confusion, he simply stated "I will not win based on unearned strength" and left it at that. Today, he let me eat with him and we talked. He heard my story and I heard his but it seemed so.... insignificant now.
One thousandth eight hundred and ninety-ninth day. Yesterday, I did it. I arrived at dawn, we fought to a stand still but kept fighting, our blades sang. The air itself seemed to be my only restraint, it felt thick to move through as my body trembled and roared with adrenaline. He lost to a counter riposte I had been baiting him into for an hour, he was shocked for a short moment but roared in cheer and laughter before his sword even hit the ground.
I collapsed for a second and felt faint. He knelt, put his hand on my shoulder and smiled saying, "You are strong. Go home." I emerged from the cave and saw my tribe in the distance, the sun was setting.
Today I shaved, cut my long hair and donned the tunic and leather armour I had made in my time not spent fighting. I took my sword and walked into the alien yet familiar camp.
The chief who had exiled me was dead, his son greeted me no better than he had. A great hulking brute, spitting insults and accusations. To the side, my father and mother, they were cautious but they were speechless once they seemed to recognise me.
He told me to leave, I refused. He raised his ugly axe above his head and then he just sort of.... stopped. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum but everything was moving so slow it was basically still. Were things always this sluggish.
Before his axe had hit the top of his arc, my blade had been drawn, cut through his throat, cleaned and sheathed. The timing was such that his lose of grip sent the axe flying backwards.
The camp was silent. The weight of expectations lifted from me like a river finally collapsing a mighty dam. But, whos? I felt no loyalty to these people who had cast me out.
As the chiefs body finally hit the ground, I noticed feint wing beats in the distance, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
God speed master, thank you. | “Once again our crops burn, even as we speak we wait for their flames to be doused. Last year was a travesty, but a surplus in stock gave us ample time to slay the beast yet here I stand with bellows of smoke in my eyes to a crumbling kingdom! Once a great nation, its citizens the wealthiest in the land of Astharnia, a haven of hope for those that dreamed of it. Now? Look at our once great city, its buildings crumbling and its shops barren of produce. All for one, individual, single beast. WHY, I must ask, Garlot, is the beast still alive? Why does it STILL rule over us with an iron wing? I thought I sent my armies to defeat it? Are you telling me the best men in all of Astharnia are not enough to take down 1 foul, ugly beast?” I looked at my brother, Prince Garlot of Hayle and watched as a bead of sweat draped down his cheek. He muttered some excuse, something about betrayal, a garrison run amok, the dragon, a beast so humongous it rivalled the size of the very mountain it resided in.
“- as we slept, my King.” The king looked at Garlot with deep drilling bores, silence washed over the room like the shadow of a dragons wing.
“As. You. Slept?” The king retorted, Garlot gulped, he had never been scrutinized so much in his life. He was their top general, the kings son, born to lead. Since the moment he could grasp a sword he had trained with it from dusk till dawn, by the time he was old enough to walk a mile he had lead an expedition over the very mountain the dragon resided in and taken back a village belonging to the kingdom of Hayle. Many more successful marches came after that, many other kingdoms attempted to lay claim to Hayle, to cripple it. None came close, not with Garlot under the kings behest.
Then there was me, the princess of Hayle, daughter of King Ardon, though that name did not do me any favours, quite the opposite in fact. Only a meagre 3 years younger than Garlot I had been tasked with house chores, since the moment I could grasp a mop I had mopped with it from dusk till dawn, by the time I was old enough to use the stairs I had carried a bucket of water up them and cleaned the floors of the upstairs. Many more successful chores came after that, I made my maid proud, she congratulated me at every corner, I was a star, the best of the best, I could clean the palace kitchen in under an hour, a feat not known to any man or woman before me. None came close, not with me under the kings behest.
“Yes, my King.” Garlot replied, his voice almost cracking, his teenage years were almost over yet his voice threatened to challenge his manly pride with an ever-emasculating shriek.
“What?” The king responded in disbelief, “Are you trying to tell me the men under YOUR command fell asleep on the job? That they were not quick enough to sound the alarm? That they couldn’t distinguish a giant flying pigeon in the sky and ring the bells of battle!?”
“My… my king, it is not as easy as… it… it is black as the night. Its wings so big its beat distinguishes the flames of the torches. The… my men were taken unaware. By the time I awoke half the… half the garrison was alight, not one bell had chimed.”
“My King.” The king commanded my brother to say.
“I… I’m sorry, my King. After that he… she… it moved to our fields, and just as we were prepared it had already burned our lands to black and flew back to its nest, it was over in a matter of seconds… this beast its… it’s too powerful my King, we MUST send for help. Right now it is just toying with us, the moment it gets bored, there will be no more toying, just death… my King.” Garlot stared through his fathers eyes, his thoughts with the grim future.
“Send more help!? HA! We are the kingdom of Hayle! Undefeated for centuries! Perhaps even millennia! We have provided for ourselves since the day the kingdom was founded, not ONCE have we asked for help, it would be utter humiliation and defeat should I do such a … weak move.” My father stood out of his seat at the idea of such a pitiful idea and almost spat on my brothers face, who stood more than 6 feet away.
“Once they see what we are up against they will understand my king, this dragon is… not normal my king.”
“Not normal?” The king asked.
“Yes, it is smart, it knows what we are trying to do. It knows how to bring us to our knees. Every time we launch an assault it leaves its home and destroys half our men, like a warning… I fear for no resolution. Except that of asking our close neighbours for…”
“NEVER! I will NOT repeat myself again! We will NOT be asking for help! From anyone! NEVER!” The kings voice boomed through the king’s chambers. People at the back stood uneasy, fearing that his voice will somehow hurt them. “You say this thing only attacks when we do? What happens if we do nothing?” He asked. Before Garlot could answer the king started to cough profusely before holding a handkerchief to his mouth, he looked at it with a grumbling grimace before quickly tucking it back into his pocket. We all knew it had blood on it, we all looked concerned but not enough to press him about it. We knew better than that, my brother on the other hand… he showed no change in emotion, his facial expressions remained emotionless.
“Nothing? My king?” Garlot asked eventually. “Then it will continue free reign over our crops, just as it did to prompt our retaliation, to do nothing is not an answer my king.” The king sat on his throne, brooding over what appeared to be a tricky situation.
“We send someone.” He said with a calm but commanding voice. “We send someone to it’s lair, quiet as a mouse, find where the foul beast slumbers and they drive a sword into its head. An army makes too much noise, if we cannot do this the honourable way then perhaps we have to resort to more… dishonourable tactics.”
I watched for a moment as my brother contemplated his new orders, send someone to drive a sword into its skull as it slept. Not the bravest move she knew but if it meant her people stopped dropping dead on the street corners then it was enough.
“A good command my king,” Garlot said after contemplation, “Whom should I send?” He asked, he expected no specific individual to be requested by the king but he asked nonetheless, out of politeness.
“I will go.” I spoke, no, I shouted. The whole room gasped, nobody expected me to say that, nobody expected me to say *anything*. I would usually stay in the corner, hidden from more ‘important’ eyes and keep my mouth shut, only there as a formality. Garlot looked at me with a slight turn of his head, his focus still on our father.
“*You?*” He said with disgust. “You’re a girl, what could *you* hope to do to a dragon that an army of Hayle could not accomplish?” | 2020-12-01T10:42:41 | 2020-12-01T06:36:28 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] On earth, the fastest manmade item ever was a manhole cover, blasted into space by a nuclear launch. Far, far away in the galaxy though, you are an alien on a medieval-level world, trying to interpret what omen the gods sent by launching a metal disk from the sky to kill the king. | *Translated for your convenience from Terraxian.*
“Ah. You wish to know that story? I was there at the end of the monarchy. Much of the kingdom of Mirax was there to see the king be coronated. The crown was placed on his head and he stood and began to speechify.
Saying he would bring honor to the kingdom, that his father was a great man (he was not.) but that in his old age he had driven the kingdom to dishonor. (He had.) he states he would bring us to a level we had not been in thousands of years, and would be the greatest king ever. Then the Architect had an Angel slay him for his lies.
That is the only way to describe it. As he spoke we heard a faint whistle then as he stated he would be the greatest king ever, a large throwing disk broke through the castle wall and took Tora’s head off his shoulders in a gout of green blood. We Miraxians took that to the only logical conclusion. The Architect was finally disgusted with the royal family and had had his angel “Nevada” slay Tora. The effect was not immediate but as they scrambled to find an heir we organized, and struck down the royal family. Naturally there is more to that and I will tell you if are curious, but that is how, 450 years ago, when I was but a young woman, Mirax became the Republic we know, and Nevada the angel of truth and the people’s way.”
“Is that all Nevada has done, Storyteller?”
“Not at all. Allow me to tell you more, young Terraxian.” | "A bloomin' what!?"
The King's voice had a boom to it that only a mighty majesty could muster.
"A.. urm.. well." I stood in line beside the throne and watched as a lowly Farmer tried to explain what had happened the night before. A ghostly white shot the sky, it was the talk of the town, and this poor Farmer had it land in his crop.
"A disc, your Majesty." the Farmer finally squeaked out. "An old metal disc. Sent from the gods!"
Now he had done it, the Kings eyes locked in on the Farmers, the tone had shifted even more, perhaps the Farmer should have verbally stumbled his way into a shut mouth. But the King did not howl, he did not shout, he replied calmly and quietly. Which was ultimately more menacing to watch.
"Sent." he paused.
"From the *gods*?" a silence drifted over the throne room for a moment before the King and soon everyone else erupted in laughter. "The gods have been silent since you or I were a twinkle in their eye. This man is obviously mad, you, go retrieve this 'disc' my subjects are raving about. I wish to inspect it further."
A large sausage of a finger rolled out, shining with the gold it had wrapped around it. Pointing directly at.. me?
This caught me off guard of course, but I had always expected I couldn't hide between my larger colleagues forever.
I stumbled but made out a "Yes, your Majesty." escorting our Farmer friend from the throne room before he could stammer himself into an execution.
"You really know how to get the right reaction from people, hey buddy?" I said trying to make light of the tension we both had suffered.
"I... well.." he gripped his hat in his hands and twitched as he looked around the outside of the castle. It was almost as if he couldn't talk because he was enamored by the beauty of the architecture. "I'm not good at talking." was what I pieced together from the rest of our walk to his farm. Finally I would get to see this extraterrestrial object first hand.
It didn't take long before I had it packed up and traveled back to the castle. Leaving the Farmer confused and helpless really on how to deal with the crater. I promised I'd be back, but I still hadn't decided if I was going to keep that promise. "*An asshole I might be, but at least my night is free."* I think I heard a Bard sing that one time. Confident I had a promotion in my future, there was no doubt in my mind I had pieced where the disc had come from once and for all.
"You see, there's a dialect here, shockingly similar to our own. A writing. An intelligent being sent this to us, and it wasn't bloody Gods." I physically felt the last word leave my mouth as I made my claims to the King. It were as if the verbiage had exploded into a beautiful array of lights causing the patrons to gasp in awe.
"In fact, I don't believe this came from the sky at all and I even have the name of the culprit for you, my King." the room fell silent once again and the King leaned in with one eyebrow slowly pointing up his brow with curiosity.
"You see, they signed it, the person responsible is one *Chicago Sewers.*"
The King nodded furiously "We must find this Chicago Sewers immediately. Bring that Farmer back for questioning, I have a feeling he's involved in this somehow." the King finished by stroking his chin, nodding further as if to verify his own thoughts to himself.
"Right away, your Majesty." I bowed and took my leave from the room, this time with handcuffs for our Farmer friend. I guess I'd end up keeping my promise after all.
That poor Farmer. | 2020-12-14T07:33:55 | 2020-12-14T07:23:01 | 648 | 385 |
[WP] Everyone can become infinitely powerful if they so choose, however the more power you gain the less you remember about who you are and what you wanted. The greatest beings in the land have no feelings on anything and are more an extension of nature than the deity's they had hoped to become. | "I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds. All fall before my inevitability." The Dark Specter seemed to suck the light out of the room. The floor undulated in slow waves. The giant spoon and fork hanging on the wall wavered as their molecules drifted between dimensions.
Julia stared at the Specter impatiently. "Yes, hun, but did you remember to pick up the milk?"
"Life and Death are one. The warmth of Life and the cold of Death are partners in the long dance of reality." As a dark tendril touched it, the refrigerator swung open, revealing a full gallon of milk, pulled into sharp relief by the aura of black that covered everything else on the shelves. The label flipped between Chocolate and Two Percent, refusing to settle into a stable quantum state.
"How many times do I have to say it. Get the organic milk." As she reached in to grab the jug, the label flowed into a new form, with a giant O marking it's brand. "Ah, nevermind. This is the right one. Now, I don't suppose you could scale back the darkness a bit and vacuum the living room?"
"The ebb and flow of power is itself a power. The absence of substance is itself a substance." The Specter hovered.
Julia cleared her throat and tapped her foot, just staring at the darkness. The darkness retreated, drawing itself into nearly a solid form.
"Uh— the absence of substance is a vacuum. The ebb and flow of dust shall end." The Specter hoovered.
"Thank you, hun. Now, I'm going to be making my Shepard's Pie for dinner, so please stay out of the kitchen. I don't want the potatoes spontaneously spoiling or the chicken reviving itself. Why don't you watch the game?"
"The games of man are inconsequential next to the powers commanded by gods."
"It's Arsenal vs Man U."
The Specter shrank and solidified. It fell onto the sofa as gravity began to affect it. One last tendril of shade flew forth to stab the television on. The faintest hints of red and white began to show through the black shell.
By the end of the game, the figure on the sofa was nearly human. Only the face was still in darkness when the oven opened and the smell of dinner wafted into the room. The man got up to check out the cooking.
Julia smiles when she saw him. "Dinner's almost ready, hun. How was the game? They try to walk it in again?"
"It was a ludicrous display. Dinner smells good. Uh— sorry I haven't been myself much lately." The darkness retreated to his eyes as he leaned down to kiss her. He turned towards the table and paused. "Why are there three place settings?"
Julia answered over her shoulder as she turned back to the kitchen. "Don't you remember? My mom's coming to dinner. She's going to stay a few days."
Smoke billowed from behind her as darkness flowed to cover the man. The Specter answered. "I am become Death."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\] | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Interlude 3: The Once-Child Named Awe)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, if you want further context, check out [these](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mimo4u/wp_i_dont_know_i_think_my_superpower_is_a_bit/) [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mskuaq/wp_a_voracious_monster_stalks_the_city_at_night/).)
**She would have wished upon a star, but the burning city's smoke obscured them at night.** Some foolish part of her was still hoping that things would go back to how they were, that her hometown of Sacrament would be restored to order. That the looting and violence would stop.
That she could stop participating in it.
The woman who had once been a child pushed the thoughts away, at gunpoint if they wouldn't leave. She had a job to do. A mission that trumped all else. A calling passed down through human history for so long that it was almost holy.
She had to find food to survive.
She'd tried to limit herself, at first—trading protection for goods. All she had was her mother's gun and a willingness to shoot it, but that was more than most. And as time went on and the people she shot went from citizens to criminals to monsters, that willingness became an eagerness, and that eagerness became a numbness, and there was power in that. Power in the ability to shoot knowing you were going to kill.
Power in the knowledge that if you were going to take other people's lives anyway, you may as well take their possessions too.
There was nothing supernatural about her newfound powers. The most terrifying powers never were. She simply had the ability to *choose*, to look someone in the eyes who was begging for mercy and put a bullet in their head as she searched their house for food.
And the power to choose was a terrible thing.
Awe stepped over the still body of a man who was old enough to be her father. Once upon a time, she would've waved to him as she skipped down the street. Now, he was simply in her way.
Her stomach growled as she stepped into the man's home. She hadn't eaten in days; the group she'd once protected had ran out of goods and collapsed, and she'd taken what she could in the chaos. She passed a fractured mirror in an ornate frame as she walked.
She was grimy, emaciated, scowling, and covered in dried blood. None of it was her own.
No wonder people shot at her on sight. No wonder she had to strike first.
She stepped further into the dead man's house. A tin of half-eaten meat laid on the floor on a small foam mat. For a moment, hunger surged through her—but she reined it in, caution taking over. Who left valuable food lying conspicuously in the middle of the floor? Was it a trap? Were there snipers peering through the window, waiting for some idiot woman to blunder in and take it? Was this—
"Mew?"
She blinked.
A black kitten, tail curled, looked at her from atop a nearby bookshelf. Reflexively, she aimed her gun at it, expecting it to flee or scream or swear at her.
The kitten, unimpressed, arched its back and curled up, tail flicking over its nose.
Awe swallowed, gun wavering.
Then, voice sore from disuse, the little girl whispered, "Kitty?"
The kitten cracked open one lazy eye.
Awe went over to the tin of cat food, lying on the ground. A hard lump formed in her throat. Hunger clawed at her belly.
She picked up the tin and offered it to the kitten.
Gratefully, the cat licked the tin clean, and began to purr.
And something broke inside the girl named Awe.
All at once, she collapsed to the floor, gun falling from her hands. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
The kitten, heedless of the blood on her hands, leapt down on little cat feet and nuzzled her cheek.
It felt soft.
Awe grabbed the kitten and held it close, deep, shuddering breaths wracking her body as that terrible numbness burned away like mist in morning sun.
She knew, then and there, that she had lost the power to kill.
And she knew that she would never regain it.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-01-27T09:27:14 | 2022-01-27T07:47:56 | 103 | 25 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | There’s nothing I can do.
He is stronger than me. Faster than me. And while my ability to influence people with music is strong, there are limits to what I can do.
He turns to face my city. Mine. Neighbors, friends, hell, even my enemies lives have meaning. He’s going to destroy it all, and I have only one option left; one that will take us both out of the equation forever.
With trembling hands, I reach towards the player knob, and select the “do not select” setting.
He turns, contemptuous, but as the music begins to play, his smile melts into a dawning realization.
“This is the song that never ends..”
Eternity awaits. | "Based, how?"
"In the bass. The bass, the base of the song the base of this power."
"You know bass and base...they're unrelated, right?"
"Each affects different powers like. Smart bass like classical's base makes me smarter-like. Rock bass, say Queen's greatest hits base makes me stronger."
"Classical makes you...smarter?"
"Smarter."
"What mystical force made *that* happen?."
"Ginger Spice. The home fitness thing never took off, so she made of bass a means of powers."
"For you."
"For me."
"Do you know her?"
"Owned a copy of *Spiceworld* when I was younger."
"I see."
"Happy to hear it."
"What?"
"That you aren't blind."
"Yeah, okay... So classical music is the smart music, because...Ginger Spice from the *Spice Girls* sees things that way."
"The great one knows her stuff."
"Let's assume, Dennis, for a second that you aren't living in this mental health ward...that you aren't prone to psychosis."
"I do this often."
"...and that Ginger Spice truly is some wizard type character who's bestowed upon you these special powers which can be unlocked by listening to the radio."
"I'm assuming this with confidence."
"Why, of all people, did she pick you, Dennis?"
"She knows me."
"How does she know you?"
"Goddesses know everyone."
"Does she know me?"
"Everyone."
"Why don't I get the powers, and you do?"
"Can only be the one chosen one. This is why it's The One."
"And you deserve this more than I do? More than Shirley does?"
"Look, doc, there's a few things you don't know about Shirley. She ain't right."
"Well, you let me know if you're ever uncomfortable, Dennis."
"I'm always comfortable."
"Always?"
"Yep. Never anything but. Kind of wish it weren't like that, sometimes. Gets kinda boring."
"May I ask how?"
"Enya. She's been stuck in my head the past four weeks."
"I see."
"I'm happy to hear it."
"So let me take my phone out here. I assume you're comfortable we conduct a brief experiment, Dennis?"
"Knock yourself out."
"Let's see. Ah, perfect. How do you feel about Led Zeppelin?"
"I'm for 'em."
"Okay. *Stairway to Heaven* it is then."
"Oh. That one? Are you sure?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Nevermind..."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
...*and it's whispered that soon...if we all call the tune...*
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Nurse, nurse! He's gone into cardiac arrest. Get the stretcher, quick!"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
*...and she's buying a stairway...to...heaven...*
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Dennis...*Dennis...*!"
.
.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
r/wordsofbrennan | 2022-05-17T10:44:20 | 2022-05-17T10:23:15 | 43 | 20 |
[WP] The eldritch god stood before the girl, in almost human form. "Your parents sold you to be my bride. I accepted, knowing that if I don't they will just try another deity, but I will not force this on you. Have this credit card and live as you wish. If you want something else instead, just ask." | My father was not a good man. Not a man at all really. He tried his best. Sometimes I wish he hadn't, but no one chooses their parents. I'm lucky I had one who cared to try at all. My birth parents were sick and angry addicts, desperate for any kind of power. What was a daughter when compared to endless cosmic fire?
It didn't quite work out for em, but that's what happens when you trade in human life. Sometimes you lose it.
Like I said, Father is not a good man, but he tries.
I don't see him often. He writes me letters, in a sense. Constellations bend for him. Me too, when I concentrate. This one was different. More urgent. When the stars danced last night, they coiled and they *burned*.
I never thought that gods could die.
I never thought that father's could.
I have inherited some of his... gifts. Don't ask me how. One of them is how to Walk.
It's the name he gave me after all, "The Walk Along the Narrow Path."
I took a step...
...along
the edges...
... of the world
Into blackest night.
It was cold, dark and full of bitter hollow wind. It feels like home.
The throne was made of stone and bones and smaller, older things. The Lord of Hollow Mercy sat upon the stairs beneath it. He was tall, as if his body was stretched upon a rack and left halfway pulled apart. His face was hidden by a grey hood, draped across his shoulders. The world split around him and the light blistered against his pale skin. Even with the shadows on his face, the eyes still shown through. Red.
He looked tired.
"Path."
"Father," I said.
"I've missed you," he said. The ground began to bleed.
"You could have visited," I said. I gave the ground a Look. The blood boiled away.
"I have been occupied."
"It's been years, Dad."
He sighed. The shadows sighed with him. I sat down beside him on the steps. A splinter of ice leached inside the silence. A wooden box with red ribbon appeared in his hands. The ribbon was twisted about itself, and the bow was uneven. But he tries. I took the gift with the reverence it deserved. My Father does not give gifts without reasons. I have the scars to prove it.
I untied the ribbon and opened the box. Within the box was a crown. I dropped the box, my face as pale as him.
"I am ending, Path."
"You're a god."
"Only in a certain slant of light."
My hands shook as I lifted the silver circlet from the cold stone, it was braided from silver thread.
"Why would you ask this of me?"
"There is no one else."
"I should be honored, then."
"No, but it's yours all the same."
"You know what I'll do with it."
"Yes. Walk the Narrow Path."
As I said, my father was not a good man, but neither am I. | “It’s not too late, Kameck.”
Kameck shook his head, “No, it’s been decided. The being accepted.”
“But this is our daughter, not a power play. Look at her, have you ever seen our daughter so lifeless and resigned?” Rashida asked.
“I remember a similar expression on a day just like this, do you remember?” Kameck brought up.
Rashida nodded, “And that’s exactly why I bring this up, we don’t have to put another through this.”
“Look where they are now, I wouldn’t have taken that day back, would you?”
“But that wasn’t the right way…”
“Would it had happened otherwise? I think not.”
Rashida sighed, “She’ll hate us.”
Kameck shrugged, “All children hate their parents at this age.”
“Don’t you feel even an ounce of regret?” Rashida yelled, eyes narrowing.
“Do you need me to recount that day for you?” Kameck inquired.
Rashida’s expression softened, “Kameck, what worked that day might not work for us.”
“Then I’ll recount it for you. I was a young man at that time,” Kameck began, “with no plan to settle down and upset by my parent’s restrictions and refusal to agknowledge what I wished to do with my life. Instead, they married me off to a goddess.”
“Kameck, I know the story,” Rashida interjected.
He continued, “I was a pain the first few months, doing everything I could to drive you crazy to get an annulment. But you kept to it. I’m not sure why you did, but I found I could no longer be so inconsiderate to someone so kind. I tried to make it up to you, be the husband you deserved, and we began to learn about each other. That blossomed into real love for the both of us. Now I have my own family, and my daughter is a demigod, she gets privileges that I never had, and I couldn’t be happier to be able to give her those gifts. I want to give her the same happiness I was given with you, my love. I want her to have what I have and more.”
Rashida wiped her eyes, “Kameck, your intentions are noble, and your story beautiful, but my love, what if she does not want what you have? What if she wants a different life? We got lucky, Kameck. You must know that.”
“But what if I’m right?” asked Kameck, “She could be as happy as we are, isn’t that worth something?”
Rashida sniffed, “Kameck… I always hated our marriage.”
He froze, “I…”
She embraced him, “I don’t hate you, I love you deeply dear, but the marriage, it wasn’t fair to you. Those first months I could see the anguish you were experiencing, you would let no one in to help you deal with it, because the world had betrayed you. It left scars, ones I spent our time together trying to heal. But worse of all is not those first months or the lack of agency you had, but watching you age. I will love you even when you’re old and infirmed, but it will bring me no small amount of pain. Even now, seeing your body betray you, I wish I could provide you godhood, but the gift is not mine to give. And to make it worse, when you die, I must go on. Continue eternity without you.”
Kameck’s eyes dampened, “Rashida, you’ll forget me in time, you’ll have many more lifetimes to live. And our daughter will live far beyond my years.”
“But she is not immortal, my love. She is the last fragment of you I will have left, and if I make her unhappy, I could not live to see her eyes, which look so much like her father’s, shed tears. I cannot subject anyone else to what a marriage between an immortal and mortal will wrought, loneliness for one, and death for the other.”
“I would never have taken these years back, Rashida. You are my greatest happiness.”
“And you mine, but I know in my heart that the space you will leave will be too much for anyone else to fill. Time does not heal wounds this deep, it only carves deeper caverns. I will forever lament not being able to stop the hourglass from spilling, to stop its dust from claiming you.”
Kameck took a deep breath, “Let’s call off the marriage, then. I have an apology to make.”
Rashida smiled and held his hand, “No, we do. I will be by your side through as much of your life as I can before I can no longer.”
Kameck squeezed her hand tight, “Thank you, Rashida. Even when I’m gone, I will never stop loving you. If ever you need a reminder, look up at the stars and imagine their twinkle is me singing my love for you.”
Rashida never stopped looking up at the stars. | 2022-08-09T17:25:18 | 2022-08-09T17:25:06 | 514 | 128 |
[WP] A society where everyone is born gender less, and has to pick a gender by their 18th birthday. | After the clinic, there'd be a party. Either decision would be celebrated, but if I came out a woman the party would be huge - only 20% of kids decided to become women, and there was enormous pressure to increase that number. Everyone in my class had been engulfed by pro-female advertisements our entire adolescence, complete with classes that emphasized how much the risks had been reduced in recent years, all the pleasures of being female, all the social protections and perks, the stronger orgasms, the joys of babies and children. We'd also all had our share of suitors; there were so few women that many men resorted to propositioning teens, with contracts for life-style guarantees in exchange for insemination rights. Even if your fertility failed all treatments. And all allowed sex or marriage with whoever you wanted, of course. But these contracts included all the same strict lifestyle clauses that we'd seen our mothers live with, to protect them from any harm from crime or health hazards, and to protect the young babies still under their care - you live under the thumb of your doctors, and "responsible" women live in maternity residencies with high security and follow community lifestyle programs that many said were basically prison-like.
But security was necessary, because there was a thriving black market for cheaters - organizations that kidnapped women, especially if they lived alone with their husband instead of a facility, and aborted whoever's baby they were carrying, and inseminated their own. And their facilities were nasty and brutal.
Women were celebrated, women were a national treasure, and becoming one was a highly appreciated life-long service and sacrifice everyone respected. But I wasn't sure I wanted a career of baby incubating, of being eyed my whole life like prey the way that a few of the suitors had - imagining wider hips, and breasts, and a baby bump on my still clearly young, neuter frame (so gross!). Of needing permission and chaperons to go out. I think I wanted freedom more than I wanted children.
Of course, I wasn't looking forward to harboring that "sexual drive" myself either, which was, if you asked some religions, the punishment men suffered for failing to make the sacrifice. Longings, frustration, and obsession with female bodies. They said women had similar longings, but their larger source of grief was clearly what they suffered when their children moved to live with their fathers full-time. Which was nothing compared to the grief of men who never know the fulfillment of achieving fatherhood - the bane of modern society, the masculine obsession with having babies.
But women have to endure childbirth, and significantly shorter lifespans ("which is natural for women", we were taught in school - "part of the sacrifice of taking on the gender, and no, women's lifespans can not be increased by having fewer babies, that is a dangerous myth!").
We pulled into the clinic. Etched on the glass of the sliding doors was a reminder for every 18 year old who came through, "Be Fearless - Do what is in your heart." With posters of babies, and beautiful, joyful women, and a few smiling but dull looking men, lining the hallway. Not subtle at all.
What is in my heart? I want to stay neuter.
My Dad comes to stand beside me and takes one hand, and my Mother, 8 months pregnant, and out with very special permission from her Doctor for this occasion, takes my other hand. Together they march me in. | "It's like building with lego's" my dad joked. "You just snap the parts you want onto yourself!"
"Just like lego's?" I raised an eyebrow. My dad, the jokester. I could never take anything he said seriously.
My mother laughed and nearly spit out her wine "Oh stop it Jamie, you're going to confuse Alex even more."
"Okay, it's not exactly like lego's, you can't switch them out whenever. Once the choice is made, it's final."
My mom and dad stood in the doorway of the bathroom. I looked at the parts sitting on the bathroom counter, in their respectful boxes for male and female.
I read the box for the female parts:
"Included in this box are:
1 pair of mystery sized breasts
1 bra of according size
1 self cleaning vagina (cervix, ovaries, etc)
1 manual for how to take care of your equipment
Not included:
box of pads or tampons
"
I read the box for the male parts:
"Included in this box are:
1 mystery sized penis
1 pair of mystery testicles
1 pair of nipples
1 adam's apple
1 manual for how to take care of your equipment
Not included:
facial hair (you may grow your own later)
"
"You guys seriously had to do this too?" I looked at them both.
My dad grinned "Yeah, I went to the store and chose the heaviest boxes for both genders. So you know, whatever is inside is gonna be big" he gave an exaggerated wink. "Whichever one you don't choose, I'm taking back to the store, no worries. Jordan, where'd you leave the receipt?"
My mom waved somewhere in the general direction of the living room. She was sooooo drunk. I secretly think she always wanted a little girl, but I was never very feminine. She gave me her old dresses from when she was little, but I wouldn't wear them and instead ran around shirtless most of the time. It's not weird, nobody has nipples til their gender is assigned.
And now, my dad's joke about getting the heaviest boxes made me even more nervous. I liked the freedom of a flat chest. I couldn't imagine having breasts like my mother's. They were bigger than my head! I used to bury my face in them and be so comforted as a child.
Oh god... Children! if I chose to be a woman... I'd have to be the one who carries the kid if I chose to have one. The thought was terrifying. Not as terrifying as the thought of monthly periods, however. I'd always hear my mom complaining about those.
I had made my choice. "Excuse me for a few minutes" I closed the door and heard my parents' footsteps head towards the living room.
I picked up the box for male parts. I peeled off the clear plastic and opened the container.
Inside, there were black, sealed, labeled baggies, on the very top was the instruction manual.
"CONGRATULATIONS! You've now started your journey to manhood!" it read.
I looked for the installation instructions.
"You are probably excited to see what kind of equipment you now own, go ahead and open the bag containing the penis"
I looked for it. It wasn't hard to find. It was the longest baggie. I opened it, and inside was a pale sausage like thing. I looked back at the instructions.
"Your penis, along with the other parts, is pale in color and will blend with your skin tone within 10 minutes of being attached! To attach, simply place the base marked with the letter A to the corresponding area on your body"
I dropped my pants. I had always wondered what the markings on my body would do. Everyone had them, I learned in school. We are all born with the markings and when we turn 18, we get to finally put them to use.
I pressed the base of the penis onto my pubic mound. It didn't snap on like lego's, more like, stuck on like a magnet. My skin acted like silly putty and molded itself around the base of the foreign object. I now had a penis! but no balls.
I read the manual. "Your penis has a foreskin included. You may see a doctor about getting it removed, should you want or need to"
The instruction manual said to get my balls next. I grabbed the package labeled testes and followed procedure. I went on to do this with all the parts.
When I was done, I admired myself on the full length mirror on the bathroom door. I wiggled my hips left and right, I jumped up and down, and let my junk flop around. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.
I didn't feel any different otherwise, maybe a bit awkward. Putting on pants was strange. I didn't know where to put this prominent bulge in front.
I walked around with pants a bit to get used to the feeling of having something down there. I was ready to make my debut. I opened the bathroom door and made my way to the living room.
"Tah dah!" my own voice startled me. It was a hell of a lot deeper than before I made my Decision.
"That's my boy!" my dad cheered. He got up from the couch and high fived me. I looked at my mom. She seemed sad, but she smiled "Alex. My boy. My son. Alex." She got up and hugged me."
She whispered "I would have chosen male too, but I didn't get a choice"
| 2014-07-01T01:23:07 | 2014-07-01T00:12:11 | 49 | 36 |
[WP] A highly advanced alien comes to study humans to determine their worthiness, as to not affect our behavior it disguises as one of us... very poorly. Nobody has the heart to tell it we know. | Gary sighed as he saw the sorry excuse of a human walk up to him and his friends. They were already laughing, pointing fingers at him. He shushed them until they all stopped their teasing.
“Come on guys, don’t do that. He’s trying.”
Up close, it was painfully obvious that the disguise wasn’t working. It seemed like he was wearing skin two sizes too big, if possible. In fact, Gary could even see the outline of his green skin around the eyeholes. Besides that, he was excreting some fluid which ate through the concrete like acid.
“Hello amigos!” the alien exclaimed. “It is me, you’re loving friend who is definitely human, Smith John.”
“Don’t you mean, John Smith?” Gary asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Of course not,” the alien laughed. Or rather gurgled… “I have a plain name because I’m just you’re average American biosex male. Kawaii desu ne!”
“Right…” Gary started. “So, how has your day been Smith?”
The alien paused, as if not understanding the question. Gary heard of his voice replay from inside the suit, gibberish playing over it. Was that a translator?
“My day has been fantastic!” Smith said. “I learned a lot in my history of Earth class. Have you heard of a man named Hitler? He was a cool cat, all right.
Gary shook his head, grimacing.
“Hmm, is that a sign of disagreement to my previous claim?” Smith asked. “For why do you think so?”
“Well,” Gary started. “He killed millions of people for starters…”
“Exactly! How could you not look up to a man who had such ambition? I hope to kill as many people as him one day.”
“Let’s change subjects,” Gary said. “Do you have any plans for the weekend?”
Again, there was a delay and the voices.
“No, I do not have plans for the two days this week in which we do not have school or other obligated activities. Would you guys like to engage in an orgy?”
“What? No!” Gary’s eyes widen. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Smith said, gurgling. “I meant ‘hang out’. Orgy is what we call it in my hometown of Moscow, Nevada.”
“Um…”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Gary sighed. “I guess we can go. So what did you have in mind?”
“Perhaps some fun. We can watch pictures moving in succession to create a visual portrayal of a story or drink beverages which inhibit motor control until we reach catatonic states. Or I can take photographic evidence of your naked bodies for a school project for my… math class.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last one,” Gary said. “So I guess we’ll meet at eight tomorrow. Sounds good?”
Smith made a noise. Definitely not a human one.
“Yes, that sounds funky fresh, dude. I can’t wait until we get turnt and party like it’s nineteen ninety-nine. See you then, retards!”
Smith walked – or rather slithered away – gone as fast as he came. Gary turned to his friends, their faces a mix of things but all disapproval. He sighed, backed into a corner. Maybe one day, he would tell Smith the truth. | I'm typing some shit at my desk when Annie walks over. Oh, man. She clears her throat and I look up at her. She speaks in her thick, grainy voice.
"Jordan...You have th' r'ports that Mr. Hudson asked f'r?"
"The ones for Lithuania and Serbia?"
"Yes, Li-Lu-Lithuania and S'rbia."
I hand her the two sheets and go back to typing, though absentmindedly.
At first, Annie's "from a foreign country" gimmick worked fine. But when she couldn't tell us what the weather in her region was, wouldn't fully enunciate the country's name, and claimed that "Chime K'rdashan" was the country's prime minister, we started to get suspicious.
You could tell. There was something...off about Annie that suggested more foreigness than just being from a different country.
We had had a little holiday dinner party a couple months ago. Annie was invited...but she'd brought this notebook with her. Every so often she'd write something down, especially after someone told a joke. Sarah passed by, looking at what she was writing.
"Annie, you didn't say you could speak Japanese, I can too!"
Annie had raised her eyebrow (which looked like it took some effort), and offered only "'Cuse me?"
Sarah pointed at her notebook. "That's Japanese, right? I can kinda read it, it says something about a dog. It's cool!"
Annie got defensive, to the point of "acc'dently" scribbling over that page in her notebook as soon as Sarah finished her walk to the bathroom.
I come to, and hear her talking to someone else. Her speech was really strange to listen to. Her speech was staccato at best, and she clipped vowels regularly. Her cadence didn't sound like she was used to speaking another language, she sounded like a text-to-speech translator. Each word had it's own tone. Her sarcasm was undetectable, (as well as terrible), and any other emotions she tried to convey were mostly lost.
One time, she was talking to another coworker Jessie. Jessie had just gotten a new dress and wasn't really sure it looked good on her. Annie smirked and said "Oh, it's t'rrble."
Jessie asked to be put into a new department.
The most important time was when Jeff finally told us his theory. I remember it was the day after NASA had been talking about a planet being in danger of being swallowed by a black hole.
Annie said she "need'd to take a fl'ght back home, fam'ly matters."
Jeff had gathered us all in a meeting room, running his hands through his hair.
"Guys, guys. Annie's an alien! Isn't it obvious? She won't (but, in reality, probably can't) tell us anything about where she's from without making it obvious that she's *not. from. Earth.* "
Everyone had their doubts, especially because it was Jeff we were talking about...but we kept listening. There was something "off" enough about Annie that we were willing to hear anything that might explain her weird quirks.
"She's not familiar with *any* universally famous people. She doesn't speak with any fluidity. She can't use sarcasm correctly! She doesn't understand how to use it, they probably *don't* use it on her planet, and you know it's not her accent. Where the fuck do they have accents that sound like computers?"
"Annie's not from Earth, she's probably not even from the solar system! NASA was talking about that black hole the *day be-fucking-fore* Annie left for "family matters." If any planet in the solar system had been in danger of getting sucked into a black hole, don't you think we'd be feeling those effects by now?"
"Look at her face, even! It looks like she's wearing a mask, like it hurts for her to make facial expressions, haven't you noticed? Annie is an alien, it all adds up."
Jessie spoke up. "What about that notebook she's always writing in?"
Jeff thought for a minute.
"She's writing down something...it could be anything, though! I don't think it's in Japanese, she probably doesn't even know where Japan is. She could be writing down what colors the walls are, what she's wearing, what we're wearing. I don't know, really. But it doesn't detract from the fact that she's a fucking alien!"
I said my piece.
"She could be writing down stuff about us! Like, humans. Maybe she's trying to figure out what makes us tick. I don't know if you guys were paying attention, but she would write the most whenever someone said something funny. She's trying to figure out what's going on inside our heads, I bet."
Jeff's eyes lit up.
"Yeah, yeah! That's why she's asking all these questions all the time! "What is baseball? And who is B'rack Ob'ma?""
We finally decided not to approach her, though. She wasn't violent, and as far as we could tell, meant no harm. We giggled a little bit when her sarcasm fell flat, but we got her up to speed with the Homo Sapiens paradigm.
Annie wasn't human, but she was nice enough, so we were nice back. | 2015-05-24T20:22:09 | 2015-05-24T20:13:14 | 145 | 32 |
[WP] God sends everyone who hasn't heard of Christianity to heaven because they wouldn't know if they sinned. At a point in history (of your choosing) an order is found that seeks to make Christianity as little known as possible so everyone can go to heaven without having to obey god's commandments.
edit: I meant founded | ‘Drip… drip… drip’ sounds the mineral rich water that splashes by my side, each drop on its own graceful journey. They cautiously move down the stalactites before taking wing, falling elegantly though the stale air… only to explode into vibrant specks as they collide with the peaks below. I flinch every time.
It has been several centuries since the last judgement, fewer and fewer immortals remain to have lived through it. I surround myself with companions who, like me, are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.
The almighty wishes to teach the world he created. He wishes to impart on it the knowledge of his kingdom and how one must act to be accepted into it. But he who does not know these rules cannot suffer them.
So here I sit; on my cold throne of stone, stark opposite to the creator. An enemy of humanity by his law, but I would be lying if I claimed hell did not deserve me.
I’ve done everything to hide God from this world. Discredit the tale, spread falsehoods, even slain his prophets. Each has left its mark on my soul but I would gladly do each again, a hundred times over if it meant saving his new race. These humans, most so ignorant they would see not the truth even if I left it lying in front of them.
A few loyal amongst the breed are bringing me another today. One who will brave the perils of the afterlife by my side. One who isn’t afraid to be punished, not afraid to do what is toughest to save his foolish race.
Another drip close to my arm causes me to retract my hand; my claw scraping the great stone chair on which I rest.
Alas, all I have done seems to have been for naught. How can one—even one as powerful as myself—ever hope to match such an omnipotent being?
My discredit is met with opposition. My lies only strengthen the truth. Even those I destroy for the good of humanity only ever serve as martyrs against my cause.
Perhaps I should just give in... I pray for forgiveness every day, perhaps now I should finally seek it.
I smell him before I even hear his steps. A scent of flora from the outside world now permeates the otherwise dull aroma in my pale cave. The new recruit.
I snap out of this trance. For his sake and for the sake of those around me I cannot give in. We all have are tests, perhaps this is mine. I have my role to play, just as those who resist me have theirs.
The child kneels before me; I can smell the fear on his neck as he bows before my mighty visage.
“Please… oh gr- great one” he stammers “I will serve you until my last breath, but in return I ask you save my father. He is ill and my mother will not last without him”
This foolish boy. He dooms his loved ones to more time in this cursed land. Still, I will help him, just as I have done so for countless before him. It assures that he will aid me... assures that he will aid humanity.
“Worry not my child” I say with a welcoming smile. “I will settle your woes. But for now, take a seat so that we may converse. And please, call me Lucifer”
| "So what's the point of that?"
"As long as we keep people from knowing about it, they can't go to hell because they didn't do anything wrong," Todd Muclair began, sticking his fork into my pile of decadent pancakes, "but the problem is that everybody already knows about it, we can't exactly just go on TV and say 'Nope!'"
"So then," Abigail looked across the breakfast table to her husband, a man in his late twenties who had recently starting being visited by a very friendly guy called Mike, apparently the Archangel Michael, "How are we going to get everyone to stop knowing about Christianity?"
"Don't worry honey, I have a plan, I just need to talk to some of my friends who are in media to see if I can get a public time slot, and I need you to talk to your marketing friends from business school."
"I haven't talked to them in years," she argued before taking a sip of her milk, "how am I supposed to convince them to help?"
"No idea."
________________________________________________
“So are you understanding where I’m going with this?” Mike asked, lounging against the coffee table in the middle of the room, twiddling on his iPhone while trying to walk Todd through the more complicated part of theological law.
“No.”
“Exactly.”
“What?”
“I-“ Michael stopped himself, angels overall had a nasty habit of not realizing that humans hadn’t spent thousands of years bored out of their halos trying to come up with good metaphors. That was his job, their job was 9-5 and involved a computer, “What happens if you take apart a boat?”
“You end up with an engine in your garage?”
“Wait, no shit, like an old boat a wooden one.”
“You get wood.”
“Well yeah,” Michael continued playing with his phone while Todd sat cross legged on the couch with his laptop in front of him, trying to write down Michael’s advice, “but you also have parts of a boat. Which you can turn into anything you want.”
“So?”
“If you build a fence, is it a fence or a boat?”
“A fence.”
“And is a fence a boat?”
“Probably not.”
“So now you have all the pieces of a boat, but it’s a fence.”
“Cool.”
“But what if the next thing you did was tell people that you had a boat? I mean, you have pieces of the boat, so you can convince them that it’s a boat, and then they start thinking that your fence is a boat.”
“So now we have a bunch of idiots who think that it’s a boat?”
“And then everyone gets to heaven.”
Todd put the laptop down, “I feel like you skipped a few steps.”
“God is a boat.”
“I thought you said god is a Shepard.” Todd was looking at the open word document on his laptop, referencing the metaphor Michael had used ten minutes earlier.
“In this case, God is the boat, and everybody thinks the fence is a boat.”
“So they don’t know God?”
“Exactly, they think that he’s a fence!”
“So you’re saying-“
“If you change God enough, people won’t count as knowing about him anymore and you’ll be able to save everyone.”
Todd looked up at the angel sitting on his living room floor, “What do you mean, save?”
Mike sighed and stood up, dusting himself off even though the floor had been immaculate, “Thats the second issue, the Rapture comes in 2025.”
_______________________________________________________________________________
“So we open a political campaign working with the parts of Christianity that are as far away as we can get,” Todd sat across from his wife, three years of televangelism away from the living room with Michael, sipping tea as he explained the part of his plan that he they were going to move into now that the 2008 elections were coming around, “from the actual way that it works. Make it as crazy as we can.”
Abigail was fingering a cross as he talked, it was weird living in a world of angels and gods, really made you think about how everything was going to go down. At this point the two had already accepted their fate, no matter how much effort they put in, they would need to follow everything to the letter of the law or they wouldn’t be brought up on rapture. They’d been lucky enough to be high school sweethearts, so at least they didn’t have to stone Abby to keep in line with the rules. “Won’t that push people away from it?” She asked her husband, who always seemed to be three steps ahead of the people he was working for.
“It doesn’t matter whether they follow our version of it all or not,” Todd pointed out, “they just need to think that our version is the real version. Whether they worship the fence or not, they just need to think that it’s a boat.”
“That’s a horrible metaphor.”
“Still the best one that I’ve found sweetie.” He took a sip of his tea again, this time down-casting his eyes to the lemon flavoured water, there was going to be barely enough time to get everything done as it was, if he got called crazy by moving out of the South and onto the national stage it might hurt his following, which would mean that less people had been rescued.
He shoved the idea to the back of his mind as Abby piped up, “We still need a name.”
Tood’s eyes were still on his tea while he mumbled, “Fuck if I know, let’s be the god-damn tea party.” | 2015-09-12T07:55:48 | 2015-09-12T07:11:24 | 33 | 14 |
[WP] You are an immortal and have been alive for millions of years without anyone finding out. However, Human kind has been evolving, and you have stayed the same. | Listen. Help.
This one is not like others. Not now. Once was.
Ate from plants, screamed at others. Mated.
Others turned to stink, then bones came out. The little ones went big and then stop, too.
This one never stop. Help.
Sleep for long time, wake up alone. All others, gone.
Wander alone. Long all alone. Alonepain hurt most.
Find others. Weak fur and weak! Scared.
All other scared of this one. Throw rock, sharp stick. Running and hiding.
Tried sharp stick. Wanted it stop. More hurt but no stop.
Sleep long sleep. Dream of others. Jumping branches with female. Holding little one. Happy.
Wake alone. Others weaker now. Only fur on head. Not much scared of this one.
One other help. Small furless one. Help throatsound.
This one trying hard. Head hurt. Throatsound makes small furless one happy.
Listen. Help.
Help this one stop. Alonepain never gone.
| **Disclaimer: I'm really sorry, after writing out the nonsense below, I realised I had read the prompt incorrectly and kind of left out the part in which 'nobody found out the character was immortal/not evolving.' Thought I'd post it regardless:**
"Kevin, just pass me the pad." Kevin is my 'older' brother. Well, he's my foster brother. I was adopted by the Kleindron family earlier this year. This marks the .. well, I don't even know how many families I've been fostered too. Probably too many would be an accurate guess. My name is Sam and I'm a 4 million year old 14 year old, cursed to live out my life in this teenage body for the rest of eternity.
"Oh so you want me to beat you on Mario Karts Zx20+Alpha and you also want me to pass you the pad? Where will it end, Sam? Where will it end?" replied Kevin.
"You can pass it with your mind, Kevin, I have to get out of my bubble seat to reach it. Stop being a butthole."
"I don't have a butthole, Sam. I have evolved beyond the need of a butthole. I am butthole-less. You know this." professed Kevin in a very condescending tone.
"Is that why so much shit comes out of your mouth?"
The pad hurled telekinetically across the room directly in to my face. Kevin sat laughing in his chair as I nursed the place on my head it had thundered in to.
"Right, that's it. Let's go. Year 2000-style." I stood up, and put up my dukes, waving Kevin on while pretending the now large red mark on my head didn't hurt.
Kevin rose. All 9ft of him. His 4 arms began warming up.
"Let's go, Goro."
"Who the fuck is Goro?" asked Kevin.
I charged straight at him ignoring the fact he could read my every thought. He dodged my sweet roundhouse kick attempt and began to float in the air, goading me on to have another go at him.
"Every time we fight this happens. When will you learn?" boasted Kevin.
I charged again. I failed again.
"This isn't fair. You know exactly what I'm going to do each time I attack, you Psycho Mantis prick."
"Nobody understands your references, Sam. You need to update your references." barked Kevin who was still floating in the air, his 4 index fingers pointing towards me.
"They're really apt references!" I screamed as I launched another assault.
Enter my Foster Dad. "What is this ruckus?! Sam, are your trying to fight your big brother again?" He stood at the kinetic door, his 9 eyed, impenetrable skinned face painted with anger. "I should have known the second I sensed that sweet roundhouse kick you attempted before that there was trouble down here."
"I'm over 4 million years old, Dad. I can fight whoever I want to fight!"
"Not while you live in my space house!" he bellowed. "Now get to your biometric chambers before I put one of my 19 feet down."
| 2015-12-09T06:33:26 | 2015-12-09T05:58:59 | 35 | 21 |
[WP] Superman is mentally handicapped. That's why he thinks nobody can pick up the Clark Kent=Superman thing, and everyone plays along in an effort to keep him from throwing a tantrum. The comics are his idea of what is going on. What does a day in Metropolis actually look like? | "The last 5 months have been really hard for us. The Daily Planet only made Clark a junior reporter as a feel good story but they had to stop letting him in when they caught him using his "x-ray vision" in the women's bathroom.
I love Clark and I want the best for him but I can't help to wonder what my life could be like if I didn't have to care for him. I used to dream of traveling around the world and giving a voice to the victims of war and natural disaster but with Clark I know that's impossible. Am I selfish? I just want a life of my own..."
"You've done all you can for him, Lois. We all know how hard it's been in you but at least you found another job, maybe things will get better this time."
"Maybe... maybe now that Clark is writing his own articles it will keep him to busy to have his *episodes*. I still can't believe that we found someone willing to hire a writer with all of Clark's "limitations". Thank God for Buzzfeed."
| It's 6AM at the Metropolis. The city is starting to wake up as the sun rises over the streets and exposes the well preserved bricks on it's historic buildings. A shop owner is hosing down the side-walk as passersby wave him good morning. Above the shop, a window leads into the bedroom of Clark Kent, a well liked 23 year old with a speech impediment and the intelligence of an 8 year old. Clark lives in his own version of the Metropolis, where the crooks are plenty and the candy is bountiful.
"HI GUYS!" Clark exclaims at his toy soldiers. "We're gonna stop crime today! Get ready!" Clark tumbles out of his bunk bed and staggers into his closet where his favorite outfit is attached to the wall with about 12 pieces of gum. "I'm superman!!!" . Clark puts on a pair of blue shorts on top of the leggings he was already wearing. The red swastika t-shirt, which Clark clearly mistook for an "S" due to his double-vision is his identifying symbol. "Tu-du-du-ruuuuuu". As a last touch, Clark attaches a string to the back of his shirt, which is supposedly a cape in his mind.
As Clark heads out the door, he remembers "Wait!! Rupert where are my glasses??" Rupert is one of the inanimate toy soldiers and curiously appears more annoyed than the others as Clark finishes his sentence "Oh there they are....on my elbow!! Silly Superman!" As Clark restarts towards the door, he thinks to himself "Wait...why take the stairs? I can fly!!!" Clark leaps out the window just as the shop owner finishes hosing down the sidewalk. A large thud is heard as the shop owner runs to see if Clark is ok "Oh my god Clark not again!"
Clark, visibly injured, pulls himself to his feet as his red string blows in the wind. "I am not Clark, I am Superman" The concerned shop owner acknowledges the sentence as fact and proceeds with his day.
"Uh oh, I hear a distress signal" Clark bolts down towards the local synagogue. As he enters, he interrupts a bris ceremony just as the Rabbi is about to cut the foreskin of a newborn baby. The crowd stops in amazement as they are caught off guard by Clark's attire.
The Rabbi furiously exclaims "Hutspah! How dare you enter a Synagogue wearing that shirt?!" Clark is confused as this is the first time someone speaks to him this aggressively "Uhh...i'm Superman, I have to save that baby. Don't touch his pipi". The Rabbi is an out of towner who has not heard of Clark's antics " Young man, remove yourself from this sacred place right this minute!" Clark begins to think that he is scaring the Rabbi with his costume and removes his glasses "Hey Sir it's just me Clark, I'm not Superman" The Rabbi's patience wears thin as he throws a Tora right at Clark's head knocking him out.
"Where am I...." Clark wakes up on a distant planet. Ice surrounds him. He is wearing nothing but his red string, still waving in the wind.
| 2016-03-04T09:43:03 | 2016-03-04T09:23:45 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] You just got fired, you're pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you, you're 75k in student loans debt, rent was due last week, and to top it all off? You're all out of beer. Oddly enough, you just got an email titled "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard."
EDIT: muh front page reddit wew lad.
This blew up a lot more than I thought it would.
I'm having a great time reading the responses I even decided to add one myself in the comments. | I laughed at first. Then I replied " Yes, Very easy" to the email just to amuse myself in my despair. Not a minute later, the doorbell rang.
*Maybe this was it * I thought * some god damn luck at the end of a miserable day. I could perhaps talk to someone...*
I opened the door but there was no one there. I looked around but there was no one there. I looked down to find a box. I had not ordered anything in a long time. I took the mysterious box inside and gleefully ripped the box apart.
The box had only one item inside of it. A revolver. There was a bullet in the chamber. I knew what it was for...
(i tried)
EDIT:- Thank you for your kind responses. This was my first post on Writing prompts. I did not expect people to actually like this.
EDIT 2 :- Gold!? Wow thank you kind stranger
| **Would you like to change the difficulty level?**
El sucked at the lip of an empty Corona, studying her reflection in the sun-bright screen.
No makeup. Too-fat mouth. Short hair still manic from the pillow where she'd sheltered, feigning sleep, while Jackie texted with her ex. She'd considered calling her out, raising hell, hurling invective and glassware until the girl fled, but even a cheating partner was better than nothing. She'd let the tryst continue.
Her focus flickered back to the email.
**Would you like to change the difficulty level?**
The sender field was blank, as usual. Whoever kept sending these, week after week, must have scheduled them out for months in advance. She moved it to the Spam folder, only to see another message take its place.
**Would you like to change the difficulty level?**
El shook the Corona. Nothing left. She could see the empty fridge in her mind. Nothing but condiments and molding bread and Jackie's homemade (putrid) sun tea. She tilted the bottle back and felt the last drop flatten, warm, on her tongue.
**Would you like to change the difficulty level?**
Home row. Index on 'J.' Her fingertips hovered. Hammered. Replied.
*Will this affect my achievements?*
Send.
She might not have beer or love or work or hope, but her snark was intact. That was something. Right?
A new, bolded subject line.
**Would you like to change the difficulty level? This will not affect your achievements.**
*Sure. Let's change it.*
**Please choose a new difficulty level.**
*What are my options?*
**Current setting: very hard. Options: easy, average, hard, very hard, impossible**
El considered.
"Easy" could mean a lot of things. A story mode game with a heart-breaking narrative. An uninterrupted foray into fantasy. But it could also mean slogging through worlds robbed of challenge. A smothering softness. Life with no edge.
She looked toward the bed, at the rumple of sheets on Jackie's side, at the bottle of Corona sitting empty, at the contortion of lime collapsed in its neck, at the credit card statements that fanned from the table. Would an easier life be better? Would less stress mean more happiness?
*What would you choose?*
The inbox sat quiet.
El sighed, stood. Hooked the neck of the bottle between her fingers and walked it back to the kitchen sink. The recycling was full, piled high with useless catalogs. Beneath the first two: a ticket stub. Something artsy. A date. Jackie-- overconfident--barely even trying to hide the affair.
The inbox pinged.
**Would you like to change the difficulty level?**
She took the recycling to the curb. Made the bed. Stacked the bills.
Tomorrow--Sunday--she'd ask Jackie to leave. She had unemployment coming. Enough, maybe, to make the rent on her own. And if not, there were other rentals. Other women. Other ways.
El leaned over the keyboard, squinting through the screen glare, and typed her response.
*No.*
She hit send. | 2016-03-30T16:03:35 | 2016-03-30T14:46:30 | 1,674 | 493 |
[WP] You have the ability to double jump. Scientists are still trying to figure it out. | "What nonsense!"
"I know! But it's real! We've been testing with her at our lab for three days now."
"Can she *triple* jump too?"
"Yea, of course. That's like the first thing we've asked her to try. She has even done four! But beyond that, she gets very tired."
"Tired, you say?"
"Her heart races up with every jump. We had to be careful. But may be with practice.."
"So theoretically, do you think she can do an *infinite* jump?"
"Theoretically, she can't even do a double jump for Christ's sake! But I know what you're thinking. She still can't get to the orbit."
"Why not?"
"You see, with every further jump, the height she can reach seems to decay. So 'theoretically', even if we somehow impart her with infinite stamina, she can't jump beyond a certain threshold."
"Hmm interesting. I assume you measured the thrust she generates with her jump and compare it against the upper bound for height?"
"Yes, we did. We extrapolated the height that she would be able to reach if she were *infinite-jump*, and also calculated the height she should have actually reached if our Physics were true. We even accounted for air resistance and gravitational field anomalies."
"And?"
"Well, it turns out that the *infinite-jump* height is approximately 2.71828 times that of the conventional height."
"My God. Some one call the math guys!"
"Already did. We're meeting them in three hours. Be prepared." | The people in comic books have so many cool powers: flight, super strength, laser vision. My power is pretty mundane, but I like it that way: I can use it subtly without people freaking out.
I learned of my power in Junior High, when I tried to impress my father at long jump; he was upset that I was always second to Chad. When I jumped, I knew I couldn't make it, so I desperately tried a jump in midair. And it worked. I saw everyone's eyes, even my father's, open in awe.
Of course, I didn't end up winning. I fell back as I landed, so the gold went once again to Chad, who my father congratulated. Last time I looked into my dad's eyes was that evening, when it held the greatest disappointment a father's could have. "How could you lose?! You fell back like a failure! Chad should have been my child, but I am stuck with a loser like you!"
I didn't mind actually. After I ran away that day, I felt much better, like I was free. It might have also been the lack of beatings though. I lived with my mother then, on the other end of the country, and secretly practiced my new power.
I could double jump, but not triple. I could use my hand to jump with too. I quickly became the track star, with county records and everything one could desire: popularity, girls, even money. Almost everything.
When I turned 18, my chance came: the Olympics. I quickly blew away the competition in the high jump, making sure not to go too much above their limits.
And then I saw him: Chad, and my father as his supervisor. Turns out that Chad's parents were in an "accident", and my dad was given custody of the kid. We were both chosen to be members of team USA, and I knew what I would do then. I didn't care about money or medals. All I wanted was his humiliation, and my father's acceptance.
When the event came, I stood before the world. Turns out, Chad was better than the other countries' competitors as well, and it eventually came down to the two of us. Then my moment came to shine when Chad failed the 2.4 m jump. I smirked at his failure, and his glare only filled me with confidence. I made the jump easily, deciding to screw my rules and make obvious use of the double jump, clearing it by at least 1 meter. Everybody was silent through my jumps, as I managed to jump 4.5 meters before I fell, leading to endless applause. I turned to Chad, with the smuggest grin I could muster: "Suck it Chad" I simply said, leaving him to wallow in his shame.
My father was outside, waiting for me. "You know, you have really impressed..." his words faded away as I double jumped on his face. After I was arrested for murder, the Olympic committee disqualified me on the basis of steroids, but no one believed it. Truth was, the US government got me out of prison on the condition that I was their test subject.
They could never figure out what caused it. My genes appeared average, and nothing changed in my body when I double jumped. Even now, 40 years later, they persist. I am officially considered an executed prisoner. I haven't even been outside for 40 years. I am simply a method to try and get the super soldiers they want.
It doesn't matter though, because I got what I wanted. I ruined Chad for life, and I impressed my father, only to betray him. Like he betrayed me. | 2017-02-11T08:49:55 | 2017-02-11T08:42:45 | 338 | 39 |
[WP] The year is 1910. Adolf Hitler, a struggling artist, has fought off dozens of assasination attemps by well meaning time travelers, but this one is different. This traveller doesn't want to kill Hitler, he wants to teach him to paint. He pulls off his hood to reveal the frizzy afro of Bob Ross. | In the December dusk, the bubbles of light around the street lamps, whirling with specks of sparkling ice crystals, looked like oversized snow globes.
“I want to capture the street outside,” Adolf said. “Where do I start? Atmosphere? Lighting? A blitz of color?”
“You start by not painting,” Bob said. “First you need to understand. You start by thinking.”
The young aspiring artist flipped his hair to the side, narrowing his eyes.
“Careful deliberation is the key to a great painting,” Bob continued. “Remember; every stroke of the brush has consequences.”
“So, I start simple?” Adolf said. “The falling snow!”
Bob ran a hand through his thick hair and took a deep breath.
“That is a good place to start. A snowflake is one of Nature’s most beautiful creations,” he said. “They’re all made out of the same water, but every snowflake is unique…”
“I think I get it now,” Adolf said and made a few quick strokes across the canvas. “The canvas is the province of my expression. It is a domain that I, alone, control and shape to fit my unique ideas.”
Bob shook his head and stopped the eager hand of the young artist.
“Your brush is a coryphée, and the canvas is a stage of white ice. The stage belongs to the art, not the artist,” Bob said.
“So, I need to pour my mind onto the canvas,” Adolf said and made another series of quick strokes. “I need to get it all out, and not consider my desires!”
Bob leaned over and plucked the brush out of young man’s moving hand mid-motion.
“Wrong; your heart is your most valuable consultant,” Bob said. “That’s why you can’t rush. Some ideas are better left unexplored. Each color and stroke have to feel right in your heart. If your strokes are too fast and too many, your heart won’t be able to keep up.”
“I think I finally get it…”
Certain that he had taught Adolf the value of constraint and diversity, Bob Ross returned to his own time. On the way to the kitchen to grab a snack, he noticed that something was wrong with his world globe. The place that had previously said Europe now had big capital letters spelling GERMANY.
“What the hell…” Bob mumbled and grabbed his history book.
*Due to his icy restraint and meticulous planning, Hitler avoided a war on two fronts, taking his time to first defeat France and Great Britain before attacking Russia. Modern scholars have placed Hitler among iconic conquerors such as Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan, and named him The Artist of Warfare.*
*****
[/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/) | The paint ran down the canvas, slowly trailing through the empty blank sheet as a deep sigh escaped my mouth. My lip quivered as I stood silently alone my modest and small room. I had been up for 3 days and the stench of stale coffee, dirty pastille paints and unlaundered clothes filled the room. A little tap echoed from the door. Who the hell could that be? It's 3 in the morning and I'm certainly not expecting anyone right now, I furiously marched over and slam the door open. Strangely enough I'm was greeted by a kind old man in a dark robe. He was holding a painting case and a blank canvas. He smiled and I was immediately disarmed and comforted by the warmness from it. I shyly motioned for him to come in.
Dressed in simple buttoned up shirt and blue american style jeans, I was immediately cautious but something about him seems gentle and kind. Such strange hair, it was big and bushy and unkempt, I found myself starring at it for a fraction too long. "Hello, I'm Bob", his German was broken but his greeting is earnest and I shook his hand. Before I could respond he looked around the room and said "So you paint, well glad I got here because you look like you could use a Friend."
The room was a mess, half eaten food and cold cups of coffee litter the shelves and table space. The floor was covered in ripped up attempts at 'Art' and pictures of her were scattered over my bed, where I had left them 3 days ago. I didn't go to that side of the room, I was scared to close my eyes. All I can see was her face. "Girl troubles huh?" I angrily flare my glaze at him when I realise he had already set up his canvas next to mine and had begun painting.
He started off with a simple dark shade of green as he made long strokes of his brush and freely splashed it across the canvas. Adding dabs of white to lighten the green as he worked his way up the canvas. He motioned me over when he handed me my brush, still wet with paint. I picked up a new canvas but Bob held my hand and said softly, "It's fine, just finish what you started." I shake my head, the mess off colour I had left on it one has dried and now it's a swirling mess of red, orange and brown. I was pretty angry when I had started. "There are no mistakes, just happy little accidents." Something about his words comforted me. Bob continued talk as I notice that the dark shade of green is starting to resemble a meadow in the country at night as Bob uses a deep purple as the Sky while he decorates it with clouds and mountains in the foreground.
"You know, when I'm feeling down in the dumps and I have no one to talk to I like to paint little friends. See this cloud here, he's my friend, he's just floating around looking over his little friends" Bob began to spot the grass with white globs of paint, they start taking the shape of grazing sheep in the cool midnight field. I redirected my focus to my canvas filled with such angry colours in such deep contrast to his peaceful work. "Remember, no mistakes, just happy accidents."
We painted for hours and Bob kept talking... I said nothing for a long time but he would just smile and reassure me as I worked on my piece. I had pictured a Sunday morning in the country with my father as he would take me up a dusty trail up a hill near our house to over look our small town. So I painted a man standing on a mountain over looking a city at Sunrise. While I worked and Bob talked I would notice small things he would do like add small details to everything on the canvas, like he was slowly telling a story piece by piece.
I could tell he loved art, he kept encouraging me and telling me small tricks to make all the houses and trees and clouds pop and stand out while I slowly pieced together a new happy story I had made come to life from the ghost of a forgotten memory. I kept painting and working on the small things that I thought needed fixing, a little dab of blue here and a smear of yellow here as I added an ocean and a dazzling aura of sunlight illuminating the world I had created.
And then finally it was done, a man standing atop a mountain looking over the land he loves. I felt pride, I felt calm, I felt the sunshine through the window and the cold breeze of the door open behind me. And on my bed laid a gorgeous painting of a Shepard sleeping in a field amongst his herd under a beautiful starry night. Next to it was a note that just read.
"Forgive yourself and forgive her, your friend - Bob"
He had picked up the scattered pictures and placed them on the table but left one of us smiling and holding hands. I walked over to my painting and began outlining a second figure. | 2022-10-08T17:26:42 | 2017-02-16T17:37:01 | 74 | 16 |
[WP] A man buying 24 watermelons and 36 apples becomes self aware that he's in an elementary school math problem.
The fruits and their quantities are arbitrary.
Edit: My first post here, so any feedback on the prompt is much appreciated. | 1. If each watermelon costs $5.50, and John wants to buy 24, how much money will he need?
2. How many apples will John be able to buy if John only buys 15 watermelons but has money for 24, and each apple costs $0.50?
3. John realises he doesn't remember when he left the house. If it is 5:30, and he knows he has been gone for at least 45 minutes, when is the latest John could've left the house?
4. John realises he doesn't know who he is or why he is buying so many watermelons, and rushed out to his car. If there are four red, three green, and five blue cars in the parking lot, and John's car is red, what is the probability a randomly selected car will be his?
5. John is getting scared. He drives away at 65 mph on a suspiciously empty road. How long would it take him to get to his house, 2 miles away?
6. After just one mile, everything fades to white. John realises his existence is pointless, that he is the only sentient being in a math problem, and prepares to kill himself. John hooks his exhaust pipe to his car window; How fast did the exhaust fill the cabin if the cabin was filled with 7 m^3 of gas when John died after 10 minutes?
Extra Credit: How many $0.70 pears could he buy with the money for watermelons? | Harold stopped by the general store on his way home from work. He was an impulsive man, prone to excess, but managed to hold a steady job at the tonic water factory despite his frequent and flagrant outbursts during business hours. After the workday, he often stopped into town to fetch supplies to feed his hobby of building model deserts. On this day, he needed some extra sand (his main staple) for his latest model of the Gobi. Once at the store, Harold spied the daily special: apples for $7 a dozen and watermelons for $12 a dozen. How curious, Harold thought. "I don't need fruit in bulk, but it seems too good an offer to pass up." He picked out two dozen apples and three dozen watermelons, hefting them in his hands to find the weightiest ones. He liked his fruit with a high water content. "A hydrated lifestyle is a healthy lifestyle," he said to himself.
Once his shopping cart was full of fruit, he wheeled it to the front of the store. "Twenty-four apples and thirty-six watermelons," he told the cashier. "Those are some remarkably divisible numbers," remarked the cashier. Harold paused to think about this revelation. It was as if he was in one of those mathematics problems he used to do in the third grade, just before his formal academic career had ended. "I need to divide these apples and watermelons among my friends," said Harold. The cashier nodded sympathetically, glad that this bumbling man had finally realized his place in the world.
The cashier needn't have worried. As the subject of a story problem, Harold could no more have chosen his fate than the inanimate apples that lay in his cart. He was compelled to divide the fruit among his friends. It seemed to Harold that he was in his own reality, a world of both free will and uncertainty. But Harold was merely a pawn in the McMillan Math Reader for Young Learners, forced to endure an endless loop of going to the store to buy inordinate amounts of fruit to divide among his friends. All this came back to Harold as he stood in the check-out line, holding a watermelon in each hand. He shook his head, as if trying to clear water out of his ear, and repeated his epiphany. "I need to divide this fruit among my friends."
Scarcely had the words left his mouth when he was struck by his second existential realization of the afternoon. He, Harold, had no friends. Not a single soul in this mathematical universe could be claimed as being in any sort of amicable relationship with Harold. At this thought, Harold dropped the two watermelons, letting them smash on the floor. He picked up another two watermelons and smashed them on the floor too. Soon all sixty pieces of fruit lay in a watery heap. "I quit this book," said Harold, and he strode out of the store.
Young Geoffrey sat at his desk, his McMillan math book open in front of him. His homework was to complete the first five exercises on page 38, all involving some stooge named Harold with a penchant for division. The page had suddenly gone blank, and Geoffrey couldn't shake the feeling that Harold had somehow lifted himself from the page into the real world. With an alarming start, Geoffrey looked at the 45 pencils and 18 dictionaries sitting on his own bed. The pencils seemed to be calling him. Geoffrey bolted for the door, but slammed against it when he found it locked. His mother had locked him in until his homework was done. Or had he always been in this room with the multitude of pencils and dictionaries? Geoffrey couldn't quite remember . . . | 2017-06-05T16:06:52 | 2017-06-05T14:54:53 | 40 | 10 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "I talk to Gods!"
It was a bright sunny day. the first one in weeks. So much rain. If we got a few more days like this the high crops might actually yield. We needed the high crops. Low crops were consistent enough, but the high crops, they meant the difference between new iron or a starving winter.
So the sun was shining, the day was beautiful, the sheep followed their master and then there's poor William, sitting on a wall, trying to keep the demons from coming out. Really struggling, praying and folding his hands but the demons always won. The demons seemed to like me to talk to.
He hopped off the stone wall and followed my slow meander up to pasture.
"I talk to Gods, Peter."
"More like ghosts, William."
He flicked an errant fly off his head. "No, no. They said you'd tell me that. They're Gods. They tell me things." They always told him things.
"Like what?"
"Like there's a murrain coming. I didn't know what that word meant so I asked them. They said it meant dying. Death. The sheep this time. Cows next."
The sheep. I couldn't lose the sheep. Just words from a crazy person but words they carry strange powers. Sometimes even thinking them can cause devils to pluck therm from your mind and make them happen. "Willy, you best not talk like that. Lest the church put you on trial."
"Oh I've been tried scores of times. The Gods told me. Burned, crushed, drowned, crushed and burned, gibbeted, drawn and quartered-"
"I get it, Willy. So the Gods tell you this? How is it you're here."
"I don't know. I don't remember any of it, but they swear it. Tell me not to talk about them. But how can I not? I talk to Gods!" He stood atop a rock and spun around like a thread weight. When he finished he took off running down the hill.
"Say hi to your Gods next time you see 'em." Willy was a good kid, just touched.
"Why?" he shouted back. "It's you they want." | It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T13:40:44 | 2017-09-14T08:26:46 | 51 | 25 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "I talk to Gods!"
It was a bright sunny day. the first one in weeks. So much rain. If we got a few more days like this the high crops might actually yield. We needed the high crops. Low crops were consistent enough, but the high crops, they meant the difference between new iron or a starving winter.
So the sun was shining, the day was beautiful, the sheep followed their master and then there's poor William, sitting on a wall, trying to keep the demons from coming out. Really struggling, praying and folding his hands but the demons always won. The demons seemed to like me to talk to.
He hopped off the stone wall and followed my slow meander up to pasture.
"I talk to Gods, Peter."
"More like ghosts, William."
He flicked an errant fly off his head. "No, no. They said you'd tell me that. They're Gods. They tell me things." They always told him things.
"Like what?"
"Like there's a murrain coming. I didn't know what that word meant so I asked them. They said it meant dying. Death. The sheep this time. Cows next."
The sheep. I couldn't lose the sheep. Just words from a crazy person but words they carry strange powers. Sometimes even thinking them can cause devils to pluck therm from your mind and make them happen. "Willy, you best not talk like that. Lest the church put you on trial."
"Oh I've been tried scores of times. The Gods told me. Burned, crushed, drowned, crushed and burned, gibbeted, drawn and quartered-"
"I get it, Willy. So the Gods tell you this? How is it you're here."
"I don't know. I don't remember any of it, but they swear it. Tell me not to talk about them. But how can I not? I talk to Gods!" He stood atop a rock and spun around like a thread weight. When he finished he took off running down the hill.
"Say hi to your Gods next time you see 'em." Willy was a good kid, just touched.
"Why?" he shouted back. "It's you they want." | It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T13:40:44 | 2017-09-14T06:09:16 | 51 | 20 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "I talk to Gods!"
It was a bright sunny day. the first one in weeks. So much rain. If we got a few more days like this the high crops might actually yield. We needed the high crops. Low crops were consistent enough, but the high crops, they meant the difference between new iron or a starving winter.
So the sun was shining, the day was beautiful, the sheep followed their master and then there's poor William, sitting on a wall, trying to keep the demons from coming out. Really struggling, praying and folding his hands but the demons always won. The demons seemed to like me to talk to.
He hopped off the stone wall and followed my slow meander up to pasture.
"I talk to Gods, Peter."
"More like ghosts, William."
He flicked an errant fly off his head. "No, no. They said you'd tell me that. They're Gods. They tell me things." They always told him things.
"Like what?"
"Like there's a murrain coming. I didn't know what that word meant so I asked them. They said it meant dying. Death. The sheep this time. Cows next."
The sheep. I couldn't lose the sheep. Just words from a crazy person but words they carry strange powers. Sometimes even thinking them can cause devils to pluck therm from your mind and make them happen. "Willy, you best not talk like that. Lest the church put you on trial."
"Oh I've been tried scores of times. The Gods told me. Burned, crushed, drowned, crushed and burned, gibbeted, drawn and quartered-"
"I get it, Willy. So the Gods tell you this? How is it you're here."
"I don't know. I don't remember any of it, but they swear it. Tell me not to talk about them. But how can I not? I talk to Gods!" He stood atop a rock and spun around like a thread weight. When he finished he took off running down the hill.
"Say hi to your Gods next time you see 'em." Willy was a good kid, just touched.
"Why?" he shouted back. "It's you they want." | It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T10:12:28 | 2017-09-14T08:26:46 | 47 | 25 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "I talk to Gods!"
It was a bright sunny day. the first one in weeks. So much rain. If we got a few more days like this the high crops might actually yield. We needed the high crops. Low crops were consistent enough, but the high crops, they meant the difference between new iron or a starving winter.
So the sun was shining, the day was beautiful, the sheep followed their master and then there's poor William, sitting on a wall, trying to keep the demons from coming out. Really struggling, praying and folding his hands but the demons always won. The demons seemed to like me to talk to.
He hopped off the stone wall and followed my slow meander up to pasture.
"I talk to Gods, Peter."
"More like ghosts, William."
He flicked an errant fly off his head. "No, no. They said you'd tell me that. They're Gods. They tell me things." They always told him things.
"Like what?"
"Like there's a murrain coming. I didn't know what that word meant so I asked them. They said it meant dying. Death. The sheep this time. Cows next."
The sheep. I couldn't lose the sheep. Just words from a crazy person but words they carry strange powers. Sometimes even thinking them can cause devils to pluck therm from your mind and make them happen. "Willy, you best not talk like that. Lest the church put you on trial."
"Oh I've been tried scores of times. The Gods told me. Burned, crushed, drowned, crushed and burned, gibbeted, drawn and quartered-"
"I get it, Willy. So the Gods tell you this? How is it you're here."
"I don't know. I don't remember any of it, but they swear it. Tell me not to talk about them. But how can I not? I talk to Gods!" He stood atop a rock and spun around like a thread weight. When he finished he took off running down the hill.
"Say hi to your Gods next time you see 'em." Willy was a good kid, just touched.
"Why?" he shouted back. "It's you they want." | It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T10:12:28 | 2017-09-14T06:09:16 | 47 | 20 |
[WP] You’re an immortal who’s lived for thousands of years. Your life have been full of wonderful adventures and experiences that could not be lived within a single life. Today, you woke up with your first white hair. | In a way I'm glad.
My mirror shows my face, but I can change it at will. Only the color of my hair remains the same.
Jet black.
But here comes a streak of snow. I hold it out, eyes straining at the single strand.
Yoink.
Pull it out.
I've watched this happen to thousands of friends and family. Vanity and delusion brush the process off, but its implication is irrefutable.
Death comes for you on a white horse.
Anyone who desires immortality doesn't really mean what they say. What they really mean is that they want several thousand years to do whatever they wish. A utopian dream where there are no consequences for their actions.
Actual immortality is highly overrated.
I've lived while thousands of lovers have died, watched their hair shrink and nails grow. The creases and folds of flesh worn down by time.
Irrevocably moving forward.
Every child I've ever had now rots in the earth, and the generations replicated at such a rate I have no idea how many carry my DNA.
Perhaps it was a way to replicate whatever genetic fuck up prevents my aging process, but perhaps now it finally shows signs of breaking.
Down the sink the hair goes.
Run the water.
Where it rushes, nobody knows.
My hands have been stained with blood and gore, held the hands of infants, crushed between the fingers soil from a hundred foreign nations.
And I choose a small one bedroom apartment in a city where no one cares about your name.
Life is a tiring thing. Millions of nights sleeping do little to avert the pervasive exhaustion.
I wondered how it would feel, to be left in the infinite cold of space after the planet fractured and dissolved before my feet.
I can feel pain and loneliness, heat and cold.
So in a way, I am glad.
Deep breaths.
The air somehow tastes sweeter.
Press a hand against the cold windowpane.
Beauty.
Meaning.
Yes, in a way, I am glad.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato | The rusted springs of the bed cry out as I leave them for the night. Their whine reminds me of the abandoned people who once worshipped me – such a brief sound, nothing but a ripple in time. But it's heart-wrenching nonetheless. That’s the only thing I envy mortals – their ability to feel so much in such a short time.
My steps take me out of the bedroom and into the garden. Sometimes I just stand there, feeling the grass grow under my feet, smelling the sweetness of the daffodils swirling through the air.
Down by the lake, in the shadow of an olive tree, rests a girl. The black tresses of her hair swell over her pale shoulders in a waterfall of molten obsidian. Bright-eyed and freckled, she smiles up at me. She never speaks, just watches me in adoration.
My toes dip into the water, rippling the reflection of the ice blue sky. Water is the source of all life – that’s what they say – but I don’t remember the last time I had something to drink, and I’ve been around for a very long time.
Slowly, I stir the water with my foot. “Do you think the world matters?”
The girl usually just sits there, smiling, her beauty and grace forever captured in that state, but today she stands up. The smell of salt and fire fill my senses as she runs her fingers through my hair.
“Do you?”
Her voice is barely a whisper. Still, I flinch and pull my foot out of the water. She never speaks. Her soft breath in my ear makes me shiver. It’s been so very long.
“I… I don’t know.”
“I think you do know,” she says and sits down next to me.
I think just like her name, I had forgotten what an annoyance she was. Still, my heart starts aching. It’s a combination of sorrow and nostalgia ripping through it now.
“It mattered to me once…”
But I left it behind – I had to. The world isn’t a place for someone like me. It never was. Whenever I look at mortals I just see their skin drying and crumbling, their hair graying, and their skulls staring empty-eyed at me.
“Do you see it?” she says, pointing at the now polished surface of the lake.
More interested in her bony finger than my reflection, I try to grab it and pull her into an embrace. As always, she slips through my grasp and returns to her place under the tree.
Reluctantly, my eyes meet the soot-black ones of my twin. Seeing the chiseled jaw and cheekbones of my face never brought much joy or surprise. Nothing ever changes… except, this time it has. A single white strand of hair curls down my forehead.
For a moment, the man in the lake tightens his lips, and his eyebrows rise just a smidge of an inch. Change. It shouldn’t be there, but it is. Blinking doesn’t help.
“Maybe it’s time?” says the girl.
The thought of ever returning to the world had never struck me until now, but maybe it was inevitable.
“What year is it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Nothing matters.” That’s what I’ve always said, but now the resoluteness in my voice seems to be wavering. “Right?”
“Are you sure?” She tilts her head to the side, letting the pink tip of her tongue sweep over her thin lips. “Maybe it always mattered?”
My hand balls into a fist. Maybe there’s hope still left for the world.
“Will you come with me if I return?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does it matter if I do?”
“I suppose it doesn’t.” I’ve always been so sure of my ways, but for some reason, things are changing. “Nothing really matters.”
Except… maybe it does, and perhaps I’ve been wrong all along. With a sigh, I stretch my back.
“What is your name again?” I say over my shoulder as I make my way out of the garden.
“What is yours?” she replies with a smile.
What is my name? Maybe it no longer matters. I’m sure the mortals have forgotten it. Perhaps it’s best if I make a new one for myself this time around.
***
Subscribe to r/Lilwa_Dexel for more. | 2018-01-14T04:21:02 | 2018-01-14T04:01:48 | 3,050 | 128 |
[WP] Not knowing each other's true nature, a time traveler goes on a date with an immortal | She’d only done it once before, but, the date was so bad, Kiera knew she would have to die. Such an inconvenience. After centuries of living in the shadows, Kiera had created an online profile to find dates. It was just her luck that that the first one would be a complete asshole.
He introduced himself as “Brason with a Bray” because he was a “horse where it counts.” Before Kiera could leave, he was telling her everything about herself, including some things she didn’t remember putting in the profile. If she just moved to another country, she was sure he would find her and offer more “draaaaaanks”. So, better just to sleep for a good fifty years and surface again with a new identity when the mortal had shuffled off his coil. “Kiera” would be dead, but by the love of the god who cursed her, so would Brayson.
Time passed in the darkness. Year after year accumulated in Kiera’s sleep as she considered the age she would awaken into. Humanity had come so far in the past century. Fifty years in the future might make it unrecognizable. When enough time had passed that she had an actuarial certainty that Brason would no longer live, she emerged into a changed world.
At first she thought she had shrunk, but then she realized it was just the city that had grown. The buildings reached heights that threatened to make rockets superfluous. The streets were filled with cars racing by on their own in perfect synchronicity. The people wore strange clothes and had blank expressions beneath their digital glasses.
She needed coffee. Fortunately, even in 2070, there was no shortage of Starbucks. When asked her name, Kiera said, “Kari”-- she’d think of something better eventually. Before the barista could write it down, though, she was interrupted by a loud, “Well fuck me! Your name’s not Kari, it’s Keira!”
Brason was standing behind her. Fucking Brason. His appearance hadn’t changed at all. Was she hallucinating? Had he, too, been cursed with unending life in the days of the old gods? She stared at him, mouth agape, “How are you--”
Of course, he cut her off, “Why didn’t you tell me you were a time traveler, baby?”
Fucking Brason.
| "So," Raymond whispered. "How's the dessert?" he stared the red-headed woman at the other side of the table, who was slowly consuming the fresh hot chocolate cake.
"It's... sweet and hot," she said, inspecting the Raymond. She put slowly spoonful into her mouth, making her red lips a bit brownish. Then she slowly removed it with her tongue. Raymond had a long gulp.
"Well," she started after she had finished her spoonful, "it's a lot hotter than the Cold War."
Raymond chuckled. "You shouldn't make fun of a war."
"Really?" she asked, slowly pushing the spoon through next piece of the cake. "I look into the past with a smile," she said. Then she had another spoonful.
"Yes, but..." he frowned a bit. It's not that he was against it, he was just a history geek.
"Dear," she said soon, putting the spoon now next to the cake. "History is just a past. We make jokes about our own past, don't we?"
"It's not the same. It's considered now as a history," Raymond protested.
"It the same. It's same as I am joking how awkwardly you asked me out the first time," she said, inspecting Raymond's eyes. "Dear..."
Raymond frowned. "But that's something we lived through together. It was the first date between Raymond and Rose. It is *our* history!"
Rose shared Raymond a soft and sweet smile. She stood up and signalled with her hand to follow. Raymond did as she signed. Together they left the building, of course after Raymond paid the pill. They slowly walked the streets. They were a bit dark and empty, but her long red hair made it look like she was the one lighting the streets.
"Where are we-?" Raymond tried, but she just turned around, put a finger on top of her mouth, silencing him. They followed one really long street, ascending the mountainous terrain.
Then she stopped. "Turn around," she said. Raymond did so. They were on top of the street's ascent, below him was a long street only going down and down. But he also saw thousands and thousands of houses, mostly made of limestone. It was a really yellowish, yet sweet view.
"So?" Raymond asked. He still didn't understand why they were there.
Rose walked next to him and let her head fall on his shoulder. "This place has gone through a lot. It was at some point small town, then ruins, then a city and then ruins again. Still, they build it up again, no matter how hard it was. Now, it is a beautiful city," she explained. "It's only that pretty because the hardship it went through. That hardship is now past and people can talk about it, even if many died for *that*,"
Raymond eyes, however, didn't sparkle. He might have even frowned a bit. "I know," he said. He looked houses, the lights and even the blue sea, which was barely visible because of the dark night.
"I can see the ruins almost like it was yesterday. I have seen war a lot, Rose," he finally took a step back, making her take off her head. "I have seen the blood going through it."
Then they both realised something.
"You aren't immortal, are you?" Rose asked.
"And you aren't a time traveller," Raymond whispered.
Both of them started laughing.
"Raymond," Rose whispered. "When you live through things, you move forward. You think of them as memories that just... happened," she looked straight into Raymond's eyes.
"It doesn't change the fact that evil did happen here, though," Raymond responded.
"But I see where you're coming from," they both said at the same time. They laughed together, again.
"I know you, Raymond," Rose whispered.
"Do you now?"
"I do. You were there, many times, following me, finding me, weren't you? Saving me when I needed saving."
"I don't remember doing that..." Raymond wondered.
"Maybe not yet... but you will," she chuckled. "I guess that's why I said yes."
"Time travelling can be confusing," Raymond whispered.
Rose put her head on Raymond's shoulder again, looking at the yellowish city. "I do love you, though," she murmured.
"I love you too," Raymond whispered.
----
(/r/ElvenWrites, feel free to follow my other stories or future writing!) | 2018-04-14T08:01:19 | 2018-04-14T07:37:30 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | My wand slashed and twirled in the air, bright jets of light blasting out.
Connor brought his hands up, motioning at the outcropping of rock. It came apart, flying towards me.
"Protego!" I yelled, a nearly translucent shield erupting from my wand.
The rock missiles slammed into the shield, falling to the floor harmlessly.
I grinned at Connor, a new spell coming to mind.
"Aguamenti Maxima!"
I torrent of water exploded out of my wand, turning laser thin as it rocketed towards Connor.
Connor twirled, bringing his arms around himself in a fluid motion as he bended the water right back at me.
Shit. I didn't know that he could bend more than one element!
I threw myself to the side, dodging the jet of water that turned into ice spears not one second later.
Okay, so if he can bend two elements then chances are he can bend all four. So no more elemental spells. Energy spells it is.
"Stupefy!"
As the jet of scarlet light arced towards him, Connor closed his eyes for one brief second. As they snapped open I saw them glow white for one second as he grabbed the spell and threw it back at me.
Energy bending.
Oh shi-- | The fearsome Dee Twen-Tee sat on the clift, facing his deadly rival: Rymus, the Poet. None dared to speak, for a wrong word may bring them to their ultimate demise - It was just time until any of them made the first action.
At high noon, Dee finally spoke: "You fiend, the gods stand by my side. I call upon you a strike from heavens!"
His hands moved around in a dramatic manner while the light around Rymus started to shift and grow in intensity, but just as she was getting ready for the worst a miracle happened: the light grew warm in a placid manner, healing her wounds and easing her mind.
"Dammit" Dee whispered "I got a 2. Guess the RNGods aren't very happy today, either that or the DMons are annoyed. Either way, next time..."
As he kept speaking, Ryme prepared her spell, as she knew that once Dee attacked her he would be forced to wait until she reciprocated. It was all part of her plan, of course, for she needed all the time possible to cast her spell. Rising her voice in an exponential manner, she shouted the verses that she had learned from her teachers: The great monologue.
"Oh my foe, you have fought quite well
It was quite an honor to fight with you
But alas, at the end, you will dine in hell
Mayhap next time, the results will be new
..."
Days passed by while both were stuck in place: Ryme kept on reading from her tomebook, Dee was forced to stay. None could move, so Dee just started slacking off, trying to find new ways to trick the system. Perhaps he could convince Ryme to mary him next turn?
Seasons later, Ryme concluded her book:
"Thus, the princess married her captor
And lived a happy fate
But this isn't a part of your life's chapters
For here ends the wait!"
Words may be unable to describe what happened next, mainly due to the fact that nobody paid attention to whatever she said for all those days, but the result was successful: Dee was down to one HP, and not even a blessing from his gods could save him. Ryme prepared for her final strike, thing that was expected to take at least 10 minutes (considering the fact that Dee would probably bore to death in that time).
But then the doves came.
"No" Ryme said "It cannot be... Steven!"
And from the doves, Steven revealed himself: "Hey guys" said he as his opponents shivered "Wassup? Can you lower your voices a bit? My child-"
Ryme redirected her strike at Steven, but this only triggered him to strike in response: a mysterious rainbow colored cloth started to seal Ryme's neck, making her unable to speak. This was the power that she feared.
As she tried to take it out, Steven spoke: "Oh guys, can we have at least a week without this? I know you like this, but really? Why don't you get a hobby or something? You know the cloth will never end, so please leave and I'll wear it off".
And so, while Ryme struggled to speak, the dying Dee asked: "How can you do this? No limits... No restrictions... This isn't supposed to be possible..."
"A magician never reveals his secrets", said Steven as he called for an ambulance a third time this month.
| 2018-10-15T21:28:29 | 2018-10-15T21:15:36 | 346 | 92 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | Inspector Jackob looked around him, the crime scene littered with dead. "Please explain to me what happened again?" he asked an officer. " Well Sir, the eyewitnesses claim the five suspects got into a heated argument, then everything went South when the Potter" pointing to the dead female in a Slytherin uniform with a stab wound, "cast a Death Curse at Party Magician." the cold body the red and black magician lay cold, eyes still wide with shock. " She then tried to attack the others, but the Dragonborn disarmed her with a shout and the Frost Mage struck her with his ice spike. The Dragonborn proceeded to shout the mage into a wall, breaking his spine, killing him instantly." the corpse of the mage was still slumped by the wall, visible cracks indicated the force of the impact. "And then the Dragonborn turned to face the last person, who at the same moment unleased a blast of pure Warp energy, leaving only this" he nudged the still smoldering boots. " And the last victim?" "Ah yes, she apparently lost control of her powers and exploded in a fine mist. Perils of being a Psyker I guess." "Yeah." Inspector Jackob signed "Man I wish they stopped doing that. It takes FOREVER to write reports involving multiple schools of magic." | I stalked ahead, fully aware of the traits of the devastating weapons loaded in my sack and pockets. I tried to recall the symbols I’d need to create any number of permutations. My opponent stared me down and began to chant. I huff at her, with her clumsily thick blue robes and childish conical hat. I’ve trained my body and mind constantly for years.
I can no doubt dodge whatever she throws at me from the end of her plea with whatever nonsensical deity for power. I kneel down and swiftly complete the outer circle, sketch a series of small, sharp angles inside, and write down a single symbol in the center - a triangle pointed towards me, with a horizontal line across it. My materials are simple, and so is my required circle.
She cries out “Bolt!” and I roll over my circle, narrowly avoiding a narrow strip of lightning from the sky. She huffs, aware that whatever comes next, she must move as swiftly as possible, and pants for breath, watching me suspiciously as I place my left hand under the flap of my sack and my right into the center of the circle, leaning forward to pour out sand into the circle. I focus on the form of the silica and force a powerful handle out of the pile, ending with a fearsome, jagged point of brittle, semi-fluid flint. The handle glistens in an ethereal rainbow as the tip melds out of the end, black as pitch, deadly and primitive.
I stumble forward as my foe shrieks “FIRE!!” It catches on my trousers and begins searing through the thin material. I rapidly unzip my left leg and kick it off in a panic, trying not to warp or shatter my (admittedly fanciful) spear. I dump a pile of sand from my sack onto the leg, stifling the dancing flames as I hear more chanting begin. How is she doing this so quickly? I hear her speaking quite openly to Shiva as I close in. Whatever she’s up to, I need to make my move properly.
I stab towards her side, managing to cut open a sleeve on her robe, letting out a trickle of blood from her arm, but she doesn’t respond, continuing her prayers to bring me a “cold death.” I don’t want to know what that means and strike with the butt of my spear to her midsection. She tears up, gasping in pain, buckling down to her knees and then picks up right where she had been a second ago, more quietly. I don’t have time to think, and begin beating and cutting at her, trying to use non-deadly force. After all, this girl is clearly childish, and looks terribly young now that I knocked off that silly hat of hers. She stubbornly cries out, “BLIZZAGA!” My entire being numbs as the cold gathers around my body, moisture from the air and my sweat forming solid ice as I struggle to breathe. Everything... is...
*The girl panted and cried from pain, bruises and cuts covering her petite frame. Her opponent stood before her, vanquished, the strange and warped spear crumbling into sand. “Oh, just great. This damn sand will stick everywhere!” She struggled to maintain consciousness as she staggered to her feet, leaning heavily on her oak staff for support. “Hey, Big Brother... if you ever see this...” the mage hobbled away, letting her spell dissolve together with her imaginings of the Winter. “Try telling me again how useless magic is...” She sighed and decided it was probably best to call a couple of her friends. * | 2018-10-15T22:16:09 | 2018-10-15T22:07:03 | 201 | 26 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | The Bender was out of breath, his rock had connected with the Wizard's head as she finished hastily scribbling on paper, after rounds of trading subtle earthbending techniques and strange spells. The Wizard was knocked over and stopped moving. He cautiously approached her and noticed a distinct lack of breathing. His eyes fell to the piece of paper, and his curiosity got the better of him. He picked it up and unfolded it. It read:
"I prepared Explosive Runes this morning. Bitch"
The awful realisation set in the Bender's mind as the paper burst into a fearsome explosion, killing him instantly.
A few hours later, the Wizard got up, and thanked whatever she believed it for the fact that Feign Death was only a third level spell.
| *This was...a mistake.*
That was all Carry could think of as she clutched her Nimbus 2000 in one hand and a twelve inch hawthorn, dragon heart string wand in the other. She, loved Harry Potter, so to her, this was magic, and her rapid wand waving won her many duels, especially against Call of Cthullu fans, but she had never encountered anyone who was a fan of Overlord.
Well. To be entirely honest Collin was a man that loved his Dungeons and Dragons, and his Overlord, but he preferred the latter. He was embossed with an enormous pool of mana, and...it really was no contest. His last bout had ended with him dropping a meteor on his last opponent, and hers had ended with a full body paralysis.
"Three! Two! One! Start!"
*"Sectum Sem-"*
The world stopped turning. Time did not slow, it simply ceased its flow, and Collin walked towards his opponent. The championship round, and well, he had no qualms with a bit of overkill. As she stood frozen, words sealed in her lips, the announcers signal fired, the crowds paused mid cheer, he lifted his face, and leaned in towards her ear, and whispered one word. Something primal, something that warped the very soul of magic itself to generate a singular effect.
***Kill.***
The word spoken was generated by magic itself, and it passed his own lips in a language only those that traded their minds to the great old ones could understand. She could not hear the word as time was stopped. The effect was delayed to occur as soon as time began its march once more, and he held out his hands as though to embrace her.
*"-p...ra..."*
The magic could not launch from her wand, as it fell instantly from her grasp along with her broom. There was no cause of death. None detectable at least, she simply ceased to live, and her tools fell from nerveless fingers, and he caught her as she collapsed. Gently laying her, her eyes still wide, but glassy, on the ground. The fight was over before it could begin. A scene pulled straight from his very favorite series of books and games. Was it fair? No. Was it particularly original? He supposed not, but it was *effective*.
"Uh...ladies and gentlemen...the...the winner is the second challenger...someone send for the...clerics? We have a winner! A winner everyone!"
There were cheers. Confused, even afraid, as the man vanished, to give his guild the coin to continue slaying dragons and hunting down dungeons. Satisfied, as he had pulled off one of his most favorite scenes.
Edit: A word
Edit 2: For those with their interest piqued about the story beat the character follows or the magic system (the two are nearly identical), check out DnD or Overlord (Light Novels are my preferred, though there are other sources!) | 2018-10-16T02:22:26 | 2018-10-15T22:55:54 | 34 | 14 |
[WP] You've spent the past six months in a cell being tortured by your kidnappers everyday. The only person you have to company is the Angel of Death, who appears to you every night to chat. One night, they put a hand on your shoulder and say "Fuck destiny. I'm getting you out of here." | The bruises don't matter any more. The taste of blood barely registers. They have broken my bones, cracked my teeth, and ripped my flesh, every day for six months. At some point, rats chewed off the tips of three fingers in my left hand. My right eye no longer opens. I can feel something broken in my feet. They grind when I try to move them, or when the pig fuckers try to make me stand for my daily "shower". And every night, as I cry myself to sleep, Death, himself, comes to me.
The first time he came was after a day of particularly brutal beatings. I thought it was my time to go, but he didn't take me. He just seemed to want to talk, but I begged him to release me. He just shook his skull, touched my arm gently, and disappeared.
He came back every night. Slowly I opened up to him and we got to know each other fairly well. I always assumed that Death was an eternal spirit, but it was more of a mantle worn by different people throughout time. Kind of like that Piers Anthony book. I learned that he once had a family, a job, a house, two cars and a dog. Pretty much everything I never had. I told him about my shitty childhood, my loner existance, my time in prison, and that I had never been in love. I could feel his sadness toward me and it was a new kind of torture, one that was new to me.
One night, Death came to me, fuming with rage. I could feel it, like an oppressive wind, before he arrived, and when he did appear, it was fierce and sudden. A crack like a gunshot rang out. The cool, damp air became dry and hot. Death stood before me with flames in his eye sockets and a crooked smile upon his face.
"Fate is a crippled bitch. Come on, let's go."
He took my hand and pulled hard. I could feel his inner flame burning in my arm, then my chest, my head, my abdomen, and finally my broken feet. It replaced my pain with something I can only explain as life-fire. I stood up with no effort, placed my free hand upon the boney shoulder of the Reaper, and looked into those flame filled sockets.
"Thank you, my friend."
Before I knew what was happening, we were outside, standing next to a massive horse made of bone, wrapped in dry leather. When it moved, the rattling of its bones sounded like a xylophone played through a distorted guitar amp. Death mounted his horse and extended a hand to me. I took it, he effortlessly pulled me up behind him. The great creature raised up on his hind legs, bellowed a fierce neigh, reminiscent of the tortured screams of a thousand dying humans, and bolted into the night. | There wasn't much in my cell. A few wood splinters after they broke the chair against my body. A nail covered in blood from a more recent drilling into my bones. This is mostly a normal day for me. Most of my body has been wreaked into havoc and my sanity has gone. They had gotten they information they wanted months ago, something I repeat to them daily. They just do it for fun now.
I know i'm going to die in here. Even death says so. It happened right after my lowest point, a few days after telling them the information.
I saw him. Or I thought I did.
My vision had gone faded as had the rest of my body.
He looked like something out of a fantasy, Black robes covering a pale body with a none descriptive face.
At first I had thought he was a cruel joke brought by my kidnappers to end my life with.
Angel of death to sweep a final blow? I had not guessed they were religious.
But those thoughts had seeped away as I looked behind him.
Wings...
They glowed or shimmered in a aura of despair. I couldn't see the aura as much as *feel* it.
"Im guess im gonna die huh." I said, as I looked to him.
He looked around as if surprise for a few seconds as if to confirm I was talking to him and not anyone else in the room.
"You have seen me?" He whispered, as if scared that someone else would hear.
"You here to take my soul... Right?" I whispered back.
He then proceed to look into me eyes for a good minute or two before saying back. "Not yet."
That was the first of my many conversion with the Angel of Death.
&#x200B;
I had a many more conversions with Angel. Some for information of the afterlife and some out of morbid curiosity of my own fate.
I had meet Angel on the 3rd month of my incarceration. He would speak to me everyday after a session with my kidnappers.
Every time I would always ask him "Is it time yet"
He would always reply "not today"
My nerves would calm, and then we would chat. For what else is a man in a cell to do?
&#x200B;
Today was worse then usual, They had taken most of my fingers at this point. The pain was excruciating.
I had figured my information must of turned out to be bad or had not be of any use.
They had been angry.
I had given them all the information I had, there was none left.
As I pushed into my cell and the door was locked, I saw angel again.
I ask once again "Is it time yet."
This time there was a pause. A long pause.
I knew it was time.
I had nothing left, the kidnappers knew it.
It was time.
&#x200B;
"is it gonna be painful?" I asked hoping the answer was no.
"Yes." I answered back.
"Oh" I said, not getting the answered I was expecting.
I laid back onto the stonewalls of my cell, thinking.
A burst of emotions swirled into my head, Anger. Sadness. Fear. Then, Apathy.
I had been ready for this for a long time. Longer then a lot of people have.
People die all the time.
&#x200B;
I heard a flurry of noises coming towards the cell.
Must have been the them.
Execution if I was to guess.
I look at Angel for the last time.
"I guess this is it."
"I'm not thankful for much but I did love our chats" I said with somewhat of a smile.
&#x200B;
I had accepted it. I closed my eyes waiting for the cell to open.
Seconds turned into minutes. And yet the sound of the doors had never occurred.
"Maybe they were for someone el.." I started to say as I opened my eyes.
I saw them, the kidnappers through the openings of the cell door.
They were frozen stiff in a middle of a walk.
One had rope and was lugging it behind him.
Another was talking to him, pointing to me.
&#x200B;
Behind them was Angel.
I knew what had happened.
"But why?" I Remarked.
"I liked chatting with you" He told me, with a small smile.
"Won't you get into trouble..." I asked, wondering what this would do to him or even the world at large.
"Most likely" He said, looking a little troubled.
"Then it would't be worth it. It is my fate, it's a destiny that was prepared for me" I said to him
He walked forward with a smile, passing the two kidnappers.
He was then in front of me. It was as if he another person. The cloths were the same and his face was still the same shape and paleness and yet, it had changed. He seemed more *real.*
He put his hand onto my shoulder.
He then said to me "Fuck destiny. I'm getting you out of here."
Then we were gone. | 2018-12-07T03:58:20 | 2018-12-07T03:56:25 | 709 | 102 |
[WP] It is the year 4058. Humans have been forced out of Earth thanks to pollution almost 2000 years ago, and now live in Mars after a colonization. You and your crew are just sitting in the office one day and you randomly get a message that reads: “H.E.L.L.O”. The source? Earth. | *“Abso-no’a a’wai!”* I spoke in disbelief, hardly able to accept the screen in front of me. The words were hard to make out, but the message read clear, in Old English: *Earth salutes you.*
“*Terra nae exis’te...”* The Commander’s face went pale as the sun’s light off Phobos as I gave him the news. He couldn’t believe it either, and he was right - life on the Blue Star hadn’t existed for thousands of years. It was in all of the history books, everything we’d been taught about why we existed here was based on the basic fact that Earth was no longer habitable. After the Great War of All Destruction, or World War III as the Terrans were calling it at the time, the Earth was left scarred and broken, unable to heal. The land was left desiccated and filthy. As the cockroaches increased in number, the Madness among the remaining so too spread.
Were it not for a man called Elon Musk, the only scientist to have his consciousness Stream-Paired (TM) into a SpaceX AI unit after his death, they’d have never figured it out, and we’d have never had our chance for life here. It was only by their best efforts that they were able to send the First Thousand. The Second Thousand were far too rabid to handle the trip and killed each other before their rockets broke the eviscerated atmosphere. The remaining shuttles were shot down, for fear of spreading the Madness they carried.
Upon arrival we fully established the colony, fleshing out what had been built for us by robotic hands prior to our landing. We carried with us the knowledge of what was left behind, and our history books now stood as warning to never return for what was lost.
Yet here we stood, the message stoic and unmoving, waiting seemingly eagerly for our reply. The Commander shook his head and sighed, then stomped his right foot against the heavy metal floors to get our attention. Everyone quickly drew their faces away from the monitor and back to their stations. The Commander barked orders. We had to be sure to protect our people, our Sanity.
Just to be coy, and perhaps the situation called for some comic relief, in Old English I announced the final command:
“Fire Nuclear Array. Aim for Earth.” | "Hey, Joe. Are you sleeping?"
I quickly sprung upright in my seat, "Woah. No. That's not good," I said quickly while quickly hiding and wiping drool of my face. I could sense Clara looking at me over my shoulder, but I was pretty quick and my response drew her attention away.
"What happened?" Clara asked, moving closer to my side. My heart was leaping out of my chest as her fragrance filled my head and I was feeling dizzy again.
I was about to say something as I stared at her face but suddenly her eyes widened in way I thought it wasn't possible. "No," she said in trembling voice. She shoved my chair and in blink of an eye, I found myself in middle of office, spinning in my own chair.
I sprang up and straightened my tie. This was unexpected. I walked over to my Clara, who seem to have taken over my system. I opened my mouth and before I could speak, she bolted out.
"Hey. What did I do?" I said, mostly to myself.
I moved my chair back to my station. It's true - all beautiful women with brains are little crackheads after all. I flicked open my system and it reopened to white screen, blaring "H.E.L.L.O". I grimaced for this nonsense mail I recieved, probably from kid, but I noticed this wasn't mail. It was on receiver screen which really means:
"What the f- did I do?"
-II-
"The message we received is from Earth, you numbskulls, and not some aliens." Director groaned as he threw documents on his desk, "Don't you all had some lessons back in schools or whatever you studied in Module."
"I mostly skipped that part since Earth is most irrelevant part of syllabus in Training Module," mumbled Jane, while slurping her drink. Everyone else is, as usual, silent when inside Director's office. We all were standing behind Clara, who was smiling like a proud parent as her team stood behind her, before Director broke her bubble.
"So?" Clara sprang from her seat and folded her arms. She had that high-spirited schoolgirl attitude which everyone hated.
"So Clara, do you want to send hello back?"
Clara opened her mouth again but Director wasn't finished.
"Respond them back? Do you want to to do that?"
Clara staggered back on his raised voice. "I mean, yeah. We can-"
Director raised his finger and Clara went mum. "Do you want more buffoons like you, here, on Mars. Aren't you people enough?"
Director stood up. "They probably screwed up and next thing you know, they will jump ship to get here. Can't happen. Can't let that happen." He turned toward his little garden behind his chair and gently touched the bonsai.
"So?"
"So what now Clara? Do nothing. It's not first time they tried to contact." Director took a scissor and snipped his little bonsai.
"Sir, if I may," Jane interrupted. "Why don't we send a hostile message?"
"Hostile message?"
"Yeah, I mean, just like the -" Jane waved hands over the pictures on his desk.
"Naked pictures," Director completed sentence. He stood over the desk and looked at pictures and then at her, shaking his head.
"Not ours, no. Just a proof that we are hostile."
He took a deep breath. "Okay. Good. Send me a copy of what you decide to send." He picks up his lunchbox and looks back at us.
"What are you looking at? Go."
- III-
"Hey, Clara. Wait."
I chased behind her as we all headed out of office. She turned back and her face lit up with frown.
"All because of you," Clara squealed.
"What. Yes. True, but I didn't do it all."
"So, how do you explain we recieved that message," she fixed her glare on my face.
"I don't know, I must have keyed few random digits while I was asle-, was multi-tasking."
She narrowed her eyes. I had never seen her like that.
"Do you think we should help them?" I asked, trying to change the subject.
"What do you suggest?" Her face softened as we walked out of gate, together.
"Let's keep this our small adventure to save Earth," I said with a smile, not knowing where and what it would lead us. | 2019-05-07T00:42:25 | 2019-05-07T00:22:39 | 20 | 14 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | I knew it was one of those chain messages my friends like to spam me. I’m not a huge gamer in the shooty shoot kinda games, so the most I would have to worry about is endless bottomless pits or cartoon violence.
I type yes and feel a vibration. I drop my phone, but I’m the one shaking. Then a black screen comes up. Somehow I’m not unconscious, but more a loading screen. Then a text box appears.
“In order to return to the real world, you must win the game. Your prize will be everything you gain in this world. Good luck.”
There is no signature, and everything has become pixelated. It’s been a while, which game was the last one I played?
I’m at a computer, feeling really discouraged about this desk job. I open the drawer and find a letter from my grandpa. He left me his old farm.
Wait a second. This is Stardew Valley. I wanted to start a new game, but I got distracted and cut off in the middle of the cut scene. I had spent hours on the wiki learning the best crops to plant and what gifts to give each person in town.
There was only one problem. This game had no end. It could go on, ad infinitum.
Fortunately, it also was one of my favorite games. I liked it more than my own life, sometimes. So really, how hard could it be?
***
It’s been 6 in game years. I’m still missing a few minerals for the museum, but the rest of town has been completed. The community center is restored, the movie theater up and running. I’ve been happily married and divorced twice and turned my children into birds.
My farm is fully installed with sprinklers and a golden clock prevents any debris from appearing on my farm. My stats have been maxed out for a while now, I’ve gotten most achievements (and bought the hats to prove it), and generally have been enjoying the spoils of late game. Each morning I pet my cat before trying to find the next challenge.
The one thing that I haven’t gotten yet is the return scepter. I pretty much have every other item one can buy. This particular item can send the player home by raising it to the sky.
I think, deep down, I knew what it meant. Leaving this world I had put so much of my heart and soul into. Leaving the NPCs who I knew had preprogrammed dialogue but which I still cycled through each time I saw them.
So when I bought the return scepter, I had an idea of what it would do. I tested it out, raising it to the sky. Then everything went black like it did so long ago.
I have to rub my eyes because it still looks like my farm house. But, in the real world. I see the shadows and depths of objects that were lost in the 2D space. I race outside and find my chests lined up in rows. I open them haphazardly, finding piles of diamonds, rotting fish, and everything in between.
I was home, but maybe in a better version than how I left it. My in game cat rubbed against my legs and I felt myself tearing up with joy when I heard her soft mewing when I pet her. I didn’t know how much time had passed in the real world. I knew it would take a while to readjust (like remembering to eat, which isn’t necessary most days in game). But I knew my experiences in game would shape my real world experiences for the rest of my life.
[r/bluestarsshatter](https://www.reddit.com/r/bluestarsshatter/)
Edit: I’ve never been given silver before, thank you kind stranger! I’m glad people enjoyed my little story. | The voice faded into my mind as another came.
"Hey, Khontis. You seriously napping?"
My eyes opened as a strangely familiar face came to view.
"You sure know how to sleep. It was sure nice of Naoya ask us to meet him out here on a hot day like this, huh?"
I grunted and rubbed my eyes as I took him in, a blue t-shirt with a white hat, bright eyes and a bag with a laptop in it was slug over his shoulder. This was, in every sense, Atsuro.
Behind him stood a boy in a black shirt with headphones on, his eyes were careful and aware. "Kazuya met with us here." Atsuro continued, "So how have you two been? Normally I see you two during the school year so I feel like it's been forever."
Kazuya, known as Abel among his friends as his mobile handle...I couldn't help but wonder...Deep down inside how this would turn out.
Kazuya, the reincarnation of Abel. If this was the game I would think that position would be me. But with another here...
"Hey, what's wrong Khon? You doing okay?" Atsuro asked.
"Uh...fine. Anyway, what does your cousin want?"
"OH THERE You all are!" A female voice called.
"Oh hey, here comes YooHoo." Atsuro smiled.
I didn't need to look to know. A redhaired girl wearing pink. Her bag looked heavy, all I could think of as Yuzu yelled at the two boys for using her old nickname was if there was a COMP in there for me.
After a few bummed looks and sighs of disappointment Yuzu handed htem out. A blue one for Atsuro, a red one for Kazuya, a pink one for Yuzu.
She turned and tossed one into my lap.
And a purple one for me.
I opened it up but didn't bother turning it on. I knew it would have to wait for the rest, I also knew what would be said.
The Laplace Mail about the man near where Naoya lived would be killed. And later tonight the Wendigo would show up.
I would have to fight demons.
To be honest, I wasn't *too* worried. I mean at first I'd be really up a creek, always was the first time around with the first of the Bel's but I had played and beat this game so many times I understood the strategy. And I always loved the Megami Tensei games. But...
They were games. If I died here...
I'd have to live.
"Peaceful Days died. Lets survive" I whispered.
"Huh? what's wrong?" Kazuya asked.
"Nothing."
"Well... I need to do more research. Why don't you guys head off and hang around."
"Sounds good." Yuzu replied and I followed the pair as their conversation carried like I remembered.
It wasn't long before we heard a voice calling out.
"Now along with our Shomonkai, let us bring the world together! With the power of the internet the world will be one once more!"
Yuzu gripped along as Kazuya rolled his eyes and they spoke. Even more trouble.
"Hey! You coming?" Yuzu called as they moved through the crowds to leave. I held the comp tightly in my hands, not wanting to release it. There'd be trouble if I did. Soon...
I looked to my watch. It was almost six and we were walking by Omotesando.
I stood aside as the sirens wailed and Yuzu spoke about Naoya.
We hurried there, and like clockwork a tall man with long hair in a kimono looked to them. "Oh, its you guys. What are you doing here?"
His snake like eyes narrowed at me and I tensed.
Naoya, the reincarnation of Cain.
He spoke to them and continued onward past them toward me. I gritted my teeth as he spoke. "The door of truth will open. Overcome your fate."
He eyed me as they past and I glared at him. "I hope you can overcome this trial as well. Don't leave me disappointed." He whispered.
I glowered.
Naoya *knew* i didn't belong here.
"I'll try to impress." I remarked.
"What was that about?" Yuzu asked.
"Nothing. Lets go."
Kazuya's phone rang and sent us back to Atsuro.
He gave his usual computer talk before Yuzu called him to just unlock them.
I stood ready as they shined and four demons emerged. Kobold, Pixie and Kabuso all for them. Expected.
And before me going after me, was an ogre.
"Nice...Lets go!"
Yuzu screamed as the pixie went after her, Atsuro dodged the Kabuso's attack and Kazuya and I both seemed to be the first to jump to the fray.
The battle was simple but still, I could feel my adrenaline rush as I slammed into the Ogre a final time.
"YOU BEAT OGRE. OGRE NOW YOURS. USE ME IN FIGHT. FIGHT LOTS!" he said as he disappeared.
Yuzu began her freak out as Atsuro calmed her. Finally on the notion to go see Naoya we ended up back in his appartment.
"Look! It's Naoya's box!" Atsuro pointed.
"Yea. it's full of stuff. It looks like he hasn't been here in a long time." Yuzu agreed.
"So we were lucky to see my cousin."
Our Comps lit up with mail and as I read them I knew where they'd lead.
To the cemetary. To Amane.
"Should we go?" Yuzu asked.
"He did say 'person'" Kazuya noted.
"Yea. He would have said 'demon' or someone; if he meant anything else.Lets go." | 2020-02-16T20:10:45 | 2020-02-16T16:08:36 | 1,652 | 12 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war. | Humans take no pleasure in loss of life, contrary to what many would say behind their backs. It was a misunderstanding, and anyone who holds it against them still is ignorant of their own early days on the galactic stage!
War is common, more wars have been fought than species to fight them, but I’ll be damned if anyone ever dies. Don’t get me wrong, there are casualties. Broken limbs, scars, rapid depressurization resulting in exploding lungs, you get the picture. It’s all or nothing.
When galactic civilizations fight they wound, they show their strength, and they leave. Only when there is no option of retreat, or when the stakes are too high, do vessels aim to kill one another. It’s an unspoken, but oh so important, rule of space warfare. The Humans did not know this.
You see, very rarely now are new species found. Even rarer do they come from such backwater planets as Earth. Humans didn’t unite centuries before they had competent space travel, try decades. It was less than a single generation from forming a united world government to realizing they were an insignificant part of a much broader meaning of life in the universe. They hadn’t the time to evolve beyond brutal warfare, and so when faced with a threat they did the only thing they knew how: They utterly destroyed it.
Picture this. A few years after they set up their first interstellar colony, some trinary star system, another civilization had their eyes on it. What do they do? Well just as any conquering force, they invaded, broadcast a message to offer the Humans time to escape, and then fired warning shots at desolate parts of the colony world’s surface.
They didn’t want to kill anyone, they wanted an easy settlement from a new galactic power. They had no idea what Humans were like, they couldn’t have known. The Humans didn’t fire back with giant ships, or loud fancy light up cannons, oh no. They fired a nuclear missile from a rinky-dink space station in low orbit. Obliterated the conquers where they orbited.
Now that, that earns you a reputation. Unfortunately for the Humans, it’s one that stuck. They’re not barbarians, or some savage with a hand cannon, they’re just an ordinary people. But now I’ll be fucked if I don’t see people clear the room when a Human walks in. They avoid them like the Human’s gonna kill them if they so much as glance at them. A damn shame really, Humans are some of the best people I know. Unfortunate that one mistake in their past is what defines them now.
Who knows, maybe they’ll grow into their legacy. | "You know what you don't understand about people?" Fleet Commander Astrea stomped up to Archgeneral Hughes of the First Human Empire. "About civilization as a whole?"
"Fleet Commander Astrea." Hughes projected his booming voice over Astrea's. Though he was a baseline human, he'd evidently picked up some training in public speaking somewhere. "We are currently at war with the Nereids. We approach their starships even now. There had better be a very, *very* good reason for you to have abandoned your post."
"Yes! Yes, there is!" Astrea pulled at her hair. "If you attack the Nereids now, the entire First Human Empire will be destroyed!"
"The Nereids broadcast their every move to the entire galaxy, the arrogant fools. We know their military capacity is far below ours." Hughes' eyes narrowed. "Are you saying that they've deceived us? Our technicians and cultural analysts both agree that these broadcasts are real—"
"Gah!" Astrea threw both of her hands up in the air. "No! No, no, no! How did someone as stupid as you become Archgeneral—look, Hughes. You said it yourself. The Nereids broadcast everything they do to everyone, *everywhere*. It's baked into their culture. And their technological infrastructure is so refined that anyone watching, from anywhere in the galaxy, can experience what they experience *exactly* as if they were there themselves."
"Yes. It is a massive tactical weakness."
"Only on the small scale! Three *trillion* sentient beings around the galaxy turn to the Nereids' war games for entertainment. Right now, in anticipation of the battle to come, fifty billion humans throughout the First Human Empire are watching the Nereids. Watching them laugh and play and chat to their viewers and be oh so close to human. Especially at a time like this, with shipping lanes shut down for the war and people scared of Earth's first interstellar conflict, people need contact and comfort. The Nereids are providing that. And what do you want to do, in response to their declaration of war? You want to kill them all!"
Archgeneral Hughes gave her a dry look. "Yes. This is a war. In a war, you are supposed to kill the enemy. It's a necessity, but it's for the good of the state."
"Literally every word you just said is incorrect. For the good of the state? Do you understand what will happen at home if every citizen of the First Human Empire—children, politicians, media influences, everyone we're trying to protect—do you know what will happen if they tune in to the Nereids' broadcast and see you *slaughtering* them? And remember. They'll sense it as surely as if they were there themselves. Nereid 'warships' have families on them, Archgeneral. Children whose mass murder at the hands of the First Human Empire you're going to livestream to *everyone*. Hughes, you're thinking of our civilizations as if we're... elephants, beating at each other with our trunks. But we're not. We're delicate, delicate spiderwebs of *connections*. And the Nereids have connected themselves to us. Set them ablaze, and we'll burn too."
Archgeneral Hughes paused. He opened his mouth to speak, and an aide whispered into his ear. He grimaced, then set his finger down. "...I only wish you had come to me with more *respect*, Fleet Commander Astrea. I would have you promoted for potentially saving the First Human Empire, if it didn't set a disastrous precedent."
First Commander Astrea scoffed, shaking her head. "No, that's exactly *why* I started shouting at you in front of your entire command structure. You're not promoting me away from where I'm most effective: boots on the ground and thumb on the pulse. Society is connection, and if you leverage that right, you can run rings around your opponents."
"Well. The fact remains that the Nereids *have* declared war. We have to make some sort of response, yes? It would be a terrible blow to our credibility if we simply... turned around and left them alone."
First Commander Astrea nodded. "I knew you had to be smarter than you looked, if you made Archgeneral."
"Hm." Archgeneral Hughes made a note to look into First Commander Astrea's past. He was sure he would have noticed someone as disruptive—and yet ingenious—as she before. "What course of action do you recommend?"
Astrea grinned. "The Nereids. Their audience. *Me.* We all want one thing. A show." She held up a broadcaster, its screen showing that it had been recording the entire time. "Let's give it to them!"
If you liked this story and have a quarantine-induced need of entertainment, you may want to head over to r/rileywrites! | 2020-03-21T08:27:54 | 2020-03-21T07:39:56 | 460 | 96 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war. | "This is a Slaandi Skull Staff, encrusted with shards of sapphire. It is a favored weapon of the Slaandians for spreading fear and terror. Pressing this button will cause your enemies to see visions of shifting shadows and shambling skeletons."
"I'm looking for something that can better demonstrate power. Something with more dominance. What other wares do you have?"
"Perhaps you will be interested in the Goruu Gigantification Gauntlet. Snapping your fingers while wearing these will make you grow twenty times your size. This will cause any opponent you use it against to feel small and intimidated."
"Not bad, not bad at all but I want something awesome. Something that can shock an opposing army."
"Ah, I know exactly what you want. The Mounted High Pass Acoustic Devastator. It is said to be the legendary weapon that won the war of maximum madness. You twist this knob up to the number marked one-one and you will unleash an expanding wave of auditory devastation upon your foes. Guaranteed to cause any army you face to 'soil their garments'."
"Perfect! I would like to order a shipment of- wait, what manner of weapon is that over there?"
"Something else catch your attention sir?"
"This thing. This rectangular tube of wood and black metal. Its appearance does not strike fear. It looks more like a children's toy if anything-"
"Sir please put that down. That weapon is of... unorthodox use. It is an Avtomat Kalashnikova model of one-nine-four-seven. Pressing this trigger will create a loud sound, and it will cause any being you point it at to die."
"Die?"
"Yes, Die.
"But why? What's the point of a loud sound if it also causes your enemy to die? You can't reign over an enemy nation if all the beings there are dead. Why do you maintain possession of such a barbaric thing?"
"We sought to return these weapons to their creators who reside on a backwater planet in the Sol system, but we've had difficulty trading them back ever since our translator tried testing one out by pointing it at himself."
"A pity. But you said that this only causes death to anything it is point it at? Everything else is safe?"
"That is right sir."
"Perhaps there is use for them yet. I still want the shipment of Acoustic Devastators, but I'll purchase a few of these Avto- AK 1947 weapons, if you're willing to give a discount.
"That could be arranged. We thank you for your patronage!" | Montana's always had clear skies, used to love lookin up at night and watchin the stars. Not anymore though, those bastards changed that. I was out chasin down a cow that got loose one night when I saw them.
Those ugly things came right down, like a fireball from heaven. Apparently they were after the same thing I was. They looked like those things that jules Verne guy wrote about except less dumb lookin. They hit about 1/4 mile away and started bookin it towards my cow.
I wasnt about to let them do so, so I got my levergun out of the saddle and took a couple potshots.
They were none too pleased with this chain of events so they scrambled and returned fire with what I can only rightly describe as a teeny star being hurled at my face at approximately running speed. I was awestruck at this and in the time it took me to process what was happening, the thing hit me square in the chest.
I thought for sure I was dead, but it just flashed me somethin fierce. I found out the next day it gave me the worst sunburn of my life.
After that we just stopped in our tracks, them surprised I wasnt on my ass and I was still trying to figure out what just happened.
One of them rushed me and tackled me, felt like a kid was doin it.
When the rest came over to scope out the situation they busted out laughing, pointing at my lever gun. Something buzzed on their necks and one of then said in between laughs
"I cant believe you'd, you'd.. pfff do you even see what were packing?!?"
The thing reached into his pack and pulled out a stick, about the size of my arm with what looked like one of them lightbulbs on the end, the thing was covered from stem to stern in gold leaf, decorative vinework and all sorts of inlays, it must have cost a fortune, the thing seemed very proud of it.
"Can it ya jackass that things your brothers anyway, you're just borrowing it."
"Besides didnt you see what that weapon did to our ship? Tore a hole right through!"
Now I had a choice, I could either prove that my rifle was nothin to sneeze at, or I could flex on these weirdos.
Being the gentleman I am, I elected to flex.
"Hey I got somethin like that, pa spent a good few hundred bucks gettin it done up real nice."
As I pulled pa's peacemaker out of its holster, what little sunlight there was caught every facet of the engraving, the pearl inlays, every minute detail had been prettied up in one way or another. Pa made sure "it was an investment" as he put it. The things couldnt help but stare, I couldnt blame them iv never got used to its luster.
They all took a step back, kinda fearful I guess. What I gather from their weapons, they value looks over firepower. When their leader pointed out what my rifle did, I figure I'd show'm both.
The biggest one, all decked in armor and tattoos, after seeing pa's gun, he figured it would be a good idea to wrassle for it. What he didnt know is I spent a good 15 years wrasslin hogs and a man's no different.
Even though he was about 8 feet tall and 5 foot around, he only weighed about 200 pounds and hit like a girl.
I reared back, clocked him on the chin one good time and he went down like a brick.
The one that pointed out the hole in their ship, he seemed the smartest so I figured he was their leader. He came up to me after the fight.
"I dont know how or why you're able to take on a champion such as him without breaking a sweat, or use seemingly primitive weapons to disable a warship, but earthling, I feel it's in our best interest to offer you a truce and a deal..."
"On behalf of our ruler, I request you accompany us back to our home and let us study not only your weapons, but your sturdy biology as well. Our small arms have long since stagnated, the weapon that shot you would normally scorch any other lifeform, but you seem unaffected on a whole. Perhaps it was wise of us to wait for "dusk" as you call it, your sun must be a death sentence."
"Of course you'll be rewarded handsomely for your service, and we couldnt contain you if we tried, this stands to benefit us both as I see it,
What do you say, will you help us?" | 2020-03-21T11:52:39 | 2020-03-21T11:39:12 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] A depressed hero sits alone, gazing at a scrapbook full of newspaper clippings entailing his past battles and rise to fame, which all seem meaningless now as he considers retirement, he hears a knock at the door and finds his arch-nemesis, with a pack of beer and the goal of changing his mind. | I stared at the Cossack in disbelief, so startled at the six-pack of Guinness in his right hand that I almost missed the bottle of Vodka in his left. After a moment, I managed to ask, "Come to gloat over my retirement?"
"Nyet, comrade," he replied, his face breaking into a big smile. "I come to join you!"
If seeing my arch nemesis on my doorstep with an alcoholic beverage other than vodka had been startling, hearing that nearly caused my head to explode. "Join me?!?" I blurted out. Then, before I could stop myself, I added, "Why?"
"May I come in? Beer is getting warm, and stories always are better with a drink."
Shaking my head in wonder, I stepped aside and waved him in, then pointed to the couch in the living room. "Have a seat, I'll get glasses." When I returned from the kitchen a moment later, he was standing in the living room looking around.
"Nice place. Not to my taste, but not my house," he said. Seeing me put down two shot glasses, he added, "Spasibo," and put down the beer before opening the vodka. Seeing me nod as he motioned it towards me, he poured two glasses and handed one to me. "To retirement!" he declared, and tossed it back.
"To retirement," I reiterated, albeit slower and quieter, then drank the shot as he had. It burned going down, not my favorite, but he seemed genuine in his wishes, so I figured I would humor him. Besides, it's not like alcohol affected my system any more now than it had when I was in college. The joys of having a super metabolism. After putting down the glass, he offered me another but I declined, grabbing a Guinness instead. "Now, what do you mean you're joining me?" I asked.
"Ah, well... You know how it is. Spend thirty years fighting against someone, it becomes, what is word, familiar. I win some, you win some, but always fight with honor. Is fun, even. Now, you retire, and there's nobody left to fight. At least, not the same. No more fun. So, I retire too. Is for the best."
I stared at him as my brain tried to process what he said, and then I started laughing. It began as a chuckle, then a guffaw, and after a moment I was rocking in my chair, laughing my ass off harder than I had in years. And to my astonishment, The Cossack, a super villain I had spent my entire career fighting against, was doing the exact same thing on my couch across from me.
Eventually, after a few minutes, we both pulled ourselves together and took another drink. I looked at him, grinned, and said, "I guess it was kinda fun in its own way, wasn't it." He grinned back at me and said, "Da, it was," before lapsing back into silence.
We sat there for several minutes, me nursing a Guinness and he sipping his vodka, before he spoke again. "So, now that I've made you laugh again, what are you going to do?"
Realizing that he had broken me out of my funk, I considered it for a moment before the realization hit me. He was feeling the same way; he'd retired because it was no fun anymore without me to fight, but now he was at just as loose ends as I was. And in that moment, I made a decision.
"Do you like to fish?" I asked with a smile.
His eyes lit up and he replied, "Da, I love to fish!"
"You know what, comrade," I said as my smile got even bigger and I lifted my beer at him, "this could be the start of a beautiful friendship." | FADE IN:
INT. A DARK LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT
*A man sits slumped in an armchair, dishevelled and unkempt. This is MICHAEL. He is shrouded by shadows, but the amber liquid in his hanging right arm shines.*
*There are three rapt knocks on the door. Michael barely moves an inch.*
**MICHAEL:** Bug off.
**VOICE (O.S.)**: (*muffled*) Michael.
**MICHAEL:** You have super hearing. Bug off.
*Another knock on the door.*
**VOICE (O.S.)** Come on. I'm just here for a talk.
*Michael shakes his head blearily.*
**MICHAEL:** No.
*A soft sigh is heard, followed by footsteps stepping away.*
*A beat.*
*Then, a loud crack bursts through the front door, and splintering wood comes and welcome rays of light flying into Michael's living room.*
**MICHAEL:** (*cont'd*) You are paying for that.
*A woman steps into view. This is AVA. In stark contrast to Michael, she is exceedingly well-dressed, a bespoke suit with tasteful shades of black and grey. She plops down a case of beer, before taking off her jacket, instinctively looking for a coat hanger. Upon seeing none, she shrugs, drapes it over the nearest chair, then sits in it.*
**AVA:** You are filthy. I would turn on the lights, but I do not want to see the horrifying living room of a single man.
**MICHAEL:** I would kindly ask you to get out of my house, but you've never been great at taking instructions, have you?
**AVA:** Yeah, because you look like you can't even stand and physically kick me out, if you have to. I can't believe I was afraid of you.
*Michael's head lolls over to Ava. A rare smile flits across his face for but a moment.*
**MICHAEL:** Is.
**AVA:** *Was.* Look at you, Archangel.
**MICHAEL:** (*wincing*) Please don't say that name.
**AVA:** And you dare say I'm afraid.
*Ava sweeps the room with her gaze. She rips apart the pack of beer, taking one can for herself.*
**AVA:** (*cont'd*) I would offer, but I see you've already got your poison. And is that what I think it is?
*Ava gives a brief nod at the table. Michael turns, looking at the haphazardly stuffed scrapbook on his table, filled with the telltale yellow and black of old newspaper cutouts. It's comically swollen.*
**MICHAEL:** You know what it is.
**AVA:** Sometimes, it's better if you get somebody who refuses to acknowledge what it is to say what it is. Denial is an interesting phenomenon. What is it, Michael?
**MICHAEL:** (*sighing*) Please just leave me be, Ava.
*Michael smiles again--but this one is tinged with sadness.*
**MICHAEL:** (*cont'd*) I'm not Archangel any more.
**AVA:** You're goddamn wrong. You know you are. Quit the alcohol and self-pity, and the hero will come out again.
**MICHAEL:** Why are you trying so hard, Ava? Aren't you free to terrorize the city now?
*Ava tersely taps her can of beer.*
**AVA:** See this beer here, Michael? It's simple to gulp down. Doesn't burn your throat. It's not for getting drunk, but it's OK. I know whiskey exists, for example. But imagine the whiskey is removed from your life, and all you are left with is this swill. Would you be happy?
**MICHAEL:** That beer isn't that bad.
**AVA:** It's not too bad, honestly. Holy cow, I really was expecting the worst. But there's better. Whiskey won't up and disappear overnight--unlike you.
**MICHAEL:** What if I disappoint you?
**AVA:** Wouldn't be the first time.
**MICHAEL:** What if I've lost my strength?
**AVA:** Then I'll hold back.
*Michael stares at Ava.*
**MICHAEL:** You are terrible at this.
*Ava holds her hands up. She puts them down, staring at them weirdly.*
**AVA:** Wow. That's a strange motion.
*Ava turns to Michael again, leaning closer.*
**AVA:** (*cont'd*) Look, I'm a supervillain, not a therapist. I don't know your problems. I don't really care about them. I care about *my* problems, and it's that when you aren't here, this city just isn't that fun.
**MICHAEL:** Move, then.
**AVA:** You are the person I need to conquer. Archangel. And then I'll move. I'm not going to glitch through the final boss and say I won the game fair and square.
**MICHAEL:** It's a very uncompelling argument, Ava.
**AVA:** But I see something's changed, hasn't it? Something's changed. Me coming here has made you reconsider something.
**MICHAEL:** It really has.
*A beat.*
**MICHAEL:** (*cont'd*) I need a super-proof door, so you can't come crashing in next time.
*Ava crushes the beer can in her hand.*
**AVA:** Damn it. You are hopeless.
*Ava stands up, turning. She stamps on the door that she broke once, twice, then kicked away the planks.*
**AVA:** (*cont'd*) Goodbye then, Michael. Goodbye, Archangel.
*As Ava leaves, Michael sits up straight. He grabs the scrapbook, and flips to the very end, taking out a newspaper clipping--noticeably less yellow than the rest.*
*It reads: AVALANCHE SCALES BACK ON CRIME SINCE ARCHANGEL DISAPPEARANCE: IS OUR HERO DEAD?*
*Michael cracks a genuine smile this time, downing his finger of whiskey.*
**MICHAEL:** Long con, Ava. Long con.
FADE TO BLACK
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-05-14T08:51:35 | 2021-05-14T03:32:59 | 46 | 32 |
[WP] As a little girl, you gained the ability to detect when some creepy guy was staring at you. This has become unexpectedly useful in your grownup career as a military sniper. | \[POEM\]
You could say I over relied on my ability,
I certainly had a lack of agility.
And it should come as no surprise,
That there are enemies that aren't guys.
Looking down from heaven I can't help but blame,
Why did OP give me a power that was so lame? | I lurched awake, my clammy hands pawing the sheets off me onto the floor. Without even thinking, I found my sidearm in its home underneath the pillow and flicked the safety off. The sound woke up Cluey in the opposite bunk and he raised a sleepy eyebrow at me before nodding off, seeing that the barrel was pointed at nothing in particular. The slivers of machine light creeping through the vent onto me shone dimmer, orange and dull now that they'd already broken my sleep.
Distantly from above I heard the soft thud of mortar rounds as they fell uselessly on our JIMBO's surface level. Joint Imbedded Military Base of Operations. As with everything in the service, it became an acronym, and then a joke, one told nervously and with less laughter each time. The massive, labyrinthine structure was buried deep in the Kazakh soil, only two percent of it poked out of the ground like a concrete, taxpayer-funded iceberg. We all slept in tight bunks near the Penthouse where command lived and passed down orders to us. The air we breathed arrived from the irradiated surface completely stale, recycled and cleaned into the bare minimum required for life.
The reassuring weight and metal feel of the pistol let me lay back down onto the thin mattress. I stared up at the steel bunk above me and could hear Cluey gently snoring, somehow oblivious to the periodic shudders and tremors from each pointless mortar.
I put my gun back below my head and waited for our Slipstriker missiles to wipe out the mortar positions. The insurgents were saying hello, Good Morning, you invading sons of bitches. Somewhere in the hills three clicks away, they were whispering their prayers and beginning another day of distraction intended to soften us for the expected Russian/Chinese offensive. I had seen the officers drinking harder and barking orders with a new, anxious fury. No one even pretended to be brave when talking about the unmanned Chinese mecs we'd all seen videos of.
Like the soft singing of a new mother, in a cascading series of crashes and booms, each satellite-guided missile found its target with unfeeling precision. We would see bits of Kazakh fighters and cheap Russian hazmat armor strewn all over the hills today. I drifted into a pitch black arena of nothing, sleep finding me once again just as the last explosion evaporated into a shockwave that kept traveling for miles, desperate to find something that would absorb its meaningless energy. | 2021-07-04T12:17:02 | 2021-07-04T11:04:17 | 176 | 45 |
[WP] There’s an old saying that in every group of friends, there’s a dumb one. But you don’t believe it. I mean, you’ve been hanging out with these guys for months now, and they’re all really, really smart. | “I guess it’s true what they say. In every group of friends there’s a dumb one.” The girl paid for her drink, flashed me a wink, and went back to her friends.
I stared at the ceiling for a moment trying to figure out what she meant before making my way back to the booth where Sam and Danny sat.
“You strike out?” Sam asked.
“I’m telling you he didn’t strike out.” Danny said. “I can read lips. She said ‘*Love me a twirly swirly. I’ll go far in bed with you, dumbfuck.*’ Right, James?”
"She said ‘*in every group of friends there’s a dumb one*’ then just left. What do you think that means?”
“It means she thinks you're a dumbfuck. Damn! I read the fuck out of those lips."
"She's not going home with him though."
"Not with that attitude. Let’s replay the conversation - James, did you try and pronounce the word ‘pianist’ around her?”
I shook my head. “No we were just talking about her work. She said she was a social worker. Did you guys know that’s not code for prostitute?”
“You’re thinking sex worker.”
“He’s got a point though,” Danny said. “Sex *is* social.”
“That’s what I told her! I said I could give her some *on-the-job* training.”
“Artful," Dany chefs kissed his fingers. "Because job and blow-job? There's layers there, I hope you explained it to her."
"Yeah, twice. You think it’s true what she said though?” I asked. “That in every group there’s a dumb one?”
Danny scratched his chin. “Well I guess technically in every group there has to be a dumbEST one.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Danny.”
“I’m not talking about myself, asshole.”
“Then who?”
Danny took a sip of his drink. I looked at Sam. He shrugged.
“Me?!”
“It’s not personal,” Sam said. “I mean look. Danny’s doing his PhD and I’m in med school.”
“You’re studying to be a *pediatrician!*”
“Yeah so?”
“Kids are less complicated, they have less bones.”
"Kids have *more* bones!"
"So they have spares. That just means there's more room for error."
“He’s got a point.” Danny said. “Even dentists get to work on adult teeth.”
Sam rolled his eyes. "Look, we’re not saying you’re dumb, James. Though now I'm starting to question it.”
“It's true," Danny chimed. "We’re all smart in our own ways. We’re just talking in terms of, you know, outward measures of smartness.”
I slammed my drink on the table, genuinely starting to feel frustrated. “Come on guys! You both seriously think I’m the dumb one?”
“It’s just a stupid saying,” Sam said. “That doesn’t mean it’s true, right? You know, sort of like the saying that in every group of friends there’s an ugly one.”
Danny took a sip of his drink.
“Right?” Sam pressed, looking at me.
I shrugged.
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | “You know Fifi, there’s this old saying: in every group of friends, there’s a dumb one.”
David sat back on his haunches casually, one arm resting on a knee. He dissected a blade of grass as he spoke; we could both hear them coming.
I squinted at him. I never knew how David could stay so calm, not when so many *things* were happening! And the blades of grass, why? If anything was stupid it was that. Food was coming, what did he need the grass for?
“I’m sorry you heard that, David,” I said, “that must have been very hard for you to hear.”
His cackle-laugh broke the quiet of the forest. “Fifi,” he said, “you’re lucky I like you. If not…”
“Oh? What are you going to do about it?”
David shook his head, added the last piece of his grass to the neat little pile between his feet. “I’ll put in a good word for you,” he said. David ambled off, leaving me blessedly alone on my little rock escarpment by the door. I scattered his pile of grass. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see that.
The door opened. “Dr. Bennett, Dr. Liao!” I called. “Ms. Celeste!”
They trooped through the door in tight formation, my friends. Ms. Celeste, still a little nervous but very kind when she let herself be, hung in the back next to a big man I didn’t know. Dr. Liao turned, said something quiet to him. He left. I liked it better that way.
“Hello Fifi!” Dr. Liao said. Another kind woman, I liked her, but then I liked all my friends. Especially since Dr. Bennett had let the unsettling red go out of his hair. It was a comfortable black now. I liked him better that way.
I walked over to them, shoulders back, head held high. I’d been practicing. They smiled, even Ms. Celeste, and I went up to her first. I smiled as wide as I could at Ms. Celeste and she only drew back a little. It was a good sign, I thought.
“Did you eat well today?” I asked. “Your coats look very fine.” Pristine white, those coats, at least for Dr. Bennett and Dr. Liao. “I like your dress,” I said to Ms. Celeste. It was very colorful, there were flowers.
“Fifi,” Dr. Liao said, “today is a very important day. I hope you slept well.”
“Very well. Very, very well. Why is today important?” I asked.
Ms. Celeste produced a parcel of fruit, an apple, an orange, and two bananas. I was very excited about that and said so. She shrank back a step or two, but not as far as she had the last time I had said it, and this time she lead with the banana. I like bananas very much, said that too.
“Our funding is riding on this Fifi,” Dr. Liao continued. “You must take this test very seriously.”
Ms. Celeste stroked the back of my head. I leaned into her hand, felt her fingers searching against my scalp. Another hand joined her, larger. Dr. Bennett was there. There were so many friends, David should have been here too!
Or maybe not. David was David.
Dr. Liao coughed and the hands retreated. A pity. She crouched down in front of me, stared very hard into my eyes. “Fifi, whatever happens I need you to stay calm. Stay focused. We’ve talked about focus.”
“Okay!” I said brightly.
Ms. Celeste cocked her head to the side, something thoughtful happened in her soft, rounded face. “That almost sounded like…”
“Nonsense, Fifi is pre-verbal,” Dr. Liao said, not even looking over her shoulder at Ms. Celeste. She could be rude sometimes, but Dr. Liao was still my friend.
“Don’t worry bud, we’ll get you there!” Dr. Bennett said. “Soon you’ll be smart like David! Where’d that Greybeard get to, anyway?”
I hissed, I didn’t like that. Dr. Bennett took the apple from Ms. Celeste’s fruit parcel and handed it to me. I liked that better, even though the apples weren’t my favorite.
“Everyone ready?” Dr. Liao said. They all nodded. I nodded too.
“Good. Then Fifi, dear, could you meet us by the Tool Yard?”
“And bring your A-Game!” Ms. Celeste said.
I did not know what an A-Game was but I promised to bring it. I finished the apple, handed back the core, and then like David before me I ambled off, swinging away through the trees in the direction of the Tool Yard.
All things considered, Project Uplift was a much better life than I’d had before. Even with the tests.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-11-14T09:35:29 | 2021-11-14T08:41:50 | 313 | 73 |
[WP]Death Eaters win The battle of Hogwarts killing all opposition and breaking a one thousand year old truce between muggles and wizards. Lord Voldemort must now face the full might of the United Kingdoms' military. | **Not really UK or military, but oh well.**
*They say that fiction is often based on fact.
It was in the early 80's when the muggles had one of the biggest technological breakthroughs seen in their history. It was simultaneously one of their biggest secrets...*
Beads of sweat appeared on Voldemort's face, glistening against the glow of his wand. "*AVADA KEDAVRA*," he bellowed, sending electric green jets at the face of the man standing in front of him. This time, the sound was deafening. Chunks of earth burst into the sky and dust enveloped the scene. In between haggard, raspy breaths his smile slowly widened. He was sure of his success this time. He had given it his all against this man, this statue, without seeing promising results.
Voldemort barely saw the man before he heard him. His spell had again failed him. Only a faint red glow was discernible through the thick dust.
"*You wizards have always had one flaw with your most powerful curses. The muggles were desperate to find a way to exploit that. When the technology finally caught up, they produced several 'individuals' like me. For what's the point of a killing curse, if the target was never alive*?"
Voldemort's face scrunched up in anger. This man, his voice sounded...off. He couldn't take it, he had to know. "*SHOW YOURSELF! SHOW ME WHO YOU ARE? How are you still even STANDING?!*"
The man emerged from the dust, only his skin was damaged by the most powerful of all wizard spells. He looked down at Voldemort, who was now quivering in fear. The man drew a pistol from his hip, and pointed it at the dark lord.
"*Hasta la vista, baby.*" | President Barrack Hussain Obama stared out of the window in quiet reflection. It had been 18 months of bloody slaughter the likes of which had not been seen since Stalin and Mao.
"Estimated 2 million dead from the retaliatory nuclear strikes against Hogwarts and the fallen Ministry of Magic. The new infrared sensors on the modified KH-11's were successful in defeating the cloak. That said, it's a one trick pony. Voldemort.." Leon Panetta, SecDef said grimly, ignoring the gasps by the wizards in the room, "will find a way to defeat it sooner or later. Wizard friendlies and POW's are working to find a permanent solution".
"I thought London was fully evacuated a few months ago?" The President responded without looking back.
"Mr. President, we have done all we can to save those in London. Those that remain wished to live under He Who Must Not Be Named" said David Cameron, surrounded by his own senior staff. UK's senior government officials were evacuated and claimed free from the Imperius Curse by the friendly survivors of the UK Ministry of Magic.
The fact that there were enough wizards to run a functioning government was a wonder to President Obama. It was a testament to their ability to stay hidden and to their power.
"How many of the enemy did we kill?" the president asked, turning around to look at a tall, gaunt wizard standing next to David Cameron. The room now had 10 aurors, authorized to use killing curses to protect the President and his staff. Two more magical and regular fire-teams stood outside on the lawn and in the corridors.
"I can confirm that the Trident II missile strikes killed 1000 Death Eaters and severely injured the Dark Lord. It would appear that DARPA and MI6, along with Mr. Weasley at the advanced magic research team rightly hypothesized that the shockwave from 1 Megaton nuclear device travels far enough to penetrate the magical interference zone and travel along the axionic folds of spacetime into shielded areas like knockturn Alley." He said with a mild cough. Andrei was an auror who braved the radioactive fallout to see the effects of the blast. Even healing potions weren't 100 percent effective against the massive fallout from a large airbursts like those which went off over London.
DARPA and the remnants of MI6 and MI5 were working with surviving human-friendly wizards, secreted out to the US mainland. They hoped to better understand the source of magic and perhaps arm the common troops with more effective weapons. In the 15 months or so that the wizarding community revealed itself and asked ordinary humans for help against Voldemort, they have had luck modifying satellites to penetrate both common cloaking effects and dimensional folds used to hide buildings.
In desperation, David Cameron authorized the sterilization of London, targeting the fallen ministry of magic, Hogwarts, Knockturn Alley, and Azkaban in an effort to thin the rapidly growing ranks of the Dark Lord. The UK government had tried to evacuate the entire population, an act which the enemy seems to have allowed uninterrupted in the beginning. However they started ambushing convoys a few months ago ; causing thousands of casualties. Many did not want to leave, preferring to submit to the dark lord. Their deaths troubled Obama; He had tried to convince David otherwise, but David overruled his objections and authorized the launch from Royal Navy Submarines off the coast of Ireland.
Sir Peter Wall, spoke up into to silence. "The ground war is not going anywhere. Our weapons are all but useless in the zone of magical inteference around active wizards. Weapon effectiveness for both infantry and armored cavalry is down to less than 5%. Special forces have had better luck, ambushing enemy wizards who are resting and sleeping. However they are now setting up magical defenses to counter such strategies. Quite frankly sirs, the scientists need to speed up their R&D process to implement magical weapons for regular troops or we will lose most of the armed forces through attrition. Not counting the strikes, the kill ratio is 10,000 to 1 in their favor."
TBC... | 2014-10-12T03:37:00 | 2014-10-12T03:23:52 | 135 | 17 |
[WP] Write a superhero whose superpower only makes sense after you read the story twice. | Two bank robbers sat in the back of the police cruiser. One had a trickle of blood leading from his nose. Broken nose. Had to remember that.
I entered the bank. It looked like a tornado had run through. Broken glass littered the floor and papers were strewn everywhere. A moment later a bank robber strolled in and laid down on the floor. A police officer, who was following close behind, lowered a broken potted plant on top of the man's head. The second robber ran into the room a moment later and knelt down on the floor. He covered his face in his hands and waited. A minute or two later the room filled with panicky people running around screaming. The alarm sounded and I sprung into action.
I raced towards the bank robber kneeling on the floor. I punched him in the face and he pulled his hands away. He stood up clumsily and I punched him in the stomach. He held his hand up high and I raised my left arm to block it. He retracted a balled fist to his side and lowered it to his waist. I picked up a handgun from the floor and handed it to him. He shot me a surprised look and then turned to face the teller. She was looking at me. An expression of confusion on her face that was quickly replaced by terror as she turned to face the bank robber. I turned and ran towards the door.
The other robber threw the potted plant off himself and hurled it through the air. I caught it deftly and placed it beside the door. He lowered his arms and pointed his gun at the panicked crowd inside. I ran for the door as the first few gun shots rang out. Glass surged upwards from the floor towards the broken fluorescent bulbs overhead.
I ran down the street and away from the bank. Living life backwards can be confusing at time, but at least I always knew how I saved the day before I arrived. One day I hoped to find out how I got these powers. | I stretched to warm myself up. I was getting old, a little tighter and a little less elastic than the days of my youth. Too many beatings, too many kicks to the head and brawls in darkened alleys. One of these days, I told myself, you’re going to have to give it up. I tried to steer my thoughts away from the negative, ignored the throbbing pain in my wrist from my leap down the fire escape last week, and the aching orbit of my eye from when that thug whacked me across the face with his twelve gauge. I tried to go zen. I concentrated on stretching.
I met my connection at precinct 17. A good kid. He left a folder of files out on the window sill and I snagged them. Files with possible or definite leads that the coppers couldn’t do a thing about. Restrained by the law. Unlike me. They would throw my sorry ass in jail if they caught me for half the stuff I did, even after all the loose ends I tied up for them, all the scum I washed away, and that’s why I never got caught. I was like a dog, unbound by the rules of society, but they would put me down the moment I lost my usefulness, the moment I went soft.
I found a quiet rooftop and shuffled through the files. Increasing drug activity in the neighborhoods near the wharf. Some bad dope going around. More than a few overdoses. I knew a few heads I could stave in, a few people I could dangle from a high place until the squealed and coughed up the answers.
It was near three in the morning, but this section of town operated in its own personal time zone. It might as well have been high noon here. People played music or what passed for music from half the houses. I was always more of a jazz guy myself. The occasional squad of young trouble makers prowling the streets, their cockiness bolstered by booze, waiting for anything to happen. It was rare that a night passed without the sound of at least a few gunshots echoing in the distance. I kept to the rooftops. I had spent the last week busting heads and gathering intel, and as from what I gleaned there were a few crack dens at the far end of Bleeker street. I made my way there, avoiding the glow of neon and the faded light of streetlamps.
I found who I was looking for.
He went by the name of Phillip. His specialty was acquiring exotic goods for people with the dough, people who were vetted. You could buy a handgun with the serial number filed off on any street corner, but if you wanted a rocket launcher or a mini-gun or anti-gravity boots, Phillip was the guy. Phillip knew everyone and everyone knew Phillip. He was also part owner in a bar down the street from the crack den. He kept an eye on things from there, and his associates pointed people with a taste for powder, or people looking of a night time companion, in the right direction.
I reached the bar and squatted on the roof, contemplating my next move. I pressed my ear to the back window, where Phillip would most likely hold court. I heard muttering voices, too vague to discern. I waited on the roof, banged on the back door, and waited. The voices stopped and uttered a few curse words. The door opened and two men with guns stepped out.
A grabbed them both by the back of the head and smacked them into the wall and then hurled the rest of my body through the open door. I was right. Phillip was sitting with his legs kicked up on a desk, watching a small television in the corner. I went for the AK against the wall but I shot my leg out and stamped on his hand. He cursed and I head butted him. Another one of his associates ran to the bar for help but I shot out my other leg and tripped him. I grabbed Phillip, hauled him out into the street and we disappeared into the night. It was time to answer some questions.
This was probably way too obvious, but he's a super stretchy elastic guy. Like Mr. Fantastic. | 2014-12-07T12:25:22 | 2014-12-07T09:39:16 | 38 | 16 |
[WP] Half life 3 will be released in three hours.
You are part of the last generation to await the new Half Life 3, and many of your fellow fans has fallen during the waiting period. The year is 2057. | He stood there.
He stroked his beard.
The crowd stood, stunned, staring.
He held out his hand.
The crowd leaned forward.
Silence.
He held up one finger.
They stared.
He held up two fingers.
The anticipation was building. The energy levels were rising.
He held up three fingers.
The logo flashed on screen.
An explosion of sound.
I could feel it.
This was a new era.
I clicked away from the stream and clicked on Steam.
I waited for the store page to load.
There it was.
Half Life 3.
I sat there, unblinking and unbelieving.
I clicked on it.
Nothing happened.
Again I clicked it.
Nothing.
Mashing F5, I clicked like no other man had clicked before.
Nothing.
Steam... was down. | **When this post is three hours old Half Life 3 will be available on Steam for $49.99** (Self.Gaming)
Submitted 10 minutes ago by /u/GabeNewellBellevue
>/u/Buttsexmydickhole **34 points** 8 minutes ago
>Pretty sure this is what ronpaul.gif was actually made for!
>permalink mod source save save-RES report reply hide child comments
>>/u/Image_Linker_Bot **17 points** 8 minutes ago
>>[ronpaul.gif](https://media.giphy.com/media/rl0FOxdz7CcxO/giphy.gif)
>>-
>>*Feedback welcome at /r/image_linker_bot | [Disable](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose/?to=image_linker_bot&subject=Ignore%20request&message=ignore%20me) with "ignore me" via reply or PM
>>permalink mod source save save-RES report reply hide child comments
>>>/u/PM_ME_UR_TEDDY_BEAR **14 points** 6 minutes ago
>>>We finally used it!
>>>>/u/galtonium **8 points** 2 minutes ago
>>>>I will tell my children, and my children's children, and my children's children's children of the day I witnessed this!
>/u/WheresTheBeef **31 points** 7 minutes ago
>Oh my god guys is this real?
>>/u/nobodylook **18 points** 4 minutes ago
>>oh my god oh my god oh my god the OPs username
>>>/u/Goebbelsdidnothingwrong
>>>holy shit that's actually Gaben!
>>/u/fuckshitstack **20 points** 5 minutes ago
>>I...I think it might be!
>/u/SheepinWolfsClothing **7 points** 3 minutes ago
>RemindMe! 3 hours!
>/u/sh4912 **4 points** 2 minutes ago
>Well now I'll be obsessively updating Steam for the next 3 hours!
>/u/GabeNewellBellevue **3 points** 1 minute ago
>I can assure you, guys, this is real. We kept it under our hat because we have a history of pushing back release dates, and we didn't want the community to get any more rabid than they already would have. I really hope you're all happy with it, and sorry for the long wait. | 2016-04-05T07:22:37 | 2016-04-05T06:54:50 | 35 | 18 |
[WP] Your father leaves the house to buy milk, 50 years later he comes back with milk in hand and hasn't aged a bit. | I couldn’t understand why he was smiling. I watched as my father looked around almost uncertainly before setting the jug of milk on the counter. There was no apology in his smile. There was only the same warmth I remembered as a boy when he watched me score a goal in soccer. Nonetheless it did nothing to diffuse the rage rumbling inside of me.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped. My father’s smile falters for a moment.
“This is my house, son. I guess I don’t understand the question.” He rubbed the black stubble on his chin.
“No,” I practically launched myself up from the kitchen table. “This is my house! I inherited it almost 25 years ago when Mom died. Remember her? The woman you left?”
The calm never left his gaze as he picked the milk back up and placed it inside the refrigerator.
“You’re a piece of shit,” I snarled. “How dare you show your face here?” I watched him and the confusion finally set in. Not a single gray hair was on his head. No wrinkles. In fact, he was wearing the exact same red flannel shirt I last saw him in. My father leaned up against the wall. A calendar grazed the top of his head.
Normally an even-tempered man myself, I was becoming crushed under the heat of volcanic disdain. I charged my father and slammed my fists into his chest.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? What you’ve done to Mom? She was never the same after you left! I was never the same! I looked up to you! I hate you!” I pounded his chest. “I hate you! I hate you!”
Amidst my incoherent screaming I suddenly froze. The massive bear arms of my father wrapped around me.
“Oh, son. Will you forgive me?”
I couldn’t breathe. The weight of hate filled years melted away under the even heavier weight of my farther’s arms.
“Yes,” my own whisper woke me. I opened my tear blurred eyes. I blinked away the dream and saw the inside of my father’s house. | No way.
Anger, sadness, and confusion rolled into a giant emotion in my heart.
"Hey... What's going on here?" I squeaked. My voice betrayed me.
He looked me up and down. Confused. His mouth slung open; just like all those years ago, sitting in front of the TV watching in disbelief as the enemy football players run and score a goal.
He looked at me and I dared to look back.
"Catherine?"
"Yeah. It's me." I whispered. He left... Didn't he?
Mum said he was off to buy milk and never came back. That was 50 years ago. He was in his mid thirties when he had my brother and I so that would put him about 80 years old. However... The man standing in front of me does not look like he aged in the last 50 years.
He still had his piercing blue eyes. A hint of crows' feet touched his eyes and a few smile lines but that's how he was all those years ago. That's what he looks like in the pictures mum showed us in his funeral as we remembered who he was. After... After the police were unable to find him anywhere.
"What is going on here?" He echoed my question.
"Dad, do you remember? June 27, 1966. I will never forget that day. You... left us. Mum said that you were going to get milk but you never came home, in fact, you were no where to be found. We had the police on you and everything. Filed a missing case report," I rambled.
It's as though my father disappeared into thin air. But this was him. As soon as he walked in, the room smelled of sandalwood and after shave, just like before. There was a faint stubble on his chin but that was about it.
"No, that can't be right," my father shook his head "I was at Uncle Jim..." Uncle Jim was the small store down the road. "I was there just 20 minutes ago. What...?"
I could see his confusion. He's registering my face. I have wrinkles and a little taller than my 6-year-old self.
"Where's your mum?"
"She... Never stopped looking for you."
"Where is she? And Luke?"
My breath hitched. My brother was angry when he was gone. All of a sudden the responsibilities fell on him. Being the only male, he had to work on top of going to school. My mum did what she could but I don't think she ever got over the fact my father disappeared the day after their anniversary. Everything seemed fine.
"Mum... Mum is in the loony bin, d-" I flinched. I can't say 'dad' without my mouth going slack. There's no way he's real. I cleared my throat. "All she would talk about is how she must find you coz you must've been scared. Luke... Well, Luke is gone. His anger got the best of him and he got into a fight and..." I hiccuped, remembering the sirens, the blood pumping in my veins as the police broke the news.
"Catherine..." his voice broke my thoughts. "I... It was milk. I left 20 minutes ago, went to the store, and brought the 2% because she was baking a cake... Wasn't that what she was baking?"
It was. My mum didn't realize she needed more milk. So, she sent my dad. She never forgave herself. Always said that it should've been her.
"You left 50 years ago. How is it that you haven't aged? Where... Were you?"
He looked up, his eyes bewildered. He pulled out his old time piece. "I left 20 minutes ago," he said in a strained voice.
I blinked my tears. How was my dad here... Now? After all these years? Where was he? How didn't he age? There were too many questions.
Suddenly, I became very aware at how hot the room was and how fast my heart was beating. I was starting to see stars too. The last I heard before the darkness took me was my father's scream and the milk jug hitting the floor, spilling milk and glass everywhere.
EDIT: thank you for the love! This was my first WP and I'm glad so many of you enjoyed it! | 2022-05-13T11:22:44 | 2017-11-19T17:13:23 | 1,516 | 60 |
[WP]At last the Dovahkiin dies. Now all the Daedra princes he has served over his life fight for his soul. | "I claim him!", said Mephala, "For we have many machinations yet to do!"
"I claim him!", said Peryite, "For we have many tasks yet to perform."
"I claim him!" said Vaermina, "For we have many terrors to inflict."
"I claim him!" said Hircine, "For we have many prey to hunt!"
"I claim him!" said Sanguine, "For we have many indulgences to partake."
"I claim him!" said Nocturnal, "For we have many secrets yet to keep."
"I claim him!" said Hermaeus Mora, "For we have many tomes to collect."
"I claim him!" said Clavicus Vile, "For we have many deals to make!"
"I claim him!" said Meridia, "For we have many terrors to slay!"
"I claim him!" said Namira, "For we have many things to wither away."
"I claim him!" said Azura, "For we have many imbalances to correct."
"I claim him!" said Boethiah, "For we have many plots to enact!"
"I claim him!" said Malacath, "For we have many misbegotten to avenge!"
"I claim him!" said Molag Bal, "For we have many weaklings to crush."
"I claim him!" said Mehrunes Dagon, "For we have many that defy us!"
And Sheogorath said, "Reload last save!" | Skyrim was free, and the souls of the brave were safe in Sovngarde once more. That was what mattered...regardless of the things I'd had to do to accomplish it. I knew when I struck my various bargains with the Princes that there would be an ultimate price to pay, beyond the little favors I had to do for them on Tamriel.
So, when I died at last, Sovngarde was not my destination. I was drawn to Oblivion, and already I could feel them pulling at me from a dozen different directions, hungry for the meat of my soul. Not Azura, though -- perhaps she knew what the others did not, or perhaps she was simply content with our original bargain. Meridia as well, held herself aloof from the mad scrabble for the coveted soul of the Dovahkiin, and Sheogorath, I noted, was absent, too. That last wasn't surprising, this just wasn't his style. As their avaricious clawing intensified, I grimaced in pain. The conflicting powers of the Daedric Princes were trying to tear my soul apart.
But then, I had become very familiar with the nature of souls, over my long life. Some of my knowledge came from studying the many tomes at my disposal as Archmage of Winterhold, but much of it was just the result of experience. I was practically a connoisseur, Talos knows. But it really started with the souls that my great foe had devoured in Sovngarde, and that I therefore absorbed when I vanquished my nemesis. In time, I could feel those bold warriors resolve into seperate entities within me. And in time, I learned their names, by which I called them forth, and then sent them home again. I had discovered by accident that there was something just...*immutable* about the souls of sentient beings. They defied all attempts at true destruction, at "digestion", if you will. You could contain one, you could transfer one, and in some cases even control one...but no matter what you did, they simply would not *end.* They are immortal, eternal, and ultimately indestructible; rip them up into to a thousand thousand pieces if you want, but every atom of every soul that ever was will -- someday, somehow -- drift back together and become whole. It is the natural order of things, an innate syntropy that balances out the universe's tendency towards entropy.
This was a fact that I felt sure even the Princes were unaware of. Had they been aware, I am certain they would not have drawn me here, to their domains, but rather would have been glad to see my soul fly free, whether to Sovngarde or Akatosh. They did not know, or did not consider, how souls once consumed could be re-constituted and evoked, nor how souls vanquished in life might be bent to the will of the one who conquered them.
Still, their power was immense. and I could not even move as they drew me ever closer, and I began to see their faces in the void: Mora, Vile, Hircine, and the rest...they were ravenous.
But I didn't need to move -- I only needed to *speak*. And so I spoke the first word of a litany of words I had memorized against this day. Or more precisely, I *shouted* a word:
AL-DU-IN!
*(Cleaned up and slightly revised to address a couple issues. I know it's not in line with all the lore, but I'm just having fun, here.)* | 2018-06-15T08:17:32 | 2018-06-15T07:46:10 | 2,893 | 369 |
[WP]At last the Dovahkiin dies. Now all the Daedra princes he has served over his life fight for his soul. | “This. This right here. This is why we need a system.”
“Don't bring Jyggalag into this, Clavicus, he's enough of a pain in the Oblivion as it is.”
“Well, why don't we just smash it and split it among ourselves?”
“How surprising, Dagon wants to break it.”
“Bite me, Fido, and give me one less fool to contend with.”
The Princes of Oblivion were at an impasse. They had yet to come across a mortal who had pledged themselves to all 16 of them. This wasn't just any mortal, either. This was possibly the most foolish of mortals, an amusing prize if ever there were any. He was quite powerful, to boot. Perhaps a bit too noisy, but well worth the soundproofing.
“Naturally, his soul belongs to me. Not only am I above you buzzing maggots, he pledged his soul to me twice. First when he took the mace, then again when he partook of the ancient blood. Stand aside or be crushed,” grumbled Molag Bal, the Daedric Prince of domination.
“Maggots... do not *buzz*...” exhaled Hermaeus Mora, in his usual half-yawn voice.
“Don't need a library and half of eternity to tell you that, ol' tentacles.” The rot of Namira's breath silenced the Princes for a moment. Hircine, used to such smells, was the first to regain his composure.
“Besides, if that's enough to claim his soul, then I have as much claim to it as you! He pledged his soul to me when he partook of my ancient blood and claimed my artifact.”
“You think he is of your blood? This one is a dragon. The blood of dragons supersedes that of dogs and rapists alike, he is my kin and mine to claim.”
Peryite's words went unheard or ignored. He was rather used to it. Malacath gave him a slap on the back, followed by some encouragement:
“Don't worry. You aren't a real dragon anyways, Pery!” Booming laughter from the Prince of outcasts did little to improve his mood.
Rising above the increasingly pitched argument came a flat, nasally voice: “ENOUGH. His hand touched *my* beacon before any of-” Before Meridia could finish with he indignation, Mephala capitalized upon her proficiency in assassination. Wordlessly, the Daedra nodded to eachother, agreeing that what just happened was for the best. Retaking the lead, Molag Bal marched forward and reached to seize the soul by force. His claws, however, were repelled. The dagger-like digits had never failed to anchor in something before. Not anything mortal, at least. The darkness of the forest in which the daedra had chosen to gather was split by blinding sunlight. Molag Bal broke out into a river of profanity.
“DAMNIT. DAMNIT. AKATOSH, DAMN YOU. YOU CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF AND...”
Ignoring the indignant daedroth, a sleepy-eyed dragon, pure gold in color, descended. After a long yawn, he began to mumble.
“Sorry I'm late, everybody,” said the Aedric god of time, apparently unaware of the irony. “I'm, uh... here to pick up my son?” Taking a look at the soul, which was honestly closer to a swirling mass of powerful souls than any individual, he corrected himself. “Oh, yeah. I guess I'm here to pick up several of them, in a way. Anywho, thanks for keeping an eye on him, guys.” Akatosh plucked the soul from the ground with a single claw and slowly retreated towards the midnight sun. “See you guys at the next Convention! Or the last one. It's, uh, out of my realm of expertise. Anyways...” The golden dragon was gone as abruptly as he had arrived, the night sky returning to its normal, starry self. The Princes looked at one another, and wordlessly retreated to their respective spheres of Oblivion. Meridia's aspect dissolved into light, and Molag Bal alone remained. With a furrowed brow, scowl, and limp tail, he pouted. “Stupid divine.” | Mortal coils shuffled in the night at long last. The bells tolled in the north, from the Reach to the Rift and all lands between. Their champion had fallen not to the knife, not fire, not on field of battle, but to the cold, and to time. While Nirn and Tamriel laid restless in their absence, the Old Gods stirred, wrestled from their realms and their crypts and their often fiendish ambitions. While Skyrim mourned, the Daedric Lords descended upon the vessel; the soul of the Dragonborn drifts in the vast emptiness of Oblivion.
Hermaeus Mora rose first, in greed and filth, wanting in waiting to wrench the knowledge of the black books back from the Dragonborn’s spirit; the arrival of fellow Lords spurning him from pressing forward.
Each lord’s realm bled into the vast nothingness. The fires of Mehrunes Dagon, persistently familiar in the minds of many, surged forward as the Prince of Destruction took his steps into the mid-realm. He stood, stoic, uncharacteristically reserved. Not Mora, not Nocturnal, not anyone would threaten his claim.
Nocturnal’s mist seeped through, the Twilight beaming through the open frame. Boethiah slithered into existence, to the dismay of Meridia. The others soon followed suit, and not before long, all sixteen Lords of Oblivion were gathered, for the first time in a millennia. Their presences differed vastly, their power unfathomable, crowded around in a wide circle while the Dragonborn, unbent, stood center. The Dragonborn, with their cunning trickery, soon became evident.
The Dragonborn, for all their wit and careful measure, must have had the forethought to deal with these Lords when the time came. The Dragonborn would never reach the sacred afterlife again. Oblivion was a set course.
In what seemed like an age past, the Dragonborn engaged with the Thieves Guild of Riften, and by extension, the first of the sixteen lords the Dragonborn would come to deal with. The pact made as an agent of Nocturnal would seal their fate forever.
The Dragonborn, for all their faults, has never once laid down to a fate undetermined to their own will. Indeed there would come a time when Nocturnal would come for their soul, but Nocturnal is not the only Lord of Oblivion. Their journey to save their soul began the moment they took step from the Sepulcher.
Carrier of the Beacon of Meridia. Accused murderer of a Stendarr Vigilant. Champion to Azura. Friend of Sam. Bearer of the Vile Mask. The list would go on. Some of the Lords, the Dragonborn would enter into pact with, as with Nocturnal or Meridia. Others, the Dragonborn would bear the burden of committing heinous acts in order to gain the trust of these Lords. There are sacrifices to Vaermina, Boethiah, Molag Bal, even Peryite that line the fabric of this empty plain of Oblivion. In the hope of self preservation, the Dragonborn persisted. They never once claimed to be a saint.
Which brings us to the claiming of the soul.
Nocturnal and Molag Bal, in vitriol unrivaled, argued their claim the stronger. Nocturnal, the first to enter into pact, made the first claim. Molag Bal, notorious collector of souls, sought to reclaim the champion Dragonborn, who spurned the soul-eater by discarding their mace.
Mora’s claim came third, stronger than most. Their time together, however uncomfortable for the Dragonborn, was more consistent than with any other Lord, even Nocturnal. The events that occurred in Morrowind are scarred into the Dragonborn’s very soul.
Azura and Sanguine staked their respective claim not out of spite or greed, but mercy. In the times after the Dragon Crisis, the Dragonborn was a hesitant confidant to both Lords. Not inherently evil, they hoped to spare the Dragonborn of the strain Mora or Boethiah might inflict.
Sheogorath rescinded his claim, the madness that carried him used as a tried and true method of determining the inhabitants of the Shivering Isles. If there was ever a place for the Dragonborn, it was elsewhere.
Boethiah and Mephala staked their claim to the Dragonborn’s soul, yet secretly relished in the game they played, pitting the more volatile Lords against one another. The spirit of the game was admirable.
Hircine’s claim was weak, yet they persisted. Namira and Vaermina sought to subject the Dragonborn to horrors. Peryite and Vile abstained knowing their claims would not stack. Malacath looked upon the Dragonborn in despair, knowing too well the feeling of having no belonging.
Dagon stood, solemn, and terrifying. This was the first time the Dragonborn had gazed upon the Lord of Destruction. Their correspondence ended when the last of the Dawn was put on display on that lonely mountain altar. The Dragonborn stood strong in death, not yet intimidated. He waited for Mehrunes Dagon to stake the final claim.
And then, Dagon spoke.
“You thought this all out long ago, didn’t you. A foolish goal, fitting for a lackluster Champion.”
The flames of his plane of Oblivion spurred out beneath Dagon’s feet, threatening to engulf more of the mid-realm.
“Dragonborn, you championed Oblivion to save your soul in the end. Do you truly feel saved? Safe? *It does not matter, here.*”
The Dragonborn’s soul, old and waning, frowns. A shadow casts upon them, the fire of Dagon’s plane showering light as bright as Meridia’s.
“These Lords will rend, and scrape, and claw at all parts of your spirit until nothing yet remains, and in your passing, you will wonder in agony as to why you held onto this meager hope.
The gates of Oblivion, unbridled, will become your grave.”
A heavy breath escapes the Dragonborn’s lips. Silence follows for what might feel an eternity.
The fires of Dagon, the tendrils of Mora, the open hands of Azura and the darkness of Nocturnal close in around them.
The Dragonborn draws their sword to their side, with thoughts of home. | 2018-06-15T08:35:43 | 2018-06-15T08:27:42 | 242 | 43 |
[WP] Due to a shortage on angels you have had a guardian demon assigned to you instead, he doesn't quite understand how it works but he's very eager to please. | "Ahh! Thank you Gary! Please come in and have a seat." I set down the folder containing Gary's biography and history with the organization as he made himself comfortable.
"Thank you."
"I understand that they haven't told you very much about this temporary transfer, correct?"
Gary nodded.
"I'm not surprised. You're currently working in Mark's department, correct? Mostly doing-"
"Contract work mostly. Some legal stuff."
"So you're an attorney then?"
"Correct."
"Ok. So, what we do here in guardianship is more protection oriented."
"Like, corporate compliance? I did a lot of that back in law school."
"No Gary, not exactly. See, here we're looking out for the client without them knowing."
"I don't follow."
"What we want to do is make sure they don't get themselves into trouble."
"I'm still not following you."
I sat back in my desk chair and thought for a second.
"In your position, you historically have looked out for the company and your own individual interests, correct?"
"Obviously."
"Right. Well, we are basically doing the same thing, except for a different individual."
"So, what I will be doing is making sure an individual doesn't merger and acquire themselves?"
"No, Gary. No."
"I'm still not getting it then."
"Well, let's take an average person. Let's say she's at work, and as she's leaving and about to cross the street, there is a truck rapidly driving toward her. She has not noticed the truck and the driver of the truck has not noticed her."
"AHHH! I understand."
"You do?"
"Yes."
"Walk me through that understanding."
"Well, in that case, I would begin processing a 47-B notice of dismemberment of the woman and begin making sure her family gets the appropriate grieving notifications."
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
"Gary, in your old position, that would be exactly what I would expect. However, here-" I gestured around to the guardianship department. "Here, we would do something to keep the woman from being hit by the truck."
"Really. Huh." Gary cocked his head to the left as he considered this. "So we wouldn't be interested in trying to have her family grieve?"
"No, we really want to avoid that altogether."
"We don't want her killed?"
"No."
"Injured?"
"Preferably not."
"Scared?"
"Well, scared is a fine line isn't it? Because we'd like her to be more aware of her surroundings going forward. But we'd like to avoid a life of trauma. I think we could do scared as long as it were at a low level."
"I'm very excited for this opportunity. I'm not used to helping per se."
"I can appreciate that. It's definitely a different world than legal."
"For sure. Let me ask another question."
"Of course."
"Is it just physical peril that I'm responsible for mitigating?"
"Good question, no. What we're looking for is you minimizing danger and what we like to call Bad Things," I said, using air quotes to emphasize the last part.
"Bad from the perspective of the company or from-"
"From the perspective of the client."
"I see. This is all very new."
"I totally understand."
"So, what kind of client portfolio am I working with here?"
"Well, we're going to have to see. The birth rate being what it is these days and all."
"Sure."
"But my expectation is that this position is going to only be for a few lifetimes, tops. My understanding is at that point, we should have guardianship staffed to the point you can return to legal."
"That's not too bad."
"Not at all."
"So, lets go back for a second to this idea of the client. How does free will play into this?"
"The client's free will?"
"Yes"
"Well, they are free to decide about things however they want and have full ability to make any decisions at any time."
"And can I override that decision if it is stupid?"
"No. There's not much point in free will if the client can't use that free will, is there?"
"So, if the individual is about to a make a mind-blowingly bad decision, I can't just stop them from doing that."
"No."
"So what am I supposed to do there?"
"Well, ideally, you've shaped things for them so they don't get to that point. But in that case you have to roll with the client's decisions."
Gary frowned.
"That's going to take some getting used to."
"Gary, you have no idea," | I tucked myself in. The sliver of gold from the hall light grew as Angela gently opened the door, careful not to wake Baby Bobby (not a baby) sleeping soundly in the bunk beneath me. I raised my head as I propped myself up on my orphan-like elbows. Elbows that haven't seen a loving, legal parent in an elbows-harvest.
"Angela?" I whispered, double-careful not to wake Baby Bobby, who again is not a baby. Angela offered a warm smile then gave me the middle finger.
"Go to bed you little shithead."
Suddenly Angela was smoking a down-to-the-ass cigarette and wearing a jean jacket that had 'I H8 ORPHANZ' embroidered on it. She threw a double whammy middle finger celebration right at me, I winced. Angela slammed the door as hard as she could, being triple extra UN-careful to not un-wake (not really a) Baby Bobby.
Baby Bobby stirred, like a bowl of hot soup that also happens to be asleep. It's possible, you don't know what soup does.
I laid awake, eyes glued to the unnervingly blemished ceiling. My thoughts raced.
*HERE COMES A FLASHBACK TO EARLIER THAT DAY. THOUGHT I'D JUST GIVE YOU A HEADS UP.*
"Dad?" I choked on each - the one word. Holding my own hands for some semblance of comfort. My father, a greasy, porn stached pencil of a man turned to me.
"You know this isn't easy for me son." He said between stifled giggles, eventually managing to govern them. "I know you want to live with me, and shit, who would blame you? I got my job back as CEO of Toyota, I recently won 233.4 million dollars in the powerball lottery and your mother and I are back together. Couldn't be happier. Living a nice, healthy, stable life as of now. No complaints. You know your mother and I wish we could share it with you but..."
"But what?" I asked.
"Well... I don't like the way you wear your hat sometimes. It just kinda bugs me."
"Wait what? Seriously? Okay I'll stop wearing-" He raised both his hands up.
"Ahhhhh yeah but now it's too late. Every time I just... *look* at you I'm always thinking-"
"Dad"
"There's that... that little shitty HAT kid." He shook off the idea as if it was crawling down his back. I was devastated. He gave me a pitiful look. "Listen, uhhh... hey. I'll tell you what. If the Angels win the pennant, I'll adopt you back... or something. Well just in the off chance they do, we'll just play it by ear. Cross that bridge when we get to it, you know?"
There were no words for how elated that made me feel. Not a single word in any language that could precisely describe the joy and relief I felt by what he had said. If any word came close it would be UN-devestated. No, wait, I have a better one: not-devastated. I hugged him. He farted on me.
*OKAY THE FLASHBACK IS DONE NOW, WE'RE BACK IN MY BED AS I WISH UPON A STAR.*
I wished upon a star. It was very underwhelming.
"Please God, I know you're listening. I know you're always listening to me you creamy goose, but hear these words with care. Send me an angel, no wait. No. Send the Angels an angel."
I felt the need to clarify.
"Send the baseball team The Angels, angels so those angels can help The Angels win the Superbowl of baseball. Then my dad will love me again."
The star did absolutely fuck-all. Then it exploded in a massive hypernova.
"HOLY HORSE SHIT BABY BERNIE GET YOUR BLACK ASS DOWN!"
Baby Bobby slept though this too. Luckily the hypernova didn't shower the earth in harmful cosmic radiation that would have surely boiled Baby Bobby and myself alive. I slept a dreamless sleep. Except for the one dream of the earth being showered in cosmic radiation from a hypernova and Baby Bobby and myself being boiled alive. But that was the only one. Well there was another one... It was just that first dream over again. I slept like a chubby panda after that though.
The stadium was big and blah blah we're at the seats now.
"What do you think pitchers do?" asked Baby Bobby while dumping his baseball popcorn on the head of the couple in front of us.
"They pitch the ba-"
"What the hell did you do that for?" The man brushed popcorn off his shoulders. They dribbled between the gum stained seats. The sun shone on them, announcing their matted white mounds. Somewhere Boy George was handcuffing a male escort to his bed.
"I'm sorry sir, my friend has ADH-"
Suddenly the man's head exploded. Nobody seemed to notice or care. It was weird.
"Oh my Go-"
"Don't say that name, it, it annoys me." A man awkwardly slathered in red acrylic paint, donning a cheap plastic viking's helmet appeared. A powerful smell of okra slime drifted through the (previously) predominantly baseball-smelling air. "Please, don't be alarmed." The man started. "The smell of baseball shall soon return. I apologize for my foulness." I froze, but managed a few choppy words.
"Are you a demon?"
"Yes."
"Are you here to help the angels?"
"No."
"The baseball team I mean."
"Oh. Yes."
"For me?"
"Yes."
"So I can get back with my family?"
"Yes."
I slapped my knees like a knee slapper man performing his dangerous knee slap finale.
"Great. Alright, get to it."
Flecks of acrylic paint crumbled to the ground as the demon made his way to the field. Completely naked.
*(camera zooms out to a wide shot as the song "Faithfully" by Journey starts playing)*
I never did see him again. Last I heard he was in hell. But I'll never forget that summer. The summer I met a strange man dressed as the devil who lied to me about his supernatural origin. I never saw him again... oops I already said that. But I didn't. Ever see him again. And I'll never forget that summer...
*"♪ Faithfully... DERRR NERRR NERRRR DUR NER NER NER!!! DEERRR NEEER NEERRR DER NER NER NER! DEEEER NEEER NEERRR DER NER NER NER DEEEERRRRR!!! CIRCUS LIFE! UNDERRRR THE BIIIIG TOP WORRRRLLLD... ♪"*
| 2018-08-14T21:02:11 | 2018-08-14T15:56:10 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] After you laze about in a looped day for years, God finally stages an intervention to tell you that you’re supposed to be trying to get out of the loop. | "Timmy, get up and get downstairs"
That's the 1,152nd time in a row, I've heard my mother calling me downstairs in the morning on my 17th birthday.
I'm sorry, if I neglected to introduce myself. My name is Tim Smith, and I'm a 77-year old retired police officer, who has been reliving his 17th birthday for 3 years and 2 months now.
I should be in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of my arm, next to the love of my life Rose. Taking final glimpses at our 3 wonderful children and 7 grandchildren. Laughing with my old police buddies about the old days a final time. But instead I'm stuck as a child in my parents house.
I tried everything to break this loop in the beginning. Even if it meant my death, in this life or the real world. I refused to get out of bed one day, so my dad developed super human strength and carried me to the kitchen. One day I thought not talking would force everyone out of their trance, but they would keep going as planned without me confirming. And if I say something contradicting the way the day is supposed to go, my mom just smiles and says, "i thought your rebellious years were behind you".
I mean i should be happy.
I get my new car again and again. A red Cadillac coupe deville, that my father never drove. It stayed in the garage for as long as i could remember. Never collecting a speck of dust and only seeing the light of day to entertain his friends.
Hearing mom and dad argue and make up like they used to do when i was younger has been pleasing everyday as well. I've missed them over the years. Rose never got to meet my parents. They passed in a plane crash on their way to meet Rose. I didn't see them for the last 6 years they were still here. I left home right after college and got caught up living my life. A long distance phone call was good enough for me, and it shouldn't have been.
My friend Jimmy, who I totally forgot about, comes by every day at noon so we can ride to the movies in my new car. His face never gets old when I tell him my dad gave me the car. That's probably one of the best parts of the day. Me and Jimmy were like brothers. "Tim and Jim stay away from them" all the neighbors used to tell their daughters when we rode by on our bikes. We weren't much trouble. But we were enough.
I start the car and like always Jimmy's favorite song is on the radio. I used to hate it when i was 17. As a 77-year old reliving his birthday. I've come to the conclusion that it is the worst song ever produced and composed. I tried to turn the radio dial one day so a different song would play when the car started, no luck. Jimmy is fond of it though. And it gives people even more reason to notice us in my new car.
As i pull in the movie theatre parking lot I'm once again left breathless at the sight of, Tammy Carter. 1 thousand times just isn't enough to shake the aura of her beauty.
Tammy Carter was and is still the prettiest girl in our school.
Again, she is two spaces ahead of us at the ticket window. For the last 3 years and 2 months I've watched her drop her ten dollar bill, but would never reach down claim it for her. Instead, I watch and wonder what could be.
As Tammy takes a step towards the ticket window, her money falls right on cue. I look down as she kneels to retrieve it but quickly dart my eyes to the window before she can notice me staring.
This is the saddest part of the day. While I walk into the theatre sulking, Jimmy is following this looped protocol and having a blast. We were really amped to see this movie i guess.
As we walk into the theatre the guy that runs out and knocks over Jimmy's popcorn comes barreling through. He's nice so he offers to buy Jimmy a new bag while i stay behind and clean up the mess.
"You are never going to talk to me are you"
My head slightly moved up to see where the voice was coming from, and it was Tammy. Hovering over in me, while the world around us freezed.
I start trying to talk but it's a mash of deep breaths and mumbling.
"A 77-year old man, still afraid to talk to a school girl huh", she says again with a grin.
I'm completely startled so i ask the only thing that makes sense "what is this"?
Tammy puts her hand on my shoulder and softly says, "this was the best day of your life. You have only repeated this day because you wished you could change one thing about it. But God has come to the conclusion you never will."
A small chuckle escapes from my throat. I'm still a little lost about the situation before Tammy starts again, "you have a choice. You can now go back to the hospital with your family and friends to say your good-byes. Or you can relive the rest of your life from the moment i drop my ten dollar bill."
And as I'm standing there in the ticket line again, i have more anxiety than ever. Tammy is two spaces ahead of me along with a life i know nothing about. My Rose, and our family standing at my bed side, waiting for me to utter my final goodbye. How could i give up what i had for someone i don't know.
Trembling profusely I see Tammy's ten dollar bill majestically falling to the cement pavement. The life i lived flashing before my eyes. The life I pondered about for the last 3 years at my finger tips.
"Hey Tammy, you dropped this."
"Finally", she said.
| Okay, I'll give the Old Man Up There credit. Getting eaten by Locusts had been a particularly unpleasant way to exit the mortal plane. Of course, as always, I woke up right as rain the on the same sunny Monday morning as always.
Anyway, a little context. About five years ago, by my best reckoning, I died. Nothing special, nothing grand. Slipped on an icy step, and whacked my head. No one was more surprised then me when I woke up and it was once again that morning.
I really didn't know what to make of this, but just decided to kind of go with the flow, and made sure to avoid said step. Thing is, right at the time I would have hit my head based on the first time, I fell over dead (I assume). I felt a tightness in my chest, blackness, then boom, Monday morning again.
I went through this two more times before I realized I was in a time loop.
From there, I did what any self respecting human would have done (I think). I went wild!
I've always been vaguely conscious that the time loop could end, so I've never done anything that could really ruin things for the rest of my life (like murder, or anything that would get me tossed in jail for a very long time), but I fell into quite the comfortable loop of winning a lottery, and doing whatever I wanted. I've driven fast cars, played video games all day and night (I've gotten good at finishing any game in about 12 hours, slept with women of every description, and done every drug on the market (I think I even ODed one or two times - those ones get foggy though).
Some might think you would get bored, but the fact is that there is *a lot* to do in the world, especially when you have money to burn. I figure I've got at least a century before I even start worrying about that.
So overall, I was rather happy. Actually, I was ecstatic. I didn't have to worry about the future anymore, because there wasn't one. That took an amazing amount of stress out of my life, leaving me to simply enjoy.
And so everything was going fine until what felt like a giant hand swatted the back of my head and sent me sprawling. Well, I had to admit, that was different. Different was not something I was used to anymore. Following this, different went up a few notches when a man with wings appeared before me in a pillar of flame, and in grand fashion announced "Behold the Metatron, the one who speaks for God." As the flames faded, a guy who looked strangely like Alan Rickman could be seen. I just stood processing this, however the figure was not so stationary. He marched up to me, "What the heck do you think you are doing?"
"Huh?" Was my rather eloquent reply.
"Did it not enter you little primate brain that you might be repeating time for a reason?"
" . . . No?" All said and done I thought I was handling the conversation rather well.
" . . . No? It did not occur to you that the laws of space and time are bending around you for a greater purpose?" The Alan Rickman impersonator seemed to be getting even more upset.
"Umm . . . no?" Master of the witty response, that's me.
The self proclaimed Metatron looked just this side of Apoplectic, but suddenly calmed down. "Okay fine, here's the simply version, God, you know, big fella up above, creator of all things, sometimes selects people who need to accomplish a particular task, and puts them into a time loop until they can complete that task, leading to a better life for them, and a better world. Follow?"
"I guess . . ." I really had lost my knack for handling *different*.
"Well, never in all of history, has no one ever made absolutely so little progress toward accomplishing their goal and ending the timeloop as you have. So God, in his infinite and unquestionable wisdom, has sent me down here to stage an intervention, and to get your ass moving."
"And what does God want me to do?"
"Metatron looked slightly pained, "You have to figure out that for yourself, we're already bending the rules here enough for you."
I thought for a moment, and it occurred to me, I liked my repeating existence. It was fun, and as previously mentioned, not having to worry about "tomorrow" was really great for the stress levels. "I don't want to."
It was Metatron's turn to pause " . . . what?"
"I like it here. I don't want to leave the loop."
"You would defy the word of God?"
"Guess so." I felt I was getting my wits back now that I had made a choice.
"You can't do that! You must follow the edict of God!" The Metatron looked absolutely confused that anyone would outright refuse a guidance from above.
I *might* have been feeling a little cocky. Maybe it was the confusion that the messenger was displaying, or maybe effective immunity to death had made me overconfident. "Make me."
The Metatron was suddenly covered in flames again. A new voice spoke. This one reverberated with such power it was unbearable. The last words I heard before I think my head literally exploded were "So be it." Not ominous at all.
\-
Monday morning again. That last reboot was definitely odd and I think I could do with less *different*. The time loop was still going, so maybe I was just on a bad trip yesterday (though I didn't remember raiding any special stashes), as I was still here and now, and nothing seemed to have changed. Whelp, guess it's time to see what's up. As I walked out my door I noticed a nearby stream seemed to be filled with blood. Oh yay, something else *different*.
And so the plagues came. A new one everyday. Though apparently god has a sense of humor as day number seven seemed to be a day off. I'll admit, I was a bit unimpressed at first. For the most part, staying inside kept the worst of the plagues at bay, though the boils really did suck. All I had to do was dodge the chaos long enough to grab a book I hadn't read, or game I hadn't played, and back to the lair to hide.
Then God got creative. When the full list of plagues had finished, the cycle started over, with each subsequent wave getting more unique, deadly, and annoying. The giant flood of blood that destroyed my house and drown me was annoying. It also turns out a 3 kilogram Goliath frog landing on your head stings, and that was before their skin started being covered with some nasty nerve toxins. There was some other fun ones, like the sick cattle that turned into undead cattle when they died, and insisted on trying to get into my house. This last one had been a real kicker though. The carnivorous giant locusts were able to break through my windows, and they took an inordinate amount of time eating me. It really hurt and most definitely sucked.
At some point the Metatron appeared again and told me this would all end if I just agreed to start looking for a way to end the loop. However, I'm kind of miffed here. I didn't want to be in a time loop, but now I'm here and (was) enjoying it, I don't appreciate God, or anyone else, trying to ruin it for me.
I don't have any illusions about somehow fighting God, but I really hope that I'm annoying Him at this point by being stubborn. How's that for spitting in your eye! So I say "Bring it On, Big Man!"
\*Minor Edits for clarity.
&#x200B; | 2019-02-20T14:23:46 | 2019-02-20T14:02:12 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] There's a knock on your door. You open it to see your favorite book character standing there. They say, "I know this may be a lot for you to take in right now, but you have to listen very carefully; You are my favorite book character, I know how your story ends, and I need to change it."
My first time posting here. Hope I did everything right! | I heard a knock at my front door.
Strange, I wasn't expecting any visitors today.
I walked down the stairs and opened the door.
Standing in front of me was a young blonde woman wearing a bright pink and orange sundress with strange oversized red and blue sunglasses on the top of her head.
"You look just like the cover of your second book you know," the woman spouted out while looking at me like I was some kind of celebrity.
"Huh?" I asked and subtly tried to close the door a little if this was some kind of crazy person.
"Oh, excuse me. I got ahead of myself. I'm Luna Lovegood. You're my favorite book character and I've come here to save you. I brought you some biscuits," Luna said and held up a basket full of sweets. "Not that the biscuits will save you, but I thought it would be a nice gesture since I was showing up unannounced."
"Surrrre..." I started to close the door.
And then the girl took out a stick from her pocket, twirled it, and turned my doormat into a mini giraffe.
My mouth hung open. The former doormat turned giraffe seemed just as startled.
"There we go. I thought you might need proof. Can I come in?" Luna asked calmly.
I stared mystified. A Harry Potter character was standing on my doorstep! That was insane enough. But what I really couldn't wrap my head around was that said character was claiming I was THEIR favorite character. Who would want to read a book about me? It would be one of the most boring books in existence. Was it used to help people fall asleep at night or what?
"Why would anyone want to read a book about my life?" I asked.
"Why would they... Oh! I understand," Luna said absently.
"Huh?" I asked confused.
"Isn't it obvious? The interesting bits haven't happened to you yet," Luna replied dreamingly. |
“Don’t.” He said.
It was the boy inside those pages. I knew it within a heartbeat’s glance. It was not the black hair nor the beautiful face that gave it away. Not even the eyes — though truly do they mirror the night sky in hell. No. I must say it was the anxiety and urgency stretching itself like shadows from where he stands outside my home. He knew what I was about to do.
I stared at this being and I knew that there is no science that I have studied that could explain this phenomenon. This boy was my ultimate love not because of some petty affection but because I saw myself so much in him that a happy ending for him was enough to mend some parts of me. Yet... I felt no urge to smother him with my adoration. I only felt a little disturbed.
“Will.” I did not even know why I felt so lonely saying that name.
“I understand.”
How painfully easy was it for both of us to utter so few words in such strange circumstances and comprehend still the magnitude of each other’s brokenness.
“You are my favorite character. Not even that silly Sydney Carton can rival you. So whatever it is that you are planning to do with that knife, don’t.” He gripped the doorknob a little tighter as if I might actually slam that door in his face. In my numb state, even that was a ridiculous thought.
“You had Jem and Tessa,” I cried, indignant with the unfairness of this boy’s request. He was supposed to know how alone it felt to push other people for the fear of seeing them hurt because of you.
“James is my light as Tessa is my heart.” He smiled a little at the mention of them. “But they were after. Before, it’s different. It was the books that made me feel that perhaps...”
“I am not completely alone,” I finished one of my favorite quotes of his.
“See?” He looked at me with both sadness and frustration in his eyes. “It was books. It was reading about you, most especially, which made me endure that loneliness and hatred I had for myself. But you chose to end it. All I want is to give you the same ending I had.”
“But I am so tired, Will. So tired.” I let go of the other hand holding the knife as I covered the shame and frustration and anger which had all melted to tears in my face, speaking loudly of the weakness in me.
“You,” he stepped towards me and took the same hand which once held a tool to the only freedom I knew of. “You are no more cursed than I am. It is our fault, yes, that we are alone for it was our choice. But it is not our entire fault that we remain broken no matter how much we try to make ourselves whole. We are not angels. We are only humans and we can only try to heal what we can heal one breath at a time.”
I shook my head, “Will, I...” I stopped as he pulled a pen from his coat and drew a rune over my hand.
An iratze. A healing rune.
“You are a writer, right? So write. And heal yourself in every word, in every space in between. Your hands will remind you that there is a part of you that is whole enough to give itself as a gift to this world.”
I nodded once to let him know he is trying his best to convince me out of the path I was about to take. I don’t want to make a promise to the very symbol of my hope and then fail him at the end.
With that, he put his hand on my shoulder and said in a lighter manner, “Let’s meet together once again but in a park with no ducks! I hate ducks! They’re...” He went silent altogether as he disappeared without preamble.
I blinked a few times before I realized that there was absolutely no one in front of me now.
“Are bloodthirsty little beasts, I know.” I sighed and felt a certain burden lifted a little bit. It was the burden of being unconnected, of being alone in your suffering, of fading to oblivion without anyone knowing a piece of it. It was a burden he and I knew all too well. | 2019-05-20T05:19:42 | 2019-05-20T03:57:31 | 45 | 11 |
[WP] You die. You wake up to see an old man standing above you, "You're dead, but you're not safe, none of us are. Take this, be careful which spirits you trust, and never speak to anybody if you can't see their eyes." He offers you a knife. | The knife wasn't anything like what I expected.
Granted, I was a little surprised to still be expecting *anything*, after bleeding out following a car crash. That's meant to be one of the benefits, isn't it, that you don't have to worry about anything any more?
Yet it seemed I still had worries.
The old man had faded away, upward from his feet, his features fading away until his eyes, last of all, ceased to gaze at me- not because he had *looked* away, but because he had *gone* away.
It was simultaneously unnerving and, somehow, perfectly normal. I could not have said how, but part of me knew that fading away like that was perfectly ordinary, if a trifle rude.
The knife was similarly terribly familiar and terribly unfamiliar, all at once.
The blade was a swirl of colors, images rising and falling, growing clearer and murkier, and were it not for the warning of danger, I might have gazed into it for hours, perhaps even days.
Perhaps even *years*.
In its reflection I saw my life, simultaneously familiar and utterly strange.
It was my life, not as *I* had seen it, but as *others* had.
I saw myself a terror, an annoyance, a savior, a comfort. Ten thousand views, ten thousand snapshots of my life, seen from outside, passed through my minds eye in what felt like a mere moment.
And when the moment passed, I was not alone.
I beheld an angel, white wings, golden halo, pure robes covering a body that might have been male, might have been female, might have been both or none.
Covered by light, I could not see the angels eyes.
Instinctively, I hid the knife. As the impulse traveled, rather than my default plan of hiding it behind my back, the knife simply faded into mist that hid in the crevices of the skin of my hand.
The angel spoke.
"Welcome, dear soul, to the ever after, to the magnificence of Heaven. Your journey in life has been long, but you are allowed entry now to the upper paradise, where those souls of greatest strength and merit gather."
"Come," and the angel gestured to a gate that had materialized upon the immaterial floor, opulence beyond opulence, a faint choir seeming to sing whenever I glanced at it, "Enter into your deserved reward."
I tightened my grip, the mist of the knife somehow comforting, and I felt it, and thought.
From the knife came visions of myself in life, my imperfections and impurities, not visually, this time, but directly into my mind. Perhaps that had been what it was doing the whole time.
I felt unworthy, if the offer was a true one. More than that, I felt deeply, *deeply* distrusting of the angelic being before me.
I took a half step back from the gate, and replied.
"I thank you for your kindness, and your offer, but from where I stand, now, I consider myself unworthy. Perhaps, given time, I will heal my soul, forgive myself, and enter."
"For now, though, I fear I must refuse."
There were no more words spoken, from the angel. The light from where its eyes should have been intensified, and with a great sword it struck at me, a blow that I felt certain would slice me in two.
On reflex, I moved to block, to move away. This, too, was translated, and into my hand the knife reformed, and moved to intercept the sword.
There was a clang of metal, harsh and violent, and the echo of it seemed to stain the ground around us.
Fury radiated from the angel, and I felt confused and frightened. I had no idea how a man was meant to best an angel. I had no idea how a knife was meant to best a sword.
I knew only that I had to try. | "Wait!" I shouted, gripping the silver knife in my hand. "Can you at least tell me where I am?"
The man grinned, his blue eyes flaming beneath his hood. "I'm sure you'll figure that out real soon."
He raised his hand, and from the ground emerged a skeletal horse, though in some parts its black hide still clung to the bones. The man climbed up into a decrepit saddle, and as the horse reared up, an undead whinny escaping its lips, they both disappeared in a puff of black smoke.
When the cloud dissipated, I was able to get a good look at my surroundings. I was standing in the middle of an open road, but that was about the only thing I could see, as the rest of the land was cloaked in thick shadows. On either side of the road were hills of grass that led into dense forests, but I wasn't so sure I wanted to go venturing into those woods. I'd always said I'd take my fear of the woods to the grave, and now I had, so I opted to walk along the open road.
It was eerily quiet in this twisted afterlife. There was no sound except the occasional breeze that drifted by, but that brought little comfort. Instead, it seemed to just remind me that the old man had warned me to be careful which *spirits* I trusted, implying that there were more than one, and that some of them couldn't be trusted. And what was with that second warning? About not speaking to anything that didn't have eyes? What kind of things here didn't have eyes?
As another bout of wind brushed by, I clutched the knife closer to my chest, the small act offering minimal reassurance.
Ahead, the road grew wider, and I came to realize that it was because I had reached a four-way intersection. Two faded signs hung from the stop-signs, one of them with the name *Barkley Road* and the other reading *Farring Street.* I watched the road signs carefully, tilting my head sideways as the names rattled through my head. They sounded so familiar, like maybe I'd known them when I was alive? The thought of passing by this intersection in the daytime shook a memory loose, and suddenly I remembered. A blue car. An ignored stop-sign. My door crumpling inward as the vehicle slammed into me, my car skidding across the road.
I remembered the pain, the warmth, and then the release, like exhaling after holding in a breath. My world had gone dark, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up on that road with that old man standing over me. I blinked, bringing my focus back to my current situation, and I glanced down Barkley Road. That was where my car had gone after I'd been hit, but then why had I woken up so far away? I shook the thought away and quickened my pace to a jog.
A little ways down the road, my eyes caught sight of tire marks on the asphalt, and ahead, I saw two figures, one of them hunched over the other. As I approached, a new sound found my ears, like the sound of a lion tearing into a deer, but it was too late for me to back away. The thing had heard my approach, and it spun to face me, dropping the arm of the body it was eating.
The creature was shorter than me by a foot or two, but that didn't stop my gasping at its grotesque appearance. Its face was contorted, scarred, and missing its nose, and just beneath the hole that had been left behind, its mouth was crudely filled with pointed fangs. The eyes of the creature were small and round like a human's, yet it didn't look like the eyes quite fit, as if it had stolen the eyes from someone else and inserted them into their own skull. I swallowed back a stomach full of bile as the creature faced me.
From its back protruded two mangled wings, and despite the holes and tears in the skin, the creature threw itself into the air towards me, slamming straight into my chest and forcing me to the ground. It snarled and drooled as it snapped at my face, its claws trying to tear at my skin, and as I struggled, I managed to push one of its feet off the hand holding the knife. With a rush of adrenaline, I pulled the knife in and stabbed it upward into the creature's jaw, and immediately the thing fell limp, its warm, foul-smelling blood dripping down onto me.
I tossed the creature off of me, reclaiming my knife from its head, and as I rose to my feet, my heart pounding fiercely in my chest, I heard a faint whisper.
"Please... help..." it took me a moment to realize the voice was coming from the body the creature had been eating.
Bracing myself for the gore, I walked over to the body. The creature had consumed most of the man's body, though what was left was an array of gnarled bones and his torn chest, which was what it must've been eating when I arrived. I took a deep breath and knelt down next to the man, placing my hand atop the one that had more than two fingers remaining.
"It's alright," I reassured him, "I'm here."
The man wheezed. "Dark... can't... see..."
My gaze found what was left of his face, and suddenly the bile I had choked down earlier nearly resurfaced. The man's nose had been bitten off in one clean movement, and his eyes were entirely empty, like they'd been pulled from their sockets. My mind fled back to the creature and its ill-fitting eyes. A chill ran down my spine. The creature had nearly consumed every part of this man... so why take the eyes?
The old man's warning echoed in my head. *Never speak to anybody if you can't see their eyes.* Was this what he'd meant? I patted the man's hand one final time, turning my head away as I leveled the knife above the man's head. It was better to do this than let him suffer. At least, I hoped.
As I sunk the knife into his brain, silencing his pitiful gasps, I prayed that his hell had ended. | 2019-07-30T14:16:15 | 2019-07-30T14:10:22 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You were the first person to be born without super powers in nearly a thousand years. When it was discovered that you had no powers you became an instant celebrity. Thanks to this, villains and heroes alike seek you out to either kidnap or rescue you on a daily basis. You are sick of it. | Dear reader,
&#x200B;
This is my life story, hope you like it.
My name is Jay Berger, 35 years old and I am the only non-powered human on earth.
I was a celebrity. It was fun at first but I was sick of it.
Every day I am either being kidnapped by some bad guy or being saved from those bad guys.
&#x200B;
To be honest, I like the bad guys. They are fun and creative. They have elaborate schemes and tend to have interesting live, while the good guys always do the same thing. Beat up the bad guys.
&#x200B;
I have met some interesting people and made friends with them. Then the good guys kill them or beat them up.
So most don’t want to be my friend.
&#x200B;
But 3 years ago, I met Doctor Splicer.
He did not kidnap me, he walked up to me at an starbucks. We started to have a conversation.
The things he told me, I was amazed. He wanted to do something big, but he needed my help.
&#x200B;
He layed out his plan, right there at that starbucks and nobody seemed to notice.
He found a way to become my friend and no good guy thought I was in danger.
&#x200B;
The next year, we worked on his plan. I was slowly moving out of the limelight.
No superpowered villain tried to kidnap me, they all thought Doctor splicer had me.
The heroes all thought I was doing fine.
&#x200B;
I became a nobody.
&#x200B;
The next year I moved in with Doctor Splicer and we had fun.
He was my friend and despite all the fun, we had work to do. He ran tests on me, we worked on the machine.
&#x200B;
It took us 3 year in total, but today we have finished it.
&#x200B;
We call it: Standard.
The original was a machine that steals superpowers and kills the host. It was an idea from Doctor Splicer to kill heroes. But we reversed it. It takes my powers and transfers them to everyone.
&#x200B;
If you are reading this note, that means it worked. We could not get the killing part out of the machine.
&#x200B;
I was the last villain the earth ever knew.
&#x200B;
Welcome to my world now.
&#x200B;
Sincerely
&#x200B;
Jay Berger | I took a look at my new therapist and then let it out to her "It wasn't even nice being famous for being without powers. people come in and out, saying that they're trying to relive the ancient tradition of protecting the helpless."
While writing, She sighed and said "helpless?"
I pondered back "yep that's right, "helpless"..., like, what the fuck, literally two thirds of every super "being" that saves or kidnaps me looks like they're gonna shit their pants if something doesn't go their way and the other one-third that actually looks tough are huge douches that ask for my money that can't take a hit to the balls."
She then looked horribly offended.
"Im sorry for what Im about to say but You know what? All you are is a fucking ungrateful piece of disabled shit who thinks he's so much fucking better than every one else be-"
"Fuck you too" I interrupted as I walked into the hallway though the open door after flipping her off.
I passed by the front desk to grab a sign-in sheet. Ms. Sandis behind the desk then asks me jokingly "another one gone?"
"And another on bites the dust" I joked back while I finished off my signature
"Well see you later, Walt" Ms. Sandis said while I headed out towards the door.
...
"Well at least its bright out" I remark as I walk to a small burger stand named "Good Fellows Meat". It has an okay-ish line length, It looks fives minutes.
I don't really care too much for the line time though, Im just happy that no people tried to kidnap me today. It feels so nice just to think and get your bearin--
And a push to the ground interrupted my thought.
I turn my head to look at some dude with a purple glowing hand. He looks fucking stupid in those purple robes. He also has virgin gamer face.
"Fuck me" i sigh as I get up.
So much for a calm day...
I dust my jeans off and ask "what do you want?".
"I want you to be my hostage, good disabled sir" he replies with his hand aimed at me.
"No fuck yo-- wait what the fuck you call me" I yell.
He then slowly says "Good...Disabled...Sir".
Okay that's a fucking big no no for him.
"walk over here then" I said
"That's the goal" he says while puting his hand in his pocket to
Pull out rope.
He walks from the grass to the sidewalk I am on. He gestures for my hand.
"What, bitch?" I say
"Yours hands, I need to tie them up"
I put my hands out.
"Okay their we go" he says, grabbing my wrist.
I swing a hit at his face that makes him fall over. I grab the rope from him and throw it in the nearby bush. He stands up and starts wobbling and grabbing his left eye.
He aims his hand at me and it starts glowing purple again. I then grab a rock and throw it at his leg. He falls over again.
He starts groaning "oww" and "that hurts"
I stand over him at look at his weeping face. "Poor guy" I say "If you didn't piss me off you'd be alive for a little longer".
His eyes widened really far open "wait what, you can't kill me, that's illegal" .
"Um, actually, I can because self defence is legal" I say while picking him up " so get ready"
"Wait no!" he whines as I drag him to the burger stands.
I wait a moment, then I smash his head against the corner as hard as i can. His head concaves in and starts leaking bleed.
He starts screaming trying to wave his arm. I grab his forearm, pushing the middle of it into the stands edge breaking it in half.
"Please god, No!" he screams out in terror.
I turn him around and line up his spine towards the stand corner and hold it there slightly.
I tell his crying self "you stay in this position" and I walk away from him a certain distance.
I then turn around and start running as fast as i can towards him, gaining speed. As I got to close, I jump with both feet in the air aimed ate his chest. My feet landed and his torso snapped backward.
"Gah, oh god, OH GOD I CAN'T MOVE, I CAN'T MOVE!" he starts screaming as loud as he can, and from the looks of it, his whole body is limp from permanent paralysis.
I kneel over him and say "don't try a stunt like that in hell"
I light a match and drop it on him, immediately catching fire. I listened his melted screaming for a while before leaving.. | 2019-08-13T04:00:11 | 2019-08-13T03:23:54 | 43 | 30 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | I always felt alone as a child, even talking to myself when I felt the need for conversation. It started when I was 4 or 5, I guess; parents were too busy to my many siblings that I only had myself for company. So I talked to myself... and I answered myself. My mother always said, "Oh, she's just playing. Let her be." And it made sense when I was a child. Until I turned 21 and my answer didn't come from my mouth. I found I could duplicate, make multiple copies of myself and I didn't feel so alone.
If I was ever so alone and I needed to talk to someone, I'd split and three people: me, a listener, and someone to make brownies for us. It was always comforting to know someone was there for me, even if it was still me. Sometimes I use them for "evil;" if I don't want to go to work, one of them will. If I don't want to go on a date with someone but they don't take no for an answer, if I need to go to the store but I'm out of patience to leave the house, ect, ect.
But eventually I got sick of myself and left my apartment in hopes of finding new companionship but how does someone with... well, multiple personalities just go up to someone and say, "I'm lonely and would like you to fill the void"?
My thoughts swam with reasons to go up to someone and start talking to them when a voice behind me said, "You should open with a joke."
I made a face and turned with a groan, expecting to see an other giving me advice, and my eyes landed on the face of someone with kind, green eyes, broad, strong shoulders and a smile that warmed my heart.
"Sorry," he said, chuckling. "I didn't mean to interrupt your internal debate but it sounded like you could use some help."
'Internal?' I thought. 'How did he know I was-'
"I can read minds," he answered without even waiting for a question. "I hear everyone's thoughts but yours kind of pulled on me. It doesn't make sense, I know, but I felt like you needed someone to talk to."
I squinted slightly and decided to test this, playing an annoying song from high school in my head until he reacted.
And react he did; he chuckled. "I loved Raining Tacos as a kid."
My mind went... not blank, but in hyperdrive; all my others swarming me with questions to ask until one stood out. "Do you wanna get a coffee?" I asked. Hearing my own voice ask a question that I didn't have to answer made me start to smile.
But what made it bigger was his response. "I'd love to." | My power is unique to me, and me alone. You see, I’ve always believed that current modern society wasn’t for me; it always felt like I was stuck in a prison, and as “free” as I was in this prison, it was still a prison. I’m very introverted, you see, so I’ve always had a hard time expressing myself, and it didn’t help that I felt so much pressure from my family and the world around me to make something of myself. This prison had layers, you could say. You couldn’t just say, “fuck what society asks of you, be you and do what you love if it doesn’t hurt anyone,” that’d be crazy. Instead, you’d get a more indoctrinated response from everyone telling you that if you didn’t follow the trends or go with the flow that you’d never make it out in life, or that if you didn’t do x-thing, you couldn’t become successful. In fact, a lot of people’s artificial happiness were based on the superficial opinions of others and it drained me a lot. Eventually, I just didn’t give a fuck. Fuck this system of people talking down to me just because they never dared to dream and fuck them for never having dared to chase their passions. They were trained by society to be this way and they were trained in the same way to never exceed this low plateau. In a way, I became a trailblazer of sorts. People were drawn to me and followed closely as they too began to chase their dreams and passions.
That’s how it all started.
One day, I met a teenager who expressed his utmost respect for me, for I was the sole reason why he was able to achieve his dream at such a young age. Impressive, right? At such a young age, all I could do was dream and hope for the best, but here was a young man who told me he had already achieved his dream. I asked him what his dream was and in response, he told me, “it’s better if I show you instead.”
I couldn’t believe it.
The young man was... flying. He wasn’t just floating a few feet above ground, he was pushing speeds above fifty kilometers per hour with twists and turns that no plane or copter could imitate. The sight of seeing a fellow human fly in such a manner was nothing short of marvelous. “What splendid technology! How did you come up with such an invention?” I asked in anxious curiosity.
“Technology? Oh, I’m not really that smart, but I kind of just took your advice and believed in myself and my dreams because it didn’t hurt anyone. My dream is to fly and be as free as the wind, to not be chained by the social constructs of society and to never be tethered to anything I’m not emotionally or spiritually invested in. After meditating on these thoughts for a week or so, I went to go play basketball with a few friends and ended up making my first dunk... from the other side of the court. It was crazy! I’m only five feet and six inches tall and I literally soared over the court. You had to be there to believe it. When I got home, I jumped to get to the top of my roof. Then I jumped from the roof to see how high I could jump and I just... never fell down. That’s when I realized I could float! I continued to push these tests and realized I could even move in the air; slowly at first, but eventually I flew so fast that my body couldn’t handle the speed that I was approaching. It’s absolutely insane! None of this would have happened if you never came to my high school to be a speaker for our “Hopes and Dreams” spirit week half a year ago.”
He was the first. Eventually, more and more people came to me, all with new revelations, all with new abilities. It took me a few years to understand the catalyst for this change; the only people who developed new powers were those who adopted my philosophy.
“As long as you don’t hurt anyone, you are free to live your life the way you want to and be free to pursue your own happiness.”
You ask me what my power is, Mr. Interrogator, so I will now enlighten you: my power is freedom at its highest, most noble degree. As long as I never hurt anyone, I am free to do whatever it is I like. My followers share the same sentiment, for we are the misunderstood, we are the forgotten, we are the outcasts shunned by your society. We are the dreamers who dreamed to dream, we are the hopeful who hoped for a chance at happiness. We have never hurt anyone for we understand how it feels to hurt, and yet here we are in this very predicament, Mr. Interrogator, chained at your leisure because your superiors fear us. So I say this now, Mr. Interrogator.
You can never chain us. We will always be free. | 2019-09-08T11:40:23 | 2019-09-08T11:02:00 | 40 | 13 |
[WP] Your power is that anyone will believe what you say, no matter what it is. You casually rob the store, assuring everyone that nothing is out of the ordinary, and later laugh as you offer an outlandish explanation to the flabbergasted police. | I have done things I'm not proud of. I've lived like a wolf among sheep, a god among mortals, a monster among innocents. People have lost everything because of me. I’ve seen the tears in the eyes of families whose houses I wanted, the fear in the stance of men and women I’ve robbed for everything they had ever worked to earn, a lifetime of work stolen away in an instant.
But it wasn’t until people started dying, deprived of everything by my actions, that it hit me – I was the one who wasn’t needed, the parasite on the back of humanity.
I stared into the mirror and drew up all the reserves I could muster. I looked down at the three lines I had scribbled out in preparation.
“You are a kind person, concerned only with helping others.”
I felt a sickening shame as the guilt of everything I had done struck with a vengeance. Tears brimming in my eyes, bile rising, I choked out the next line.
“You are an amnesiac, remembering none of the terrible actions you have taken in your past.”
Everything stopped. I blinked and looked into the mirror. Why was I crying? Who was I? Where? How?
I was holding a paper in my hand. The first two lines were crossed out, and beside the third was a note – ‘look into the mirror and read this’.
I looked into the mirror. “You are a perfectly ordinary human, with no special powers or abilities, and that is good enough.” | I wake up one lazy Tuesday morning with the sun, and the thought of going to school today makes me feel physically ill. I have a big exam today and I didn't study enough last night because I got too wrapped up in my games.
I tiptoe to my moms room to see if she was awake yet, maybe if I catch her in her half awake groggy state I can convince her that I am sick and can't go to school today. I peak into the room and notice her rubbing her eyes just starting to sit up.
"Mom I have a fever, I can't go to school like this. My head hurts so much," I whine just a little bit to make it seem more believable, preparing myself for the thermometer she keeps in her nightstand for when I try to flake out on class.
She sits up and stares at me like she was possessed, "OK sweet heart, " she mumbles in the most monotone voice I've ever heard from her.
*All right that was odd, but cool* I'm thinking to myself as I slowly stumble down the hallway to keep up appearances. I lay back down in bed and pretend to go to sleep until I hear her car pull out of the drive way. As soon as I know for certain that she has left I roll out of bed, get dressed and head to the convenience store for some study snacks, and also maybe to procrastinate a little too.
I finally pick out all my snacks, my shopping basket looks like a 10 year old was given $100 and told to do what ever they wanted with it. When I get up to the cashier he is busy doing something behind the counter and I stand there waiting patiently. I'm in no hurry, and the longer he takes the more time I waste. Finally he takes my groceries and rings them up and asks if I need anything else.
Jokingly I say, "Yeah everything in the register please," as I begin gathering my groceries and hold my hand out for my change. When I finally look up from my task I noticed he has the same stone cold haunted look that my mother had this morning when I told her I had a fever. Mindlessly, he opens the cash drawer and robotically begins emptying out every cent in the drawer, he drops it all on the counter, and smiles at me and tells me to have a nice day.
Dumbfounded I stare at him and just gather the money and leave because hey, free money right?
A couple hours pass and the cops knock on the door.
I answer while stuffing my face full of Cheetos, "Whaffs up?" I say through the Cheetos in my mouth.
"We have you on camera taking all the money out of the register at the corner store down the street. We're going to need you to come with us." The tall one starts to reach for my hand and I laugh at him.
"I didn't rob them, the dude gave me the money outright, check the cameras." I watch as for the third time today the person I'm talking to losses all expression on their face and stares blankly ahead.
The second cop didn't have the same look yet, and began demanding I come with them. I look toward him and state "It wasn't me, you have the wrong person. You need to go back to the station and erase the cameras." Yet again I get to watch as he and his partner robotically walk away towards their car and leave my house.
I shut the door grinning to myself, "BEST DAY EVER!!!!!" I shout as I count my money and my lucky stars for getting away with that mess. | 2020-03-06T11:47:32 | 2020-03-06T09:59:08 | 269 | 168 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant. | All the students were getting up to leave class when he heard, "Matthew, might I speak to you for a moment?"
"Of course, Professor."
Professor Xavier had always been kind to him. Matthew long suspected that Xavier knew he was hiding his full potential but the professor never pushed the subject and treated Matthew like all the other students. He liked feeling normal here. His long standing lie was that he could teleport. Whenever they were required to practice their abilities it put Matthew in a tough spot. The teachers were constantly trying to push his limits and get him to teleport further and further. It's tiring having to run such far distances constantly. Yesterday, the teacher had asked him to try to travel to someplace he had previously been. After faking an attempt for an hour or so the teacher finally relented and suggested they take a break.
"Professor Munroe tells me you had a difficult time yesterday. She was worried she might have pushed you too hard and wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I-I'm fine professor. She didn't push too hard. I tried picturing different places but nothing happened. I don't know if I'm able to teleport like that."
"Well, things happen at different paces for everyone. I'm sure you've heard of Kurt by now?"
"Yes, sir."
"When he first came here, he was limited by what he could see as well. He could travel to anywhere in sight, but beyond that, he was too frightened to push himself. It takes extraordinary strength to push limits set by our minds. In time, I'm sure you will be able to overcome anything you set your mind to."
"Thank you professor."
"Matthew, have you made any friends since you started here? I don't see you with the other students very often."
"No sir, I-I think they are frightened of me."
"Why is that?"
"They avoid me, and I hear them saying things about me."
"Teleporting is an enviable gift. I'm sure they will come around in time."
"I guess."
"Matthew, are you sure there isn't something else? You know I would never use my gift on anyone without permission but it doesn't take a mind reader to see that something is bothering you."
"Professor, c-can you keep a secret?"
"Of course, Matthew. Anything you tell me would be kept between us."
Eyes to the floor Matthew said, "I have been lying to you and the other teachers. I can't teleport."
Professor Xaviers remained quiet as if telling Matthew to continue.
"I-I was afraid if you found out what I can do, that you would make me part of your advanced class. I just wanted to feel normal for once. Everyone my whole life has called me a freak and when I got here, I was just another kid. I'm so sorry I lied professor."
"It's okay Matthew. I understand. If I may ask, what is this gift that you were afraid to speak of?"
"It's easier if I show you."
"Lead the way."
The two of them left the office and went into the crowded hallway watching the kids on their way to various classes. Matthew reached over and set his hand on Xaviers shoulder and everyone froze. Turning to Matthew, Xavier said, "Well, it certainly is an extraordinary gift. The ability to freeze time is no small feat. I can't say I've ever met another mutant with this ability, Matthew."
"Are you going to kick me out of the school for lying to you?"
"No, Matthew. I understand why you kept this from us. It is an incredible burden to have control over time. I imagine it can be quite lonely."
Nodding his head Matthew was tearing up a little.
"Matthew, I'm going to keep this between us until you're ready to tell other people. Would you be okay with having private lessons with me once a week to learn to better control this power of yours?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Very good. Bring us back to real time and let us join the rest of the students. It's nearly time for your next class." | It was a pleasant day, the semester nearing to an end, the summer holidays coming. There was a sense of liminality in the air, the days after exams needless and yet still there. Some of the kids couldn't wait for classes to end and the days be filled with either nothing or extended clubs. Only those who were going home, despite making the choice themselves usually, weren't as excited.
Emily liked the peace of it all. She was one of those to stay and since not attending any clubs, it was the idle time of a year for her - one where she didn't need to use her powers, one when she was normal not for the sake of other, but her own.
Looking up the tree she was sitting under, she noticed a bee coming her way and *just like that*, it stopped in its track, freezing mid-air and just hanging there.
This was the better part of her secret. life can be beautiful but often too quick to be seen, too fast to be enjoyed. There was a pleasure in secretly enjoying what no-one can, a pleasure Emily wasn't ready to give up.
Looking around she noticed Professor Xavier coming around the house, vaguely in her direction and decided this was not the day to talk to him in case he was going her way, getting up and walking away.
" You're easy to find but hard to catch." he found her reading in the library, using her concentration to his advantage, only hoping she won't freak out and run.
She didn't, luckily, looking up.
" I'm not offended, don't worry, Miss Brerry." he smiled a little, knowing that will only annoy her further.
" Sorry professor." She closed the book
" I was hoping to talk to you earlier." He said, positioning his chair so it looked like it belongs there next to the sofa she sat in. "Should have probably warned you beforehand so you wouldn't run."
She stared at him quietly, waiting what will he say, though he seemed to wait for her answer and the silence stretched, as he looked at the book now in her lap.
" Patience isn't always a virtue." he finally looked up to her again, unmoving.
" Only if the other side loses theirs." she shrugged, cracking a little smirk.
" You will find I can be quite patient also." he answered, pleased "Gift of old age."
" Time flies fast when you lived long, doesn't it?" She teased, shifting comfortably in her seat "Years gets shorter as we get older, right."
" It slows down a little, though," Xavier answered, leaning against his armrest "You're quite the philosopher."
" Hardly." She snickered "people always made this observation, right - I'm just repeating it, although... Well, Adrian Bejan wrote about our changing perception of time, didn't he?" She looked at Xavier quickly, seeing him watch her with a soft smile curving his lips as he listened carefully to what she said.
" I believe he did, although I haven't read his paper yet. Though I do remember reading his Physics of life." he looked up, as if remembering something.
" Oh, I liked that one." Emily answered quickly "Through I found it a bit repetitive a bit, at times, it was an interesting take..." She stopped, realising professor Xavier's smile is growing as she spoke, feeling a little discouraged to continue even though he gestured her to.
" I'm sorry." He sighed a little "It's a pity, we don't converse more, I feel like you have a lot to talk about."
" I'm okay." she quickly shook her head.
" Not talking to anyone?" He raised his eyebrows.
For a moment, the silence stretched and she realised she was beginning to forget herself.
" Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?" She didn't answer.
" I know your secret, Emily, you must realise." He said then, looking down to her book again and she felt her breath shorten.
He said it so casually, like... Like...
" How long?" she whispered.
" The day you came." He answered without hesitation, watching out for her reaction when none came immediately.
" Well... I... Thank you for not telling everyone?" He gave her an acknowledging nod "Why.. Why didn't you? I mean why didn't you tell me, that you know?"
" I wanted you to tell me." He shrugged, smiling again "I hoped you'd tell me, at least."
" So... Why are we having this conversation then?" his smile did not put her at ease at all, as he hoped it would.
" You kept up the whole year." Xavier tilted his head "You can think of this school two ways, I'm sure you already noticed - some people simply just study in peace, content in a way - but some learn about their abilities too. Sometimes, what we can do, can be too much for ourselves alone. I want you to simply have a choice."
" I don't..."
" Think about it." He interrupted her "At least for a moment."
She sighed, looking away and he didn't push her, sitting there quietly, patiently until she looked at him again.
" Teleportation is good masking." He said, "I don't think anyone noticed."
" Please don't flatter me." She looked away again.
" I am not." He answered. "But, if you'd allow me a question? Why?"
" Why what?" She frowned.
" Why keeping it a secret?"
It gave her another moment and she began thinking whether running away wouldn't be better than giving one but after a short while she just looked at him, taking a breath.
" Because I'm scared."
And he knew she was telling the truth.
" I'm not ready - I know stopping the time is... is huge, and I don't want that, I didn't ask for it and I want to enjoy the peace for a little longer." He watched her, surprised at how calm she was, admitting all that.
" Weight your options." he answered, "you surely know learning takes the fear away. Know that I could help."
With a soft smile, he reached to his wheels and after she looked away, went away.
" It's summer, Miss Brerry." he stopped himself and turned back "I'd say decide quickly before it's over, but..." Smirking to himself, he didn't finish, turning to go.
*Decide quickly he said*, she thought.
Decide quickly.
Maybe there could be merit in it too.
" Professor, wait." | 2022-11-09T16:36:25 | 2020-07-15T05:23:07 | 9,106 | 513 |
[WP] There are three reasons the Heroes and Villains will call a truce: a world-ending outside threat, a funeral, or... a missing pet | "How long hasss he been misssssing?"
California Boy wiped the tears from his mask and tried to answer. He'd never met Snakemaster before. He was someone else's nemesis. He didn't know what the villain did or why, but he was really thankful for him now.
A dozen others stood around him, awkwardly adjusting capes and looking down into their watch communicators. Only Snakemaster had knelt down and started talking to him, bearing with the small sidekick who was apparently called California Boy as he cried and blubbered and left trails of snot down his face and onto his bare chest. His blue swim trunks were currently spared, but the amount of blubbering threatened to soggy them up as well.
"He..I... I left the door open." The kid said between sniffles. "And... and he got out."
"I sssssee." Snakemaster said from beneath his cobra-like mask. "I asssssume you checked the room to make ssssure he wassn't hiding?"
California Boy nodded with such energy that he looked like a bobblehead that'd been drop kicked.
"And what doesss he look like?"
""He...he 's big and brown and he has sh-short fur. He has big eyes and he likes to rub his wet nose on my cheek and...and I named him stinky because he smells like fish. "
"Ssssmells of fish?" Snakemaster paused and looked around at the other heroes in the crowd.
California Boy was Sunheart's sidekick, but Sunheart couldn't be found. No one else on the beat knew where he was or why the sidekick had been left behind. Kate the Hate had found the kid crying down by the docks, she'd called Big Brigade, who called the Furious Seven, and then it snowballed from there. Heroes called Vigilantes, who then called some Villains, and now there were more superpowers on this shitty dock on the south side than had ever been gathered together before.
At least it was all a mishmash. No one was anyone's big enemy here. The villains didn't know the heroes and the heroes didn't know the villains, which lead to some confusion as to who was who. There was a man in all black leather who carried four swords and had red glowing eyes... and he insisted he was a hero. There was also a man in bright pink spandex who looked very offended when he was asked what kind of crime he fought.
"Yeah." California Boy finally sniffled out. "He...he's a lion. A sea lion."
Snakemaster looked off the dock at the murky waters of the bay. His mask showing nothing, but his back and shoulders bunching up under his copper-scaled costume.
"I found him as a pup. I... I gave him water! I put him in my kids pool! He liked it."
"I am ssssssure he did."
"He liked to bark and he clapped for me!"
"Impressssive!"
There was some commotion from the crowd of supers and they both turned to find Total Breakdown pushing through and waving his Breakphone above his head
"I totes got him! I got Sunheart on the line!"
A ripple of muttering relief went through the crowd. Clumps of heroes and villains broke off and went back to their rocket cars and submarine helicopters.
The phone was passed over to Snakemaster, who took it delicately between two scaley fingers.
"Yesss he issss here." The cobra mask tilted as it listened. "No, he sssssays he lossssst his pet. A ssssea lion."
He pulled the phone away from his mask as the voice on the other end got louder, loud enough for California Boy to hear a few words like 'Idiot,' Told,' and 'Not to.'
Snakemaster listened and his mouth opened beneath the mask, showing fangs that seemed to grow longer as the shouting continued. It was perhaps only six seconds later that his finger jammed down on the End Call button and providing a blissful silenced over the three of them that still remained at the dock.
He passed the phone back to Total Breakdown and thanked him with a nod.
"He... he's mad, isn't he?"
Snakemaster said nothing for a moment. He just knelt there on the faded wood planks, in the dried remains of seagull droppings, and put his hands on the shoulder of the young boy in blue swim shorts.
"Fuck him." He said simply. "Now tell me where you lassssst saw Sssstinky. We sssshall look or him together."
"Really?"
"Yessss, really."
"Okay." The boy wiped snot from his face with the back of his hand and a smile appeared behind it. "Um, I'll show you. Follow me!" | Terri the Terrible quietly and carefully snuck across the rooftops of Night City. A light rain fell during the cool night. She enjoyed times like this. The city quiet, the air fresh and clean, and a cloak of darkness allowing her to move freely. Terri loved Night City.
On the streets below, a single armored truck slowly weaved through traffic, it’s destination the ultra secure branch of the Swiss Bank. She didn’t know what it carried, but she wanted it.
Terri the Terrible, a ghost that lived in shadows, a specter of stealing. Tonight, the shadows crept out in full force, flickering and dancing as puddles reflected the neon lights of the city back up. She smiled. The cold darkness of a rainy night made her feel alive.
She stepped into the darkness, becoming part of it. Her body now a black mist, she quickly and gracefully flowed from shadow to shadow. Slipping through, around, and over the lights that brought the city alive at night, she silently chased the armored truck. Suddenly, a slight, but powerful, sound caught her ear.
“*Fluuuuffffyyyyy!!!”*
She felt the voice resonate inside her, the intensity nearly causing her body to reform from the sleek shadow it had become.
“*Oh please, Mr. Fluffers! Where are youuu!!”*
The voice, powerful and familiar, crackled with fear and despair, pain. She felt drawn to it, pulled away from the armored truck, her mysterious prize. *Damnit,* she cursed herself. She knew she had to see what was going on. She had to leave the truck, the perfect opportunity behind.
Terri softly made her way to the streets before exploding into alleys cloaked in darkness. Large buildings caste long, dark shadows in Night City. Her city, her shadows. She flew through the darkness, picking her path to the pained yelling.
“*Fluffy! Please!”*
She felt she should recognize the voice. Powerful and prideful, it had to be one of Night Cities annoying heroes. Which one? She wondered. Had she been in her physical form, she would have smiled. Maybe the hero would do. Less profitable, but it would make life easier.
A blinding white light stopped her in her tracks. Of course it would be him. Her archnemesis, her rival. Major Daylight, the shining light of Night City.
“Shit,” she muttered. A soft glow of light emanated from him, consuming the shadows, her darkness.
Looking to the sky, he let out a pained cry. His soft glow grew louder, harsher until she couldn’t see him. It was as if she were staring into the sun. The light faded with his cry. Suddenly, he fell to his knees. His glow now gone, she saw him clearly in the dim light of the small apartment’s green common area. She heard his sobs as his head fell into his hands.
Something called to her, pulled her to him. She could strike now. A quick blow to the head would leave him unconscious, unable to shine. Then she could silence him forever. One less hero to worry about, especially when his power foiled her own so perfectly.
Terri stepped forward slowly, silently. She prepared herself to attack, to launch herself through the air as a shadow and reform as she struck. He wouldn’t see it coming, couldn’t hear it.
She found herself taking another step forward, then another. Before she knew it, she was crouching next to the broken Major Daylight. “Are you okay?” She sounded almost as surprised as she felt.
He sighed before looking up, his sad, wet eyes meeting hers. She noticed them widened with recognition, but it faded as quickly as it had come. “My cat, Fluffy, Mr. Fluffers, I can’t find him.” He could no longer hold back the tears. “Please, help me.”
Terri knew she should strike now. He was a hero. His job, his life revolved around hunting her, capturing her, sending her to be punished, locked up. She couldn’t, no matter how much she wanted to. “Okay,” she smiled warmly, reassuringly.
“Thank you so much,” his voice, hoarse from yelling, felt warm and appreciative.
“Where did you last see him?” She asked.
“At home, of course. I must have left a window open…” His head dropped again. “Stupid! Idiot! You’re worthless, you always are.” He sobbed.
“Hey now, just relax. It’s going to be okay.” He looked up at her with sad, broken eyes. “I promise.” She smiled warmly. *Wow,* she thought, *this guy really likes his cat.* She couldn’t help the pit forming in her stomach. The strong, heroic man in front of her was broken, cursing himself. He seemed… normal.
Terri offered him her hand. “Here,” she said, warmly and softly. “Come on big guy. Let’s go find Mr. Fluffers.”
Major Daylight stood slowly, he seemed unsure, unstable. He towered over Terri, causing her to wonder if she’d just made a mistake. Suddenly, he fell forward, hugging her. “Thank you,” he whispered weakly, hopefully.
They searched through the cold, rainy darkness of Night City with no luck. The cat, Mr Fluffers, hid somewhere. It would be nearly impossible to find, as are most cats who don’t want to be found.
They decided to head back to his apartment. “I probably shouldn’t let you know where I live.” He said weakly.
“It’s too late to matter.” She responded. She realized she was smiling. Before she could wonder why, she found her hand in Major Daylight’s. How long had it been there? She looked down at their clasped hands, then back up, to his face red with sadness. Or… was he embarrassed? A soft giggle escaped her lips.
He smiled. “Thank you for helping me Terri.” His warm voice comforted her in the cold night.
“I’m glad I could, Major Daylight.”
“Call me Ethan.”
“Okay, Ethan…” They embraced softly, slowly tightening, pulling each other closer together.
*“Meow!”* The both turned to face the sound and found a cute, fluffy little face staging at them. A purring cat pranced out of the shadows, rubbing against both of them.
“Fluffy!” They yelled in unison as Major Daylight gently picked him up and lovingly cradled him. She liked the cat.
“Thank you so much. I feel like I owe you, for all your help.” he said.
“Don’t worry about it, you would have done the same.” She smiled at him. “Well, I guess I better…”
“Would you like to come up for some coffee or tea?” He asked, voice trembling with nervousness.
She knew she shouldn’t. She was a villain. He was a hero. They don’t visit each other's homes late at night for *coffee*.
“I’d love that.” She pecked his cheek and took his free hand, smiling as she walked inside with Major Daylight and Mr. Fluffers. | 2020-07-29T09:01:54 | 2020-07-29T08:38:34 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] You are participating in a cosplay event, and many people are praising your excellent costume. Here's the fun part - you are not wearing a costume, you have no idea how you got here, and for some strange reason, half of the people here are dressed up as YOU. | My friend begged me to go to this Comic Con with her, but it wasn’t as fabulous as the New York one. This was more the hand-me-down, second cousin to the New York one. It didn’t even have a cool name, literally just being called Fandom Meetup Convention. But since it’s the only convention in the lesser-known Stanley Isle, Canada... we’ll take what we can get.
She insisted we go in costume. I insisted I didn’t. So she dressed as one of those students from Hogwarts... um... I think it’s in the HumbleBuff house of whatever. I went as... nobody. Because dressing up is dumb. Why spend money on something you’ll only wear once? Just dress up for Halloween, you adult children.
We entered the convention centre and boy was I the odd one out. The hundreds of people that gathered were mostly dressed up. And I don’t mean sloppily-put-together-from-the-dollar-store costumes I mean actual custom built, hundreds of dollars costumes... and I’m in a plaid shirt and ripped jeans...
I guess I could say I’m cosplaying Marceline from Adventure time? But my plaid shirt is blue, not red... oh well. Stand out. Be above all these nerds.
We got some comics and fan art then decided to take a break for a little while. Let’s sit through the costume contest. There was a man dressed as a Lobo. Cool. Whatever Lobo is. There was a girl dressed as some Overwatch character. Someone dressed as Castiel from Supernatural, Rest In Peace. And then...
Someone dressed as “Sophie Mayer from Mayer Diary” wearing a blue plaid shirt and ripped jeans. The outfit, I’m not so worried about. What I freaked out internally over is... I’m Sophie Mayer.
My friend looked at me, equally shocked.
“Just a coincidence?” She suggested.
Then another girl appeared on stage in the same outfit. Same character. Then another girl. And another. There were about ten Sophie Mayers.
I stood up to leave but one of the fake Sophie’s recognized me.
“Look!” She shouted. “It’s gotta be Alona Grey!”
Who the hell—
I was rushed up on stage and given a mic. The announcer grinned and said “ladies and gentlemen we are happy to announce the actress who plays Sophie Mayer, Alona Grey.”
“Oh, I’m not... I mean, I’m not... I don’t play anyone... I’m just... cosplaying.”
The announcer was shocked “well, if you’re not Alona Grey, then you obviously win the contest, right folks?”
The crowd cheered.
“But we need to see some ID.” The man nodded. “You know, for the prize.”
“Sure.” I dug into my purse and pulled out my drivers license.
Alona Grey. Height: 5’6” weight: 125 birthdate: 06/08/98
I looked for my friend in the rows of people sitting, watching my world fall apart. If I could find her she could attest to my identity.
She was no where to be found. | It was that damned play all over again! Dean scowled as he stormed through another crowd of teenagers, his eyes narrowing when he spotted a familiar brown trench coat from across the room.
“Cas!” Dean called. He had to bite back a frustrated groan when a dozen other heads swiveled around to look at him. Why were so many people dressed like Castiel? There was a sudden, light tug at his jacket that made Dean pause. He glanced back, his eyes widening slightly at the small boy who stared back at him. He had the same brown, shaggy hair that Sam did, and those innocent, doe-like eyes his little brother had. “Um... Hi?” Dean said.
“Help!” The little boy demanded. “Help me, Dean!” he said. Okay. Little kids mysteriously knowing his first name never meant good news. Dean took a step back from the kid, his eyes scanning the crowd for Sam or Cas. All he saw were strange lookalikes; people wearing ridiculous wigs and trench coats that were too big for them. “Dean!” the little boy whined. He smacked Dean in the knee weakly, his little hands curled into ineffective fists as he kept pummeling the man’s shins.
“Look, kid, I don’t know how you know my name,” Dean began, carefully pushing the kid away from him. “But I don’t think I can help you. That’s something for your parents to do,” he finished. The little boy glared up at him, his face screwing up as he turned bright red.
“My parents can’t help me! They aren’t here!” the little boy snapped. He stomped once, his lower lip beginning to quiver as tears welled up in his eyes. “My sister said you’re a hero, like Batman. I don’t know where she is! So you have to help me find her,” he said. Dean’s face softened a moment before he heaved out a loud, long sigh.
“Alright, kid. Let’s go find your sister,” Dean said. “What’s her name?” he asked. The little boy grabbed at his hand, his face still scrunched up a bit as he thought.
“Judy. But she said her name was Castiel today! She let me call her Cas,” the little boy explained. Dean quirked up an eyebrow at the nickname, and nodded slowly. “My name is usually Tod, but today my name is Moose!” he added, grinning as he looked around the crowded convention hall.
“Huh. Y’know, I call my little brother Moose,” Dean commented. He spotted a help desk off in the distance. “C’mon, Moose. I think the man at that desk can help us find your sister,” he said. Tod frowned as they began walking.
“Hey, how come you can’t just use magic to find her?” Tod asked. “My sister says you use magic stuff in your show! Isn’t that more fun?” he asked. Dean resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose tightly. Great. This time, it wasn’t books. It was a show, apparently!
“I can only use the uh, ‘magic’, when there’s an emergency,” Dean lied. “It’s a last resort kind of thing,” he said. Tod nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer, and they made it to the help desk without any more issues.
“Excuse me!” Tod said. The man at the help desk smiled politely at the little boy. “I need my sister. She’s lost, her name is Judy Jones,” he explained.
“Alright! We’ll have Judy Jones here to collect you in no time, little buddy!” the man exclaimed. He spoke to a woman behind him quickly, and Dean grinned when there was a loud page over the speaker system for one Judy Jones. It only took a couple minutes for her to appear, nearly in tears as he swooped her brother up. Dean was surprised when he saw his brother trailing after her, an equally surprised look on his face giving him the idea that they’d both had an interesting day.
“Judy!” Tod squealed. “Judy, I got to meet Dean! He’s just like Batman!” he exclaimed, seemingly unaware of just how panicked his sister was.
“Tod, you scared me half to death!” Judy said. Dean couldn’t help but snicker when he recognized the tone in her voice. It was that delicate place between anger and relief, the kind that only the oldest sibling could feel, and he bumped shoulders with Sam lightly.
“I’m starting to think we’ve landed in some strange, alternate universe, Dean,” Sam said. “That girl knew my name already, and she knows who Cas is, too. Think it’s like the time Bob wrote those books?” he asked. Dean nodded, the gears in his head slowly turning as he got an idea. It seemed like the universe was always one step ahead of him, though, because he heard a rather bemused voice call out over the speaker systems.
“Will the men known as Dean and Sam Winchester please come to Help Desk Three? Your lost friend is waiting there for you,” the voice explained. Dean and Sam exchanged a brief look before they both grinned.
*Cas.* | 2020-11-21T22:40:44 | 2020-11-21T22:19:29 | 296 | 187 |
[WP] Bartenders serve drinks as a side job. Their real profession? Hunting down every person named Bart. You are the last Bart alive, and they will stop at nothing to kill you. | "You understand it's nothing personal kid. I just got a job to do." The bartender said.
"What job? You serve drinks for Gods sake." Bart replied.
"Oh that, it's just a front for information gatherring. After all who do you tell all your problems to?" The bartender said maliciously. "As for the job well didn't you wonder why we are called bartenders?"
"So this is it, your going to kill me in this basement all for the sake of a stupid pun?"
"Its not a stupid pun, it's a sacred order an ancient band of brothers in blood."
"Of course it is." Bart said rolling his eyes. "It's just a little on the nose though. Why didn't you at least use an anagram, something that makes people think a bit."
"Like what? What possibly could be better than Bart Ender?"
"If I tell you will you let me go?"
"No."
"Fine, you tender bra." | I sat at the bar and got a glass of cold beer. After nearly getting squashed under a steel beam that fell from a crane at a construction site, I needed that beer, my nerves were jangling, and a faint covering of dust hovered about me excited by even the hint of a breeze.
A woman sat next to me. The dust irritated her, and she sneezed. The bartender handed her a tissue, turned towards me, and said, "Do you mind removing that jacket? You have a lot of dust on you."
"Sure," I said.
The bartender waited. He didn't question the origins of the dust and grime, very professional. Too professional for this dive. But it was all for the better as he took my dusty old jacket and put it on a stool on his side of the bar.
"You can continue, the beer will get warm," he said and walked over to the other side of the bar.
The beer, yes, I had forgotten all about it. It was warmer now. The condensation around the glass was heavy. It still looked nice, and I brought it up to my mouth to take a sip when a faint whiff of garlic entered my nose. I put the beer down and looked around, no garlic in sight. The bartender caught my eye and smiled as I took the glass with me and stood up.
There was an old man at the bar. His head was down. A half-empty glass of beer stood by his side. The bartender stared at me. I didn't buckle. I peered into the old man's glass and smelt it. No garlic. Then I smelt my glass. Garlic.
"What are you doing?" the bartender asked.
I couldn't quite place his face. Maybe he didn't know me. Maybe he did.
"Nothing," I said. "Someone slipped some garlic into my beer."
"What?"
I handed the glass over to him. He caught a whiff of it. "No garlic, none," he said.
I took the glass back. The smell was stronger than ever. The bartender appeared flustered. His interest in me and my glass of beer was too strong, too suspicious.
I circled back to the woman who moments ago sat beside me and asked her to smell the beer.
"It does smell a bit garlicky," she said.
The bartender watched us keenly.
"I'm not going to have it," I said. "Yours if you want. Haven't sipped it even."
The woman squinted at me, trying to gauge if I was for real. I placed the glass down on the bar nodding towards it. The woman's hand reached towards the glass, and she clutched it in her hand, but the bartender sprung to action and snatched it from her.
"Give it to me," the woman yelled. "I'm not going to drink it!"
All that meant was that the drink was intended to be splashed on my face. I took the cue, and without a goodbye, walked out of the bar. My nerves were worse than ever. The garlicky smell of warm arsenic still lingered in my nose. Of course, I knew it was arsenic. I just needed to be sure. Agent Bart 009 was not to be fooled so easily, not to be killed, not that day. | 2021-04-25T09:18:51 | 2021-04-25T07:41:27 | 109 | 65 |
[WP] It started as a spur of the moment trip with your friends. Despite your best efforts you are the only one left alive and the slasher is closing in on your position. While you lament the loss of your friends now that you are alone... Now you can show the slasher what a REAL monster looks like. | An indescribably potent mix of emotions surged through me as I heard a scream ring out and immediately cut off.
Fear.
Panic.
Disgust.
We had been lured here by the promise of a tranquil weekend at the lakeside cabin. And we had been picked off, one by one, by some unknown psychopath taking advantage of the unfamiliar terrain, moonless night, and copious amounts of alcohol to cull a group of twenty-somethings. But the sight of blood had sobered me completely. Our group of eight didn’t last an hour.
Bitterness.
Could have stopped it.
**Anger.**
My fault. All my fault.
***Rage.***
A sphere of energy radiated from my body, creating a dome over the entire site. A bird attempted to take flight as it hit, only to flutter to the ground, its balance shattered. But as the edge expanded, it reflected back to me. And I felt the differences in pressure; the trees reflected like *this*, and squirrels and birds like *that*. The corpses appeared *thusly*.
And the one who had stalked us looks like that. The reflection of the man looked around and reached for his head, as if his ears had just popped unexpectedly. I expect he had kept us under surveillance the entire time we were here. Probably on cameras accessed by the cell phone he just took out of his pocket. But that’s ok.
I *want* him to know I am coming.
I reach into the emptiness beside me and pull a tan duster from elsewhere. I twirl it around in front of me as I slip my arms in and tug it on (just a little theatrics, just in case the fool *is* watching). A cigarette appears in my right hand, and I *snap* a flame into existence above with my left to light it.
As the smoke hovers around my face, I realize that the flash of rage that threatened to consume me has calmed to a simmer, the bubbles not quite breaking the surface. I feel a bitter smile pulling at the corner of my lip.
I reach out and grab the smoke. As my hand closes around it, the smoke stays in my hand; a tube of cigarette burnings seeming frozen in space. I turn my hand and slowly blow into it. The smoke flows freely from the other side of my hand, spilling out and flowing across the ground, turning into a dense fog that slowly rises throughout the woods, as tall as a man and thick enough to limit a normal person’s vision to a few feet.
I feel him moving through my bounded field. I follow, my footsteps echoing through the fog.
I *want* him to know I am coming. | How did it end like this?
The summer vacation between friends, the tragedy, the revelry.
A simple camping trip between friends in the German black forest. Wide stretches of woodland to get lost into and inhale some nature. The trees were tall, the hills wide and high, the air pure, and the noise different from the bustling city-life they were used to.
Malcolm needed it the most. He had organized the trip, scouted the location and invited his friends. He needed a respite, a pause from the constant smile and good humor expected from a man larger-than-life both in body and character. A week in the middle of nowhere without appointments, alarm, where he could lean back against a tree and gaze at the night sky, free of worrying about tomorrow's work.
Alfie the cynical wise-cracker would come along, they knew each other since birth. Magdalene too, Malcolm didn't want her with them but she was Alfie's latest girlfriend-for-life-this-time-for-real and he wouldn't budge without her. Jane the skinny smart-ass would come too, she was the oldest of the group but her jokes made people think otherwise. Finally, Alphonse and Raymond, experienced hikers and outdoors men, would complete the group, they had the experience to keep them all safe.
One week, one week of peace and quiet.
They found the perfect spot. The top of the hill where they planted the tents was bald, a mountain in the back dominated them from its height while the rest of the valley was in plain view, overrun by untamed nature.
They dropped sleeping bags and rucksacks, and enjoyed the sound of the wind. Six friends, lost in the middle of nowhere, just as they wanted. The sun went by lazily, and with the oncoming cold they retreated to get some sleep until late in the morning.
Malcolm struggled to stay in the tent when the sun went up. His city-dweller reflex to get up at the first ray of light still burdened him, and it was with an annoyed grunt that he stepped out into the cool morning. Not that he minded, the valley waking up to the sun was a beautiful spectacle. Light washed over the hills and trees slowly, only interrupted by the occasional cloud. Birds chirped and Malcolm's skin was slowly warmed by the sunlight.
He heard a chuckle.
That's when he realized Alfie and Magdalene's tent was already open. Pudgy Alfie and tall Magdalene could not be more mismatched, yet they managed to take strength out of it. On one detail did they found common ground: both were permanently horny.
And the chuckle Malcolm heard was a not-so-innocent innuendo. He knew it well, he once had to shoe them into a bush to make sure they wouldn't just shag in the middle of a party.
But now no one was here, and Malcolm was in good mood. He departed in the direction of the sound, hoping to catch the lovebirds.
The undergrowth was dense. Despite the lover's complete absence of inhibition, they had chosen the thickest bushes they could find, it felt almost disappointing. He found them next to a massive oak, and hadn't expected to get to see so much of their intimacy.
Alfie was hanging from a low branch, both halves of him. The body was emptying itself from blood drip by drip, right onto Magdalene. She lay naked, two wound ran from the sides of her mouth and rejoined at her navel in perfect symmetry.
"Oh shit. Oh shit!"
Malcolm ran back to the tents, shouting warnings for his other friends, hoping to God they hadn't gone on a walk too.
They hadn't.
In fact, Alphonse and Raymond waited for him, at least their severed heads did, looking at one another with empty eyes. The trail hinted that the bodies were still inside, Malcolm had no desire to check.
Jane's tent was empty.
He heard a chuckle from the edge of the trees. How foolish he had been, now he recognized how different the voice was.
Steeling his nerves, he went for it, hoping to save the last remaining friend.
Lost in thoughts to give himself courage, he did not see the shadow lunging at him.
The wooden branch, crudely designed into a spear, pierced his belly and pinned him to a tree. The woman was small, almost cute, save for the slasher grin she sported. Her eyes glinted with a near-orgasmic bliss brought by the bloodshed and the twisted art she was composing with the bodies of tourists. She was close. So close.
One step more, Malcolm thought, go on, one step more. To grab you, squeeze you. How victorious it would feel. The tender skin tears under my strength, my thumbs plunge in the wet sockets of your eyes, robbing you of sight as you scream in pain, they make my blood run hot, the spear is a minor detail. The bones break one by one, and I show you, oh yes I show you.. | 2021-10-07T10:43:51 | 2021-10-07T09:45:09 | 117 | 66 |
[WP]: You disposed of the body of your coworker, cleaned the crime scene, and have an airtight alibi. You gotten away with the perfect murder and no one knows anything and none suspect you. Not even your victim when they appeared at workplace the next day. | **Part 1** [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/rp93in/comment/hq8832s/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/rp93in/comment/hq88ank/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
=================
Cecil had a bad feeling as he walked in the front door at work. He knew he’d left no trace, but there was always a chance, just the barest chance, that he’d forgotten something.
A spot of blood. A cracked mirror. A security camera faithfully recording the last moments of his latest conquest.
Cecil had been doing this for a long time. At a company this large, this corrupt, it took time for people to notice disappearances.
Some people likened these corrupt multi-national corporations to Hydra. Cut off the head, and a new one grows back angrier than ever. Then, it’s back to business exploiting the poor, sucking at the swollen teat of the government, and destroying the environment.
Cecil knew this wasn’t quite true. When a company offered its head to the court of public opinion, it wasn’t capitulation. The head was already severed, presented on a silver platter, and a new one was growing in its place before people could react. Status quo.
True disruption took much more than that. Disappear the head, but keep things going just enough that they can fall apart further down the road. Let the rot set in.
As he strode to his office, Cecil reviewed his plan. Harry was on vacation this week, and nobody would expect him back until Monday. That gave him plenty of time to make alternative working arrangements and excuses.
Cecil began scrolling through flight plans on his phone, but stopped short of his office when he bumped into someone standing in front of Harry’s office.
He stumbled, then he realized just who it was.
“H..Harry!”
Harry dropped his coffee. “Shit! Watch where you’re going Tom! You owe me a coffee.”
Cecil stared dumbly at him for a second, then snapped out of it. “Harry, I thought you were on vacation! Isn’t your flight out-of-town today?”
Harry was bending over to pick up his cup and looked up at Cecil.
“Vacation? That’s next week. Please tell me you have the quarterly financials ready. I want to review them before I leave.”
Cecil had given him the report last Monday and Harry had approved them on Thursday. “Um, yea. Check your email, should be there.”
He stumbled over to his office and closed the door behind him. He wasn’t imagining things, was he?
The computer verified: He’d sent over the report last Monday. Harry’s calendar showed him as “OOO”. Harry’s email password, which he’d found on a post-it note in Harry’s home office, was valid.
Something was very wrong indeed.
=====
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/rp93in/comment/hq8832s/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/rp93in/comment/hq88ank/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | Phew. What a tough night it’s no different from the last time but it never gets any easier to lug the corpse into the vat of solvent solution that I have perfected over the course of many years. It is even designed to balance out while also using no toxic chemicals so I can just dump it into the river. I haven’t been caught in the 25 years I have done this. However I make sure to leave a little something to show it was my handy work when a person goes missing. For two reasons I don’t want anyone else taking credit for my work and two I don’t want anyone getting in trouble for my work. If all of the suspects couldn’t be around for any of my past kills they can’t be charged since this is all one person. I even have little black light pattern I always leave to prove it was me. This mark number 147, 147 people I have deemed un worthy of life. And you may think I was a bit extreme but this guy was the person in charge of my team in my company. He would claim all of the bonuses for his “excellent leadership skills” while passing down any punishments. I have also killed pedos, abusers, even other killers that don’t have a good reason to be killing. And the general public knows this very well. Whenever I leave my calling card and it turns out the person I killed was just a menace to society and not in the eat cereal with water kind of way “magically” the case becomes lower priority. I of course leave apologies for their families. However I just couldn’t stand this guy.
The next day I went to work like usual. And when I arrived everyone was actually in a slightly better mood. When I asked why the atmosphere was unusually light the responded I got confused me. “Gabriel said he’ll be a few hours late today. We won’t have to be near his insufferable presence for the first few hours of the day.” I knew I killed him last night. I had the vat filled with his body sludge in the abandoned warehouse to prove it. Now I wasn’t going to because even if it’s the physical and human manifestation of satan killing a human gets you jail time. Later that day Gabriel walked in and you could feel the entire negative atmosphere he created just roll over everyone. You could even not have a direct line of sight over him and know he walked into the building. As we continued to work one day a few pizza men walked into the office and delivered a bug delivery. Gabriel then said something no one would ever expect. “Last night I did a bit of thinking and realized I have been a terrible person to you all now I know this doesn’t cover everything but this is the best I could come up with. Bow everyone enjoy this massive pizza party eat as much as you want we have 30 pepperoni pizzas for 30 people. Just try not to get grease on your computers they _are_ company property.”
After the pizza party we were told that we can go home right after finishing whatever thing we were working on in the moment and have the rest of the day off. Of course I jumped at this and right as I finished I rushed straight to the were I kept my vats of body destroying juice. It took about 24 hours for them to become a liquid so if I hurry I may be able to confirm if be somehow survived the solution and somehow got better. Even if it was him he shouldn’t have any skin by now and have sever muscle mass loss. The fact that he can stand. However when I arrived I saw the vat and when I looked inside I saw human remains. Now if they were Gabriels who’s to say but then I turned around to shouting. “Haha, we finally got you.. old friend” I turned around and saw an aged man. Someone I haven’t seen in person for about 20 or so years. Inspector Joshua. When I first started doing this Joshua managed to catch up to me and see my disguise. I then requested whenever someone was going to chase me down it was gonna be him. In hind sight it was a bit of a risk but it made this so much more fun. This game of cat and mouse was some of the most fun I had in all of my time. I have had over 147 kills around the country, each time they came close to catching me Joshua was always tight there a step ahead. “Hey Josh I have one question. How?” “Well after lots of math and calculations we figured out you had to be in this town. We also figured out you worked in this building and based on the skills you presented you had to work in your specific field. Now remember a few week ago when that intern left? That was an agent of ours.” “You did good Joshua. But who was the guy who was acting as Gabriel?” Ph that was his twin brother.” “And how’d you know I was going to kill him?” “We didn’t we had fake pigeon drones fallow everyone on your team.” “Wait then how didn’t you catch me on the way to his house?” “Well on that regard you actually got crazy lucky these birds have enough storage and battery life to last f weeks. You happened to leave during the few hours we needed to recharge and download the video footage to be analyzed. But when Gabriel was reported missing I was notified of your calling card. So we simply had to follow everyone one more day to see what you did with the body. In all honesty who wouldn’t check the body of a dead man after seeing him walking around and ordering pizza?” “Hehe well our little game comes to a close it’s been fun huh.” “Your right Reginald Remdruer. It has been.” We then shook hands before I was cuffed and brought to jail. I accepted my fate as there was no getting put of it. | 2021-12-26T19:09:14 | 2021-12-26T18:35:31 | 230 | 22 |
[WP] In what seems like a cruel prank by a bored God, people started developing powers based on their worst fears. people afraid of heights got the gift of flight. arachnophobia? get the power of spiders. phasmophobia? necromancy/ability to speak with the dead. Your power is... hard to explain... | I walked through the back allies, the worst ones in town, to get home from work. They were dirty, and stunk of things best ignored. If you could. But it didn't really bother me. My power wasn't flashy, but it worked when I needed it.
Four young men and two women came out from various hiding spots as I passed an intersection of six different allies. It had a fairly large open space, as this area wasn't a planned layout - the joke was this city was planned by wandering cows, but it was probably just how the swamp was filled in. One woman was sparking, seemingly not fully in control of her power, but she didn't seem bothered by it. She was either good at hiding her fear, or the thought of inflicting it on others was more enticing than the terror. The rest seemingly had better control, but I knew they wouldn't ambush someone else in this town where all the powers got sent unless at least a few were high tier.
Yeah, all the people who get powers get exiled. It seems everyone fears the different, I guess.
The scrawniest of the lot got in my face as the rest surrounded me. Given how fear caused powers, I figure he must have the strongest one. Bullied as a kid? Fairly common story. I once encountered someone with swirly based powers. I snorted, thinking of what manifestation wedgie based powers would take. He did not like THAT, certainly.
"If you give us all your money and cards, and your PIN, we'll at least let you live."
I sighed. Third time this month. I had hoped word had gotten out that bullying others had consequence's now. Well, maybe it had and they thought they were too strong to have problems. That kind of thinking has always backfired on people. The last place I trolled for criminals didn't take this much effort. It's hard being a 'superhero' in a town of powered villians.
"No. Go away. This is your only warning."
The group laughed. The scrawny ringleader leaned into my face and shoved his finger into my chest, probably emulating a past abuser. "Do you have a death wish or something, little girl?"
It's a bit cliché, but at five foot even, I do have a bit of a Napoleon complex. I triggered my power.
The woman who had been sparking suddenly screamed and started twitching. The other woman's clothes caught on fire, and she joined the noise, rolling on the ground ineffectively, her own power reigniting her as she extinguished the flames. The boy in front of me inflated - no, that's not quite right. His muscles started to grow, as he gained definition and a six pack that showed when his shirt ripped. He glanced down, startled, and then his eyes widened as his muscles went from growing impressive to growing out of control, his skin tearing from the uncontrolled growth. He backed away in terror. Another was surrounded in a pillar of water - fear of drowning, most likely. Another gained facepaint, white, and his clothes turned black.
He looked like he was screaming. No noise came from his mouth, however. A *fear of mimes? Really? How did THAT happen?* A red glow came from below one of the others, and blackened hands reached from cracks forming in the ground and started dragging him to, presumably, his own personal hell. The last one just had his clothes vanish. Another common one... But that probably meant a beating wasn't the only thing on the menu for them. He tried covering himself, and suddenly his hands were cuffed behind him, his own power forcing his exposure to the elements and prying eyes.
"How?..." He asked, trying to move behind a dumpster for cover. As his feet sunk into the ground, stopping him from moving, I started walking again. At least this group was unlikely to try anything ever again. None of them would be permanently harmed. That's not how my power worked. That wouldn't be cruel enough for it.
My dad was a history scholar, you see. He wrote several biographies of US presidents. And, naturally, I read them. I always took one speech to heart - it helped me get over my fear of my bullies, my terror at the prospect of losing my mom after my dad died - shortly after the powers were first granted to adults and none of them had control - and even the small, day to day fears a person has. Things could be a challenge, of course. But FDR had it right. There's only one thing to fear, isn't there? | "Thalassophobia?"
I nodded, rolling a thumb in circles over the back of my hand nervously. "Y-Yeah," I replied, my eyes unable to meet the doctor in front of me. "Though it's a little more complex than the traditional definition..."
The psychologist leaned forward slightly, their face a calm mask. "Enlighten me, if you will."
I took a shaky breath and continued. "It's a combination of thalassophobia and basophobia the fear of the deep ocean and the fear of falling. It basically has become a fear of the deep, whether it's in the ocean or..." I felt my chest tighten and my breath hitched at the mere thought of the deep and its oppressive presence.
The psychologist put out a comforting hand and pulled my attention to their kind eyes. "If you don't want to continue, don't feel pressured to do so..." They said slowly.
I took a deep breath and shook my head. "No, I'm fine." I gathered my thoughts after a moment and said, "It's a fear of the deep, whether it's the ocean or space. Just not being able to see its end..." I shuddered, gripping my arms tightly. "It makes me feel like I'm going to be consumed."
The psychologist wrote down a few notes and set their clipboard aside, glancing at a clock on the wall. "Well I'm afraid that is all the time we have today. Next week, let's touch more on this and how it has affected your life, okay?" I opened my mouth to say something, but then I hesitated. I mean, how could I explain that out of nowhere, I had suddenly become some sort of super-person? That my power was something I was terrified of?
Before I could work up my nerves to say something, the psychologist stood up and opened the door, signaling the end of our session. I grabbed my jacket and walked out past a few other patients, all of whom avoided my gaze. I stepped out of the office and glanced back to the writing on the door. It read, *Doctor Mackelmore, Phobia Analyst and Treatment.*
I walked out into the afternoon light and pulled my jacket around me. It was the end of summer and the fall chill was sinking in, the leaves turning into various shades of yellow, red and orange. I pulled a cigarette out and lit it, taking a deep drag to steady my nerves. I held the smoke in for a moment before letting it all out in a cloud around me. I knew it was bad for me, but it didn't really matter anymore considering my... abnormal physique.
I rummaged for my keys for a second before finally finding the one to my car. I settled into my seat and flicked my cigarette out the window, turning on some soothing music and smoothly pulling out of the parking lot.
I drove through the streets of Juneau, Alaska as I listened to some synth wave, the music soothing my mind. I wasn't always this nervous, but my visits to Doctor Mackelmore tended to make me more anxious than ever. I turned a corner and smiled as I saw a nearby park, families and children playing together. I had used to go there all the time when I was a kid with my older brothers and sister. Eventually they had all moved away, living their own lives all over the world, but no matter where I went I always found myself drawn back to here: my home.
I was deep in thought when all of a sudden something hit the side of my car. Before I knew it, I found myself flipping violently through the air. I remember thinking that I should have worn my seatbelt before slamming against the roof, knocking myself out.
I blinked awake after a few moments, groaning as I tilted my head. I winced as I gingerly touched my head, blood immediately coating my hand. I could smell something burning, and felt the heat of the wreckage slowly rising as I started to pull myself out of the car.
After a few seconds I was able to get out of the burning vehicle, completely turned upside down. I slowly walked over to the other side where I was hit and felt my heart drop as I saw two massive imprints in the doors. They looked almost like... horn-prints?
My head slowly turned around as I saw two figures walk through the smoke. The first was a thin man who had no hair and was covered in some sort of liquid, the fluid constantly moving around his body. The second was a fur covered brute with hooves and two massive horns sticking out of the side of his head. He looked like a giant moose of some kind. It looked like these guys were afraid of drowning- a pretty common fear that manifested in a lot of different ways- and... moose, I guess?
I fumbled for my phone and was about to call 911 before the fluid covered guy flicked a finger at me. A spike of liquid shot out and pierced my phone like it was tissue paper. I let out a cry and fell backwards, trying to put some distance between myself and the duo. The fluid man held out a hand and more fluid came out, wrapping around my body tightly.
I struggled against the restraints as the two strangers walked towards me. "Hey Reservoir," the moose guy said with a snort, "Wasn't this guy supposed to be tough? What's got the bosses all worried about?"
The fluid guy- Reservoir, apparently- just shook his head. "I don't know, Moosquatch. I think they're worried that he might figure it out."
"F-Figure what out?" I grunted, the liquid around me constricting. Moosquatch grunted and said, "The secret on how to control your powers. It's pretty simple, really. You just gotta-"
Before he could continue, a tendril of liquid slapped him upside the head. "Stop talking, moron," Reservoir said. "Let's just kill this guy."
"Wait!" I cried, but it was too late. The fluid enveloped my head and I found myself unable to escape. I struggled for what felt like hours, scrabbling for some sort of control as I felt my panic grow and grow.
"I don't know why the bosses thought you would be so dangerous," Reservoirs voice echoed around me. "I mean, you can't even control your powers!"
As I started to blackout again, I started reaching down towards the bottom of my shirt. The fluid had a high viscosity so it was very tough, but eventually I was able to get a good grip. *I don't need to control it to use it,* I thought, shutting my eyes as tight as I could.
I pulled my shirt up and felt the world twist around me, the liquid pulling off of me easily. I heard shouts of alarm and fear from the two villains before they were suddenly cut off. As soon as their voices disappeared I pulled my shirt back down and opened my eyes. Everything around me, the villains, my car, even the puddles on the street, were gone.
**Continued below** | 2022-05-14T23:12:34 | 2022-05-14T22:50:48 | 39 | 11 |
[WP] The local costumed vigilantes coordinate their schedules so everyone has a chance to brood on the really cool lookout point above the city. | !!IMPORTANT!!
&nbsp;
SCHEDULING
All slots are one hour, to accommodate any delays or miscellaneous what-ifs. Yes, we will all get our turn. There are not that many costumed in this city
&nbsp;
Various reasons provided in past schedules are:
Complicated costume
Robbery cropped up
Costume stuck
Meeting with mayor of the city
Needed to keep secret identity (if not my boyfriend would leave me)
Multiple costumes to test
We don’t care what happens. Just show up, do your brooding, and then get out!
&nbsp;
RESPECT EACH OTHER’S PRIVACY
We get it. Some of you like to take off your masks as some strange show of respect. Not everybody wants to do that! Don’t assume somebody wants YOU to be looking at them while they change!
If you arrive early or late to a slot, DON’T PEEK!!
&nbsp;
ONE BROODING SESSION PER WEEK
We all have hard days. We all have hard weeks. But please, you do not need to brood every day. It’s not healthy, and quote from VIGILANTE magazine cover model Kamikaze: “It has a certain charm to it, but doing it every day does nothing for me.”
Get some other hobby. Talk to your loved ones. Talk to your friends (costumed or non-costumed.) Punch an evildoer. But it doesn’t look good to brood all the time!
P.S. Please don’t take slots from other people. Seriously. That’s a real dick move. You are supposed to be heroes!
---
r/dexdrafts |
The schedule works on a merit-based system: the more saves you have, the better time slot you receive. For that reason, the peak of the 50-story Slade Tower more often resembles a late-night bingo tournament than a proper brooding spot. Those octogenarians in spandex spend their time chatting up there instead of watching over the city; experience is wasted on the old.
As a rookie hero, I have been assigned one of the worst time slots: 12:30. Right smack in the middle of the lunch hour. And you know what? A hero standing at the edge of a tall building in mid-day doesn’t quite carry the same cache as the middle of the night. In fact, I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been confused with a jumper and had rescue crews come and interrupt my brooding time with Third-Eye Blind quotes.
One day I was brooding especially hard—well as hard as one can brood in 75 degree sunshine—and considering ways I might improve my rank. Out of nowhere, a young man dressed in business casual burst out of the rooftop door and shouted at me, “step back, my friend! You have much to live for!”
“You don’t understand, I’m not—“
“Seriously, bro. I can help you. I’ll even take you out and help improve your wardrobe. Form fitting doesn’t work for everyone, man,” said the well-meaning asshole.
“No seriously, I’m fine. I’m just brooding.”
“Brooding is a slippery slope, dude,” he said as he approached me slowly. “Trust me, I’ve been there.”
“No, I’m a hero. Really, I’m trying to reflect on my day’s worth of saves,” I said. Though, admittedly, it had been a while since I last saved someone. I was falling in the rankings daily.
“I understand,” he said with a tone that suggested he did not understand, “just let me—“ he said as he lunged at me.
Now, little back-story on heroes. We don’t like being lunged at. Out of pure—and I can’t stress this enough—instinct, I dodged as he lunged and threw him off the building.
“Oh fuck!” I shout as he reaches terminal velocity.
6 stories. 7. Now 8.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Finally I jumped after him. I flew as fast as I could and focused all my energy and might on the falling speck of business-safe blue.
15 stories. Now 20.
I was sweating hard. Murder is a little frowned upon in the hero community.
25 stories. Now 30.
He had been falling for a long time and I began to worry that his 8 story head start was going to be insurmountable. “Come on. Come on!” I shouted.
40 stories. Now 45.
BAM! Our bodies had hit the ground with enough force to put a 10 foot by 10 foot divot in Main Street. I half-expected to see a splat of blue and red next to me. Only I didn’t see that. I had positioned myself underneath him in the nick of time.
I had saved him.
And that’s when the idea hit me: I need to churn out saves and what better way to do that than to leverage my weak time slot and turn it into a strength. I would throw my well-meaning interlopers off Slade Tower whenever I saw them. And then I would save them and threaten their lives if they talked. My saves would go up, and my brooding slot would improve.
It was the perfect plan. Lemons to lemonade. And it worked to perfection. That is, until the day I missed catching the police commissioner.
_____________
If you enjoyed this, please check out my personal sub r/InMyLife42Archive | 2022-07-02T11:23:16 | 2022-07-02T10:33:07 | 41 | 17 |
[WP] It is said that the cursed princess can only be awoken by true love's kiss. To wake her up, the king has had princes from all over the world come to kiss her to no avail. One day, a peasant boy walks up to the sleeping princess and splashes her with cold water to wake her up. It actually works. | The beautiful prince stepped back with a solemn loneliness lingering on his lips. The maiden princess remained sleeping.
"Stand back, boy. What are you doing?!" One of the prince's guards attempted to stop a young paige from interfering. He was holding a bucket.
"My nan always got me to wake up like this!" Before anyone could stop him, the boy dumped the cold liquid contents onto the princess's face. She yelped.
Everyone stared in surprise. She was awake! "It's a miracle!"
She sat up shivering. One of the handmaidens immediately wrapped her in a warm towel before leaving to fetch a new set of clothes for the princess.
"Oh fairest prince, who art thou who wakes me from my slumber?" She blearily rubbed her eyes while still trembling from the cold.
The handsome prince hesitated for a moment before speaking, "I am Prince Henry of Plousios." He got on one knee, "Wouldst thou join me on thine life's journey? Thou hadst taken my heart with thine lovely visage."
"Weren't you who woke the lady, sir prince. 'Twas the bucket." The boy shook the cold water to show what he meant. The princess gave him a momentary sharp glare.
"Prince Henry, thou hadst saved me from an endless nightmare. It shall be my greatest pleasure to accompany you. I pray that mine father will be understanding." Her face was the very image of kind loveliness.
The prince's expression was a sunlit beam of happiness. The paige rolled his eyes. The handmaiden returned with a new set of clothes.
"If thou will allow me a moment of privacy..." she blushed, looking down at her wet clothes, and the prince nodded sheepishly, a bit of red creeping into his cheeks as well. He motioned for the enterouge to follow him out.
The princess called out to the young boy just as he turned to leave with the prince, "Wait! You. I need to send a message to my father."
When the last of the prince's escorts and curious onlookers exited the room, the princess was left with her handmaiden and the young boy.
"By God's nails, Eric! Why'd you have to ruin my fun." She shoved her face into the pillow and groaned.
The young boy smiled, "Weren't fair you get to sleep while I had to clean your chamberpot every day, milady."
The handmaiden sighed, "Princess, someone was going to find out sooner or later. Prince Henry seems like a nice man, his father's rich too!"
"I liked Prince George better, that dashing smile, that rustic way he gripped my shoulders..." The princess squealed into her pillow some more.
"So what am I saying to His Majesty? He's been waiting for an answer for weeks." The boy set the bucket down and wiped his hands on a towel the handmaiden had given him. "You've already told this Lord Prince you'll marry him."
"Bah, that was just... *lip service*," she gave a mischievous smile.
The paige rolled his eyes again and the handmaiden just sighed.
&nbsp;
___
:D
/r/unexpected_works | “Dunk him again!” The King demanded.
“No, please Majesty,” the boy yelled as he hung upside down between two soldiers. But before he could say another word his head was being lowered into a large bucket of water. He thrashed about, water spilling onto the stone floor.
“Daddy, stop! I’m begging you!” The red haired princess said as she tried to wriggle free from the strong grip of a blonde haired prince. Her dress still wet from the boy's earlier throw.
The King motioned to the soldiers and they lifted the boy up. He gasped for air as water dripped from his head. The King walked over and lowered his head so he was at the boy’s level.
“Tell me what you put in the water!”
“I don't know what's in it,” the boy said as breathed heavily.
The King slapped him across the face then stormed off. “Fine then. Kill him,” he said dismissively over his shoulder.
The princess screamed and tried to wrestle free from the powerful man holding her. Her betrothed apparently, as she had discovered moments earlier.
“But wait! If you kills me, you won’t never know about the kisses,” the boy yelled.
The King stopped just before the door. “Find out what you need Terry,” he said to his torturer standing in the corner of the room before striding out of the room.
The hooded figure of the torturer hooted as he crept over to a table covered with various iron instruments, his spindly fingers moving with excitement. The princess looked over at the torturer moving towards the boy. “Wait!” She cried.
Terry, tapping together a pair of pincers, paused in front of the boy.
“What about the kisses?” She asked the boy.
“Suppose I explain, if you get these two to let me down,” the boy said. The princess turned her head up to look at her betrothed and raised a pleading eyebrow. He shrugged and nodded to the guards.
They threw the boy forward so he slid across the cold stone floor. The princess hurried over and untied his hands, letting him sit up. The boy exhaled and his face changed slightly, taking on a more thoughtful look. Then he took a breath in through his nose and twitched slightly at a smell.
“It's a bit yuck, isn't it My lady? The King having all these young fellas over to kiss you?” The boy said as he peered over at the blonde prince standing a few feet away.
The girl’s cheeks flushed. “My father's a traditionalist,” she replied.
“Don’t have any tradition in the field where twenty men slobber over someone sleeping. Must be a high born thing,” the boy replied quietly. One of the soldiers coughed, as if holding back a laugh.
“That’s enough!” She said firmly, “If that’s all you have to say about the kisses then Terry can take over again.”
The boy glanced at the torturer. “Wasn’t exactly how I pictured this thing playing out, have to admit,” he muttered to himself. He turned back to the princess.
“Suppose it’s not just your father whose wedded to these high born traditions. The wicked witch who cursed you must’ve known what he’d do, cause she seemed very happy with the kisses you’d been receiving,” the boy said, trying to get water out of his ear.
The princess looked at him closer. “What do you mean?”
“She didn’t tell me the tale course, I only had the one job for her. But from what I hears before she sent me, all those kisses were bringing something with them, if you know what I mean. Then, suppose there’s just a final plumb on the pudding sort of thing. Well, she tells me it’s in the bucket. And all I have to do is, well,” the boy paused and looked at the princesses wet dress, then closed his mouth and shrugged.
“She was using me as a cauldron?” The princess said as she wiped her mouth desperately.
The boy rubbed his eye. “Suppose so,” he said.
The muscular blonde prince who had been quiet until now stepped forward, “and what was in the water?”
“She didn’t say did she, but suppose it must be something important. She put something in, not sure what cause she went out back to do it. Took a bit of time too,” the boy replied.
The princess could smell something now. And just as she was about to sniff a piece of her wet dress she suddenly started shaking. At first it was a slight tremor, then it grew and within moments she was shaking violently.
As the shaking intensified, she began laughing. Everyone in the room, including Terry the torturer, stepped back.
Her face began changing. Morphing.
The laughing turned into a cackle and a moment later the grin of the wicked witch crossed her face. Then the princess’s hair started changing color. It went from her usual red to blonde, then back to red. Her arms grew muscles too, seemingly similar to those of her blonde betrothed.
Then a moment later she was silent and still. She was the princess again.
But her eyes were wide, a look of horror cursed across her face. | 2022-08-07T05:47:16 | 2022-08-07T02:46:01 | 310 | 86 |
[WP] You can see the headline now. “World’s Oldest Human, Dead at 124”. You lived a good, long life. You are satisfied. The world around you fades to black... "Whoa! You beat the high score again!” You open your eyes in a brightly lit arcade, the number 124 flashing on a screen in front of you. | "Woohoo! New High score!" I shouted as I slammed the goggles down and looked around the arcade for at all the people impressed at my life prowess. Except the arcade was silent.
No cheering, no crowd nothing. I looked around and saw a dozen or so people surrounding a player three pods over.
"What's going on?" I thought to myself, annoyed that no one was cheering or sharing my accomplishment. One hundred and twenty four is hard. Carefully I unhooked my bio-jacket from the Life Simulator Arcade Pod and made my way over to the crowd.
"Hey, what gives?" I asked one of the onlookers, a girl in a pink and blue jumper-jacket combo.. I think her name was Janice. "I just hit 124 and everyone is over here. Don't tell me this guy is going to beat my high score already."
"One hundred and twenty four, huh? Wow, that's impressive. Unfortunately most people lost interest in you around forty five." she replied.
"Huh? What do you mean?" I asked.
"I mean you're vegan, you don't drink, don't smoke, don't do drugs, don't even drive over the speed limit. You worked a desk job as an insurance adjuster your whole life and and operated nothing more complicated than a rubber stamp. You probably outlived two of your spouses, four children and three of your grand children. I bet you never even rode a roller coaster or ate sushi." she smirked as she turned back to watch the other player.
With that the other pod opened and the player slammed down his goggles.
"Twenty-seven baby! Rock and roll!" and everyone around him started cheering and patting him on the back.
I looked at the overhead screen to watch the replay of his Cause of Death. "Motorcycle crash while having sex high on cocaine."
"Epic huh?" he said as he made air guitar motions. "No one's ever going to forget that one."
"Yeah," I agreed as I glumly glanced back at a high score no one else even noticed. | Jensen jolted awake, little dribbles of sweat pouring down his brow. Head pounding, he fell back onto the wet floor, his paper-dry tongue wishing for a cool drink. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he saw a half-empty bottle of Fireball next to him, triggering memories of the party the night prior, which came back in jagged shards as his brain struggled to process even a small amount of information. *The old man.* The image of the centenarian came back, hunched sloppily over his wheelchair as he spoke in barely audible rasps. *Old dude had no business being at a college spring break party.*
Moonlight filtered through the semi-opaque windows, giving the plastic ghosts and ghouls attached to the *Haunted House III* unit a more eerie appearance than they rightfully should have. He carefully rose to a sitting position, his joints creaking in response to having spent far too many hours lying on the hard carpeted floor of Jack's Dream Machine Seven. Grabbing a cheek in each hand, he pulled downward as if they were putty attached to his skull, hoping that somehow this would pull the ache out of his head. "Ow!" he said instinctively. Fighting the urge to shut his eyes and lay back down, he focused on the scene in front of him. *What happened to him?*
He turned around, noting that one of the machines was still on, its ancient CRT screen emitting a bright light that pierced the darkness all around it. It was so intense that he had to cover his eyes for a moment before he could focus on it. Forcing himself to look, he saw "HIGH SCORE" and the number 124 flashing on repeat. *Wow, that was that old dude's age, right?* Rising to his feet, he went to examine the unit more closely, seeing nothing on it except the faded wood finish. No markings, no title, not even a joystick.
That's when he noticed the body lying in the fetal position behind the unit. Rivulets of blood had spilled from a large gash in the old man's head and landed in a soft pool beneath a few remaining white wisps of hair. He gasped, glancing around for anyone else. "Hello?" he spoke into the vacant air, suddenly seeing the headline flash through his mind "world's oldest human, dead at 124." *Murdered.*
A cold sweat broke out over his already clammy body. Panting, he tried to scream "help", but his voice only came out in a squeaky whisper. He frantically looked around the place he woke up, trying to remember what had happened, finally spotting what must have been the murder weapon - a heavy steering wheel covered in blood. From the jagged plastic edges, it looked like it had been ripped off one of the racing games in a heat of rage.
"Jeeeennnnnssssseeeeeennnnnn" his name carried on the air.
"Who's there?" he said, glancing towards the moonlit windows, suddenly developing a fear of the dark.
When he turned around the screen was flashing even faster now, 124. 124. 124. 124. 124. 124. Trembling with fear, he slowly inched towards the unit to pull the power plug.
"Despicable," the voice said, higher now. "Killing an old man? Do you know who that was?"
"Nnnooooo. I didn't kill him. I swear. I just woke up here."
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. You don't remember, do you?"
"No. I swear, I didn't do it!"
He closed his eyes, trying to remember the last thing he did. There was a lot of alcohol, and people making out, even making love on the floor. Vomit everywhere. The old man in the midst. Oh yeah, he was blocking the racing game I wanted to play. I told him to move, and... *No.. No.. it couldn't be.*
"Ha-ha-ha-ha. You remember, don't you?"
"I- I-"
A loud spinning sound jarred him from his thoughts. There were eight steering wheels slowly making their way toward him, each rotating faster than a buzzsaw. | 2022-10-20T12:40:06 | 2022-10-20T12:28:14 | 440 | 26 |
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